'Second Chance' - Part Three
Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One
July 21st, 2033 0009 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada
"Thanks." With a grateful smile, Cate accepted the steaming cup that Webb handed her. Dave raised his eyebrow and shot her a glance over the rim of his own cup. Cate only grinned innocently and then again fixed her attention on the old CIA agent.
"So, where was I?" Clay let his gaze wander from one young officer to the other and back, once again marveling at the stunning likeness between them and his late friends.
"What happened after they questioned Coen?" Dave decided to get back to the facts.
Clay smirked slightly at the captain's obvious eagerness to distract him from his partner's beautiful smile. "We had just gotten back to the car and had driven off when Esther Rosenbaum received a phone-call," he went on with his tale, taking a slow sip of coffee. "From what I gathered, she agreed to meet with someone."
July 3rd, 2003 1512 ZULU Allied Air Lift Memorial Berlin Germany
Although heavy rush-hour traffic was streaming all around the large plaza, the five people standing at its center, just beneath the impressive sculpture, felt like far away from the every-day routine. Surrounded by flower borders and low bushes, the white stone shone in the afternoon sun. The Air Lift Memorial was designed like the base of a huge arch that barely showed its curve, due to the fact that it was supposed to meet the ground again only about 600 miles away, at the biggest German airport of Frankfurt where, back then, the supply planes had departed from and where the Air Lift Memorial now had its twin to complete the virtual arch. At the top, the stone band was divided in three branches, representing the three western Allies America, Great Britain and France who had kept West Berlin alive through the air. At the base of the monument, a large plaque showed the names of those pilots who, for one reason or the other, had lost their lives during those nine months.
Mac could see that her partner's thoughts were lightyears away. Harm had unconsciously come to stand at attention in front of the carved names and Mac was sure that he was praying not only for those whose lives were lost in this spectacular humanitarian mission, but also for his father. They were united by their fate, although the allied pilots' task had been very different from Harm Sr.'s.
Quietly stepping up to him, Mac straightened herself to pay her respects. As she stood still, her eyes fixed on the stone plate, she eventually felt her partner's eyes on her.
"You've been around pilots for too long, Colonel," Harm remarked softly, a smirk tingeing his voice.
Mac turned her head to meet his glance and slightly smiled back. "Maybe. But I've never missed an opportunity to honor brave men who died doing the right thing."
"Thanks," Harm answered simply, his smile deepening, holding her gaze for what was perhaps a second too long.
Someone cleared his throat and made them turn a little guiltily. The knowing grin in Webb's eyes vanished almost instantly as he got back to business. "There's someone who would like to meet the two of you."
Harm and Mac looked over Webb's shoulder and saw Bud approach with Esther, Ciloglu and another young man.
Esther immediately introduced them. "Colonel, Commander, this is my brother Chaim. He works for the Israeli embassy. Chaim, meet Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie and Cmdr. Harmon Rabb."
"Colonel, Commander..." Chaim Rosenbaum exercised a slight bow and smiled at the officers.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Rosenbaum," Mac returned the friendly greeting, wondering slightly why the young man had come to meet them.
"Uh, Mac," Clay spoke up, motioning for all to move a little closer. "Mr. Rosenbaum is with the Mossad. We seem to have a little security problem."
'Oh, please...' Mac thought, exasperated. Why couldn't they just once be assigned a mission that didn't threaten to go haywire? "What kind of problem?" she cautiously asked, trying to ignore the acute sensation of Harm's body brushing her back as he leaned in to catch what was being said.
Chaim Rosenbaum sighed. "During the last few days we have been monitoring a few student groups that announced they'd protest against Israeli politics concerning the Palestinians while Prime Minister Sharon would be here. Our colleagues from the Bundesnachrichtendienst, the German Federal Intelligence Service, happened to intercept a message several times that seems to be circling around between the various groups. We think it's encrypted but the BND doesn't, they take it to be meant literally."
"What does it say?" Harm asked.
"It's not always exactly the same," Chaim replied, "But there's always something in it that sounds like 'Prepare for the writing to be up on the wall.' Or something of the kind."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Bud's frown was impressive.
Webb glared back, slightly unnerved. "If we knew that, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, Lieutenant."
"Ah... no, sir."
Mac was staring into nowhere, obviously in deep thought. "If German Intelligence thinks it should be taken literally, then what do they suppose the students are planning?" she said, more to herself.
"You know that German-American relations have been rather strained of late," Esther explained carefully. "Because of the German refusal to support the war in Iraq. All of Europe was very much surprised that President Bush actually invited Chancellor Schroeder to the peace talks, but apparently the good connections Germany has with Israel as well as with the Palestinians outweighed the strained friendship."
Harm fixed his gaze on the German woman. "What would that have to do with some student groups exchanging messages?"
"Many Germans still have a profound grudge against President Bush because of the war," Esther went on, "Especially university students who tend to be rather left-wing in their political views. There are rumors that the students' parliaments of all three Berlin universities, together with the two local universities of applied sciences and the city's four art universities are planning on organizing a concerted action of writing anti- Bush graffiti on every wall imaginable that might appear in the news coverage about his visit here."
Mac's eyes met Harm's and both officers quickly stifled their grins. Harm cleared his throat. "Uhm... well, that... wouldn't be too nice for the President but we wouldn't really need to worry about it too much, either." He sobered, looking at Chaim. "If the Israelis assume the message is encrypted, then what do you think it means?"
Chaim shrugged a little helplessly. "That's just our problem, Commander. We have no concrete ideas. I mean, there are countless possibilities how Prime Minister Sharon could be in danger - he is wherever he goes - and we think we have all the obvious threats covered. But what we're lacking is a precise hint as to what the message might be pointing at."
"The Berlin police has yet another idea," Ciloglu joined in the conversation, his expression a little worried. "In the last few years, we've encountered Muslim extremist ideas more often than we'd like to admit within the German Turkish community. Groups such as Milligoerues, for example, might plan on attacking the Israeli or the American delegations in some way. Two weeks ago, we found large quantities of anti-American and anti-Jewish propaganda, together with an impressive arsenal of weapons in an inconspicuous apartment. The group we linked the findings to has been known to organize some of their actions by leaving graffiti on the walls of houses."
Webb swore under his breath. "So what exactly have we got to start from?" He let his glance wander from one person to the next, meeting nothing but worry in their eyes.
"Definitely not enough to ensure the safety of tomorrow's events," Mac eventually broke the silence, sounding slightly disillusioned.
"Oh, man..." Harm sighed very low, distractedly rubbing the back of his neck.
For a few seconds, no one spoke. Then Ciloglu, with a slight smile, tried to ease the tension. "I'd have a suggestion about how we could spend the evening."
"I'm all ears, Officer," Mac replied, relieved to have something else to focus on for a change.
Ciloglu's smile broadened. "I often find that when I'm stuck in an investigation and can't seem to find a way out, I need to do something entirely different to let all the information sink in. Normally, a few hours later, the solution kind of presents itself to me."
"It's just that we don't have that much time," Webb mumbled gruffly.
Harm flashed him a grin. "Any better ideas, Mr. Webb?"
"I hate to admit it, but no." The corners of Webb's mouth threatened to twitch. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So, Mr. Ciloglu, what do you propose?"
"Esther and I normally go dancing on Wednesday evenings, Argentinian tango under the stars, on the courtyard in front of the 19th century Pergamon Museum." Ciloglu's right eyebrow was up high and he was glancing at Harm and Mac in a friendly challenging manner.
Mac exchanged a smile with a slightly embarrassed Esther and her expression lit up as she decided to accept the challenge. She turned her head to her partner. "Hey, sailor, you in for a little South American getaway?"
His grin fully matching hers, Harm folded his arms in front of his chest. "Sure," was all he said smugly, hoping Mac couldn't see how much the prospect of a sensual moonlit dance with her was beginning to cloud his mind.
"Uhm, sir..." Bud's voice was a little uneasy. "What about us?" He cast a quick glance sideways to where Clay was standing and trying to hide his grin.
"Don't worry, Lieutenant," the CIA agent spoke up. "Watching people is just as much fun as joining in actively."
Still doubtful, Bud watched as Webb subtly glanced in Harm and Mac's direction. And suddenly Roberts' own grin threatened to break through as he saw how oblivious his seniors suddenly seemed to be to their surroundings. "I guess, you're right," Bud only stated in a low voice. Chaim bit his lip, whereas Esther and Ciloglu exchanged a smirk of mutual understanding.
"Uhm..." Ciloglu raised his voice considerably in order to wake the colonel and the commander from their apparent state of haze. Both their heads immediately swiveled around to face him. The police officer decided to ignore the slight look of guilt on their expressions. "I suggest we meet in front of the Cathedral at eight o'clock. Would that be okay?"
"Uh... yeah, sure," Harm agreed, Mac nodding consent.
"Kommst du mit, Chaim?" Esther asked her brother. [You coming with us, Chaim?]
The younger man smiled, his expression suddenly showing a stunning likeness to his sister. "Sicher. Vielleicht kommt Ruth ja auch vorbei." [Sure, maybe Ruth will show up, too.]
"Verstehe," Esther acknowledged with a knowing grin. [I see.]
July 3rd, 2003 1912 ZULU In front of the Pergamon Museum Berlin Germany
Bud, Chaim and Clay were sitting on the large steps that led a few yards down to the wide courtyard. About 100 yards from them, the Classicist antique stone pillars of the museum's façade revealed a little about the sensation that was waiting to be discovered within the huge building: the more than 2000 year-old Greek altar of Pergamon that had been discovered by German archeologists in the 19th century. On both sides, the plaza was flanked by Classicist buildings as well, standing about 50 yards distant from each other. Above them, a full moon was lighting the warm summer night and soft Argentinian tango music was filling the air. The atmosphere of this not officially organized get-together was unique.
Bud had counted approximately 40 couples that had gathered for the tango crash-course that regularly preceded the tango nights. He had watched in amazement how Harm and Mac had desperately tried to remember the complex steps of the basic combinations, more than once stumbling over each other's feet, saving themselves from falling by firmly holding on to each other, unable to hold back their laughter. Bud thought he had never seen them this relaxed, easy and lighthearted with each other, and for once he had to concede that maybe Harriet had been right after all: those two were perfect together.
When the actual dancing had begun, the makeshift dance-floor had crowded considerably but luckily the plaza was wide enough so that Bud could still observe his colleagues and Esther and Ciloglu, too, who had by now joined them.
"Your colleagues seem to have a little problem," Chaim remarked with a smile, addressing no one in particular.
"What problem?" Clay asked innocently, knowing exactly what Chaim was referring to.
"I think it's called 'chain of command'," Chaim replied, still grinning.
"They're coping," was all Clay replied in a clear this-is-not-to-be- discussed tone. "What about your sister and Ciloglu?" he decided to start the counter-attack, watching how perfectly the police officer and the government official were weaving their legs in the weirdest combinations of tango steps, displaying perfect harmony.
To Webb's surprise, Chaim only sighed and wiped his face with his hand. "They're coping," he repeated Clay's words, his voice tinged with just a little compassion.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Rosenbaum?" Bud ventured carefully.
"Alas, there is," the young Mossad agent stated. "My father."
"What about him?"
"We are a conservative Jewish family," Chaim explained. "Ciloglu is a Muslim who regularly goes to the mosque. Any questions?"
"But it's obvious they're good friends," Clay observed, watching the couple.
"They are far more than that," Chaim said sadly. "They are a perfect match. Always have been, ever since they got to know each other five years ago when Kemal had to interview Esther during an investigation. These kind of things are complicated."
Bud and Clay exchanged a frown. Didn't they know it.
Meanwhile, Harm and Mac were still battling with their unwilling limbs that wouldn't intertwine in the right way. Harm decided he had never in his life had so much fun - except up in the air, perhaps. The sensuous music of Astor Piazzolla and his Argentinian composers colleagues had gradually managed to make his surroundings fade. At first, the peculiar dancing position required for Argentinian tango had made him a little uneasy. His chest just inches away from Mac's, their heads looking both in the same direction, his cheek actually brushing Mac's ever so slightly as their heads were leaned against each other, his right arm going all around Mac's body, drawing her close... The moonlight, the warm summer breeze, the melancholy bandoneon tunes, Mac's perfume, her warmth, their closeness and synchronized movements whenever the steps weren't too hard to remember - Harm felt he could go on dancing like this forever.
But then there were those lunatic figure combinations. Every so often, Mac would stumble over his feet when he hadn't been quick enough to pull them away and Harm would find he had the perfect excuse to enclose her in his arms, just to keep her from falling. Mac was laughing softly at their failed efforts, her chuckling making him laugh, too, as soon as she fought for her equilibrium yet another time.
Both officers looked up when they heard Esther address them from the side. "You're doing great," she encouraged them with a smile. "But if you feel the steps are too hard, just try moving to the rhythm without thinking about the combinations. First of all you have to feel the dance."
"You think that would work?" Harm asked, not sure if he wanted to lose his opportunity to catch his partner in his embrace whenever they stumbled.
Ciloglu winked at him. "Believe me, Commander, it does. Trust me and try it out." And the couple was gone again, exercising a swift combination of steps that carried them to the other side of the plaza.
"What do you say?" Harm looked at Mac, all but losing himself in her huge dark eyes. The music had stopped for a few seconds until a new piece was heard, a Piazzolla evergreen that Harm knew was called 'Adiós Nonino'. It had been one of his favorites ever since he had tried playing tango on his guitar.
"Let's give it a try," Mac answered, resuming her correct dancing position and closing her eyes, giving him the lead.
Harm limited their movements to simple slow steps that fitted the rhythm, no twists, no turns, no separations. And suddenly they were beginning to float, the melody carrying them away. He felt they were breathing together, ignoring everything that was outside their joined dance space, and his heart rate accelerated as he became aware that this was all he ever needed. He and Mac, functioning in absolute synchrony.
Suddenly he couldn't fight the urge to let out everything that had been building up during the last few years. Where was the need to hold back that had always stopped him from speaking? The fear that things might not work out? Gone. He took a deep breath, never halting their movements.
"Mac?"
"Yeah?" She didn't open her eyes.
"I..."
As she heard him hesitate, she looked up at him. "What?" she asked softly.
"This is perfect, isn't it?" He couldn't meet her glance.
"Yeah." Her voice was down to almost a whisper.
"I... uh... I need to tell you something," Harm eventually managed to get out, still not looking at her.
An alarm went off in Mac's head. "Personal?"
"Yeah," he murmured.
"Then don't," she quickly cut in, hurting as she saw his slightly pained expression at her reaction. "We'll talk later, I promise." She decided to relieve him from his uneasiness by pulling him tight for a short moment and resolved to get rid of the bug in her purse as soon as they got back to the hotel. Then she looked up and suddenly stopped dancing. "Harm, I think something's going on there," she said with a frown, looking at their colleagues.
A little reluctantly they let go of each other and hurried over to the broad stairs where Chaim was right then switching his cell-phone off, confused.
"What's up?" Mac asked, panting slightly.
"I just received a call from my boss," Chaim told them, concern written across his face in bold letters. "They still don't have a clue what the mysterious message is about but they just intercepted another one, this time saying 'The writing is up on the wall.' Something is going on and we're running in circles trying to figure out what it is."
"Is there anything we can do about the situation right now?" Harm asked, mentally turning the words over and over again. He had an unclear feeling that there was something to the picture that he just didn't see but he had no idea what that might be.
Chaim sighed. "Not right now, I'm sorry. All we can do is hope for one of Kemal's revelations."
July 21st, 2033 0517 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin, Yukon Territory Canada
"So the evening ended just like that?" Dave asked the ex-agent, frowning.
"Concerning the case, yes," Webb confirmed. "We went back to our hotel, still trying to figure out what the message might be about, but also trying to get our minds off things to loosen any mental knots. At least for Harm and Mac, it seemed to work," he added with a wistful smile.
"What about them?" Cate's voice rang with barely veiled curiosity. "Did they talk?"
"I don't know," was Webb's surprising answer. "Mac left her purse in her bathroom for the next couple of hours. All I know is that I saw them standing at her door, giving all the evidence needed to charge them with fraternization. That's when I decided I had seen enough. Anybody hungry?" Without waiting for their answer, Webb got up and vanished inside.
Dave, too, got to his feet and leaned against the railing, staring out in the woods.
As the silence began to stretch painfully, Cate joined him and looked up at him from the side. "Penny for your thoughts, jarhead."
He gave her a distracted half-grin. "So they got involved after all..."
"You sound surprised."
Dave turned to face her. "I guess I am," he admitted. "It must have taken a lot of courage, after all those years."
"They just gave in to feelings that they knew were there anyway," Cate argued thoughtfully. "At some point, even regulations can't block out the truth."
Dave looked down in his partner's dark eyes and found himself mesmerized. "Maybe you're right, ladysquid," he said softly, unable to keep himself from gently cupping her face with one hand, his thumb caressing her cheek.
For a split second, fear showed in Cate's eyes but she didn't recoil. On the contrary, she slightly leaned into his touch, still scrutinizing his features with those sensual eyes of hers.
When Dave again spoke up, his voice was barely audible. "If Harm felt just half of..." he didn't dare finish his speech. Then he noted that Cate had started to tremble, and his defense broke. He leaned in and brought his lips to hers, softly at first, but when he felt Cate respond to his kiss, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her tightly to him, losing himself in their totally unexpected intimacy that continued to grow in passion, making his world spin.
Eventually Cate broke the contact, eyes closed and gasping. "God, Dave..." was all she whispered.
Then suddenly, the first shot rang out.
"Get down!" Dave cried, throwing himself down and covering her body with his.
"Where did it come from?" Cate whispered, senses on high alert.
"The woods, approximately eleven o'clock, if seen from the door," Dave whispered back.
"Any ideas?"
"No."
Just then the next machine-gun salvo burst into the peaceful arctic evening silence.
They heard Webb swear loudly from just behind the doorframe. Then a tentative hiss: "Raleigh, Mackerras, you alright?"
"Affirmative!" Dave hissed back seeing Clay position himself to fire a few shots from his rifle at their attackers. The agent took a deep breath, whirled around the doorpost, shot and immediately took cover again.
"Clay, do you have any guns for us?" Cate called softly in the direction of the door.
"Just a sec..." The older man vanished and, a minute later, reappeared again, knelt down and shoved two pistols in their direction. The movement was immediately answered by another round of shooting, this time from a slightly different direction.
Dave swore under his breath. "There are more of them out there. And they're probably well-trained."
Cate had analyzed the situation. Their only chance would be to get to both sides of the verandah, thus defending the cabin from three different angles. "Dave?" she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"You go over to the other side, I'll draw back to this end of the porch. So we'll have at least three walls covered."
"Okay." Dave signaled to Clay what they had in mind and the ex-agent had to bite back a grin despite the situation. This was so Rabb and Mackenzie.
With his fingers, Clay counted down from five. On zero, Dave got up and sprinted along the porch, firing shots in what he hoped was the right direction. Cate was firing as well, while she retreated to the far side of the wooden verandah. Heavy MG fire followed them until they reached their positions and again took cover. As he saw Cate signaling 'thumbs up', Dave let out a breath of relief.
Suddenly Cate detected a movement at her nine o'clock, in the bushes not ten yards away from her position. Reacting instinctively, she spun around and fired several shots, until she noticed with horror that she had killed a deer and thereby given away her position. Before she could retreat into safety again, more shooting was heard and all of a sudden, Cate felt an excruciating pain in her right side as one bullet hit her hip and then another one her right shoulder. She dropped her gun, giving a sharp cry, and fell to the floor, tightly gripping her side and trying to stay conscious as the pain made her gasp in agony.
Dave watched the scene play out as if in slow motion. He felt his heart stop as he saw Cate go down. His entire being yelled at him to ignore his surroundings and run to her, but he gritted his teeth, knowing that if he wanted to save her, he had to keep cool. Suddenly, a figure carrying a machine gun emerged from behind a tree at his two o'clock, and with the deadly precision of someone who longed to avenge the death of his love, Dave aimed and pulled the trigger, taking the man out before he even had the time to move any closer.
Instantly, he was fired upon from two sides, but Clay stepped out on the porch and shot one of the attackers whose attention had been entirely focused on Dave. The third man quickly retreated into the bushes, pressing to a tree, but he hadn't counted on the rage of the Marine captain he was aiming at. Signaling Clay to shoot to distract the assaulter and seeing the man immediately change target, Dave quickly and cautiously left the porch and neared the man from behind the bushes.
Just as Clay had apparently run out of ammunition, the man stepped out of his cover and fired yet another salvo at the old man who ducked into safety as quickly as possible. That was when Dave finally managed to fix him with his cross hairs and again pulled the trigger.
The man hadn't even hit the ground yet when the young JAG was already on his way to where his partner was lying. Trying not to flinch as he saw the quickly enlarging bright red stain beneath Cate's body, Dave dropped to his knees, frantically called out to Clay to get the medical case and then gently took her head in his lap, caressing her pale cheeks.
"Cate, stay with me!" he addressed her, his voice threatening to catch in his throat. "Hang in there, SEAL, do you hear me? Damn!"
"Dave... I'm cold..." Her voice was barely audible. With an effort that seemed almost superhuman to her, she opened her eyes.
Although he could see her struggle against the rising numbness, Dave felt relieved. "That's, right, Lieutenant, don't let go. I'm here, hang on," he murmured in what he hoped was a soothing voice. What she really didn't need was hearing the fear that threatened to choke him.
She did, though. The corners of her mouth curled up to the slightest of smiles as she looked up at him. "I thought Marines didn't cry," she whispered.
Dave had to smile despite himself. Quickly wiping away a tear that had escaped his brimming eyes, he noticed that she, too, had tearstains on her cheeks. Dave tenderly dried them off with his thumb, sniffling a little. "We do, but only for very good reasons," he answered softly.
Just then, Clay arrived with the first-aid kit. "How bad?" he only asked.
"Bad," Dave replied, feeling his voice would break if he said anything else. Together, they laid Cate down on her back and examined the gunshot wounds.
"The one on her shoulder went right through," Clay observed in strained voice. "Hold her while I bandage it up." Dave only did as he was told, trying to get a grip.
Seeing the larger wound on Cate's side, Clay again swore heavily. Then he looked up at the badly-shaken captain. "We'll have to extract the bullet," he said.
"Without anesthesia?" Dave's heart skipped yet another beat. The pain would kill her. And she had to stay conscious at all costs!
Webb sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. We're too far away from any hospitals to leave it in the wound until we get there. I can give her a sodium chloride IV to increase her chances of survival until we get to the hospital and then I can give her a little morphine, but that's really all I can do."
Both men's heads turned as they heard Cate speak up. "Do it," she said quietly, reaching for Dave's hand.
Dave swallowed. "Okay." He lay down beside her, encircling her in his arms, both to keep her from moving and to let her feel he was with her.
Once again, Clay had to fight his emotions from getting the upper hand. Cate and Dave, Mac and Harm... the images began to fuse in his mind. Mentally shaking himself from his confusion, he reached out and grabbed a stick that was lying beside the porch and held it out to Cate. "Take it between your teeth," he instructed her. She did.
"Ready?"
"Hmm hmmm."
A sharp hiss followed as Clay first disinfected the wound. Dave tightened his embrace, feeling Cate cling to his arms with all her might. "Hang on, Cate," he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple, "Hang on. You're a SEAL."
Webb's eyes shone with anxiety as he once again met Cate's glance. "Okay, Raleigh, this is going to be rough."
"Huh huh," she acknowledged, gathering all her willpower for what would follow.
"One, two, three..."
"Arrrghh!" Cate's scream was only barely muffled by the stick in her mouth. She gritted her teeth with a force previously unknown to her, just to fight the pain that Clay was inflicting on her with his long tweezers. Fresh tears were streaming from her eyes as she desperately held on to her partner, trying to stay awake.
Dave thought he could feel the pain himself. Hearing her cry like this was driving him crazy and he was glad he could hold her in his arms, not only for her sake, but also for his own.
"Just a little longer, Cate, we're almost done," Clay tried to encourage her, his voice not too stable, either.
Cate's cries had reduced to strained moans but she was holding her own, fervently praying to God to let her pull through and thanking him for Dave's presence.
Finally, with a last twitch that made her scream once again, the projectile gave way. Clay thrust it aside, instantly covered the wound with clean gauze and pressed firmly until Cate's gasps had calmed a little and he felt he could ask Dave to let go of her and apply a bandage to her waist. While the captain executed his orders, Clay quickly placed the IV needle and then had Cate lean back against her partner in a half-seated position, Dave holding up the plastic bag with the liquid. As soon as the lieutenant was well-settled, Webb went inside to activate his short-wave radio in order to contact the Mounties.
Dave kept continuously stroking Cate's sweaty forehead. He could feel she was still very much in pain but it was nothing in comparison to what she'd had to endure before. She actually relaxed against his chest, closing her eyes.
"Thanks, Dave," he eventually heard her whisper.
"What for, ladysquid?" he asked with a slight smile that carried traces of his own relief.
"For making me hang on," she answered very low.
Realizing once more how close he'd come to losing her and wanting to keep his emotions in check, Dave tried his escape through a joke. "Well, if you'd have passed out on me, I'd have kicked your six from here to D.C.," he replied softly.
"I know, jarhead," she said, a slight smile gracing her features, "And I wouldn't have let you win."
"I know," he whispered, glad to have her back. "Relax a little, okay?"
"Aye, sir," she murmured, feeling his lips on her temple once again and losing herself in the gentle sensation.
July 21st, 2033 0722 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada
The RCMP helicopter had found enough open space to land in front of the cabin. While two policemen were loading the three corpses into the helo's belly, a third officer was questioning Clay and Dave and two paramedics were preparing Cate to be transported to a hospital in Whitehorse.
"We're ready," one of the policemen eventually called.
Dave quickly excused himself and rushed out. Just before Cate's stretcher was lifted into the helicopter, Dave caught her hand and made the paramedics stop for a short moment. Dave leaned over her and smiled, taking Cate's hand in both his own. "You take care of yourself, ladysquid," he gently ordered her. "I expect to see you back in D.C. in one piece in ten days, maximum."
"Will do." Cate's smile fully mirrored his. "And you be careful when you take 'Sarah' all the way back, okay? Kick Webb's six and drag him with you."
"Aye, ma'am." Dave leaned down and brushed a quick, shy kiss to her lips, blushing slightly. "See ya, Lieutenant," he whispered, letting go of her hand and snapping off a mock salute. Having scheduled the time for the helo to return and pick up their colleague, Dave turned and joined Webb and the police officer inside the cabin.
"Captain, could you please tell me where you were standing when you heard the first shot?" The RCMP officer had already taken notes of Clay's version of the story, convinced that the two men were telling the truth about the killings being self-defense. Now he needed Dave's account to complete the picture.
"Uh... I was standing at the railing with Lt. Raleigh," Dave answered, asking himself how much he'd have to reveal of how exactly they had been standing together.
"You were here?" The police officer pointed his ballpoint pen to a spot on the sketch he had drawn of the cabin and its surroundings.
"Yeah."
"And where was the lieutenant?"
'Uh oh.' Dave was beginning to sweat. "Uhm... here." He pointed his index to the exact same spot.
The officer quizzically looked up at him, but when he saw Dave blush he only stifled a grin and looked at his note pad again. "Where did the shot come from?"
During the next half-hour, Dave gave a detailed description about the events. When he was done, the officer addressed Webb again, a slight frown showing on his forehead. "Mr. Webb, you said you could identify your assaulters?"
Dave's head jerked up and in astonishment, he fixed Clay's glance.
Webb nodded, letting out a low sigh. "Noel Burke," he stated, "Former CIA deputy director responsible for counterintelligence in central and eastern Europe. Agent Clive Miller, his faithful right hand and I suppose the third one was Miller's son, Oliver."
The officer wrote down the names and looked up expectantly, but Webb shook his head. "I'm sorry, this is all I can tell you. I was part of that bunch, too." With that, he opened a drawer in the cupboard behind him and took out a ragged-looking, very old CIA ID for the police officer to see.
The officer's frown deepened but he didn't comment. "I'll inform the authorities," was all he said. "I take it you're going back to Washington to report?"
Webb shook his head in a determined manner. "That's the captain's job. I don't want anything to do with those people anymore."
Dave felt this was his cue. "Clay, we need your testimony for the case."
"Sorry, Captain, but you won't get it," he said stubbornly, his old bitterness resurfacing.
'Harm, I won't let you down,' Dave silently swore, getting angry with the old ex-agent. "You told us that people denied Rabb and Mackenzie the honor they deserve. Now set it right!" He glared at him.
The police officer decided he didn't need to hear this and retreated to the porch.
Clay had gotten up, angry himself. "I tried! All those years, no one would listen. They'd threaten my friends, ruin my career, I don't know what else! Burke himself set up Harm and Mac as scapegoats and he knew the right people to make his version the official one. He's been out of the service for quite some time now but the people at Langley are still the same. I can't do this to Harriet and Bud!"
Dave tried to stay calm. "Dammit, Webb, you're the one person who could finally relieve the admiral from the terrible feeling of guilt that's eating him alive. You could give Harm's mother the relief she deserves in her old days by clearing her only son's name. You could finally get back at Burke and his peers and most of all: you could change history without changing its effects. The Treaty of Vienna dates 24 years back, it won't be threatened by the revelations. But at least your friends' - your only friends, as you yourself told us - deaths would finally make sense and set an example to all! People need true heroes, Clay. They need characters like Harmon Rabb and Sarah Mackenzie to look up to and set higher standards. It's in your hands to let that happen."
Entire minutes passed after Dave's animated speech before Webb drew a deep breath and looked at the young JAG, smiling wryly. "You've got to be one damned good lawyer, Mackerras," he said slowly. "Harmon Rabb, Jr., would have argued this case just like you."
"So what do you say?" Dave asked, guarded.
"I'll do it." Sighing heavily, Webb got up. "But first I'll have to make a phone call. Although he'll probably kill me for calling in the middle of the night..."
Puzzled, Dave remained silent and watched as Clay pulled out an old sat phone from the same cupboard he had gotten his Langley ID from.
"I hope this still works..." the agent mumbled. Then after about two minutes of trying and waiting, Dave could hear that someone had picked up.
"Bud? This is Clayton Webb..."
August 1st, 2033 2108 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA
The strained silence in the big mahogany-furnished room was palpable. The people present didn't dare speak, not even a whisper was heard. From time to time, someone would shuffle his foot or clear his throat but apart from that, all was quiet. Outside the office door, the bullpen lay deserted. Bud had sent his staff away a little earlier than he usually did on a Friday afternoon.
The admiral was sitting behind his desk, seemingly studying a file, but Cate had noted that he hadn't turned a page for at least five minutes. She and Dave were standing in a corner a little ways away from their CO, observing the others. Besides them, Patricia Burnett and Sergei Zhukov were sitting on the small leather couch that matched the armchairs in front of Bud's desk.
In one of those armchairs, Clayton Webb was sitting and slowly taking in his surroundings, apparently comparing what he saw to how things had looked 30 years ago. The officer next to him had been presented to them as retired Admiral Sturgis Turner, former JAG. Next to Turner, Secnav Hamilton was impatiently twirling a ballpoint pen in his hands.
Eventually, a knock on the door made everyone take a deep breath of relief.
Bud looked up, slightly pale but composed. "Enter."
The door opened to reveal four people. The admiral's expression relaxed instantly as he got up to greet his wife. "How was your flight?" he asked Harriet in a low voice.
"Okay," she answered with a slight smile.
"Did Dunston pick you up where I told him to?"
"Worked perfectly," she confirmed. "And luckily neither mine nor the Ciloglus' flight was delayed." With that she turned to the elderly couple that had, a little shyly, entered the room behind her.
Bud's smile grew. "Mrs. Ciloglu, Mr. Ciloglu, it's been too long," he said warmly, shaking Kemal and Esther's hands. Clay had risen and joined in the greetings. Then Bud introduced them to the Secnav and to Sturgis and to Trish and Sergei. Finally, he motioned for Cate and Dave to move closer.
An expression of utmost surprise crossed Esther's face the moment she saw the two young officers approach, but she quickly regained her composure and only exchanged a slight smile with her husband before turning to the officers again. "I take it you two are the cause of this late reunion, Lieutenant, Captain?" she asked with a slight smile.
"That is correct, ma'am," Dave answered a little stiffly, feeling thoroughly intimidated. "Captain David Mackerras, ma'am, and this is my partner, Lieutenant Catherine Raleigh."
"Nice to finally meet you two in person," Esther answered. "Ever since we received this utterly unexpected invitation, my husband and I have been wondering if we'd really understood right what Admiral Roberts wrote."
"Uh... you did, ma'am," Cate replied, just as embarrassed as her partner.
"As we can now see with our own eyes," Ciloglu remarked, his smile audible.
"Uhm, can we come in now?" a voice was heard from outside.
"Yes, Mr. Dunston, come on in," Bud called back.
A moment later, the door was opened wide and a man with a TV camera and a sound technician entered the room, followed by a man in his late twenties who wore a stylish gray summer suit.
The young man came to a halt in front of Bud and held out his hand with an open smile. "Admiral Roberts? Jeff Dunston. We talked on the phone. My father has told me a lot about you. He regrets that he can't film this himself but his health prevents it. So you're stuck with me."
Bud took the offered hand and gave it a hearty squeeze. "God knows, we had our differences with Stuart Dunston, but I'm glad that ZNN didn't send someone totally unfamiliar to this office to report what we have to say. Nice to meet you."
"Thank you, Admiral," Dunston replied. "So, is this official or not?"
Bud opened a drawer and pulled out a document which he handed to the curious reporter. "It is. We're on the safe side. The board of inquiry declassified the affair, thanks to Capt. Mackerras. We were informed of the decision yesterday."
Dunston's eyebrows went up. "The CIA really agreed to this? Wow..." he murmured as he studied the paper in his hands. Then he looked at Dave with a mildly inquisitive expression. "I thought Burke was one of them and still had many friends in the Agency. Mr. Webb told me that much when I first interviewed him."
Dave just embarrassedly smiled back. Bud sighed, but then offered a small grin. "Yes, he had, and we had a hard time arguing our case. But Lt. Raleigh's thrilling performance on the stand, combined with her injuries, managed to convince the board that officially uncovering Director Burke's doings might do less harm than having Director Webb go to the media instead, seconded by the Navy's Judge Advocate General and his two heroic subordinates."
Grinning, Dunston nodded. "I see..." He sobered. "And you're ready to step forward and tell your story, Admiral?"
Glancing briefly at Harriet who only nodded encouragingly, Bud drew a deep breath and then nodded in a determined manner. "I am. I should have done it long ago."
The cameraman had in the meantime pulled two armchairs to a spot where the late afternoon sun lit the room. Dunston turned to Webb and made an inviting gesture. "So, I suggest, we start with you, Mr. Webb. We already taped your testimony, but there are a few questions I'd still like to ask you."
Webb got up, smiled slightly, settled down in the offered armchair and expectantly looked at the young reporter opposite to him. "Go ahead, Mr. Dunston."
Sound recording and camera were operational. Dunston gave a sign and then plunged right into the matter. "Mr. Webb, you stated that you recognized your assaulters."
Webb nodded.
"Who were they?"
"They were former colleagues of mine, back when I was still working for the Agency. Retired Deputy Director Noel Burke was responsible for counterintelligence in central and eastern Europe. As the attack took place in Berlin, it was he who was called to work out an emergency cover-up story for the Hizbullah bombing so the peace talks could take place as scheduled. He first contacted me around 1100, about two and a half hours after the explosion."
"What did you tell him?" Dunston tried to keep his voice neutral, concentrating on the facts.
Webb swallowed, lost in thought. "Just one thing: to leave Colonel Mackenzie and Commander Rabb out of it. At that point, we had no idea how they had ended up in the bunker where the bomb exploded. Knowing Burke as a man who was cruelly efficient, no matter how high the cost, I feared he would use their deaths to his advantage. And I was right." He sighed.
"Why do you think Burke tried to kill you now, 30 years after the Berlin bombing?"
"To avoid punishment for giving false testimony in an affair of national security and to protect a few friends of his who continued to maintain the story of Rabb and Mackenzie's involvement in the bombing. He had to prevent us from disclosing the truth, like he successfully did for so many years, as long as we kept digging up witnesses and tried to have the affair legally declassified. The consequences for him could really have been devastating."
Dunston straightened in his chair. "So, Mr. Webb, although you already have, would you tell us again what exactly happened in the early morning hours of July 4th, 2003 in the German capital?"
Seeing Webb brace himself, Dave unconsciously reached for Cate's hand and felt his squeeze returned in a gentle, caring way. Today, on his 30th birthday, he would witness a major wrong set right, and he knew that he and the woman whose hand he was holding, the friend who had grown so dear to him, had brought this about. And the knowledge of having accomplished so much made him want to cry.
Clay looked down at his hands, then lifted his gaze to Dunston's and, after what seemed like an eternity, began to speak. "If you're wondering how I got to know what I'm telling you now - it's simple. It was on the tape that recorded all that the bug in Col. Mackenzie's purse picked up. So I'll start with that and then go on with what I myself remember of that day. Sometime after 0700 in the morning, Col. Mackenzie apparently fetched her purse from the bathroom..."
July 4th, 2003 0653 ZULU Grand-Hotel "Maritime" Friedrichstrasse Berlin, Germany
"Okay, flyboy, here you are."
Mac pulled a pack of Aspirin from her purse and handed Harm a glass of water with it. With a silent movement she reminded him that their every sound was being monitored. Harm grinned and blew her a kiss. He quickly swallowed the medicine and then, trying not to rustle the sheets too much, lay back on his pillow, pulling Mac down with him so that she was resting on his chest.
For a while, they lay in silence, exchanging a few smiles, knowing they couldn't put in words what was on their minds, but not feeling the need to, either. The last few hours had told them more about each other than they'd ever dreamed of knowing. And what they had learned had eventually led them to believe that this new blossoming relationship might work out after all, contrary to what they had always feared would happen. Right this instant, on this tiny spot on Earth, for two out of over six billion human beings, life was perfect.
Harm let his thoughts wander wherever they would take him while his fingertips were softly drawing patterns on Mac's satin skin. "I wonder if Ciloglu had any more luck finding a solution to this riddle than we had," he said in a low voice.
Mac sighed. "I doubt it. Or Clay would surely have called us. Esther told me that the delegations meet at 0830 for some kind of a business breakfast, to test the waters. Assuming the worst, that would leave us exactly one hour and thirty-seven minutes to solve the case. I don't know - but I just can't come up with anything that really fits the scenario. Going over to the embassy now and searching for something that you don't have the slightest idea about doesn't make sense. It's just..." she inhaled deeply. "I feel so helpless about this."
"You know, Mac," Harm said in a thoughtful voice, "What really worries me is that even the Mossad is lost about this message-thing."
"Yeah..." Mac agreed, contemplating the words Chaim had spoken of. "'The writing is up on the wall' - that could mean anything."
A little distractedly, Harm twirled a strand of Mac's hair around his left index finger. "If I were King Belshazzar, I'd probably call for Daniel now... oh, my God..." Harm froze, then gently made Mac lie down beside him, jumped to his feet and began rummaging through all cupboards and drawers. The expression on his face made Mac suck in her breath.
"Harm? What the..."
"There's got to be one... somewhere... I know it..." Harm kept mumbling under his breath.
"Harm! What's going on? What are you looking for?"
Meanwhile, Harm had found what he had been searching. He grabbed it and sat down again on the bed, holding - a Bible. Mac stared at him, open-mouthed.
"Ciloglu was right, Mac," Harm said, seemingly unsure himself what to think of his sudden idea. "The revelation hits you when you least expect it. I mean, all along that message kept stirring up something in my brain but I just didn't get it. It was too obvious. Mac: the message is meant literally. The prophet Daniel!"
Whacking her brain, Mac managed to bring forth crumbs of her religious education from elementary school. "Wasn't that the story of that Babylonian king who saw that line on the wall and couldn't make out what it meant?"
"Exactly," Harm confirmed. "I don't remember exactly what it said but for some strange reason I remember where to find it." With that, he quickly thumbed through the book of Daniel until he got to chapter five. "Here it is: 'Mene tekel u-parsin.' 'Mene' means 'God has numbered the days of your reign and brought it to an end.' 'Tekel' means 'You have been weighed on the scales and found wanting.' and 'Peres' means 'Your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and the Persians.'"
"Ooo..kaaay...," Mac acknowledged with a drawl, doubt ringing in her voice, "But what do you get from that, Harm?"
Harm tried to gather his thoughts. "The third line doesn't tell me anything right now, so I'll leave it out for the present. But the first line... what if whoever keeps alluding to this is thinking of the 'reigns' of Sharon or Arafat or even Bush? That would mean the message hasn't got anything to do with harmless graffiti. Someone is trying to kill a head of state because he thinks that his 'target' didn't fulfill God's will."
Seeing that Mac was about to object to his speculation, Harm quickly held up his hand. "Let's just stick with this theory for a moment, okay?" Mac nodded.
"The 'scales'..." Harm went on thinking aloud, looking at Mac to be able to focus on something. "Maybe the person or group who sent the message first wanted to wait until they got a glimpse of what their leader would be offering to the other side during the peace talks. They had a look at the matter and 'found' their leader 'wanting'. So they sent the message to act on their plan of killing him. First, they told their contacts to 'Wait for the writing to appear on the wall.' That was supposed to mean: 'Hold it, we're still checking the situation.'
"Then, at a certain point, the decision is made. 'The writing is up.' That would mean: 'What our leader wants to negotiate for us isn't enough, we can't go through with this, let's do away with him.' It's a signal to set the timer to a bomb or whatever. So, regardless of which side is aiming at their president, the decision to do whatever harm to him has to come from within his own delegation. No one else would have been able to take a look at the guidelines for the negotiations. Mac," Harm got up and reached for his cell-phone, "We have a first-class security problem here and we'll have to get inside the embassy right now to somehow try and solve it. Let's call Webb."
"Slow down, Harm," Mac tried to reason with her partner. "Don't you think this is a highly speculative scenario, if not an outright ridiculous one? A message from the Bible? Come on, squid, we know we're dealing with religious extremists, and the story you mentioned is part of the Tora as well as the Koran, but isn't that just too much of a cliché? And even if it should be true - don't you think, if not the CIA or the BND, at least the Mossad would have come up with it by now?"
Harm looked at her, calmly, earnestly and yet with an urgency that took her breath away. "Maybe they would, maybe not. I know this sounds crazy, Mac, but do we have any other leads? If I'm right, time is running short big- time, and we can't risk finding out afterwards that we could have done something but didn't do it because we relied on the others to find out or didn't trust our own intuition."
Mac sighed, giving him a defeated nod. "Call him."
August 1st, 2033 2242 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA
If this was even possible, the room had gotten quieter still, once Webb had ended his tale. Cate had unconsciously stepped a little closer to her partner, feeling the rising tension was too hard to endure. So close to the truth, finally... Looking at her CO, she could see that he was tightly pressing his lips together, trying not to let his tension get the better of him.
Dunston had to draw a steadying breath himself. He had expected a lot of things that could have happened, judging from what his father had told him about this extraordinary bunch of people. But this seemed to point to a solution he definitely hadn't counted on. Anyway, he was a professional so it would be up to him to save the situation. He cleared his throat. "So... Cmdr. Rabb called you, Mr. Webb?"
"No," came a voice from the far side of the room, making everyone turn their heads in surprise. Kemal Ciloglu had risen from his seat and stepped up to where Webb was sitting. "I did."
Webb instantly rose from his seat and Ciloglu sat down on the makeshift stage. Dunston motioned for his cameraman to go on filming. "You called Mr. Webb that morning, Mr. Ciloglu? Why?"
Ciloglu stared out of the window, trying to recollect as many details as possible. Then he turned back to Dunston. "Maybe Cmdr. Rabb did really try to reach Director Webb at that time but I seem to have been a little quicker. I had just received a call from Berlin police headquarters. Another transmission had been picked up, this time clearly pointing to the senders as well as to whom it had been intended for. The student group that sent the earlier messages had finally been identified, thanks to the fact that the last message was just a little too long to avoid being traced back. The group turned out to be an Islamic student organization, uniting Muslim students of different nationalities. Most of them were Turkish, but there were a few Lebanese, Palestinian, Iranian and Arabic members as well. They were united by their extremist views and their profound hatred of both Jewish and Christian societies."
"And whom did they try to contact?" Dunston was on the edge of his seat, desperately trying to appear calm, at least in front of the camera's eye.
Ciloglu smiled. "This time, they were on the receiving end. No, the message came from someone else. My wife's brother Chaim was able to identify the voice: it was a member of the Israeli delegation."
Webb pulled up a chair at Ciloglu's side. "From what I learned afterwards from numerous witnesses, the agreement between the enemies had been that the Jewish extremists provided the possibility to place the bomb - that was where Ari Coen had his part in the game with his personal crusade - , then the Hizbullah was to manufacture and install the explosive device. For having opened the embassy to the Islamists, the Jewish settlers reserved the right to have the last word in the decision if and when to blow it up.
"There were hostile elements in the Palestinian delegation as well. While the Palestinians were still reviewing what Arafat intended to offer the Israelis, the terrorists among them somehow stayed in touch with the Muslim student group. The group told their Jewish contacts that the Muslim side still hadn't decided if to go through with the plan or not. This is why they used the phrase 'Wait for the writing to be up.' Once the Palestinian side of the odd alliance gave a 'no go' for the negotiations, they forwarded their half of the code that would set the timer to the Israelis, telling them they had decided their leader's fate. In other words: 'The writing is up.'"
Webb paused, apparently wanting to make sure that the complexity of the plot had registered correctly in everyone's brain. Dunston immediately spoke up, wanting to keep the interruption of the tale as brief as possible. "So the latest message was the Jewish answer that they would go through with the plan?"
Webb nodded. "But the decision had taken them more time than they had obviously counted on. The settlers had no time left to think about a safe way to let the terrorists within the Palestinian delegation know the exact schedule for the attack. That is why they passed it on in the message, thus making the transmission too long and enabling us to trace it back to them."
"So you knew beforehand what was going to happen?" Dunston asked, aghast.
Webb felt everyone's gaze on him and swallowed heavily. "No, we didn't. They talked in code again. So I met with Inspector Ciloglu at police headquarters in order to try and decipher the schedule. I had no idea that right then, Rabb and Mackenzie were already desperately trying to disarm the very bomb we were still discussing in theory."
To be continued...
July 21st, 2033 0009 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada
"Thanks." With a grateful smile, Cate accepted the steaming cup that Webb handed her. Dave raised his eyebrow and shot her a glance over the rim of his own cup. Cate only grinned innocently and then again fixed her attention on the old CIA agent.
"So, where was I?" Clay let his gaze wander from one young officer to the other and back, once again marveling at the stunning likeness between them and his late friends.
"What happened after they questioned Coen?" Dave decided to get back to the facts.
Clay smirked slightly at the captain's obvious eagerness to distract him from his partner's beautiful smile. "We had just gotten back to the car and had driven off when Esther Rosenbaum received a phone-call," he went on with his tale, taking a slow sip of coffee. "From what I gathered, she agreed to meet with someone."
July 3rd, 2003 1512 ZULU Allied Air Lift Memorial Berlin Germany
Although heavy rush-hour traffic was streaming all around the large plaza, the five people standing at its center, just beneath the impressive sculpture, felt like far away from the every-day routine. Surrounded by flower borders and low bushes, the white stone shone in the afternoon sun. The Air Lift Memorial was designed like the base of a huge arch that barely showed its curve, due to the fact that it was supposed to meet the ground again only about 600 miles away, at the biggest German airport of Frankfurt where, back then, the supply planes had departed from and where the Air Lift Memorial now had its twin to complete the virtual arch. At the top, the stone band was divided in three branches, representing the three western Allies America, Great Britain and France who had kept West Berlin alive through the air. At the base of the monument, a large plaque showed the names of those pilots who, for one reason or the other, had lost their lives during those nine months.
Mac could see that her partner's thoughts were lightyears away. Harm had unconsciously come to stand at attention in front of the carved names and Mac was sure that he was praying not only for those whose lives were lost in this spectacular humanitarian mission, but also for his father. They were united by their fate, although the allied pilots' task had been very different from Harm Sr.'s.
Quietly stepping up to him, Mac straightened herself to pay her respects. As she stood still, her eyes fixed on the stone plate, she eventually felt her partner's eyes on her.
"You've been around pilots for too long, Colonel," Harm remarked softly, a smirk tingeing his voice.
Mac turned her head to meet his glance and slightly smiled back. "Maybe. But I've never missed an opportunity to honor brave men who died doing the right thing."
"Thanks," Harm answered simply, his smile deepening, holding her gaze for what was perhaps a second too long.
Someone cleared his throat and made them turn a little guiltily. The knowing grin in Webb's eyes vanished almost instantly as he got back to business. "There's someone who would like to meet the two of you."
Harm and Mac looked over Webb's shoulder and saw Bud approach with Esther, Ciloglu and another young man.
Esther immediately introduced them. "Colonel, Commander, this is my brother Chaim. He works for the Israeli embassy. Chaim, meet Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie and Cmdr. Harmon Rabb."
"Colonel, Commander..." Chaim Rosenbaum exercised a slight bow and smiled at the officers.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Rosenbaum," Mac returned the friendly greeting, wondering slightly why the young man had come to meet them.
"Uh, Mac," Clay spoke up, motioning for all to move a little closer. "Mr. Rosenbaum is with the Mossad. We seem to have a little security problem."
'Oh, please...' Mac thought, exasperated. Why couldn't they just once be assigned a mission that didn't threaten to go haywire? "What kind of problem?" she cautiously asked, trying to ignore the acute sensation of Harm's body brushing her back as he leaned in to catch what was being said.
Chaim Rosenbaum sighed. "During the last few days we have been monitoring a few student groups that announced they'd protest against Israeli politics concerning the Palestinians while Prime Minister Sharon would be here. Our colleagues from the Bundesnachrichtendienst, the German Federal Intelligence Service, happened to intercept a message several times that seems to be circling around between the various groups. We think it's encrypted but the BND doesn't, they take it to be meant literally."
"What does it say?" Harm asked.
"It's not always exactly the same," Chaim replied, "But there's always something in it that sounds like 'Prepare for the writing to be up on the wall.' Or something of the kind."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Bud's frown was impressive.
Webb glared back, slightly unnerved. "If we knew that, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, Lieutenant."
"Ah... no, sir."
Mac was staring into nowhere, obviously in deep thought. "If German Intelligence thinks it should be taken literally, then what do they suppose the students are planning?" she said, more to herself.
"You know that German-American relations have been rather strained of late," Esther explained carefully. "Because of the German refusal to support the war in Iraq. All of Europe was very much surprised that President Bush actually invited Chancellor Schroeder to the peace talks, but apparently the good connections Germany has with Israel as well as with the Palestinians outweighed the strained friendship."
Harm fixed his gaze on the German woman. "What would that have to do with some student groups exchanging messages?"
"Many Germans still have a profound grudge against President Bush because of the war," Esther went on, "Especially university students who tend to be rather left-wing in their political views. There are rumors that the students' parliaments of all three Berlin universities, together with the two local universities of applied sciences and the city's four art universities are planning on organizing a concerted action of writing anti- Bush graffiti on every wall imaginable that might appear in the news coverage about his visit here."
Mac's eyes met Harm's and both officers quickly stifled their grins. Harm cleared his throat. "Uhm... well, that... wouldn't be too nice for the President but we wouldn't really need to worry about it too much, either." He sobered, looking at Chaim. "If the Israelis assume the message is encrypted, then what do you think it means?"
Chaim shrugged a little helplessly. "That's just our problem, Commander. We have no concrete ideas. I mean, there are countless possibilities how Prime Minister Sharon could be in danger - he is wherever he goes - and we think we have all the obvious threats covered. But what we're lacking is a precise hint as to what the message might be pointing at."
"The Berlin police has yet another idea," Ciloglu joined in the conversation, his expression a little worried. "In the last few years, we've encountered Muslim extremist ideas more often than we'd like to admit within the German Turkish community. Groups such as Milligoerues, for example, might plan on attacking the Israeli or the American delegations in some way. Two weeks ago, we found large quantities of anti-American and anti-Jewish propaganda, together with an impressive arsenal of weapons in an inconspicuous apartment. The group we linked the findings to has been known to organize some of their actions by leaving graffiti on the walls of houses."
Webb swore under his breath. "So what exactly have we got to start from?" He let his glance wander from one person to the next, meeting nothing but worry in their eyes.
"Definitely not enough to ensure the safety of tomorrow's events," Mac eventually broke the silence, sounding slightly disillusioned.
"Oh, man..." Harm sighed very low, distractedly rubbing the back of his neck.
For a few seconds, no one spoke. Then Ciloglu, with a slight smile, tried to ease the tension. "I'd have a suggestion about how we could spend the evening."
"I'm all ears, Officer," Mac replied, relieved to have something else to focus on for a change.
Ciloglu's smile broadened. "I often find that when I'm stuck in an investigation and can't seem to find a way out, I need to do something entirely different to let all the information sink in. Normally, a few hours later, the solution kind of presents itself to me."
"It's just that we don't have that much time," Webb mumbled gruffly.
Harm flashed him a grin. "Any better ideas, Mr. Webb?"
"I hate to admit it, but no." The corners of Webb's mouth threatened to twitch. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So, Mr. Ciloglu, what do you propose?"
"Esther and I normally go dancing on Wednesday evenings, Argentinian tango under the stars, on the courtyard in front of the 19th century Pergamon Museum." Ciloglu's right eyebrow was up high and he was glancing at Harm and Mac in a friendly challenging manner.
Mac exchanged a smile with a slightly embarrassed Esther and her expression lit up as she decided to accept the challenge. She turned her head to her partner. "Hey, sailor, you in for a little South American getaway?"
His grin fully matching hers, Harm folded his arms in front of his chest. "Sure," was all he said smugly, hoping Mac couldn't see how much the prospect of a sensual moonlit dance with her was beginning to cloud his mind.
"Uhm, sir..." Bud's voice was a little uneasy. "What about us?" He cast a quick glance sideways to where Clay was standing and trying to hide his grin.
"Don't worry, Lieutenant," the CIA agent spoke up. "Watching people is just as much fun as joining in actively."
Still doubtful, Bud watched as Webb subtly glanced in Harm and Mac's direction. And suddenly Roberts' own grin threatened to break through as he saw how oblivious his seniors suddenly seemed to be to their surroundings. "I guess, you're right," Bud only stated in a low voice. Chaim bit his lip, whereas Esther and Ciloglu exchanged a smirk of mutual understanding.
"Uhm..." Ciloglu raised his voice considerably in order to wake the colonel and the commander from their apparent state of haze. Both their heads immediately swiveled around to face him. The police officer decided to ignore the slight look of guilt on their expressions. "I suggest we meet in front of the Cathedral at eight o'clock. Would that be okay?"
"Uh... yeah, sure," Harm agreed, Mac nodding consent.
"Kommst du mit, Chaim?" Esther asked her brother. [You coming with us, Chaim?]
The younger man smiled, his expression suddenly showing a stunning likeness to his sister. "Sicher. Vielleicht kommt Ruth ja auch vorbei." [Sure, maybe Ruth will show up, too.]
"Verstehe," Esther acknowledged with a knowing grin. [I see.]
July 3rd, 2003 1912 ZULU In front of the Pergamon Museum Berlin Germany
Bud, Chaim and Clay were sitting on the large steps that led a few yards down to the wide courtyard. About 100 yards from them, the Classicist antique stone pillars of the museum's façade revealed a little about the sensation that was waiting to be discovered within the huge building: the more than 2000 year-old Greek altar of Pergamon that had been discovered by German archeologists in the 19th century. On both sides, the plaza was flanked by Classicist buildings as well, standing about 50 yards distant from each other. Above them, a full moon was lighting the warm summer night and soft Argentinian tango music was filling the air. The atmosphere of this not officially organized get-together was unique.
Bud had counted approximately 40 couples that had gathered for the tango crash-course that regularly preceded the tango nights. He had watched in amazement how Harm and Mac had desperately tried to remember the complex steps of the basic combinations, more than once stumbling over each other's feet, saving themselves from falling by firmly holding on to each other, unable to hold back their laughter. Bud thought he had never seen them this relaxed, easy and lighthearted with each other, and for once he had to concede that maybe Harriet had been right after all: those two were perfect together.
When the actual dancing had begun, the makeshift dance-floor had crowded considerably but luckily the plaza was wide enough so that Bud could still observe his colleagues and Esther and Ciloglu, too, who had by now joined them.
"Your colleagues seem to have a little problem," Chaim remarked with a smile, addressing no one in particular.
"What problem?" Clay asked innocently, knowing exactly what Chaim was referring to.
"I think it's called 'chain of command'," Chaim replied, still grinning.
"They're coping," was all Clay replied in a clear this-is-not-to-be- discussed tone. "What about your sister and Ciloglu?" he decided to start the counter-attack, watching how perfectly the police officer and the government official were weaving their legs in the weirdest combinations of tango steps, displaying perfect harmony.
To Webb's surprise, Chaim only sighed and wiped his face with his hand. "They're coping," he repeated Clay's words, his voice tinged with just a little compassion.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Rosenbaum?" Bud ventured carefully.
"Alas, there is," the young Mossad agent stated. "My father."
"What about him?"
"We are a conservative Jewish family," Chaim explained. "Ciloglu is a Muslim who regularly goes to the mosque. Any questions?"
"But it's obvious they're good friends," Clay observed, watching the couple.
"They are far more than that," Chaim said sadly. "They are a perfect match. Always have been, ever since they got to know each other five years ago when Kemal had to interview Esther during an investigation. These kind of things are complicated."
Bud and Clay exchanged a frown. Didn't they know it.
Meanwhile, Harm and Mac were still battling with their unwilling limbs that wouldn't intertwine in the right way. Harm decided he had never in his life had so much fun - except up in the air, perhaps. The sensuous music of Astor Piazzolla and his Argentinian composers colleagues had gradually managed to make his surroundings fade. At first, the peculiar dancing position required for Argentinian tango had made him a little uneasy. His chest just inches away from Mac's, their heads looking both in the same direction, his cheek actually brushing Mac's ever so slightly as their heads were leaned against each other, his right arm going all around Mac's body, drawing her close... The moonlight, the warm summer breeze, the melancholy bandoneon tunes, Mac's perfume, her warmth, their closeness and synchronized movements whenever the steps weren't too hard to remember - Harm felt he could go on dancing like this forever.
But then there were those lunatic figure combinations. Every so often, Mac would stumble over his feet when he hadn't been quick enough to pull them away and Harm would find he had the perfect excuse to enclose her in his arms, just to keep her from falling. Mac was laughing softly at their failed efforts, her chuckling making him laugh, too, as soon as she fought for her equilibrium yet another time.
Both officers looked up when they heard Esther address them from the side. "You're doing great," she encouraged them with a smile. "But if you feel the steps are too hard, just try moving to the rhythm without thinking about the combinations. First of all you have to feel the dance."
"You think that would work?" Harm asked, not sure if he wanted to lose his opportunity to catch his partner in his embrace whenever they stumbled.
Ciloglu winked at him. "Believe me, Commander, it does. Trust me and try it out." And the couple was gone again, exercising a swift combination of steps that carried them to the other side of the plaza.
"What do you say?" Harm looked at Mac, all but losing himself in her huge dark eyes. The music had stopped for a few seconds until a new piece was heard, a Piazzolla evergreen that Harm knew was called 'Adiós Nonino'. It had been one of his favorites ever since he had tried playing tango on his guitar.
"Let's give it a try," Mac answered, resuming her correct dancing position and closing her eyes, giving him the lead.
Harm limited their movements to simple slow steps that fitted the rhythm, no twists, no turns, no separations. And suddenly they were beginning to float, the melody carrying them away. He felt they were breathing together, ignoring everything that was outside their joined dance space, and his heart rate accelerated as he became aware that this was all he ever needed. He and Mac, functioning in absolute synchrony.
Suddenly he couldn't fight the urge to let out everything that had been building up during the last few years. Where was the need to hold back that had always stopped him from speaking? The fear that things might not work out? Gone. He took a deep breath, never halting their movements.
"Mac?"
"Yeah?" She didn't open her eyes.
"I..."
As she heard him hesitate, she looked up at him. "What?" she asked softly.
"This is perfect, isn't it?" He couldn't meet her glance.
"Yeah." Her voice was down to almost a whisper.
"I... uh... I need to tell you something," Harm eventually managed to get out, still not looking at her.
An alarm went off in Mac's head. "Personal?"
"Yeah," he murmured.
"Then don't," she quickly cut in, hurting as she saw his slightly pained expression at her reaction. "We'll talk later, I promise." She decided to relieve him from his uneasiness by pulling him tight for a short moment and resolved to get rid of the bug in her purse as soon as they got back to the hotel. Then she looked up and suddenly stopped dancing. "Harm, I think something's going on there," she said with a frown, looking at their colleagues.
A little reluctantly they let go of each other and hurried over to the broad stairs where Chaim was right then switching his cell-phone off, confused.
"What's up?" Mac asked, panting slightly.
"I just received a call from my boss," Chaim told them, concern written across his face in bold letters. "They still don't have a clue what the mysterious message is about but they just intercepted another one, this time saying 'The writing is up on the wall.' Something is going on and we're running in circles trying to figure out what it is."
"Is there anything we can do about the situation right now?" Harm asked, mentally turning the words over and over again. He had an unclear feeling that there was something to the picture that he just didn't see but he had no idea what that might be.
Chaim sighed. "Not right now, I'm sorry. All we can do is hope for one of Kemal's revelations."
July 21st, 2033 0517 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin, Yukon Territory Canada
"So the evening ended just like that?" Dave asked the ex-agent, frowning.
"Concerning the case, yes," Webb confirmed. "We went back to our hotel, still trying to figure out what the message might be about, but also trying to get our minds off things to loosen any mental knots. At least for Harm and Mac, it seemed to work," he added with a wistful smile.
"What about them?" Cate's voice rang with barely veiled curiosity. "Did they talk?"
"I don't know," was Webb's surprising answer. "Mac left her purse in her bathroom for the next couple of hours. All I know is that I saw them standing at her door, giving all the evidence needed to charge them with fraternization. That's when I decided I had seen enough. Anybody hungry?" Without waiting for their answer, Webb got up and vanished inside.
Dave, too, got to his feet and leaned against the railing, staring out in the woods.
As the silence began to stretch painfully, Cate joined him and looked up at him from the side. "Penny for your thoughts, jarhead."
He gave her a distracted half-grin. "So they got involved after all..."
"You sound surprised."
Dave turned to face her. "I guess I am," he admitted. "It must have taken a lot of courage, after all those years."
"They just gave in to feelings that they knew were there anyway," Cate argued thoughtfully. "At some point, even regulations can't block out the truth."
Dave looked down in his partner's dark eyes and found himself mesmerized. "Maybe you're right, ladysquid," he said softly, unable to keep himself from gently cupping her face with one hand, his thumb caressing her cheek.
For a split second, fear showed in Cate's eyes but she didn't recoil. On the contrary, she slightly leaned into his touch, still scrutinizing his features with those sensual eyes of hers.
When Dave again spoke up, his voice was barely audible. "If Harm felt just half of..." he didn't dare finish his speech. Then he noted that Cate had started to tremble, and his defense broke. He leaned in and brought his lips to hers, softly at first, but when he felt Cate respond to his kiss, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her tightly to him, losing himself in their totally unexpected intimacy that continued to grow in passion, making his world spin.
Eventually Cate broke the contact, eyes closed and gasping. "God, Dave..." was all she whispered.
Then suddenly, the first shot rang out.
"Get down!" Dave cried, throwing himself down and covering her body with his.
"Where did it come from?" Cate whispered, senses on high alert.
"The woods, approximately eleven o'clock, if seen from the door," Dave whispered back.
"Any ideas?"
"No."
Just then the next machine-gun salvo burst into the peaceful arctic evening silence.
They heard Webb swear loudly from just behind the doorframe. Then a tentative hiss: "Raleigh, Mackerras, you alright?"
"Affirmative!" Dave hissed back seeing Clay position himself to fire a few shots from his rifle at their attackers. The agent took a deep breath, whirled around the doorpost, shot and immediately took cover again.
"Clay, do you have any guns for us?" Cate called softly in the direction of the door.
"Just a sec..." The older man vanished and, a minute later, reappeared again, knelt down and shoved two pistols in their direction. The movement was immediately answered by another round of shooting, this time from a slightly different direction.
Dave swore under his breath. "There are more of them out there. And they're probably well-trained."
Cate had analyzed the situation. Their only chance would be to get to both sides of the verandah, thus defending the cabin from three different angles. "Dave?" she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"You go over to the other side, I'll draw back to this end of the porch. So we'll have at least three walls covered."
"Okay." Dave signaled to Clay what they had in mind and the ex-agent had to bite back a grin despite the situation. This was so Rabb and Mackenzie.
With his fingers, Clay counted down from five. On zero, Dave got up and sprinted along the porch, firing shots in what he hoped was the right direction. Cate was firing as well, while she retreated to the far side of the wooden verandah. Heavy MG fire followed them until they reached their positions and again took cover. As he saw Cate signaling 'thumbs up', Dave let out a breath of relief.
Suddenly Cate detected a movement at her nine o'clock, in the bushes not ten yards away from her position. Reacting instinctively, she spun around and fired several shots, until she noticed with horror that she had killed a deer and thereby given away her position. Before she could retreat into safety again, more shooting was heard and all of a sudden, Cate felt an excruciating pain in her right side as one bullet hit her hip and then another one her right shoulder. She dropped her gun, giving a sharp cry, and fell to the floor, tightly gripping her side and trying to stay conscious as the pain made her gasp in agony.
Dave watched the scene play out as if in slow motion. He felt his heart stop as he saw Cate go down. His entire being yelled at him to ignore his surroundings and run to her, but he gritted his teeth, knowing that if he wanted to save her, he had to keep cool. Suddenly, a figure carrying a machine gun emerged from behind a tree at his two o'clock, and with the deadly precision of someone who longed to avenge the death of his love, Dave aimed and pulled the trigger, taking the man out before he even had the time to move any closer.
Instantly, he was fired upon from two sides, but Clay stepped out on the porch and shot one of the attackers whose attention had been entirely focused on Dave. The third man quickly retreated into the bushes, pressing to a tree, but he hadn't counted on the rage of the Marine captain he was aiming at. Signaling Clay to shoot to distract the assaulter and seeing the man immediately change target, Dave quickly and cautiously left the porch and neared the man from behind the bushes.
Just as Clay had apparently run out of ammunition, the man stepped out of his cover and fired yet another salvo at the old man who ducked into safety as quickly as possible. That was when Dave finally managed to fix him with his cross hairs and again pulled the trigger.
The man hadn't even hit the ground yet when the young JAG was already on his way to where his partner was lying. Trying not to flinch as he saw the quickly enlarging bright red stain beneath Cate's body, Dave dropped to his knees, frantically called out to Clay to get the medical case and then gently took her head in his lap, caressing her pale cheeks.
"Cate, stay with me!" he addressed her, his voice threatening to catch in his throat. "Hang in there, SEAL, do you hear me? Damn!"
"Dave... I'm cold..." Her voice was barely audible. With an effort that seemed almost superhuman to her, she opened her eyes.
Although he could see her struggle against the rising numbness, Dave felt relieved. "That's, right, Lieutenant, don't let go. I'm here, hang on," he murmured in what he hoped was a soothing voice. What she really didn't need was hearing the fear that threatened to choke him.
She did, though. The corners of her mouth curled up to the slightest of smiles as she looked up at him. "I thought Marines didn't cry," she whispered.
Dave had to smile despite himself. Quickly wiping away a tear that had escaped his brimming eyes, he noticed that she, too, had tearstains on her cheeks. Dave tenderly dried them off with his thumb, sniffling a little. "We do, but only for very good reasons," he answered softly.
Just then, Clay arrived with the first-aid kit. "How bad?" he only asked.
"Bad," Dave replied, feeling his voice would break if he said anything else. Together, they laid Cate down on her back and examined the gunshot wounds.
"The one on her shoulder went right through," Clay observed in strained voice. "Hold her while I bandage it up." Dave only did as he was told, trying to get a grip.
Seeing the larger wound on Cate's side, Clay again swore heavily. Then he looked up at the badly-shaken captain. "We'll have to extract the bullet," he said.
"Without anesthesia?" Dave's heart skipped yet another beat. The pain would kill her. And she had to stay conscious at all costs!
Webb sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. We're too far away from any hospitals to leave it in the wound until we get there. I can give her a sodium chloride IV to increase her chances of survival until we get to the hospital and then I can give her a little morphine, but that's really all I can do."
Both men's heads turned as they heard Cate speak up. "Do it," she said quietly, reaching for Dave's hand.
Dave swallowed. "Okay." He lay down beside her, encircling her in his arms, both to keep her from moving and to let her feel he was with her.
Once again, Clay had to fight his emotions from getting the upper hand. Cate and Dave, Mac and Harm... the images began to fuse in his mind. Mentally shaking himself from his confusion, he reached out and grabbed a stick that was lying beside the porch and held it out to Cate. "Take it between your teeth," he instructed her. She did.
"Ready?"
"Hmm hmmm."
A sharp hiss followed as Clay first disinfected the wound. Dave tightened his embrace, feeling Cate cling to his arms with all her might. "Hang on, Cate," he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple, "Hang on. You're a SEAL."
Webb's eyes shone with anxiety as he once again met Cate's glance. "Okay, Raleigh, this is going to be rough."
"Huh huh," she acknowledged, gathering all her willpower for what would follow.
"One, two, three..."
"Arrrghh!" Cate's scream was only barely muffled by the stick in her mouth. She gritted her teeth with a force previously unknown to her, just to fight the pain that Clay was inflicting on her with his long tweezers. Fresh tears were streaming from her eyes as she desperately held on to her partner, trying to stay awake.
Dave thought he could feel the pain himself. Hearing her cry like this was driving him crazy and he was glad he could hold her in his arms, not only for her sake, but also for his own.
"Just a little longer, Cate, we're almost done," Clay tried to encourage her, his voice not too stable, either.
Cate's cries had reduced to strained moans but she was holding her own, fervently praying to God to let her pull through and thanking him for Dave's presence.
Finally, with a last twitch that made her scream once again, the projectile gave way. Clay thrust it aside, instantly covered the wound with clean gauze and pressed firmly until Cate's gasps had calmed a little and he felt he could ask Dave to let go of her and apply a bandage to her waist. While the captain executed his orders, Clay quickly placed the IV needle and then had Cate lean back against her partner in a half-seated position, Dave holding up the plastic bag with the liquid. As soon as the lieutenant was well-settled, Webb went inside to activate his short-wave radio in order to contact the Mounties.
Dave kept continuously stroking Cate's sweaty forehead. He could feel she was still very much in pain but it was nothing in comparison to what she'd had to endure before. She actually relaxed against his chest, closing her eyes.
"Thanks, Dave," he eventually heard her whisper.
"What for, ladysquid?" he asked with a slight smile that carried traces of his own relief.
"For making me hang on," she answered very low.
Realizing once more how close he'd come to losing her and wanting to keep his emotions in check, Dave tried his escape through a joke. "Well, if you'd have passed out on me, I'd have kicked your six from here to D.C.," he replied softly.
"I know, jarhead," she said, a slight smile gracing her features, "And I wouldn't have let you win."
"I know," he whispered, glad to have her back. "Relax a little, okay?"
"Aye, sir," she murmured, feeling his lips on her temple once again and losing herself in the gentle sensation.
July 21st, 2033 0722 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada
The RCMP helicopter had found enough open space to land in front of the cabin. While two policemen were loading the three corpses into the helo's belly, a third officer was questioning Clay and Dave and two paramedics were preparing Cate to be transported to a hospital in Whitehorse.
"We're ready," one of the policemen eventually called.
Dave quickly excused himself and rushed out. Just before Cate's stretcher was lifted into the helicopter, Dave caught her hand and made the paramedics stop for a short moment. Dave leaned over her and smiled, taking Cate's hand in both his own. "You take care of yourself, ladysquid," he gently ordered her. "I expect to see you back in D.C. in one piece in ten days, maximum."
"Will do." Cate's smile fully mirrored his. "And you be careful when you take 'Sarah' all the way back, okay? Kick Webb's six and drag him with you."
"Aye, ma'am." Dave leaned down and brushed a quick, shy kiss to her lips, blushing slightly. "See ya, Lieutenant," he whispered, letting go of her hand and snapping off a mock salute. Having scheduled the time for the helo to return and pick up their colleague, Dave turned and joined Webb and the police officer inside the cabin.
"Captain, could you please tell me where you were standing when you heard the first shot?" The RCMP officer had already taken notes of Clay's version of the story, convinced that the two men were telling the truth about the killings being self-defense. Now he needed Dave's account to complete the picture.
"Uh... I was standing at the railing with Lt. Raleigh," Dave answered, asking himself how much he'd have to reveal of how exactly they had been standing together.
"You were here?" The police officer pointed his ballpoint pen to a spot on the sketch he had drawn of the cabin and its surroundings.
"Yeah."
"And where was the lieutenant?"
'Uh oh.' Dave was beginning to sweat. "Uhm... here." He pointed his index to the exact same spot.
The officer quizzically looked up at him, but when he saw Dave blush he only stifled a grin and looked at his note pad again. "Where did the shot come from?"
During the next half-hour, Dave gave a detailed description about the events. When he was done, the officer addressed Webb again, a slight frown showing on his forehead. "Mr. Webb, you said you could identify your assaulters?"
Dave's head jerked up and in astonishment, he fixed Clay's glance.
Webb nodded, letting out a low sigh. "Noel Burke," he stated, "Former CIA deputy director responsible for counterintelligence in central and eastern Europe. Agent Clive Miller, his faithful right hand and I suppose the third one was Miller's son, Oliver."
The officer wrote down the names and looked up expectantly, but Webb shook his head. "I'm sorry, this is all I can tell you. I was part of that bunch, too." With that, he opened a drawer in the cupboard behind him and took out a ragged-looking, very old CIA ID for the police officer to see.
The officer's frown deepened but he didn't comment. "I'll inform the authorities," was all he said. "I take it you're going back to Washington to report?"
Webb shook his head in a determined manner. "That's the captain's job. I don't want anything to do with those people anymore."
Dave felt this was his cue. "Clay, we need your testimony for the case."
"Sorry, Captain, but you won't get it," he said stubbornly, his old bitterness resurfacing.
'Harm, I won't let you down,' Dave silently swore, getting angry with the old ex-agent. "You told us that people denied Rabb and Mackenzie the honor they deserve. Now set it right!" He glared at him.
The police officer decided he didn't need to hear this and retreated to the porch.
Clay had gotten up, angry himself. "I tried! All those years, no one would listen. They'd threaten my friends, ruin my career, I don't know what else! Burke himself set up Harm and Mac as scapegoats and he knew the right people to make his version the official one. He's been out of the service for quite some time now but the people at Langley are still the same. I can't do this to Harriet and Bud!"
Dave tried to stay calm. "Dammit, Webb, you're the one person who could finally relieve the admiral from the terrible feeling of guilt that's eating him alive. You could give Harm's mother the relief she deserves in her old days by clearing her only son's name. You could finally get back at Burke and his peers and most of all: you could change history without changing its effects. The Treaty of Vienna dates 24 years back, it won't be threatened by the revelations. But at least your friends' - your only friends, as you yourself told us - deaths would finally make sense and set an example to all! People need true heroes, Clay. They need characters like Harmon Rabb and Sarah Mackenzie to look up to and set higher standards. It's in your hands to let that happen."
Entire minutes passed after Dave's animated speech before Webb drew a deep breath and looked at the young JAG, smiling wryly. "You've got to be one damned good lawyer, Mackerras," he said slowly. "Harmon Rabb, Jr., would have argued this case just like you."
"So what do you say?" Dave asked, guarded.
"I'll do it." Sighing heavily, Webb got up. "But first I'll have to make a phone call. Although he'll probably kill me for calling in the middle of the night..."
Puzzled, Dave remained silent and watched as Clay pulled out an old sat phone from the same cupboard he had gotten his Langley ID from.
"I hope this still works..." the agent mumbled. Then after about two minutes of trying and waiting, Dave could hear that someone had picked up.
"Bud? This is Clayton Webb..."
August 1st, 2033 2108 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA
The strained silence in the big mahogany-furnished room was palpable. The people present didn't dare speak, not even a whisper was heard. From time to time, someone would shuffle his foot or clear his throat but apart from that, all was quiet. Outside the office door, the bullpen lay deserted. Bud had sent his staff away a little earlier than he usually did on a Friday afternoon.
The admiral was sitting behind his desk, seemingly studying a file, but Cate had noted that he hadn't turned a page for at least five minutes. She and Dave were standing in a corner a little ways away from their CO, observing the others. Besides them, Patricia Burnett and Sergei Zhukov were sitting on the small leather couch that matched the armchairs in front of Bud's desk.
In one of those armchairs, Clayton Webb was sitting and slowly taking in his surroundings, apparently comparing what he saw to how things had looked 30 years ago. The officer next to him had been presented to them as retired Admiral Sturgis Turner, former JAG. Next to Turner, Secnav Hamilton was impatiently twirling a ballpoint pen in his hands.
Eventually, a knock on the door made everyone take a deep breath of relief.
Bud looked up, slightly pale but composed. "Enter."
The door opened to reveal four people. The admiral's expression relaxed instantly as he got up to greet his wife. "How was your flight?" he asked Harriet in a low voice.
"Okay," she answered with a slight smile.
"Did Dunston pick you up where I told him to?"
"Worked perfectly," she confirmed. "And luckily neither mine nor the Ciloglus' flight was delayed." With that she turned to the elderly couple that had, a little shyly, entered the room behind her.
Bud's smile grew. "Mrs. Ciloglu, Mr. Ciloglu, it's been too long," he said warmly, shaking Kemal and Esther's hands. Clay had risen and joined in the greetings. Then Bud introduced them to the Secnav and to Sturgis and to Trish and Sergei. Finally, he motioned for Cate and Dave to move closer.
An expression of utmost surprise crossed Esther's face the moment she saw the two young officers approach, but she quickly regained her composure and only exchanged a slight smile with her husband before turning to the officers again. "I take it you two are the cause of this late reunion, Lieutenant, Captain?" she asked with a slight smile.
"That is correct, ma'am," Dave answered a little stiffly, feeling thoroughly intimidated. "Captain David Mackerras, ma'am, and this is my partner, Lieutenant Catherine Raleigh."
"Nice to finally meet you two in person," Esther answered. "Ever since we received this utterly unexpected invitation, my husband and I have been wondering if we'd really understood right what Admiral Roberts wrote."
"Uh... you did, ma'am," Cate replied, just as embarrassed as her partner.
"As we can now see with our own eyes," Ciloglu remarked, his smile audible.
"Uhm, can we come in now?" a voice was heard from outside.
"Yes, Mr. Dunston, come on in," Bud called back.
A moment later, the door was opened wide and a man with a TV camera and a sound technician entered the room, followed by a man in his late twenties who wore a stylish gray summer suit.
The young man came to a halt in front of Bud and held out his hand with an open smile. "Admiral Roberts? Jeff Dunston. We talked on the phone. My father has told me a lot about you. He regrets that he can't film this himself but his health prevents it. So you're stuck with me."
Bud took the offered hand and gave it a hearty squeeze. "God knows, we had our differences with Stuart Dunston, but I'm glad that ZNN didn't send someone totally unfamiliar to this office to report what we have to say. Nice to meet you."
"Thank you, Admiral," Dunston replied. "So, is this official or not?"
Bud opened a drawer and pulled out a document which he handed to the curious reporter. "It is. We're on the safe side. The board of inquiry declassified the affair, thanks to Capt. Mackerras. We were informed of the decision yesterday."
Dunston's eyebrows went up. "The CIA really agreed to this? Wow..." he murmured as he studied the paper in his hands. Then he looked at Dave with a mildly inquisitive expression. "I thought Burke was one of them and still had many friends in the Agency. Mr. Webb told me that much when I first interviewed him."
Dave just embarrassedly smiled back. Bud sighed, but then offered a small grin. "Yes, he had, and we had a hard time arguing our case. But Lt. Raleigh's thrilling performance on the stand, combined with her injuries, managed to convince the board that officially uncovering Director Burke's doings might do less harm than having Director Webb go to the media instead, seconded by the Navy's Judge Advocate General and his two heroic subordinates."
Grinning, Dunston nodded. "I see..." He sobered. "And you're ready to step forward and tell your story, Admiral?"
Glancing briefly at Harriet who only nodded encouragingly, Bud drew a deep breath and then nodded in a determined manner. "I am. I should have done it long ago."
The cameraman had in the meantime pulled two armchairs to a spot where the late afternoon sun lit the room. Dunston turned to Webb and made an inviting gesture. "So, I suggest, we start with you, Mr. Webb. We already taped your testimony, but there are a few questions I'd still like to ask you."
Webb got up, smiled slightly, settled down in the offered armchair and expectantly looked at the young reporter opposite to him. "Go ahead, Mr. Dunston."
Sound recording and camera were operational. Dunston gave a sign and then plunged right into the matter. "Mr. Webb, you stated that you recognized your assaulters."
Webb nodded.
"Who were they?"
"They were former colleagues of mine, back when I was still working for the Agency. Retired Deputy Director Noel Burke was responsible for counterintelligence in central and eastern Europe. As the attack took place in Berlin, it was he who was called to work out an emergency cover-up story for the Hizbullah bombing so the peace talks could take place as scheduled. He first contacted me around 1100, about two and a half hours after the explosion."
"What did you tell him?" Dunston tried to keep his voice neutral, concentrating on the facts.
Webb swallowed, lost in thought. "Just one thing: to leave Colonel Mackenzie and Commander Rabb out of it. At that point, we had no idea how they had ended up in the bunker where the bomb exploded. Knowing Burke as a man who was cruelly efficient, no matter how high the cost, I feared he would use their deaths to his advantage. And I was right." He sighed.
"Why do you think Burke tried to kill you now, 30 years after the Berlin bombing?"
"To avoid punishment for giving false testimony in an affair of national security and to protect a few friends of his who continued to maintain the story of Rabb and Mackenzie's involvement in the bombing. He had to prevent us from disclosing the truth, like he successfully did for so many years, as long as we kept digging up witnesses and tried to have the affair legally declassified. The consequences for him could really have been devastating."
Dunston straightened in his chair. "So, Mr. Webb, although you already have, would you tell us again what exactly happened in the early morning hours of July 4th, 2003 in the German capital?"
Seeing Webb brace himself, Dave unconsciously reached for Cate's hand and felt his squeeze returned in a gentle, caring way. Today, on his 30th birthday, he would witness a major wrong set right, and he knew that he and the woman whose hand he was holding, the friend who had grown so dear to him, had brought this about. And the knowledge of having accomplished so much made him want to cry.
Clay looked down at his hands, then lifted his gaze to Dunston's and, after what seemed like an eternity, began to speak. "If you're wondering how I got to know what I'm telling you now - it's simple. It was on the tape that recorded all that the bug in Col. Mackenzie's purse picked up. So I'll start with that and then go on with what I myself remember of that day. Sometime after 0700 in the morning, Col. Mackenzie apparently fetched her purse from the bathroom..."
July 4th, 2003 0653 ZULU Grand-Hotel "Maritime" Friedrichstrasse Berlin, Germany
"Okay, flyboy, here you are."
Mac pulled a pack of Aspirin from her purse and handed Harm a glass of water with it. With a silent movement she reminded him that their every sound was being monitored. Harm grinned and blew her a kiss. He quickly swallowed the medicine and then, trying not to rustle the sheets too much, lay back on his pillow, pulling Mac down with him so that she was resting on his chest.
For a while, they lay in silence, exchanging a few smiles, knowing they couldn't put in words what was on their minds, but not feeling the need to, either. The last few hours had told them more about each other than they'd ever dreamed of knowing. And what they had learned had eventually led them to believe that this new blossoming relationship might work out after all, contrary to what they had always feared would happen. Right this instant, on this tiny spot on Earth, for two out of over six billion human beings, life was perfect.
Harm let his thoughts wander wherever they would take him while his fingertips were softly drawing patterns on Mac's satin skin. "I wonder if Ciloglu had any more luck finding a solution to this riddle than we had," he said in a low voice.
Mac sighed. "I doubt it. Or Clay would surely have called us. Esther told me that the delegations meet at 0830 for some kind of a business breakfast, to test the waters. Assuming the worst, that would leave us exactly one hour and thirty-seven minutes to solve the case. I don't know - but I just can't come up with anything that really fits the scenario. Going over to the embassy now and searching for something that you don't have the slightest idea about doesn't make sense. It's just..." she inhaled deeply. "I feel so helpless about this."
"You know, Mac," Harm said in a thoughtful voice, "What really worries me is that even the Mossad is lost about this message-thing."
"Yeah..." Mac agreed, contemplating the words Chaim had spoken of. "'The writing is up on the wall' - that could mean anything."
A little distractedly, Harm twirled a strand of Mac's hair around his left index finger. "If I were King Belshazzar, I'd probably call for Daniel now... oh, my God..." Harm froze, then gently made Mac lie down beside him, jumped to his feet and began rummaging through all cupboards and drawers. The expression on his face made Mac suck in her breath.
"Harm? What the..."
"There's got to be one... somewhere... I know it..." Harm kept mumbling under his breath.
"Harm! What's going on? What are you looking for?"
Meanwhile, Harm had found what he had been searching. He grabbed it and sat down again on the bed, holding - a Bible. Mac stared at him, open-mouthed.
"Ciloglu was right, Mac," Harm said, seemingly unsure himself what to think of his sudden idea. "The revelation hits you when you least expect it. I mean, all along that message kept stirring up something in my brain but I just didn't get it. It was too obvious. Mac: the message is meant literally. The prophet Daniel!"
Whacking her brain, Mac managed to bring forth crumbs of her religious education from elementary school. "Wasn't that the story of that Babylonian king who saw that line on the wall and couldn't make out what it meant?"
"Exactly," Harm confirmed. "I don't remember exactly what it said but for some strange reason I remember where to find it." With that, he quickly thumbed through the book of Daniel until he got to chapter five. "Here it is: 'Mene tekel u-parsin.' 'Mene' means 'God has numbered the days of your reign and brought it to an end.' 'Tekel' means 'You have been weighed on the scales and found wanting.' and 'Peres' means 'Your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and the Persians.'"
"Ooo..kaaay...," Mac acknowledged with a drawl, doubt ringing in her voice, "But what do you get from that, Harm?"
Harm tried to gather his thoughts. "The third line doesn't tell me anything right now, so I'll leave it out for the present. But the first line... what if whoever keeps alluding to this is thinking of the 'reigns' of Sharon or Arafat or even Bush? That would mean the message hasn't got anything to do with harmless graffiti. Someone is trying to kill a head of state because he thinks that his 'target' didn't fulfill God's will."
Seeing that Mac was about to object to his speculation, Harm quickly held up his hand. "Let's just stick with this theory for a moment, okay?" Mac nodded.
"The 'scales'..." Harm went on thinking aloud, looking at Mac to be able to focus on something. "Maybe the person or group who sent the message first wanted to wait until they got a glimpse of what their leader would be offering to the other side during the peace talks. They had a look at the matter and 'found' their leader 'wanting'. So they sent the message to act on their plan of killing him. First, they told their contacts to 'Wait for the writing to appear on the wall.' That was supposed to mean: 'Hold it, we're still checking the situation.'
"Then, at a certain point, the decision is made. 'The writing is up.' That would mean: 'What our leader wants to negotiate for us isn't enough, we can't go through with this, let's do away with him.' It's a signal to set the timer to a bomb or whatever. So, regardless of which side is aiming at their president, the decision to do whatever harm to him has to come from within his own delegation. No one else would have been able to take a look at the guidelines for the negotiations. Mac," Harm got up and reached for his cell-phone, "We have a first-class security problem here and we'll have to get inside the embassy right now to somehow try and solve it. Let's call Webb."
"Slow down, Harm," Mac tried to reason with her partner. "Don't you think this is a highly speculative scenario, if not an outright ridiculous one? A message from the Bible? Come on, squid, we know we're dealing with religious extremists, and the story you mentioned is part of the Tora as well as the Koran, but isn't that just too much of a cliché? And even if it should be true - don't you think, if not the CIA or the BND, at least the Mossad would have come up with it by now?"
Harm looked at her, calmly, earnestly and yet with an urgency that took her breath away. "Maybe they would, maybe not. I know this sounds crazy, Mac, but do we have any other leads? If I'm right, time is running short big- time, and we can't risk finding out afterwards that we could have done something but didn't do it because we relied on the others to find out or didn't trust our own intuition."
Mac sighed, giving him a defeated nod. "Call him."
August 1st, 2033 2242 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA
If this was even possible, the room had gotten quieter still, once Webb had ended his tale. Cate had unconsciously stepped a little closer to her partner, feeling the rising tension was too hard to endure. So close to the truth, finally... Looking at her CO, she could see that he was tightly pressing his lips together, trying not to let his tension get the better of him.
Dunston had to draw a steadying breath himself. He had expected a lot of things that could have happened, judging from what his father had told him about this extraordinary bunch of people. But this seemed to point to a solution he definitely hadn't counted on. Anyway, he was a professional so it would be up to him to save the situation. He cleared his throat. "So... Cmdr. Rabb called you, Mr. Webb?"
"No," came a voice from the far side of the room, making everyone turn their heads in surprise. Kemal Ciloglu had risen from his seat and stepped up to where Webb was sitting. "I did."
Webb instantly rose from his seat and Ciloglu sat down on the makeshift stage. Dunston motioned for his cameraman to go on filming. "You called Mr. Webb that morning, Mr. Ciloglu? Why?"
Ciloglu stared out of the window, trying to recollect as many details as possible. Then he turned back to Dunston. "Maybe Cmdr. Rabb did really try to reach Director Webb at that time but I seem to have been a little quicker. I had just received a call from Berlin police headquarters. Another transmission had been picked up, this time clearly pointing to the senders as well as to whom it had been intended for. The student group that sent the earlier messages had finally been identified, thanks to the fact that the last message was just a little too long to avoid being traced back. The group turned out to be an Islamic student organization, uniting Muslim students of different nationalities. Most of them were Turkish, but there were a few Lebanese, Palestinian, Iranian and Arabic members as well. They were united by their extremist views and their profound hatred of both Jewish and Christian societies."
"And whom did they try to contact?" Dunston was on the edge of his seat, desperately trying to appear calm, at least in front of the camera's eye.
Ciloglu smiled. "This time, they were on the receiving end. No, the message came from someone else. My wife's brother Chaim was able to identify the voice: it was a member of the Israeli delegation."
Webb pulled up a chair at Ciloglu's side. "From what I learned afterwards from numerous witnesses, the agreement between the enemies had been that the Jewish extremists provided the possibility to place the bomb - that was where Ari Coen had his part in the game with his personal crusade - , then the Hizbullah was to manufacture and install the explosive device. For having opened the embassy to the Islamists, the Jewish settlers reserved the right to have the last word in the decision if and when to blow it up.
"There were hostile elements in the Palestinian delegation as well. While the Palestinians were still reviewing what Arafat intended to offer the Israelis, the terrorists among them somehow stayed in touch with the Muslim student group. The group told their Jewish contacts that the Muslim side still hadn't decided if to go through with the plan or not. This is why they used the phrase 'Wait for the writing to be up.' Once the Palestinian side of the odd alliance gave a 'no go' for the negotiations, they forwarded their half of the code that would set the timer to the Israelis, telling them they had decided their leader's fate. In other words: 'The writing is up.'"
Webb paused, apparently wanting to make sure that the complexity of the plot had registered correctly in everyone's brain. Dunston immediately spoke up, wanting to keep the interruption of the tale as brief as possible. "So the latest message was the Jewish answer that they would go through with the plan?"
Webb nodded. "But the decision had taken them more time than they had obviously counted on. The settlers had no time left to think about a safe way to let the terrorists within the Palestinian delegation know the exact schedule for the attack. That is why they passed it on in the message, thus making the transmission too long and enabling us to trace it back to them."
"So you knew beforehand what was going to happen?" Dunston asked, aghast.
Webb felt everyone's gaze on him and swallowed heavily. "No, we didn't. They talked in code again. So I met with Inspector Ciloglu at police headquarters in order to try and decipher the schedule. I had no idea that right then, Rabb and Mackenzie were already desperately trying to disarm the very bomb we were still discussing in theory."
To be continued...