Chapter 24

"What time is it?" Harm asked his wife as he snuggled a little closer to her beneath the covers. With the drapes in their room drawn, the rosy gray of early morning barely penetrated the darkness around them, but Harm didn't need his eyes. Married-- lovers-- for only a shade over three weeks now, he already had the feel of her memorized: the perfect way she fit against him, the softness of her skin, the wonderfully smooth flare of her hip as he ran his hand along her waist.

She chuckled sleepily, undoubtedly aware of the direction of his thoughts. "It's… 5:04." He heard the pause as she translated to civilian time.

Harm sighed. "I guess I'd better get going, then." Reluctantly, he slipped out of bed and into the clothes he'd left out. It was time to do a little investigating. He heard Mac sit up behind him in a rustle of sheets. She had her own job to do.

"Stay out of trouble," she said softly, her voice full of a smile he couldn't see in the dim light.

"You know me," he answered with a grin of his own.

"That's what worries me."

Chuckling, Harm left. He closed the door of the stateroom quietly behind him, then set off down the hallway. There was no way to avoid the cameras that coated the ship, so the only option was misdirection.

#

George Laughton stared at the complex tangle of wiring in front of him, thoroughly intrigued. He stood in one of the wiring closets, staring at the fiber backbone that connected the two main computing networks onboard the Radiant Heart. One network controlled the vast multitude of cameras filling the ship, the other stored the data. George had been checking the layout of the fiber against the documented specification, and had found a few discrepancies. He crouched in the narrow confines of the closet, flashlight gripped between his teeth as he copied down the actual configuration. Tracing the connections back to their origins would tell him whether the changes were mistakes, work-arounds, or something else.

"Ahem."

George started at the sound of a man clearing his throat. He whipped around in guilty surprise, banging his head on the unyielding metal edge of the wiring cabinet.

"Ow."

Harmon Rabb winced sympathetically. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." The tall lawyer stood a few feet behind him, arms crossed as he stared at George in a mixture of humor and carefully veiled interest. His keen gaze flicked to the tangle of wiring then back to George's face.

George stared back, his throat suddenly dry. Does he know? was the first thought that passed through his mind. Would that be a bad thing? was the second. Pushing the questions away, he removed the flashlight from his mouth.

"Contestants aren't really supposed to be in this area," he told Rabb as he gingerly rubbed his scalp.

The other man waved the protest away with a casual wave and a guileless grin. "I need to ask someone from the technical staff some questions."

George felt a stab of alarm, but tried to keep it off his face. The Navy investigator wasn't going to give himself away, was he? George rose to his feet.

"Well, I'm not exactly the resident expert, as witnessed by the fact that I'm working the graveyard shift, but I know a few things." He extended his hand in what he hoped was a sincerely friendly manner. "George Laughton."

"Harm Rabb." Rabb shook his hand.

"I'm not sure what I can tell you," George continued. "I'm not supposed to give out information to any of the contestants that might influence the competition." He waved toward the camera mounted in one corner of the room. "It's all recorded, so don't expect me to make an exception."

Rabb chuckled, apparently not put off by the brusque statement. "No problem. I'll ask my question, and you can decide whether or not it's information you can give me."

George wondered if he looked as wary as he felt. "All right." He didn't like having Rabb asking him questions. It jeopardized his own job aboard the ship, drawing attention to him when he would much rather have remained unnoticed.

Rabb clasped his hands behind his back, seeming to consider his words before he spoke. "Do you see everything that's recorded on this ship?"

George couldn't help but snort in mild contempt. "Are you kidding? We work three shifts with four guys on the first two, and one on the graveyard. I see maybe a quarter of the action shots."

"Action shots?"

George nodded. He felt pretty safe explaining a few technical details. "Yeah. The recording is all digital, so any time there's a static scene, the recording gets compressed. There's no sense in taking up all that memory to record hours and hours of an empty hallway. Everything that's left is called an 'action shot'. It just means something's happening."

The lawyer absorbed the explanation. "But you would hear about anything interesting, right? Even if it wasn't on your shift?"

George cocked his head, deciding to push a bit. "Like you betting with Nikki Upton for a kiss?"

Rabb looked affronted. "Hey, I said no to that." His gaze narrowed. "But I'll take that to mean you do."

George shrugged. "Sure." He grinned at Rabb. "We poor working stiffs have gotta do something for entertainment."

Rabb chuckled, but his humor didn't last. The blue eyes grew somber. "What about something that's not so entertaining?"

George paused. "What do you mean?" What was Rabb after?

"Violent." The other man pinned him with an expectant gaze.

Phew. Ttalks like a lawyer and stares like a fighter pilot. Some combination. George debated his response. He was pretty sure he understood, but it wasn't information he could give out without risking the wrath of some important people in the television business. "Violent? Like how?" Best to play dumb.

Rabb's expression gave away very little. "Like domestic violence."

"Oh." Immediately, George knew he'd given himself away. Rabb's expression sharpened, the intense, hawk-like gaze skewering him where he stood. Now what? The idea that jumped to mind startled him. But he'd always had a secret desire to play Mission: Impossible.

Very slowly, George gave a discrete nod, the motion nearly invisible. "No, nothing like that." He forced a smile. "I mean, you and your wife are probably the most violent contestants we have."

Rabb chuckled, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "All in good fun."

They stared at each other in silence for an awkward moment. The question in Rabb's gaze begged an answer.

"Well, sorry I couldn't be much help." George said.

Rabb shrugged, another of those guileless smiles appearing on his face. "No problem. Sorry I interrupted… whatever you're doing."

George shook his head. "Just a little minor troubleshooting. It gets pretty boring around here in the middle of the night, especially once all the partiers have given up or passed out."

Rabb raised an eyebrow. "Things get pretty wild?"

George shrugged. "Oh, sometimes. Unlimited free booze, what do you expect?"

"Sounds like you're not into the party scene."

"Not every night." George smiled. "When I need to de-stress, I usually join in on the HALO competition. Shooting things helps me relax more than alcohol."

Rabb gave him a confused, slightly alarmed look. "HALO?"

George nodded. "Yeah, it's a new game. Just came out on the market a few months ago. It's a first-person combat sim, essentially. It has a plot, though. And killer graphics."

Rabb's expression didn't change.

"It's a video game," George told him.

The lawyer's confusion deepened. "What, like Nintendo?"

George chuckled. "In the way a paper airplane is like the Space Shuttle, sure." He looked at Rabb. "I take it you've never played?"

"I don't even own a television."

"Oh, well you're really missing out, man. You should come join us sometime." George tried to put some extra emphasis in his gaze. "I bet you'd have a blast." He watched Rabb, hoping he'd gotten the hint.

Rabb looked at him doubtfully. Then he shrugged. "Sure, I guess. When and where?"

George told him the particulars with a sense of excitement. Ethan Hunt eat your heart out. This cruise was about to get much more interesting.

#

Mac waited for Tiner to transfer her to the Admiral with a sense of trepidation. She'd called to talk to Bud, who often came in that early in order to leave by mid-afternoon, but had been redirected to the Admiral. She couldn't help but wonder if something had gone wrong.

"Colonel Rabb, good morning." The Admiral's voice was somehow warm and gruff at the same time.

Mac paused, startled to hear herself addressed as "Rabb" by her commanding officer. Wow. It's really real, isn't it?

"Good morning, sir," she managed.

The Admiral obviously heard her hesitation. "Everything o.k. there, Mac?"

Mac nodded. "Yes, sir. It's just strange to hear you call me that." She paused. "Nice, but strange."

As was his usual practice, the Admiral didn't extend the personal interaction. "I'm sure you'll get used to it. Now, down to business."

"Yes, sir. I was calling Bud to see what he'd gotten so far on the items Commander Rabb asked him to look into."

"Lieutenant Roberts is here with me, Colonel. We've discovered some information you and your husband will undoubtedly find interesting. Lieutenant?"

Bud's voice came on the line. "Good morning, ma'am."

"'Morning, Bud." Mac smiled as she imagined Bud's round, cheerful face.

"Commander Rabb asked me to compare Mrs. Antony's account of the notes she sent with the Naval reservists' to see what kinds of discrepancies I could find. It turns out that the only one is the last note-- the one Mrs. Antony supposedly sent inviting Mr. Brown and Mr. Rossman to meet her. She denies sending the invitation. However, the rest of their stories coincide."

"So they were definitely involved, or planning to be." Mac found that fact disappointing, though not very surprising. "That's convenient."

"For Mr. Ariel, anyway," Bud agreed.

"Now here's where it gets interesting, Colonel." The Admiral took over. "We found a clause in Tony Ariel's contract for the original show, awarding him a two million dollar bonus if there ended up being only one couple left at the end of the cruise."

Mac digested the new information. "That sounds like a motive, sir."

"Glad the weeks in the sun haven't addled your brain too badly, Colonel."

Mac ignored the comment, the only safe course in such instances. "What about the recording quality? Do we have any new information there?"

"Some, Colonel," Bud assured her. "The poor quality appears to be due to some kind of interference, probably from an improperly grounded wire in the camera. The degradation shows up from time to time on that camera, but not very frequently. The member of the technical crew I talked to said they asked about trying to repair it, but since it was in an empty cabin and since the problem didn't happen very often, Ariel decided not to."

"Ariel decided not to?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"The pile of circumstantial evidence just keeps getting higher."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mac ran a hand through her hair. "So he knew about the camera's problem. Is there any way he could know when the picture would go bad?"

Bud sounded dubious. "Only if he caused the problem with the camera in the first place and had a way of controlling it."

"Is this the only camera that had problems, Bud?" Ariel couldn't have been that stupid, could he?

"No, ma'am. Several others had intermittent problems. The worst ones were replaced during the course of the cruise, but there were a total of three that Ariel told the technical staff not to bother with."

"Where were they?"

Mac tried to envision the layout of the ship as Bud read off the room numbers. All three, she thought, were unoccupied cabins in widely separated locations.

Another thought occurred to her. "What about the hallways? Even if the room camera had problems, the hall cameras were fine. Can't we see who came and went, and when?"

"Yes, ma'am." Bud sounded disappointed, like she'd beaten him to the punch. "We think we've got that sequence all put together. Jessica Antony entered the room alone. The Naval reservists are also seen approaching the room, about forty minutes later. They left after about an hour. Mrs. Antony remained in the room until the host and his bailiffs arrived to escort her to the Tribunal." The Tribunal was the mock court in which the evidence of indiscretions was disclosed and couples officially disqualified from the competition. "She seemed somewhat disoriented at that point, but didn't protest any of the charges."

"So how did Ariel lure Jessica Antony to the cabin?" Mac toyed with the ends of the belt on her robe as she tried to put the events in order.

"Unfortunately," Bud drawled the word, warning Mac of impending bad news. "It doesn't appear that he did. Mrs. Antony claims she doesn't know how she got to the stateroom, but the video definitely shows her arriving alone and of her own volition."

Mac frowned. "Something doesn't add up."

"Colonel?" That was the Admiral.

"Sir, the reservists claim Ariel set them up to meet Mrs. Antony, but say the incident was totally consensual. Mrs. Antony says she didn't make any kind of invitation and that she was raped, but she can't explain how she got there. She says she was drugged, but the hallway video apparently doesn't support that. Mr. Ariel denies delivering the invitation note, as well as doing anything like drugging Mrs. Antony, but most of the circumstantial evidence points to him. However the explicit evidence-- the hallway video-- doesn't implicate him. But, he's the only one with a compelling motive. It just doesn't fit together."

"Keep working on it, Colonel." If he was perturbed by the apparent inconsistencies, the Admiral kept it well concealed. "What has your own investigation uncovered?"

Mac sighed. "Do you want details of the other contestants' private lives?"

"Not really."

"We haven't had much contact with Ariel. It seemed unwise to draw his attention. Harm is going to try to get some information from one of the techs who run the recording system, under the guise of trying to find evidence that Booth Crossby is abusing his wife."

There was a short pause. "Make sure you stay on track, Colonel."

Mac heard the warning clearly. "Yes, sir."

"Anything else?"

"No, sir."

There was a pause, and Mac's stomach tightened.

"That will be all, Lieutenant," she heard Chedgwidden tell Bud. After a moment-- no doubt to allow Bud time to leave the office-- he went on in a more personal voice. "How are you holding up, Mac?"

Mac drew a deep breath. "Sir?"

"The last episode we saw, things seemed a bit… tense between you and Harm." The Admiral's tone indicated he was growing more uncomfortable by the moment.

"We're o.k., sir."

"Very well." She imagined him clasping his hands together on his desk, frown in place. "That will be all." She could hear the smile in his voice. "You two be good, Colonel."

"Yes, sir." Oddly encouraged, she ended the call.