Title: 'People vs. Chegwidden' - Part Four
Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One
From part three:
Fuming, Harm grabbed his folders, tugged them tightly under his arm and raised himself to full height. He hated having to answer anything to her bold request, especially as their private lives were of no one else's concern, let alone Krennick's. But he had to be plain, once and for all. His stare might have stabbed the female officer when he calmly replied.
"I have been married for more than half a year now, ma'am. Very happily married. My wife is the most extraordinary woman I have ever met in my whole life and she means everything to me. I am missing nothing whatsoever and, with all due respect, Captain: should you feel inclined to engage into any social contact with a pilot turned lawyer, you might want to consider turning to Lt. Hobbes. May I be dismissed?"
Krennick's stare had turned as angry as his own. "Dismissed, Commander." Her words were sharp and cold. Harm turned and walked out of the courtroom, knowing well that the situation hadn't become any easier for their CO just now.
The blond captain watched as the object of her hidden desires left the room. 'Damn you, Mackenzie,' she silently swore.
Part Four:
Thu, Feb. 18th 0623 ZULU Rabb residence Arlington, VA
For hours, Harm had been brooding over his files, searching the Internet, perusing books, rummaging through folders and all the file cabinets that could be found in their house. Somehow he knew he was being foolish, acting out of his desperation and frustration, but what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't let down his CO. There had to be a way out of this mess. There had to be!
Mac had gone to bed two hours ago, exhausted after having gone on with her own research for ages. Of course, Harm knew she had to take care of her health, and she had every right to take her necessary break, clear her head and get a refreshing good night's sleep. But tonight, his emotions were clouding his judgment to some extent, leaving him with a feeling of being left alone and let down by his wife.
She had been trying to talk him into abandoning his futile and aimless search and save his strength, to continue in the morning and calm down a bit. But, as his stubborn going-on had met with her equally stubborn attempts at getting him to shut down his computer, emotions between them had heated up quickly and they had ended up arguing. Mac had - not really without a reason, as Harm grudgingly admitted to himself - told him that he was, once again, being driven by emotion, trying to come up with some solution out of the blue without having any substantial plans. Like he had been in Russia. Only then she had helped him pull it through. Today, she had just sworn under her breath, slammed the bedroom door shut and gone to sleep.
Although Harm still hadn't come to the point where he could openly admit to her that she was right in calling him foolish, deep inside his soul he was hurting badly. He wished he could overcome his pride more easily, go upstairs, apologize and ease the pain that he knew she was feeling just like he did whenever they fought. But right now he couldn't.
He finally came to the conclusion that his attempts to develop a new defense strategy were indeed futile. Sighing, he disconnected from the Internet, switched off his computer, put all books and folders back into place and quietly went upstairs. As he slipped under the blanket he, for a moment, felt the need to wake Mac, take her into his arms and tell her he was sorry. But then he decided against it, content that she was sound asleep and not wanting to disturb her. She needed her rest more than he did. He could still apologize in the morning.
When his alarm-clock told him it was time to get up, he immediately noticed that Mac's side of the bed was empty. Frowning, Harm got up and descended to the kitchen, only to find it deserted, the dishes she had used for her early breakfast still standing in the sink. Then he noticed a note she had pinned to the refrigerator.
Harm,
I hope you remembered that I'm off to N.Y. with Claire for my appointment for Trisha's heart examination. Hopefully, I'll be back in the evening. You won't be able to call me as I'll be inside the hospital all day, but we'll be fine. I'll call you as soon as we're on our way back.
I'm sorry about last night. Love you,
Mac
Damn. He had forgotten about that. Two weeks ago while doing a routine screening, Claire had detected slight irregularities in their daughter's heart rate. She thought it was nothing to be overly concerned about, but she had still advised Mac to get it checked out by a specialist in pre- natal medicine. They'd surely be back late tonight, if not tomorrow. Harm's conscience was stirring. He really should have apologized yesterday night. He didn't want her to think that he was still mad at her, especially when she had been right about his behavior. But at the moment there was nothing he could do about it. By now, they would be boarding their flight at Dulles and they would have switched off their cell-phones. Maybe he'd have a chance to talk to her if she called on the way from the airport to the hospital.
He showered, dressed, had a quick cup of coffee and headed for JAG, only to bury himself once again in his research. After the screwed Article-32 yesterday morning, no staff member dared to disturb him. In the solitude of AJ's mahogany-furnished office, Harm desperately searched again and again for the needle in the haystack, the one fact that no one had mentioned yet and that might blow Krennick's solid charges against the admiral. But it all seemed pointless.
At one point, Tiner's voice addressed him over the intercom.
"Sir, Admiral Chegwidden's on line one for you."
"Put him through, please, Tiner."
"Aye, sir."
Harm wiped his face with his hand. He had been dreading this conversation. He drew a deep breath and decided to get it over with. "Sir?"
"Hello Commander. How are things going?" AJ's voice sounded tired.
"Smoothly, sir. Only two new cases today, a Drunk and Disorderly and a minor AWOL. Both at Norfolk. How are you, sir?"
AJ's laugh held a slightly sarcastic note. "That was one hell of a defense you laid out there yesterday, son."
Harm swallowed. "I am sorry, sir, but that was all we had. We are working on it, sir, I swear."
"I know." AJ sighed. He knew the commander too well not to worry. "Don't let this affect you too much, Harm," he quietly counseled. "Stick to your duties, alright?"
Harm smiled despite himself. "Duty always comes first, sir," he lied.
AJ cleared his throat to hide his grin. He knew Harm was being insincere. "Glad to hear it. But Harm," his voice suddenly turned sober, "I mean it. Don't get carried away with your concern. For Mac's sake."
"Too late for that, sir," Harm ruefully replied.
"I feared it would be. I take it she is mad at you for being stubborn?"
Harm shook his head with a sad smile. The admiral knew his 'family' too well. "You've hit the nail on the head, sir. Only that she thinks that I'm mad at her, too. I didn't apologize yesterday and today she's off to New York for a medical examination and it hurts having things unresolved."
"Then learn from it, son. I'll go back to my Shakespeare now and I expect to hear from you only when you have news to tell, right?" AJ gave his voice an extra gruff edge. He didn't want the commander to hear that he was moved that the younger officer had just confided in him and talked about his personal life.
"Aye, sir. Permission to speak freely?"
"Go ahead, Rabb."
"We all miss you over here, sir."
"Well, then it's up to you and the colonel to see to it that I get my six out of here quickly to grace you with my presence."
"Will do, sir," Harm chuckled and put down the receiver when he had heard the 'click' on the other end of the line. For a moment he just stared blankly at the telephone. Then he shook himself from his lethargy. Mac hadn't called and by now she would be inside the hospital walls. 'God, let everything be okay,' he silently prayed. Resolving that the best way to clear his head was a change of occupation, he sat up straight in his chair and pulled out the Cramer case file. He would have to work on it anyway and the Chegwidden case at the moment just led to dead ends. 'Better get your thoughts onto that one, Hammer,' he advised himself as he began to skim the file to remember the particulars.
Thu, Feb. 18th 2102 ZULU NFESC Washington Navy Yard Washington, D.C.
"Here we are, sir. Controlling." The young ensign looked expectantly at him as Harm stepped into the room.
"Thank you, Ensign, you may go now."
"Aye, sir." The young man saluted, turned and left Harm to himself. The commander slowly had a look around. Lt. Cmdr. Cramer and her team had been assigned a rather small testing facility, situated at the far end of the Naval Facilities Engineering Service Center. The tests were executed in a small hangar. At the side, offices and rooms for technical support were located on two levels. Huge windowpanes opened the view right into the testing hangar to allow the personnel to follow the procedures. The main control room was located on the first floor. Right under it was the room that the engineers used to observe the testing procedures from, while Controlling was usually occupied by technicians and computer specialists.
According to her own statement, Maryann Cramer had left the observation room on the ground floor and gone up to Controlling when the testing had already begun. As the technicians explained, she had come in in a hurry, taken a stack of papers from a table at the back and, equally hurriedly, left the room again to return to her colleagues. What didn't quite add up was the fact that she hadn't joined her team until approximately four minutes later, if Harm could trust the engineers' statements. He didn't have Mac's timing but a blind man could see that an officer in an obvious hurry wouldn't need more than twenty seconds to descend from Controlling to Obs. What hadn't Cramer told him? Harm frowned as he started to walk around the place and hoped for an inspiration.
He threw a quick "At ease, continue." at the two engineers present in Obs and let his gaze wander, not sure what he was looking for. As he studied the items present on the nearby bookshelf, he couldn't help overhearing the engineers' conversation.
"Yeah, I guess the shareholders were pretty upset when they heard that," one just said, pointing out something to the other in the newspaper he was reading.
"Holy... yeah, I guess they were," the other engineer agreed, shock evident in his voice.
"Hope you sold your Branwick shares in time, Pete?" the engineer with the newspaper asked mockingly.
"Sure, I had to buy my wife that villa at the Riviera, remember?" Pete replied in the same mocking tone. Sobering, he went on. "But this time I'm sure Branwick's gonna kick the bucket, Joe. They invested billions in the project and again North Star beat them. The contract is safe and sound. Not even the incident can change that."
Harm looked up from the brochure he had been perusing. Were they referring to the same incident he was investigating? Trying to look totally absorbed in his reading, he started to listen intently to the engineers' conversation, observing them from the corner of his eye.
"I'm afraid you're right," Joe agreed. "I was puzzled from the start how a small company like Branwick could even think of competing with them. They must know that the Navy's got contracts with North Star that date way back. We've bought hundreds of engines from them. The technical personnel are familiar with their specifications. What made Branwick think they could outrun them this time?"
Pete shrugged. "I have no idea. I heard they were having problems in general, though. So maybe this was supposed to be the final huge effort to try and reach safe grounds? I mean, had they gotten the Navy order, their problems would have dissolved in no time... whoosh, bank account in order. They were pretty desperate, I think."
Joe gave him a lopsided grin. "So they must be gloating over our little mishap here."
"Poetic justice..." Pete mused.
Harm was intrigued. Maybe he had just stumbled over a hint of what really lay behind the scenes. What if this small firm, Branwick, had actually wanted the North Star engine to fail the test? 'Don't jump to conclusions, Hammer,' he admonished himself. 'It doesn't have to be sabotage, it could just be an ordinary malfunction that led to the explosion.' But he had tasted blood. He decided it was at least worth to check out this theory.
He turned, cleared his throat and casually asked the engineers if he might just for a moment use one of the terminals.
"Sure, sir, go ahead," Pete answered with a smile. Harm chose the computer farthest off whose monitor faced a corner and couldn't be overseen from the room. He quickly logged on the internet and surfed his way up to the homepage of Branwick Industries: the company was part of a small consortium of rather different enterprises, Branwick Industries, specialized in aeronautical engineering, Baxter and Connelly, hazardous freight forwarding, and Minton Greenwood waste disposal. Harm skimmed through the company's history: it had been founded in 1930 by Carl Branwick, and the company proudly retained that the firm had always remained property of his family.
Switching to the Financial Times archive, Harm learned that Branwick had successfully fought several attempts of corporate take over by other firms. The company had had proficient clients, mostly firms that built small civilian aircraft like his stepfather's jet. But like too many companies whose economic well-being was linked to commercial air travel, after 9/11 the numbers of orders had diminished dramatically. Branwick shares had begun a steady decline, and right now the company seemed to face bankruptcy. An article that dated a year ago, told Harm that Branwick's chairman, Nicholas Bernstein, had decided to start acquiring new clients and that he was hoping to establish contracts with the military. No wonder, Harm silently admitted. The military would right now be one of the very few faithful buyers of aircraft parts. So the company had invested whatever capital they could bring forth into the development of fighter turbines. But in the end, the major order that they had been speculating on had once again gone to the global player North Star.
A suspicion started to rise at the back of Harm's mind. He couldn't bring himself to believe Lt. Cmdr. Cramer guilty, but he felt he couldn't completely trust her, either, due to the four-minute hole in her tale. Once more trusting his instincts more than his intellect, Harm logged out, got up and headed for the locker room.
Knowing that he still had half an hour before the shifts would change, he quietly entered the changing room and quickly picked the lock to Cramer's locker. Rummaging through it, taking care, though, not to change the order of Cramer's belongings, he searched for anything that might establish a connection between the engineer and either North Star or Branwick. And at last his patience and intuition were rewarded: in a stack of paper, somewhere in between thermal calculations and printouts of testing routines, he found a ripped-off letterhead of Branwick Industries.
"Now we're finally getting somewhere, Commander," he grimly muttered to himself as he stuffed the sheet into his pocket, quickly closed the locker and headed for NFESC security.
Fri, Feb 19th 0227 ZULU NFESC Washington Navy Yard Washington, D.C.
By now, Harm had a rather clear image of what must have happened when the explosion had occurred. But to his surprise and dismay, it was different from what he had expected. Upon request, he had been given tapes of all security cam recordings of the four minutes in question and of the hours that lay between the last inspection of the engine and the test. He had hoped for some sign of Maryann Cramer within the hangar - or of anyone, for that matter - who could have sabotaged the machine. But until Cramer's staff had gathered for the actual testing, no one had ever entered the hangar at all.
But on the other hand, while turning his attention to the fatal four minutes of Cramer's absence from Obs, he had been able to clearly identify her as she quickly entered the network supply room that lay next to Controlling and that had been deserted at the time of the incident. The engineer went in, quickly deposited a few pages from her file behind the heater and quickly and quietly left the room again, just as the explosion could be heard. Out of curiosity, Harm had continued to watch the same tape, and two minutes later, a technician had been seen enter the room, stride over to the heater, take the pages and leave. Whistling through his teeth, Harm had understood what he had at hand: the explosion seemed to be accidental, maybe, but Cramer might be involved in a case of industrial espionage. But where was her motive? Why would she risk her career for some firm that had lost a contract?
As security had left him alone in the spare video observation office, Harm was able to make a copy of the tape in question and then return all originals to the archive, claiming not to have found anything of relevance. He felt that he first needed additional confirmation of his theory before making it public. He decided he had to go back online and check the Branwick site for possible hints.
Mac still hadn't called. Harm presumed that she must still be at the hospital and he tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that something had to be wrong if the tests took that long. He was sure, though, that Claire and her patient would not come back tonight. So he decided to stay at the NFESC and do a little additional research. Not wanting to draw attention, Harm went in search for another computer, outside Controlling.
When Lt. Cmdr. Maryann Cramer emerged from the dressing room to begin her shift, she became aware of the lights coming out of the network administrator's office. 'That's strange,' she thought, nearing the door, 'Guy is never at the office after 1700.' Peeping inside the room, she immediately recognized the tall dark-haired figure at the computer that sat with his back in her direction. She was about to go in and greet her defense counsel when she stopped short in her tracks, becoming aware of the particular design of the web page the commander had just opened. Branwick Industries. Holding her breath, Cramer withdrew and hurriedly went to her own desk in the adjoining room, switched on her computer and, with a little programming, established a link to the administrator's terminal.
Meanwhile Harm had found what he had hoped for. He had quietly clicked his way through the biography of Nicholas Bernstein and had come across a picture of his family: him, two teenage sons and his wife, Kristen Cramer- Bernstein, general manager of Minton Greenwood. Cramer. Should this 'coincidence' be related to the family tradition Branwick was so proud of? Harm printed out his findings and immediately searched on until he came by the biography of Carl Branwick's daughter Cheryl that had inherited the company after his death. At 32, she had married a certain Murray Cramer with whom she had two daughters, Kristen and... Maryann. Bingo. There was the motive. A proud family never let their ancestors' work die. A grin began to spread over Harm's face as he prepared to leave and go home.
As Maryann Cramer witnessed the accuracy and obvious right direction of her attorney's research on her own screen, her heart rate slowly but steadily increased. Casually telling Pete and Joe that she had - once again - left a vital file at home, she excused herself from her shift mates and left for her car, always taking care never to let a tall, dark-haired officer out of her sight.
Harm parked his SUV in front of their house. He decided to leave the evidence in the car as he would need it at the office anyway and was afraid to leave anything at home, endangering it to mingle with Mac's organized home chaos. He locked the car and stepped onto the sidewalk as he heard a voice call his name. He turned - and found himself face to face with Lt. Cmdr. Maryann Cramer, pointing a gun at him. Before he could think of a single thing to say, he heard the gun go off twice and immediately felt a searing pain in his gut and on his forehead. As he doubled over, gasping in agony, he felt gloved hands pull him down on the concrete and search his pockets. 'Mac! Help!' he thought. Then everything went dark.
The stars were shining above the heavily bleeding figure, lying in the fresh snow, as, in the victim's security pocket, a cell-phone started to beep, its unanswered ringing leaving a Marine colonel up in New York wondering if her husband was still mad at her.
To be continued... (Feedback always appreciated!)
From part three:
Fuming, Harm grabbed his folders, tugged them tightly under his arm and raised himself to full height. He hated having to answer anything to her bold request, especially as their private lives were of no one else's concern, let alone Krennick's. But he had to be plain, once and for all. His stare might have stabbed the female officer when he calmly replied.
"I have been married for more than half a year now, ma'am. Very happily married. My wife is the most extraordinary woman I have ever met in my whole life and she means everything to me. I am missing nothing whatsoever and, with all due respect, Captain: should you feel inclined to engage into any social contact with a pilot turned lawyer, you might want to consider turning to Lt. Hobbes. May I be dismissed?"
Krennick's stare had turned as angry as his own. "Dismissed, Commander." Her words were sharp and cold. Harm turned and walked out of the courtroom, knowing well that the situation hadn't become any easier for their CO just now.
The blond captain watched as the object of her hidden desires left the room. 'Damn you, Mackenzie,' she silently swore.
Part Four:
Thu, Feb. 18th 0623 ZULU Rabb residence Arlington, VA
For hours, Harm had been brooding over his files, searching the Internet, perusing books, rummaging through folders and all the file cabinets that could be found in their house. Somehow he knew he was being foolish, acting out of his desperation and frustration, but what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't let down his CO. There had to be a way out of this mess. There had to be!
Mac had gone to bed two hours ago, exhausted after having gone on with her own research for ages. Of course, Harm knew she had to take care of her health, and she had every right to take her necessary break, clear her head and get a refreshing good night's sleep. But tonight, his emotions were clouding his judgment to some extent, leaving him with a feeling of being left alone and let down by his wife.
She had been trying to talk him into abandoning his futile and aimless search and save his strength, to continue in the morning and calm down a bit. But, as his stubborn going-on had met with her equally stubborn attempts at getting him to shut down his computer, emotions between them had heated up quickly and they had ended up arguing. Mac had - not really without a reason, as Harm grudgingly admitted to himself - told him that he was, once again, being driven by emotion, trying to come up with some solution out of the blue without having any substantial plans. Like he had been in Russia. Only then she had helped him pull it through. Today, she had just sworn under her breath, slammed the bedroom door shut and gone to sleep.
Although Harm still hadn't come to the point where he could openly admit to her that she was right in calling him foolish, deep inside his soul he was hurting badly. He wished he could overcome his pride more easily, go upstairs, apologize and ease the pain that he knew she was feeling just like he did whenever they fought. But right now he couldn't.
He finally came to the conclusion that his attempts to develop a new defense strategy were indeed futile. Sighing, he disconnected from the Internet, switched off his computer, put all books and folders back into place and quietly went upstairs. As he slipped under the blanket he, for a moment, felt the need to wake Mac, take her into his arms and tell her he was sorry. But then he decided against it, content that she was sound asleep and not wanting to disturb her. She needed her rest more than he did. He could still apologize in the morning.
When his alarm-clock told him it was time to get up, he immediately noticed that Mac's side of the bed was empty. Frowning, Harm got up and descended to the kitchen, only to find it deserted, the dishes she had used for her early breakfast still standing in the sink. Then he noticed a note she had pinned to the refrigerator.
Harm,
I hope you remembered that I'm off to N.Y. with Claire for my appointment for Trisha's heart examination. Hopefully, I'll be back in the evening. You won't be able to call me as I'll be inside the hospital all day, but we'll be fine. I'll call you as soon as we're on our way back.
I'm sorry about last night. Love you,
Mac
Damn. He had forgotten about that. Two weeks ago while doing a routine screening, Claire had detected slight irregularities in their daughter's heart rate. She thought it was nothing to be overly concerned about, but she had still advised Mac to get it checked out by a specialist in pre- natal medicine. They'd surely be back late tonight, if not tomorrow. Harm's conscience was stirring. He really should have apologized yesterday night. He didn't want her to think that he was still mad at her, especially when she had been right about his behavior. But at the moment there was nothing he could do about it. By now, they would be boarding their flight at Dulles and they would have switched off their cell-phones. Maybe he'd have a chance to talk to her if she called on the way from the airport to the hospital.
He showered, dressed, had a quick cup of coffee and headed for JAG, only to bury himself once again in his research. After the screwed Article-32 yesterday morning, no staff member dared to disturb him. In the solitude of AJ's mahogany-furnished office, Harm desperately searched again and again for the needle in the haystack, the one fact that no one had mentioned yet and that might blow Krennick's solid charges against the admiral. But it all seemed pointless.
At one point, Tiner's voice addressed him over the intercom.
"Sir, Admiral Chegwidden's on line one for you."
"Put him through, please, Tiner."
"Aye, sir."
Harm wiped his face with his hand. He had been dreading this conversation. He drew a deep breath and decided to get it over with. "Sir?"
"Hello Commander. How are things going?" AJ's voice sounded tired.
"Smoothly, sir. Only two new cases today, a Drunk and Disorderly and a minor AWOL. Both at Norfolk. How are you, sir?"
AJ's laugh held a slightly sarcastic note. "That was one hell of a defense you laid out there yesterday, son."
Harm swallowed. "I am sorry, sir, but that was all we had. We are working on it, sir, I swear."
"I know." AJ sighed. He knew the commander too well not to worry. "Don't let this affect you too much, Harm," he quietly counseled. "Stick to your duties, alright?"
Harm smiled despite himself. "Duty always comes first, sir," he lied.
AJ cleared his throat to hide his grin. He knew Harm was being insincere. "Glad to hear it. But Harm," his voice suddenly turned sober, "I mean it. Don't get carried away with your concern. For Mac's sake."
"Too late for that, sir," Harm ruefully replied.
"I feared it would be. I take it she is mad at you for being stubborn?"
Harm shook his head with a sad smile. The admiral knew his 'family' too well. "You've hit the nail on the head, sir. Only that she thinks that I'm mad at her, too. I didn't apologize yesterday and today she's off to New York for a medical examination and it hurts having things unresolved."
"Then learn from it, son. I'll go back to my Shakespeare now and I expect to hear from you only when you have news to tell, right?" AJ gave his voice an extra gruff edge. He didn't want the commander to hear that he was moved that the younger officer had just confided in him and talked about his personal life.
"Aye, sir. Permission to speak freely?"
"Go ahead, Rabb."
"We all miss you over here, sir."
"Well, then it's up to you and the colonel to see to it that I get my six out of here quickly to grace you with my presence."
"Will do, sir," Harm chuckled and put down the receiver when he had heard the 'click' on the other end of the line. For a moment he just stared blankly at the telephone. Then he shook himself from his lethargy. Mac hadn't called and by now she would be inside the hospital walls. 'God, let everything be okay,' he silently prayed. Resolving that the best way to clear his head was a change of occupation, he sat up straight in his chair and pulled out the Cramer case file. He would have to work on it anyway and the Chegwidden case at the moment just led to dead ends. 'Better get your thoughts onto that one, Hammer,' he advised himself as he began to skim the file to remember the particulars.
Thu, Feb. 18th 2102 ZULU NFESC Washington Navy Yard Washington, D.C.
"Here we are, sir. Controlling." The young ensign looked expectantly at him as Harm stepped into the room.
"Thank you, Ensign, you may go now."
"Aye, sir." The young man saluted, turned and left Harm to himself. The commander slowly had a look around. Lt. Cmdr. Cramer and her team had been assigned a rather small testing facility, situated at the far end of the Naval Facilities Engineering Service Center. The tests were executed in a small hangar. At the side, offices and rooms for technical support were located on two levels. Huge windowpanes opened the view right into the testing hangar to allow the personnel to follow the procedures. The main control room was located on the first floor. Right under it was the room that the engineers used to observe the testing procedures from, while Controlling was usually occupied by technicians and computer specialists.
According to her own statement, Maryann Cramer had left the observation room on the ground floor and gone up to Controlling when the testing had already begun. As the technicians explained, she had come in in a hurry, taken a stack of papers from a table at the back and, equally hurriedly, left the room again to return to her colleagues. What didn't quite add up was the fact that she hadn't joined her team until approximately four minutes later, if Harm could trust the engineers' statements. He didn't have Mac's timing but a blind man could see that an officer in an obvious hurry wouldn't need more than twenty seconds to descend from Controlling to Obs. What hadn't Cramer told him? Harm frowned as he started to walk around the place and hoped for an inspiration.
He threw a quick "At ease, continue." at the two engineers present in Obs and let his gaze wander, not sure what he was looking for. As he studied the items present on the nearby bookshelf, he couldn't help overhearing the engineers' conversation.
"Yeah, I guess the shareholders were pretty upset when they heard that," one just said, pointing out something to the other in the newspaper he was reading.
"Holy... yeah, I guess they were," the other engineer agreed, shock evident in his voice.
"Hope you sold your Branwick shares in time, Pete?" the engineer with the newspaper asked mockingly.
"Sure, I had to buy my wife that villa at the Riviera, remember?" Pete replied in the same mocking tone. Sobering, he went on. "But this time I'm sure Branwick's gonna kick the bucket, Joe. They invested billions in the project and again North Star beat them. The contract is safe and sound. Not even the incident can change that."
Harm looked up from the brochure he had been perusing. Were they referring to the same incident he was investigating? Trying to look totally absorbed in his reading, he started to listen intently to the engineers' conversation, observing them from the corner of his eye.
"I'm afraid you're right," Joe agreed. "I was puzzled from the start how a small company like Branwick could even think of competing with them. They must know that the Navy's got contracts with North Star that date way back. We've bought hundreds of engines from them. The technical personnel are familiar with their specifications. What made Branwick think they could outrun them this time?"
Pete shrugged. "I have no idea. I heard they were having problems in general, though. So maybe this was supposed to be the final huge effort to try and reach safe grounds? I mean, had they gotten the Navy order, their problems would have dissolved in no time... whoosh, bank account in order. They were pretty desperate, I think."
Joe gave him a lopsided grin. "So they must be gloating over our little mishap here."
"Poetic justice..." Pete mused.
Harm was intrigued. Maybe he had just stumbled over a hint of what really lay behind the scenes. What if this small firm, Branwick, had actually wanted the North Star engine to fail the test? 'Don't jump to conclusions, Hammer,' he admonished himself. 'It doesn't have to be sabotage, it could just be an ordinary malfunction that led to the explosion.' But he had tasted blood. He decided it was at least worth to check out this theory.
He turned, cleared his throat and casually asked the engineers if he might just for a moment use one of the terminals.
"Sure, sir, go ahead," Pete answered with a smile. Harm chose the computer farthest off whose monitor faced a corner and couldn't be overseen from the room. He quickly logged on the internet and surfed his way up to the homepage of Branwick Industries: the company was part of a small consortium of rather different enterprises, Branwick Industries, specialized in aeronautical engineering, Baxter and Connelly, hazardous freight forwarding, and Minton Greenwood waste disposal. Harm skimmed through the company's history: it had been founded in 1930 by Carl Branwick, and the company proudly retained that the firm had always remained property of his family.
Switching to the Financial Times archive, Harm learned that Branwick had successfully fought several attempts of corporate take over by other firms. The company had had proficient clients, mostly firms that built small civilian aircraft like his stepfather's jet. But like too many companies whose economic well-being was linked to commercial air travel, after 9/11 the numbers of orders had diminished dramatically. Branwick shares had begun a steady decline, and right now the company seemed to face bankruptcy. An article that dated a year ago, told Harm that Branwick's chairman, Nicholas Bernstein, had decided to start acquiring new clients and that he was hoping to establish contracts with the military. No wonder, Harm silently admitted. The military would right now be one of the very few faithful buyers of aircraft parts. So the company had invested whatever capital they could bring forth into the development of fighter turbines. But in the end, the major order that they had been speculating on had once again gone to the global player North Star.
A suspicion started to rise at the back of Harm's mind. He couldn't bring himself to believe Lt. Cmdr. Cramer guilty, but he felt he couldn't completely trust her, either, due to the four-minute hole in her tale. Once more trusting his instincts more than his intellect, Harm logged out, got up and headed for the locker room.
Knowing that he still had half an hour before the shifts would change, he quietly entered the changing room and quickly picked the lock to Cramer's locker. Rummaging through it, taking care, though, not to change the order of Cramer's belongings, he searched for anything that might establish a connection between the engineer and either North Star or Branwick. And at last his patience and intuition were rewarded: in a stack of paper, somewhere in between thermal calculations and printouts of testing routines, he found a ripped-off letterhead of Branwick Industries.
"Now we're finally getting somewhere, Commander," he grimly muttered to himself as he stuffed the sheet into his pocket, quickly closed the locker and headed for NFESC security.
Fri, Feb 19th 0227 ZULU NFESC Washington Navy Yard Washington, D.C.
By now, Harm had a rather clear image of what must have happened when the explosion had occurred. But to his surprise and dismay, it was different from what he had expected. Upon request, he had been given tapes of all security cam recordings of the four minutes in question and of the hours that lay between the last inspection of the engine and the test. He had hoped for some sign of Maryann Cramer within the hangar - or of anyone, for that matter - who could have sabotaged the machine. But until Cramer's staff had gathered for the actual testing, no one had ever entered the hangar at all.
But on the other hand, while turning his attention to the fatal four minutes of Cramer's absence from Obs, he had been able to clearly identify her as she quickly entered the network supply room that lay next to Controlling and that had been deserted at the time of the incident. The engineer went in, quickly deposited a few pages from her file behind the heater and quickly and quietly left the room again, just as the explosion could be heard. Out of curiosity, Harm had continued to watch the same tape, and two minutes later, a technician had been seen enter the room, stride over to the heater, take the pages and leave. Whistling through his teeth, Harm had understood what he had at hand: the explosion seemed to be accidental, maybe, but Cramer might be involved in a case of industrial espionage. But where was her motive? Why would she risk her career for some firm that had lost a contract?
As security had left him alone in the spare video observation office, Harm was able to make a copy of the tape in question and then return all originals to the archive, claiming not to have found anything of relevance. He felt that he first needed additional confirmation of his theory before making it public. He decided he had to go back online and check the Branwick site for possible hints.
Mac still hadn't called. Harm presumed that she must still be at the hospital and he tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that something had to be wrong if the tests took that long. He was sure, though, that Claire and her patient would not come back tonight. So he decided to stay at the NFESC and do a little additional research. Not wanting to draw attention, Harm went in search for another computer, outside Controlling.
When Lt. Cmdr. Maryann Cramer emerged from the dressing room to begin her shift, she became aware of the lights coming out of the network administrator's office. 'That's strange,' she thought, nearing the door, 'Guy is never at the office after 1700.' Peeping inside the room, she immediately recognized the tall dark-haired figure at the computer that sat with his back in her direction. She was about to go in and greet her defense counsel when she stopped short in her tracks, becoming aware of the particular design of the web page the commander had just opened. Branwick Industries. Holding her breath, Cramer withdrew and hurriedly went to her own desk in the adjoining room, switched on her computer and, with a little programming, established a link to the administrator's terminal.
Meanwhile Harm had found what he had hoped for. He had quietly clicked his way through the biography of Nicholas Bernstein and had come across a picture of his family: him, two teenage sons and his wife, Kristen Cramer- Bernstein, general manager of Minton Greenwood. Cramer. Should this 'coincidence' be related to the family tradition Branwick was so proud of? Harm printed out his findings and immediately searched on until he came by the biography of Carl Branwick's daughter Cheryl that had inherited the company after his death. At 32, she had married a certain Murray Cramer with whom she had two daughters, Kristen and... Maryann. Bingo. There was the motive. A proud family never let their ancestors' work die. A grin began to spread over Harm's face as he prepared to leave and go home.
As Maryann Cramer witnessed the accuracy and obvious right direction of her attorney's research on her own screen, her heart rate slowly but steadily increased. Casually telling Pete and Joe that she had - once again - left a vital file at home, she excused herself from her shift mates and left for her car, always taking care never to let a tall, dark-haired officer out of her sight.
Harm parked his SUV in front of their house. He decided to leave the evidence in the car as he would need it at the office anyway and was afraid to leave anything at home, endangering it to mingle with Mac's organized home chaos. He locked the car and stepped onto the sidewalk as he heard a voice call his name. He turned - and found himself face to face with Lt. Cmdr. Maryann Cramer, pointing a gun at him. Before he could think of a single thing to say, he heard the gun go off twice and immediately felt a searing pain in his gut and on his forehead. As he doubled over, gasping in agony, he felt gloved hands pull him down on the concrete and search his pockets. 'Mac! Help!' he thought. Then everything went dark.
The stars were shining above the heavily bleeding figure, lying in the fresh snow, as, in the victim's security pocket, a cell-phone started to beep, its unanswered ringing leaving a Marine colonel up in New York wondering if her husband was still mad at her.
To be continued... (Feedback always appreciated!)