Disclaimers in part I.
1235 Zulu/0735 Local
Dulles International Airport, Virginia – 29 November 2002
"Sturgis, you're late. It must be a Navy trait." Mac laughed as the submariner struggled with a backpack and a recalcitrant rolling suitcase that kept tipping to its side.
"You must have driven yourself if you're here on time, then, because no way would Harm have been up early enough on a day off to…" Harm's classmate looked at his fellow officer with narrowed eyes. "Unless he had a Marine around to kick his six out of bed."
"Nah," she denied, knowing that Sturgis meant "slept together" in the sexual sense and thus comfortable with the denial. "I just threatened not to come home for Christmas if he didn't get to my place in time to get me here for 0700."
Turner laughed; that he could believe, although he wasn't so sure it was the truth. "Are we going to have trouble getting through security and to our gate on time?" Dulles was back to advising 2 hours during the holidays; they now had an hour and twenty minutes and weren't even inside the terminal, having decided to meet and go undercover together at the Transportation Security Administration main office.
"No – we're flying first class and the flight is less than half-full anyway. But we should get our baggage checked in soon." Mac opened the outer zippered pocket of her suitcase and pulled out an heirloom embroidered headscarf from her grandmother that she very carefully wrapped around her head.
The head of the TSA, having been told enough about the assignment to know better than to ask too many questions, laughed at the transformation. "Personally, you look more threatening without it. Now you certainly don't look like a Marine."
"I don't feel like one, either," she grumbled. "But it's for a good cause. You're sure we're okay with the identity documents?"
"They're military issued photo IDs and you're traveling on military orders. Not a problem."
"Thanks, man," Sturgis acknowledged, shaking his hand before leading Mac out to the taxi in which they would "arrive". It was elaborate, but undercover operations had been blown for lesser details than that.
Twenty-five minutes later, the two officers sat in the passenger lounge for their flight to Hawaii as Major Ibrahim Yassin and his wife Azizah Akilah, whose family had long ago given her the nickname Azaki. And as much as Sturgis and Mac wanted to partake of the Starbucks just up the concourse, Ibrahim and Azaki were fasting for Ramadan. They could have broken the fast for the day, as travelers were exempted under Islamic custom and law from the restrictions of the fast, but both had deemed that too complicated to explain should anyone question. The downside was that the combination of flights and a layover in Minneapolis would put them in Honolulu at just after 1600 local, meaning they would have to wait until after 2300 Washington time to eat again – sundown was at 1748 in Hawaii and true nightfall about 20 minutes later.
"Oh, Ibrahim, I had to take my wedding band off at security and now I can't remember where I put it," Mac exclaimed, reaching for her shoulder bag.
"I think you put it in your dress pocket, Azaki." He let a little exasperation color his tone.
Mac glared at him, then fished in the pocket for a moment before pulling her hand out, only to have the gold band slip from her fingers to the floor in front of her "husband's" feet.
"I've got it, 'ki." Sturgis took the time to read the inscription on the ring, knowing that Harm had chosen it and thankful that Mac had found a way to let him do that without arousing suspicion. He had forgotten to ask back at TSA.
He let the displeased expression melt away, as though he were a husband reminded of the amazing power of love. With a sigh, he took her hand and slid the ring into place, repeating the words to her. "To my princess, my beloved." Sturgis might have been the one saying the words, but he had no doubt from the expression on Mac's face that she was hearing Harm's voice. The man had outdone himself, and Sturgis had to comment on it. With as much apology as he could invest in his timbre for the sake of the cover and because he wasn't the man she loved, he added, "The man who gave that to you must love you very much."
Mac smiled at him with the smile he had only seen directed at Harm, and he could tell she was really looking through him. "He does."
To anyone watching, they were a couple very much in love, even though they obviously had their problems.
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1545 Zulu/1045 Local
Office of the Commandant of the Marine Corps, The Pentagon, Arlington, Virginia
"Colonel John Richards to see the Staff Judge Advocate," the arriving daytime watch intelligence liaison of the National Military Command Center said to the staff sergeant who sat in the reception area of the Commandant's office suite.
"Sir, welcome aboard. Colonel Harris is out on emergency leave, but he briefed the Commandant and the General would like to meet with you in the colonel's stead. I'll let General Caine know you're here."
John waited but a few minutes before the sergeant called him into the back offices. He was shocked that General Caine met him at the door of the ranking man's private office.
"Colonel Richards, it's very nice to meet you, although not under these circumstances. Please, have a seat."
Obviously, the Commandant was foregoing military protocol to a point this morning – it was, after all, a holiday of sorts, with the uniform of the day simply the working khakis rather than the winter dress of a normal day. "Thank you, sir," Colonel Richards replied crisply before he sat in the chair opposite the older man in the seating area. Something else the new arrival hadn't expected.
"I'll get right to the point, Colonel. I was part of a conference call last week about Colonel Waters that made my stomach turn. What little you gave to my JAG seems to confirm the worst, but I'd like to hear the whole of your report, if you don't mind."
"Certainly, sir." John talked for 20 minutes, laying out both the incidents to which he had been witness and those of which he had heard either from direct reports or through scuttlebutt. He concluded with his final meeting a few days before.
"He actually said that word in a semi-official conversation with another officer while wearing the Marine Corps Globe and Anchor?" Commandant Caine's gray eyes flared as his tan face flushed.
"Yes, sir."
"Bastard. Is he the only military officer involved in these incidents?"
Here's where it got sticky for the former Executive Officer of the Third Marine Regiment. "I don't believe so, sir, but I have no direct evidence to say who else was involved. That part has been kept amazingly quiet."
"Blanket parties. Racist graffiti. Obstructing religious observance rights. Harassment. In my Marine Corps? I don't think so." The General leapt up from his wing chair and – so it seemed to his guest – stabbed the intercom in the same motion, despite the 10-foot separation. "Staff Sergeant Caldwell, get me the service jackets for all those being considered for XO of Third Regiment. Yesterday."
"Aye, sir!" came the reply.
"Colonel, you and I are taking a short trip once those folders get here. We're going to supplement an active investigation."
Colonel Richards could only stare at his leader, wondering what his wife would say when he called to tell her he wouldn't be back at their hotel for that late lunch.
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1705 Zulu/1205 Local
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia
"Thank you for seeing us on short notice, AJ. Sorry to have interrupted your quiet holiday weekend."
"General Caine, there is no such thing as a quiet holiday weekend at JAG," AJ Chegwidden laughed, ushering his visitors in after handshakes and introductions. "Especially when I have two officers on the way to Hawaii to start dealing with this matter as we speak." The JAG office, too, was dressed down; AJ's SEAL Trident shone bright against his black long sleeve shirt and it had not escaped the notice of the lower ranking of his visitors.
"You're a SEAL, Admiral?" Colonel Richards had to ask.
"Ooh rah, Colonel. Two tours in Vietnam and some very hairy ones in places I still can't talk about."
"My dad was a SEAL, too. Jackson Richards, retired as CO of the east coast units."
"Sure," AJ said, seeing a resemblance. "Jack and I were on Team 3 together for a while back…you were probably 3 or 4 at the time."
"Coronado. That's about right, because it was between his tours in Vietnam, too. Small world."
General Caine, who had been Marine Recon and worked with many SEALS in Vietnam, added his two cents. "I worked with your father a few times, now that you mention it. AJ and I go back to that time, too." He waved his arms. "As much as I'd rather reminisce, Colonel Richards has some additional information for your undercover operatives – " General Caine saw AJ wince at the words and amended his statement, "– um , officers to bear in mind, and I'd like to talk with you about an additional avenue of investigation."
The admiral thought for a moment about a private conversation he'd had with Isaiah Turner the previous day. The retired chaplain's idea was an extremely good one, but maybe the Commandant had a better one. "If it will expedite the matter, I'm all for it."
Colonel Richards waited for a nod from the general before he began. "Admiral, I arrived at MCB Hawaii 26 months ago for a 3 year tour as XO of Third Regiment. Until 13 months ago, I was loving every minute of it."
"Waters arrived in October 2001, didn't he?" the admiral guessed.
"Yes, sir. My first meeting with the colonel was to review fitreps on the regimental and battalion staff. He made some questionable remarks about several of the officers, and all I could figure was that he made assumptions based on last names because there were no pictures or indications of ethnicity in what we covered."
AJ smiled. "I wonder what he would have made of Chegwidden."
That relaxed Colonel Richards a little; he smiled in return and continued. "I'd rather not think about it, sir. When we met the staff, I could see that he was taken aback by some of the men. I'll give you examples. Howard Thurmond was a name he commented about, saying something about it being nice to have someone obviously from the South who would agree with the Senator and him on several key issues. Major Howard Thurmond is an African-American, sir – from New Jersey, and a damned fine battalion commander whose last two fitreps before his recent transfer put him in danger of capping out at O-4 for no good reason. Our regimental logistics officer was Major David Eisenstein. Water's comments about the name are unrepeatable, sir. The two years prior to Colonel Water's arrival, Dave's unit won the Commandant's Award for efficiency and preparedness, but the first fitrep the colonel did on the major would have cost him his career had Pacific Theater Command not stepped in and advised the colonel to reevaluate him. Even so, it was David's fitrep that cost the unit their third CA."
"Systematic discrimination. Have you kept your own records on these officers, Colonel?" AJ asked.
"Yes, sir, and I've been careful to document evidence that will, if allowed after this investigation, remove the worst of the smears from their records. Colonel Waters is not quite as rabidly anti-Catholic, but he does come down much harder on those he knows are Roman Catholic than on others. He would have no Arabs in the regiment at all if he could find a way to get them out. He actually called his new Intelligence officer something I won't repeat again, just based on his last name." It had been hard enough to say it to the Commandant earlier.
AJ grimaced. "Well, we were looking for a way to push his buttons. Ibrahim Yassin was certainly a good opening."
"Yours?" The Commandant hadn't told him much in the way of details.
"Yes, and his 'wife'."
"They could be in grave danger, sir." At a look from the admiral, he continued. "Between Christmas and Easter, there were a number of incidents on base we were not able to close out. That's the official word, but the reality is that Colonel Waters managed to convince the base CO to stop the investigations. He said, and I'm quoting as best I can here, 'It's a waste of manpower for us to be chasing teenage hooligans. We'll get the parents together and issue warnings, but let's let the boys be boys.' Sirs, I know there's a lot of information available on the Internet, but the people who bombed a duplex in enlisted housing where a Jewish family lived and a single-family home in officer country inhabited by an African-American couple were able to do so in broad daylight using regimental property that was signed out and accounted for by some of Waters' buddies on base – and not all of them are in Third Regiment, either."
Ever the lawyer, Chegwidden leaned forward at his desk and twined his fingers together. These were the hate crimes PACFLT was worried about, then. "What did they say when questioned by NCIS?"
"They weren't sir. Waters stopped the investigations before NCIS got that far."
"Then how do you know?"
"A tenacious NCIS agent who decided to keep probing unofficially and who came to me in confidence once he had a few pieces of concrete evidence."
"Get him here, then."
"I'd love to, Admiral Chegwidden, but he was murdered three months ago."
General Caine held up his hand before AJ could react; this had been news to him, too, when Richards told him earlier. "The case is still open, AJ. I called before we came over to talk with the lead agent in Pearl – woke him up on his day off, in fact. They know it was murder, but the killer or killers knew exactly what to do to cover tracks. It's a cold case at this point."
The JAG looked away for a moment, thinking about Mac and Sturgis. "My lead investigator will be working part time at NCIS. If anyone can figure it out, she can. You mentioned another avenue of investigation."
"Yes, AJ, I did. Colonel Richards and I have looked at the complete service jackets of all the candidates for his replacement and they are all excellent officers." General Caine plopped the stack of folders on AJ's desk. "But not one of them is, for lack of a more succinct term, a WASP. Our thinking is that we should send someone in to cozy up to him, maybe even get close enough to participate in something that we can use to get him out of there."
"A retired chaplain who mentored the head chaplain at Pearl said exactly the same thing to me, figuring it was a long shot that the regiment would have two ranking billets open at the same time." Isaiah Turner would have made an outstanding strategic officer, the admiral thought, not for the first time.
Richards laughed unpleasantly. "I had to get out. I got my colonelcy more than a year earlier than I anticipated and that gave me options I didn't have three months ago. Please tell me you have someone, Admiral, because if you don't, I'm really afraid of what might happen"
AJ had the perfect person – Chaplain Turner had that right, as well. But would Harm be available early enough? "I have the ideal candidate, Colonel. And he will be delighted to take the assignment just as soon as I can get him clear."
"What's the holdup?" General Caine wanted movement, now.
"He's adjudicating a case that's expected to go for two weeks, according to counsel."
"Speed them up, AJ."
"I'm one of the counsels, General."
And that, AJ noted to himself, is how you shut ranking officers up.
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1810 Zulu/1310 Local
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia
"Lieutenant Singer, a word, please." AJ tried to keep a smile in his voice, but it wasn't easy given the altercation he had just heard as he walked back through the bullpen with his leftover turkey lunch.
"Yes, sir." The young woman, whose pregnancy now showed as just a little more than a thickening waistline, had the look of a scolded puppy as she preceded him into his office.
"Have a seat, Ms. Singer. What was that I just heard?"
"A disagreement, sir. Lt. Cmdr. Manetti got the DNA results back and talked with Lt. Roberts. They're offering our clients a plea bargain now."
"Do the tests show that our clients engaged in sexual relations with the victim?"
"Apparently so, sir, but I still believe them when they say it was consensual."
AJ hadn't from the first, but one was not required to believe one's clients' protestations of innocence to defend them adequately. "Did you read the report?"
"That's what we were arguing about. I won't talk to our clients until the report has been properly logged in the discovery phase, but Commander Manetti can't enter it with Commander Rabb until Monday. That means it will be Tuesday before I can talk with them, but the prosecution is putting a Monday morning deadline on the plea."
For once, Singer was right, a thought which annoyed the admiral because he knew he should be more impressed with the young officer's skills than he was. With a raised eyebrow at his co-counsel, he pressed the intercom and called for Tiner before he remembered that the young man was on leave. "Go ahead and laugh, Loren. It is pretty funny."
He felt better when the lieutenant relaxed enough to let out a giggle as he paged Lt. Cmdr. Manetti. With Manetti on the way, he dialed Lt. Roberts' home number; once Bud was on the line, he tried Harm's apartment, then his cell, as Tracy Manetti entered and took a seat.
The man on the other end was winded, AJ noted. "Rabb," the voice finally came.
"Commander, it's a very good thing I know where the colonel is or I might get the wrong idea." Tracy and Loren exchanged amused glances before him.
"Admiral! I'm braving the cold in Rock Creek Park. What can I do for you?"
Harm either hadn't caught the innuendo or was ignoring it. C'est la vie. "Can you spare 10 minutes, Your Honor?"
"Over the phone or in person, sir?"
"Over the phone. I've got Bud on the other line and Tracy and Loren here with me. Hold on." The admiral managed the conference connection smoothly and put the two men on speakerphone. "I'm sorry to interrupt your leave, gentlemen, but I think that this will be well worth it. Commander Manetti, please explain why we're all here."
The new staff member had the grace to blush a bit at the tone but found her confidence quickly as she outlined in broad strokes the results of the DNA testing on the two men accused of rape at Oceana NAS.
"I take it you'd like that introduced into evidence, Commander Manetti?" Harm asked from Rock Creek Park.
"Well, sir," she started, her southern accent thick. "We thought Monday was early enough, but defense counsel won't accept that delay."
"We won't accept it, sir, because the prosecution wants us to offer our clients a plea without seeing the report in full." Loren jumped hard but without the rancor of her earlier confrontation with Tracy.
"You don't have a case!" Bud's passion about the issue of violence against women was the key reason he was prosecuting rather than defending. "They should have taken the first offer we made."
"Lt. Roberts, that's enough," the judge admonished. "Lt. Cmdr. Manetti, do you have copies ready for the court and for defense counsel?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then ask Chief Wallace to take the report into discovery as evidence and give defense counsel their copy. What are you offering?"
"Twenty years confinement at hard labor and dishonorable discharge," Bud replied a beat before his co-prosecutor. "Pleading to charges of rape and aggravated sexual assault." Obviously this wasn't the first interruption to his vacation day.
"Rape is a capital offense," Tracy added, reminding the defense just how lucky their clients would be to get only 20 years from members of a court martial who had already convicted them.
Loren grunted. "Only if they did it."
"I expect that you will have an answer from your clients about the offer on Monday morning before the Article 32, Admiral Chegwidden, Lieutenant Singer."
"Yes, Your Honor," the two defense attorneys chorused.
"Thank you, sir," Bud said from his home to Harm at Rock Creek Park.
"Don't thank me, Bud, thank the Admiral. Is that all, sir?"
"For now, Commander. Have a good weekend, Harm, Bud." The two men signed off and AJ hung up the phone.
"Cmdr. Manetti, Lt. Singer, you are dismissed – and please, peace and quiet for the rest of the day."
The two women snapped up to attention and answered, "Aye, aye, sir!"
He expected Singer back within the hour once she had the DNA results in hand, but maybe, just maybe, he could get some other work done first.
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0325 Zulu/2225 EST/1725 Local
Suite 2111, Hilton Hotel, Honolulu, Hawaii
"How's the room, Mac?" Sturgis asked, stepping through the open bedroom door of their hotel suite.
"Terrific. Check out the view," she replied, sweeping her arm toward the patio door and the setting sun over the Pacific Ocean beyond.
Her Farsi accent hadn't faltered once since she stepped into the taxi back at Dulles, and he had to struggle to understand her sometimes. He got that okay, though, and shrugged. "Matches mine. Are you going to call before we go to break our fast?"
"Iftar is the word you're looking for, and yes, I am. I'll be ready in 15 – the Imam said 1800, right?"
"Yep. Tell Harm I said hello."
"Who said I'm calling Harm? We're supposed to check in with the Admiral."
Sturgis just looked at her, held up his left hand, and wiggled his simply adorned ring finger at her, eliciting a guilty flush from her before he closed the door to give her some privacy.
Mac extracted her cell phone from her shoulder bag and dialed the number from memory, cursing the need to erase her speed dial settings for the duration of the assignment as she waited for someone to pick up on the other end.
"You know, Ninja Girl, your punctuality can be downright annoying to a mere Flyboy."
She grinned, knowing she'd snagged him, and answered without the verbal affectation of her cover. "You were in the head, weren't you?"
"I misread the clock," Harm whined in his defense. "And I was distracted thinking about how much I miss you."
"Really?"
"You bet. It's been 15 hours and…25 minutes since I last hugged you."
Mac laughed. "Twenty-nine, but close enough. How was your day off?"
"Not quite completely off, but maybe productive anyway, depending. I can't really talk about that – being the judge and all that."
"Smug, aren't we? Well, that's to be expected, as long as I'm not around for the admiral to compare you to." Would he rise to the bait or stay serious? She'd know if she could see him, but, the eyebrow that gave him away couldn't send signals over the phone.
"That's true, because you're the best, Mac. You know, I slept better last night than I have in a long time."
Serious. She could go with that. "Me, too." No nightmares and six straight hours, something of a record.
"We should do that again sometime. Repeatedly."
"Someday, Harm. Someday." The thought made her tingle all over.
"Just remember the ring, Sarah."
"You, too, Harm. Call the admiral, would you please?"
"Shouldn't you call him yourself?"
"He, um…well, he kind of said it was okay tonight for you to call him because of the tight timing on our end. One starving Marine here – I haven't eaten since the bagel and coffee in the car on the way to the airport." Just before sunrise 16 hours and five time zones ago.
"Admiral Chegwidden actually let you call me instead of him? Mac, he's on to us."
"Duh, Flyboy. Between our godson and what we said at the table yesterday, everybody is on to us now." She hadn't yet figured out that everybody was on to them pretty much within minutes of seeing the two together for the first time and that it had been so for over six years.
"You know what I like about that?"
"What?"
"There's an us. And I'll bet you've got to go."
"Yeah. I miss you, Harm. More every minute."
"Just remember we have a date on Christmas Eve."
"And I hope one a lot sooner than that, like the dinner you owe me at 1789. Gotta go, Flyboy."
"Be careful, Sarah – my princess, my beloved," he replied, and in Hawaii she shivered at the depth of tenderness in his voice.
"I will, my beloved prince." And before he could react, she severed the connection.
In Washington, a confused but elated sailor looked at his cordless phone in wonder, while in Hawaii, a starving but very happy Marine opened the door to the man who was playing her husband as she put her headscarf back in place.
Sturgis gave Mac a wry smile. "I'm guessing that was a good conversation."
On went the accent. "You could say that. Feed me, Ibrahim." She held out her arm to him.
"Your wish is my command. Or else my ass is grass." He noticed her questioning gaze. "Harm." It was all he needed to say.
