The legalities and other niceties are in Chapter 1.
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30 March 2003
We haven't done much today. It rained until after 1800, which shot our plans to stroll the Potomac Basin in the city to check the cherry blossoms. Likewise, any desperately needed yard work here went by the wayside, her laundry didn't get hung out on the line off her back balcony, and I'm beginning to wonder if the sun is ever going to shine on the weekend again.
ZNN provided the soundtrack to the little things we did – dusting at her place, rearranging the living room at mine, fixing a surprisingly nice brunch at her place, chopping vegetables for dinner's chef salad at my place. Unfortunately, it's not an informative soundtrack and I'm beginning to wonder if no news really is good news.
Meredith confesses at the end of Becker that, as much as she would like to stay with me, she needs to go home to prepare for her classes this week. "But if you hear anything…"
Just then the phone rings; we look at each other with hope scrawled in broad strokes on our faces as I pick up the receiver.
"Chegwidden," I growl.
"Admiral, it's Clayton Webb."
"This had better be good news, Mr. Webb, or you'll – "
"Rabb is on his way to pick up Colonel Mackenzie as we speak, Admiral. She's fine."
Meredith can tell by the way I crumple to the couch that the news is good; she sits beside me and wraps her arm across my shoulder as I try to say something intelligible.
"I can't talk long, AJ – I've got a plane to catch myself. But we're going to need her at CIA headquarters tomorrow morning at 10 and – "
"No, Mr. Webb, I don't think you're going to need her at CIA headquarters tomorrow morning, or any other morning, for that matter."
"Yes, we will. I've already been talked out of sending her to GITMO on Tuesday, so she will have to be debriefed."
I may have broken his nose previously, but if the man were standing here in front of me now, I think I'd be tempted to try a one-man variation of the Rabb-Brumby Mandible Crushing Maneuver. "Webb, let me make this as clear as I possibly can. The CIA will not now or at anytime in the next week require Sarah Mackenzie's presence at its headquarters for debriefing on this matter. If I must, I will go as high as the SECDEF and the White House to confirm that point. Nor will anyone other than Commander Rabb be present to meet her plane. Do you understand?"
He sighs and tries to hem and haw, but this merely irritates me further. "Do you understand, Mr. Webb? Because if you don't, I can find someone who can explain this to you in words of one syllable."
"I get it, AJ," he finally admits, using my name to antagonize me in his defeat. "Her plane gets in at Dover at 10:20. No one from CIA will be there and no one will call her for debriefing until at least next Monday."
Well, actually, she won't be debriefed at all, but he doesn't need to know that. He'll be back in Tierra del Fuego or wherever it is he's been assigned since the Angelshark revelations and it won't make any difference to him when I call the director of the CIA and have a rather pointed conversation with the man. "Thank you, Clay. Good night."
I hang up before he can say anything else. Meredith is laughing silently at me. "What?"
"You're glowing," she says, her giggles finally overflowing. "You're so damned happy Mac is alive that you've forgotten to be upset with Harm for not calling you."
She's right. And it's okay. "I have the feeling that Harm is far too busy speeding to Dover Air Force Base to care right about now."
"Probably. You know, AJ, Dover isn't too far from that B&B we went to a few weekends ago – the Harbor Head Inn in Kitts Hummock…"
I love the way this woman thinks. "…and gee, wouldn't you know that Rabb doesn't have court until Tuesday afternoon and Mac's docket is covered until she reports back for duty…"
"…so wouldn't it be a nice gesture if they had a room reserved for them and paid in advance…"
We whip into action. Meredith searches through our activities file for the brochure while I log on to the Internet to get a phone number for the Air Force JAG duty office at Dover, which I know is manned 24 hours a day.
"Should I just pay for tonight but book two nights so they can decide for themselves?" she asks as she pulls her cell phone out of her purse.
"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," I answer with a wink as I pick up my landline to call Dover.
She's making the reservations as a young-sounding voice answers my call.
"Good evening, Lt. Bedford," I say, trying to stay businesslike. "This is Rear Admiral AJ Chegwidden, the Naval Judge Advocate General. I need to get a message to one of my officers who is meeting an incoming flight this evening."
If speaking to a two-star general officer causes the young woman any discomfort, she certainly doesn't let it show in her voice. "Yes, sir, I can help you with that. What is the message?"
"I'd actually like to send it to you via confidential fax and have it delivered to the flight line duty officer, if I could."
"Absolutely, sir." She rattles off a fax number so quickly that I have to ask her to repeat it so I can type it accurately into the coversheet template. "I'll be waiting for it, sir, and you might want to put the cover sheet last because then it will come out at the end and actually cover your document."
I smile; Tiner says the same thing on a regular basis. "Thank you, Lieutenant. You can expect the fax within the hour."
"Yes, sir. Would you like a confirmation call?"
"That would be lovely, thank you."
"All part of the service, sir. Have a good evening."
Young Lt. Bedford would make an excellent addition to my staff, I think.
Meredith leaves me the information for the inn, then reluctantly kisses me good-bye with my promise to read her my note to Harm over the phone before I actually send it. "I just want to make sure you don't give him any bad advice," she winks at me.
I'll admit to getting a bit defensive. "What bad advice could I possibly give him? I'm going to tell him to listen to his heart, for once in his life."
"Just making sure," and with that she's gone, leaving me with a blank document on my computer screen.
I try several times to start, then give up and go to plain paper and pen. There's something comforting about handwriting a document like this; it feels far more honest than the impersonal act of typing on a computer keyboard.
It takes me 45 minutes to be satisfied with the draft; as I reread it, I decide that copying it over by hand will be better than trying to type it, after all.
I write: Harm, Webb just called to tell me that he sent you to pick Mac up at Dover. He also muttered something about getting coerced out of sending Mac to GITMO on Tuesday, for which I will thank Mac in person. Mac thinks she has to be at Langley at 10 Monday morning; I convinced Clayton that it was unnecessary. Both of you take the day off – and you have a room reserved for you at the Harbor Head Inn on Main Street in Kitts Hummock. Tonight's on us but you have the option of tomorrow night, as well; I expect you at noon on Tuesday.
Hopefully, that's clear enough to him; if he's confused, I'm sure Mac will set him straight. Now for the part he may not want her to see. Get your priorities straight, Harm. She's the only woman you've ever loved and it has been obvious since the day you met her. I will work out the details on the career end – trust me, I do not intend to lose either of you because of some regulation that ought to have a common sense component to it. Tell Mac I'm happy she's home and where she belongs. AJ.
When I call Meredith to read it to her, she is overcome by the letter.
"AJ, honey," she says between sniffles, "I think I'm going to call you the Keymaster from now on."
"Why?" I ask, truly wondering.
"Because if that letter doesn't unlock the matching halves of one whole heart, nothing will."
The Keymaster. I like it.
Almost as much as I like the thought of being the "father" of the bride.
Fin
