'Second Chance' - Part Two
Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One
July 15th, 2033 0223 ZULU Dave's apartment Georgetown, D.C.
The insistent ringing of the phone made Dave's head jerk up. He hadn't fallen asleep over his Post, had he? Frowning, he reached over to where his cordless phone lay on the coffee table.
"Mackerras."
"Flyboy, it's me."
Unbeknownst to him, a smile slowly spread over his face as he leaned back into the sofa cushions. "Hey, ladysquid," he said softly, "To what circumstances exactly do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
Cate chuckled. "Just shut up, will you?" she replied just as softly.
Sensing that this wasn't just another casual phone call like the ones they had gotten accustomed to over the last few days when they had talked a lot about the case and its implications, he sobered. "You okay, Raleigh?" he asked, concerned.
She inhaled deeply and let out the air in a determined manner. "Yeah. It's just... I just got off the phone with Patricia Burnett."
"With whom?" he asked, at a loss.
"Before she remarried, her name was Rabb."
"What? The commander was married?"
Cate's smile made its way across the phone line. "No. She's his mother."
Oh God. For some reason Dave felt his stomach sink. "Why did you call her?" he only asked quietly.
"Because I had the feeling that if there was anyone who wouldn't hesitate to tell the truth, it would be her. Mac... umm... the colonel doesn't have any living relatives left. So I called Commander Rabb's mother instead although that probably should have been your job."
"Ah..." made Dave, letting his voice trail away. He wasn't really sure if he'd have had the guts to call Mrs. Burnett. "Uh... what's she like? How did you find out about her anyway?"
"I called the airfield that Capt. Sims told us about, you know, where Ha... where the commander kept his Stearman."
Dave smirked to himself as he cut in: "Call them by their names, Cate. I tend to do that, too. It's kind of strange you should feel so connected to someone you never knew," he added in a low, thoughtful voice, "Isn't it?"
"Yeah. It scares me quite a bit, Dave," Cate quietly admitted. "Anyway," she went on, trying to lighten the mood, "Harm's biplane is still there. And the guy actually seemed to be pleased to hear that there was someone who still cared for it."
"For 'her', SEAL," Dave gently corrected her. The tender way that he spoke of an old plane, just as if it were an old lady, made her smile. Dave went on. "I'm sure she even has a name."
Cate couldn't suppress a giggle. "Eeyop."
Dave's eyebrows went up. "Don't tell me he called her..."
"Sarah. You get the picture, Marine," she cut in, laughing. "But the guy at the airfield claims that the plane was named after Rabb's grandmother, not after the colonel."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Dave only commented dryly.
"Well, whatever." Cate was obviously eager to go on. "He told me that 'she' was still in excellent condition and that we could always take her up. We just had to get the documents from Harm's mother in California. So I researched her number." Dave could hear that she had sobered again during the last words.
"How did she react?" he asked cautiously.
Cate let out a sigh. "At the beginning it wasn't nice. She was as cold as ice, barely said a word when I explained the reason for my call. Then she, very calmly, asked me if I was out of my mind. I explained what had led us to this point and she eventually seemed to understand that we're not looking for some sensation. I left out the part about our very personal involvement, though."
"Why? I'm sure she would have understood better if she knew our motives," Dave argued.
He heard her swallow. When she went on, her voice was low. "Dave, that woman was broken. Entirely and irreversibly. I mean, imagine: she's young, married to a naval aviator - Harm Senior - who's deployed to a war zone. She is told that he's MIA when her only son is six years old. She tries to be both mother and father to Harm, sees her son grow up to follow his father's footsteps. She almost loses him in that ramp strike. But he grows up to be an outstanding lawyer. He plays the hero without thinking, gets 'this' close to dying several times and yet always comes out unscathed. And then she loses this extraordinary child of hers in a terrorist attack that he, of all people, is proclaimed guilty of. She - for whatever reason - is bound to keep quiet. I could never tell her: 'hey, you know my partner's the spitting image of your son.'"
"Okay, got it," he acknowledged. "So... what did she say about the documents?"
"I wouldn't have thought she'd do it. But she said she'll get them to us when we set off in two days from the airfield."
"Wow." Dave's face again lit up to a smile, both at the thought of going up in the very plane that had given him his call-sign, and at the thought of taking his friend with him. Friend. Was Catherine Raleigh his friend? Dave was determined to believe she was, just as he was ready to be hers if she wanted him to. 'Please do, Cate.'
"Hey, you still with me?" Cate's voice was just a little puzzled.
Dave shook himself from his reverie. "Yeah... sure... I'm sorry. So... we set off to the Yukon the day after tomorrow at 0700, right?" he asked lightly, just to say something.
"Yes. And don't forget the coordinates that Capt. Sims gave you," she admonished him.
"I won't," he replied with an audible smile. "By the way, did you know that my call-sign is 'Stearman'?"
"You're kidding."
"No, really."
"How did you come by it?"
"When I was five or six, my uncle gave me a little model of a Stearman and I always had it on my desk on the carrier. Odd coincidence, isn't it?"
Cate's voice took up a resolute edge. "I think it's time we stopped talking of 'coincidences' here, Captain. This is weird and scaring the hell out of me but I refuse to accept that the both of us stumbled into nothing else than a statistically exceptional cluster of similarities!"
Dave's answer was a hearty laugh, albeit tinged with a trace of uneasiness. "Whoa, power down, squid, you needn't try and convince me of something that I could have said myself." He sobered, the uneasiness surfacing clearly. "What would you call it then?"
"I don't know." Cate sounded somewhat distant and lost in reflection. "If we were in India, we'd probably speak of reincarnation," she tried her escape in a joke that, at the same time, sounded half-earnest. "After all, I was born only a few weeks after they died."
"Me, too," Dave chuckled, at the same time feeling his palms get sweaty.
"You don't really believe that, do you?!? Umm... sorry for the sharp tone." Cate became aware that she was clutching her receiver way too firmly.
"Uh... no, of course not. So," he opted for a slight change of topic, "When's your birthday?"
"September 24th, 2003," she gladly took the offered line of conversation.
"Mine's August 1st. At least the dates aren't theirs," he added softly, sensing an odd feeling of relief at the discovery.
"Yeah..."
As the silence stretched, Cate reluctantly decided to end the connection. They both needed rest and time to prepare for what could easily become a journey to their very own roots. "Do you know how to get to the airfield, Marine?"
"Yeah, I have the address on my laptop. Dress in layers, okay? That'll keep you even warmer than the best winter clothes. Remember we'll be immobile up in the air."
"Aye, sir!" she acknowledged mockingly, chuckling. "Good night, Dave," she added in a gentle tone, "And, odd as it may seem, I'm looking forward to our trip."
"So am I," he answered just as warmly, smiling. "Good night, Cate."
July 17th, 2033 1508 ZULU Airfield near D.C. VA
"She is a beautiful bird." Dave slowly walked around the old biplane, awed. The Stearman sure was covered with dust, but apart from that one could easily see that the plane had been restored with the love of a pilot and been taken good care of ever since.
"That she is," the technician who had taken him and Cate into the hangar acknowledged. "My dad knew the commander to whom she belonged. Sad story..." he let his voice trail off, uneasy.
"Yeah," Dave agreed, lost in thoughts, still examining the plane. Cate only nodded consent, asking herself for the umpteenth time if they really knew what they were about to do.
From behind they heard footsteps approaching, two people, seemingly a woman and a man. Cate turned... and blanched. As did the woman whom she was facing. A tall, white-haired, well-dressed old lady who was walking with the help of a cane and holding a document folder in her free hand, shaking and staring at her as she would at a ghost. A man in his fifties who had accompanied her, worriedly took her arm, trying to hide his own shock as well. "Thank you, Sergei, it's okay," Cate heard the woman whisper tonelessly, a pained expression in her eyes.
Cate hated what she had to do next but she decided she'd better get it over with as soon as possible. She turned and tapped her partner on the shoulder. "Dave, there's someone who wants to meet you," she said in an unsteady voice.
Clueless, Dave turned and smiled at the two people who had just arrived. Cate couldn't bear to watch.
"Oh my God..." The woman's voice caught in her throat and she frantically grabbed the man's arm to steady herself. Her expression was one of pure horror and indescribable pain. Dave inhaled sharply. He didn't need an introduction to know who she was.
The man swore under his breath in Russian and then motioned for the technician to get a chair that he made the woman sit down on. "I'm right here, Trish," he said, his voice carrying traces of a Russian accent that had been smoothed by many years of living in the States. "Let me handle this." He straightened, leaving one hand on the old woman's shoulder that was shaking with silent sobbing.
Dave subconsciously reached for Cate's hand. She gladly let him take it, drawing strength from the gentle touch. They could see that the man was deeply shaken, too, but he tried to keep his composure, smiling tentatively as he addressed them.
"My name is Sergei Zhukov. I am Commander Rabb's brother. I suppose you must be Lieutenant Raleigh and Captain Mackerras."
Cate instinctively felt that this was Dave's turn to speak. She only squeezed his hand for encouragement. Dave was extremely grateful to have her by his side. He felt a strong inclination to run and hide but at her gesture, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Yes, Mr. Zhukov. I'm very pleased to meet you and I can only say that we're very sorry to have caused such pain with your..."
"Stepmother," Sergei helped in with a small smile.
"Er... yes." Dave willed his thoughts back on track. "We honestly didn't expect that you'd come in person. But maybe you understand now why all this is so important to me and my partner."
The woman took a resolute breath, reached for her stepson's arm to get up and tried a smile. "I am Trish Burnett, Commander Rabb's mother. I think we do indeed understand you," she said quietly. "I guess Admiral Roberts was quite startled at seeing you?"
Cate returned the woman's smile. "Yes, he was. But we were, too, at seeing each other," she added in a low voice, averting her eyes. "And that was the weirdest part of it. We never met before."
Despite her earlier reaction, Trish was totally calm now. She hadn't the slightest idea about just what caprice of nature had caused all this, but she was determined not to be surprised by anything that might come up now. Maybe some day, they'd understand it. Maybe never. But it was clear that these two young people were innocently connected to her son and his love in some strange way. So they were connected to her, too. Trish didn't know yet how she felt about that but she tried to approach the situation without bias. "Did you, by any chance, meet in a rose garden?" she asked calmly, careful not to startle the young couple.
Nevertheless, her question caught Dave and Cate off-guard. They stared, first at each other, then at Trish, nodding.
Trish smiled wryly. "How come I'm not surprised? Harm told me once that Sarah's uncle asked her where she'd 'found that sailor' as he put it. And she just answered 'In a rose garden, Uncle Matt.' Somehow, this little episode always manages to cheer me up when I'm lost in painful memories. I know that they were destined to be together. They never were in life - at least now, in eternity, they finally are."
Cate's lower lip started to tremble and she bit it until it hurt. She felt Dave's fingers intertwine with hers as if he were seeking a stronger hold. Silently, she made a vow: 'Mac, I swear that we'll set right whatever they wronged you with. I believe, and I know that Dave does, too, that Harm and you are innocent. We will make the whole world see it. I promise.'
As if he'd read her thoughts, Dave gave them a voice. "Mrs. Burnett, Mr. Zhukov, we have no idea what really happened thirty years ago, but somehow, Cate and I know deep down that Cmdr. Rabb and Col. Mackenzie could never have behaved other than honorably. We give you our word of honor that we'll set right what went wrong back then. We'll make everyone honor their memory the way they deserve."
Trish's eyes filled with tears again but she kept her composure as she closed the distance and embraced the young officer that was a stranger to her but yet somehow closer to her heart than most had ever been. "Thank you," she only whispered, grateful that he warmly returned her embrace. Then she stepped back and hugged the woman at his side in a way that she'd always hoped to hold her daughter-in-law once. "And I'll pray that you succeed in setting your own souls at ease," Trish continued, "And that you'll return safely."
With that she handed the documents to Dave who took them without looking at them. He couldn't have read them anyway. His vision was blurry.
July 20th, 2033 0537 ZULU Airstrip near Cole's Ridge North of the polar circle Yukon Territory Canada
Dave eased 'Sarah' down and gently made contact with the ragged-looking tarmac. During the three days of their journey he had learned to adore Harm's plane. She reacted smoothly to the smallest movements and willingly did everything that he made her do. Dave felt almost sorry that they'd finally arrived.
Cate had grown accustomed to flying rather quickly. When they had landed somewhere near Minneapolis the first day, she'd been sore and freezing. A nice dinner and a good night's rest had made her recover quickly, though, and the next day, their arrival at Jasper, Alberta, had already been less painful. Today's journey had been really fun. They were lucky with the weather and polar summer let the sun still shine, although it was past 2230 local time.
Dave helped Cate get out of her seat. Without wanting to acknowledge it to themselves, both of them had begun to look forward to this little moment that each day offered them an excuse to be in each other's arms, be it for seconds only. Smiling a little self-consciously at each other, they then set off to secure 'Sarah' in a hangar and rent a jeep.
It was about midnight when they finally reached the coordinates that Capt. Sims had provided them with. They were in the middle of nowhere, sub-arctic birch woods as far as they could see.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Dave looked at his partner with upraised eyebrows.
She frowned back. "You may be a Marine, but let me tell you something: swallow your arrogance. A SEAL never gets lost." She glared at him, at the same time finding it hard to prevent the corners of her mouth from twitching.
Noticing the slight movement, Dave shot her a grin and took his hands off the steering wheel in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, ladysquid. I didn't say anything."
"Better for you," she muttered with a satisfied grin. Then she studied the GPS readings again. "Okay, according to the computer, this Webb guy should be..."
"Right behind you. Freeze!" came a hostile voice from behind them. Cate and Dave slowly raised their hands over their heads, at a loss, senses on high alert.
"Get out of the car and turn around, slowly. No tricks, understood?" the voice bellowed.
Dave and Cate exchanged a look and did as they were told. Hands still up in the air, they slowly rounded the car and came to a halt side by side, face to face with the unfriendly end of a machine gun. The man who aimed at them was of average height. His hair must have been something in between sandy- colored and light brown once. Now it was mostly gray. The man wore blue jeans and a leather jacket, but what immediately caught the officers' attention was the expression on his tanned face: hostile, worn-out, bitter, disillusioned. He must have been handsome years ago, but in the sixty-plus years of his life he must have seen the world at its worst more than once. The last time had finally broken him.
"Come out of the shadow," he sharply told them. Dave and Cate stepped forward to a spot where the midnight sun lit the woodland floor.
The man in front of them suddenly dropped his gun, eyes open wide. "This is insane..." he said tonelessly.
"Mr. Clayton Webb? We are Lieutenant Catherine Raleigh and Captain David Mackerras, United States Navy JAG Corps. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?"
July 20th, 2033 1542 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada
Dave stepped out on the small front porch, hugging himself tightly as the morning air was cool. He took several deep breaths and enjoyed the prickling feeling the fresh air caused in his lungs. He had slept divinely, cuddled up on the small couch with his partner, surrounded by the deepest silence he had ever experienced.
Last night, after somehow shaking himself from his shock, Webb had only made them follow him and, with as few words as possible, told them to go to sleep and that they'd talk in the morning. Then he had left them a bottle of water and a few muffins that he'd apparently made during the day, had turned and slammed the door that separated the living-room from the small bedroom. Right now he was nowhere to be seen.
Cate was still inside, sleeping. A smile tugged at the corner of Dave's mouth. He had intended to leave her as much room as she wanted but as soon as they had lain down for the night, she had, somewhat drowsily, moved over and spooned up to him, obviously not fully aware of what she was doing. Well, who was he to complain? He had buried his nose in her hair and gently held her in his arms, becoming aware that it had been way too long since he'd held any woman this way.
Dave couldn't help but think of his alter-ego. 'I'm sure you know the situation, Harm,' he silently told him, smiling. 'Her presence starts driving you crazy and yet you'd never dare to make a move... how on earth did you endure that for all those years? Or is there something we don't know?'
Now Cate and he were facing what might turn out to be the decisive day of their quest. Dave's stomach was tightening considerably as he was thinking over and over again what they might learn from their mysterious contact. Captain Sims had sounded as if Webb might be the key to the riddle - and his behavior last night had done nothing but add to that impression.
A low creak of the wooden floor made him turn his head. Cate was standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, her dark hair tousled in a way that Dave thought was simply lovely. 'How can she look so cute just out of bed?' he wondered. "Hey," he made, smiling.
"Hey yourself," she replied with a smile. "Did I... umm... I hope I let you sleep," she added a little self-consciously, apparently aware of how they'd spent the night.
Dave just grinned back. "Couldn't have slept any better. You?"
She blushed. "Same here."
A thumping noise interrupted them just as the situation threatened to turn awkward. Clayton Webb stomped onto the porch, carrying a basket with groceries. "I figured you wouldn't be accustomed to moose filet for breakfast," he muttered instead of a greeting, rushing past them and vanishing inside, never looking at them. Cate and Dave just exchanged an astonished glance.
Half an hour later they were sitting at the little round table, a mug of coffee in their hands and fresh pancakes on their plates. Webb had brusquely cut off any attempts to help or at least thank him for the efforts he was making to accommodate them. Now the JAG lawyers just waited in silence for the ex-CIA agent to make up his mind and speak to them.
Eventually he did. "So what is it you want to know?" The hostility in his tone hadn't lessened one bit.
Dave decided that straightforwardness would be appropriate. "What happened to Cmdr. Rabb and Col. Mackenzie?" he simply asked.
Webb's mug froze in mid air. He slowly lifted his glance and glared at the two young officers. "That's none of your damned business!"
"With all due respect, sir," Cate was getting angry but managed to control her voice, "It sure as hell is. With everyone staring at us, making odd comments, the admiral all but refusing to see us, how are we supposed to work? I have no inclination to take a career damper just because of some dead colleague that I happen to resemble to!"
Webb jumped to his feet. "Don't you dare speak of them so carelessly!" he raged. "Sarah Mackenzie and Harmon Rabb were the closest thing to friends I ever had and they were special in every respect! I want to remember them the way I saw them, so don't - you - ever - mention - those - names - again, do you hear me?" The raw pain in his voice was clearly audible although he tried to mask it with his fury.
'Mac, help!' Cate silently implored as she quietly stood up and found herself face to face with the older man. She let him take a few deep breaths in silence. When he had calmed down a bit, she placed a gentle hand on the agent's shoulder, hoping that her intense glance might somehow let him see his dead friend in her. Strangely, it worked.
Webb swallowed hard. "You're so much like her," he said very low, his voice ringing with emotion that made Cate suspect that secretly, Sarah Mackenzie might have been more than just a friend to him. Webb averted his glance. "You could never understand."
Cate cleared her throat. "I know it sounds crazy, but... I think I do. Ever since I was thrown into this weird situation and started to research her, I can't fight the feeling that Col. Mackenzie's a lot closer to me than many people I actually know. I read how she handled her cases and I catch myself thinking 'That's just the way I'd have done it.' I hear people talk about her and I can almost guess how she reacted to this or that. I even started to think about what Mac would do in certain situations that I find myself in and I kind of rely on the decisions that I think she would have made. Mr. Webb, believe me, this whole affair scares me like few things on earth have but I can't help it, I need to know..." Cate stopped, helpless.
The agent just studied her features for a few long moments. Then he lifted his hand and covered hers where it still rested on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Call me Clay," he whispered with the first hint of a smile that he had shown since their arrival. Cate answered with a tentative smile of hers.
Dave had been watching the exchange, feeling an odd sting of jealousy as he witnessed the connection that was building up between his partner and the man facing her. He craved to break the spell but didn't dare to step in, knowing that Cate had gotten to a crucial point where the agent was willing to share his knowledge of the affair. But Clayton Webb himself saved him from his uneasiness. The agent turned and instantly recognized the look on the captain's face. Starting to chuckle softly, he shook his head. "And if this isn't good old Harmful Rabb all over," he softly stated. "Nature played the two of you a mean trick, you know? Of all combinations of two stubborn people..." He cast both officers a wry smile. "Don't worry, Captain. I never stood a chance with Mac. I won't even try my luck with your friend."
Astonished, Cate quickly turned her face to her partner to find him studying his mug, thoroughly embarrassed. Feeling her stomach do an odd little flip, she bit back a smile, once again cleared her throat and sat down at the table. "So, will you help us?" she asked the older man, looking at him as he, too, resumed his place.
Again a pained expression crossed Webb's features. "Why do you want to know about Berlin?" he asked quietly.
Setting down his mug, Dave spoke up now. "As Cate already told you, sir..."
Webb, with a slight smile, raised his eyebrow.
"I'm sorry. Clay." Dave felt himself relax at the realization that the agent hadn't offered a higher level of intimacy to his partner than he had to him. "Dave," he said, offering his hand. Clay reached over the table and shook it.
"Anyway," Dave went on, "As Cate already told you, we seem to have some strange connection to your friends. Heck, we even felt as if we knew each other when we first met!"
Clay cast a surprised glance in Cate's direction. She only nodded, shrugging helplessly.
"And that's why we know that something's terribly wrong with the story that's known about the Berlin attacks."
Again, Clay looked up sharply. "What do you mean?" he asked warily, scrutinizing Dave's glance.
The aviator's stare didn't waver. "I mean that Cate and I are convinced that your friends would never have acted dishonorably, that someone is blaming them for something they never did, that this someone even knows who's the real culprit, that the world should finally remember those two extraordinary people the way they deserve and," Dave's stare seemed to become even more intense, "That whoever knows the truth should finally stand up and give them back their honor."
Taking a swig of his cold coffee, Clay turned to look out of the window, in deep thought. "I can't," was all he said.
"Why not?" Cate's voice was perfectly neutral.
"Because of Bud and Harriet."
"The admiral?" Cate and Dave had spoken simultaneously, aghast.
"Yeah." Clay's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I didn't care about my own career but they threatened Bud that his family would have to live in constant fear if he told the truth. That they supposed someone would always come after them. And - and I think that weighed even heavier - the Secnav nailed him to his oath to serve his country. He told Bud that keeping the affair classified was a matter of national security. The last peace talks seemed to have finally set off in the right direction. So Sheffield said that, on presidential orders, the two people that had so conveniently died right at the center of action had better take the blame for what happened, so Israelis and Palestinians couldn't blame each other of undermining the peace process."
"But for what reason would two high-ranking American officers want to kill four heads of government?" Dave felt there was some detail that he didn't get.
Clay's chuckle was bitter. Still he didn't look at his guests. "The world was so glad that the attack had failed that all parties were actually very eager to finally get to a solid solution of the conflict. Everyone was afraid to disturb the negotiations. So people were happy to have found two scapegoats and they were content with the explanation that Mac acted because her grandmother was Islamic and that Harm helped her because he was in love with her."
"That's ridiculous!" Cate blurted out, enraged. "Here are two people who put their lives on the line for the well-being of others more often than you'd think possible and all the world can think is to dishonor them!"
Clay's glance was painfully sad when he turned it back at the officers. "It's worse," he said very low. "The world denies honoring them for having saved the lives not only of four heads of government, but of over two hundred people in the embassy that day," Clay's voice threatened to break, "By consciously deciding to sacrifice their own." He quickly got up and left the room, leaving Dave and Cate staring at each other, horrified.
They found Clay sitting in the sun on a fallen trunk at the back of the cabin. Sitting down at either side of him, they noticed that the ex-agent had been crying. Cate silently put her hand on Clay's thigh, exercising a little soothing pressure.
"It still hurts like it was yesterday," Clay eventually said in a low voice. "Harm and I had an argument once about a sunken submarine. The CIA kept the affair classified for far too long, leaving the families without notice of what had happened to their loved ones. I told him that the crew, being on a secret cold-war mission, had agreed to the possibility of 'vanishing' from any records. But Harm convinced me and the board of inquiry that at least the families had a right to know the truth. So they were told what happened. To think that Bud and I could never do the same for Mrs. Burnett or Sergei or Col. O'Hara..."
"But did anyone ever try to find out what happened?" Cate asked.
"Oh, yes, many did. Admiral Chegwidden and later Admiral Turner tried to have the affair declassified. But I guess they would have needed Harm to get through with it." Clay smiled melancholically. "That man could talk you into nearly anything. Bud searched for independent witnesses but had to be careful because he was being watched closely. We had support from even Australia. A naval officer to whom Mac had once been engaged, Cmdr. Mic Brumby, tried several independent approaches to clear her and Harm's names. Nothing."
"Why do I get the impression that Admiral Roberts has been under more pressure to keep quiet than any of you?" Dave's frown was impressive.
Clay swallowed heavily. "Because he's the only one who actually saw them die."
Cate hated dwelling on the subject but she felt she had to understand the relationship Roberts had had with his superiors. "Were they close?"
Heaving a sigh, Clay nodded. "The best of friends. Harm and Mac were godparents to his son, and I think that without their support, Bud and Harriet wouldn't have made it through the death of their daughter or through the difficult times when Bud had lost his leg."
Dave and Cate needed no further explanation to fully understand their CO's behavior. They both silently promised to at least relieve him of his burden of guilt for not being able to reveal the course the events had really taken.
For a moment, all were silent. Then Dave took a deep breath. "So what did really happen in Berlin in July 2003?"
Bracing himself, Clay briefly closed his eyes and began his tale.
July 2nd, 2003 1412 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA
Harm's head jerked up when he heard the knock on his door. A grin spread over his face as he recognized the silhouette of a certain Marine through the half-closed blinds. "Come in!"
Mac's good-morning smile fully mirrored his own. When had they finally gotten this close again, he wondered, hoping that this time things would stay this way.
"Hi Harm, the admiral wants to see us ASAP."
"On my way," he answered good-naturedly, tossed aside his pen and joined her. He started when, leaving his office, he nearly bumped into someone else.
"Oh, sorry, Clay, I didn't see you."
Webb's smile was weary. "Apology accepted. Let's go see your boss."
Harm and Mac exchanged a comical frown. Yet another assignment with Webb? Of all the things they needed...
Together they entered the admiral's office, Harm and Mac coming to attention, Clay staying behind. A look on Chegwidden's face made their smiles fade instantly. The JAG looked worried and stressed. "At ease. Have a seat. Nice of you to join us, Mr. Webb."
AJ sat down behind his desk and took a long look on the fax that lay before him. Harm shifted uneasily in his chair. "Excuse me, sir, is there a problem?"
Looking up, AJ sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid there is. I've just been informed that on June 30th, around 0300 ALPHA, there was a minor explosion at our new embassy in Berlin. Maybe you heard about the difficulties that our government had with the German authorities to make them consent to our safety measures and how much that delayed the actual closing of the last architectonical gap on one of the German capital's most important places. The mayor of Berlin was very upset over the affair."
"Where exactly is the building located, sir?" Mac asked, curious.
"About fifty yards from the Brandenburg Gate."
"Wow, filet piece of ground," Harm remarked with raised eyebrows, not sure yet how the affair might involve JAG.
"Exactly," Chewidden acknowledged. "Now, normally this would fall to the State Department, and it wouldn't be anything to worry about if it were just for the further delay of opening the building. But," he glanced at Webb, "This wasn't an ordinary explosion. Tomorrow, President Bush is going to Berlin, not only to open the embassy on July 4th, but to meet the Israeli prime minister Sharon and the Palestinian president Arafat there, together with the German chancellor Schroeder, in order to start a new attempt at resolving the middle-east conflict."
"Sh..." Mac made under her breath, barely audible, as the implications of the events sank in. Chegwidden apparently hadn't heard her little lapse of protocol, but Harm had and cast her a quick grin, biting his lip. He sobered quickly, though, considering that the government seemed to consider the affair an imminent threat. Why else would the CIA bother to get involved?
"Why JAG, sir?" Mac asked.
AJ looked up. "Yesterday, the Berlin Police arrested a major suspect. His name is Ari Coen and before his retirement he was a gunnery sergeant in the Marine Corps and a Gulf War veteran. There's nothing else I can tell you yet, Colonel, this fax is all I have. You will find the names on here of whom to contact with the Berlin Police and with the German Innenministerium, the Department of Internal Affairs that's responsible for German security policy." He stood and handed it to her when she, too, had gotten to her feet. "Coen's all yours, Mac. You're primary investigator, the commander and Lt. Roberts are your cavalry. I called Bud, he'll meet you directly at Dulles. And I hear that Langley insisted on granting Mr. Webb a little vacation, too."
Webb acknowledged with a nod and a wry smile.
"Your flight leaves at 1815. Good luck. Dismissed."
"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm and Mac chorused, exercised a model about-face and left the room, again followed by their CIA shadow.
"Something's really bothering him, but what?" Harm wondered as soon as they were outside the admiral's office.
"No idea," Mac replied, clueless as to why their CO seemed so stressed. He had been out with Meredith yesterday, though, and she'd hinted at something that had vaguely sounded like bungee-jumping...
"I suggest we'd better get going immediately," Webb commented dryly. "Seems the admiral doesn't like being in the dark about this."
"Kemal Ciloglu," Harm read, spying on the fax in Mac's hand. "Who's he?"
"Our police contact," Mac answered, taking a close look at the sheet herself. "He seems to be a rather high-ranking crime investigator, a 'Kriminalhauptkommissar'," she read. Harm marveled at her faculty of pronouncing the word without stumbling over any consonants. Why did he always get the impression that the Germans had taken a fancy to words with five-plus syllables?
"His name doesn't sound German," he remarked, frowning.
"Turkish," Clay cut in with a slight smirk. "Didn't you know that Germany has a Turkish community of over 7 million people? Roughly 150.000 of them live in the capital."
"Sounds interesting," Harm remarked.
Clay smirked. "Then it'll be my great pleasure to invite you to a nice Doener Kebap when we arrive." With that he turned and left the office.
"What kind of Kebap?" Harm cautiously asked Mac.
"Doener Kebap," she answered. "With nicely grilled, juicy mutton. Delicious!" Winking at him, she vanished into her office to retrieve her briefcase.
"I bet..." Harm frowned.
July 20th, 2033 1912 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada
"We arrived in Berlin at noon the following day." Webb was blindly staring into the woods as he continued his story in a low voice. "Our contact with the Department of Internal Affairs met us at Tegel, that ridiculous small- town airport that the German capital was still using back then..."
July 3rd, 2003 1156 ZULU Tegel Airport (TXL) Berlin, Germany
"Col. Mackenzie?" A clear, friendly voice made Mac turn around when she had just left the gate. A woman about her own age, slim, blonde, blue-eyed and dressed in an elegant light-gray lady's suit, was approaching her.
Returning the open smile the woman was offering her, Mac took a few quick strides in her direction and held out her hand. "That would be me. Nice to meet you, Ms..."
"Rosenbaum," the woman answered, "Esther Rosenbaum. I'm with the German Bundesinnenministerium, the Federal Ministry of Internal Affairs. I work with the department of Internal Security."
Mac turned to introduce her colleagues who had by now joined them. "Ms. Rosenbaum, may I introduce my partner, Cmdr. Harmon Rabb, our colleague Lt. Bud Roberts and Mr. Clayton Webb from the State Department."
"Pleased to meet you." The woman spoke with a slight German accent but her command and pronunciation of English showed that she had apparently spent quite some time in England. "Would you please follow me? I am to take you immediately to meet Gunnery Sgt. Coen. Kommissar Ciloglu is awaiting you there."
She walked over to one of the sliding doors that led to the octagonal driveway surrounding the arrivals/departures area. When all had exited, Esther summoned a black Mercedes limousine that had been waiting close by and bid the American delegation to get in. The chauffeur immediately left the airport for the city highway.
Mac studied the woman who was sitting opposite to her. Esther's face showed an agreeable, open expression but there was something to it that told of a deeper dimension. She had obviously come to know the unpleasant side of life. A vertical furrow on her forehead and a deeply thoughtful glance hinted at the burden the young internal security officer carried on her shoulders.
"Where are we going?" asked Harm while he was taking in a few first impressions of Berlin's urban geography that seemed to be decidedly different from any major American city. The most surprising trait of Berlin's urban character was the green. There were trees everywhere, lining the streets, cuddling together on small piazzas, creating little parks where no one would have expected. Then there was the space. The houses didn't seem to be higher than 20 to 25 yards, seemingly standardized in height in whatever part of the town they crossed. This spacey impression was emphasized by broad streets and alleys.
It was easy to see just how much of the old Berlin must have been destroyed during WWII. Many, many houses dated back only about 30 or 40 years. But there were still entire streets with the grand, liberty-style blocks of the early 20th century, giving glimpses as to what the city must once have looked like, before the almost apocalyptic destruction caused by its own former inhabitants - the Nazis.
"We're driving down to Zehlendorf," Esther explained. "Hearing that the U.S. military would get involved in the investigation, the police transferred Coen to the ex-American headquarters of the Allied Forces that once controlled West-Berlin. There are still quite a few American diplomatic institutions that use the former military infrastructure, although the Allies left Berlin in 1994, after Germany was reunited and granted full sovereignty in 1990. Actually, there are many names of streets and places that remind us Berliners of the Americans, British and French who helped us protect our freedom against the communist regime in East Germany. Right now, for example, we're headed down southwest to Clay-Allee, named after General Lucius D. Clay who, in 1948, organized the allied Air Lift."
Hearing the faint touch of emotion in Esther's voice, the officers expectantly looked at her. Esther's eyes took up a far-away look. "My mother lived in West-Berlin at that time and she often tells me about it. When the Soviets blocked all roads and railroads to the three free sectors of the city, people were incredibly scared. They feared the western Allies would surrender all of Berlin to the communists to get rid of the problem. But instead the western Allies began supplying over two million people in the cut-off city by constantly flying in and out. No one thought it would work - but they lasted nine months until the Soviets gave up and re-opened the roads. The pilots even dropped little packs of sweets for the children. That's why people called the planes 'raisin bombers'."
"I've been fascinated by those events ever since I first heard of them at the Academy," Harm cut in thoughtfully. "Isn't there a memorial somewhere?"
"Yes," Esther confirmed, "In front of the old airport of Tempelhof. We can pass there when we go to the city center later on, if you like."
Bud looked at Mac with an almost pleading expression in his eyes. Mac and Harm tried to suppress their grins. "Could we, ma'am? I'd really like to see it."
"Sure," Mac agreed, "Me, too."
Meanwhile, the limo had pulled up in front of an old complex that was surrounded by high trees. An American flag was fluttering in the summer breeze. The chauffeur got out and opened the back door for the ladies to step out. The three men followed suit.
Holding up a German governmental ID, Esther passed the gate that was guarded by two U.S. Marines. Passing and showing their military IDs, the officers received a salute whereas Webb only leisurely held up his document that identified him as a State Department official.
In the parking lot in front of the entrance to the building, the small group was met by two men. One presented himself as John Cross from the U.S. embassy's security staff. The other, a tall, broad-shouldered man with slightly darker skin, black hair and brown eyes, was greeted by Esther with a genuine smile and a wink.
"Hallo Esther," Mac heard him murmur in her direction, returning the smile. "Na, wie geht's?" [How are things?]
"Wie immer," the German answered very low. "Hier kommt die Verstaerkung." [Same as always. Here are the reinforcements.]
Then she turned back to the Americans. "Ma'am, sirs, may I introduce the head police investigator in this case, Kommissar Kemal Ciloglu. Kem, this is Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie. She leads the JAGman investigation."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ciloglu." Mac held out her hand with a smile.
Ciloglu shook it with a slight bow. "Colonel..."
"This is my partner, Cmdr. Harmon Rabb, our colleague, Lt. Bud Roberts, and Mr. Clayton Webb from the State Department," Mac introduced her delegation. The Turkish investigator acknowledged with smiles and nods before getting right to the point.
"Colonel, we arrested Gunnery Sgt. Coen two days ago. He turned himself in and basically confirmed all the details that we had already dug up at the crime scene. I could tell you everything Coen told us but maybe you'd rather like to question him yourself?"
Mac nodded. "Thank you, we'd appreciate that. Can we see him?"
"I'll take you to him, ma'am." Cross opened the door and entered the building, motioning for the others to follow him. As Mac was about to enter, she felt something tug at her sleeve and turned to find Clay signaling her to stay back a little.
"What is it?" Mac asked in a low voice, confusion making her brow furrow when he dragged her back a little and switched on a small radio that seemed to emit nothing but static.
Webb turned the static up to full volume and then handed her a small electronic device. "My boss insisted that I bug your purse as a matter of national security." Keeping his voice very low, he gave her a wink and a smile. "I thought I might as well tell you that we're monitoring the investigation."
"Gee, thanks!" Mac shot back in an exasperated whisper as she let the device slip into a small side compartment of her purse. "You know that's illegal, right?"
"After 9/11, a lot has changed."
"We'll talk about this when we get back, Webb. Now every breath I take will be recorded?"
"Yup." Webb seemed almost embarrassed. Almost. "Try not to talk about your love life."
Mac rolled her eyes, the question 'What love life?' clearly written across her features.
Webb put a soothing hand on her arm. "Hey, I made them agree that they give the tapes to me, once we're back. I promise to keep only what's indispensable for security matters and to personally make sure that there are no copies, okay?"
Heaving a sigh, Mac nodded in defeat. "All right - for now. But if I find out you don't keep your promise... umm... let's just say that not only SEALs break noses when they're upset."
"Got the message," Clay stated dryly, switching the radio off and guiding Mac into the building.
Cross led them to a part of the house that must once have been a detention facility. He showed Harm and Mac into the interrogation room while Ciloglu, Esther, Webb and Bud waited outside, the police officer filling Bud in on what he currently knew.
July 20th, 2033 2341 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada
"The CIA monitored a JAGman investigation?" Cate was still trying to determine whether to feel offended or not.
Clay's smile was wistful. "Back in those days, the Agency had undergone a lot of criticism after 9/11 because it had gotten used to relying too much on technical surveillance and had neglected personal contacts. So we tried to seize every opportunity we got to get first-hand information out of people who were in some way connected to terrorism. Just asking the Navy for some interrogation protocol didn't seem enough."
Dave leaned forward, curiously scrutinizing the older man. "Why did you tell her about the bug?"
The ex-agent once again looked out in the woods. "An act of decency?" Turning his head, he questioningly glanced at the officers.
"Sure..." Cate's voice was dripping with sarcasm.
Chuckling slightly, Clay raised his hands in defense. "Okay, wrong answer." Sobering, he went on, thoughtfully lowering his voice. "But they were my friends. At least sometimes it seemed as if they were. It just didn't feel right."
Dave thought it might be wise to just move on with the story before the agent got caught up in painful memories once again. Giving Cate a meaningful glance and seeing her acknowledge, he leaned back again. "What did Coen say?"
Webb took a deep breath and slowly let it stream out. "He was Jewish and a veteran of the 1991 Gulf War who had retired from the Corps. Apparently he never got over the fact that the Allies didn't chase Saddam the first time they had the opportunity. Having lost a brother due to Saddam's Scud missile attacks on Israel while 'Desert Storm' was rolling, Coen never forgave President Bush Sr. that he let Saddam continue to rule in Baghdad when the 1991 war was over. When he heard that the Israelis were willing to try and negotiate a new agreement with the Palestinians in 2003 and the U.S. was even about to host the talks at their embassy, he decided that Arabs were Arabs, regardless of which nation they belonged to and that he had to do everything in his power to prevent a peace deal from happening. He had gotten to know an ex Mossad agent with links to an extremist Israeli settlers movement. The police learned that he provided Coen with the means to construct the bomb and smuggled him into the embassy, apparently when a gardening firm accessed the grounds to do a little final work. Coen got in and placed the bomb in the basement. What the police didn't know was how that mysterious ex Mossad agent might be linked to the embassy. Coen couldn't even give us a name."
Cate thoughtfully shook her head. "What I just don't get is how someone managed to do it again, only four days after the first explosion. I mean, even if the bomb caused only minor damage, the security measures must have been immense! How on earth did they get a second chance?"
Webb's brow furrowed and he clenched his fists. "The deed was already done. And once we got a hint that another attack might follow, we had no idea that we had to look for the culprits in the opposite direction. We had no time and no chance to prevent it." Rage was ringing in his voice.
"What do you mean, 'the deed was already done'?" Dave asked, at a loss.
Raw, cynical bitterness tinged Clay's voice when he eventually answered. "As much as they keep fighting each other: give religious extremists from opposed sides a common goal and they'll engage into a deadly effective team strategy. Radical Muslims as well as radical Jews wanted to stop the peace talks. The whole thing was a setup. They used Coen as a diversion only. In helping Coen, the Israeli settlers created the necessary commotion for the Hizbullah Muslim extremists to strike. As we learned later on, the repair teams that came into the embassy after Coen's bomb had exploded, were infiltrated by Hizbullah members. Repairing the damage, they firmly installed the big bomb that was meant to effectively wipe out hundreds of people, four heads of governments, four diplomatic delegations and any attempts whatsoever to reach a solid solution in the Middle-East."
Feeling her stomach knot, Cate pushed herself to ask the decisive question. "So, how come the only ones who were killed were Harm and Mac?"
To their astonishment, the JAGs saw the ex CIA agent smile slightly. "Harmon Rabb could really be one royal pain in the ass. But if there was anyone who could possibly have been able to find out what was really going on, it could have been no one but him, with Mackenzie next to him to help his genial mind think straight. I'm sure if they'd had just a little more time, they would have once again come out unscathed. But even Harm's luck had to run out at some point..."
"How did he find out?" Dave asked in a whisper, too tense to trust his voice.
"Rabb-ish intuition," Webb only stated, getting up and going inside. "I need some more coffee. This is going to be a long day."
To be continued...
July 15th, 2033 0223 ZULU Dave's apartment Georgetown, D.C.
The insistent ringing of the phone made Dave's head jerk up. He hadn't fallen asleep over his Post, had he? Frowning, he reached over to where his cordless phone lay on the coffee table.
"Mackerras."
"Flyboy, it's me."
Unbeknownst to him, a smile slowly spread over his face as he leaned back into the sofa cushions. "Hey, ladysquid," he said softly, "To what circumstances exactly do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
Cate chuckled. "Just shut up, will you?" she replied just as softly.
Sensing that this wasn't just another casual phone call like the ones they had gotten accustomed to over the last few days when they had talked a lot about the case and its implications, he sobered. "You okay, Raleigh?" he asked, concerned.
She inhaled deeply and let out the air in a determined manner. "Yeah. It's just... I just got off the phone with Patricia Burnett."
"With whom?" he asked, at a loss.
"Before she remarried, her name was Rabb."
"What? The commander was married?"
Cate's smile made its way across the phone line. "No. She's his mother."
Oh God. For some reason Dave felt his stomach sink. "Why did you call her?" he only asked quietly.
"Because I had the feeling that if there was anyone who wouldn't hesitate to tell the truth, it would be her. Mac... umm... the colonel doesn't have any living relatives left. So I called Commander Rabb's mother instead although that probably should have been your job."
"Ah..." made Dave, letting his voice trail away. He wasn't really sure if he'd have had the guts to call Mrs. Burnett. "Uh... what's she like? How did you find out about her anyway?"
"I called the airfield that Capt. Sims told us about, you know, where Ha... where the commander kept his Stearman."
Dave smirked to himself as he cut in: "Call them by their names, Cate. I tend to do that, too. It's kind of strange you should feel so connected to someone you never knew," he added in a low, thoughtful voice, "Isn't it?"
"Yeah. It scares me quite a bit, Dave," Cate quietly admitted. "Anyway," she went on, trying to lighten the mood, "Harm's biplane is still there. And the guy actually seemed to be pleased to hear that there was someone who still cared for it."
"For 'her', SEAL," Dave gently corrected her. The tender way that he spoke of an old plane, just as if it were an old lady, made her smile. Dave went on. "I'm sure she even has a name."
Cate couldn't suppress a giggle. "Eeyop."
Dave's eyebrows went up. "Don't tell me he called her..."
"Sarah. You get the picture, Marine," she cut in, laughing. "But the guy at the airfield claims that the plane was named after Rabb's grandmother, not after the colonel."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Dave only commented dryly.
"Well, whatever." Cate was obviously eager to go on. "He told me that 'she' was still in excellent condition and that we could always take her up. We just had to get the documents from Harm's mother in California. So I researched her number." Dave could hear that she had sobered again during the last words.
"How did she react?" he asked cautiously.
Cate let out a sigh. "At the beginning it wasn't nice. She was as cold as ice, barely said a word when I explained the reason for my call. Then she, very calmly, asked me if I was out of my mind. I explained what had led us to this point and she eventually seemed to understand that we're not looking for some sensation. I left out the part about our very personal involvement, though."
"Why? I'm sure she would have understood better if she knew our motives," Dave argued.
He heard her swallow. When she went on, her voice was low. "Dave, that woman was broken. Entirely and irreversibly. I mean, imagine: she's young, married to a naval aviator - Harm Senior - who's deployed to a war zone. She is told that he's MIA when her only son is six years old. She tries to be both mother and father to Harm, sees her son grow up to follow his father's footsteps. She almost loses him in that ramp strike. But he grows up to be an outstanding lawyer. He plays the hero without thinking, gets 'this' close to dying several times and yet always comes out unscathed. And then she loses this extraordinary child of hers in a terrorist attack that he, of all people, is proclaimed guilty of. She - for whatever reason - is bound to keep quiet. I could never tell her: 'hey, you know my partner's the spitting image of your son.'"
"Okay, got it," he acknowledged. "So... what did she say about the documents?"
"I wouldn't have thought she'd do it. But she said she'll get them to us when we set off in two days from the airfield."
"Wow." Dave's face again lit up to a smile, both at the thought of going up in the very plane that had given him his call-sign, and at the thought of taking his friend with him. Friend. Was Catherine Raleigh his friend? Dave was determined to believe she was, just as he was ready to be hers if she wanted him to. 'Please do, Cate.'
"Hey, you still with me?" Cate's voice was just a little puzzled.
Dave shook himself from his reverie. "Yeah... sure... I'm sorry. So... we set off to the Yukon the day after tomorrow at 0700, right?" he asked lightly, just to say something.
"Yes. And don't forget the coordinates that Capt. Sims gave you," she admonished him.
"I won't," he replied with an audible smile. "By the way, did you know that my call-sign is 'Stearman'?"
"You're kidding."
"No, really."
"How did you come by it?"
"When I was five or six, my uncle gave me a little model of a Stearman and I always had it on my desk on the carrier. Odd coincidence, isn't it?"
Cate's voice took up a resolute edge. "I think it's time we stopped talking of 'coincidences' here, Captain. This is weird and scaring the hell out of me but I refuse to accept that the both of us stumbled into nothing else than a statistically exceptional cluster of similarities!"
Dave's answer was a hearty laugh, albeit tinged with a trace of uneasiness. "Whoa, power down, squid, you needn't try and convince me of something that I could have said myself." He sobered, the uneasiness surfacing clearly. "What would you call it then?"
"I don't know." Cate sounded somewhat distant and lost in reflection. "If we were in India, we'd probably speak of reincarnation," she tried her escape in a joke that, at the same time, sounded half-earnest. "After all, I was born only a few weeks after they died."
"Me, too," Dave chuckled, at the same time feeling his palms get sweaty.
"You don't really believe that, do you?!? Umm... sorry for the sharp tone." Cate became aware that she was clutching her receiver way too firmly.
"Uh... no, of course not. So," he opted for a slight change of topic, "When's your birthday?"
"September 24th, 2003," she gladly took the offered line of conversation.
"Mine's August 1st. At least the dates aren't theirs," he added softly, sensing an odd feeling of relief at the discovery.
"Yeah..."
As the silence stretched, Cate reluctantly decided to end the connection. They both needed rest and time to prepare for what could easily become a journey to their very own roots. "Do you know how to get to the airfield, Marine?"
"Yeah, I have the address on my laptop. Dress in layers, okay? That'll keep you even warmer than the best winter clothes. Remember we'll be immobile up in the air."
"Aye, sir!" she acknowledged mockingly, chuckling. "Good night, Dave," she added in a gentle tone, "And, odd as it may seem, I'm looking forward to our trip."
"So am I," he answered just as warmly, smiling. "Good night, Cate."
July 17th, 2033 1508 ZULU Airfield near D.C. VA
"She is a beautiful bird." Dave slowly walked around the old biplane, awed. The Stearman sure was covered with dust, but apart from that one could easily see that the plane had been restored with the love of a pilot and been taken good care of ever since.
"That she is," the technician who had taken him and Cate into the hangar acknowledged. "My dad knew the commander to whom she belonged. Sad story..." he let his voice trail off, uneasy.
"Yeah," Dave agreed, lost in thoughts, still examining the plane. Cate only nodded consent, asking herself for the umpteenth time if they really knew what they were about to do.
From behind they heard footsteps approaching, two people, seemingly a woman and a man. Cate turned... and blanched. As did the woman whom she was facing. A tall, white-haired, well-dressed old lady who was walking with the help of a cane and holding a document folder in her free hand, shaking and staring at her as she would at a ghost. A man in his fifties who had accompanied her, worriedly took her arm, trying to hide his own shock as well. "Thank you, Sergei, it's okay," Cate heard the woman whisper tonelessly, a pained expression in her eyes.
Cate hated what she had to do next but she decided she'd better get it over with as soon as possible. She turned and tapped her partner on the shoulder. "Dave, there's someone who wants to meet you," she said in an unsteady voice.
Clueless, Dave turned and smiled at the two people who had just arrived. Cate couldn't bear to watch.
"Oh my God..." The woman's voice caught in her throat and she frantically grabbed the man's arm to steady herself. Her expression was one of pure horror and indescribable pain. Dave inhaled sharply. He didn't need an introduction to know who she was.
The man swore under his breath in Russian and then motioned for the technician to get a chair that he made the woman sit down on. "I'm right here, Trish," he said, his voice carrying traces of a Russian accent that had been smoothed by many years of living in the States. "Let me handle this." He straightened, leaving one hand on the old woman's shoulder that was shaking with silent sobbing.
Dave subconsciously reached for Cate's hand. She gladly let him take it, drawing strength from the gentle touch. They could see that the man was deeply shaken, too, but he tried to keep his composure, smiling tentatively as he addressed them.
"My name is Sergei Zhukov. I am Commander Rabb's brother. I suppose you must be Lieutenant Raleigh and Captain Mackerras."
Cate instinctively felt that this was Dave's turn to speak. She only squeezed his hand for encouragement. Dave was extremely grateful to have her by his side. He felt a strong inclination to run and hide but at her gesture, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Yes, Mr. Zhukov. I'm very pleased to meet you and I can only say that we're very sorry to have caused such pain with your..."
"Stepmother," Sergei helped in with a small smile.
"Er... yes." Dave willed his thoughts back on track. "We honestly didn't expect that you'd come in person. But maybe you understand now why all this is so important to me and my partner."
The woman took a resolute breath, reached for her stepson's arm to get up and tried a smile. "I am Trish Burnett, Commander Rabb's mother. I think we do indeed understand you," she said quietly. "I guess Admiral Roberts was quite startled at seeing you?"
Cate returned the woman's smile. "Yes, he was. But we were, too, at seeing each other," she added in a low voice, averting her eyes. "And that was the weirdest part of it. We never met before."
Despite her earlier reaction, Trish was totally calm now. She hadn't the slightest idea about just what caprice of nature had caused all this, but she was determined not to be surprised by anything that might come up now. Maybe some day, they'd understand it. Maybe never. But it was clear that these two young people were innocently connected to her son and his love in some strange way. So they were connected to her, too. Trish didn't know yet how she felt about that but she tried to approach the situation without bias. "Did you, by any chance, meet in a rose garden?" she asked calmly, careful not to startle the young couple.
Nevertheless, her question caught Dave and Cate off-guard. They stared, first at each other, then at Trish, nodding.
Trish smiled wryly. "How come I'm not surprised? Harm told me once that Sarah's uncle asked her where she'd 'found that sailor' as he put it. And she just answered 'In a rose garden, Uncle Matt.' Somehow, this little episode always manages to cheer me up when I'm lost in painful memories. I know that they were destined to be together. They never were in life - at least now, in eternity, they finally are."
Cate's lower lip started to tremble and she bit it until it hurt. She felt Dave's fingers intertwine with hers as if he were seeking a stronger hold. Silently, she made a vow: 'Mac, I swear that we'll set right whatever they wronged you with. I believe, and I know that Dave does, too, that Harm and you are innocent. We will make the whole world see it. I promise.'
As if he'd read her thoughts, Dave gave them a voice. "Mrs. Burnett, Mr. Zhukov, we have no idea what really happened thirty years ago, but somehow, Cate and I know deep down that Cmdr. Rabb and Col. Mackenzie could never have behaved other than honorably. We give you our word of honor that we'll set right what went wrong back then. We'll make everyone honor their memory the way they deserve."
Trish's eyes filled with tears again but she kept her composure as she closed the distance and embraced the young officer that was a stranger to her but yet somehow closer to her heart than most had ever been. "Thank you," she only whispered, grateful that he warmly returned her embrace. Then she stepped back and hugged the woman at his side in a way that she'd always hoped to hold her daughter-in-law once. "And I'll pray that you succeed in setting your own souls at ease," Trish continued, "And that you'll return safely."
With that she handed the documents to Dave who took them without looking at them. He couldn't have read them anyway. His vision was blurry.
July 20th, 2033 0537 ZULU Airstrip near Cole's Ridge North of the polar circle Yukon Territory Canada
Dave eased 'Sarah' down and gently made contact with the ragged-looking tarmac. During the three days of their journey he had learned to adore Harm's plane. She reacted smoothly to the smallest movements and willingly did everything that he made her do. Dave felt almost sorry that they'd finally arrived.
Cate had grown accustomed to flying rather quickly. When they had landed somewhere near Minneapolis the first day, she'd been sore and freezing. A nice dinner and a good night's rest had made her recover quickly, though, and the next day, their arrival at Jasper, Alberta, had already been less painful. Today's journey had been really fun. They were lucky with the weather and polar summer let the sun still shine, although it was past 2230 local time.
Dave helped Cate get out of her seat. Without wanting to acknowledge it to themselves, both of them had begun to look forward to this little moment that each day offered them an excuse to be in each other's arms, be it for seconds only. Smiling a little self-consciously at each other, they then set off to secure 'Sarah' in a hangar and rent a jeep.
It was about midnight when they finally reached the coordinates that Capt. Sims had provided them with. They were in the middle of nowhere, sub-arctic birch woods as far as they could see.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Dave looked at his partner with upraised eyebrows.
She frowned back. "You may be a Marine, but let me tell you something: swallow your arrogance. A SEAL never gets lost." She glared at him, at the same time finding it hard to prevent the corners of her mouth from twitching.
Noticing the slight movement, Dave shot her a grin and took his hands off the steering wheel in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, ladysquid. I didn't say anything."
"Better for you," she muttered with a satisfied grin. Then she studied the GPS readings again. "Okay, according to the computer, this Webb guy should be..."
"Right behind you. Freeze!" came a hostile voice from behind them. Cate and Dave slowly raised their hands over their heads, at a loss, senses on high alert.
"Get out of the car and turn around, slowly. No tricks, understood?" the voice bellowed.
Dave and Cate exchanged a look and did as they were told. Hands still up in the air, they slowly rounded the car and came to a halt side by side, face to face with the unfriendly end of a machine gun. The man who aimed at them was of average height. His hair must have been something in between sandy- colored and light brown once. Now it was mostly gray. The man wore blue jeans and a leather jacket, but what immediately caught the officers' attention was the expression on his tanned face: hostile, worn-out, bitter, disillusioned. He must have been handsome years ago, but in the sixty-plus years of his life he must have seen the world at its worst more than once. The last time had finally broken him.
"Come out of the shadow," he sharply told them. Dave and Cate stepped forward to a spot where the midnight sun lit the woodland floor.
The man in front of them suddenly dropped his gun, eyes open wide. "This is insane..." he said tonelessly.
"Mr. Clayton Webb? We are Lieutenant Catherine Raleigh and Captain David Mackerras, United States Navy JAG Corps. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?"
July 20th, 2033 1542 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada
Dave stepped out on the small front porch, hugging himself tightly as the morning air was cool. He took several deep breaths and enjoyed the prickling feeling the fresh air caused in his lungs. He had slept divinely, cuddled up on the small couch with his partner, surrounded by the deepest silence he had ever experienced.
Last night, after somehow shaking himself from his shock, Webb had only made them follow him and, with as few words as possible, told them to go to sleep and that they'd talk in the morning. Then he had left them a bottle of water and a few muffins that he'd apparently made during the day, had turned and slammed the door that separated the living-room from the small bedroom. Right now he was nowhere to be seen.
Cate was still inside, sleeping. A smile tugged at the corner of Dave's mouth. He had intended to leave her as much room as she wanted but as soon as they had lain down for the night, she had, somewhat drowsily, moved over and spooned up to him, obviously not fully aware of what she was doing. Well, who was he to complain? He had buried his nose in her hair and gently held her in his arms, becoming aware that it had been way too long since he'd held any woman this way.
Dave couldn't help but think of his alter-ego. 'I'm sure you know the situation, Harm,' he silently told him, smiling. 'Her presence starts driving you crazy and yet you'd never dare to make a move... how on earth did you endure that for all those years? Or is there something we don't know?'
Now Cate and he were facing what might turn out to be the decisive day of their quest. Dave's stomach was tightening considerably as he was thinking over and over again what they might learn from their mysterious contact. Captain Sims had sounded as if Webb might be the key to the riddle - and his behavior last night had done nothing but add to that impression.
A low creak of the wooden floor made him turn his head. Cate was standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, her dark hair tousled in a way that Dave thought was simply lovely. 'How can she look so cute just out of bed?' he wondered. "Hey," he made, smiling.
"Hey yourself," she replied with a smile. "Did I... umm... I hope I let you sleep," she added a little self-consciously, apparently aware of how they'd spent the night.
Dave just grinned back. "Couldn't have slept any better. You?"
She blushed. "Same here."
A thumping noise interrupted them just as the situation threatened to turn awkward. Clayton Webb stomped onto the porch, carrying a basket with groceries. "I figured you wouldn't be accustomed to moose filet for breakfast," he muttered instead of a greeting, rushing past them and vanishing inside, never looking at them. Cate and Dave just exchanged an astonished glance.
Half an hour later they were sitting at the little round table, a mug of coffee in their hands and fresh pancakes on their plates. Webb had brusquely cut off any attempts to help or at least thank him for the efforts he was making to accommodate them. Now the JAG lawyers just waited in silence for the ex-CIA agent to make up his mind and speak to them.
Eventually he did. "So what is it you want to know?" The hostility in his tone hadn't lessened one bit.
Dave decided that straightforwardness would be appropriate. "What happened to Cmdr. Rabb and Col. Mackenzie?" he simply asked.
Webb's mug froze in mid air. He slowly lifted his glance and glared at the two young officers. "That's none of your damned business!"
"With all due respect, sir," Cate was getting angry but managed to control her voice, "It sure as hell is. With everyone staring at us, making odd comments, the admiral all but refusing to see us, how are we supposed to work? I have no inclination to take a career damper just because of some dead colleague that I happen to resemble to!"
Webb jumped to his feet. "Don't you dare speak of them so carelessly!" he raged. "Sarah Mackenzie and Harmon Rabb were the closest thing to friends I ever had and they were special in every respect! I want to remember them the way I saw them, so don't - you - ever - mention - those - names - again, do you hear me?" The raw pain in his voice was clearly audible although he tried to mask it with his fury.
'Mac, help!' Cate silently implored as she quietly stood up and found herself face to face with the older man. She let him take a few deep breaths in silence. When he had calmed down a bit, she placed a gentle hand on the agent's shoulder, hoping that her intense glance might somehow let him see his dead friend in her. Strangely, it worked.
Webb swallowed hard. "You're so much like her," he said very low, his voice ringing with emotion that made Cate suspect that secretly, Sarah Mackenzie might have been more than just a friend to him. Webb averted his glance. "You could never understand."
Cate cleared her throat. "I know it sounds crazy, but... I think I do. Ever since I was thrown into this weird situation and started to research her, I can't fight the feeling that Col. Mackenzie's a lot closer to me than many people I actually know. I read how she handled her cases and I catch myself thinking 'That's just the way I'd have done it.' I hear people talk about her and I can almost guess how she reacted to this or that. I even started to think about what Mac would do in certain situations that I find myself in and I kind of rely on the decisions that I think she would have made. Mr. Webb, believe me, this whole affair scares me like few things on earth have but I can't help it, I need to know..." Cate stopped, helpless.
The agent just studied her features for a few long moments. Then he lifted his hand and covered hers where it still rested on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Call me Clay," he whispered with the first hint of a smile that he had shown since their arrival. Cate answered with a tentative smile of hers.
Dave had been watching the exchange, feeling an odd sting of jealousy as he witnessed the connection that was building up between his partner and the man facing her. He craved to break the spell but didn't dare to step in, knowing that Cate had gotten to a crucial point where the agent was willing to share his knowledge of the affair. But Clayton Webb himself saved him from his uneasiness. The agent turned and instantly recognized the look on the captain's face. Starting to chuckle softly, he shook his head. "And if this isn't good old Harmful Rabb all over," he softly stated. "Nature played the two of you a mean trick, you know? Of all combinations of two stubborn people..." He cast both officers a wry smile. "Don't worry, Captain. I never stood a chance with Mac. I won't even try my luck with your friend."
Astonished, Cate quickly turned her face to her partner to find him studying his mug, thoroughly embarrassed. Feeling her stomach do an odd little flip, she bit back a smile, once again cleared her throat and sat down at the table. "So, will you help us?" she asked the older man, looking at him as he, too, resumed his place.
Again a pained expression crossed Webb's features. "Why do you want to know about Berlin?" he asked quietly.
Setting down his mug, Dave spoke up now. "As Cate already told you, sir..."
Webb, with a slight smile, raised his eyebrow.
"I'm sorry. Clay." Dave felt himself relax at the realization that the agent hadn't offered a higher level of intimacy to his partner than he had to him. "Dave," he said, offering his hand. Clay reached over the table and shook it.
"Anyway," Dave went on, "As Cate already told you, we seem to have some strange connection to your friends. Heck, we even felt as if we knew each other when we first met!"
Clay cast a surprised glance in Cate's direction. She only nodded, shrugging helplessly.
"And that's why we know that something's terribly wrong with the story that's known about the Berlin attacks."
Again, Clay looked up sharply. "What do you mean?" he asked warily, scrutinizing Dave's glance.
The aviator's stare didn't waver. "I mean that Cate and I are convinced that your friends would never have acted dishonorably, that someone is blaming them for something they never did, that this someone even knows who's the real culprit, that the world should finally remember those two extraordinary people the way they deserve and," Dave's stare seemed to become even more intense, "That whoever knows the truth should finally stand up and give them back their honor."
Taking a swig of his cold coffee, Clay turned to look out of the window, in deep thought. "I can't," was all he said.
"Why not?" Cate's voice was perfectly neutral.
"Because of Bud and Harriet."
"The admiral?" Cate and Dave had spoken simultaneously, aghast.
"Yeah." Clay's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I didn't care about my own career but they threatened Bud that his family would have to live in constant fear if he told the truth. That they supposed someone would always come after them. And - and I think that weighed even heavier - the Secnav nailed him to his oath to serve his country. He told Bud that keeping the affair classified was a matter of national security. The last peace talks seemed to have finally set off in the right direction. So Sheffield said that, on presidential orders, the two people that had so conveniently died right at the center of action had better take the blame for what happened, so Israelis and Palestinians couldn't blame each other of undermining the peace process."
"But for what reason would two high-ranking American officers want to kill four heads of government?" Dave felt there was some detail that he didn't get.
Clay's chuckle was bitter. Still he didn't look at his guests. "The world was so glad that the attack had failed that all parties were actually very eager to finally get to a solid solution of the conflict. Everyone was afraid to disturb the negotiations. So people were happy to have found two scapegoats and they were content with the explanation that Mac acted because her grandmother was Islamic and that Harm helped her because he was in love with her."
"That's ridiculous!" Cate blurted out, enraged. "Here are two people who put their lives on the line for the well-being of others more often than you'd think possible and all the world can think is to dishonor them!"
Clay's glance was painfully sad when he turned it back at the officers. "It's worse," he said very low. "The world denies honoring them for having saved the lives not only of four heads of government, but of over two hundred people in the embassy that day," Clay's voice threatened to break, "By consciously deciding to sacrifice their own." He quickly got up and left the room, leaving Dave and Cate staring at each other, horrified.
They found Clay sitting in the sun on a fallen trunk at the back of the cabin. Sitting down at either side of him, they noticed that the ex-agent had been crying. Cate silently put her hand on Clay's thigh, exercising a little soothing pressure.
"It still hurts like it was yesterday," Clay eventually said in a low voice. "Harm and I had an argument once about a sunken submarine. The CIA kept the affair classified for far too long, leaving the families without notice of what had happened to their loved ones. I told him that the crew, being on a secret cold-war mission, had agreed to the possibility of 'vanishing' from any records. But Harm convinced me and the board of inquiry that at least the families had a right to know the truth. So they were told what happened. To think that Bud and I could never do the same for Mrs. Burnett or Sergei or Col. O'Hara..."
"But did anyone ever try to find out what happened?" Cate asked.
"Oh, yes, many did. Admiral Chegwidden and later Admiral Turner tried to have the affair declassified. But I guess they would have needed Harm to get through with it." Clay smiled melancholically. "That man could talk you into nearly anything. Bud searched for independent witnesses but had to be careful because he was being watched closely. We had support from even Australia. A naval officer to whom Mac had once been engaged, Cmdr. Mic Brumby, tried several independent approaches to clear her and Harm's names. Nothing."
"Why do I get the impression that Admiral Roberts has been under more pressure to keep quiet than any of you?" Dave's frown was impressive.
Clay swallowed heavily. "Because he's the only one who actually saw them die."
Cate hated dwelling on the subject but she felt she had to understand the relationship Roberts had had with his superiors. "Were they close?"
Heaving a sigh, Clay nodded. "The best of friends. Harm and Mac were godparents to his son, and I think that without their support, Bud and Harriet wouldn't have made it through the death of their daughter or through the difficult times when Bud had lost his leg."
Dave and Cate needed no further explanation to fully understand their CO's behavior. They both silently promised to at least relieve him of his burden of guilt for not being able to reveal the course the events had really taken.
For a moment, all were silent. Then Dave took a deep breath. "So what did really happen in Berlin in July 2003?"
Bracing himself, Clay briefly closed his eyes and began his tale.
July 2nd, 2003 1412 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA
Harm's head jerked up when he heard the knock on his door. A grin spread over his face as he recognized the silhouette of a certain Marine through the half-closed blinds. "Come in!"
Mac's good-morning smile fully mirrored his own. When had they finally gotten this close again, he wondered, hoping that this time things would stay this way.
"Hi Harm, the admiral wants to see us ASAP."
"On my way," he answered good-naturedly, tossed aside his pen and joined her. He started when, leaving his office, he nearly bumped into someone else.
"Oh, sorry, Clay, I didn't see you."
Webb's smile was weary. "Apology accepted. Let's go see your boss."
Harm and Mac exchanged a comical frown. Yet another assignment with Webb? Of all the things they needed...
Together they entered the admiral's office, Harm and Mac coming to attention, Clay staying behind. A look on Chegwidden's face made their smiles fade instantly. The JAG looked worried and stressed. "At ease. Have a seat. Nice of you to join us, Mr. Webb."
AJ sat down behind his desk and took a long look on the fax that lay before him. Harm shifted uneasily in his chair. "Excuse me, sir, is there a problem?"
Looking up, AJ sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid there is. I've just been informed that on June 30th, around 0300 ALPHA, there was a minor explosion at our new embassy in Berlin. Maybe you heard about the difficulties that our government had with the German authorities to make them consent to our safety measures and how much that delayed the actual closing of the last architectonical gap on one of the German capital's most important places. The mayor of Berlin was very upset over the affair."
"Where exactly is the building located, sir?" Mac asked, curious.
"About fifty yards from the Brandenburg Gate."
"Wow, filet piece of ground," Harm remarked with raised eyebrows, not sure yet how the affair might involve JAG.
"Exactly," Chewidden acknowledged. "Now, normally this would fall to the State Department, and it wouldn't be anything to worry about if it were just for the further delay of opening the building. But," he glanced at Webb, "This wasn't an ordinary explosion. Tomorrow, President Bush is going to Berlin, not only to open the embassy on July 4th, but to meet the Israeli prime minister Sharon and the Palestinian president Arafat there, together with the German chancellor Schroeder, in order to start a new attempt at resolving the middle-east conflict."
"Sh..." Mac made under her breath, barely audible, as the implications of the events sank in. Chegwidden apparently hadn't heard her little lapse of protocol, but Harm had and cast her a quick grin, biting his lip. He sobered quickly, though, considering that the government seemed to consider the affair an imminent threat. Why else would the CIA bother to get involved?
"Why JAG, sir?" Mac asked.
AJ looked up. "Yesterday, the Berlin Police arrested a major suspect. His name is Ari Coen and before his retirement he was a gunnery sergeant in the Marine Corps and a Gulf War veteran. There's nothing else I can tell you yet, Colonel, this fax is all I have. You will find the names on here of whom to contact with the Berlin Police and with the German Innenministerium, the Department of Internal Affairs that's responsible for German security policy." He stood and handed it to her when she, too, had gotten to her feet. "Coen's all yours, Mac. You're primary investigator, the commander and Lt. Roberts are your cavalry. I called Bud, he'll meet you directly at Dulles. And I hear that Langley insisted on granting Mr. Webb a little vacation, too."
Webb acknowledged with a nod and a wry smile.
"Your flight leaves at 1815. Good luck. Dismissed."
"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm and Mac chorused, exercised a model about-face and left the room, again followed by their CIA shadow.
"Something's really bothering him, but what?" Harm wondered as soon as they were outside the admiral's office.
"No idea," Mac replied, clueless as to why their CO seemed so stressed. He had been out with Meredith yesterday, though, and she'd hinted at something that had vaguely sounded like bungee-jumping...
"I suggest we'd better get going immediately," Webb commented dryly. "Seems the admiral doesn't like being in the dark about this."
"Kemal Ciloglu," Harm read, spying on the fax in Mac's hand. "Who's he?"
"Our police contact," Mac answered, taking a close look at the sheet herself. "He seems to be a rather high-ranking crime investigator, a 'Kriminalhauptkommissar'," she read. Harm marveled at her faculty of pronouncing the word without stumbling over any consonants. Why did he always get the impression that the Germans had taken a fancy to words with five-plus syllables?
"His name doesn't sound German," he remarked, frowning.
"Turkish," Clay cut in with a slight smirk. "Didn't you know that Germany has a Turkish community of over 7 million people? Roughly 150.000 of them live in the capital."
"Sounds interesting," Harm remarked.
Clay smirked. "Then it'll be my great pleasure to invite you to a nice Doener Kebap when we arrive." With that he turned and left the office.
"What kind of Kebap?" Harm cautiously asked Mac.
"Doener Kebap," she answered. "With nicely grilled, juicy mutton. Delicious!" Winking at him, she vanished into her office to retrieve her briefcase.
"I bet..." Harm frowned.
July 20th, 2033 1912 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada
"We arrived in Berlin at noon the following day." Webb was blindly staring into the woods as he continued his story in a low voice. "Our contact with the Department of Internal Affairs met us at Tegel, that ridiculous small- town airport that the German capital was still using back then..."
July 3rd, 2003 1156 ZULU Tegel Airport (TXL) Berlin, Germany
"Col. Mackenzie?" A clear, friendly voice made Mac turn around when she had just left the gate. A woman about her own age, slim, blonde, blue-eyed and dressed in an elegant light-gray lady's suit, was approaching her.
Returning the open smile the woman was offering her, Mac took a few quick strides in her direction and held out her hand. "That would be me. Nice to meet you, Ms..."
"Rosenbaum," the woman answered, "Esther Rosenbaum. I'm with the German Bundesinnenministerium, the Federal Ministry of Internal Affairs. I work with the department of Internal Security."
Mac turned to introduce her colleagues who had by now joined them. "Ms. Rosenbaum, may I introduce my partner, Cmdr. Harmon Rabb, our colleague Lt. Bud Roberts and Mr. Clayton Webb from the State Department."
"Pleased to meet you." The woman spoke with a slight German accent but her command and pronunciation of English showed that she had apparently spent quite some time in England. "Would you please follow me? I am to take you immediately to meet Gunnery Sgt. Coen. Kommissar Ciloglu is awaiting you there."
She walked over to one of the sliding doors that led to the octagonal driveway surrounding the arrivals/departures area. When all had exited, Esther summoned a black Mercedes limousine that had been waiting close by and bid the American delegation to get in. The chauffeur immediately left the airport for the city highway.
Mac studied the woman who was sitting opposite to her. Esther's face showed an agreeable, open expression but there was something to it that told of a deeper dimension. She had obviously come to know the unpleasant side of life. A vertical furrow on her forehead and a deeply thoughtful glance hinted at the burden the young internal security officer carried on her shoulders.
"Where are we going?" asked Harm while he was taking in a few first impressions of Berlin's urban geography that seemed to be decidedly different from any major American city. The most surprising trait of Berlin's urban character was the green. There were trees everywhere, lining the streets, cuddling together on small piazzas, creating little parks where no one would have expected. Then there was the space. The houses didn't seem to be higher than 20 to 25 yards, seemingly standardized in height in whatever part of the town they crossed. This spacey impression was emphasized by broad streets and alleys.
It was easy to see just how much of the old Berlin must have been destroyed during WWII. Many, many houses dated back only about 30 or 40 years. But there were still entire streets with the grand, liberty-style blocks of the early 20th century, giving glimpses as to what the city must once have looked like, before the almost apocalyptic destruction caused by its own former inhabitants - the Nazis.
"We're driving down to Zehlendorf," Esther explained. "Hearing that the U.S. military would get involved in the investigation, the police transferred Coen to the ex-American headquarters of the Allied Forces that once controlled West-Berlin. There are still quite a few American diplomatic institutions that use the former military infrastructure, although the Allies left Berlin in 1994, after Germany was reunited and granted full sovereignty in 1990. Actually, there are many names of streets and places that remind us Berliners of the Americans, British and French who helped us protect our freedom against the communist regime in East Germany. Right now, for example, we're headed down southwest to Clay-Allee, named after General Lucius D. Clay who, in 1948, organized the allied Air Lift."
Hearing the faint touch of emotion in Esther's voice, the officers expectantly looked at her. Esther's eyes took up a far-away look. "My mother lived in West-Berlin at that time and she often tells me about it. When the Soviets blocked all roads and railroads to the three free sectors of the city, people were incredibly scared. They feared the western Allies would surrender all of Berlin to the communists to get rid of the problem. But instead the western Allies began supplying over two million people in the cut-off city by constantly flying in and out. No one thought it would work - but they lasted nine months until the Soviets gave up and re-opened the roads. The pilots even dropped little packs of sweets for the children. That's why people called the planes 'raisin bombers'."
"I've been fascinated by those events ever since I first heard of them at the Academy," Harm cut in thoughtfully. "Isn't there a memorial somewhere?"
"Yes," Esther confirmed, "In front of the old airport of Tempelhof. We can pass there when we go to the city center later on, if you like."
Bud looked at Mac with an almost pleading expression in his eyes. Mac and Harm tried to suppress their grins. "Could we, ma'am? I'd really like to see it."
"Sure," Mac agreed, "Me, too."
Meanwhile, the limo had pulled up in front of an old complex that was surrounded by high trees. An American flag was fluttering in the summer breeze. The chauffeur got out and opened the back door for the ladies to step out. The three men followed suit.
Holding up a German governmental ID, Esther passed the gate that was guarded by two U.S. Marines. Passing and showing their military IDs, the officers received a salute whereas Webb only leisurely held up his document that identified him as a State Department official.
In the parking lot in front of the entrance to the building, the small group was met by two men. One presented himself as John Cross from the U.S. embassy's security staff. The other, a tall, broad-shouldered man with slightly darker skin, black hair and brown eyes, was greeted by Esther with a genuine smile and a wink.
"Hallo Esther," Mac heard him murmur in her direction, returning the smile. "Na, wie geht's?" [How are things?]
"Wie immer," the German answered very low. "Hier kommt die Verstaerkung." [Same as always. Here are the reinforcements.]
Then she turned back to the Americans. "Ma'am, sirs, may I introduce the head police investigator in this case, Kommissar Kemal Ciloglu. Kem, this is Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie. She leads the JAGman investigation."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ciloglu." Mac held out her hand with a smile.
Ciloglu shook it with a slight bow. "Colonel..."
"This is my partner, Cmdr. Harmon Rabb, our colleague, Lt. Bud Roberts, and Mr. Clayton Webb from the State Department," Mac introduced her delegation. The Turkish investigator acknowledged with smiles and nods before getting right to the point.
"Colonel, we arrested Gunnery Sgt. Coen two days ago. He turned himself in and basically confirmed all the details that we had already dug up at the crime scene. I could tell you everything Coen told us but maybe you'd rather like to question him yourself?"
Mac nodded. "Thank you, we'd appreciate that. Can we see him?"
"I'll take you to him, ma'am." Cross opened the door and entered the building, motioning for the others to follow him. As Mac was about to enter, she felt something tug at her sleeve and turned to find Clay signaling her to stay back a little.
"What is it?" Mac asked in a low voice, confusion making her brow furrow when he dragged her back a little and switched on a small radio that seemed to emit nothing but static.
Webb turned the static up to full volume and then handed her a small electronic device. "My boss insisted that I bug your purse as a matter of national security." Keeping his voice very low, he gave her a wink and a smile. "I thought I might as well tell you that we're monitoring the investigation."
"Gee, thanks!" Mac shot back in an exasperated whisper as she let the device slip into a small side compartment of her purse. "You know that's illegal, right?"
"After 9/11, a lot has changed."
"We'll talk about this when we get back, Webb. Now every breath I take will be recorded?"
"Yup." Webb seemed almost embarrassed. Almost. "Try not to talk about your love life."
Mac rolled her eyes, the question 'What love life?' clearly written across her features.
Webb put a soothing hand on her arm. "Hey, I made them agree that they give the tapes to me, once we're back. I promise to keep only what's indispensable for security matters and to personally make sure that there are no copies, okay?"
Heaving a sigh, Mac nodded in defeat. "All right - for now. But if I find out you don't keep your promise... umm... let's just say that not only SEALs break noses when they're upset."
"Got the message," Clay stated dryly, switching the radio off and guiding Mac into the building.
Cross led them to a part of the house that must once have been a detention facility. He showed Harm and Mac into the interrogation room while Ciloglu, Esther, Webb and Bud waited outside, the police officer filling Bud in on what he currently knew.
July 20th, 2033 2341 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada
"The CIA monitored a JAGman investigation?" Cate was still trying to determine whether to feel offended or not.
Clay's smile was wistful. "Back in those days, the Agency had undergone a lot of criticism after 9/11 because it had gotten used to relying too much on technical surveillance and had neglected personal contacts. So we tried to seize every opportunity we got to get first-hand information out of people who were in some way connected to terrorism. Just asking the Navy for some interrogation protocol didn't seem enough."
Dave leaned forward, curiously scrutinizing the older man. "Why did you tell her about the bug?"
The ex-agent once again looked out in the woods. "An act of decency?" Turning his head, he questioningly glanced at the officers.
"Sure..." Cate's voice was dripping with sarcasm.
Chuckling slightly, Clay raised his hands in defense. "Okay, wrong answer." Sobering, he went on, thoughtfully lowering his voice. "But they were my friends. At least sometimes it seemed as if they were. It just didn't feel right."
Dave thought it might be wise to just move on with the story before the agent got caught up in painful memories once again. Giving Cate a meaningful glance and seeing her acknowledge, he leaned back again. "What did Coen say?"
Webb took a deep breath and slowly let it stream out. "He was Jewish and a veteran of the 1991 Gulf War who had retired from the Corps. Apparently he never got over the fact that the Allies didn't chase Saddam the first time they had the opportunity. Having lost a brother due to Saddam's Scud missile attacks on Israel while 'Desert Storm' was rolling, Coen never forgave President Bush Sr. that he let Saddam continue to rule in Baghdad when the 1991 war was over. When he heard that the Israelis were willing to try and negotiate a new agreement with the Palestinians in 2003 and the U.S. was even about to host the talks at their embassy, he decided that Arabs were Arabs, regardless of which nation they belonged to and that he had to do everything in his power to prevent a peace deal from happening. He had gotten to know an ex Mossad agent with links to an extremist Israeli settlers movement. The police learned that he provided Coen with the means to construct the bomb and smuggled him into the embassy, apparently when a gardening firm accessed the grounds to do a little final work. Coen got in and placed the bomb in the basement. What the police didn't know was how that mysterious ex Mossad agent might be linked to the embassy. Coen couldn't even give us a name."
Cate thoughtfully shook her head. "What I just don't get is how someone managed to do it again, only four days after the first explosion. I mean, even if the bomb caused only minor damage, the security measures must have been immense! How on earth did they get a second chance?"
Webb's brow furrowed and he clenched his fists. "The deed was already done. And once we got a hint that another attack might follow, we had no idea that we had to look for the culprits in the opposite direction. We had no time and no chance to prevent it." Rage was ringing in his voice.
"What do you mean, 'the deed was already done'?" Dave asked, at a loss.
Raw, cynical bitterness tinged Clay's voice when he eventually answered. "As much as they keep fighting each other: give religious extremists from opposed sides a common goal and they'll engage into a deadly effective team strategy. Radical Muslims as well as radical Jews wanted to stop the peace talks. The whole thing was a setup. They used Coen as a diversion only. In helping Coen, the Israeli settlers created the necessary commotion for the Hizbullah Muslim extremists to strike. As we learned later on, the repair teams that came into the embassy after Coen's bomb had exploded, were infiltrated by Hizbullah members. Repairing the damage, they firmly installed the big bomb that was meant to effectively wipe out hundreds of people, four heads of governments, four diplomatic delegations and any attempts whatsoever to reach a solid solution in the Middle-East."
Feeling her stomach knot, Cate pushed herself to ask the decisive question. "So, how come the only ones who were killed were Harm and Mac?"
To their astonishment, the JAGs saw the ex CIA agent smile slightly. "Harmon Rabb could really be one royal pain in the ass. But if there was anyone who could possibly have been able to find out what was really going on, it could have been no one but him, with Mackenzie next to him to help his genial mind think straight. I'm sure if they'd had just a little more time, they would have once again come out unscathed. But even Harm's luck had to run out at some point..."
"How did he find out?" Dave asked in a whisper, too tense to trust his voice.
"Rabb-ish intuition," Webb only stated, getting up and going inside. "I need some more coffee. This is going to be a long day."
To be continued...