WHILE MORTALS SLEEP 2
Disclaimer: Characters and information from JAG are the property of Donald P. Bellasario /Belisarius Productions/Paramount/CBS. This story is strictly non-profit, just a way to share the fun and pay tribute to the joys and frustrations of JAG-watching. No copyright infringement is intended. The other characters and incidents are figments of my imagination and not meant to represent anyone living or dead, so any resemblance is purely coincidental. Any idiocies herein are entirely my own.
Chapter Two: In Plain Sight
Scene One: Photo Op
Ship's Store and Visiting Concessions Booths
USS Sea Hawk
Late Afternoon, 10 December
A few more shots of sailors buying gifts for their children and sweethearts, and he thought he'd wrap it up for the day. Swinging round to catch a burly Marine sergeant studying a shelf of Teddy Bears in Sea Hawk T-shirts, Gray got in five good shots. Surely one would show the mixture of sadness, uncertainty, and delight that flickered over the guy's face.
As the sergeant moved toward the checkout, Gray spotted another Marine, the delightful Colonel Sarah Mackenzie. She was chatting with Amitabah, who was lifting first one and then another of the small lacquered papier-mache boxes that took up about a quarter of his shelf space. "Very fine," Amitibah crooned, "wonderful gift item. Very light for the shipping." Gray watched her choose a turquoise box, with intricate designs traced in swirls of indigo, dots of deep rose, and very fine lines of gold.
"Christmas shopping, Colonel Sarah?"
She flashed him one of her dazzling smiles. "Yes. This is for Chloe. This and a CD--Great Big Sea's 'Sea of No Cares.' I did most of my shopping on line, but I couldn't resist Amitibah's treasures. What about you, Gray? Do you get to have holidays, or does your argus eye never rest?"
"Can't count the number of Christmases I have spent in war zones, epicenters, and airport lounges. So I tend to celebrate now—the instant, this day, breathing—whenever I can."
"Ah, Mr. Gray Caldwell, " Amitibah broke in, "Perhaps you would care to celebrate now by buying one of my fine boxes? Or, perhaps, a silk scarf for the lady in your life?"
Gray laughed. "Tell you what. I don't think that I am ready to buy anything just yet, but would you rent me a scarf, for say, half an hour?"
"Rent? No problem." Amitibah shrugged. "Seven dollars American?"
"Three." Looking over the neatly folded scarves, Gray chose a rose-colored silk edged in gold thread. As he shook it out, Mac noticed that it was embroidered in a pattern of tiny gold leaves.
"Now," Gray said, "I just need a model." He looked around in apparent perplexity, pressed his lips together, and sighed loudly. "Alas, Mr. Barak over there is too large. And Amitibah is too small. But, ah, the Lady Colonel is just right. Would she oblige her humble photographer-servant by posing for a few minutes?"
Mac laughed and shook her head, protesting that the scarf would look silly with her uniform. Minutes later Gray was arranging the scarf around her face. As he flung one end of it over her shoulder, his hand brushed lightly against her arm and his eyes were searching her face intently. For the perfect angle?
"You will see, Colonel Sarah, how I can hide the uniform in plain sight. An angle, a shadow, and you are no longer the Marine, but simply and gloriously the lady." He touched the tips of his fingers to the top of her forehead, "Please look down now, just a little. That's it. Now turn your face away from me, just a bit, toward that lamp. Fine. Fine. Now," he reached out and gently lifted her chin a fraction of an inch, "look far away, searching for that ship on the horizon, your homecoming sailor if you will." Just then, the faintest of smiles lit her face. He began snapping. "Excellent. Excellent."
As Gray swung the camera around, in the next booth Mr. Barak al-Barak turned his face away, as if to avoid being caught by the lens. A small thing. But Mac noticed.
Scene Two: Course Correction
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA
Admiral Chegwidden's Office
Early afternoon, December 11th
Harm smiled at the thought of the flat, gaily-wrapped package he'd left in Mac's office just minutes ago. It was the first move of "Operation Mistletoe." He hoped that the enlargement of what he thought of as their "Butch and Sundance portrait" would remind Mac of the best moments of their time together in country and let her know just how much he valued their partnership. And he hoped that maybe he'd get up the nerve to tell her just how beautiful she was to him—even in combat fatigues.
"It looks like you will have to make a detour on your way to the Coral Sea, Commander." The Admiral's face was closed, his voice even.
"A detour, Sir?" The Admiral's remark had apparently pulled Rabb back to the moment—the Commander straightened and made eye contact.
"It'll be on ZNN within the hour. It seems that during a routine intercept of a freighter in her zone, the USS Blue Ridge was rammed by the cargo ship, Scheherazade. Ripped a gash in the Blue Ridge's starboard hull. The damage is not crippling, but it is significant. It's too soon to tell whether it was an accident or act of aggression. But the inquiries and paperwork are going to take a raft of lawyers. You will report to the Blue Ridge ASAP to oversee the preliminary investigation, then meet with the area response team on the USS Sea Hawk."
"The Sea Hawk, Sir?" Now he really had the Commander's attention. Chegwidden managed to suppress a smile at the note of hope in Rabb's voice.
"Yes, Commander. This has all the makings of an international incident and Colonel Mackenzie's got her hands full just now. They've had a rash of petty thefts on the Sea Hawk—mostly small stuff, but a laptop and a video game are missing. And the Colonel has been invited to accompany a group of Marines on a special mission into the hinterlands of Afghanistan—they need her language skills. To complicate things, this morning one of the Sea Hawk's Com officers was found dead in his quarters—wound to the base of the brain from a stiletto-like instrument. The blow took a hell of a lot of force. I just talked to Colonel Mackenzie, who sends her greetings, by the way." Rabb's face remained grave, but he nodded in acknowledgement of the greeting. "We feel it best to let you do the prelims on the Blue Ridge, then take charge of the Sea Hawk murder investigation. SECNAV wants this thing handled with kid gloves. And, according to Webb…" At the mention of Webb's name, the Commander failed to suppress an audible groan.
The Admiral cleared his throat. "According to Webb, intelligence sources in the region report an upsurge of activity on the part of The Committee."
"The Committee, Sir?"
"Webb's sources peg the Committee as a rogue group operating out of Marseilles and Naples. Model themselves on the corporate structure of Al-Quaida. Many on The Committee have Islamic roots, but there are ties to North Korea and to independent weapons dealers as well."
"Their aim, Sir?"
"We are not sure. The best guess is a new brand of terrorism, undertaken as much for gain as for ideology. Oh, and Commander, just to complicate things further, SECNAV has refused to revoke the visitors' passes for a group of doctors on their way to do some relief work west of Kabul. Part of SECNAV's PR plan for the season: show the Navy cooperating with civilian groups in relief and rebuilding in Afghanistan. The doctors arrive on the Sea Hawk on the 14th. I don't think they'll get in your way, but I wanted to give you heads up on it."
"Thank you , Sir. And, Sir?"
"Yes, Commander?"
"This special mission that Ma—Colonel Mackenzie has volunteered for—it wouldn't have anything to do with Webb, would it, Sir?"
"Relax, Commander. This is not one of Webb's harebrained schemes. It's a Christmas mission to a land where Christmas never comes. The Marines are making a special delivery to children in remote villages--a load of sweaters, caps, mittens and scarves donated by folks at stateside military bases. Don't worry, son, she'll still be on the Sea Hawk when you get there."
Rabb smiled. "Thank you, Sir."
"Well, get on it Commander. And Rabb…"
"Yes, Sir?"
"Give my best to the Colonel when you see her." The Admiral grinned.
"Aye, aye, Sir." Rabb grinned back.
Scene Three: One times Zero
Officers Quarters—Temporary Visitor Housing
USS Sea Hawk
Evening of 11 December
The Cipher sits on his rack, laptop on his knees, his fingers tap-tapping over the keys with an intense, persistent, staccato motion. Scattered before him, some bits of wire, a transistor radio, and a child's electronic game. The Com officer had given him the needed information without even knowing what he was doing. It is always a matter of inserting the important questions into strings of inconsequential chatter. And, of course, no need to ask directly, no need to ask for all. Just the elements to play with. Bits of this strange language, so clumsy, its words written backwards, like something in a mirror. But he has learned them well, these infidel letters. The numbers are his own. A homeland for the mind. And a power source. His is the strength of the One followed by a string of zeros stretching out before him like the endless sea.
Scene Four: Zero-Zero
Aboard the Freighter Jade Mountain
Indian Ocean
Approaching the Sea Hawk's battle group
Dawn, 13 December
The sky is a coffin-lid of clouds. Thick mist rolls over the water, twisted and swirling like the ghosts of all the drowned. Still, the Jade Mountain creeps toward the coordinates Mustafa specified. Machines see when we are blind. The Wasp sipped his coffee and stared out into the fog. We are delayed, he thought, but not deterred. The Stinger, armed and ready, lies on the bench just by the door. When the clouds clear, there will be time enough.
Scene Five: One Plus One Plus One
Legal Office Number One
USS Sea Hawk
Morning, 14 December
A knock, then the hatch opened. "Permission to come aboard, Ma'am?" a familiar voice inquired. Mac swung round to see Harm grinning at her, handsome as ever. But, under his breezy flyboy manner she sensed a hesitancy. A little like a boy about to enter the principal's office, Mac thought. She smiled and returned his salute.
"Permission granted, Commander." Her brow furrowed slightly as she added, "Harm, I thought you weren't due in till this afternoon."
"Well, there wasn't much left to do on board the Blue Ridge and there was a helo coming this way, so I just brought my paperwork along."
As Harm ducked into the office, Coates greeted him with a salute, a hundred-watt smile, and a hearty, "Commander Rabb! Great to see you, Sir!" Once he'd returned her greeting, she went back to work at her terminal, tapping away at the keys.
Mac motioned to the chair she'd pulled up beside her. "You are just in time, Commander. I was about to review the evidence in the Jameson murder." As he moved toward her Harm saw two small framed pictures on her desk—a studio portrait of little AJ and a snapshot of Mac with Chloe and Jingo. He felt a twinge of disappointment. Then he spotted the postcard of the bay he'd sent from Naples, propped up where Mac could see it as she worked.
"Jameson? The Com officer?"
"Yes. We don't have much to go on. And no obvious suspects. He was, by all accounts, a likable guy, had a squeaky clean service record, and no significant tensions with anyone in his sector." She shoved a file at Harm. He opened it and they bent over the photos, typed statements, and notes, their heads nearly touching. He was so close, Mac could smell his after-shave. And Harm was very aware every time his shoulder brushed hers at the turning of a page. As Harm studied the material, he fired questions at Mac. She answered briskly, sometimes countering with questions of her own. Two hours later, Harm said, "It just doesn't make sense, Mac. Nothing adds up. Not the least deviation from his usual routine. Unless you count a quick trip to the ship store." His voice slowed a little and his eyes were grave, "Christmas shopping for his kids."
Mac pressed her lips together and nodded. Then she sighed. "I 'd hoped maybe you'd see some angle I missed. Damn."
"Ma'am, Sir," Coates stood up from the computer terminal where she'd been busy entering data as they talked. "Maybe a break would help. We're out of coffee here, but I can rustle up some from the wardroom galley. Heck, maybe I can even snag some Christmas cookies, too."
"Sounds good, Coates," Mac said. Coates saluted and left on her errand of mercy.
As the hatch slammed shut, Mac felt the narrowness of the office and a sudden surge of shyness at being alone with Harm, in such close quarters. She gave herself an inward shaking. Get a grip, Marine. This is Harm—your partner, remember? You've been alone in an office with him a million times. Take your own advice—its best not to get involved with someone you have to work closely with. No matter how you feel about him.
Harm turned to Mac, looking directly into her eyes. "How have you been, Mac? Your emails have been pretty sketchy lately. Any thing wrong?"
Mac looked down at her hands, which she'd clenched together in her lap. No matter how you feel about him. "Just Christmas blues, I guess. Somehow those tinsel garlands and twinkly lights in the ward room just don't do it for me."
At that moment, she looked so beautiful and so vulnerable, Harm wanted to gather her in his arms. But he settled for resting his right hand lightly on her left shoulder. "Yeah, I know." She isn't pulling away or shrugging me off. 'Easy, Hammer, easy,' he said to himself. 'Don't blow this.' He slid his hand down to rest gently on top of hers. "Hey, you know I've missed you, Marine."
Mac felt his touch run through her body. Warmth--like sunlight, like fever, like a shot of bourbon—bolted through her, waking every nerve ending. Down, girl. This is Harm, he cares about you—as a partner, stupid. Still looking down, Mac smiled, a little ruefully. She took a long deep breath, so her voice wouldn't shake. "Yeah, Squid, I've missed you, too."
Then the fingers of Harm's left hand were under her chin, gently lifting it, so her eyes met his. He thought he saw the glint of tears welling up. "Hey Mac, don't cry. You'll be home in plenty of time for Bud and Harriet's party. Me, too. Hey, maybe we can do brunch Christmas morning. What do you say, partner? My place? Around eleven?"
"I'd like that, Harm." Mac's voice was barely audible. Harm felt a sort of tightening in his chest as he kept his eyes on her face, trying to read the expression there. Suddenly Mac's mouth was the center of the universe. And she still hadn't pulled away.
What is it his eyes are saying? I'd almost swear the kindness in them has a hungry edge. Mac raised her brows slightly--a wisp of a question in that subtle motion. He leaned toward her, still gazing into her eyes.
At the knock on the hatch, he pulled back.
The next thing he knew, Mac was introducing him to Gray Caldwell. Harm appraised him silently: average height and build, deeply tanned, strong-boned face, khaki cargo pants, gray turtleneck, dark suede vest. Indiana Jones meets Banana Republic, Harm thought, drawing himself up to his full height.
Gray returned his gaze. So this is the great Commander, he thought, tall, broad-shouldered, gold wings. Suave boy-next-door-face--finely chiseled upper lip, strong jaw, symmetrical features. One of those too-handsome-for-his-own-good types the camera loves and the ladies drool over. James Bond goes Navy. If he stood any closer to Colonel Sarah he'd knock her over.
Scene Six: Odd and Even
Officer's Ward Room
Second Lunch Shift
14 December
"Harm, over here!" He'd spotted Mac just a second before she called his name. Funny how that was. He always knew where she was, even in a room as crowded as this one. As he made his way through the narrow space between the tables, Harm kept his eyes on Mac, who was chatting with that photographer. Harm groaned inwardly. He'd been hoping for one of the smaller tables. No chance for lunch alone, of course. At a table for four, though, with a little lingering, you could manage a more-or-less private word or two. But Mac and Caldwell were not alone. Coates was there, and a man and a woman—both dark-haired, both in civvies--who looked vaguely familiar. He couldn't call up a name.
Then he saw the child. Hell's bells, SECNAV really pulled some strings on this one. A child on an active duty carrier. The little boy was clambering onto Mac's lap, laughing up into her face as if he had known her forever. With a pang, Harm watched the child pat Mac's cheek with one chubby hand. There certainly were times when being a kid had its advantages.
"Harm," Mac motioned to a chair beside her, which was—mercifully—empty, "I'd like you to meet Dr. Nikos Zabetakis and Dr. Giovanna Alba. They're with the medical group."
"My friends call me Nikos," the man said, rising to shake Harm's hand.
"Most Americans just call me Jo," the woman said, echoing his motion.
"And this," Mac said, grinning broadly at the child in their lap, "is their son, Giovanni."
"But everyone calls him Vanni," his mother said. "Here, let me take him, Sarah. You won't be able to eat with that little monkey squirming about." Over his protests, Giovanna walked round the table, lifted her son with gentle strength, then settled back into her chair with Vanni on her lap. Vanquished, he snuggled against her and stuck a plump thumb in his mouth.
As Harm unfolded his napkin, he studied the couple seated across from him. He was sure he had seen them before--in Naples. He remembered the moment vividly, because the woman had reminded him so much of Mac. Now, he saw that it had been a trick of the moment, the coincidence of similar height and build and coloring. Giovanna's face was thinner than Mac's, her eyes not so large. She was a striking woman, but not what he would call beautiful. He stole a sideways glance at Mac, who was asking Nikos a question. Harm's eyes traced the delicate arch of Mac's eyebrow, the soft line of her cheek, the full curve of her lips. Mmm. "Red light, Commander," he reminded himself.
Caldwell was watching Mac, too. Harm had a clear view from where he sat, for Caldwell had the end seat, on the other side of Mac. The foot of the table, Harm thought, where he belongs. Caldwell had a direct view of Coates at the other end of the table, to Harm's left, and was as close to Giovanna as to Mac, but he seemed bent on spending the whole damned dinner turned toward Mac, trying to get and keep her attention.
As the meal progressed, talk at the table ranged widely, from the doctors' plans for their work in Afghanistan to Vanni's fascination with airplanes. Then Giovanna turned the conversation in a more personal direction.
"You have no family, Gray?"
"Oh, I've got cousins somewhere in Georgia."
"It must get very lonely for you," Giovanna's voice was soft. She looked from Gray to Mac and back again. So she sees it, too, Harm thought.
"Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends." Gray said, still looking at Mac.
But Mac was looking at Giovanna. "Do you and Nikos always work together?" Is it my imagination, Harm thought, or does Mac's voice sound a little wistful?
"Whenever we get the chance," Nikos answered, reaching over to take his wife's hand, "though sometimes we take temporary assignments in different places."
"Who takes care of Vanni, then?" Mac asked.
"Generally he is with one or the other of us—whichever one is in the safest place," Giovanna said. "But sometimes he stays in Naples with my mother."
"And you are not worried about taking him into Afghanistan?" Coates asked.
"Of course we are concerned, " Nikos said, "but it is most important to be together. The world is so uncertain. Every place has its risks. But the risk of love is worth everything." He slipped his arm around Giovanna's shoulders. "We are a team, Giovanna and I. All three of us now." Nikos reached over with his free hand and tousled Vanni's curls, "Vanni reminds us to laugh. Every day." The boy wriggled free of his mother's hold and launched himself into his father's lap. "Ouf!" Nikos steadied his son with his free arm, "Not to mention that he keeps us more than a little off balance and much on our toes."
Mac smiled. If any male at this table has her full attention, Harm thought, it is Vanni. Well better the child, than Caldwell.
"How long have you two been together?" Mac asked.
"Six years, this Christmas," Nikos answered. "But we knew each other for about a year before that. We were working in a clinic in Calcutta when we met."
"Yes," Giovanna chuckled, "we were just setting up our well-baby clinic in the City of Joy when in marches this know-it-all Greek pediatrician wanting to rearrange everything."
"Guilty, I'm afraid," Nikos smiled. "But a certain Italian doctor soon set me straight."
"It took some doing, I am afraid. Nikos is remarkably pig-headed." She leaned toward Nikos, lightly touching her cheek to his. Harm felt a sudden stab of jealousy. He honestly didn't know which he envied more—the tenderness of the gesture or its freedom.
"But, under the stars, I am a different man all together. Most easily persuaded." Nikos squeezed his wife's shoulder. "Since that night on the Hooghly river…"
"Darling," Giovanna's rich laughter masked the end of his sentence, "no one wants to hear ALL the details, no matter how romantic." Nikos grinned at her, then bowed his head in playful acquiescence.
"You are right my dear. No need to make all of these good people jealous."
Harm felt a sudden need to touch Mac, to take her hand, to tell her that he'd been a fool--a damned idiotic oxygen-deprived first-rank fool. He looked at Nikos, Giovanna, and Vanni and all he could see is what he might have had.
"I don't know," Harm found himself saying, "may be you could teach us a thing or two."
Mac watched him flash his flyboy grin at Giovanna and shook her head. But Giovanna, leaning against Nikos, said gravely, " I am afraid that no one can learn love from the ways of others. It comes from who we are, or not at all. So many paths. So many dark streets. And sometimes, light. Not always of our deserving. It is a gift." She was looking directly into Harm's eyes, as if she read something there. "Sometimes what we need to learn has been there all along. In plain sight, so to speak."
Giovanna flashed Harm a luminous smile then, still smiling, turned her eyes to meet Mac's. Mac stole a sideways glance at Harm and found that he had turned to look at her. She felt a tide of panic rising in her chest. Am I that conspicuous? A wave of self-consciousness tightened every muscle in her body. Her right hand jerked awkwardly, overturning her coffee cup, spilling the hot brown liquid onto the white tablecloth. As Mac grabbed her napkin to stem the flow, her hand bumped against Harm's--already engaged in the same rescue motion. Their eyes met. They laughed together. The tension broken, they mopped up the coffee, the conversation drifted off to films and politics and American football. Somewhere between Notting Hill and the Superbowl, Harm's hand found Mac's under the table, just for a second. A little squeeze that might have been comradely, if his hand had not lingered over hers.
Gray Caldwell, with his attention focused on Mac, took it all in. It doesn't compute. Everything she's said about him and all I can gather from Coates suggests a platonic partnership. But when they are together, something is there, under the surface, between the lines. She's not sure though. He's never told her in so many words. He hasn't made his move. What kind of idiot is he?
Declining dessert, Mac and Coates headed back to the office. Harm and Gray were the last ones at the table. Looking at the chair where Mac had been sitting, Gray said, "You're a hell of a lucky man, Commander."
"What do you mean, Caldwell?"
"If you don't know, Rabb, then your luck is going to run out sooner than you think."
Scene Seven: Multiplication
USS Sea Hawk
Arrival of the last COD
14 December
Commander Rabb greeted the group from the Scheherazade—the Captain and two of his people-- with a smooth formality worthy of a diplomat. As Coates led them to their guarded quarters, Mustafa Adamah was a happy man. It had been so easy, this coming aboard. Without a hitch. There were guards, to be sure. A minor inconvenience.
Scene Eight: With Words Unspoken
USS Sea Hawk
Legal Office One
16 December
Harm looked at the snapshot of Mac. She had one arm around Chloe and Jingo was licking her other hand. Her image looked up into his face with a peaceful, easy smile. Not like that last look, as she'd turned to follow Gray into the COD. She'd smiled at him, all right, but the smile had been a little lopsided.
Their hours together aboard the Sea Hawk had disappeared in a flash. Like Jingo licking up spilled milk. They had been busy with the Jameson case. He'd been busy with the Blue Ridge incident. Hell, they hadn't even had a few moments alone on the fantail. Not that he hadn't tried. But that blasted photographer had been up there with his camera. Something about the sunset from a carrier. Yeah, sure. He was waiting for Mac. And he didn't leave till they did. Damn.
So he'd brought her float coat and ear protectors to her quarters. Stood in the hatchway like a damned schoolboy while she tucked one last thing into her backpack. There was just time to touch her arm and say, "Hey Marine, watch your six out there." Then Caldwell was at his elbow. And other words died in his throat. He cared too much for her to risk trouble by saying more in front of a witness. Especially this one.
She'd read his face, though. "Hey, Harm. It's only a few days. Not combat duty either."
"It's a war zone, Mac."
"Don't worry, Rabb. I plan to watch out for Colonel Sarah." Gray's grin was annoying. Harm hoped Mac didn't find it cute.
"Yeah, sure, Caldwell. Ten to one, if there's trouble, she'll be rescuing you. Mac's one tough Marine."
Damn. That was pretty much the last thing he'd said to her.