43

Saturday 30 March 2001, 1345hrs EDT, Mess Hall, 29th Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC (301745ZMar01)

Mac led the way out of the mess hall and across the road to where she'd parked the Humvee, settling herself behind the wheel, she looked across at Loren, "Now, where exactly do we find Charlie Company?"

Loren opened her shirt pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper on which a basic black and white map of the 29th Battalion's area had been printed. Looking at for a minute she decided, "H'mm...down to the end of this street," she indicated with her thumb to the left, "and then take a right and Charlie Company's barrack blocks are the second and third buildings on the left after the parking lot."

"OK..." Mac checked her mirrors and then reversed the Humvee out of the parking spot, almost taking up the full width of the road as she swung the wheel to get it facing in the right direction.

Two minutes brought them to the parking lot alongside two rows of identical brick buildings, and after checking her map, Loren indicated one of the buildings with her chin, "That one there, ma'am."

The two officers mounted the three steps leading to the door at the gable end of the building to find themselves in a lobby, the far door of which was guarded by a table at which sat a Marine PFC in BDUs. He looked up as Mac and Loren entered and seeing Mac's oak leaves, he nearly did himself an injury as he leaped to his feet and came up into a brace, "Ma'am! Private First Class McNamara, ma'am!"

Mac nodded in recognition of his introduction and with a puzzled frown said, "At ease, Private, I thought this was the female barracks?"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am! On the second floor ma'am!" he flicked his eyes to his left, drawing Mac and Loren's attention to a flight of stairs.

Mac nodded again, "Thank you, Private," and turning to Loren added, "Let's go!"

The pair climbed the stairs to find themselves in a second lobby, or rather given that it was the second floor, landing would be a better term. But it too had easy access to the door protected by a table on which a telephone and behind which sat a female Marine. Like her male counterpart on the first floor, she was wearing BDUs, she dropped the graphic novel she was reading when she saw the two officers, and like her male counterpart she leaped to her feet, "Ma'am! Lance Corporal Mojica, ma'am!"

Mac eyed the Latina NCO severely, "What are your orders for this post, Lance Corporal?" she demanded.

"Ma'am! I may not allow any male personnel entrance to the female barracks. The only exceptions being the Officer of the Day, the Company Commander or his XO, or the Commanding Officer or his XO. I may not, eat, drink, smoke, or sleep at my post! I may not leave my post unless and until properly relieved, ma'am!"

"But you are allowed to read?" Mac asked disapprovingly.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" The young woman hesitated, "Permission to speak freely, ma'am?"

Mac's eyebrows rose slightly, but she nodded, "Permission granted."

"Ma'am, this is a twenty-four hour duty, split between two of us, to allow for meals and... and visits to the head. And at weekends, other than when my partner shows up, I could sit here for eight hours at a time and see no-one. So the First Sergeant cleared it with the OIC that we are allowed to entertain ourselves as long as the entertainment is quiet, ma'am! Some of us read, some study, others play solitaire, or checkers, left hand against right hand... and... and..."

"All right, Lance Corporal, at ease. Now, I'm Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, JAG Corps, this is Lieutenant Singer, likewise JAG Corps. We're here to speak to Corporal Santiago."

Yes, ma'am. The Corporal's bunk is the second door on the right, ma'am!"

Mac nodded her thanks and walked past the table, pushing open the door to enter a short corridor with two doors on either side, before it opened up into four squad bays. Lorn followed her and could barely resist a smile as she heard the Lance Corporal behind her heave a sigh of what Loren could only assume to be relief.

Mac rapped sharply on the Corporal's bunk door to be answered by a "Yeah, come in!"

Mac looked at Loren, a half-smile on her face and then opened the door and stepped through.

Corporal Santiago was dressed in sports bra and gym shorts with sneakers on her feet. Her hair was tied back in a pony tail and she was sweating profusely. Looking up from her braced arms press-up position, she swung easily and athletically to her feet. Pushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, she came to attention and asked politely, "Yes, ma'am?"

"Corporal Maria Santiago?" Mac asked.

"Yes, ma'am!" Santiago gave Mac and then Loren a swift visual inspection, "You're from JAG ma'am?" she asked Mac, "The Lieutenant's mill-rindes..."

"We are," Mac agreed, and if you've been expecting us, then you've probably got a good idea why we want to speak with you?"

Santiago picked up an olive drab towel lying across the foot of her bed and dabbed at the sweat on her face and throat before giving her arms a rub down, pausing for a few seconds as she answered, "Yes, ma'am, but I don't know what I can add to the statement I gave the MPs, ma'am. I was on my way back to barracks and I almost stepped on Lieutenant Carpenter. I checked for vital signs and found a pulse. I called the MPs and told them where I was, that I had found an injured female, and she needed medical help. I stayed on the scene until the MPs and the Corpsmen arrived. Then they took me to the Provost Marshal's office and I wrote out and signed my statement, ma'am."

Mac nodded, "OK, that sounds pretty reasonable. But we do have one or two further questions... Sit down, please Corporal, and we can go over your statement and see if you can remember any other details."

"Yes, ma'am!" Santiago sat on her bed, and indicating the wooden folding chair, she said "Please, take a seat too, ma'am... I'm sorry, Lieutenant, there isn't..."

"That's OK, Corporal," Loren said, leaning against the door and crossing her arms over her chest, while Mac settled herself on the chair, opened her brief-case and pulled put a pencil and legal pad. "I'm going to make notes of the questions I ask and the answers you give, Corporal. Just be honest with me; remember you are not in any trouble."

"Yes, ma'am."

"OK, first off, what were you doing in officer country at that time of the morning?"

"I'd been baby-sitting for Master Sergeant Halloran, ma'am, and I was on my way back here."

"That's kind of late for a school night, isn't it Corporal?"

"Yeah, kinda, but I'd grabbed a couple of hours shut-eye on the couch once I'd settled the kids, so I wasn't too tired."

"Uh-huh..." Mac scribbled a note, "And why did you cut through officer country, isn't that usually off-limits to enlisted personnel?"

"Uh... yes, ma'am it is. But it's between base housing and the battalion area, and it's the quickest route; going 'round by the road adds maybe twenty minutes to the walk." Santiago shrugged, "It was so late I didn't think anyone would see me, so I took a chance."

"What does your CO think of that?"

"He wasn't too impressed ma'am. I was on office hours yesterday morning, half-pay for two weeks, ma'am."

"Office hours?" Loren queried.

"Yeah, Article fifteen, equivalent to a Captain's Mast," Mac explained. "Now, Master Sergeant Halloran... I suppose he can verify your alibi?"

"Uh... well... he can for about half an hour after twenty hundred hours ma'am, and again for about fifteen minutes at zero one forty, forty-five, ma'am. But I was alone in his house, except for his two kids, between those times."

"How old are the children, Corporal?"

"Umm... Brideen is nine and Ramón is seven."

"I see... and where can we get in touch with the Master Sergeant?"

Mac had been expecting Santiago to say Battalion Headquarters, or Charlie Company Office, but instead the answer surprised her, "He's with the Second Force Recon, ma'am."

"Just what is your connection with Master Sergeant Halloran? How did you come to be baby-sitting for a Staff NCO from another outfit, Corporal?"

"Not him so much ma'am, but his wife, Josefina, is my mom's cousin."

"The Corps a family tradition?" Mac asked.

"No ma'am. Just myself. Josefina's being married into the Corps is just coincidence."

Mac nodded, "OK... Now, you say it was pretty dark that night?"

"Yes ma'am, there was no moon, and there were no street lights around the area where I found Lieutenant Carpenter, ma'am."

"Weren't you concerned being on your own, if it was so dark?" Loren asked.

"No ma'am. I can pretty well handle myself, and I had my cell phone with me."

"How does that make sense?" Mac asked.

Santiago shrugged, "I was using it as a flashlight, ma'am."

"So how come you didn't see Lieutenant Carpenter until you... uh... stumbled over her?"

"It's not a beam, like a regular flashlight, ma'am. It sort spreads like a pool, just enough to see the ground a couple of feet ahead..."

"But you didn't see the Lieutenant?" Mac pressed.

"No ma'am, she was wearing dark clothes, a sort of leather version of a jeans jacket, and dark sweats..."

"Did you know who she was?"

"Not right off, ma'am. It was only when the Corpsmen arrived, they checked her over and found her dog-tags."

"How come you didn't ID her? She's an officer in the same battalion." Mac challenged.

"Yes, ma'am, she is. But she's not in my Company. I seen her around of course and I guess I might have recognised her, but... she... she was such a mess ma'am; where she wasn't bruised, she was covered in blood. I reckon it took a lot of hate for someone to do that to her ma'am!"

"I see, thank you, Corporal. Anything you want to ask Lieutenant?"

"No ma'am!" Loren answered.

Mac put her notes away and stood, closing her brief-case, "Well, thank you Corporal. I don't think we'll need to speak with you again, but if we do, we'll let you know through your command."

"Yes, ma'am!"

The two officers turned to quit the bunk when Loren stopped, her forehead wrinkled in thought as she turned back toward Santiago, "Oh, just a couple of more things, Corporal, what were you wearing that night?"

"Uh... a blue button down shirt, a black sweater, jeans and sneakers, ma'am."

"Where are those clothes now?"

"The MPs took 'em ma'am, to let their forensics people check 'em out for whatever..."

"OK, thanks again, Corporal!"

Saturday 30 March 2001, 1352hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC (301752ZMar01)

Harm dumped the three sacks of groceries onto the kitchen table and heaved a sigh of relief. He switched on the coffee maker while he unpacked and made a start on putting away the groceries, until a loud gurgle alerted him to the fact that his coffee had brewed.

Pouring a cup of coffee for himself, he hitched himself onto one of the bar stools (imported from his old apartment) and considered the debriefing that the Admiral had conducted that morning.

Admiral Chegwidden had kept him nearly two and a half hours, grilling him about every decision he had made during his few days in the Big Chair. He had been particularly persistent in inquiring into Harm's reasons for partnering Colonel MacKenzie with Lieutenant Singer.

Chegwidden had listened patiently enough, for him anyway, to Harm's explanation. The only facet of his junior's decision has been to Harm's presumption that Mac couldn't be deployed before she passed her PRT.

"There are physical training facilities aboard LHDs, Commander," he'd said, "and she will be going as shipboard JAG, not a member of the amphibious assault group. I'll decide on whether or not she's capable of performing her duties afloat, not you! Understood?"

"Yessir!"

"Good! Now, what made you decide to partner her with Lieutenant Singer?"

Harm resisted the temptation to shrug as he answered, "More a matter of Hobson's Choice, sir. With Commander Imes and Lieutenant Barlow in Twenty Nine Palms, and Commander Austin needed to temper Commander Turner's rigidity, Mattoni is, despite his court room performance, most definitely not an investigator, that only left Lieutenant Roberts, Lieutenant Singer and the two newbies from which to choose. Roberts had his hands full mentoring Fairchild and Warren and dealing with that wrongful arrest and detention case. I thought it best we nip that one in the bud before it made the scandal sheets. So, when this case came up at Lejeune it made sense to send the Colonel and Lieutenant Singer."

"OK... I'll accept your reasons for sending Singer, but in light of Mac's recent past, you weren't worried that the case might be a little too... personal."

"Yes, sir, I did take that into consideration, but I figured if she could handle this then it was proof that she was back in the saddle." Harm paused, "And if I may speak freely, sir?"

"Go ahead, Commander!"

"Sir, there aren't that many cases when Mac, when Colonel MacKenzie, doesn't take it personally. Aviators, other women, dependency fuelled cases, abuse cases, discrimination cases... they all push her buttons, sir."

"H'mm... if I thought that were true, Mister Rabb, I would have had her re-assigned – permanently – long ago." Chegwidden said reprovingly.

"Yes, sir!" Harm said, marvelling at Chegwidden's ability to overlook Mac's past behaviour.

But that was all done with now, for better or worse. If the Admiral considered he had screwed the pooch, then he would just have to live with the consequences however fair or unfair he might think they are, after all life didn't come with a fairness guarantee! Besides, there were still dry goods to be stowed away and then, maybe, at last he could consider lunch!

In the meantime, as he opened one of the kitchen cabinets to put away the tinned goods he had bought, he wondered how Loren and Mac were getting on with their case, and possibly even more importantly, how they were getting on with each other.

Saturday 30 March 2001, 1425hrs MST, Base Medical Facility, Camp Lejeune, NC, AZ (301825ZMar01)

Mac tapped lightly on the door and as the office's occupant looked up she said, "Good afternoon, Commander, how's the patient today?"

"I do have rather more than one patient, Colonel, but if you mean Lieutenant Carpenter, there's no change I'm afraid." Lieutenant Carpenter's physician was a petite brunette in her early to mid thirties with a figure that caused many men, and a few women to give her a second look, and who gave off an air of bustling efficiency. Her face with large brown eyes, full lips and a determined jaw-line was attractive and framed by a shortish bob that the Marine Corps would have declared too long for its 'medium length' classification and too short for its 'long hair' definition. Her hands were ring-free; on duty she wore her wedding band and engagement rings on a slender gold chain around her neck, not visible when in peanut-butters and white lab-coat as she was today.

Doctor Frazier smiled to take any sting out of her words, as a Lieutenant Commander, she was outranked by Mac, only one step, but rank was still rank, and although doctors could bend a lot of navy regulations in the performance of their duty, insubordination was still insubordination. "Come on in Colonel, and you Lieutenant, and take a seat," the doctor indicated the two plastic chairs that stood in front of her desk.

Loren eyed them with disfavour,she had sent too many hours in those instruments of torture sitting by Mac's bedside. At the thought she cast a curious look at Mac, wondering perhaps if this case wasn't too close to the other officer for her comfort. Mac caught Loren's eye and raised an eyebrow in return but otherwise remained impassive. Frazier noted the looks and wondered what sort of history the other two officers shared.

"I can't give you details of Lieutenant Carpenter's injuries yet," she began. Mac and Loren both nodded. They were neither family nor senior to the Lieutenant in her own chain of command. The only times Frazier could break patient confidentiality would be when the patient gave her permission to do so, or less happily, if the patient succumbed to her injuries or slipped into a permanent vegetative state.

"But she's still unconscious and totally non-responsive. I'm beginning to consider shipping her to Bethesda for a more comprehensive neurological examination than I can mount down here." Frazier sighed and looked at Mac and Loren in turn. "I just don't have the same sort of facilities that they do in Bethesda, and we don't have a neurology specialist on strength."

"But you're not transferring her yet?"

"No... I'm still hoping that she'll start responding as she begins to recover from her injuries. She was pretty badly beaten and traumatised, and sometimes the body retreats into itself to allow itself time to begin the healing process." Frazier sighed, "Over two thousand years since Hippocrates, and there is still so much we just don't know about how the body works. And anyway, her family just arrived this morning, I figure giving them a few hours with her might help. She maybe will sense their presence and react to it. But if she still hasn't reacted to anyone or anything, then on Monday, I start making arrangements to move her."

Mac nodded, "Thank you doctor," she said as she started to stand, "If you've no objections, we'd like to see Lieutenant Carpenter for a few minutes?"

Frazier nodded in her turn,"Yes, it can't hurt, Colonel." she paused, "Colonel get the sonsabitches that did this to her!"

Mac looked the doctor straight in the eye, "We will, Doctor, we will!"

Saturday 30 March 2001, 1345hrs MST, Base Medical Facility, MCAS Yuma, AZ (301945ZMar01)

"Hey Jarhead, howya doin'?" Meg asked softly from the door to Victor's room.

Victor dropped the paperback he'd been trying to interest himself in and looked up, a grin flashing across his face for an instant before he scowled at his visitor, "I thought I told you to go back to DC!" he growled.

"And I told you it wasn't going to happen!" Meg responded with an unrepentant grin. She crossed the room and perched on the side of the bed, eyes twinkling with amusement, "Well, do I get a 'hiya sweetheart' or maybe even a kiss, or are you just going to slump there like some sort of grinch?"

"I do not slump!" Victor said indignantly, but nevertheless making an effort to slide up in bed .

"Of course not," Meg said indulgently, her smile playing about the corner of her lips, "But am I going to get a kiss or not?"

"If I do, are you going to stop bugging me about it?"

"Oh, yes! Of course!" Meg said happily, with her widest-eyed, most innocent expression.

Victor eyed her suspiciously, "Why don't I feel that I believe you?" he asked.

"Why, Victor Galindez, how ungallant of you-all!" Meg exclaimed happily in a fake southern-belle accent.

"Oh, come here, then!" Victor grinned.

Meg luxuriated in the feeling of being in Victor's arms, even if she had to be careful how tightly she held him in return, and it was to her regret that after a couple of minutes that she felt Victor's hands on her shoulders as he gently pushed himself away from her.

"I just realised, it's not visiting hours yet! How did you sneak in early? Not that I'm not happy to see you!" Victor asked.

"Yeah?" Meg demanded cynically, "Then how come the first words you said to me were that I should have gone home?"

"Ah, Meg, mi corazón, it is only because I worry about you... if anyone who knows us sees you here with me, then your career is just so much dust in the wind!"

"And what about your career?" Meg asked, "Doesn't that matter? So, if you're worried about anything, worry about your own career and let me worry about mine!"

"Nope, not going to work!" Victor shook his head and reached out to take one of Meg's hands in his, "I already told you, my career is done. I am not going to re-up at the end of my hitch... That's if they let me serve it out!" he finished.

"What do you mean?" Meg asked intently, her eyes wide open with anxiety.

"Well, like I said, this..." he indicated the area of his lower right ribs, "Is really just a scratch, but it brings up a question mark over whether I'll be able to stay in the Corps! And stop deflecting! You haven't told me how you got in here so early!"

"Oh, that nice Lieutenant Commander let me slide in," Meg said impatiently, "And I'm not the one who's deflecting! Now you-all just stop bee-essing me, and explain what you mean by maybe not being able to stay in the Corps! And remember, no secrets!" she added indignantly.

"You'd best tell her, Gunny, or I will!" said the 'nice Lieutenant Commander' from the doorway.

"Not fair, ma'am! You're ganging up on me! And what about patient confidentiality?" Victor protested.

"Tell me honey," Lieutenant Commander Winters asked Meg, "Is he always this stubborn?"

"Only when there's a 'y' in the day!" Meg managed a smile in spite of her worry.

"Ah hel... uh... heck, you might as well tell her then!" Victor surrendered with as much grace as he could muster.

"OK," the nurse pulled out one of the ubiquitous, blue, plastic and very uncomfortable chairs and lifted Victor's notes from the foot of the bed.

"Gunnery Sergeant Galindez was admitted with a gunshot wound to his abdomen. He was a very lucky Marine. The bullet didn't penetrate the gastric tract, and he avoided peritonitis. But the bullet did penetrate the lower lobe of the liver and the upper lobe of the right kidney. The penetration of the liver caused moderately heavy internal bleeding, and the Gunny was in shock when admitted. Not helped, "she said in a severe aside, "by the length of time it took to transport him from the back of beyond to this facility! Surgery was needed to remove part of the liver and part of the kidney, but the prognosis is good, and he should be able to live a normal life once he's recovered, although a decision as to his suitability to continue his service will have to be made by a medial review board. We've already started on his post-op recovery regime, and if all goes well, then we should be able to send him on hospital leave by the end of the week!"

"Recovery regime?" Meg queried, both alarmed and relieved at the news of Victor's injury and the prognosis.

"Yeah, we got him out of bed this morning, and had him take a gentle stroll down to the day room and back," Winters replied, "and the boy done good!"

Victor scowled again, not amused at being described as a boy by a woman whom he judged was about the same age as himself, "Yeah, an' it hurt like a bitch!" he grumbled.

"Well the more you do it, the less it will hurt!" Winters grinned, "So I'll take you for another little stroll before dinner!"

Victor closed his eyes and sank back on to his pillow and Meg could almost swear that she saw his silent lips form the word "Shit!" but decided to let that pass, instead, she turned towards Winters, "Thank you, Commander!" and then could have bitten her tongue. She must remember, she told herself, not to appear too familiar with navy or marine ranks and insignia.

Fortunately Winters didn't seem to notice Meg's observance of her rank, and with a smile she got up to leave her patient and his visitor alone, "Happier now?" she asked Meg.

"Yeah, I guess I am. Thanks."

Meg waited until the nurse had left the room , and then with a severe expression on her face she turned back to Victor, "And just when were you planning to let me in on the details of your 'little scratch'?" she demanded fiercely

"I... uh... well... It was... Umm..."

"Yeah! I thought so! Now you just listen to me Victor Galindez...!" Meg started, and then handed him, as he would in later years admit, one of the most comprehensive and thorough reamings-out he'd ever had during all his years in the Corps, and then, when she'd finished, she burst into tears, once more burying her face into his shoulder, and letting him murmur soft Spanish endearments into her ear while he rubbed comforting circles on her back.

Saturday 30 March 2001, 1617hrs EDT, Base Medical Facility, Camp Lejeune, NC (302017Mar01)

Mac and Loren spent only a few minutes at Lieutenant Carpenter's bedside. The grief, worry and anger on the faces of her mother, brother and sister were a little too much even for the bad-ass Marine that Mac liked to think she was.

All three were tall. The brother Loren guessed possibly even taller than Harm, but lacking the JAG Attorney's years of physical training he was much more slender, willowy, Loren though or even skinny. The sister, younger again, although at least as tall as Mac, but slimmer through bust and hips, barely looked old enough to have completed college; her hair was the same rich, chestnut-brown that escaped from the bandage around her sister's head and splayed across the pillow, and if she looked anything like her sister, then, Loren thought, the injured Lieutenant wasn't just attractive, she was truly beautiful, although with the bruises and stitches that covered her face, together with the burst lips and the swollen shut eyes it was impossible to tell what Lieutenant Carpenter had looked like, or might look like once the physical effects of her beating had worn off.

Mrs Carpenter was tall, although not as tall as her children. She seemed to be in her early fifties and was dressed smartly but unpretentiously in an open necked shirt, which showed a single strand of pearls around her throat, tucked in to tailored slacks. Her hair, worn short, was neatly brushed and showed just the beginnings of greying. All in all she reminded Loren of Harm's mom, having much the same look about her.

All three had stood as Mac and Loren entered the room, their faces all lightening with hope, which as Mac made the introductions soon faded.

"Mrs Carpenter, I know this is hard for you..." Mac began once they had all seated themselves.

"You know nothing about how hard this is!" the Lieutenant's brother interrupted harshly, fixing Mac with a hard stare and ignoring his mother's protesting "Robert – manners!"

"Actually, Mister Carpenter," Loren broke in ignoring Mac's furious gaze, "The Colonel does know a little about it. Six weeks ago, she was in your sister's position, and from exactly the same cause!"

"Lieutenant!" Mac warned her.

The angry young man had the grace to blush, waited until Mac switched her hard eyed gaze from Loren to himself and then with an obvious effort met her eyes and apologised, "I'm sorry, Colonel, I had no right to assume that..."

"It's all right, Mister Carpenter... or may I call you Robert?"

"Yes... and thank you,Colonel!"

"No thanks needed, you're worried, and angry, all of you, and it's natural to lash out when you're scared or angry, I'm sure nobody can blame you for that. I certainly don't!"

"That's more than generous, Colonel," Mrs Carpenter spoke quietly and evenly, but her hands were clenched so tight around the strap of her purse that her knuckle shone white.

"As I was about to say," Mac continued with a half-smile of acknowledgement at Mrs Carpenter, "I do know... or rather I have some idea of what you're feeling, but I'm afraid I need you to answer a couple of questions. At the moment we are going ahead with our investigation on the basic assumption that the cause of the attack on your daughter was something that happened here on base, or in connection with her military duties, but I have to ask if you are aware of anyone outside the military, in your daughter's personal life, maybe, who might have felt they had reason to attack her?"

Mrs Carpenter thought for a few moments and then shook her head, "No... she never mentioned that she was dating anyone. Sure she used to write and 'phone saying that she's danced with so and so at the O Club, or that she'd had a drink with another officer, but I can't ever remember her talking about the same guy more than once..."

"Mom! Peter Warrender!" Jennifer Carpenter broke in.

"Peter? Oh no!" Mrs Carpenter repeated in a shocked voice. "No! He could never do that! He was good boy! Besides that was over and done with years ago! You were still a freshman when they... when they..."

"When Marion threw his ring back at him after he hit her when she refused to sleep with him!" Jennifer said furiously.

Loren glanced anxiously at Mac as the she winced, that scenario was all too familiar to her, but when she spoke her voice stayed calm, "Where is this Peter these days, does anyone know?"

"I think he went back home after Marion called off the engagement," Mrs Carpenter said in a very uncertain tone of voice.

"And where was his home?" Mac asked

"Phoenix... or maybe Flagstaff, anyway one of the big towns in Arizona..."

Mac thought back to her read-through of Lieutenant Carpenter's SRB, "And your family is from Idaho, how and where did your daughter meet this guy?"

"At college, they both went to UCLA... they started dating in Marion's sophomore year, Peter was in his junior year at the time..."

Mac nodded and then as Robert who had been wearing a look of concentration on his face said, "You know, Mom, I'm not so sure he did go back to Arizona... I thought I'd seen him around a time or two..."

"Even if you did, Robert, it's a very long way from Pocatello to here!"

Before a family argument could start, Mac stepped, in. Closing her brief-case, she stood and said, "Thank you all, you've all been very helpful. I agree with you Mrs Carpenter, that Peter Warrender does not look like a likely suspect, but we'll run a check on him, even if it is just to rule him out!"

Loren waited until Mac had finished and with an encouraging smile added, "It's plain that you are all very worried, but Marion is in good hands here, and although her injuries are extensive, she'll get the very best of care, and I hope she'll be back with you in next to no time at all."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Mrs Carpenter replied, "We can hope too – and pray."

"Yes, ma'am," Loren agreed as she became aware that Mac was holding the door open and waiting for her.

Mac stayed silent until they had left the facility and had climbed into the Humvee before she turned to Loren, "What the hell did you think you were doing in there Lieutenant?" she asked furiously.

"At what point, ma'am?" Loren pokered up. She wasn't aware that she had done anything wrong, but this was definitely Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie talking to her, and angry Colonel at that, and not the Mac with whom she had gone shopping and been on such easy terms the previous evening.

"When you disclosed my medical history to a bunch of strangers who definitely didn't need to know!"

"If I overstepped, then I freely apologise, ma'am. But in my opinion they did need to know. The hostility and suspicion they felt towards us was rolling off them in waves, I chose a method that I thought would blunt their anger, make them see you, particularly, in a more sympathetic light, and become more co-operative," Loren explained.

Mac regarded her junior, still seething, but at least thinking over what the blonde had said, after some long moments, she nodded her head and said grudgingly, "All right, it worked this time. But next time – if there ever is a next time – choose another method, or at least give me a heads up so that I don't sit there for ten minutes with my mouth opening and closing like some sort of damned goldfish! Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Good, when we get back to the VOQ, you can call Falls Church and have Gunny check out this Peter... Oh, damn! You can't! Gunny's not there, is he?"

"No, ma'am, and it is Saturday, ma'am!"

"Damn!" Mac swore again, and starting the Humvee's engine, she rammed it into gear and peeled out of the parking lot.

"Where are we going?" Loren asked as she clapped a hasty hand over her Garrison Cap which was threatening to lift off her head, due to the speed Mac was driving at.

"Provost Marshal's office! I want to see the full forensics report!"!

"Yes, ma'am! But you might want to watch your speed, or the only thing we'll see there is a ticket!" Loren cautioned her.

Mac glanced sideways at her passenger, "Did you just tell me to slow down, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Loren agreed risking a grin.

"Then damn you too!" Mac said in frustration as she eased her foot off the gas.

Saturday 30 March 2001, 1922hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC (302322ZMar01)

It took Harm no more than a few minutes to wash the pots and dishes after his solitary dinner, and grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge on his way past, he picked up the handful of travel brochures he'd harvested from a couple of travel agents, and settled himself on the couch to start planning his and Loren's honeymoon.

"Decisions, decisions, decisions," he muttered to himself after half an hour. He wanted to go somewhere warm, somewhere off the beaten track, but all the destinations he'd looked at so far were all too... commercialised. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of the couch and started to look through the brochures for a second time. Five minutes later, just as he'd started to make a list of possibles and non-starters, the phone on Loren's desk shrilled.

With a disgusted "Typical!" he hauled himself to his feet and crossed the room, "Rabb!" he said curtly.

"Well... that's a pretty snappy welcome!" an amused voice said at the other end of the line.

"Oh... uh... hi, Frank..." harm said, feeling a bit on the foolish side, "Yeah, sorry about that... What can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing much, just thought I'd give you a heads up. Your Mom and I are going to be in the DC area next week for ten days or so. She's got some sort of deal coming up... I think she wants to open another gallery somewhere in the DC, Virginia, Maryland area. She's getting a lot of interest from a new crop of artists based on the east Coast, and the cost of shipping their work is higher than the returns she's getting on it."

"That's great Frank! Oh, I don't mean about Mom's costs, but that you'll be out here for a while."

"Yeah,I know what you meant, Harm!" Frank chuckled before he went on, "But you didn't sound so happy when you picked up the 'phone, what's biting you?""

Harm sighed, "It's the honeymoon... everywhere I like is too expensive and everything that isn't too expensive is... kinda tacky..."

"Are you short of cash, Harm?"

"No... no, not at all. I've barely touched my pay for months now, apart from rent and Sarah. Loren and I are happy eating the same kind of stuff, and since we moved in together, our overheads have shrunk... it's just that it's two weeks... and the prices are just..."

"Harm! This is a once in a lifetime deal! Are you really such a cheapskate?"

"Huh? No... of course not!" It hadn't even occurred to Harm that his thinking could be interpreted in that way.

"And you want the best for Loren, right?"

"Of course I do!"

"Well then the right honeymoon is worth every penny it costs!"

"Yeah, I s'pose so... No, I mean yes, you're right, of course!"

"Good! Now what did you have in mind?"

Harm counted off the criteria he had set himself for the honeymoon and Frank listened without interruption until Harm had finished.

"You know..." he said thoughtfully, that sounds just like the place I took your mom about three years ago?"

"You mean...?" Harm began.

"Yeah, just that!" Harm could even hear the grin in his stepfather's voice.

"Thanks Frank, I'll certainly check that option out."

"You do that, son. And your Mom and I will see you next week!"

Harm replaced the receiver in its cradle and bent over the coffee table to tidy up the sprawling pile of travel brochures, but before he had even laid a finger on them, the phone rang again.

Shaking his head in bafflement – how had it known to ring at just the right moment for maximum inconvenience he wondered, and then grinned at the absurdity of that conceit.

Picking up the phone for the second time that evening, he said "Rabb," but this time the amusement in his voice made it far more welcoming.

"Hey, Mister Lawyer man, you busy? I've been trying to call you for the last twenty minutes!"

"Oh, Frank called. He just wanted to tell us that he and Mom will be in the DC area next week for ten days or so."

"Oh, that's great... I really need to get to know your mom better!"

"Loren, don't worry about Mom, she already likes you. And even if she didn't, she's not the one who's marrying you!"

"Good job too!" Loren chuckled, "Can you imagine the Admiral's face if I told him that I was marrying your mom?"

"I druther not imagine the Admiral's face under any circumstances right now!" Harm said with possibly a little more force than he'd intended.

"Bad day, huh, want to tell me about it?"

"Nope, I druther forget all about it!"

"OK... but tell me, how come it took Frank twenty minutes to tell you that he and your Mom were visiting."

"It didn't... we got to talking about my favourite subject!"

"Oh... and what's that?"

"You." Harm said simply.

"Oh!" Loren's gasp was clearly audible and Harm waited for her answer.

"Damn it, Harm! That wasn't fair, catching me off guard like that. At least when we're face to face I can usually tell when you're going to say something impossibly sweet! Makes me feel like I ought to catch a red-eye straight back to DC, except that Mac would probably write me up for being UA!"

"No probably about it, sweetheart! But I feel the same way. I miss you, Loren Singer."

"And I miss you too, Harmon Rabb, and I love you, and I'm going to hang up right now, 'cos I don't want to start crying!"

"I love you too, Loren Singer! Good night!"

"G'night Harm!"

Saturday 30 March 2001, 1949hrs EDT, Female VOQs, Camp Lejeune, NC, (302349ZMar01)

Loren had just finished pressing a new set of Peanut Butters for the morning when a knock came at her door. Crossing the room she peered through the Judas Hole, and seeing, to her mild surprise, Mac in what appeared to be civilian dress.

"Ma'am?" she asked politely.

"I just wondered whether you were in the mood to eat this evening, Loren?"

"Uh... yeah... what did you have in mind, ma'am?"

"That's Mac," Mac said hoping to make it clear that she was entirely over her snit from that afternoon, "And what I had in mind was dinner off base." She grinned conspiratorially, "I've been getting some intel on local places, and the best I've heard is a Mongolian Grill in Jacksonville. Apparently they do great steaks, and it's a ten-dollar eat all you want deal!"

"Ohhh, I am so going to have to do some serious working out when we get out of here! You are a bad influence on me!"

"Yeah, I know. But it's fun to kick over the traces once in a while!"

"I dunno, Mac, I mean all I've got are jeans and a sweat shirt."

"Have you looked at what I'm wearing?" an identically dressed Mac asked, "come on, I'll phone for a camp cab!"

Loren still looked dubious.

"Come on, I won't tell Harm if you don't," Mac promised.

"What happens at Lejeune, stays at Lejeune?" Loren queried.

"Damn straight!" Mac grinned.

Loren shook her head, she had never seen the by-the-book Marine so relaxed and so... so... girlish before. For a moment the thought crossed her mind that Mac had been drinking, but then she shook her head, Mac was a recovering alcoholic, and in all the time Loren had known her, she had never slipped off the wagon.

"Oh... all right then, I could use some dinner!" she admitted, as she threw the last of her objections to the wind.

Sunday 31 March 2001, 0633hrs EDT, Female VOQs, Camp Lejeune, NC, (311033ZMar01)

Loren opened bleary eyes and flailed her hand about until it found the annoyingly persistent cell phone ringing on the night-stand next to the bed. Forcing her eyes to focus, she saw it wasn't an incoming call, but the alarm that she had set the night before after returning from the restaurant with Mac. And it was entirely Mac's fault that she'd set the alarm for the middle of the night. After that huge meal, and yes, Mac had been given good intel, the steaks were to die for, she needed to make a start on running off some if the excess calories.

"Damn you, Harmon Rabb!" she grumbled as she stripped off her T-shirt and gym shorts, "This is all your fault for making me suddenly health conscious!"

Shivering in the early morning chill, Loren hastily pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a fresh T-shirt, and sitting on the edge of the bed she bent to tie her shoe laces, and as she did so, casting a glance out of the window and up at the clear blue sky. Chilly it might be right now, but Loren was familiar enough with the North Carolina climate to know that once the sun had climbed a little into the sky the day would once again turn out to be hot and humid.

With that in mind, Loren decided that forty minutes would be long enough for a run today and setting the timer on her wrist watch for twenty minutes, she pulled her hair back into a pony tail and securing it with a rubber band, trotted out the door and using the steps to the building, she carefully stretched her leg muscle before starting the timer.

It seemed to her that she had barely started to breathe deeply when she became aware of hurrying footsteps behind her. Glancing over her shoulder she saw a determined looking Mac closing her down. Slowing her pace slightly Loren waited for Mac to catch her up, but instead of falling into step with Loren, Mac pounded on past at a speed that was out of Loren's grasp for more than a hundred yards or so, flinging a cheery, "Good morning, Loren" over her shoulder as she forged ahead.

Loren shook her head. Mac had torn into her food last night, even going back to the buffet for a refill. By Loren's reckoning Mac must have wolfed down about two pounds of rib-eye steak with sides of mushrooms, tomatoes and peas, as well as a large bowl of coleslaw and a heaped platter of fries. Loren had consumed rather less than half that amount, and here she was feeling heavy, sluggish and slow, yet Mac had sped off ahead as if she'd only just nibbled on a green salad and a slice of low-calorie bread. 'Life just isn't fair!' Loren huffed to herself as she gritted her teeth and tried to pick up her pace.

Sunday 31 March 2001, 0637hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC (311037ZMar01)

Harm bounced out of bed at the first chirp of his alarm clock, and throwing open the drapes he cocked critical look at the sky. Pursing his lips, he considered what he saw, and then nodded judiciously. His decision made, he stepped out of his boxers and yanked his tank top off over his head. He pulled on gym shorts and a sweat shirt, and then stepping into jogging bottoms, he grabbed his keys and headed for the Lexus.

Twenty minutes later he pulled into the parking lot at Duke Ellington Bridge, and stripping off his jogging bottoms, he went through a five-minute warm up exercise before he turned and jogged up the Rock Creek Park Trail, gradually increasing his speed until after about fifteen minutes he hit a pace that he knew he could comfortably keep up for ten miles or so. As he ran, he found his mind drifting to thoughts of Loren and he smiled as he imagined her tucked up warm and bed with that rosy-faced, sleepy Sunday morning look that she had and which he loved so much.

Sunday 31 March 2001, 0748hrs EDT, Mess Hall, 29th Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC, (311148ZMar01)

"Oatmeal!" Mac declared in disgust as she looked at Loren's breakfast choice.

"Sure. It's a good filling breakfast, a good source of roughage, and a good counterbalance to all that fat and cholesterol I got through last night!" Loren defended her choice and looking askance at the bacon, sausage, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes and hash browns on Mac's plate, and the side plate with two sugar-coated jelly doughnuts on it.

"Hey what can I say?" Mac smiled as she intercepted and interpreted Loren's look, "That run this morning gave me an appetite!"

Loren shook her head, "How do you do it! I try to watch what I eat and have to be really careful – you know the old saying, a second on the lips, a lifetime on the hips, but you... you have probably the world's worst diet, and you stay as slim as a damn twenty-year old!"

"I just have a great metabolism," Mac protested, and I'd be dumb not to take advantage of it!"

"Great?" Loren muttered, "Unbelievable, I'd say!"

"Hey, I heard that!" Mac grinned.

"Good, you were meant to!" Loren shot back across the table at her.

Mac merely grinned and concentrated on her breakfast.

At last with plates and bowls cleared, the two sat back to enjoy what the Mess Hall called coffee, and Loren taking a sip was vaguely comforted that it wasn't as bad as Pop Walchowski's purple poison, and asked Mac, "What's the plan for the day?"

"Well, Battalion HQ should be manned if it's only by a telephone orderly. I need a desk I can sit at, and a power socket for my lap top. I want to get started on our preliminary report while the details are still fresh in my mind, and I want for us to go over the statements and reports we got together yesterday to see if there are any anomalies, and then I want to make a call to Second Force Recon, see if we can't track down Master Sergeant Halloran.

Sunday 31 March 2001, 1017hrs EDT, Somewhere on the military reservation, Camp Lejeune, NC, (314178ZMar01)

"This a friggin' disaster!" the older man growled at the four younger men squatting on the ground and listening to him. "You friggin' pussies, didn't have the balls to finish the job!"

"Hell, we thought she was finished!" one of the others spoke up in defence of himself and his companions.

"Anyway, it weren't supposed to be like this!" one of the others complained. "All we wanted to do was sell a few Humvee parts and make a little extra cash. No-one said nothing about killing no officers!"

"Well, I'm sayin' it now! Y'all got a problem with that – pussy!"

The younger man blanched at the ferocity in the older man's voice, and at the inherent threat in his words.

"No, I ain't sayin' it's a problem. I'm jest sayin' that we..." he looked around for support that wasn't forthcoming, "that I didn't expect it to come to this!"

"Yeah, well, once that bitch got to snoopin' she was getting' too close fer comfort, and she had to be... dissuaded!"

"Yeah, mebbe so, but now we got damned NCIS crawlin' all over the place, an' they've sent two hot-shot JAG lawyers down from Washington to do their own snoopin'," a third younger man broke into the conversation.

"Lawyers? What kind of lawyers?" the older man sneered,

"Two wimmen. One of 'em's a Navy Lieutenant, the other is a Light Colonel!"

"Layers an' wimmen? Hell, I could take 'em down my own self!"

"Might not be a good idea," the blonde guy objected, "Take down a Light Colonel, an all hell is gonna break loose!"

"Yeah, we might be better off putting a... a temporary hold on things until the trail goes cold."

"Nope. Not goin' to happen. My guys still want all the Humvee parts they can get. An' none of you ain't come up with a plan to get hold of them fifties yet, neither!"

"That jest ain't gonna happen, neither!" the sandy-haired man objected, "We've said before that there's no way, no how that any of us can lay our hands on half a dozen Ma Deuces, an' it's too damn risky to try an' bring anybody else in. Not now that Lieutenant's in hospital! There's jest too much damned heat!"

"Is that so?" The older man hissed through his teeth. "Now listen up you pussies, if you don't come up with a plan to get those fifties, then I'm gonna be keepin' all the profit from our little bit of private enterprise, an' there won't be any of you in a position to argue about it or even ask for your share. Got it?"

The four looked at each other, each one clearly understanding the threat. "Yeah got, it" replied the sandy-haired individual.

"Good. Now, as fer that bitch lyin' in hospital, how difficult can it be fer one of you to slip into her room and hold a piller over her face fer a minute or two, or pump an empty syringe into an IV?"

"Damn' difficult!" the oldest of the four objected. "She's in intensive care, that means there's doctors and nurses swarming all over the place twenty-four seven! There isn't one of us has got an excuse to go in there, we aren't in her company, so we can't even pretend to be concerned Marines asking about our officer!"

"Friggin' negatives again!" the rapidly becoming exasperated older man snarled. "Jest like them friggin' weapons! Listen pussies, stop thinkin' up reasons why stuff can't be done, an' start thinkin' up ways to make 'em happen! Now, get outta here!"

He stayed where he was for a good ten minutes after the others slipped out of the clearing, listening for the sound of their car engine. He grunted in satisfaction as he heard it, but even then he backed out of the little clearing, and made a wide circle around it as he checked for the presence of anybody else. Eventually he gave a grunt of satisfaction and slipped almost silently through the undergrowth to where he had parked his truck.

Sunday 31 March 2001, 1142hrs EDT, Battalion Headquarters, 29th Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC, (311442ZMar01)

Mac's prediction had been right. Battalion Headquarters was manned by a Lance Corporal performing the duties of telephone orderly. He had sprung to meet their requests, stipulating only that he didn't have the authority to use on of the private office, and would they please not mind using the general office. He would respect their privacy as much as he was able.

He had been very helpful, even coming up with a trailing power led to allow Mac's lap top to be plugged in at the wall socket which was otherwise too far from the desk to be accessible, and then just under half an hour ago he had produced a tray bearing two mugs of steaming hot coffee that he swore was fit to drink.

In the interval, Mac and Loren had carefully gone over the various reports gleaned from the MPs and the Medical Facility, as well as the witness statement from Corporal Santiago, which had now been supplemented by the questions Mac had asked her.

Mac had grunted in satisfaction as she read the report on the forensic examination of Corporal; Santiago's clothing. There was a small patch of blood on the right cuff of both sweat and shirt, as well as on the right thigh of her jeans. All consistent in the forensic examiner's opinion with her turning the body over as she checked for vital signs.

"Something good, ma'am?" Loren asked adding the honorific in recognition of the Lance Corporal's presence at the far end of the office.

"Yeah, the forensic report backs up Santiago's statement and the answers she gave to my questions." I had a good feeling about that marine, and I'm glad the evidence points away from her!"

"So far," Loren corrected politely.

"Yeah, so far... but I still have a good feeling about her!" Mac declared.

"On the subject of evidence pointing away or even to someone, what about this ex-fiancé, seems from what the younger Carpenter daughter was saying that he has a tendency to violence towards women?"

"Yeah. Damn Gunny for getting shot... I really could do with someone to do some digging..." her voice trailed off as a thought crossed her mind, "OK, he hasn't got the law enforcement network that Gunny's got, but what he has got is computer smarts... They might work just as well in this case!"

"Who's that?" Loren demanded

"Bud... Lieutenant Roberts," Mac said with a cheerful grin.

"Roberts?" Loren exclaimed in open disbelief, "That... that duffer...?"

"First off, don't let Harm hear you call him that! He counts Bud Roberts as a friend and he's damn' proud of the progress Bud has made. Secondly, don't underestimate him as an attorney, he might just hand you your head on a plate in court one day. He's learned a lot from Harm. Thirdly, despite his apparent geekiness, Bud Roberts is one very smart man. And as far as his skill with computers goes, I reckon he could give the so-called experts at Langley a damn good run for their money!"

"You are kidding, right?" Loren asked in surprise.

"No, I'm not kidding at all. I realise that you and Harm have been wrapped up in each other, and that you don't seem to care for either Bud or Harriet, and I know that we've all been pretty busy at work, but take the time to look around you when you get back to the office, see how Harm treats him – and her. Don't forget that Harm is also Godfather to little A J Roberts, and until pretty recently we, Harm and I, were frequent guests at their place!"

Before Loren could reply, the Lance Corporal at the other end of the room covered the mouthpiece of the telephone he'd answered while the two attorneys were talking, and called out, "Colonel, ma'am! There's a call for you!"

Mac raised her eyebrows as she looked at Loren, but quickly stood, "Thank you, Lance Corporal!" Stepping quickly to the phone, she took it from the young NCO, who as quickly stepped back to give her privacy.

"MacKenzie," she announced herself

"You one o' them fancy lawyer ladies that come down from Washington?"

"I'm an attorney, yes," Mac agreed furrowing her brow, whomever was talking to her was making an effort to disguise his voice. She made an urgent 'come here' gesture to Loren, and then pumped her fist in the air to indicate the need for speed.

"Yeah, but is you one o' them tryin' to find out who hurt that Lieutenant Lady?"

"We are, yes," Mac agreed, tilting the ear piece slightly away from her head so that Loren could hear the voice on the other end too.

"Yeah, well. There's some fellers who ain't jumping for joy that she ain't dead, an' the word on the street is that they're fixin' to try to finish her off – real soon!"

"Who are you?" Mac demanded.

"Don' matter who I am, you bin warned!" the voice said and then Mac heard the click in her ear that told her that the call had been ended.

"Did you get that?" she asked Loren.

"Yes!" Loren replied.

"Good, Lance Corporal get me the number for Intensive Care at the base hospital! Quick! And once you've done that, get me the duty officer at the Provost Marshal's office!"

"Yes, ma'am!"