Author's Note: As I promised, this chapter is a little bit longer than my others… and the plot is starting to shape up just a little more… it won't be nearly as drab from this point on…
2nd Author's Note: Megan, you weren't wrong with your initial review; it was because of your review that I changed Chapter 5's original content. You made a good point, and helped me think of a better way to progress. (pointing at reviewers) You see, I DO listen to the feedback, so if you like what you're reading, say so, or even if you think I'm off base, call me on it…
… I just might not always listen… ~_^
Episode 8Unfriendly Environments
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 1110 EST, September 27
Singer bit her lower lip as she quickly jerked the joystick to her right, and then pulled harder, invoking a smooth barrel roll on her F-14 simulator. Harrington watched with an impressed fascination at the almost non-stop effort his office-mate had put into learning the nuances of the Tomcat in a little over two weeks. By no means was she ready to fly in actual combat, but with Commander Rabb settling in the rear seat, she'd definitely be able to fool the right people into thinking she was.
Admiral Chegwidden had assuaged Harrington's fears that Loren might be discovered. "Actually, it might work out better to send Lt. Singer instead of someone else." The Admiral had noted, "She's going to be the only female trainee on the Truman, and thus, she'll have her own quarters in which to do her work without as great of a fear of being discovered."
However, as the departure date arrived, Harrington's reservations had grown. If the Navy was anything like the Air Force (and there was really no reason for him to think it wasn't), pilots thought of themselves as a "Good Old Boys Club". The few women who had become pilots did not last long simply due to the harassment they received on a constant basis. Knowing Singer's encounters with some more boorish members of the male gender… Harrington wasn't terribly sure that she'd be able to handle it.
"What is running through that little head of yours, Major?" Singer asked him, and he discovered that she had stopped playing with her simulator just long enough to realize that he had been staring blankly at her.
Harrington quickly shook his head in dismissal. "Nothing really, Lieutenant. Just worried that if someone really is sabotaging fighter jets, that… well…"
"You said yourself, Commander Rabb is going to be my second the entire time. I'm quite certain that if something goes wrong, he'll be able to handle it. I doubt he became a Top Gun pilot for no reason."
"I suppose your right…" Harrington concluded, although he wasn't terribly convinced.
A knock on their office door drew their attention, and Colonel MacKenzie stuck her head around the small opening she had created. "Major, we've got to get going. We've got a bit of a flight ahead of us."
Harrington jerked to full attention. He had totally forgotten that he had a case of his own, one that would likely require his full attention. "Right, that we do, don't we?" Looking at Singer one last time, he said, "Well, if you have any problems, you know my cel-phone number."
Singer rolled her eyes, and replied, "Yes, daddy… now will you get onto your business?"
Harrington smirked, then disappeared out the door after Mac.
As he followed Mac out of the bullpen, Commander Rabb stopped him just before the door. "Don't you worry, Major, I'll make sure Lt. Singer returns in one piece."
Before Harrington could reply, Mac interrupted with a demanding voice, "Major, we have 38 minutes and 17 seconds before our flight is scheduled to leave. Even with our diplomatic status, it's going to take some time to clear security. We have to leave now!"
USS Harry S. Truman, off the coast of Ft. Lauderdale, FL- 0911 EST, September 28
"Commander Rabb, it's good to see you again." The captain said with a salute. "I was wondering when that desk job was going to get too boring for you."
"I'm just back as a part-time instructor, sir." Harm saluted in return, "Other than that, I actually enjoy my current career."
"At ease, Commander." The Captain grinned, and the pair shared the macho equivalent of a hug, slapping each other's backs so hard that Singer was worried they'd bruise each other's spines.
"So, this is the trainee you brought with you?" The captain said, motioning to Singer. "Where's her radar officer?"
"He… balked out of service a week ago." Harm explained, "I'll be taking over for him until she completes the training courses."
The Captain finally regarded Singer personally, and a dark expression floated over his face for a brief second before it disappeared behind his disarming expression. "I am Captain Edward Roget, and for the next two weeks, you're going to be my bitch. But you've got to be someone special if Commander Rabb's taken notice. I'm sure you'll do fine."
Singer had to fight herself from visibly reacting to the comment, but managed to maintain her composure. "Lt. Marci Morris, sir." She introduced with a salute. "While it didn't come out as complimentary as you intended, I understand the sentiments, sir."
Captain Roget laughed again, and said, "Well, follow me, and I'll show you two just where you'll be staying."
As Singer followed the Captain down the first set of metal steps down to the lower decks of the carrier, she asked Harm, "Commander, just how do you know Captain Roget?"
"Captain Roget was the deck officer during my training days before I became a full-fledged pilot. There wasn't a man I trusted more with my jet than Eddy." Harm replied.
The Captain laughed heartily as he stopped before a steel door that marked an entry to one of the many bunkrooms on the carrier. "I'm glad you had such a high opinion of me, Commander. Well, Lieutenant Morris, here is your home sweet home for the next two weeks. If you'll follow me Commander, I'll show you where you'll be staying…"
The pair walked further down the hall, leaving Singer. She took a deep breath, and opened the door into a room of steel and barely padded bunks. At that moment, she remembered why carrier work had become one of her least favorite assignments.
"Well, at least I won't waste my time trying to find the Starbucks…" Singer mused to herself as she closed the door, and began to settle in.
Harrington Hall Hotel, London, England- 1720 GMT, September 28
"As far as I am aware, there is no relation." Harrington said, growing increasingly impatient, "Can you just send the room service up please? Thank you."
Harrington set the receiver down on it's hook, and pointed to it. "You can handle the phone duties from now on."
Mac laughed, and replied, "What's wrong, Major? Aren't you related to the namesake of this hotel?"
"Various members of the hotel staff asked me that question seven times now." Harrington huffed, "It's just getting annoying, that's all. I mean, do they ask everyone with that name that question?"
Mac sighed, "Take it easy, Steve." She used his first name in the hopes of settling him. "They're just curious. No need to get bent out of shape."
Harrington flopped down in one of the plush chairs situated around the main living area of the suite. "I suppose you're right…" Silence ensued for about 5 minutes until the food arrived. Mac immediately dug in, and in between bites, got a bolt of inspiration to improve her partner's mood.
"Hey, I know what'll cheer you up." Mac said with a conspiratorial grin, "You can tell me the story that Webb obviously doesn't want told."
Harrington's eyes gleamed, and his mouth turned up mischievously. "I really shouldn't tell you. It's not really classified, but he could make my life quite difficult."
Mac made a motion of zipping her lips. "I won't tell a soul."
"Oh, yes you will." Harrington corrected, "Once you hear it, you're gonna tell everyone in the office."
"So, does that mean you're going to tell me?" Mac asked. If Harrington had some real dirt on Webb… this was something she'd almost sell her soul for. The chance to have something on that smirking and often egotistical CIA agent was simply too good for her to let go.
"Ah, why not? He'd never make too much noise about it anyway. He's too embarrassed about it." Harrington resigned. "It has to do with Mr. Webb, the Seattle mood, and a high-priced prostitute that often frequented one of the ritzier hotels in the city."
Mac started tapping her left foot in anticipation, having a feeling as to where this story was going, as Harrington continued, "As I understand the story, Webb had just finished a classified assignment in the city of perpetual rain, and decided to celebrate with a member of the oldest active profession in civilization."
"Oh, he did?" Mac said, a chuckle forming in her throat.
"Apparently, he handed this young lady $500, and quickly booked a suite in the hotel. From the testimony of the bellboy that escorted them to his room, Webb had the look of a 5-year-old after a Halloween haul."
Mac started giggling, but forced herself not to do anything else.
"Well, the way I see it, Webb has a bit of a thing for discipline. Once in the room, he dropped trou, escorted his boxers to his knees, bent over the bed, and said, 'Punish me… I've been a naughty boy… punish me good…'"
Finally, Mac couldn't take it anymore. She started laughing uncontrollably. The image of Clayton Webb, bare to the world, begging for a spanking simply was too much. Eventually, however, the Colonel had to breathe, and once she did, she managed to gasp, "How the hell do you know this?"
"I'm not done, and was getting to that." Harrington explained. "As it turns out, the young escort girl in question was an undercover cop…"
"Nooooo…" Mac moaned, fighting off another fit of laughter as valiantly as she could.
Harrington finished, "Now, the CIA didn't want to trust this case in the hands of a civilian attorney, so guess who they called to pull Webb's bare behind out of the fire?"
Once again, Mac busted up, holding her sides as they started to hurt. Harrington waited patiently as she tried to find her own sanity. He honestly didn't think the story to be that funny… but obviously Mac did.
"Are you totally serious?" Mac eventually gasped.
"Everything I told you comes from the reports that were given to me of the incident." Harrington vowed.
"Oh, you're right… this is too good…" Mac said, panting for breath, "If you knew just how much trouble Webb has gotten everyone at JAG into whenever he walks into the bullpen… you'd understand just how good this is."
Fortunately, she was back to normal by the time the door knocked. Without waiting for a reply, Webb strode in purposefully, his eyes full of business. "All right, good to see you made it here. We've already wasted almost a day while I got everything in order, so let's get to work."
Mac looked down at her plate, then at the remaining dishes that were still on the tray that room service had brought. Webb caught this, "We'll have plenty of time to eat later tonight. I want to get to the airfield and ask the commanding officer some questions."
Mac conceded a little too quickly for Webb's liking. She was up to something, something that she confirmed as she stood, and said with an evil grin, "Come on, Major. We better do what Webb says. After all, we would want him to… punish us good…"
Webb's features went flat in terror. There was only one place that she could have learned that from… and that certain leak was going to get his due… sometime. However, that wasn't going to save him from what was going to be a long investigation.
Mac and Harrington stepped by Webb; the agent looked up at the ceiling, and moaned, "This is a nightmare, that's all. Just some sick nightmare…"
Harry S. Truman- 1300 EST
Singer took her tray from the cafeteria line, and wove her way through the assembled pilots and carrier staff. Spotting Harm in the far corner, away from most of the commotion, she made a beeline to his table.
"I'm surprised to see you here, sir." Singer commented, "I mean, without being attached to Captain Roget's hip." She sat down swiftly, glaring at Harm as she took her first bites.
Harm sighed, "We were just catching up, Lieutenant. It's been a long time since we've seen each other."
Singer's voice quieted, but the disapproval was still clearly evident. "Well, I hope that while you were 'catching up', that you didn't forget that we are on an investigation here, and until we can start eliminating possibilities, everyone is a suspect, including your friend, the captain."
Harm frowned to himself. The old Lt. Singer was shining through yet again, so much so that Harm was amazed to so clearly notice the difference. Once she had left Harrington's aura of influence, it was as if she had fashioned the same walls that she had possessed before.
"You know… I wonder if you treat Major Harrington this way." He finally mused, just loud enough for Singer to hear.
Singer grunted and she replied offhandedly, "I trust Major Harrington to not let personal feelings affect his judgment."
Harm's eyes narrowed, "Actually, you could have stopped after four words, Lieutenant. You trust Harrington… and you don't trust the rest of us, do you?"
Before Singer could reply, Harm's attention was drawn to a couple of Navy officers who had walked up behind Singer. The one on the left muttered, "So, this is the new trainee huh? Looks like we have another cunt who thinks she has balls."
Expecting Singer to shoot back with one of her famous scathing comments, he was somewhat surprised to see her biting her lower lip, looking increasingly depressed. Realizing that she was not going to defend herself, Harm stated, "Those comments are uncalled for… Ensign." He added, noticing the lack of pins on his uniform.
The pilot snorted. "Rank means nothing in the air, Commander. If the little girl wants to get into the same sky as me, I'll rape her like she's a cheap bitch from the shore."
Harm was sure that would have done it, and at first it seemed like he would be right. Singer shot to her feet, but rather than cut loose on the boorish trainee, she bolted out of the mess hall.
It took Harm a moment to realize what had happened. Standing up, he thrust his chest slightly to draw attention to the impressive collections of medals and ribbons he possessed. "I won't report this to the Captain this time, Ensigns, but I'll let you know that Lt. Morris and I will eat you alive in the combat simulation tomorrow."
Three minutes later, Harm stood outside the door to Lt. Singer's bunk, debating whether or not he should go in. His mind was made up when he heard the sound of light sobs coming from the inside. Despite any reservations he might have had interrupting her, Harm knocked on the metal door lightly.
"Who is it?" Singer asked, her voice admirably void of the sorrow that he had just heard. She was obviously very good at hiding how she really felt.
"It's Commander Rabb. We need to talk, Lieutenant."
Singer didn't immediately reply, but did finally agree. "Just one moment, Commander." About two minutes later, Singer opened the door, and Harm marveled at how well she had covered up the fact that she had been crying earlier.
"Can I come in?" Harm asked.
"I rather you didn't." Singer declined.
"Well… we need to have a talk, and I don't think you'd like us discussing it in such a public area."
"We have nothing to talk about, Commander."
"Lieutenant, I have never seen you back down from anyone, much less some cocky pilot in training. Something he said got to you, and I want to know what it was so that I can prevent future occurrences.
"It's nice to know you're worried about my welfare, Commander, but let me assure you that I won't allow myself to give in to my emotions again."
"This has nothing to do with your welfare, Lieutenant." Harm snapped, "You've shown a moment's weakness in the mess hall, and now your fellow pilots smell blood in the water, and are going to intentionally go after you as much as they can, and potentially blow your cover."
Singer jolted. Challenging her professionalism obviously was a key to getting her to see reason. "Very well… come in…"
As Harm complied, he shut the door, sensing that whatever was bothering Lt. Singer, she probably didn't want aired to any passer-bys. He waited patiently while Singer gathered her wits to explain herself.
"It's rather stupid that I still let it bother me, Commander." Singer began, "It happened a long time ago, and I should be able to just let it go."
"Well, it might help if I knew what this thing was." Harm replied, "As it is, I have no idea what you're talking about."
Singer shook her head, "I… don't know…"
It took Harm a moment to realize what was going on, the same thing the two had been discussing in mess hall before they had been interrupted. "This is about the trust issue, isn't it? You don't trust me."
"Well, can you blame me?" Singer replied, "Do you think I don't hear the whispers behind my back… or how glad you all were when I left for the Seahawk?"
Harm smirked, "Well… you didn't exactly make yourself likeable, you know that? You are always so competitive and made it hard to work with you."
"This is a competition, sir." Singer replied, "We're all out for the same thing, aren't we? To be the JAG, the one in charge?"
Harm frowned, "That's where you're wrong, Lieutenant. We're supposed to be a team. Sure… being the top dog is a bit of motivation, but I certainly wouldn't be hurt to see Colonel MacKenzie or Commander Turner win out. What's best for the team is what's best for me."
Harm sighed, "I'm not out to ruin you… because, well… you're an asset to the group even with the way you act at times. To ruin your career would hinder mine. I want to help you complete your mission… just as I would expect you to help me complete mine."
"And since we have the same mission, that means you need full disclosure with each other, right Commander?" Singer asked wryly.
Harm shook his head, "Merely the pertinent details to your breakdown in the mess hall is fine, Lieutenant. I'm not out for an autobiography."
"Well, if that's all you want…" Singer said, "It has to do with an event when I was attending Dartmouth. I had met a young man there by the name of Henry Crenshaw. He had bothered me for a date for a couple months until finally I agreed to attend one of the school dances with him."
Singer took a deep breath. "I listened to some fellow classmates as to what to do, and on the night of the dance, he took me to a hotel outside of campus. That's when… well… he…" Tears had started to form in his eyes. "I told him no… then he ridiculed me, and did it anyway…"
Harm held up his hand, "That's enough, Lieutenant, I think I get the picture."
Singer didn't appear to listen, "Those pilots in the mess hall talked to me just like my date did… they talked about raping me… and I just lost it. I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help it."
Harm smiled, "It's all right, Lieutenant. I didn't know that was what happened… Hell, I'm amazed you kept as composed as you did. The men who pilot aren't always tactful, and they can get mean."
"I'm going to tell you a little secret about navy pilots, Lieutenant." Harm said, "We're a lot of talk. We can get real competitive, but when push comes to shove, we aren't as nasty as we make ourselves out to be."
"Are you included in that generalization, Commander?" Singer asked, her mood gradually improving.
"At times I can be." Harm admitted, "You might have noticed my tendency to try and command a negotiation or trial. I just don't like not being in control, and that's all that the exchange in the mess hall was, a power play. No one on this carrier would dare risk ruining their career by really doing anything to you."
Singer's face grew grim. "That's where you're wrong, Commander. Aren't we here in the first place because someone is harming the pilots?"
"You might have a point there… but we'll see once we get to the bottom of this, won't we? I still think something isn't quite adding up in this scenario…"
U.S. Embassy, London- 2016 GMT
"Well… that was a waste of time." Mac huffed as they left the U.S. Embassy. "How are we supposed to figure out what happened if the Air Force won't release the flight data they had gathered?"
Webb stated, "We already have flight data from the RAF Headquarters Strike Command. We didn't need the one from the Air Force."
Harrington didn't buy it. "I find it curious that the Air Force labeled the flight data as top secret pending investigation. As I recall, we're the one's investigating."
Webb shook his head, "We have flight data, and we'll get to interview some of the spotters that were tracking the two planes. What more will we need to reach a conclusion?"
Harrington stopped, "All right, Webb… that is the third time since we've got here that you've said that; that we're here to reach 'a conclusion', and not the truth."
"Is there a difference, Major?"
"With you, Webb… there is a significant difference." Mac cut in. She too was getting increasingly suspicious of Webb's actions.
"Let me make something clear to both of you. We are here to find out what happened… that's it. If you don't like the way I'm running the show, you can go right back to Washington." Webb explained acidly.
"Oh sure, I could do that… and then watch you make a farce of what is supposed to be a serious investigation." Mac replied. "I'm staying just to make sure you conveniently don't sweep any facts under the rug."
While Mac and Webb were arguing, neither of them immediately noticed Harrington tense, and his eyes fixing on someone or something across the street. It wasn't until he suddenly broke out into a full sprint onto the congested roadway that Mac reacted.
"Major! What the hell…!" Mac shouted, and leaving Webb, she took off after her partner. Even after nearly getting hit twice, he didn't react to the traffic other than a pair of angry glares. By the time Mac reached the other side of the roadway, Harrington was turning into an alley between two buildings.
Apparently, Harrington had some form of track and field expertise, because by the time Mac reached the alley, he was already turning left around the other side. Trying as hard as she could to pursue, she was lucky that he stopped on the sidewalk just outside the alley, hands on his knees, glaring pure hate at one of London's famous double-decker buses as it drove down the street.
Mac grabbed him by the shoulder, and he didn't react, suggesting that he had been aware she was following him. "What in heaven's name has come over you, Major?" She demanded.
Harrington straightened, and shrugged her hand away. "With all due respect, it is none of your concern, ma'am."
Mac scowled, and once again grabbed Harrington's shoulder, turning him roughly to face her. "Excuse me? My case partner just suddenly nearly got himself killed running through London traffic, chasing after God knows what. You better believe it concerns me!"
Harrington looked back down the street, where the bus he had been staring at had just turned a corner, disappearing behind the London architecture. "You could say that I thought a saw a spook, Colonel…"
Harry S. Truman- 0750 EST, September 29
Singer pulled the harness tight around her body, making sure that nothing was wrong with the restraints. One missed flaw could mean death, especially in a situation in which there was likely a saboteur floating about.
"All right, Lieutenant, just follow my commands, and you'll do more than well enough to silence your fellow trainees for the rest of the course." Harm replied over their closed-circuit connection.
"We're here to find a saboteur… not to be a Top Gun, Commander." Singer chastised. Commander Rabb was having way too much fun with this.
"That's true, Lieutenant… but it doesn't hurt to try and win it all, does it?"
Commander Rabb was learning to appeal to her competitive nature, Singer realized. "Perhaps not, sir. I guess it wouldn't hurt to roast a few turkeys."
"You're sounding like a fighter pilot already, Lieutenant. Maybe you're in the wrong career field." Harm joked.
"Forget it… JAG HQ already has enough cocky, arrogant pilots running around."
"There's only two."
"Yes, and that's two too many." Singer quipped.
Harm laughed, and replied, "I'm going to tell Major Harrington you said that."
"He knows better than to disagree with me."
Harm shook his head, "Just get ready to fly, Lieutenant." He paused the connection, and marveled at the difference in Lt. Singer since their discussion. Perhaps she'll be a little more open with her co-workers now. It certainly wouldn't hurt to improve the trust in the office.
Lt. Singer got the clearance for takeoff, and Harm prepared to guide her through the process. However, she seemed to remember most of the procedure. The only thing Harm had to remind her off was to retract the landing gear.
Sure enough, as Harm had warned, the other trainees began to zero in on her like she was a tuna in the middle of a shark pond. "Here we go, Lieutenant…" Harm began, "Bank starboard 45 degrees for 3 seconds, then pull a 5 g climb until we hit 17000 feet."
By the time Singer had complied, Harm had the next series of commands for her. "Alright, make a port roll, and then dip 2000 feet. After that, switch on your targeting HUD."
Once again, Singer flawlessly executed the commands, "All right, our friend is probably going to try to scissors starboard. The way to beat that is to bank starboard, then accelerate as you are climbing. You'll get a perfect shot."
Harm's calculations were right on the money. The opposing Tomcat she was tailing seemed to hover right in front of her HUD, allowing her to press off several phantom rounds into its fuselage.
"Score one splash for Lt. Morris." The Captain's voice came over the radio. "Well, done, Lieutenant, but we've got a ways to go yet."
"Okay, Lieutenant, let's try and push the envelope here." Harm challenged, "Let's make a 6 g climb up to 40000 feet, and see who's willing to follow the leader."
Singer felt her blood rush as she accepted Harm's challenge, but whether that was because of the high g pull, or just the thrill of flight, she wasn't sure. Regardless, she began to understand just what Commander Rabb and Steve saw in all this…
Suddenly, as she hit about 35000 feet, there was a pop from behind her, and an alert started ringing through the cockpit. Before she could look at her alarm panel, she noticed the edges of her vision blurring.
Her instinct kicked in, remembering something Commander Rabb and Major Harrington had warned her about. Recalling in a split second the nature of blackout, she slowly dropped the Tomcat down into lower air stream.
Once she had dropped back down to under 10000 feet, she realized that Commander Rabb hadn't said anything. "Commander… Are you all right? Commander?"
London- 1302 GMT
"The Tornado was at a lower altitude, and then suddenly pulled up like it was going to buzz the Hornet." The airfield spotter stated, "However, either the Tornado misjudged the Hornet's position, or the Hornet turned into the Tornado's flight path, because they collided in a ball of flame."
Webb nodded, "So, the Tornado flew up into the Hornet. Okay, that's all we needed to know." He started packing up his articles in a bit of a hurry.
"Wait a second…" Harrington replied. "Don't you think the Tornado pilot would have seen the Hornet?"
"Conditions were cloudy, Major." Webb countered. "The pilot might not have seen the Hornet."
"Then the Hornet would have least shown up on radar." Harrington answered, "Not even a novice pilot would miss a blip like a Hornet on the radar screen."
"Listen, we looked at the flight data. The Hornet didn't pull into the Tornado's flight path. The Brit was trying to be cocky, and it cost him, and several civilians as well." Webb argued, but years of encountering Webb keyed Mac onto the suspicion that he was not being totally honest with them.
"Mr. Webb… I do not appreciate how quickly you are rushing to judgment throughout this entire investigation." Mac replied tersely. "While you may think that you are done with this, let me assure you that the Major and I are not."
Once again, Webb and Mac began to "discuss" their different opinions, and once again, something drew Harrington's attention. This time, however, it was a vibrating sensation in his left breast pocket, indicating he was receiving a call on his cel-phone.
Pulling open the phone, he put it up to his ear, "Major Steve Harrington… Lieutenant? What's… okay… slow down… whoa… take a couple deep breaths and tell me what happened…"
The argument was forgotten as Webb and Mac focused on the conversation. "The cockpit what?" Harrington stood up and excused himself from the table. "Oh hell… all right… explain to me what happened step by step…"
Mac turned to their interview subject and said, "You're free to go… but I'll call you later with further questions." From there, she turned with concern to the phone conversation. In the back of her mind, a tingle shot down her spine. Something had happened to Harm…
Mac waited with baited breath as Harrington's expression dropped further and further. He rubbed his temple with his right hand, and said, "Sweet Jesus… no, Loren… ironically you did the right thing. Normally, dropping swiftly in that condition is precisely the wrong thing to do, but by lowering your altitude, you balanced the cabin pressure, and just maybe…" His voice drifted off as he noticed Mac looking at him intently. "Listen, call me back when you learn more, okay? All right… see ya."
Harrington closed his cel-phone just in time for Mac to demand, "What happened to Commander Rabb?"
"How do you know something happened to Commander Rabb?" Harrington played dumb.
"I just know…" Mac glared, "Now spill it."
Harrington sighed, and began nervously, "Lieutenant Singer and Commander Rabb underwent their first dogfight simulation earlier today. From what I was able to glean, as they were making a climb, one of the seals near the rear of the cockpit disintegrated, and the air pressure in the cockpit dropped rapidly. Commander Rabb apparently fell victim to redout, and lost consciousness."
"Redout?" Mac asked. She had heard Harm speak of a blackout on occasion, but never a redout.
"It's basically a blackout in reverse, normally caused by excess negative g's, usually during a prolonged and steep dive, however, a sudden loss of cabin pressure from above can do the same thing, like in this case. During a redout, too much blood flows to the brain, rather than too little. They are considerably more rare than blackouts… but also considerably more dangerous."
"How so?" Mac asked.
Harrington obviously didn't want to continue, but decided that it was better to be honest now rather than have her find out later. "In cases of extreme redout… the blood vessels in the brain can burst… causing brain damage. It's… it's… often fatal… ma'am…"
Mac's expression didn't change, but Harrington was certain he could hear the Colonel's heart drop into her stomach. "Listen, I don't have nearly all the facts." He quickly added in the intent of not totally crushing his partner's hopes. "The fact that Singer was able to remain conscious suggests that the cabin pressure didn't drop terribly fast… Harm could have just zonked out."
"Be honest with me, Major." Mac snapped. "What do you think?"
Harrington shrugged, "As I said, I don't have all the facts. I'd say it's 50/50 right now. We'll just have to wait and see."
JAG Headquarters- 915 EST
Admiral Chegwidden was obviously upset, judging from the way he was drumming his fingers on his desk. "Commander Turner, Lt. Roberts, you two will depart for the Truman immediately."
"Sir, what about Lt. Singer's undercover mission?"
"To hell with Lt. Singer's cover." Chegwidden snapped, "We tried to play it Webb's way, and one of my officers nearly got killed. Now we're going to do it my way. The two of you will meet up with Singer, and Colonel MacKenzie will join you soon after. I want you all to find whoever did this by any means necessary."
"If Colonel MacKenzie is joining us on the Truman, who will be working with Major Harrington on the London case?" Sturgis asked.
"Major Harrington has assured me that he can handle the London case solo, and if he needs any help he'll call. Besides, it is doubtful that Colonel MacKenzie would be of much use over there… considering the recent events…"
"How is Commander Rabb at the moment, sir?" Bud asked. "I take it he is still alive?"
The Admiral nodded in relief. "Although I'm not sure how… that flyboy's luck, not to mention quick thinking on Lt. Singer's part, kept him alive. Had she not done what she did… it's likely that we'd have one dead lawyer to bury."
"I can't believe that I'm actually ready to thank Lt. Singer for something." Bud commented.
"The best way you can thank her is by making sure that no other pilot needs a miraculous save." The Admiral ordered. "The clock is ticking gentlemen."
"Aye, aye, sir!" The pair saluted, and set right onto their task.
London- 1830 GMT
"So, Colonel MacKenzie's on her flight to Ft. Lauderdale, huh?" Webb asked.
"Indeed she is." Harrington answered, not even looking at the CIA agent, packing files into his briefcase, and slipping a black billfold into his right pants pocket.
"So… who's coming in to replace her?"
"No one. I told the Admiral I could handle this on my own."
Webb smirked, "Ah… now you can run the investigation your way, I take it."
Finally, Harrington turned to face his co-investigator. "That's right."
"So… what are you planning on doing that you couldn't do with Colonel MacKenzie around?"
Without speaking, Harrington strode right up to Webb, and punched him in the face. Webb crumpled to the floor, and the Air Force officer looked down disgustedly at Webb's blank expression. One punch had knocked him out.
"First of all, I'm getting you out of the way." Harrington muttered, "Then I'm going to find out the truth without you interfering." With that, Harrington closed and locked his suite door, and left the hotel.
U.S. Embassy, London- 1855 GMT
"Major, I've already told you, the flight data on the F-18 involved in the crash is top secret. I cannot release it to you." Colonel Travis said with a sigh. "JAG doesn't have that sort of authority."
Harrington didn't reply. Instead, he pulled out the small black billfold from his uniform pants pocket, and slid it across the table. The Colonel opened it, and his eyes looked back up to the Major.
"You aren't serious." Travis drawled.
"Don't make me issue a search and seizure directive, Colonel."
Colonel Travis jumped to his feet. "You have no authority to make such an order!"
Harrington followed, his eyes narrow and cold. "I've been granted whatever means necessary to find out exactly what happened here. You can call my superior if you wish. I can wait."
Colonel Travis replied angrily, "You bet I will."
Twenty minutes later, a very displeased Colonel Travis returned, with a black disc in his hand. "Well, you got what you wanted, on one condition. You are not allowed under any circumstances to share the information on this disk to the general public."
"I hadn't planned to anyway." Harrington answered, "I'm just here to find out exactly what happened." With a flat expression, he snatched the disk from the Colonel's hand, and said, "Thank you for your cooperation."
Harrington Hall Hotel- 1905 GMT
Harrington returned to find an extremely pissed off Clayton Webb sitting in one of the chairs in the suite, holding a makeshift ice pack to his left cheek. "You know, Mr. Harrington, you really are not a nice man to be around when there isn't a lady present." He mumbled.
"No, I'm not a nice man to be around when people railroad me into a sham of an investigation." Harrington retorted. "But that is going to change in a hurry." The Major held up the disk he had acquired from Colonel Travis. "I wonder what is on here that is so top secret. I get the feeling you already know, don't you, Webb?"
"I'm not going to ruin your fun of finding out all on your own." Webb sneered, grimacing from the pain soon after. "I mean; you're so proud of being able to put on big boy pants now… don't want to rain on your parade."
With a grunt, Harrington plopped down at the desk, and opened his laptop. At the same time, he picked up his cel-phone, and dialed up an old friend. "Hello, Ronnie… it's me again… I've got a couple things I'd like you to compare. It's flight data from a couple of planes that collided in London. I need you to analyze them, and see if you can't find any discrepancies… I know, they should plot out the same, but something tells me that they won't. I'm transferring the data in question to your network now… should be complete in about 20 minutes. Just call me back when you find something."
An hour passed in almost complete silence, as the occupants in the suite were not in much mood to talk to each other. Other than a visit by room service per Harrington's request, not a word was uttered.
Finally, Harrington's cel-phone broke the silence. "Hello, Ronnie… found something?" He whirled around to the desk, and posed himself over his laptop. "Yeah, I'm right at my computer. What did you find?"
The image that Ronnie Chapel sent him was not nearly as large as the flight data he had sent her. Opening the animated file, he discovered it to be two radar images, transcribed over each other.
"So… these are radar screens from the U.S. radar, as well as one from the RAF, huh? So, what am I…?" Harrington's voice dropped off as he found what Ronnie had discovered on his own. "Now how is this possible?" He quickly surmised that there was one person that could he could get an answer for that question from.
"Mr. Webb, perhaps you can explain to me something…" Harrington began.
Webb merely glared, then checked the ice pack he had made to see how much solid ice was left.
"I'm just curious how on the USAF radar screen, it shows the two aircraft on a disastrous mid-air collision course… and yet, on the RAF radar screen, it shows the two aircraft missing each other by about 200 meters… that is until they both disappear off the radar completely."
Harrington turned to Webb and replied, "I'm a patient person, Webb. And you aren't leaving here until I get an answer."
In resignation, Webb finally told what he knew. "Military Technology had developed a new electronic countermeasures unit for military fighters, and this Hornet was equipped with one of the first prototypes. The new ECM works by sending out a modified radar frequency that displaces the plane's position on the radar screen."
"This displacement wouldn't happen to be about 200 meters, would it?"
"The displacement is variable, but yes, 200 meters is well within its parameters."
"And why didn't you tell me this earlier?"
Webb groaned in frustration, "It's called 'top secret information', Mr. Harrington. Contrary to what some people may think, the military and government don't tell the world everything they have." He once again checked his ice pack, and said disparagingly, "Am I free to go now?"
"You can do whatever you want, Webb." Harrington shrugged, "I have a report to write up, and won't have time to baby-sit you."
Webb smirked knowingly, and interjected, "Don't you mean, two reports to write up?"
Harrington scowled, and replied testily, "Whatever you say…"
USS Harry S. Truman- 1125 EST, September 30
Mac had not slept well on the flight to Ft. Lauderdale, and it showed from the fact that she nearly fell asleep in her chair for the third time. Reaching for her coffee mug again, she took another deep swig, feeling the now lukewarm liquid slide down her throat.
Singer stepped inside the sickbay, and touched Mac on the shoulder, "Colonel, you should get some sleep. You look ready to collapse, ma'am."
"I'm fine, Lieutenant. Once this coffee gets into my system, I'll be my old self." Mac replied.
Singer didn't appear to agree, but she wasn't going to argue with a superior officer. With an indifferent shrug, she left the sick bay, once again leaving Colonel MacKenzie alone with the unconscious Commander Rabb.
Mac had been assured that Harm was alive, but simply by looking at him, she wouldn't have believed it. She could still see pieces of clotted blood around his eyes and ears, but they had cleaned his nose rather well, likely so they could insert the oxygen tubes. His eyes were half open, but from inside the eyelids, there was just a blank and lifeless stare.
The Marine Colonel put her hand on Harm's that rested motionlessly at his side. It felt cold, but she could feel a slight heat in the palm, confirming what she had been told. "Well, Commander… here we are again." She muttered, not even sure if he was able to hear her. "How many more times are you going to scare the life out of me by climbing into a cockpit?"
Fighting back a swell of emotion, she continued softly, "Every time you fly now, even in "Sarah", I worry that I'll never be able to see you again, and tell you what I truly feel. Why do you do this to me?"
"Why can't I just say what I want?" Mac continued, "Because I know how important your career is to you, and how important mine is to me. To say everything I'd want to say… something would have to give."
Finally, fatigue and emotion began to overwhelm Mac, and she settled her head down on an exposed portion of Harm's bedding, forgetting to move her hand away from his. As she slowly fell asleep, she muttered, "Harm… what am I going to do with you?"
Meanwhile, outside, Singer waited for any news from her fellow JAG officers involving their investigation. The overly emotional one-sided exchange was one that Singer would have normally found ridiculous… had she not understood just how Colonel MacKenzie felt.
Somewhat embarrassed to recall the memory, it came unbidden instead. She recalled how helpless she had felt… watching the test flight unfold. She had seen the engine start to sputter out. It happened to fast for her to see the actual accident, but as Harrington descended to the earth… she could tell that something was wrong. She had waited by her friend's bedside for hours while he slowly regained consciousness, and then was blown away at first when Harrington didn't realize that Singer was holding his right hand.
"Pilots should be required not to have any loved ones." Singer muttered to herself.
"Did you say something ma'am?" A voice just off to her right asked.
Singer nearly jumped, and replied, "Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't see you there, seaman. I was just thinking out loud, that's all."
"I'm Seaman Donald Hines, and just wanted to tell you something. But if you're busy, I won't interrupt you, ma'am." He tipped his sailor's cap, and began to walk away.
"Seaman Hines, if you have something to say, tell me." Singer said in resignation.
The seaman suddenly looked flustered, and eventually stammered, "My CO will have my head if he finds out I told you this… but I overheard the Captain complaining to his first mate that he didn't like some 'part-time flyboy, part-time snitch' running around unsupervised on his flight deck."
He started to stride away nervously again, but not before adding, "I don't want to implicate anyone, especially my CO… but I just found the comment interesting."
Singer nodded, "You did the right thing by coming forward, Seaman. I thank you."
"You're welcome, ma'am."
1140 EST
"Things are awfully hush-hush on this carrier, Sir." Bud commented.
"You should know by now that the crew doesn't like ratting out their own, Lieutenant." Sturgis replied, "They cover for each other most of the year, and it's a hard habit to break."
"I understand, sir… but I also understand why Webb wanted to do this undercover. Trying it the overt way is like pulling teeth."
Their conversation was broken when a seaman stepped into their line of vision. Biting his lower lip, he glanced around the flight deck nervously before stating, "Listen, I don't want to get in trouble with the guys, but I just wanted to let you know that one of the trainee fighter teams, led by Ensign Mark Stanton, got into an altercation with Commander Rabb in the mess hall the day before the accident."
"Can you confirm this?" Sturgis asked.
"There were a lot of people in the mess hall, sir… I can't imagine anyone missing it. The two made quite a bit of noise."
"Thank you, seaman for the information." Sturgis acknowledged, "Can I have your name?"
"Seaman Chance O'Reilly." The man replied, glancing around the flight deck once more. "Umm… I need to return to my post, sir."
"Dismissed, seaman." Sturgis stated. After watching the crewman walk away down the flight deck, he added, "Like pulling teeth, huh, Lieutenant?"
London- 1711 GMT
Harrington had finally finished packing up his suitcase, and was prepared to shutdown his laptop when he suddenly received an e-mail. Expecting it to be an update from Lt. Singer, he was a bit surprised when the content of the message was a series of times and places. Upon further inspection, he realized that the list was of data transfers between the U.S. Embassy in London… and the USS Harry S. Truman.
Harrington flipped open his cel-phone, and dialed up an all-too familiar number. "Hi, Ronnie… it's Steve… I got one more favor to ask you. I'm sending you a list of data transfer records. I need you to see if you can hack into the server, and find out just what was sent… Thanks, Ronnie, I'll owe you big time."
Harrington disconnected, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't quite ready to leave London yet…
USS Harry S. Truman- 1312 EST
"I'm telling you, Captain Roget is a prime suspect here." Singer reiterated, "He was the only one who knew that Commander Rabb was a JAG officer until after the accident, and according to one of the seamen on board, the Captain didn't like the idea of a JAG."
"Captain Roget and Commander Rabb have known each other for a while. Besides, why would the captain be sabotaging the fighters in the first place?" Sturgis disagreed. "Ensign Stanton and Edmonds not only have the motive, that being maintaining their status as Top Gun, but also had an altercation with the Commander the day before the flight, according to members of the crew."
Singer shook her head, "The Ensigns were the ones who guided my plane back down the carrier after the accident, and they were deeply scared of what had happened. I can tell an acting job when I see one."
"Still no luck in the investigation, I see." Mac cut in, taking a set next to Lt. Roberts, who was keeping mum while Lt. Singer and Commander Turner argued it out.
"We think we've narrowed it down to potentially three people, two of them a pilot team, and Captain Roget. Neither case is particularly solid at the moment." Bud explained, "How is Commander Rabb?"
Mac sighed, "Well… he's slipping in and out of consciousness, waking for a few minutes at a time. Apparently that's a good sign, but we won't know if he suffered any brain damage until he's more stable."
"Well… be thankful he's still alive, Colonel." Bud replied, "As long as there is life, there's some hope." Bud patted his prosthetic leg, using himself as living proof of his statement.
Meanwhile, Lt. Singer heard the telltale ring of her cel-phone. Curious as to who would be calling her at the moment, she opened the small device, and placed it to her ear. "Hello? Oh, hello, Major, what can I do for you?"
A moment's silence from Singer was followed with, "Yeah… Colonel MacKenzie is right here… sure…" She motioned for Mac to take the phone, and said, "It's Major Harrington… says he's stumbled across something big."
Mac took Singer's cel-phone. "Hello, Major. What trouble did you… are you serious? What did he… and you said it was being transferred here?" Hang on, Major… call us back in about 5 minutes. I want to set this up somewhere private…"
1320 EST
Singer connected a speaker jack to the port on the bottom of her cel-phone just as it rang again. Accepting the call, Singer said, "All right, Major… what have you got?"
From over the speaker, Harrington's voice filtered through the bunk room Singer had been staying in. "I was able to confirm that the fighter collision in London was due to the testing of a new ECM unit that the USAF has been testing. However, it turns out that the commanding officer of the airfield, Colonel Richard Travis, has been sending data on this new device in small packets to the Truman."
"To here?" Singer asked, "Why?"
"I suspect that the sabotaging of the fighters was a cover for this espionage. With all the commotion surrounding the accidents…"
"People would be less likely to notice these small packets being transmitted to the accomplices on the Truman." Mac finished, "Do you know where this information is going from here?"
"No, but not that it really matters. All that we need to do is make sure this stops happening. I need you to help figure out who is helping Colonel Travis on your end."
Singer and Sturgis looked at each other, a bolt of inspiration striking them both at the same time. "Actually, Major, we might already have an idea as to who it could be." Sturgis replied, "It's a matter of getting them out in the open."
Singer smirked, "And I think I know how we can do that. Major, do you happen to have any contacts in the broadcasting field?"
1800 EST
Crewmen O'Reilly and Hines normally didn't watch the news, but when Captain Roget turned on the mess hall TV, the headline quickly jumped out at them.
"United States Air Force Colonel Richard Travis was placed under arrest today for attempted espionage of military secrets. According to investigators, Colonel Travis was sending top-secret documents via e-mail to an undisclosed location. Investigators are working to discover the receivers of these documents, and more information is forthcoming. This is Lynn Tucker, ZNN News."
Looking at each other, the unspoken message between them was clear. They left the mess hall separately and separated a couple minutes apart, to deflect any suspicions. Taking care to make sure they weren't being followed, they returned to their bunkroom. Quickly collecting the information they had compiled, as well as all they would need to change their identities once they reached shore, the pair prepared to leave the Truman.
However, as they opened the door to the hall, the JAG officers were right on the other side, accompanied by a squad of MP's dressed for a fight.
"Sirs, would you care to accompany us to the brig?" Sturgis said with a smirk. "I think there are a few things we need to discuss."
End Episode 8