Chapter 10
Consciousness returned to Harmon Rabb with reluctance. Hearing came first, and for a while he listened to the sounds of someone moving about without really processing them in any meaningful way. Scent followed, bringing a briny, rotten-smelling tang to his nose. Eventually, some semblance of memory trickled back, and he forced his uncooperative body to respond.
It was a few seconds before he realized that there were bindings preventing his arms from moving. When he pried his eyes open, he found himself sitting in a metal chair, his wrists bound to a pipe that ran along the wall behind him. The room was dim and stark: if he'd had just a little more awareness going for him, he would have immediately identified it as a storeroom. As it was, his brain could only process the fact that he was cold.
"I should have figured I'd have to up the dosage for you, Commander," came a voice he knew he should be able to identify. "You're in better shape than Zonne was. Thing is, I'm running low on supplies, so I was trying to be conservative."
Harm lifted his head from his chest and focused carefully on the speaker. "Rupert," he managed, the name slurring slightly. "What–?"
"Loose ends," the admiral answered easily, with a casual shrug. "I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to find you poking around in this case. I'll admit that I didn't devote the proper amount of planning to taking care of the master chief. To be honest, I really didn't think it was going to come to that. I thought Tony would go along once he understood how much he had to gain by it. I guess I misjudged him."
As Harm's control began to return, so did his contempt. "I'd say the whole Navy misjudged you."
The older man rolled his eyes. "Full of misguided bravado, aren't you, Rabb? Must be the wings. At any rate, I didn't intend for it to escalate like this, but I can tell you right now that I'm not going to Leavenworth. So whatever you know or don't know is going to have to stay your little secret. I just haven't figured out what kind of accident you're going to suffer in order to ensure that. Got any ideas?"
Harm remained silent, knowing that none of the scathing epithets that were coming to mind would make much of an impact on this man. Before either of them could speak again, a signal from Rupert's cell phone shattered the silence.
"If you yell, you're a dead man," Rupert warned, patting the sidearm at his belt.
"Aren't I a dead man anyway?" Harm remarked acidly.
"Okay, I'll rephrase. If you yell, whoever's on the other end of this phone is a dead man." That shut the prisoner up, so the admiral reached for his phone. "This is Admiral Rupert. No, Colonel, you're not disturbing me at all. It is a bit late to be working on your investigation, though, isn't it?"
A hard knot formed in Harm's stomach as he began to realize who was on the phone. He clamped down on his emotions, but not before Rupert could pick up on the reaction.
"I believe Commander Rabb was interviewing my staff earlier today. Have you talked to him recently? Oh? Well, the commander struck me as a tireless worker—I'm sure he's knee-deep in files somewhere and forgot to turn on his phone." He paused, listening.
"I'm already on my way home, Colonel. If you'd like, you're welcome to come by my office first thing in the morning. The commander will probably be there as well, but if he isn't, I can show you what he's been looking at." He nodded. "All right, then. Goodnight, Colonel."
He clicked the phone off, enjoying Harm's struggle. "So how much did you tell Colonel Mackenzie?" he asked, almost rhetorically, as he strolled around the room. "Is she coming down here just because she couldn't reach you, or does she know something that should concern me?"
"I haven't told her a thing," Harm claimed—truthfully—but a little too quickly.
Rupert quirked an eyebrow. "You know, I thought you two were a little too close when you came down to depose me for the trial. Maybe that's how this should go—lovers' quarrel ended with firearms, or something."
"If she figured it out, what's to stop other people from doing the same?" Harm demanded, ignoring the jab. "Are you just going to keep killing everyone who tries to investigate this?"
"Won't have to. By the time anyone has a chance to cast much doubt on the circumstances surrounding your death, I'll be long gone. Four and a half million buys a lot in the Caribbean."
"Look, Rupert," Harm said, hating the desperation that was clearly audible in his voice. "You can stall Colonel Mackenzie long enough to make your getaway. She probably doesn't even have anything on you. You don't need to bring her into this."
Rupert watched him with detached curiosity, as if he were a museum piece or perhaps a circus sideshow. "If she puts as high a premium on your life as you do on hers," he replied, "I think I'd better."
When the needle came at him again, Harm didn't bother to fight it. It would be a losing battle in any case. Instead, he used his last moments of consciousness to hope fervently that this sick bastard was using up all of the drug supply on him, leaving none for Mac.
#
"Will he notice that my voice is different from yours?"
Mac shook her head. "I only met him once. If he didn't pick up the difference on the phone a minute ago, he won't pick it up now."
"All the same, I think I'll try to fake it a little." Diane adjusted her Marine uniform, squaring her shoulders. "How do I look?"
"You're kidding, right?"
"Well, yeah."
Mac stared at her doppelganger, both pleased and alarmed. A blow dryer and little amateur trimming had taken most of the bounce out of Diane's hair, and though it remained a bit darker than Mac's, the difference was hardly noticeable. She doubted anyone—not even her closest friends—would immediately be able to tell that it wasn't her.
Diane turned to look at Mac, unconsciously smoothing the green skirt with her palms. "What do you think Admiral Rupert's going to do when I—uh, when you—show up at his house?"
"Panic, hopefully. He's our only link to Harm." She paused. "Provided he really is the killer."
Diane looked down at her shoes. "Do you think Harm's still alive?" It was hardly more than a whisper, a desperate hope from a woman who couldn't bear to lose him. The fear in her voice echoed Mac's feelings so exactly that she sucked in her breath.
Closing her eyes, Mac forced her emotions back under control. "He's alive," she said with as much confidence as she could muster. He has to be. "And we're going to get him."
They made the trip down to Virginia Beach in near silence. Mac drove, while Diane fidgeted in the passenger seat. Mac had left a message for the Admiral on the off chance that, if things went really sour, he'd know where to start looking for them.
Their first stop was at a local Hertz, where Mac rented a dark sedan. Then, while Diane kept a cautious watch, she transferred her sidearm, extra clips, and the hunting rifle that usually collected dust in the back of her closet to the front seat of the new car. Her binoculars were slung around her neck.
"Now remember," she told Diane. "I'll keep you in sight the entire time. Try to keep the encounter low key." She stared directly into the other woman's eyes. "And if you get scared, get out."
Diane nodded jerkily. "I understand." She took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Have you ever done this kind of thing before?" she asked after a moment.
"Like what?"
"Playing bait."
Mac bit her lip. "No." She cracked a strange smile. "I've been shot, kidnapped, held hostage, ejected from an exploding fighter... but no, never bait."
Diane shook her head ruefully. "You and Harm are a matched pair."
Mac blinked, taken aback. She was certain it was a random comment, not meant to be deep or meaningful, but Mac couldn't help the warmth that spread through her. "I guess so. We certainly get into enough trouble together."
Diane looked up at that, her gaze thoughtful, but didn't comment. After a moment, she made a last adjustment to her borrowed uniform and smoothed the hair around her face. "Well, wish me luck."
"Good luck," Mac answered. She was surprised to discover she meant it, without reservation. Whatever else Diane might be, she was a good person, and a loyal and courageous friend. If she had to give Harm up to another woman, she mused, she probably couldn't have found a better one. Not that that would make it any easier...
Forcing the thoughts away, Mac went to the rental car and got in. One space over, Diane slid into the driver's seat of Mac's red Corvette. They shared a look through the windows. The most important thing was getting Harm back alive.
#
It was very nearly midnight when Diane knocked on Admiral Rupert's front door. The highly polished wood glinted in the abundant moonlight until a light came on in the entryway, destroying the silvery effect. Footsteps followed the light, and then the door opened. James Rupert stared at her, his expression guarded.
Diane was grateful now for the years of covert operation. One thing she did know how to do was play her part.
"Admiral, I'm so sorry to bother you," she began in a fair imitation of Mac's throaty voice. "I know it's late."
"I take it you haven't heard from Commander Rabb?" Rupert stepped back, gesturing for her to enter. "Please come in, Colonel."
Slipping her cover from her head, Diane did so. She hadn't told Mac how good it felt to be in uniform again, even if it was the wrong color.
"I didn't wake you, did I?" She eyed his clothes, which didn't look like they'd been hastily donned. In fact, the dark jeans and heavy work boots looked pretty dirty, and for a terrifying moment she wondered if they'd gotten that way in the process of burying a body.
Rupert shook his head, smiling, but the expression never reached his eyes. "Not at all, Colonel. I'm a night owl by nature."
Diane accepted that and pressed on before the churning in her stomach could get any worse. "I appreciate you seeing me, sir. I'm very worried about Commander Rabb. He was supposed to call, and it's not like him to forget."
Rupert moved to close the door behind her. Diane swallowed convulsively, feeling suddenly trapped.
"I assume you've checked the VOQ and the O-club, et cetera?" he asked, ushering her toward the interior of the house.
Diane nodded as she followed him into a well-appointed kitchen. Mac had called both places while they were en route. "He had dinner at the O-club, but never returned to his quarters."
Rupert retrieved a couple of glasses from a cabinet, setting them down on the counter in front of her. He raised an eyebrow. "You sound convinced there's been some kind of foul play, Colonel." He sounded vaguely affronted. "I realize you're investigating a crime that, sadly enough, someone in my chain of command might be involved in, but it's barely midnight. What makes you think he isn't out enjoying the night life?" He cocked his head, his expression turning sly. "Or is it unthinkable that the commander might be enjoying himself without your company?"
The flush of anger that stained Diane's cheeks could only incriminate her in Rupert's eyes. But she didn't miss the deep irony in the situation as she replied, "My relationship with Commander Rabb isn't an issue here, Admiral. Very likely, someone in your chain of command is a killer, and that makes the commander's disappearance more than a little alarming." She took a deep breath, wondering if she was pushing too hard. "Now, is there anything at all you can remember that might help me locate him?"
Rupert rummaged around in one of the drawers, emerging with a snub-nosed revolver, which he pointed at her chest. "Actually, Colonel, I can take you right to him."