SARAH
RABB'S FARM
BEALLSVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA
Sarah wouldn't normally call herself a particularly light sleeper, but she awoke fairly quickly at the sound of a car pulling up in front of her house. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, brushing sleep from her eyes as she tried to focus on the red digital display, her eyes widening as she took note of the very early hour. Purposefully, she rose from bed and grabbed her robe, laying over the back of a chair, and quickly put it on, belting it at her waist.
Glancing out the bedroom window, she saw two men get out of the car, the first thing occurring to her that neither man appeared to be wearing a uniform of any kind. Her mind flashed back on the day nearly sixty years earlier when two Naval officers had shown up on her doorstep. It had been shortly after breakfast and she'd been in the front yard, hanging the wash on the line while keeping a careful eye on her two-year-old son playing in the grass with the family dog. She'd known before they'd even said a word what they were there for, but she'd maintained her composure in front of her son, waiting until her parents had arrived to look after him before going off by herself to cry for her lost soul mate.
Having lost both her husband and son in the service of their country and having two grandsons in the military, one in a prisoner of war camp half a world away, it was almost second nature to be wary of unknown visitors and whatever news they might be bringing. She didn't worry about crime – there just wasn't much in the area and Sarah knew she was hardly a likely target of criminals anyway. Studying the two men as they got closer to the front porch, their features illuminated by the porch light, she felt her heart rise into her throat. They might not have been wearing uniforms, but their bearings screamed military to her, especially the one who appeared to be the older of the two, right down to his regulation military haircut. Mentally saying a quick prayer, she headed downstairs, a knock sounding on the front door when she was halfway down the stairs.
She opened the door and the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach grew stronger when she saw their drawn and worried faces. Whatever these strangers were there for, it was not good news. "May I help you?" she asked.
"Mrs. Rabb?" Gunny asked. At her nod, he continued, "Ma'am, I'm Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez and this is Petty Officer Jason Tiner. May we come in?"
Sarah nodded mutely, stepping aside so they could enter. She recognized both names from Harm's letters and phone calls and knew instinctively that this was about him. She'd spoken to him earlier in the week and knew he'd been planning to go out to a carrier for his quals. They'd had an unusually short conversation and she'd known something had been bothering him, but he hadn't given her the chance to press him about it, although he'd hinted that he might come up to the farm for part of the holiday weekend.
She led the two men to the living room and gestured for them to sit on the couch, taking a seat in an armchair. "This is about Harm, isn't it?" she asked, cutting right to the chase.
They exchanged a slightly startled glance before Gunny nodded. "Yes, Ma'am," he replied. "Commander Rabb had gone out to the USS Patrick Henry to complete his carrier landing qualifications." He paused and Sarah nodded, indicating that she knew that much. "Well, he was returning from the carrier when his Tomcat got caught in a storm and experienced systems failures. He is believed to have gone down about one hundred miles off the coast of North Carolina."
Sarah clasped her hands in her lap tighter, but otherwise had no visible reaction. "What about search and rescue?" she asked. "If he went down in a storm, is weather going to be a problem for the rescue teams?"
Gunny hesitated, but realized from the questions she was asking that she wouldn't want the truth softened or deflected. "We've been in contact with Admiral Chegwidden at JAG headquarters several times since we left Washington," he said. "The last word we had was that Lieutenant Hawkes, your grandson's radio intercept officer, was picked up, but there was no sign of Commander Rabb before the team was called in because of the weather. As soon as the weather clears, the Henry will send its team back out to be joined by the Coast Guard."
"I see," Sarah said calmly, despite being inwardly troubled by the news. "And how long are they estimating that Harm can survive under those conditions?"
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Gunny said, managing to keep the hesitancy out of his voice. "I'm not an expert in that area and Admiral Chegwidden didn't say." The truth was, when A.J. had called to give them the latest news on the rescue efforts, neither of them had wanted to ask what the odds were. They'd both been in the military long enough to be pretty sure that they weren't good, but as long as they didn't have concrete information on that score from A.J., then they could honestly answer that they didn't know.
Sarah sensed that he was hedging on that point, but didn't press the issue. As long as there was no word that Harm was otherwise, she was going to believe that he was still alive. She thought that she would know if he were dead. Although she would hardly call herself a believer in the mystic, she did believe that she could feel when something happened to members of her family. She'd known deep down, even before the Naval officers had shown up in 1942, that her husband was gone, just as she'd sensed that her son was somehow still out there for years after he'd been shot down. Perhaps that had been why it had been easier for her to accommodate Harm's insistent belief that his father was still alive, not that she blamed Trish in the least for wanting to move on with her life. She'd even felt something troubling in the hours before Frank and Trish had shown up to inform her about Harm's crash in 1991 and although she only knew him from a few photos, letters and phone calls before he'd been taken prisoner, she thought she would know if something happened to Sergei as well.
"Do Trish and Frank know yet?" she asked.
"Yes, Ma'am," Jason spoke up for the first time. "The Admiral called them from JAG shortly after he received the news. They're on their way to Washington and should be arriving sometime after daybreak."
"So they get a phone call and I get a visit in person?" she asked, expressing mild amusement, sensing Trish and Frank's hand in it.
"I believe they were concerned about you receiving the news and wanting to drive to Washington in the middle of the night, Ma'am," Gunny explained. "Jason and I volunteered to drive up here …. It gave us something to do while waiting for news."
"Trish and Frank worry too much," Sarah said emphatically. Her eyes fell on an end table, where several photos in frames were clustered on top. She picked up one, a folding frame with four sections, containing pictures of her husband, son, and both grandsons, all in their uniforms. "I've already out-lived both my husband and son and my youngest grandson is currently sitting in a prison camp in Chechnya, a country that a year ago I probably couldn't have pointed out on a map. I've known from the day Harm first put on his Navy uniform that something might happen. I pray to God everyday that it won't, but I've always been prepared for the possibility."
"Yes, Ma'am," Gunny said, not sure what else to say. Despite their combined years in the military, neither man knew what the right words were for someone who'd lived so long, seen so much tragedy in her life.
Sarah set the frame down and squared her shoulders. "It's probably earlier than you're used to, but would you gentleman care for some breakfast before we head to Washington?" she asked. "It won't take me long to whip something up."
Gunny didn't even hesitate before he replied, "Thank you, Ma'am. That would be appreciated." Despite sharing driving duties on the way up, they were both closing in on twenty-four hours since they'd gotten any significant amount of sleep and they knew refueling on something more substantive than the chips and sodas which had sustained them on the drive wouldn't be a bad idea.
"If you'll excuse me for a few minutes," she said, heading upstairs to change.
After she was gone, Jason exhaled sharply, relieved that was over. "She's a strong and determined woman," he commented idly.
Gunny nodded. "Remind you of anyone?" he asked.
"I guess it runs in the family," Jason replied with a half smile. His eyes were drawn to the frame Sarah had been looking at and his expression fell. "I just wish fate would be a little kinder to a family that's already been through so much."
Upstairs in her bedroom, Sarah picked up a well-worn Bible from her nightstand. It had been in her family for over a hundred and fifty years and had been presented to her, as the oldest child in her family, the day she'd married. She'd dutifully recorded important family dates in the front pages – her marriage date, of course, her son's birth, her husband's death, her son's marriage to Patricia Reed, her older grandson's birth. Two dates, although nearly twenty years past, had only been recently added to the book – her son's death in mid-1982 and Sergei's birth later that year.
That's where the family history ended. There were no further marriage entries, no births of great-grandchildren recorded. With a choked back sob, she sank down on the edge of the bed. For a few moments, she clutched the Bible to her chest and let the tears fall as she closed her eyes and prayed for her grandson's safe return. She then took a deep breath, set the Bible down, wiped the tears from her eyes and set about getting dressed.
-----
SOMEWHERE IN CHECHNYA
Colonel Mikhail Vonikoff stalked through the camp with an air of impatience, forcing the man following him to practically run to keep up. There was hardly any glory to be had in watching over a bunch of prisoners and he was tired of the attention his camp had garnered since December, when the capture of a simple Russian sergeant had drawn notice from officials in the American government. How were his troops to have known that the helicopter pilot they'd captured was the half-Russian son and brother of American Naval officers? His superiors insisted that he had to take extra care with this particular prisoner and put up with occasional visits from International Red Cross workers and the occasional American unofficially checking on conditions at the camp and on that prisoner specifically. The higher-ups thought it would show the Americans, who had stayed out of the Russian-Chechen conflict thus far, how much more just the Chechens were than the barbaric Russians who had invaded their homes and bombed their cities to rubble.
Vonikoff walked along the fence which cordoned off what was officially an 'exercise' pen, where the prisoners were herded twice a day to walk in the sunshine. Unofficially, and away from the view of outside observers, it wasn't unusually for prisoners to be left out there overnight, depending on the general mood of the guards and restlessness of the prisoners. Restless prisoners usually were less so after a night spent in the chilly mountain air.
Sergei was using the pen for its official purpose, walking briskly along the fence line. He took whatever opportunities he could find to keep his strength and agility up. His mother had told him the story of how his father had escaped from a Russian prison camp after nearly eleven years in captivity, information she'd learned from Harm the first time she'd met him, and Sergei was determined that as long as he was alive, his goal would be getting out of prison through whatever means necessary. Maybe he'd even take his brother up on the offer to move to America and attend college. His mother would probably like that, preferring him to be safe halfway around the world than facing an uncertain future in the Russian Army.
The thought of his mother brought a half smile to his face. He knew from the occasional visits from aid workers and the officials working to obtain his release in a prisoner exchange that she was fine, if extremely worried about him. He also knew that Major Sokol had someone who gave her periodic updates on the efforts to get him released. For so long, his mother had been his only known family and they were very close.
He slipped a hand into the pocket of his tattered jacket and pulled out the picture of his parents that he always carried with him. He'd been surprised that it hadn't been taken from him when he'd been captured, until he'd been told by a Red Cross worker that the Chechens had known that he was half-American even before he'd been taken to the camp. He suspected that the Chechens were trying to show the Americans that they were the good guys in the war by taking relatively good care of him, the upside being that everyone in the camp got treated just a little bit better when international observers were watching. The downside was that the rest of the prisoners seemed to know that he was the reason for the better treatment and it set him apart from the others, many of whom eyed him with suspicion, wondering if he was going to sell them out to their captors in exchange for his own freedom. It was a lonely existence, but Sergei got through it by physically and mentally preparing himself to be free someday and by dreaming of the farm in Svischevo where he'd grown up and by imagining America with all its gleaming monuments and freedoms that still seemed to be a distant dream to most Russians.
"Zhukov," Vonikoff called out when he caught sight of Sergei a few feet away. Sergei turned towards the shout, hurriedly stuffing the photo back in his pocket, relaxing slightly when he recognized the man accompanying the camp commander as a minor official from the American embassy, in actuality a CIA agent who owed Clayton Webb a few favors, a minor enough official that it wasn't worth the trouble for the Chechens to try and hold him, as far as they knew at least. He should have suspected something was up when he was called by name. On a good day, prisoners were usually addressed by the Chechen equivalent of 'Hey, you!' On a bad day, the language could be quite derogatory. Being addressed by name was just for the visitor's benefit.
Feeling the eyes of his fellow prisoners on him, he walked over to the two men, coming to attention in front of the Colonel. That had been one of the first lessons he'd learned in the camp. One of the prisoners who had been brought in at the same time as him had shown what the Chechen guards had considered a definitely lack of respect and had been beaten, later dying of his injuries. Although it galled him to show any kind of respect to the Chechen terrorists, he rationalized it by acknowledging that he didn't want the kind of freedom death would bring. That only brought more stares and whispers from the other prisoners. But he would do whatever it took to stay alive, short of selling out his country.
Vonikoff acknowledged Sergei with a slight nod of his head and took a step back, in a show of allowing them privacy to talk. Not that he would have understood a word they were saying – although all of the people who had ever checked on Sergei spoke Russian in order to communicate with camp officials, they always communicated with him in English, which very few Chechens spoke. As long as Sergei didn't try anything overt, he was rarely questioned about the content of such discussions. On the few occasions when he was asked, he reported simply that they were asking after him for news to pass to his family, which is what most of the conversations did consist of. None of his visitors were about to go out on a limb for him to help him escape. Harm might have, he was reasonably sure, but his brother was in America.
"How are you, Sergeant Zhukov?" Daniel Mason asked, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. He turned and offered one to Vonikoff, who readily accepted.
"Fine," Sergei replied. "The weather's getting better." The sun was peaking out through the clouds and the mud created by the heavy rain at the beginning of the week was finally drying.
Mason sighed, dangling his cigarette between his fingers. "Major Sokol asked me to come," he said. "I have news for you – from America."
"My brother?" he asked, curling his fingers around the links of the fence, realizing that it could only be bad news. "What happened?"
"He was on his way back home from an American Naval ship in the Atlantic Ocean when his plane apparently went down in the ocean a few hours ago," Mason explained as Sergei closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the fence. "I don't know much beyond that. Major Sokol spoke to Mr. Webb and the search and rescue teams were barely into their search at that time."
"Where in the Atlantic Ocean?" Sergei asked.
"About one hundred miles off the American coast," he replied. At Sergei's blank look, he clarified, "One hundred sixty kilometers."
"He went down in the middle of the night," Sergei realized, figuring the time in his head.
"Just before midnight, Eastern time in the States," Mason confirmed. "Mr. Webb was asked to find a way to get word to you before the Chechens find out somehow and, well, use the information against you in some way. I imagine an American F-14 going down will eventually hit the news and once the names of the crew are released …."
"If it is on ZNN, someone here is bound to hear eventually and realize that the one of them is my brother," Sergei said, opening his eyes, which were clear and dry. He stared off at some point in the distance. "Anything else?"
"Not right now," Mason said. "I'll be hanging around the camp for a while, ostensibly to make a report on conditions, and I have a radio that Major Sokol will use to contact me if there's any news."
Sergei nodded and turned away, struggling with his emotions, barely noticing when Mason and Vonikoff walked away. He leaned back against the fence, thinking of the man with whom he'd first fought, and then developed a pretty close relationship with, despite the miles which separated them. Sliding to the ground, note even taken note if the soil beneath him was dry or wet, he withdrew another picture from his pocket, one taken of him and Harm before the latter left Chechnya seven months previously. He'd known that he was in constant danger, choosing to stay in a war zone. He accepted that, aware of how his grandfather had died, how his father had been captured. But Harm was in America, a country at peace. How could something have happened to him?
-----
SEVERAL
HOURS LATER
JUST AFTER DAYBREAK
USS PATRICK HENRY
Ingles stood on the observation deck, watching the activity below him on the flight deck, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. It had been just over twenty-six hours since he'd last slept, not the longest period of time he'd ever gone without rest, but the feeling of dread threatening to settle over him was adding to his fatigue, brought about by the knowledge that the odds were getting longer with every hour that passed.
The weather had finally broken about an hour before dawn and the SAR aircraft back in the air within minutes after the weather people had given the all clear and about half an hour after that, he'd received word that the Coast Guard had joined the search. Regular flight ops were still shut down pending completion of a nose to tail inspection of every Tomcat, ordered by the CAG after listening to tapes of Navy 241's communications with Oceana which pointed at massive system failure.
He heard the door open behind him and turned to find Pike stepping out onto the deck carrying a clipboard and two cups of coffee, one of which he handed to Ingles. "All birds check out, Captain," Pike reported. "No problems found. Flight ops ready to resume as soon as you give the word."
Ingles nodded impassively. "Proceed," he ordered. "What's the current track of the storms?"
"Moved off to the north-northeast," Pike said. "Winds coming from the southwest."
Ingles headed to the bridge, Pike following close behind. "Navigator," Ingles called out as soon as he stepped onto the bridge, "turn the ship two-two-five in preparation for launching the squadron."
"Two-two-five," the navigation officer replied. "Aye, Sir."
Ingles picked up the mike and called the air boss. "Boss, proceed with flight ops as soon as we're turned into the wind at your discretion," he ordered. "Vector the Tomcats away from the search area until further notice."
"Aye, Sir," the air boss replied. "Hold a minute, Sir. We're receiving a report from Viking …. Sir, Viking reports spotting a life raft. Angel is moving in for a closer look." Ingles and Pike exchanged a look as they waited for word. "Sir, Angel reports the raft is empty."
"Understood," Ingles said, his voice void of emotion. "Continue the search. What's the ETA on the cod from Norfolk?"
"Thirty-seven minutes, Captain."
"Carry on," he said. He silently turned back Pike, his eyes the only thing in his bearing which betrayed the gravity of the situation. He lowered his voice. "I'll be in my ready room. Keep me informed."
"Yes, Sir," Pike replied. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.
-----
JAG
HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA
A.J. had tried grabbing some sleep on the floor of his office, using a sleeping bag he'd gotten out of the back of his car, but had given up on the effort at about 0300. At that point, he'd booted up his computer and, fortified by massive amounts of coffee, attempted to get caught up on the piles of folders that never seemed to leave the inbox on his desk. About an hour later, he decided to take a break before he went blind on paperwork and checked his e-mail, when he finally read the message that Mac had sent him before she'd left for Norfolk, which didn't really tell him anything that he didn't already know.
Around that time, he received a call from Gunny, reporting that he and Jason were at the Rabb farm and were getting ready to return to Washington with Sarah Rabb. Frank Burnett had called from the air at about five, reporting that they were ahead of schedule and would be landing at Reagan between six-thirty and seven and would head for JAG from the airport, having arranged already for a car to be waiting for them. Now, there was really nothing left for A.J. to do but wait – wait and pray.
Shortly before seven, his private phone line rang and he picked it up immediately, knowing it could only be from one person. "Chegwidden," he said.
"Admiral, this is Captain Ingles," Ingles said. "I have some news, but I'm afraid it's less than welcome. We sent SAR back up just before daybreak and they just reported that they found an empty raft."
"I see," A.J. said, sighing deeply as he rubbed his eyes. "Damn. What's the estimated survival time given the conditions?"
"We're still within the time frame," Ingles replied, "but I don't have to tell you what finding an empty raft means."
"No," A.J. said, turning in his chair to stare out his window. The sun was peaking through the clouds now that the storms had passed, but it meant nothing. For a man who'd already been out on the ocean half the night, the sun could come out and the temperature could go up twenty degrees and it would not help.
"That said, Admiral," Ingles continued firmly, "no one here is giving up until we know something definite, one way or the other. Since we found the raft, we're concentrating search efforts in that area. The Coast Guard has also joined the search, allowing us to cover a wider area."
"Thank you, Captain," A.J. said. "Everyone here appreciates your efforts."
"Also," Ingles said, "a COD took off from Norfolk at dawn carrying Colonel Mackenzie and Lieutenant Hawkes' fiancé. It's expected here in just over half an hour. And Admiral …." he hesitated, not sure how to broach the next subject.
"Yes, Captain?"
"Given the lengthening," he said, "although far from impossible odds, perhaps it might be better not to put the rescue back on speaker phone. It's your decision, of course, but those close to Commander Rabb might not handle hearing the blow by blow if things, well, if they don't go our way."
A.J. didn't hesitate before making his decision. "I'll keep this line open so you can continue to contact me directly," he said. "When there's news, I'll pass it on to my people myself."
"Agreed, Admiral," Ingles said. "I'll keep you informed."
"Thank you, Captain," A.J. said, turning around to hang up the phone. Returning his gaze to the window, he said a silent prayer for the man he considered a friend, remembering again the dire circumstances aboard the Suribachi, hoping that he was right and that Harm could beat the odds once again.
-----
Renee slowly awoke to the smell of strong, fresh coffee. She blinked several times to clear her vision, finding Mic kneeling next to her, holding out a mug of coffee. She pushed herself into a sitting position, pushing her mused hair off her face. "What time is it?" she asked sleepily, accepting the offered cup and sipping gently.
"Seven," Mic said. "That's when you said you wanted to be woken up."
Renee nodded. "Has there been any word yet?" she asked.
Mic sat down on the floor next to her, sipping his own coffee. "From the carrier," he said, "just that they sent the search and rescue teams back out just before dawn and they've been joined by several Coast Guard helos." A.J. had passed that much on to those who were awake after he'd gotten off the phone with Captain Ingles.
"That's good, right?" Renee asked hopefully. "Having more people out there looking, I mean? And it's daylight, so it should be easier to spot him."
"It's good," he replied to the first part, ignoring the second assertion. Daylight might actually make it harder to spot his strobe, he thought, especially if the sun was out and reflecting off the water.
Renee sensed he was holding back something, but before she could press him about it, Loren entered the courtroom, looking rumpled in the jeans and t-shirt she'd slept in, her hair pulled back off her face in a pony tail. "Ms. Peterson," she said, stifling a yawn, "I thought you'd like to know that the Commander's parents just arrived. They're out in the bullpen talking to the Admiral."
Mic got up quickly and helped Renee to her feet, following her out of the courtroom. Renee managed a watery half-smile when she caught sight of Trish in the center of the bullpen. "Trish," she exclaimed, enveloping the older woman in a tight hug. Trish looked slightly startled, but quickly recovered and returned the hug.
Pulling back, she studied Renee for a moment. "How are you doing, Renee?" she asked, her tone concerned.
"I'm hanging on," she said, brushing back tears. "Telling myself that it will be okay, that Harm's a survivor."
"Yes, he is," Frank said confidently, putting his arm around his wife.
"Oh, Frank," Trish said, "this is Renee Peterson, Harm's girlfriend. Renee, this is my husband Frank."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Burnett," Renee said pleasantly. Suddenly remembering that Mic was behind her, she motioned to him. "This is Mic Brumby, Mac's fiancé. Mic, these are Harm's parents, Trish and Frank Burnett."
They exchanged pleasantries, Trish concluding by commenting, "I didn't know that Mac was getting married."
Renee frowned as she realized Harm hadn't told his parents that Mac was getting married, as if he was in denial, an expression that didn't go unnoticed by Frank, who was studying Renee carefully, as if measuring her up. She seemed pleasant enough, he thought, but not Harm's usual type, at least not as far as his more serious relationships went.
"Well, we were supposed to get married today," Mic told Trish sadly. "Of course, we wouldn't think of going forward given the current …. situation. Right now, everyone's just hoping that Commander Rabb is found safe."
Frank took advantage of Trish being distracted by her conversation with Mic to walk over to A.J.. "Admiral, can I speak with you a moment?" he asked in a whisper, keeping an eye on his wife.
Sensing that the other man wanted privacy, A.J. motioned Frank into his office and closed the door behind them. "Admiral," Frank continued, his manner grave, "I know Harm pretty well and know what he's been through over the years, but the situation isn't good, is it? He's been out there for over seven, going on eight hours, correct?"
"No, it isn't good," A.J. admitted, recognizing a man who wanted straight talk, "but far from hopeless. The Captain of the Henry assured me that we're still within the survivability range given weather conditions. However, um, I did receive some less than welcome news from Captain Ingles which I haven't told anyone yet." He paused, gauging Frank's reaction.
"Tell me, Admiral," Frank insisted, his voice firm. "I want to know."
"Shortly after they went back up," A.J. said, "the search and rescue team found an empty life raft about twelve miles away from where they found his RIO. The upside, such as it is, is that finding the raft is confirmation that Harm was able to eject, which we weren't sure of from Lieutenant Hawkes' report. Given the stormy conditions last night, it's not outside the realm of possibility that he was thrown from the raft."
"But not being in the raft means that he has to tread water to stay afloat," Frank realized, "which expends energy, plus it means more exposure to the chilly water, which increases the chances of hypothermia."
"That's true," A.J. said. "You know a lot about the subject."
"Do you have any children, Admiral?" Frank asked.
"Francesca," A.J. replied. "She's twenty-nine and works for a fashion magazine in Milan."
"I never had any children of my own," Frank explained, a faraway look in his eyes. "Trish and I decided for several reasons not to have any. Although our relationship has been rocky at times, Harm's the only child I'll ever have and although he's probably not aware of this, I've always kept a close eye on his career. When he went to the Gulf, I read every report, every newspaper article I could about what was going on over there. I wanted to know what he was getting into. I even have a subscription to the Navy Times. After his first crash, I read everything I could about the F-14, about the causes of night blindness. I wanted to know exactly why my son almost died. I probably knew as much about his crash as the mishap investigators. While Trish tried to sleep on the flight here, I used the plane's phone to connect to the internet and learn what I could about what Harm's going through right now. Admiral, I'm hoping and praying that he'll survive this like he survived Southeast Asia, Libya, his first crash, Russia, but if the worst happens, I want to understand why."
"I can understand that," A.J. said sympathetically, remembering when Francesca had been kidnapped. "As a parent, you want to do anything you can to protect your child. Sometimes, you're just not in a position to do so and all you can do is demand answers as to why it happened."
"Trish and Sarah have been through so much," Frank said, "with what happened to Harm's father and grandfather and I know that Sarah already has a heavy weight on her shoulders with her other grandson being in a Chechen prison camp. You know, I was the first to find out, and then I had to tell Trish and Sarah about Harm's first crash. I can still remember the look of horror on my wife's face, and then the trembling expression on her mother-in-law's when we showed up at her farm on our way to Landstuhl. I've always prayed that I'd never have to go through another day like that one."
Both men were silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say. Finally, Frank broke the somewhat uncomfortable silence. "Thank you for being straight with me, Admiral," Frank said. "I appreciate your candor."
"Why don't we rejoin everyone before they start asking questions neither of us would rather answer right now?" A.J. suggested, opening his office door. Frank nodded and followed A.J. back out into the bullpen where the JAG staff was beginning to gather, most looking restless and drawn from lack of sleep. Shortly after they entered, Gunny and Jason showed up with Sarah.
"Mom," Trish said, greeting the older woman with a tight hug, blinking back tears.
As they pulled back, Sarah placed a comforting hand on her daughter-in-law's cheek. "He's out there and he's alive," Sarah said confidently. She tapped a finger over her heart. "I feel it in here."
Trish smiled at a long-ago memory. "You said that after his first crash," she remembered, "and while he was in Russia and it was being reported …." She trailed off, unable to voice the thought.
"Your son is a survivor," Sarah said, "just like his father." She turned and smiled warmly at Frank, releasing Trish to give him a similarly warm hug. "How are you doing, Frank?"
"Hoping and praying," he said, smiling at the woman who'd welcomed him into the family so warmly nearly twenty-five years earlier, helping to make things a lot better than they might have been regarding his relationship with Harm. "How are you doing, Sarah?"
"The same," she said, her gaze turning towards Renee, whom Trish was motioning forward. From the vague description she'd gotten from Harm, she realized that this was Harm's girlfriend.
"Mom," Trish said by way of introduction, "this is Renee Peterson, Harm's girlfriend. Renee, this is Harm's grandmother, Sarah Rabb."
"Hello, Mrs. Rabb," Renee said, taking Sarah's hands in hers and squeezing them gently. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm just sorry it couldn't be under better circumstances."
"I'm …." Sarah began, looking down when she felt something bump against her legs, finding wide blue eyes staring back at her. She recognized the little boy from Harm's description and pictures he'd shown her. "Hello. I'm guessing that you're AJ Roberts."
AJ nodded excitedly at hearing his name. "AJ," he said proudly, patting his chest.
"Hello, AJ," Sarah said, kneeling down with an agility that belied her age. "I'm Gram Sarah."
"AJ," Chloe called out, rushing into the bullpen, hands on her hips in a display of mock frustration while AJ giggled excitedly. "I told your mother I'd keep an eye on you. I'm sorry, everyone. It's amazing that someone so small can move so fast. He's like Speedy Gonzalez."
"That's okay," Sarah assured her. "I remember Harm taking off like that when he was that young. That boy was the devil to keep up with – always running around, getting into things. He was such a curious child."
"I'm Chloe Anderson," she introduced herself as Sarah stood back up. "I'm Mac's …. Colonel Mackenzie's little sister."
"I've heard a lot about you from Harm," Sarah said. "I'm Sarah Rabb, Harm's grandmother, and this is Trish and Frank Burnett, Harm's parents."
"Hello, everyone," Chloe said.
"It's nice of you to be here, waiting for word on Harm," Trish said. "I understand your sister was supposed to be getting married today."
"Well, um, we're all just worried about Harm and wanted to be together to wait for word," Chloe said, trying to keep the discomfort out of her voice at the mention of the wedding. "There are a lot of people who love him and are pulling for him. He's got a lot to live for here."
"Yes, he does," Renee agreed.
Chloe turned away in an effort to keep her expression from betraying her thoughts, realizing suddenly that AJ had wandered off again, this time towards Harm's open office. "Unca Harm?" he asked, peeking into the dark office. He looked back at the adults, confusion on his face. "Where Unca Harm?"
"Oh, AJ," Chloe said softly, quickly walking over and picking him up, setting him on her hip, kissing his cheek. Looking back at the adults, she noticed that Trish and Renee were both struggling to keep tears from their eyes. It was time for a distraction. "Hey, are you thirsty, AJ? Why don't we go see if we can find some juice in the kitchen? If you all will excuse us." With a nod to the adults, she carried AJ out of the bullpen.
"Down," AJ insisted once they were in the hallway. Chloe relented after a moment of AJ squirming in her arms, keeping a firm hold on one of his hands.
"I told Mommy I'd keep an eye on you," she insisted when he tried to pull away.
As they entered the kitchen, AJ's wandering mind returned to a previous topic of discussion. "Where Unca Harm?" he asked again, Chloe's heart nearly breaking at the innocent look on his face. She sat down on the kitchen floor and pulled him into her lap, resting her head against his as her tears fell unfettered.
"Chloe, are you okay?"
Chloe looked up to find Frank in the kitchen doorway, looking down at them with sympathy. "AJ was just asking about Harm again," she said, "and I don't know what to tell him. Does he even realize that something's wrong and somehow connects that with Harm or does he just expect to find Harm at JAG?"
Frank sat down on the floor next to them, smiling when AJ, curious about the newcomer, crawled into his lap. "I don't know," he said. "Some people say that even babies realize when something's wrong with all the adults around them and although they may not understand what's wrong, they react to all the emotions around them."
"I keep trying to tell myself that Harm has a lot to live for," she said, "and that he's going to be okay, but then I remember the look on my dad's face when he told me the news and I asked if Harm was going to be okay …." She squeezed her eyes shut as Frank patted her shoulder.
"Every time Harm's gone off somewhere," Frank said, "Libya, the Gulf, Russia, Kosovo – I feel like I start holding my breath as soon as he leaves and I don't start breathing again until he's safely home. But when he mentioned last week in a phone call that he was going off to do his quals, it seemed so …. routine."
"When he called last night …." She stopped suddenly, clasping her hand over her mouth as she realized what she was saying.
"Chloe," Frank said carefully, "is there something going on? Well, I noticed that you seem uncomfortable around Renee."
"I hardly know her," she said, trying weakly to explain away her behavior. "I just met her last night."
"Perhaps," he said, "but I also noticed that Mac's not around. I would have expected her to be. Although we've never met her – we just never seemed to connect with Harm and Mac all the times they've been out in California for cases – Harm's talked a lot about her over the last five years. I also think it a bit odd that Harm never mentioned to us that Mac was getting married today or that he would risk being gone so close to her wedding. I would think that his best friend getting married would at least rate a mention and that he would want to make sure nothing would keep him from being there."
"I can't really talk about it," Chloe said cautiously. "It's not my place to say, um, well, except that it's complicated."
"You know," Frank confided, "the way he's always talked about her, I guess I expected that Mac would be the one he would finally decide to settle down with. We've never pressured him about it, but Trish and I really do want grandchildren someday."
Chloe started crying harder, burying her face against Frank's shoulder while he put a comforting arm around her. AJ, startled by the outburst, looked confused, pressing a hand against Chloe's wet cheek. "I keep telling myself that Harm is the strongest man I know and he'll get through this," Frank said, fighting against tears himself.
All three of them looked up at the sound of a throat clearing to find Mic standing in the doorway. It bothered him slightly to find Mac's sister crying on the shoulder of Harm's stepfather, but he forced the feeling down. He had more important things on his mind. "Chloe," he began, "I was wondering if you'd heard anything from Sarah? I'm very worried about her."
Chloe climbed to her feet while she struggled to think of something to say, Frank doing the same, cradling AJ in his arms. "Um, not since the Admiral said she'd been informed," she finally said evasively. "But Mac's like that sometimes, just wants to be alone with her thoughts when something's troubling her."
Mic ran a hand through his hair, growing even more frustrated. "Doesn't anyone seem to care that no one's seen or heard from Sarah all night?" he snapped. "She should be here with those who love and support her."
"Her best friend is missing and God only knows what," Chloe retorted, losing her temper with Mic while AJ started crying at the yelling, Frank rocking him gently in an attempt to soothe him. "I don't see anything wrong with wanting to have some space right now."
"Enough of this," Sarah said firmly, walking into the kitchen with Trish and Renee on her heels. She took up a place next to Frank and patted AJ on the back, murmuring softly to him. As he calmed, she looked firmly at everyone else. "You're scaring AJ."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Rabb," Chloe said. "I'm just a little on edge because of Harm. I'm really worried about him."
Mic hesitated, not really appreciative of being rebuked by Harm's grandmother of all people. She fixed him with a hard stare, and he finally relented, "I apologize as well. I'm just concerned about my fiancée."
"Mic does have a point," Renee added, barely able to keep the condemnation out of her voice. "He just wants to provide support and comfort to the woman he's supposed to marry today and she's nowhere around."
"People deal with things in their own way, Ms. Peterson," Sarah said in a tone that would allow for no argument. "Sometimes they cling to others, seeking comfort from others in the same situation. Sometimes they retreat within themselves until they're ready to open up to those around them. I think the best thing anyone who cares about her can do for Mac is to let her have her space now and be there for her when she's ready."
"Chloe, why don't we go find AJ's mother?" Frank suggested, anxious to diffuse the situation. "She can probably do a better job than any of us comforting him."
Chloe nodded and followed him out of the kitchen, breathing an audible sigh of relief once they were out of earshot of the others. Almost immediately, they ran into Bud and Harriet in the hallway. Frank handed AJ off to Harriet. "He's a little upset," he explained as AJ wrapped his arms tightly around his mother's neck. "Things were a little tense between Chloe and Mr. Brumby."
"He was asking about Mac again," Chloe added when Harriet turned her gaze towards her for a further explanation.
Harriet passed her son off to Bud, nodding her understanding. "I was going to find Mic anyway," she said. "We need to start making phone calls to cancel all the arrangements for the wedding."
"He's in the kitchen," Frank said, tilting his head in that direction. Harriet nodded and headed that way while Bud and Chloe exchanged an uncomfortable glance.
"I just wish …." Chloe said with a sigh, sitting down on a nearby bench. She looked up at Bud and Frank. "I don't know how much longer this can go on."
Frank sat down next to her, resting his elbows on his knees. "Chloe, do you remember what I said about Mac and the way Harm always talks about her?" he asked, trying to draw her out, hoping she realized that she could trust him.
"Yeah," she said softly, glancing up at Bud, not sure how much Harriet had told him. He nodded his encouragement and she admitted, keeping her voice down so as not to be overheard, "Mic doesn't know yet that Mac was going to call off the wedding anyway. Everything …. else happened before she could reach him to talk to him about it."
"Because she has feelings for Harm?" Frank guessed.
Chloe nodded in response. "They …. came to a realization, I guess," she said in vague explanation, "because they were about to lose each other. Harm was going to come home to her and they were going to try to work things out between them."
"See, you were right," Frank said. "Harm does have a lot to live for and that has to keep him going. When Sarah says that she still feels he's alive out there somewhere, I trust her implicitly. Maybe I don't want to believe that there might be any other outcome, but until I see evidence otherwise, I'm going to keep on believing that." He laughed, shaking his head. "I just realized that I sound a little like Harm, when he was so determined to find his father. Until he had proof that his father was dead, he refused to consider otherwise."
Chloe and Bud looked at each other, each attempting a smile. "I guess if Harm was here, he'd be the last to give up hope," Bud said. "It's one of the things that makes him such a passionate lawyer and a devoted friend."
"He's going to be okay," Chloe said, trying to sound as confident as her words indicated. "He's going to be okay, he and Mac will work things out with Renee and Mic, and then they'll work on fixing things with each other."
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To be continued…
