28
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0550hrs EST, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC, (141050ZMar01)
Although Harm awoke early, Loren had beaten him to the kitchen where she had made a start on breakfast, and Harm although knowing that he had the clock to beat, took a moment to lean on the bedroom door frame to watch her.
She hadn't yet made it to the bathroom, the emphasis this morning being on the need to get Harm out of the apartment and on his way to Quantico, via Anacostia to collet Megan. A result of Loren's prioritising was that her hair was still mussed, just held back off her face with a mismatched pair of barrettes and she was dressed, if that's what he wanted to call it, in one of his over-sized academy sweat shirts, the sleeves pulled up to her elbows, and a pair of knee length rugby socks that had collapsed somewhere about the region of her ankles, exposing her legs from mid-thigh downwards, and in Harm's not-quite-so-humble opinion, she looked absolutely adorable.
Feeling his eyes on her she stopped stirring whatever she'd got in the pot, and turned towards him, "What?" she demanded.
Harm grinned, levered himself away from the doorframe and walked – no stalked, she corrected herself – towards her. He wore only a pair of pale blue boxers and the sight of him made her knees feel like jello, her breath catch in her throat and made her wish that it was a Saturday morning.
By the time she had come to that conclusion, he was in her personal space and using a long, strong finger under her chin to tilt her face up for a good morning kiss. As they kissed Harm realised his mistake, Loren had already made it to the bathroom, at least long enough to brush her teeth. A conclusion she reinforced with a little moue of distaste, an "Ugh! Morning breath – go!" and a gentle shove in the direction of the bathroom, but her smile robbed both words and deed of any offense, and Harm gave a good-natured, sloppy salute in return for her instructions and a lazily drawled, "aye, aye, ma'am" together with a look so meaningful that Loren felt herself blush and wish once again that it was a weekend!
By the time a freshened and shaved Harm emerged from the bathroom – still only clad on boxers, and with a few droplets of water clinging to his collar bones – Loren had finished preparing breakfast, and only by exercising a supreme dose of will power had prevented herself from jumping Harm's bones on the spot and licking those droplets off his chest and shoulders, as she watched him finish drying off and then dress in pants, shirt and shoes before joining her at the breakfast bar.
"Oatmeal with sliced banana, and there's honey and/or yoghurt if want," she said proudly.
"M'mm…" he added a generous dollop of natural yoghurt to the oatmeal and stirred it in, "That'll do nicely, but…"
"But what?" Loren said half suspiciously.
"But what would I want with honey, when you're here?"
On top of the tension that Loren had been feeling, the sheer corniness of his line, although she acknowledged that he meant it sincerely, was too much for her to bear, and her reaction was not at all what Harm had expected. Loren took one wide-eyed, disbelieving look at him and burst into peals of laughter.
Harm dropped his spoon into his oatmeal and glared at her in offended dignity, "What?" he demanded, "What was so damn funny? I try to pay you a compliment and…"
Loren mopped her streaming eyes and as her laughter started to die away she gasped, "Oh, Harm… it's just… that, it was such a sorry attempt…"
But the look of baffled hurt on his face was too much for her and she collapsed once again into helpless laughter.
"Fine!" he said flatly, getting up from his stool, "If all I am is a figure of fun, we'll talk about this later, when you're prepared to be civilised!" He snatched his jacket off its hanger, and grabbed for cover off the peg on the back of the door.
"Oh… Harm… wait!" Loren implored him, her eyes still awash with tears of laughter.
He turned back towards her, "What?"
As he turned she was in his personal space, her arms going around his neck as she pulled his head down towards her. He grasped her arms, intending to free himself, but before he could act, her lips were soft and sweet on his and her tongue was flicking at his bottom lip. With a helpless groan, he surrendered to her, but when they broke for air, his eyes were still a stormy green and he muttered, "This isn't over! We are going to talk about this later!"
"Yes, OK, we will if you want to, but while you're grumping all day, just remember that I still love you – even when you are being impossible!"
"Me, being impossible? Why…"
Whatever else he might have been going to say was lost when Loren kissed him again. "Go on," she said gently, her hands still resting on his shoulders, "Go. I'll see you when you get back from Quantico!"
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0714hrs EST, I-95 South, and I-495 West, Franconia, Washington, DC, (141214ZMar01)
Megan leaned back in the passenger seat of the dark blue sedan, waiting until Harm had negotiated the interchange that would put them fairly on the I-95 South. She wasn't about to distract him from his driving at a point where he needed all his concentration, but she wasn't about to put up with behaviour for very much longer either. He'd been right on time at Anacostia VOQ, and almost unheard of occurrence, but he'd barely acknowledged her sunny "Good morning Harm!" and he hadn't said a word to her ever since he'd set the car in motion.
Megan watched him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye, his whole body radiated tension, his shone white as he gripped the steering wheel, and his lower lip was shoved forward in a definite pout, which might have looked cute on a four year old, had exactly the opposite effect on a forty year old.
"Alright," she sighed, "C'mon – give!"
"Give what?" Harm demanded.
"Give me a reason for that Mister Stone Face of the Year look you're wearing!"
"It's nothing, Meg! It's fine, I'm fine!"
Yeah, the hell it is and the hell you are, Meg thought, and took the opportunity to examine him more closely… he did look a bit tired… and that gave her a clue. Harmon Rabb was never what might be called a morning person, yet he had shown up at the VOQ bang on time. Meg at that point was willing to bet a sizeable sum that he'd overslept, missed breakfast, and more importantly, he'd missed at least half of his morning caffeine booster. Satisfied she had plumbed the depths of his disgruntlement, she kept her eyes peeled for a sign, and not more than five minutes later her prayers were answered.
"Harm! Pull over – there into that truck stop!" she almost yelled at him.
Startled by the tone of command in Meg's voice, Harm did as he was told without argument, signalling to move into the right hand land and then into the off-ramp for the truck stop, and then following Meg's instructions, he slotted the sedan into a parking bay near the diner's door.
"I shan't be long!" Meg threw over her shoulder as she unclipped her seat belt and exited the car. She was as good as her word, returning in under five minutes with a cardboard tray holding two large cardboard, plastic-capped containers, which gave of the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
Meg slid into her seat and looked carefully at the containers before selecting one, "That's yours," she said almost unnecessarily, indicating the other container with a nod of her head.
Harm hadn't particularly felt in need of a coffee, but he wasn't about to turn down one that had been bought for him, "Thanks. But what brought about this urgent desire for coffee?" he asked.
"You did," Meg told him bluntly, "You've been crouched behind that wheel with a face that would turn milk sour. You said there was nothing wrong, so I figured because you had an early start you missed breakfast!"
Harm had the grace to look sheepish, "No… I had breakfast… and that was the trouble… Loren got up early to make me oatmeal, and then I paid her a compliment and she laughed…" he tailed off, carefully not looking at Meg as he belatedly realised just how pathetic he sounded.
"What happened, what did you say?" Meg asked sympathetically.
"Well she'd put some yoghurt and honey on the table, to add to the oatmeal…"
Meg nodded encouragingly.
"So I took some yoghurt, and said I didn't need any honey, because she was the sweetest thing that ever…" Then to his chagrin Megan threw her head back and laughed.
She didn't just laugh. She roared with laughter, until the tears rolled down the side of her face
"Oh come on Meg!"" Harm snapped "it's not that damn funny!"
"Yes… yes… it is!" Meg wailed helplessly, "But it's not… just funny… it's so corny too!"
"Corny?" Harm exploded.
Meg waved him off with one hand, the other pressed to her chest as she fought for control over her amusement. Finally when she had regained some composure, she mopped her eyes, and looked across at her fuming partner. "Oh come on, Harm, you must admit, it is corny – and it's so corny, it's that which makes it so funny!"
"Corny, huh?" he asked
"As Kansas in August," she confirmed, unable to prevent herself from bursting into another outbreak of giggles.
Harm continued to scowl at her for long moments, but he was never able to resist Meg's smile for long, and at last with an exasperated shake of his head as he felt his lips begin to twitch he growled, "OK, let's get this show on the road – or we're gonna be late!"
Megan looked at him in wide-eyed astonishment; Harmon Rabb was worried about being late? For an unsettling moment Meg felt as if the earth had tilted on its access, but then as she caught the glimpse of amusement in Harm's eye, she realised she had just been subtly had.
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0800hrs EST, MCB Quantico Brig, Quantico, VA, (131315ZMar01)
Harm eased the sedan into a parking bay outside the brig, next to a white van with the DoN decals and "NCIS" in blue lettering along the sides. "Looks like the rent-a-cops are here," he grunted in disparaging tones.
"Harm," Megan said, drawing his name out in warning, "Play nice."
Harm flashed her a wry grin, "Yes, mommy."
Meg sniffed and rolled her eyes, even as Harm held open the door for her and stepped back to allow her to pass through before him into the temporarily crowded front office. Not only were the three MP NCOs behind the desk but two Marine Corps Officers in Service A's as well as NCIS Agent Gibbs and Captain Klein. Seeing Harm enter and taking in the number of rings on his sleeve, the ranking MP, a Master Sergeant called out "Attention on Deck!" the three Marines braced to attention, and even Gibbs started to react to the order, but again, as he had done during the confrontation with the head nurse at Bethesda, he just about successfully prevented himself from assuming a brace.
Harm nodded in satisfaction, "As you were, please. Captain Klein, Agent Gibbs," he said politely by way of greeting. Then turning his attention to the MP Master Sergeant, he said, "Commander Rabb and Commander Austin, from JAG HQ we're here to interview First Sergeant Santiago and Sergeant Booker."
The slightly older of the two Marine officers stepped forward, "Good morning, sir, I'm Major Devereux, and this is Captain Chavez, we're both from the Corps SJA's office here on base. I'm defending the First Sergeant, and Captain Chavez is defending Sergeant Booker."
"Good morning, Major," Harm offered his hand in turn to each of the Marine officers, and then turned his attention back to the MPs.
"Master Sergeant, when Santiago and Booker were brought in, did they have their article thirty-one rights explained to them?"
"Yessir! Neither of them would say anything until they had representation."
Harm nodded, "Good. Now, Major Devereux, have you been told what charges your client is facing?"
Devereux nodded, and Harm turned his gaze on Chavez, "Yessir!"
"Can we get on with it, Rabb?" Gibbs said in a voice of weary exasperation, "I've got all this noted."
Harm nodded, "Yeah? Well I just want to make sure it's done right – this time!"
Gibbs stiffened, and his eyes narrowed, "Just what do you mean by that, Commander?"
"Well… I'd say that was pretty obvious, wouldn't you, Special Agent Gibbs?" Harm replied with heavy emphasis on the other man's title.
Meg and Julia exchanged swift despairing glances, while Devereux looked quickly at Gibbs and Harm, wondering if the antipathy between navy investigator and navy attorney could be exploited to his client's benefit.
The MP Master Sergeant, embarrassed by the hostility that had suddenly flared, turned to his subordinates, "Alright! Wheel 'em out! Santiago in interview one, Booker in interview three – move!"
Meg stepped up to where Harm and Gibbs were still almost toe to toe and spoke in an urgent undertone, "Harm, Agent Gibbs, this isn't helping anyone. Can we just get on with the job – please?"
Recalled to some sense of decorum, Harm flushed, and stepped back. "You're right, Commander. My apologies to you – and to Captain Klein."
"Yes, sir," Meg replied, "So why don't Agent Gibbs and I interview Santiago – I really want Santiago, Agent Gibbs, and leave Booker to you and Captain Klein?"
Harm gave Gibbs a final glare – which was returned with interest – and stepped back. Drawing a deep breath, he centred himself and with a nod said "Captain Klein, if you're ready?"
"Yes, sir!"
Harm nodded again, "Interview three, I think you said, Master Sergeant?"
"Yessir!"
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0810hrs EST, Interview Room #3, MCB Quantico Brig, Quantico, VA, (141310ZMar01)
Interview Three was a cheerless grey-painted room about twelve feet square with a narrow, perhaps eight inch high window, almost at ceiling height running the length of one wall. The room was unfurnished with the exception of a table and four wooden chairs. Harm, Julia Klein and Captain Chavez took three of the seats and waited for the MPs to bring Sergeant Booker in for his interview.
Once seated Booker stared across the table at Harm and Julia Klein, while Harm took the opportunity afforded to conduct his own visual examination. Booker was physically imposing, at about six feet tall, he may have lacked Harm's extra inches in height, but he more than made up for that lack in the breadth of his shoulders. Glancing at Booker's hands as they lay on the table Harm noted that his knuckles were a mass of scar tissue, matched by similar tissue where his right eyebrow should have been.
"I am Commander Rabb, Navy JAG Corps, and this is Captain Klein, the USMC IG's liaison to NCIS. Do you understand that Sergeant?"
Booker grinned, "Yessir! Clear as day, sir!"
"I understand that you have had your Article Thirty One rights read and explained to you?"
"Article Thirty One, sir?" A puzzled frown appeared on Booker's forehead.
"Yes. You have been told that you need not speak with us, and that if you do speak with us, then you have the right to an attorney being present while we speak with you?"
"Oh, yessir!" Booker agreed enthusiastically, and turning grinned at the Marine Officer sat next to him, "that's Captain Chavez, here. He's my attorney," then Bookers face fell, "But why do I need an attorney, sir? Am I in trouble?"
Harm blinked, "Sergeant, don't you understand that you are in serious trouble? Trouble that could land you in Leavenworth and see you kicked out of the Corps?"
Booker's "But I ain't done nothing wrong!" was a plaintive wail, almost like a small boy who didn't understand why he was being punished.
Harm looked across at Julia Klein in some perplexity before he looked back across the table at Chavez, "Haven't you explained to the Sergeant what he's facing?"
"Yes, sir, I have… several times… but he doesn't seem to quite grasp the concept." Harm looked at the Marine sharply; he wasn't quite sure whether Chavez was as perplexed as he, or whether he was subtly taunting the Navy JAG.
"OK, Sergeant Booker" Harm turned his attention back to the prisoner, "Let's take this one step at a time. Over the last year, you have been arrested nine times for fighting, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Each time you were arrested you were released the next day by the orders of the Sergeant Major, correct?"
"Yessir, 'cepting a coupla times I got the day wrong and got arrested on a Friday, so that I hadda stay in the brig 'til Monday."
"OK… Now each time you were fighting, you hit someone, right?"
Booker's face reflected even more confusion, "Yeah… of course, sir."
"Well each time you hit someone, Sergeant, you were committing a crime. It's called assault consummated by battery, contrary to Article One Two Eight of the UCMJ, and each offence can be punished by six months in Leavenworth, forfeiture of all pay and allowances and a Bad Conduct Discharge. Now, if the judge thinks it's OK, he can let the sentences be served at the same time. If he thinks it's necessary then he can stipulate that the sentences be served one after the other, and nine six moth sentences add up to four and one half years in Leavenworth."
"But that ain't right, sir!"
"Why not, Sergeant?" Julia Klein had shot Harm a quick glance, and he interpreting it correctly, sat back and let her take over the questions.
"'Cause I was only doing what I was told to do, ma'am!"
Chavez looked startled, while Harm sat back in his chair satisfied, and Julia Klein looked puzzled. Chavez looked across at Harm and said, "Could I have a couple of moments alone with my client, sir?"
Harm nodded and stood, "Of course, Captain!" and with Julia he crossed to the locked door and rapped twice. The MP Sergeant allowed them into the hallway and closed and locked the door behind them taking up a 'Parade Rest' position in front of the door. Harm and Julia moved a few paces along the hallway and had an urgent low-pitched conversation.
"What the hell do you make of that, Julia?"
"Damned if I know, sir. I can't make up my mind if he's as simple as he makes out, or whether he's trying to run a temporary insanity bluff."
Harm shook his head, "That same thought had crossed my mind. I think I'm going to get a Judge's order and have a psych eval done on him…"
"But if he is congenitally unfit to stand trial… how did he pass a basic psych eval for enlistment?"
"I looked at his service record last night," Harm mused, "There's nothing on his page eleven at all, but for someone to be that…"
"Clueless?" Julia suggested.
Harm shot her a look, but there was no hint of either mockery or amusement in her eyes. "Well I was going to say naïve, but clueless works. But if he were that naïve, how come there's nothing in his SRB, not even as a non-punitive letter… surely he must have fallen foul of somebody with less patience along the line…"
"He's LAV School, isn't he?"
"Yeah… what's your thinking?"
"Have you ever ridden in one, Sir? People get hurt just riding in those damn things, they bounce around inside, knocking their heads against the interior of the vehicle… It might be worth getting a judge's order for his medical records too…"
"Yeah… and a CT scan… good thinks Julia…"
"In the meantime…?"
"In the meantime, we keep the pressure on. I'm pretty certain that Booker was ordered by the Sergeant Major to carry out punishment beatings, and if that is the case, I want the Sergeant Major. Are you familiar with Webster's play, 'The Duchess of Malfi'?"
"No… why…?"
"Practically the whole first act is taken up with a diatribe against corrupt leadership; it doesn't matter, for example, how pure the water is, it takes only one drop of poison to foul the whole fountain – especially if that poison is at the well-spring…"
"And the Sergeant Major is that well-spring?"
"He's got to be! How else do we have Sergeants running around the battalion beating up on other marines, or the illegal use of EMI and Incentive PT, especially when they're applied in such a discriminatory fashion against female marines? No, you're not going to convince me that it could happen undetected on so large a scale in a battalion without the Sergeant Major being aware of it. And if I can link him to Corporal Henderson's death, I'm going to do my damnedest to have him charged with Manslaughter through Culpable Neglect, as well as DOD and anything else I can throw at him!"
"A bit extreme, sir?"
"No, I don't agree. So we go back in and see if we can cut a deal for Booker in return for him giving up the Sergeant Major."
Julia looked at him dubiously, but even with her limited knowledge of him she saw enough to convince her that his mind was made up, and she remembered, too, her husband's description of the Commander as a bulldog. As it was she didn't have too much time to reflect as the MP Sergeant outside the interview room door abandoned his Parade Rest position and opened the grille in the door, only to turn towards Harm and call out, "Sir, the Captain says he's ready to continue, sir!"
Harm nodded to Julia and with a "Thank you, Sergeant" from Julia they both re-entered the interview room and took their seats at the table.
"Well, Captain, is your client prepared to plead guilty?" Harm asked in a cold voice.
"No, sir… but we are prepared to hear an offer…?"
"Right. Is your client prepared to tell us who told him to go and fight the other Marines?"
"He is."
"And plead guilty to all charges?"
"No, not yet. But, he is willing to submit to a psychiatric evaluation to ascertain whether he is fit to stand trial."
"Alright then, we'll take confinement off the table, and if the psych eval shows he is not fit to stand trial, then he takes adsep on psych grounds. So, the sixty four thousand dollar question; Sergeant Booker, who told you to pick fights with those other nine Marines?"
Booker looked towards Chavez for reassurance, who nodded his head, "Go ahead, Sergeant, tell the Commander, who ordered you to pick the fights."
Booker licked his lips, suddenly looking much younger than his twenty six years, "It was the Sergeant Major, sir!"
Harm kept his face expressionless, although internally he was rejoicing. "That would be Sergeant Major Conlan, at Headquarters, Support Battalion?"
"Yes, sir."
Harm nodded his head in satisfaction, he now had the reason he need to arrest the Sergeant Major. That arrest would, of course rock the battalion, hell, probably the whole MCCDC to the core, and Harm had an idea that contrary to the laws of physics that in this case the crap would roll uphill as well as down.
He turned to Chavez, "OK. We'll get that deal down in writing and through to you by secure tomorrow, just get it signed and back to me at JAG HQ ASAP." He paused, "I don't suppose I need to tell you that there's going to be an almighty shit-storm over this?"
Chavez was glumly shuffling papers together preparatory to replacing them in his briefcase, "No, sir… Dammit! I could almost wish I was back on a line officer's tour!"
Harm cocked a surprised eyebrow, "Do you really mean that?"
"Honestly, sir, I don't know. It's a high profile case, and the effects on the career of anyone in the Corps involved in it could go either way. It might be that it could be seen as necessary house-cleaning, or it could be seen as betraying the code."
Harm nodded, thankful that the latter aspect wasn't something he needed to worry about.
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0810hrs EST, Interview Room #1, MCB Quantico Brig, Quantico, VA, (141310ZMar01)
Gibbs allowed Major Devereux to enter the interview room ahead of himself and Megan, taking the opportunity to say firmly, "This is my interview, Commander; you will sit, observe and keep silent."
Megan's temper flared, "The hell I will Special Agent Gibbs! Just in case you'd forgotten," and she laid heavy emphasis on the word, "this is a joint JAG/NCIS investigation. Now, if you can't work with that, then I strongly suggest you get your ass back to the Navy Yard and let Director Morrow send a professional in your place! I have questions for Santiago based on events of which you have no knowledge, I am not a jg any more, and I will not let NCIS Rent a Cops shut me out of an investigation again!"
Gibbs went white with anger at the suggestion that he was not being professional in his approach to the case, "You forget yourself, Commander, you are speaking to a Federal Agent!"
"Yes, I am, but a Federal Agent who is also a former Marine, and one in my opinion who should never have been permitted to investigate this case in the first place!"
"Are you insinuating that I would not carry out a thorough, unbiased investigation into this case?"
"I'm not sure, Agent Gibbs, but my own previous experience of NCIS investigation techniques leaves me with very little faith in their abilities or integrity, and even if I am in error, just the appearance of impropriety could be sufficient to have this case thrown out of court. And now there is a dead marine, a dead female marine, linked to the man we are about to interview, I have no intention of letting him slip through our fingers because of some ridiculous notion of Semper Goddam Fi!" Meg paused for breath, and then another barbed thought occurred to her, "Or are you going to try and make Commander Rabb the guilty party again!"
Gibbs maintained an impassive expression, but his thoughts flashed back to the fiasco that had been the initial investigation into the MacKenzie case three weeks or so ago. His comment to Agent Owens at the time of their less than glorious retreat from Bethesda had been right on target. Mike Franks had set him up, having somehow found out that Rabb had a solid alibi, and when Gibbs had called him on it, he'd coughed, a deep chested smoker's cough, and grinned, "Damned right I set you up, Probie; teach you not to go off at half-cock just because you don't like someone's face or attitude."
Megan on the other hand was remembering events of years ago, when Agent Turkey had falsified a forensics report and had arrested Harm for the murder of Diane Schonke. And that, she recalled only too well, was when she had been sent on a wild goose chase by the then Commander Krennick. She had assumed then that Krennick had connived with Turkey to allow him to arrest Harm, and had thought it was it was just sour grapes on Krennick's part because Harm had resisted all her blandishments and attempts to get him into her bed.
The arrest had failed within half an hour of Meg's return to the Seahawk. Diane had signed out as she'd gone ashore at oh four twenty hours, and had been discovered in her car shot to death later that morning, but given the distance between DC and Norfolk it would have been impossible for Rabb to have killed Diane at oh four thirty hours and get back to Washington in time to be given orders to investigate the shooting and pick up Meg, And then when challenged on the forensics, Turkey had grudgingly admitted that the weapon that had been found had not been yet tested for fingerprints, and was, moreover, a nine millimetre automatic, while Diane had been shot with a thirty eight calibre revolver.
Meg was about to continue her protest over Gibbs' attitude when she remembered her own words of just a few moments ago, that 'this isn't helping!' Embarrassed now by her response to Gibbs, she felt the blood rose to her cheeks, and sidestepping the NCIS Agent, she stalked into the interview room and took a seat at the table, where Major Devereux shot her a not unsympathetic glance, and murmured, "Aggravating sonofabitch, ain't he?"
A silently outraged Gibbs took his seat and they waited for the MP to escort First Sergeant Santiago into the room, and then exit, locking the door behind him.
Gibbs took a portable cassette recorder from his pocket and placed it on the table. Meg eyed the device askance, and placed a legal pad and a couple of pencils on the table in front of her. Without giving Gibbs a chance to speak, she started the interview.
"First Sergeant Santiago, I am Commander Austin, Navy JAG Corps, this is Special Agent Gibbs, of NCIS and you know Major Devereux?"
Santiago had felt a flush of recognition as soon as he has seen the blonde officer, but had been unable to place her, but as she spoke, her West Texas drawl sparked a memory.
"But… you're… you're that new Sergeant… Sergeant Pierce!" he objected.
"Yes, let's talk about Sergeant Pierce for a minute or First Sergeant…"
"Is this necessary Commander?" Gibbs interrupted.
"Yes, it is." Meg said flatly and then returned her attention to the surly Marine sat opposite to her. "Tell me, First Sergeant, what is the uniform protocol for Marines rotating in to MCCDC?"
"Are you going somewhere with this counsellor?" Major Devereux interrupted Meg.
"I believe so, Major, if between the two of you," she looked at Devereux and then at Gibbs, "will just stop interrupting. I think you'll find we get where I'm going that much quicker! Now, first Sergeant, the protocol?"
"Personnel rotating in are to report in Service Alpha uniforms." Santiago grudgingly admitted.
"And what was Sergeant Pierce wearing when she reported to you?"
"Service Alphas uniform."
"I see, so why did you reprimand Sergeant Pierce for being out of uniform?"
"Uh… she wasn't… she didn't present a… properly groomed and uniform appearance."
"So, why didn't you reprove her for that, instead of telling her to report back to your office, properly dressed in BDUs?"
"Uh… well, I didn't want to seem to be too much of a hard-ass on her first day, so I let her improper rooming standards slide, and just told her to get with the programme." Santiago brazened it out.
Meg made a few notes before she continued, "Corporal Henderson," she noted that Santiago shifted uneasily in his seat when she mentioned the dead woman's name. "Did she appear improperly dressed when she reported in?"
"Exactly!" Santiago seemed relieved that the blonde officer had grasped the concept, "but she was a total screw-up, she didn't get with the programme. She was weak, a poor Marine. She never got the message."
Meg felt her anger begin to rise as the NCO tried to shift the blame for Corporal Henderson's death on to her.
Gibbs, mad as he was at Megan, felt a wave of disgust, as he intervened, "Blame the victim? Is that your strategy, counsellor?" he directed his question at Major Devereux.
"It's not a route I'd want to take, but I have to find a defence for my client, and if that means creating reasonable doubt, by casting aspersions elsewhere, then hey, I'll do it."
Meg tied to ignore the wave of nausea that swept over her and continued questioning Santiago, "And how long did you persist in your efforts to get Corporal Henderson with the programme?"
"Well, I guess from the day after she rotated in until yesterday."
"Including Sundays?"
Santiago shrugged, "Yeah, I guess. War fighting is a seven day a week task Commander, it doesn't have weekends."
"But Henderson wasn't war fighting, was she Santiago, she was a truck driver!" Gibbs reminded him.
"Yeah, she was today… but she coulda gotten orders for anywhere at any time. It is a Marine's duty to be ready at all times!"
"What form of persuasion did you use in order to get Corporal Henderson back with the programme, First Sergeant?"
"A mixture of Incentive PT and EMI, you know; hardening her physically and getting her on top line in her MOS."
Meg looked at her notes, "From the day she rotated in until the day she died; that's fifty eight days First Sergeant!"
"Well I said she was having difficulties, she musta been a slower learner than I thought."
"And that was true of the other eighteen women in your EMI squad, was it First Sergeant?"
"If they were due for EMI, then I guess so."
"But of all the men in your company, only four were on EMI?"
Santiago's face showed shock that Meg had those figures at her fingertips, but it was a fleeting expression, and his face settled back into what Meg was beginning to realise was an habitual expression, a combination of smirk and disdainful sneer.
"Yeah, well, I guess the men are quicker learners!"
"First Sergeant, what do you know USMC policy on both Incentive PT and EMI?"
"There's some paper floating around somewhere suggesting that it shouldn't be done, but if it is necessary then do it."
"No, first Sergeant that are two pieces of paper, Marine Corps Orders, in fact, that state quite clearly, that Incentive PT is confined strictly to Boot Camp and is to be regulated by properly trained Dis. The other Marine Corps Order clearly states that EMI may only be awarded for a maximum period of three days, which may not include the Sabbath Day of the individual's religion, and may only to be awarded outside working hours by a CO or OIC. NCOs may only award EMI during working hours and it must have instructional value. So for Corporal Henderson, a truck driver, appropriate EMU would have been extra tuition in vehicle maintenance, not being choused out of the mess-hall so that she doesn't have time to eat her breakfast!"
"But that's just politically correct bullshit! Everyone knows that's only being said to satisfy the mommas and freaking bleeding hearts!"
"No First Sergeant, they are not just politically correct bulldust, each and every word on those orders," Gibbs paused before he repeated, "orders, signed by the CMC means exactly what it says. Which is why you are being charged with twenty three violations of Article 92 of the UCMJ, Failure to Follow a Regulation or Order, twenty three charges of Maltreatment under Article 93 of the UCMJ and the same number of charges for Dereliction of Duty also under Article 92 of the UCMJ!"
"And" Meg continued, "If a link can be established between your maltreatment of Corporal Henderson and her death, then an additional charge of Negligent Homicide."
"Hey, you can't do that!" Santiago protested, "It wasn't my fault that she couldn't raise her standard to a satisfactory level!"
"Apart from your culpable negligence in failing in your duty of care to her, you should have noted that she graduated from Parris Island third in her platoon of forty four. In her three years in the Corps, until she arrived here, her fitreps had her marked down as 'Outstanding' and that her previous CO had recommended her for the ECP! So don't give me any more horse pucky about Corporal Henderson being an unsatisfactory Marine!" Megan blazed at him.
Santiago suddenly seemed to deflate, "But… he… she… he said that she…"
"Who said what, Santiago?" Gibbs asked quietly.
Santiago literally gave himself a shake, "Nothing!" he replied in a firmer voice, "And I ain't got nothing further to say anyway, so get me out here. Besides, what she did," he pointed to Megan, "was entrapment! Guard!"
The MP NCO opened the door and Santiago stood, "Take me back to my cell," he demanded.
The MP looked at Gibbs and Megan, both of whom nodded their heads. The door remained open as Santiago was led along the hallway to the cell block at the rear of the complex and the three remaining in the room started to gather their papers together. Devereux paused in what he was doping and looked across the table at Megan, "You weren't being serious about the manslaughter charge, were you?" he asked hopefully.
"Damn serious," Megan replied, fixing him with her bright blue eyes, "And if I thought I could make it stick, I'd go for Manslaughter due to Culpable Negligence, but that's a bit of a stretch – at the moment!"
Devereux continued to look at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, and then with a brief smile, he nodded his farewells to both of them.
Gibbs gave him a few seconds to get out of earshot, and then turned to Megan with the beginnings of a smile twitching his lips, "Well, I was wrong about you," he admitted with a graceless shrug, "You're quite something, after all!"
"For a woman?" Meg demanded belligerently.
"Hell, no, Gibbs grinned, "for a JAG!"
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0930hrs EST, MCB Quantico Brig, Quantico, VA, (131430ZMar01)
Harm and Julia Klein were waiting at the duty desk in the Brig's reception area, and both sighed with relief that wouldn't have much longer to wait when Major Devereux hurried past them, scarcely bothering to acknowledge their presence.
Harm turned to greet Meg and barely bothering to acknowledge Gibbs' presence asked her, "How did it go"
Meg shrugged and grimaced, "Not too well… he kinda admitted to there being someone else behind the scenes, but he wouldn't give up a name."
Harm managed a grin, "Well, we did a little better than that; we got Booker to give up the Sergeant Major!"
Gibbs grinned wolfishly "Good work!" he enthused, and then saw Ham looking at him in surprise and he asked defensively, "What? Hey, I've already had my butt chewed by the Commander here," he indicated Meg, "for being too much of a gung-ho Jarhead!" He paused, "Look, Rabb we don't like each other. It happens. Sometimes you have to work with people you don't like. Commander Austin here doubted my ability to work this case in a professional manner because I'm a Marine. But Captain Klein is a Marine and I don't hear either of you doubting her."
"Well, maybe that's because we've worked with Captain Klein before. Or maybe it's just because she hasn't tried to fit me up for a murder and an assault."
"OK, Rabb… we can discuss that later if you really want to push it… but for the present will you take my word that what I've seen and heard were this last twenty four hour really ticks me off. The people that did these things aren't fit to wear the same uniform that I wore with pride. They're a disgrace to that uniform, and I want them out of it and into prison fatigues as soon as it can be done!"
Harm looked dubiously at Gibbs, and then cocked an eyebrow in Meg's direction. She gave an almost imperceptible twitch of her mouth and a nod of her head. Harm drew himself up took a breath, and extended his hand to the former Marine. Gibbs cautiously took his hand, and after a perfunctory grip and squeeze the two released each other.
"Well, whaddaya know," Gibbs said sardonically, "this might just be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, after all!"
"Or it might not!" Harm cut in, in much the same tone, leaving Meg and Julia to gaze at each other utterly baffled by the sheer amount of testosterone in the air.
"OK," Julia Klein stepped forward to fill what looked like turning into an awkward gap, "what next?"
Harm grinned, "I say let's really put the cat amongst the pigeons. Let's go and arrest the Sergeant Major!"
The two women look at each other, Meg raising a questioning eyebrow and receiving a confirmatory, "We do have enough to hold him," in return.
"Just hold on there a minute," Gibbs said, as he pulled a cell 'phone from his pocket and frowned at the instrument as if it was the work of the devil, "Let me get hold of Franks, first!" He pressed a couple of buttons, held the 'phone to his ear and then frowned at it before giving it a shake and holding back to his ear. Julia raised her eyes heavenwards while Meg and Harm stared with fascination at the pantomime before them. But to their surprise, Gibbs' tough and ready methods seemed to have worked.
"Boss?"
"Yeah."
"We got the goods we're on our way to Battalion HQ now to arrest the Sergeant Major."
"OK, I'll tell 'em!"
"What was that all about, Gibbs?" Julia asked.
"Franks is at Battalion HQ now, with the Deputy Commander MCCDC, who is about to relieve the CO of his command – well suspend him from it anyway. And we are going to arrest the Sergeant Major!" He grinned triumphantly, "On me!"
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1224hrs EST, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (141724ZMar01)
Carolyn looked up as a sharp tap on her doorjamb broke her concentration, but on seeing the identity of her visitor, she smiled, "Come on in Loren, take a pew!"
Loren collapsed with a weary air and exhaled with a loud puff.
"That bad?" Carolyn said sympathetically.
Loren managed a sick grin, "Terri didn't tell us the half of it!" she exclaimed forcefully. "The woman's a nightmare!"
"Oh?" Carolyn asked cautiously.
"Yeah 'oh'. There's no doubt Carolyn that she's a genius. I mean that, a real honest to God genuine genius. She must have an IQ of more than two hundred!"
"That's impossible, IQs don't go that high!" Carolyn protested.
"No? Well, maybe they should," snapped Loren, "but she's got no social skills at all. For example, she despises the military and although I was at the Smithsonian as her guest in some sort of weird way, she not only didn't make me feel welcome, but she made no secret that she thinks the military are a bunch of beetle-browed Neanderthals. You can imagine how well that would go down with a panel!"
"Well, you've met some of our less… gifted enlisted in your time as an attorney, surely Loren."
"Of course I have, but that's just my point. When you deal with some of our less than gifted clients, you have to make allowances for them. She won't, and she lumps all of us, BS degrees and law degrees notwithstanding, all as lower forms of animal life. She talks down to everybody – including her boss. As far as she's concerned it seems that a PhD is just an indication that a person can do joined up thinking!"
"So you got on really well with her, then?"
Loren looked as if she was about to say something acerbic, and quite possibly insubordinate before she collapsed back into her seat, and gave a short bark of laughter.
"I suppose I was venting a bit," she admitted, "but seriously, if she doesn't watch how she speaks to the panel, she could, even with rock solid evidence to back up her testimony, alienate the panel so much that she could lose us the case!"
"Come on, you'll feel better with some food inside you. I'll buy you lunch. I understand it's meatloaf in the cafeteria today!"
"Huh, when isn't it?" Loren demanded.
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1312hrs EST, Cafeteria, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (141812ZMar01)
Loren put her knife and fork neatly on her plate, and then pushed it to one side, taking a sip of water from her glass, before she continued her story…
"And honestly, the look on his face when I laughed. I know I shouldn't have teased him like that, but God it was such a pathetic line, I couldn't help but laugh. And then of course, he got all pouty!"
"Oh, oh my," Carolyn wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, "What happened then?"
"Well, I kissed him goodbye and told him he could be grumpy all day but I'd still love him. Then he stormed out of the apartment and down the hallway, so I stuck my head around the edge of the door frame, and in the sweetest voice possible, I told him to drive carefully! Well, he just turned and looked at me, and oh, if you could only have seen his expression. I just wish I'd had a camera with me!"
Carolyn laughed again, "Oh that would have been so precious!"
Loren smiled in agreement but said, "But please, don't say anything about it to him, I know he's got a massive ego, but it's so fragile and so easily bruised!"
"Alright, not a word, I promise," Carolyn agreed, and mimed the turning of a key in her mouth... Then her eyebrows rose and she murmured, "Heads up!"
The cause of Carolyn's warning was the approach of Sarah MacKenzie, trying to hold a tray one handed as he made her way to the table occupied by the two blondes. Arriving at the table, Mac mumbled, "'S OK?"
Carolyn and Loren shrugged, "Yeah, I suppose so," Carolyn offered.
Mac carefully placed the tray holding two mugs and a glass on the table and then sat down.
"No minder today, Colonel?" Loren asked not quite sarcastically enough to count as insubordination.
Mac held up one finger in a plea for a moment's respite, and opened her purse, retrieving not only her drinking tube, but a legal pad and a pencil.
Sticking the drinking tube into one of the mugs on her tray, she quickly wrote on her pad and passed it to Loren.
"No, gave Harriet the slip. Wanted to 'talk' to you without her disapproving stare!"
Loren read the note and just said, "Why?"
Mac wrote again, "Despite everything between us, and believe me it wasn't always my fault, I still count Harm as a very good friend. If I want to keep that friendship, then I need to come to some sort of concordiat with you. I doubt we'll ever be friends, not really, but I want to apologise for the way I behaved to you earlier this year, and last year too. I'm sorry that I coined so many hateful and hurtful nicknames for you, and I am even sorrier that I enjoyed doing that so much. I am sorry."
Mac slid the pad over to Loren and then took a sip from her mug, and made a face.
Carolyn looked from cup to Colonel and said, "You're not really enjoying that… whatever it is, are you?"
Mac took the tube from between her kips, "Pro'ein drin'" she said.
"I don't what that is," Carolyn grinned, "but it sounds revolting!"
Mac scribbled on the pad that Loren had slid back to her, "You wouldn't believe just how bad it is!"
Loren waited for the by-play to end before she turned her pale blue eyes on Mac and almost pinned the older woman to her chair with their intensity. "Tell me Colonel, just why I should trust you, why I should even believe you on this?"
Mac regarded her for a few moments longer and then bent to her pad again, "Because Harm's friendship is too important to me to lose it!"
Loren read through Mac's last reply and then said slowly, "OK, I believe your reason. So for that reason, I am willing to call a halt to whatever we had going on – for the moment, until you can show me by more than words on paper!"
Mac nodded, and scribbled again, "Understand you're calling Temperance Brennan as a witness in the Coulter Case?"
Loren was puzzled and intrigued by the apparent non-sequitur, but merely nodded.
Mac wrote again, "She's a nightmare on the stand, even when she's testifying for you. But I learned a thing or two about handling her to show her evidence to its best advantage."
"You've worked with her before?" Carolyn asked in surprise.
"Yes, Bosnia, International War Crimes Commission" Mac wrote,
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1440hrs EST, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (141940ZMar01)
Commanders Rabb and Austin reporting as ordered, sir!
"At ease, at ease," the older man growled, and then relenting, after all it wasn't really their fault. He should have remembered from his early days at Falls Church that these two were trouble magnets. At least this time around neither of them had been shot, arrested or kidnapped by aliens. So… "Take a seat," he added gruffly.
"I haven't had a full report yet, and I'll expect yours by staff call tomorrow, but from what little I've gleaned from NCIS, you two have done a fine job, and in record time." He sighed, "It's just too damn bad that it took the death of a young woman to expose a situation that appears to have gone on for some time. And in some respects therefore, I regret that I'm taking you off the case."
"But, sir…" Harm protested, only to have his protest cut-off by an upraised hand. "Not my decision, Commander. I'd have preferred to keep you on it, but the CMC, who, I remind you, outranks me by two stars, has, in the light of your discoveries decided to launch a full scale USMC IG investigation into the running of Support Battalion at MCCDC. He fears among other things that because you are Navy, you might run into a 'Green Wall of Silence'. Nevertheless he is not unappreciative of your work and has asked to place commendations for your efforts in your permanent records." He regarded the crestfallen faces of his officers, and shook his head gently, "Your part in this whole sorry mess may not be quite over, Commander Austin – your exploits as Sergeant Pierce may yet see you on the stand in what I am sure is going to be a spate of courts martial.
"But in any case, good work, both of you. And that's not from the CMC, that's from me! In the meantime Commander Rabb, see Lieutenant Roberts, he has some translations for you pertinent to the Blair Article 32. Study them well, and make out a report with your recommendations for either the Article 32 or a move for dismissal. Oh, and Rabb, I'll be happy to take that report off you at staff call tomorrow too.
"Commander Austin, you need to start thinking about the Krennick case." He regarded them both for a few seconds, "Any questions?"
"No sir!" the two chorused.
"Good, dismissed!"
"The two rose from their chairs, paused, about faced and marched out of his office.
Chegwidden, propped his elbows on his desk and dropped his face into his hands for a few seconds, before slowly raisin his head, giving the impression that he was clawing at his face with his finger nails. He drew a deep breath and said to himself, "Well, that could have gone worse. A lot worse!"
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1458hrs EST, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (141958ZMar01)
On quitting the Admiral's office, Harm had made straight for the Galley, where he had poured himself a mug of coffee and heading back to his office had called for Bud Roberts to "Grab those damn translations, and get on my six!"
Now in his office he brought the Blair file from where it had gravitated to the bottom of his In-Tray, and opened it, riffling quickly through the pages of the bulky file until he came to Blair's statement.
"Right, Bud," he said, "what have you got, if anything that would corroborate Blair's story about a massacre within forty eight hours of his being shot down in that area?"
Bud thumbed through the pile of documents he had amassed. With the originals and the certified true translations, his stack of paperwork rivalled the original Blair file in its thickness.
Harm kept his exasperation under control, "This is no good Bud, we'll need to take this to the Conference Room, there's more room there, and we need to get all this into some sort of chronological order!"
"Yes, sir…but…"
"What is it Bud?" Harm, said impatiently as he closed the file and tucked it under his arm.
"Two newspaper articles and a police report all about a massacre at a village near the ejection site, two days after the crash sir!" Bud's voice quivered with excitement.
"It's a start, Bud, it's a start!" Harm agreed, "don't let those reports get away, now. With me! Tiner!"
"Sir?"
"Tell anyone looking for Lieutenant Roberts or me, that we're in the Conference Room, oh and re-route any 'phone calls for me to there, please!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1506hrs EST Commander Meg Austin's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (142006ZMar01)
Harm stuck his head around the edge of Meg's office door at the same time he tapped on the window. "Hey Meg, how busy are you with your prep for the Krennick case?"
"Well… I've got a fair bit to do… why?" Meg answered cautiously.
Harm looked down at the carpet and rolled his shoulders uneasily, "Well, it's those two reports the Admiral wants for the morning…"
"Go on." Megan said flatly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms defensively across her chest.
"Well, when he said he wanted them both tomorrow, I don't think he realised that Bud seems to have struck gold on the Blair case. We've only just started to look through the translations if the faxes he got from Bosnia, and we're already nearly snowed under… so I was wondering if you could just do a time line for me for the Quantico investigation, please Megan?"
"Harmon Rabb! Some things never change do they? Still trying to palm off your paperwork onto someone else!" Meg complained not sure whether she should really be cross, or let her amusement show through as well.
"No, I don't do that anymore, Meg, not as a regular thing, not, in fact since you left," he added with an attempt at sincerity.
"Yeah, right," Meg answered sardonically, "What you mean is that your new partner wouldn't put up with your bulldust!"
Harm's eyes turned serious, "Oh Megan, I am so, so sorry for skipping out early for lunch that day. If I'd been there like I was supposed to have been, he wouldn't have been able to shoot you!"
Megan's face softened, and her hand went, almost of its own accord to the scar at the back of her head, "Harm if you'd been there, he would have shot you too. After all he tried for Krennick when he saw her. And anyway, you got him in the end."
Harm moved into her office and perched on the corner of her desk, "Yeah, I got him," Harm agreed, "but it wouldn't have amounted to a hill of beans if he'd really got you. In an instinctive gesture his hand went out as if to cup Meg's cheek, but she caught hold of his wrist before he made contact with her.
"No, Harm, Meg's voice was soft, but firm, "We can't do this. I know you don't mean anything by it and so do you, but just look around, there are so many people here who don't know our background, our shared history, and remember even the appearance…"
"Yeah, I know … of impropriety…"
Meg forced a smile, "So get on and do your other report, I'll rough out a timeline for you, and that'll save you some work."
"Thanks, Meg, you're a real pal!"
Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1710hrs EST, Conference Room JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (142310ZMar01)
"There you are!" Loren exclaimed as she opened the door to the conference room, her briefcase and cover in hand and her raincoat draped over her arm.
Harm and Bud looked up in surprise, "Is it that time already?" Bud exclaimed in shock, "Sir… I gotta go… we need to pick up Little A J and…"
"Yeah, go on Bud, get home to your family, and thanks for your help, all of it!"
"Yeah… I mean it's OK sir… I would have done it anyway… Goodnight sir, goodnight Lieu,,, uh Loren?"
"Well that's a first!" Loren said as she dumped cover purse and coat, "What are you up to?"
"H'mm… what's a first?" Harm asked absent-mindedly as he compared the details of a translated police report with what seemed to be a corresponding description from Lieutenant Blair's statement.
"Bud… calling me by first name! I guess you must be rubbing off on him!" Loren smiled as she came around the table to stand beside him. "But you still haven't answered me… what are you doing?"
"Trying to correlate dates and places in Blair's statement with Bosnian Police and newspaper reports."
"OK... wouldn't that go faster with two working on it?"
Harm looked at her, "Yeah, it would, but are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure," Loren smiled, "What else would I be doing? Only going home to an empty apartment, and somehow I've got used to the idea of not doing that!"
"OK, you read the date and place off the report and call it out. If I can find a match, or even a near match in Blair's statement, then put the report on this stack here, and if there's nothing that adds up, then the report goes on this pile here!"
"OK, that shouldn't take too long," Loren said cheerfully.
"No it shouldn't," Harm agreed, "but once that's done, I need to write up a report on the case for submission tomorrow morning."
"Wow! You really did piss him off!" Loren said in mock awe, her eyes alight with that mischievous spark that Harm loved.
Harm grinned back at her, "Surprisingly enough, I don't think I did. He even gave me a 'well done' today!
"No!" Loren gasped, as a huge grin split her face.
"Well… it might have been a 'good work'…" Harm pretended to reconsider.
"Clown!" Loren scolded him fondly.
