Chapter 30
George hummed quietly to himself as he worked. He was crouched inside one of the many maintenance spaces inside the ship, peering into the gaping hole he'd created when he'd opened the large steel access panel. Wiring ran in thick bundles through the space, branching occasionally. George followed the convoluted mess with a practiced eye, comparing it to the wiring diagram in his hands. He was pretty sure he knew what he was looking at now. Someone had added a separate set of controls to a few of the cameras and he was trying to backtrack the additional network to figure out where the controller was located. So far he didn't know if it would turn out to be a purely mechanical/electrical switch, or if there might be a computer interface as well.
George was intensely curious. Whatever was going on, he was certain, would have to do with the military's undercover investigation of the show and Tony Ariel, but how the two tied together he couldn't quite figure. And what Harm and his Marine wife were doing with the whole fighting routine also remained a mystery. George didn't think a man who had the exquisite control to fly fighters, the intelligence to earn a law degree, and the sneakiness to be involved in undercover investigation could possibly be a flagrantly immature as he had been acting. And likely, any woman he chose to be his partner would be more of the same. George had barely met Mac, so couldn't comment from personal contact, but her record would indicate she, too, was an exceptional person.
Groaning as he backed his way out of the cramped space, George tucked the wiring diagram away inside his shirt, then stood and stretched. He was done with this segment. He'd have to go up to the next level to continue tracing the wiring path, but that would have to wait until tomorrow night. His shift was almost over.
He made his way back to the AV room. Settling at the computer, he checked the progress of the data transfer batch he'd started before taking off to look at wire bundles. It had nearly completed. Perfect timing. He prepared the next set to be moved over, then leaned back in his chair.
The morning shift straggled in between ten and thirty minutes late, as usual. But, since Bob, their supervisor, was the worst offender, George had decided early on that discretion was the better part of valor in this case. He didn't complain. In fact, he never mentioned it at all except for some friendly teasing when the supervisor wasn't around.
Unfortunately, today looked to be a bad day for George's relationship with his boss. The technical supervisor for the AV crew was a tall, scarecrow of a man with thinning hair and poor posture. As opposed to the rest of the techies, who were Geeks, this man was the quintessential Nerd. George instinctively checked the man's shirt every day, looking for a pocket protector.
"What did you do this time, Laughton?" Bob asked as soon as he walked in the room. His tone was filled with disgust.
George's heart leapt inside his chest in guilty panic. He took a moment to gain control of his reaction before turning his chair to face his boss. "What do you mean?" He tried to make the question curious rather than suspicious.
"Ariel wants to see you in his office as soon as you get off." Bob gave him a false smile. "Looks like your mouth is going to get you in trouble again."
George shrugged. "Better my mouth than… some other part." Bob had developed a reputation for making blatant and unappreciated advances to a number of women onboard the ship. The other techs suddenly became very busy, though George heard a couple of hastily swallowed laughs.
Bob paled, except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. "You'd better go see what the producer wants, Laughton," he said in a cold, barely-controlled voice.
George managed to keep a blank expression until he reached the hallway, then broke into a satisfied grin. Bob was just too big a target to resist. His smile quickly faded, though, as he climbed toward Ariel's office suite. Whatever the producer wanted wasn't liable to be anything good.
When Ariel's secretary sent him in, George found the producer leaned back in his chair behind the chrome and glass desk, rocking lightly as he stared at his visitor. Ariel's bulk hardly seemed to fit in the fragile-looking, ergonomically superior chair. Today Ariel was wearing a worn black t-shirt decorated with a yellow smiley face that had a bullet hole in the center of its forehead. George and a few of the other gamers had undertaken the task of trying to deduce just how many t-shirts Ariel had brought on the cruise with him. So far they'd only come up with four, which he seemed to wear a couple of days at a time. Slob was the word that most often came to mind.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Ariel?" George asked politely as Ariel waved him inside. It wouldn't do to show the producer his feelings. Disgusting or not, he was a name in the industry, and George wanted to continue working.
Ariel gave him a narrow stare. "What are you doing with the wiring?" he asked without preamble.
George's heart started to pound. He stared at Ariel, hoping he didn't look too guilty as he formulated his response. He had thought about what he would say if someone asked what he'd been doing.
"Uh, I'm investigating a problem with the recording network."
Ariel kept staring. "Your supervisor hasn't informed me of any problem with the cameras."
George pressed his palms against his thighs to keep his hands from trembling. "No, it doesn't interfere with the function of the system. It's an efficiency thing." He managed a shrug. "I'm mostly satisfying my professional curiosity. None of the obvious things are the problem, so now I'm down to checking hardware connections to see if something is corroded or improperly grounded."
Ariel's expression lightened minutely at his explanation, which George took to mean he was buying it.
"Well, quit." Ariel drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Leave the wiring alone. I don't want you accidentally breaking something."
George nodded. "O.k."
Ariel sat up in his chair and turned his attention to something on his desk, dismissing George from his attention. George took that as the sign to leave.
Once outside the office, he breathed a silent sigh of relief. When Dan Steiner had hired him, he'd expressed concern that the recording system onboard the Radiant Heart had been modified. He wanted George to find out if it was true, and fix it if it was. Now the only question was, did he continue with that assignment knowing that Ariel was on to him?
#
"Does anybody know what they did?" Stacy Anderson asked the other marrieds as they waited for the crew to finish setting up the stage for the Tribunal. The Moleneuxs had, apparently, been disqualified, though Mac hadn't heard any specifics. The four remaining couples had gathered on deck a short ways from where the television and sound crews were busy arranging equipment, banding together out of some primeval sense of mutual defense, Mac guessed.
Mac took a moment to surreptitiously take inventory of the others. Jeb and Stacy looked a bit tired, but still stared at each other adoringly. They stood with their arms wrapped around each others' waists, and Mac felt a stab of jealousy. Though she could feel Harm's presence beside her, she couldn't afford to do much beyond glance in his direction from time to time, carefully maintaining a set distance between them.
In contrast to Jeb and Stacy, John and Delia clearly showed the strain the cruise was taking on them, and on their relationship. Though their hands were clasped, their faces showed lines of weariness and defeat.
Mac glanced toward the final couple. Boothe and Carmen, oddly enough, looked like they always had. But then, she didn't think there was much love there to be lost, so perhaps the cruise wasn't as stressful for them. Ariel hadn't continued to push them to withdraw after hearing Boothe's side of the abuse issue. Mac didn't know what to think about all of that. Bud had confirmed Carmen's background: her family owned one of the largest diamond import businesses in the country. She was, indeed, the spoiled little rich girl Boothe painted her as.
Carmen tossed her hair, letting the constant ocean breeze blow it back from her face. "Who knows," she answered Stacy's question. "But I'll bet somebody feels like an idiot now. Four and a half weeks-- gone." She snapped her fingers.
John and Delia looked at each other, the gazes meaningful and a little guilty. When they turned back to the group, John spoke.
"We might as well tell you guys now… we've decided to withdraw. We're going to tell Ariel once the Tribunal is over."
Mac looked over at Delia and saw the quiet relief in the other woman's eyes. She smiled in understanding, and Delia echoed her.
Carmen shook her head in disgust. "You're gonna throw it all away?"
John pulled his wife protectively close. "Some things are worth more than money." He looked from Carmen to Harm, his expression challenging. Mac fought a smile. John and Delia were both so disappointed in them.
Harm held out his hand to John, who shook it firmly. "We wish you the best."
John smiled for a moment. "Care to join us?" He met Mac's eyes for a moment.
Mac flushed at the gentle criticism, but Harm just shrugged it off, grinning. "No thanks. We're still in the running. But, why don't we agree to get together after this is all over, the four of us. Atlanta's not that far from D.C. We can reminisce, and maybe see what kind of dent we can put in the million in one night."
Laughing, John nodded. "Sounds good. You'd just better make sure you bring that million, hear?"
Harm smiled, cocky as ever. "Count on it."
On impulse, Mac hugged Delia. A lump formed in her throat. "I'm happy for you," she whispered, fighting to keep her emotions in check. She wasn't even certain why the news made her want to cry.
"Me too, girl." Delia hugged her back, hard. "Promise me you'll be good?"
Mac laughed through her tight throat and nodded. They separated, then Stacy hugged Delia as well while John and Jeb said goodbye.
Carmen watched them all like they'd lost their minds. Perhaps, to her way of thinking, they had. Mac dismissed the thought. She no longer cared much what happened with Carmen. That the other woman had duped her made her angry, and doubly so because she'd managed to use one of Mac's deepest wounds against her.
One of the coordinators came over to shoo them all toward their places, preventing Mac from following her train of thought any further. She glanced up at Harm, who gestured for her to precede him. Mac bit back a smile. Being a gentleman was so ingrained in him he couldn't turn it off, even now. Mac liked that. It helped her to remember that the man she loved really was inside there somewhere. He'd left a note in her novel every day for the last three days, and that helped, too, but words on paper could be hard to hold on to despite her promise to trust him. It was an ongoing struggle, but one she felt she was slowly winning.
Mac sighed softly. Ten days, three hours, and forty-six minutes. She couldn't wait.
#
Harm ground his teeth in the dimness. He was never going to get to sleep at this rate. Mac lay only a foot or so away on the other side of the bed, and it was killing him not to be able to reach over there to touch her. It was the first time they'd gone to bed at anything approaching the same time in more than a week, and though he knew the secondary recording system wouldn't identify a single touch beneath the covers, he also knew there was no way it would stop with just one. Hence the reason he was trying, with great frustration, to keep his hands to himself.
The horrible thing was that he could tell by her breathing that Mac wasn't asleep either. They lay there, side by side in the pale, silvery light cast by a nearly full moon, unable to talk, unable to touch. He risked a glance in Mac's direction and found her watching him, dark eyes soft and full of longing.
Harm smiled at the sight, unable to help himself. She smiled back, one of those wide smiles that were so rare for her, but it quickly faded. After a moment, Mac sighed and turned her head to stare at the ceiling.
She sat up abruptly. "I'm going to put on some music." She pushed the covers aside and swung her legs off the side of the bed.
Harm rolled over, propping himself on one elbow to better appreciate the view as she stood. The moonlight streaming in through the open balcony door turned her body into a luscious shadow inside the pale negligee.
"Just don't pick something twangy." Harm remembered at the last minute to make the comment annoyed rather than teasing. She knew he didn't care for most of her country music. She didn't like his Hendrix, either, though they did have some tastes in common.
Mac sighed reproachfully. "Don't worry, I'll pick something we both like." She managed to pack an incredible amount of bitterness into her voice. Mac's acting abilities continued to amaze him.
Mac knelt in front of the CD player for a while, sorting through music. Eventually, she slid a disk into the tray and stood. As the first strains of a familiar bluesy tune drifted out, she went to stand at the balcony door, staring out over the water. The song was an old one by one of Harm's favorites, the great Ella Fitzgerald. Her voice felt like velvet as it filled the darkened room, combining with the moonlight to make the night over into something magical.
Harm watched, entranced, as Mac tipped her head back, swaying gently in time to the music. She seemed to have forgotten he was there, losing herself in the sultry, melancholy sounds. Harm held his breath, not wanting to break the spell.
As the final notes of the song died away, Mac straightened. She turned away from the window, the light dusting her hair with an ethereal glow. Harm wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything so beautiful. Mac looked at him with limpid eyes, and held one finger to her lips in the sign for silence.
Harm pulled the sheets back as she returned to their bed, and took her into his arms without a sound. Mac slender body molded against his, their lips seeking each others' as if they couldn't survive another moment apart.
And in the darkness surrounding them, Ella crooned a lover's lullaby.
