Title: 'People vs. Chegwidden' - Part Thirteen
Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One
From part twelve:
Sergei was overwhelmed with relief that Jeannine was back safely. He immediately pulled her into a tight embrace and made her sit down on his lap. She just took several deep breaths, her eyes closed, trying to relax.
"You did an exceptional job in there, Cadet," Sturgis observed calmly. "I'll make sure that, once all this is over, I'll have Captain Wells add my report to your service record."
"Thank you, sir."
Mac was giving the evidence a quick first survey, whistling under her breath. "I don't know too much about aeronautics, but if this is what I think it is, we have something really big at hand. I doubt it will be enough to clear the admiral's name completely, though. There's still no indication as to who killed Sydney in the first place. But with the North Star data and the bills we found, we should at least be able to raise enough doubt to prevent a finding of 'guilty'. Problem is that we'll have to share our knowledge with Krennick. But I suggest we do that at the latest possible time." She looked up to Fred, determination shining in her glance. "I want you to call Kristen Cramer to the stand."
"So do I, Mac. So do I," Fred answered slowly, somehow confident that he wouldn't be afraid of the task that lay before him.
Part Thirteen:
Mon, March 1st 2312 ZULU Bethesda Naval Hospital Washington, D.C.
Harm was sweating profusely. His breath came in ragged gasps and he didn't know where to start counting all the muscles that were hurting badly. Despair showed in his eyes and Mac was hurting with him, compassion for him filling her heart. Once again, Harm closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and focused on the muscles he needed right now. He wouldn't give in. He had set his task for the day and he would conquer it. He would. He would! He struggled, fought, won inch per inch as he was trying to... dress himself.
Mac had brought a pair of sweats and socks because Harm had complained that he always had to wear hospital scrubs. He planned on training to get up soon and he didn't like the idea of being in a shirt that opened behind. Mac had asked Zanelli if she might dress Harm in his own clothes, claiming that she knew he would like it and maybe feel more at ease which might bring him nearer to waking up. Reluctantly Zanelli had consented. Harm already received quite a lot of extra attention and exceptions to hospital rules. But the doctor had come to admire Colonel Rabb for the way she stuck to her husband and tried everything in her power to bring him back to his normal life. So he found it hard to deny her anything she asked - that pleading puppy-dog look always showing in those beautiful dark eyes of hers. And since he and his colleagues had decided the day before that Harm's pulse was now to be considered as reliable as his breathing, the heart monitor was gone. The IV was attached only when he needed nutrition. So Zanelli really didn't have a good-enough excuse not to let the colonel help her husband get comfortable.
It had taken Harm a full ten minutes to lift his blanket and shove his legs out of his bed. An additional five minutes had been spent on pulling himself up into a sitting position. Mac had tried to reason with him that he was asking too much of his body, that what he had achieved up to this point was great and that he could lie down and rest without having a bad conscience. But Harm would have nothing of it. He was so sick of being confined to this room, seeing his daughter once a day if he was lucky. He wanted to be fit to leave as soon as it would be safe for him to officially wake up.
Now he was sitting on his bed, trying to coordinate the movements that would first get his legs into his trousers and then have him pull them up to his hips. More than once Mac had stepped up to him, offering to help him, but he was determined to do it by himself. So she had finally given up on helping, sitting by and feeding Trisha instead. Silently, she watched as he worked his way through the trousers' legs until he had finally put them on. Now all he had to do was find a way to pull them up. As he looked at her, she only raised one eyebrow, doubtful about how he planned to do it.
"Mac?"
"Yeah?"
"Help me stand, please." Harm's voice was still low and his pronunciation slightly slurred, the words coming out a little slower than usual. But he had mastered his speech, having - as he sheepishly admitted to her - recited poems to himself all night, whispering.
Her eyes widened in shock. "Harm, are you crazy?" she hissed, concerned. "You can barely sit. How do you think your legs will hold your weight? You'll only fall and I can't get you back up into your bed on my own. And you know what that means."
"I know, Mac. But I want to get my sweatpants on. Please," he pleaded.
Defeated, Mac let out a sigh. 'Darn that Rabb stubbornness.' "Okay, sailor. Lean on to me." She rested Trisha on her left arm and walked over to stand at Harm's right. He grabbed her arm and pulled himself up, swaying slightly when his feet took a firm hold on the ground. With his free hand he quickly pulled up his sweatpants and after that immediately let himself drop back on the bed.
"Well done, sailor." Mac gave him a warm smile.
He smiled back, relieved. "Now for the sweater, Colonel, please."
"Harm..."
"Please, Mac."
"Okay, okay. Here it is."
"Thanks."
Another ten minutes later, Harm had settled himself back on top of his bed, dressed comfortably in sweats and warm socks, grinning contently. "See, Mac? I told you I'd do it by myself."
"You did. I'm proud of you." Something in her answer made him listen more closely. She was up to something, and it made him feel uneasy.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Mac gave him a slight smile, absentmindedly rocking Trisha as the little girl was sleeping soundly. "I brought you something to train your fine motor skills." With that, she opened her purse and handed Harm his cell- phone. "I made sure to bring sweatpants with a hidden inside pocket. Keep the phone in there and remember to put it someplace safe before they come to wash you. Now, when I'm gone, try to master the little movements a cell- phone requires, Commander, so I can at least be sure you don't pull off any more large-scale stunts."
Harm gave her a mix of a smile and a frown. "Gee, thanks."
She smiled innocently. "Don't tell me you don't need any small-scale training. What about your guitar?"
He sighed. "I know, but I'd rather be able to go to the bathroom first. Honestly."
Mac gave him a 'be-a-good-boy' smile. "Then consider it training for your patience. Why don't you try calling me, to get started?"
Harm's frown suddenly lightened. "You know, Mac," he said, grinning, "Cell- phones aren't allowed inside the hospital."
Rolling her eyes heavenward, Mac got up, reached over and switched the phone on. "Overruled, counselor," was all she said in a slightly exasperated tone.
"Okay." With a little difficulty, Harm raised his hands in defense. He then looked at the small electronic device in his hand. "How did I ever get my large thumb to hit the right keys before?" he murmured, frowning. 'Call Mac. Thank the Lord for speed dial.' He slowly moved his right thumb over the keypad until he had reached the One. Pressing the key, he tried to keep it down for a few seconds. Eventually he heard a low chiming sound in Mac's purse. Grinning, he looked up.
"That was nice for a start, Commander," Mac acknowledged. "Let's move on then. Task number two: dial manually." She reached into her purse and took out her cell, switching it to VibraCall in order not to alert staff members or wake Trisha.
"You could go a little easier on me, Mac. I'm just recovering."
Mac only raised her eyebrows again, choosing not to comment.
Two minutes and many errors and corrections later, Harm had dialed her cell- phone number and pressed the call button. Mac happily held up a vibrating phone in reply. "Well done. Keep up the good work, sailor," she said, rising. "Try Short Message Service during sleepless nighttimes."
"Aye, ma'am. Do you have to go?"
Mac sighed. "Yeah. It's past Trisha's bedtime and I need to work on the admiral's defense."
Shaking his head with a smile, Harm thought about what Mac had told him about last night. "I wish I had been with you. From what you told me, it could have been a real Clancy movie."
Mac just frowned at him. "I'd say you got your share of 'Die Hard' instead, flyboy. Don't you ever get enough?"
"Sorry, Colonel. It's just that the surroundings are starting to get the better of me."
Mac couldn't help smiling with compassion. Being a restless soul herself, she understood what it must cost Harm to just lie motionless, pretend and wait while all of his friends were doing the real work. She bent down and very tenderly kissed him. "Be patient, Harm. I promise you'll be out of here soon and then I'm going to get you practice on other... umm... activities as well. Better rest now." She gave him a seductive wink.
To her surprise, Harm didn't take up her humor as she had expected him to. Instead, he gave her one of those intense looks that went right down to the bottom of her heart. "If you knew just how much you haunt my dreams, Sarah," he whispered.
She swallowed. "Believe me, I know." Again she kissed him, feeling his response grow more intense with each passing moment. Reluctantly, she broke away. "Really gotta go, Harm. Do you want to hold Trisha for a moment before we leave?"
"Yeah." To make sure that the strength in his arms wouldn't falter, he intertwined his hands, holding on tight. Mac placed the sleeping girl into the natural crib he had thus created. "She is so warm and soft," Harm murmured in awe, smiling slightly at his daughter.
"Promise me something, Harm?"
He looked up at her, still smiling. "Anything."
"As soon as you get home, can I take a few close up photos of you and her, just like that? She's gonna grow so fast, and this picture is just so perfect... Daddy." Mac's heart swelled at the sight of this tall, broad- shouldered man with his near-to-newborn daughter in his arms, giving her a smile that would deserve to be called angelic, hadn't it been... well, Harm.
"Sure. If I can take photos of the two of you, too. 'Daddy'..." Harm then repeated to himself. "I still have to get used to that. But it feels great. Come on, little flygirl," he softly addressed the baby, "Let's get you back to Mommy so you can both go home and be good girls and sleep, okay?"
Mac took Trisha and wrapped her in her blanket. Giving Harm a quick final peck on the lips, she smiled her goodbyes and left.
Harm watched the door close and turned his attention back to his cell- phone. It hadn't been long since they'd switched to GSM technology and he hadn't yet used this SMS thing too often. Fred had told him that in Europe people, especially kids, were mad about it. And in Japan, the world didn't seem to work without SMS anymore. 'I could as well try it out,' Harm resolved. 'It's probably the only kind of exercise I'm still able to take this evening.'
Fumbling with the menu keys and getting increasingly desperate over the fact that Motorola built such ridiculously small telephones, he stubbornly worked his way through the message service until he had successfully sent one out. Yawning contently, he managed to insert the small device into his hidden pocket and adjusted himself to 'coma' position, ready to be administered his medicine, while Mac, in her car, just smiled as the message icon popped up on her cell. She quickly pushed the right keys and her smile deepened.
"I love you, too, Harm," she murmured to herself, silently bidding him goodnight.
Same time Maryann Cramer's apartment Annapolis, MD
For the umpteenth time, Maryann cursed her telephone. Every time that she had just immersed herself into her calculations and formulas, someone was sure to call. Angrily throwing the pen down on her pad, she got up from her desk and shuffled over to the phone, on her way turning on the TV. Zapping idly, she picked up the receiver.
"Yes?"
"Maryann? It's me."
"Kristen? Is everything all right?"
"Yeah... that is, no. MC, we're in trouble." Kristen's voice was tense.
Maryann stiffened. "How so?" she asked, guarded.
"Today I received a call from the Navy's Judge Advocate General's office, telling me that I had to come testify in one of their trials. It's about that admiral being charged with murder, I'm sure you heard about it."
"Yeah, go on."
"Well, I don't know how they get from murder to waste disposal, but they seem to have found out about MG's deal with Branwick."
"Shit..." Maryann swore in a low voice, her grip on the remote control tightening.
"That's just the beginning." Maryann could tell that Kristen was getting increasingly agitated. "I immediately checked the files and the Branwick folder is gone! I can't find any traces of forced entry, but no one except myself knew it was there so someone has to have been in here and has taken it away! And the worst thing is - they even took the North Star data!"
Blanching considerably, Maryann grabbed the armrest of her sofa and slowly sat down. "Are you sure, Kris?" she asked her sister.
"Yeah." Kristen's voice was a mere whisper.
Maryann was silent for an entire two minutes. Kristen could tell that she was still on the line only by her breathing. Then she heard Maryann's voice, cold, distant and dangerously calm, seemingly talking to herself. "Rabb... You're gonna pay for this, you bastard. But how the hell did he get his information to anyone?"
"MC?"
Shaking herself from her state of haze, Maryann was about to reply when something else caught her attention. Inhaling sharply, she was suddenly eager to end the call. "I'll talk to you later, Kris. Don't worry, I'll take care of this. Just don't tell them anything until we get you a lawyer, okay? Bye!"
She hung up without giving her sister the opportunity to respond. Then she just stared at the TV screen.
["...is in the headlines once again. As we learned only yesterday, our favorite navy commander whom we all remember well from the government charity concert in May and from the Carnegie Hall show he did with Dwayne Myers Naval College, is right now fighting for his life at Bethesda Naval Hospital, D.C. Commander Rabb was shot in front of his house about two weeks ago and has been in a coma ever since.
Although his wife, beautiful Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Rabb that we also remember from the Carnegie Hall event, claims that her husband was the victim of an ordinary street robbery, the facts seem to hint that Harmon Rabb was attacked in connection to the murder trial the Navy's Judge Advocate General, Admiral AJ Chegwidden, is about to face."]
Images of Bethesda, the concerts and of Harm, Mac and AJ had been shown. Now the camera focused on the face of a young female doctor. ["Doctor Berner, how's Commander Rabb's condition?"
"The commander is stable and although he has not shown any concrete signs of waking up, he seems to be getting better. The colonel, his wife, comes to see him every day and we hear her talk to him as if he were actually with her. She often takes their new baby to him, too. Scientific experiments have proven that creating a seemingly normal atmosphere around a comatose person has..."]
Maryann didn't need to hear any more. Rabb was awake and fooling everybody about his real condition, she was sure about that. Only he could have made the connection between Branwick and Minton Greenwood and now, by playacting, he was obviously trying to protect his family.
Racing out to her car, Maryann knew what she had to do. 'First I'll take out the prime witness, thoroughly this time, Rabb. Then I'll see to your wife. I wonder just what I have to do to her to make whoever broke into MG turn over the evidence to me. Never, I repeat, never underestimate Maryann Cramer.'
With screeching tires, Maryann sped off to D.C.
Tue, March 2nd 0125 ZULU Bethesda Naval Hospital Washington, D.C.
Harm rested the fingertips of his right hand against the fingertips of his left hand and, one by one, lifted the fingers off each other and brought them together again. He had been doing this for at least half an hour, or so he estimated, but still wasn't completely satisfied about how the movement felt. It had to be smooth, casual and controlled, not strained. So he kept practicing. Thumb, index, middle, fourth, fifth, thumb, index, middle, fourth, fifth, thumb, index...
Suddenly he froze, getting the feeling that he was being watched. He couldn't have missed the door's clicking, could he? Willing the panic down, he risked a glance at the entrance to his room... and gasped. In the doorframe, Maryann Cramer stood watching his efforts with a thin smile, clad like a nurse, a wheelchair by her side.
"Hello Commander Rabb." Her voice was low and honeyed.
"What do you want?" Harm asked, wanting to break her neck and feeling frantic about being at her mercy.
"You," she said calmly, closing the door and pushing the wheelchair up to his bed. "I'd like to correct my mistake, sir."
"You can have me, but it's too late to correct your mistake, Cramer," Harm answered, his voice tight.
"Oh, I doubt that. I'm sure they'll trade everything I want once I get to your wife and daughter."
'Sarah! Trisha! No!!' "Don't - you - dare - hurt them, Cramer! I swear you're not going to live through it if you do!" Harm spat.
Cramer's face showed a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Come on, Harmon, you're not really in the position to threaten me, and you know it. Now get your sorry six into that wheelchair and I warn you: one word and they're both dead girls."
Harm didn't move, desperately trying to get his fear in check. This was a new situation for him. He had never been afraid of facing a crisis. But he had never been this utterly helpless, either, not even on the Watertown when Hodge had drugged him. Back then his state had been temporary. This time, he knew, he couldn't hope to recover in time. Harm wasn't afraid for himself. But he was realistic enough to see that he couldn't do anything to prevent Cramer from going after his family. And this knowledge threatened to drive him nuts. 'Get a grip, Hammer! You've got to stay calm if you want so much as a chance to save them!' He stared at Cramer and didn't budge.
"I said: get in the wheelchair," she repeated pointedly.
"Can't," he replied.
"Okay, you're playing it the hard way? Well, so am I then." With that, she cruelly ripped off the IV that had been attached to his left arm earlier for nutrition, making him wince as searing pain shot through his body. Then she roughly pulled him out of his bed and let him drop into the wheelchair, noticing with satisfaction and slight astonishment that his feeble attempts to defend himself were indeed nothing to worry about.
"Now, Commander, remember? No noise whatsoever. We're going to take a little trip."
Harm knew better than to argue. Probably she didn't have Mac or Trisha but he couldn't be sure that he would be quick enough to get to them before she did if he tried anything. In fact, he was sure that he would never make it in time. So he didn't resist as Maryann let his arms drop onto his thighs in the wheelchair, covered him with a blanket up to his neck and quickly made her way for the parking lot. His left arm was still hurting and he felt blood trickle out of the small wound.
"Can't I at least get a bandage?" he asked very low.
She only glared at him and pushed on.
'Think of something, Hammer. Anything... Sarah... Help... Call Sarah... Call... Phone... Cell-phone...'
Praying silently and fervently that his plan might work out, Harm under the blanket slowly moved his hand until it came to rest over the hidden pocket. He had no idea which key it was he was pushing. He only hoped that someone would answer. And understand what this mess was all about.
Across town, on a quiet street in Rosslyn, Claire Farnham was pulling into a parking space as her cell-phone started to beep. She cast a quick look at the display and her breath caught in her throat: the display clearly read 'Harm'.
To be continued... (Feedback very much appreciated!)
From part twelve:
Sergei was overwhelmed with relief that Jeannine was back safely. He immediately pulled her into a tight embrace and made her sit down on his lap. She just took several deep breaths, her eyes closed, trying to relax.
"You did an exceptional job in there, Cadet," Sturgis observed calmly. "I'll make sure that, once all this is over, I'll have Captain Wells add my report to your service record."
"Thank you, sir."
Mac was giving the evidence a quick first survey, whistling under her breath. "I don't know too much about aeronautics, but if this is what I think it is, we have something really big at hand. I doubt it will be enough to clear the admiral's name completely, though. There's still no indication as to who killed Sydney in the first place. But with the North Star data and the bills we found, we should at least be able to raise enough doubt to prevent a finding of 'guilty'. Problem is that we'll have to share our knowledge with Krennick. But I suggest we do that at the latest possible time." She looked up to Fred, determination shining in her glance. "I want you to call Kristen Cramer to the stand."
"So do I, Mac. So do I," Fred answered slowly, somehow confident that he wouldn't be afraid of the task that lay before him.
Part Thirteen:
Mon, March 1st 2312 ZULU Bethesda Naval Hospital Washington, D.C.
Harm was sweating profusely. His breath came in ragged gasps and he didn't know where to start counting all the muscles that were hurting badly. Despair showed in his eyes and Mac was hurting with him, compassion for him filling her heart. Once again, Harm closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and focused on the muscles he needed right now. He wouldn't give in. He had set his task for the day and he would conquer it. He would. He would! He struggled, fought, won inch per inch as he was trying to... dress himself.
Mac had brought a pair of sweats and socks because Harm had complained that he always had to wear hospital scrubs. He planned on training to get up soon and he didn't like the idea of being in a shirt that opened behind. Mac had asked Zanelli if she might dress Harm in his own clothes, claiming that she knew he would like it and maybe feel more at ease which might bring him nearer to waking up. Reluctantly Zanelli had consented. Harm already received quite a lot of extra attention and exceptions to hospital rules. But the doctor had come to admire Colonel Rabb for the way she stuck to her husband and tried everything in her power to bring him back to his normal life. So he found it hard to deny her anything she asked - that pleading puppy-dog look always showing in those beautiful dark eyes of hers. And since he and his colleagues had decided the day before that Harm's pulse was now to be considered as reliable as his breathing, the heart monitor was gone. The IV was attached only when he needed nutrition. So Zanelli really didn't have a good-enough excuse not to let the colonel help her husband get comfortable.
It had taken Harm a full ten minutes to lift his blanket and shove his legs out of his bed. An additional five minutes had been spent on pulling himself up into a sitting position. Mac had tried to reason with him that he was asking too much of his body, that what he had achieved up to this point was great and that he could lie down and rest without having a bad conscience. But Harm would have nothing of it. He was so sick of being confined to this room, seeing his daughter once a day if he was lucky. He wanted to be fit to leave as soon as it would be safe for him to officially wake up.
Now he was sitting on his bed, trying to coordinate the movements that would first get his legs into his trousers and then have him pull them up to his hips. More than once Mac had stepped up to him, offering to help him, but he was determined to do it by himself. So she had finally given up on helping, sitting by and feeding Trisha instead. Silently, she watched as he worked his way through the trousers' legs until he had finally put them on. Now all he had to do was find a way to pull them up. As he looked at her, she only raised one eyebrow, doubtful about how he planned to do it.
"Mac?"
"Yeah?"
"Help me stand, please." Harm's voice was still low and his pronunciation slightly slurred, the words coming out a little slower than usual. But he had mastered his speech, having - as he sheepishly admitted to her - recited poems to himself all night, whispering.
Her eyes widened in shock. "Harm, are you crazy?" she hissed, concerned. "You can barely sit. How do you think your legs will hold your weight? You'll only fall and I can't get you back up into your bed on my own. And you know what that means."
"I know, Mac. But I want to get my sweatpants on. Please," he pleaded.
Defeated, Mac let out a sigh. 'Darn that Rabb stubbornness.' "Okay, sailor. Lean on to me." She rested Trisha on her left arm and walked over to stand at Harm's right. He grabbed her arm and pulled himself up, swaying slightly when his feet took a firm hold on the ground. With his free hand he quickly pulled up his sweatpants and after that immediately let himself drop back on the bed.
"Well done, sailor." Mac gave him a warm smile.
He smiled back, relieved. "Now for the sweater, Colonel, please."
"Harm..."
"Please, Mac."
"Okay, okay. Here it is."
"Thanks."
Another ten minutes later, Harm had settled himself back on top of his bed, dressed comfortably in sweats and warm socks, grinning contently. "See, Mac? I told you I'd do it by myself."
"You did. I'm proud of you." Something in her answer made him listen more closely. She was up to something, and it made him feel uneasy.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Mac gave him a slight smile, absentmindedly rocking Trisha as the little girl was sleeping soundly. "I brought you something to train your fine motor skills." With that, she opened her purse and handed Harm his cell- phone. "I made sure to bring sweatpants with a hidden inside pocket. Keep the phone in there and remember to put it someplace safe before they come to wash you. Now, when I'm gone, try to master the little movements a cell- phone requires, Commander, so I can at least be sure you don't pull off any more large-scale stunts."
Harm gave her a mix of a smile and a frown. "Gee, thanks."
She smiled innocently. "Don't tell me you don't need any small-scale training. What about your guitar?"
He sighed. "I know, but I'd rather be able to go to the bathroom first. Honestly."
Mac gave him a 'be-a-good-boy' smile. "Then consider it training for your patience. Why don't you try calling me, to get started?"
Harm's frown suddenly lightened. "You know, Mac," he said, grinning, "Cell- phones aren't allowed inside the hospital."
Rolling her eyes heavenward, Mac got up, reached over and switched the phone on. "Overruled, counselor," was all she said in a slightly exasperated tone.
"Okay." With a little difficulty, Harm raised his hands in defense. He then looked at the small electronic device in his hand. "How did I ever get my large thumb to hit the right keys before?" he murmured, frowning. 'Call Mac. Thank the Lord for speed dial.' He slowly moved his right thumb over the keypad until he had reached the One. Pressing the key, he tried to keep it down for a few seconds. Eventually he heard a low chiming sound in Mac's purse. Grinning, he looked up.
"That was nice for a start, Commander," Mac acknowledged. "Let's move on then. Task number two: dial manually." She reached into her purse and took out her cell, switching it to VibraCall in order not to alert staff members or wake Trisha.
"You could go a little easier on me, Mac. I'm just recovering."
Mac only raised her eyebrows again, choosing not to comment.
Two minutes and many errors and corrections later, Harm had dialed her cell- phone number and pressed the call button. Mac happily held up a vibrating phone in reply. "Well done. Keep up the good work, sailor," she said, rising. "Try Short Message Service during sleepless nighttimes."
"Aye, ma'am. Do you have to go?"
Mac sighed. "Yeah. It's past Trisha's bedtime and I need to work on the admiral's defense."
Shaking his head with a smile, Harm thought about what Mac had told him about last night. "I wish I had been with you. From what you told me, it could have been a real Clancy movie."
Mac just frowned at him. "I'd say you got your share of 'Die Hard' instead, flyboy. Don't you ever get enough?"
"Sorry, Colonel. It's just that the surroundings are starting to get the better of me."
Mac couldn't help smiling with compassion. Being a restless soul herself, she understood what it must cost Harm to just lie motionless, pretend and wait while all of his friends were doing the real work. She bent down and very tenderly kissed him. "Be patient, Harm. I promise you'll be out of here soon and then I'm going to get you practice on other... umm... activities as well. Better rest now." She gave him a seductive wink.
To her surprise, Harm didn't take up her humor as she had expected him to. Instead, he gave her one of those intense looks that went right down to the bottom of her heart. "If you knew just how much you haunt my dreams, Sarah," he whispered.
She swallowed. "Believe me, I know." Again she kissed him, feeling his response grow more intense with each passing moment. Reluctantly, she broke away. "Really gotta go, Harm. Do you want to hold Trisha for a moment before we leave?"
"Yeah." To make sure that the strength in his arms wouldn't falter, he intertwined his hands, holding on tight. Mac placed the sleeping girl into the natural crib he had thus created. "She is so warm and soft," Harm murmured in awe, smiling slightly at his daughter.
"Promise me something, Harm?"
He looked up at her, still smiling. "Anything."
"As soon as you get home, can I take a few close up photos of you and her, just like that? She's gonna grow so fast, and this picture is just so perfect... Daddy." Mac's heart swelled at the sight of this tall, broad- shouldered man with his near-to-newborn daughter in his arms, giving her a smile that would deserve to be called angelic, hadn't it been... well, Harm.
"Sure. If I can take photos of the two of you, too. 'Daddy'..." Harm then repeated to himself. "I still have to get used to that. But it feels great. Come on, little flygirl," he softly addressed the baby, "Let's get you back to Mommy so you can both go home and be good girls and sleep, okay?"
Mac took Trisha and wrapped her in her blanket. Giving Harm a quick final peck on the lips, she smiled her goodbyes and left.
Harm watched the door close and turned his attention back to his cell- phone. It hadn't been long since they'd switched to GSM technology and he hadn't yet used this SMS thing too often. Fred had told him that in Europe people, especially kids, were mad about it. And in Japan, the world didn't seem to work without SMS anymore. 'I could as well try it out,' Harm resolved. 'It's probably the only kind of exercise I'm still able to take this evening.'
Fumbling with the menu keys and getting increasingly desperate over the fact that Motorola built such ridiculously small telephones, he stubbornly worked his way through the message service until he had successfully sent one out. Yawning contently, he managed to insert the small device into his hidden pocket and adjusted himself to 'coma' position, ready to be administered his medicine, while Mac, in her car, just smiled as the message icon popped up on her cell. She quickly pushed the right keys and her smile deepened.
"I love you, too, Harm," she murmured to herself, silently bidding him goodnight.
Same time Maryann Cramer's apartment Annapolis, MD
For the umpteenth time, Maryann cursed her telephone. Every time that she had just immersed herself into her calculations and formulas, someone was sure to call. Angrily throwing the pen down on her pad, she got up from her desk and shuffled over to the phone, on her way turning on the TV. Zapping idly, she picked up the receiver.
"Yes?"
"Maryann? It's me."
"Kristen? Is everything all right?"
"Yeah... that is, no. MC, we're in trouble." Kristen's voice was tense.
Maryann stiffened. "How so?" she asked, guarded.
"Today I received a call from the Navy's Judge Advocate General's office, telling me that I had to come testify in one of their trials. It's about that admiral being charged with murder, I'm sure you heard about it."
"Yeah, go on."
"Well, I don't know how they get from murder to waste disposal, but they seem to have found out about MG's deal with Branwick."
"Shit..." Maryann swore in a low voice, her grip on the remote control tightening.
"That's just the beginning." Maryann could tell that Kristen was getting increasingly agitated. "I immediately checked the files and the Branwick folder is gone! I can't find any traces of forced entry, but no one except myself knew it was there so someone has to have been in here and has taken it away! And the worst thing is - they even took the North Star data!"
Blanching considerably, Maryann grabbed the armrest of her sofa and slowly sat down. "Are you sure, Kris?" she asked her sister.
"Yeah." Kristen's voice was a mere whisper.
Maryann was silent for an entire two minutes. Kristen could tell that she was still on the line only by her breathing. Then she heard Maryann's voice, cold, distant and dangerously calm, seemingly talking to herself. "Rabb... You're gonna pay for this, you bastard. But how the hell did he get his information to anyone?"
"MC?"
Shaking herself from her state of haze, Maryann was about to reply when something else caught her attention. Inhaling sharply, she was suddenly eager to end the call. "I'll talk to you later, Kris. Don't worry, I'll take care of this. Just don't tell them anything until we get you a lawyer, okay? Bye!"
She hung up without giving her sister the opportunity to respond. Then she just stared at the TV screen.
["...is in the headlines once again. As we learned only yesterday, our favorite navy commander whom we all remember well from the government charity concert in May and from the Carnegie Hall show he did with Dwayne Myers Naval College, is right now fighting for his life at Bethesda Naval Hospital, D.C. Commander Rabb was shot in front of his house about two weeks ago and has been in a coma ever since.
Although his wife, beautiful Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Rabb that we also remember from the Carnegie Hall event, claims that her husband was the victim of an ordinary street robbery, the facts seem to hint that Harmon Rabb was attacked in connection to the murder trial the Navy's Judge Advocate General, Admiral AJ Chegwidden, is about to face."]
Images of Bethesda, the concerts and of Harm, Mac and AJ had been shown. Now the camera focused on the face of a young female doctor. ["Doctor Berner, how's Commander Rabb's condition?"
"The commander is stable and although he has not shown any concrete signs of waking up, he seems to be getting better. The colonel, his wife, comes to see him every day and we hear her talk to him as if he were actually with her. She often takes their new baby to him, too. Scientific experiments have proven that creating a seemingly normal atmosphere around a comatose person has..."]
Maryann didn't need to hear any more. Rabb was awake and fooling everybody about his real condition, she was sure about that. Only he could have made the connection between Branwick and Minton Greenwood and now, by playacting, he was obviously trying to protect his family.
Racing out to her car, Maryann knew what she had to do. 'First I'll take out the prime witness, thoroughly this time, Rabb. Then I'll see to your wife. I wonder just what I have to do to her to make whoever broke into MG turn over the evidence to me. Never, I repeat, never underestimate Maryann Cramer.'
With screeching tires, Maryann sped off to D.C.
Tue, March 2nd 0125 ZULU Bethesda Naval Hospital Washington, D.C.
Harm rested the fingertips of his right hand against the fingertips of his left hand and, one by one, lifted the fingers off each other and brought them together again. He had been doing this for at least half an hour, or so he estimated, but still wasn't completely satisfied about how the movement felt. It had to be smooth, casual and controlled, not strained. So he kept practicing. Thumb, index, middle, fourth, fifth, thumb, index, middle, fourth, fifth, thumb, index...
Suddenly he froze, getting the feeling that he was being watched. He couldn't have missed the door's clicking, could he? Willing the panic down, he risked a glance at the entrance to his room... and gasped. In the doorframe, Maryann Cramer stood watching his efforts with a thin smile, clad like a nurse, a wheelchair by her side.
"Hello Commander Rabb." Her voice was low and honeyed.
"What do you want?" Harm asked, wanting to break her neck and feeling frantic about being at her mercy.
"You," she said calmly, closing the door and pushing the wheelchair up to his bed. "I'd like to correct my mistake, sir."
"You can have me, but it's too late to correct your mistake, Cramer," Harm answered, his voice tight.
"Oh, I doubt that. I'm sure they'll trade everything I want once I get to your wife and daughter."
'Sarah! Trisha! No!!' "Don't - you - dare - hurt them, Cramer! I swear you're not going to live through it if you do!" Harm spat.
Cramer's face showed a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Come on, Harmon, you're not really in the position to threaten me, and you know it. Now get your sorry six into that wheelchair and I warn you: one word and they're both dead girls."
Harm didn't move, desperately trying to get his fear in check. This was a new situation for him. He had never been afraid of facing a crisis. But he had never been this utterly helpless, either, not even on the Watertown when Hodge had drugged him. Back then his state had been temporary. This time, he knew, he couldn't hope to recover in time. Harm wasn't afraid for himself. But he was realistic enough to see that he couldn't do anything to prevent Cramer from going after his family. And this knowledge threatened to drive him nuts. 'Get a grip, Hammer! You've got to stay calm if you want so much as a chance to save them!' He stared at Cramer and didn't budge.
"I said: get in the wheelchair," she repeated pointedly.
"Can't," he replied.
"Okay, you're playing it the hard way? Well, so am I then." With that, she cruelly ripped off the IV that had been attached to his left arm earlier for nutrition, making him wince as searing pain shot through his body. Then she roughly pulled him out of his bed and let him drop into the wheelchair, noticing with satisfaction and slight astonishment that his feeble attempts to defend himself were indeed nothing to worry about.
"Now, Commander, remember? No noise whatsoever. We're going to take a little trip."
Harm knew better than to argue. Probably she didn't have Mac or Trisha but he couldn't be sure that he would be quick enough to get to them before she did if he tried anything. In fact, he was sure that he would never make it in time. So he didn't resist as Maryann let his arms drop onto his thighs in the wheelchair, covered him with a blanket up to his neck and quickly made her way for the parking lot. His left arm was still hurting and he felt blood trickle out of the small wound.
"Can't I at least get a bandage?" he asked very low.
She only glared at him and pushed on.
'Think of something, Hammer. Anything... Sarah... Help... Call Sarah... Call... Phone... Cell-phone...'
Praying silently and fervently that his plan might work out, Harm under the blanket slowly moved his hand until it came to rest over the hidden pocket. He had no idea which key it was he was pushing. He only hoped that someone would answer. And understand what this mess was all about.
Across town, on a quiet street in Rosslyn, Claire Farnham was pulling into a parking space as her cell-phone started to beep. She cast a quick look at the display and her breath caught in her throat: the display clearly read 'Harm'.
To be continued... (Feedback very much appreciated!)