Chapter 12

4 APRIL 2003

1800 ZULU

Scotland

Harmon Rabb, Jr. reaches for a soup spoon and dips it into a stock pot of chowder simmering on the stove. He blows on the soup to cool it and tastes it. He looks up as his wife, Sarah "Mac" Rabb, scurries past and offers her a taste from his spoon. "Mmmm, that's good, Harm," Mac comments.

"How about a kiss for the cook?" Harm suggests. Mac plants a quick kiss on his lips. She spins around and lifts a bowl of salad from the countertop and walks toward the dining room.

"Should I put the dressing on the salad now?" she asks over her shoulder.

"No, we don't know how soon they'll get here and it'd just get soggy. I'm waiting until they get here to put the rolls in the oven. Mix the salad dressing and put it in the refrigerator. Then relax."

"I can't relax. This is our first married dinner party. I want things to be perfect," she explains.

"Webb and Betsy are coming for soup and salad. It's hardly a State Dinner, Mac," Harm comforts patronizingly. Mac glares at him.

"Okay, I'm sorry. If this is important to you, then it's important to me," Harm reassures.

"Thanks, Harm," Mac smiles back at him.

Harm peeks under a dish towel covering a dozen rising pumpernickel rolls. He inhales the yeast smell and smiles at them, "You guys look fabulous and I'll bet you taste even better."

"Harm, are you talking to the rolls?" asks Mac incredulously.

"These are my creations. I love baking bread. I don't often do it, and I'm quite taken with the artistic aspect of it."

"We are going to eat them, Harm, then they are going on an unenviable journey through our digestive systems only to be deposited and flushed," she laughs.

"Were you always so crude, Mac, or has marriage torn down all sense of decorum that you had?" Harm feigns shock at her comments.

"You're just getting to know the real me, the crude jarhead," Mac jokes.

"I think I hear a car. Perhaps our favorite spook has arrived," Harm suggests as he moves toward the kitchen door. "Shall I bring them in this way, or would Madame prefer that they entered through the foyer?" Harm plays the role of the butler.

"I'll give you 'Madame' treatment, flyboy," Mac cajoles.

"Promise?" Harm retorts. "Hey, Webb, c'mon in. Use this door and you can see how it feels to be a commoner!" Harm shouts at Webb.

Harm holds the door open as Elizabeth Webb dashes into the kitchen. Her blonde hair hangs loose about her face as she shakes free of her trench coat which Mac quickly takes from her. Mac smiles as she embraces Betsy and speaks, "I wish we could have been at your wedding last night. I'm sure you were a beautiful bride."

"She was, and is," Webb's voice startles Mac as he and Harm move from the doorway.

"Thank you for your kind words anyway," Betsy smiles. Webb moves next to Betsy and protectively places his hand in the small of her back. Harm reaches to take Betsy's coat from Mac and hangs up both coats on a hook in the mudroom.

Returning to the kitchen, Harm smiles and suggests, "Since we couldn't be there last night, I guess I'll have to kiss the bride now." His eyes twinkle at Webb as Webb suppresses his annoyance. Harm places one hand on each of Betsy's shoulders while Mac peers around Harm's lanky frame to get a look at this kiss. With a sidelong glance at Webb, Harm leans in and chastely kisses Betsy on the cheek. He spins around and winks at Mac.

Mac responds by asking, "Clay, do you have a kiss for me?"

Webb smirks in Harm's direction. "Could I deny my favorite Marine?" He walks over to Mac, takes her in his arms, throws her backward into a dip, and pecks her on the lips. He swings her upright and walks back past Harm without looking at him.

"Gee, Webb, I thought you spy guys were more suave than that," Harm jokes, not willing for Webb to get one up on him.

"Okay, boys. The contest is over," Mac orders. "Besides, I'm hungry. Harm, let's get those rolls into the oven and crack open the wine. Clay, there's a bottle of seltzer in the refrigerator, could you fix a soda and lime for me, please? Betsy, can I get you anything? Do you want me to show you your room now?"

"Oh, after dinner is fine, Mac. I'm fine. This was so thoughtful of you to invite us over. The thought of eating in some hotel restaurant seemed so cold in comparison to having dinner with old friends. At least, I hope I can become a part of your group."

"You already are, Betsy," Harm assures. "You took the spook off the scent of my Marine."

"Clay, I didn't know that you,"

"I didn't. Harm is so insecure that he thought every man who admired Mac was a threat. Everyone who knew them always knew that Mac only had eyes for a certain pilot, everybody but Harm, that is," Webb explains taking a glass of wine from Harm.

"I'm not a pilot, Webb. I'm an aviator. Betsy, he's right. I'm a recently reformed idiot. Your husband made me an offer I couldn't refuse, told me to take a mission where I had to marry Mac. It was the kick in the pants I needed. This mission to Iraq that we all leave on tomorrow was the first domino in the line."

"I guess watching you and Mac tie the knot moved me along in the right direction too, so we're each responsible for the other's bachelorhood demise."

"I think I'm going to be sick. How much longer on those rolls, Harm?" Mac barks.

"Bachelorhood has its place. It's just incomparable to being married to the woman you love," Harm smiles. "Four minutes, honey. Why don't you get the salad dressing while I put the chowder in the tureen?"

"You covered that well, Rabb," Webb laughs. Elizabeth looks perplexed at the bantering between Harm and Mac. Webb notices her puzzlement and explains, "Darling, you have to understand that Harm and Mac are used to verbal sparring. It's part of their relationship; don't be alarmed. They adore each other, don't you guys?"

Mac sighs, "Betsy, Harmon Rabb, Junior is the most exasperating man I have ever met. I had to marry him to get him out of my dreams."

"Now I'm making her dreams come true!" Harm speaks while pulling the rolls out of the oven.

"As well as my nightmares," Mac whispers to Betsy and winks.

"I heard that!" Harm laughs.

The foursome settles around the table in the dining room. Mac had removed three leaves from the table to make the setting more intimate. Harm offers to serve the chowder and they all pass their soup bowls to him. Mac passes the salad along with the dressing. The conversation moves comfortable among the group. Harm and Mac, thrilled for Webb's happiness, make every effort to include Betsy in the conversation. Webb, so clearly smitten with his wife, finds every reason to touch her during the meal. Their hands brush against each other and they follow it with a look. Finally, after serving dessert and coffee, Harm suggests that Mac show the Webbs to their room while he begins cleaning up. Webb objects, "Harm, we can help clean up, really," as he follows Harm into the kitchen while the women look around the house.

"Webb, you two so obviously want to be alone, I can't stand it. Mac and I moved out of the master bedroom so that you can have it. The bed is freshly made up. Just try to keep from making the chandeliers on the first floor swing tonight."

"Oh, and I'm so sure that you and Mac have been so passionless this week!"

"We had a reason for moving out of the master bedroom, you know."

"What was that?"

"Still had one more bed to try out!" Harm jokes.

"Good night, Commander. I'll see you at breakfast, and thanks, for everything," Webb confides.

"Webb, try to come to breakfast without a stupid look on your face, will you?"

Mac passes Webb as he heads for the stairs and she returns to the kitchen. "Your wife's waiting for you, Clay," she teases.

"And your husband is waiting for you," Webb quips.

"I know, he probably has a dish towel with my name on it," Mac cracks. "Hey sailor, got a job for me?" Mac asks as she enters the kitchen and sees Harm washing the stockpot. She rubs Harm's back with her hand as she snuggles in next to him.

"She's a nice girl, don't you think?" Harm asks.

"I like her, Harm. I thought it would be weird to have Webb with someone, but she's easy to be around. He's obviously in love, don't you think?"

"He's so serious, but I guess he's like that about everything, so why not love? Do you think that we're too flippant? I mean I think Betsy thought we were fighting before dinner," Harm comments.

Mac thinks before answering. "Should we change who we are because we're married? I guess as long as the teasing doesn't become mean or sarcastic, we're okay. By the way, I appreciated the way you toned down your bridal kiss to Betsy."

"I had to pull Webb's chain a little, but I'm not interested in kissing other women, Mac." Harm rinses the pot before wiping his hands on a towel. He turns around with his hips resting against the sink. Mac faces him and leans into him.

"Really?" she flirts.

"I married the most desirable woman in the world. Why would I mess that up? No more misunderstandings, Mac, not when I can help it anyway," he leans into her for a kiss.

"She's younger than I am, and she's a blonde," Mac teases.

"I prefer brunettes with a mean karate chop and big, uh, lungs," Harm teases back.

"Where are we sleeping tonight, sweetie?"

"In the nursery. Single beds!"

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. I'm trying to inspire fertility," Harm comments.

"Harm, are we going to have problems if I don't get pregnant this month? You are so preoccupied with it," Mac whines.

"If you don't get pregnant, we'll have to work harder next month. What man in his right mind would complain about that? Seriously, if my kidding bothers you, I won't bring it up again, okay honey?" Harm cocks his head to look into her eyes.

"I just worry sometimes, Harm. When you read the women's magazines and their statistics about women over thirty-five, well, it's depressing."

"Listen to me, Mac. I know I tease you about a half dozen kids. I really don't care whether we have one or twelve. If we can't have kids ourselves, we'll adopt some who need homes, if you want. As much as I want children, I'd rather no children with you as a wife than a thousand children with any other woman. Do you believe me?"

"Thanks, Harm. I'm just feeling insecure in that area, I guess."

"How can you feel insecure with me around? Haven't I gotten you out of every dangerous dilemma you've ever been in?"

"Here we go. Let's continue this bragging session upstairs, squid."

"I thought you'd never ask."

2330 ZULU

Uptown Manhattan

Francesca Paretti's apartment

Alex clears the table while Francesca sits sipping a glass of white wine. "Can I get you coffee, Francesca?" Alex asks.

"Are you making a pot?" she responds.

"If you want coffee, I will make a pot."

"Are you having coffee, Alex?"

Alex smiles and looks at her with pure devotion. "Francesca, just tell me what you want and stop trying to please me."

"I can't help it. My mother taught me to be solicitous to a man."

Alex shakes his head, walks to the table, and stand behind her chair. He places his hands on her shoulders and begins to massage them. Francesca instinctively reaches up with her arms and pulls Alex's head toward her. He kisses the top of her head and then works his way down one cheek toward her neck. He nuzzles her and whispers, "About that coffee"

Francesca laughs, "Okay, I would love a cup of coffee, Alex. I'll get dessert while you make the coffee."

"It's probably good that I will be cooking for myself the next two weeks. I'm going to be one fat Russian if I keep eating your cooking," Alex muses.

"The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, my grandmother always said, " Francesca shoots back.

"How much did your grandfather weigh?"

"My grandmother had his heart, that's for sure,"

"As you have mine," Alex confesses.

"Do I?"

"It's only been a week, Francesca, and I know that things seem passionate and surreal at the beginning of most relationships, but this is different. I love you."

"Then why are you so reluctant to take the next step physically, Alex?"

"Because you are different. What is the rush?"

"Well, it's getting hard with you here and my feelings growing deeper. Most men push for a physical relationship, Alex."

"I'm not most men, Francesca. That's part of what I want you to see about me. You just confirmed that I'm correct about not pushing things. I think this coffee is about ready. What's for dessert?"

"Torte."

"Let's eat out on the terrace."

"Alex, it's a little cold, don't you think?"

"I'll keep you warm. Let's go listen to the city." He takes a tray from the cupboard, places two coffee mugs on it, and takes two dessert plates from Francesca. He carries the tray to the balcony and sets it on the table. He returns to living room, removes a blanket from the back of the couch and pulls Francesca outside. He sits on the balcony floor, wraps the blanket around his shoulders, spreads his legs, and motions for Francesca to sit between his legs. She smiles and complies. He wraps his arms around her and snuggles her in the blanket and then asks, "Are you warm enough?"

"Mmm. This is nice. How do I get my torte and my coffee?"

"That's easy. I feed you. What do you want first?"

"Torte."

Alex takes a fork and stabs a sliver of torte. He brings it to Francesca's mouth and gently inserts the fork into her mouth. Slowly he continues until she finishes her dessert, pausing only to pass her coffee, which she refuses to have him hold for her to sip. When she finishes, he takes a piece of his own dessert as she begins to speak,

"Alex, my mother called me earlier today while you were out running. She wants me to come to Italy next month. I told her about us, well about you, and she wants me to bring you."

"So we'll go to Italy. Let me check with the Embassy to see when I could leave."

"No, I told her that you were too busy and that your Embassy couldn't spare you."

"So, you are going to go alone?" Alex asks worriedly.

"No. I'm not going without you. I just wanted more time with just us. In two weeks, I'm going to Washington to visit you. Then in four weeks, you're coming back here. Then in six weeks, we'll be in Washington."

"Francesca, I understand the schedule. Why did you bring this up?"

"Well, in six weeks, when we're in Washington, my mother is joining us there. I've been trying to work up my nerve to tell you. If I can tell you, then maybe next week-end you can help me tell my father."

"Is that a problem?"

"Well, it will be when my mother thinks she can stay at his house."

"She doesn't know about Meredith, does she?"

"Not exactly. I can't even bring myself to tell her that he got a dog and that it's in the house."

"That's what we'll tell her then. She can't stay with your father because he has a dog."

"Maybe that would work."

"Your father has command of some 800 lawyers, Francesca. Let him figure out how to handle your mother."

"Have you ever wondered how my father is strong enough to deal with Commander Rabb, Alex?"

"Sometimes, why?"

"He was married to my mother first. The Commander has nothing on Marcella. You just wait and see,"

"Another reason for me to be the perfect gentleman around her daughter," Alex pulls her closer to him.

Francesca relaxes in his arms and wonders why this seems such a perfect fit. She's dated men before, dozens, though only two seriously. This man seems as interested in wooing my mind as well as my body, she realizes. "Alex, are you Catholic?" she asks.

"Orthodox. My family practiced even when we had to go underground," he answers.

"Where is your family now?"

"Dead. My sister died when she was twenty-three, my parents died a few years later. I think their hearts were broken."

"What happened to your sister?"

"My sister was very beautiful. She was taken when she was sixteen under the pretext that she would be educated in Moscow. She was put into a brothel for officers' use. She became pregnant and bled to death following a botched abortion."

"Oh, a back alley type of thing?"

"No, at one of Moscow's state of the art hospitals. Can we not talk about it, please?"

"What was her name, Alex?"

"Natasha."

Francesca mulls over Alex's revelation. She turns to him to look into his eyes as she asks the question, "Alex, if I go inside and put on sweats so that I absolutely look shapeless, could we make a bed in front of the fireplace so that I can just sleep next to you all night long? I promise not to attack you."

Alex ponders her question for a few minutes before answering. "Do you also have sweats for me?"

"Uh, probably not that would fit."

"I see. I guess I'll just have to wear pajamas then."

Francesca jumps up and smiles. She takes the tray back into the kitchen and runs to her bedroom. She emerges wearing US Navy sweats. She begins moving the coffee table. She returns to her bedroom to retrieve pillows and two comforters. She efficiently makes up a bed on the floor in front of the gas fireplace. She clicks the remote control and the flame flashes. Alex grabs his bag and removes a pair of thin, cotton pajamas. He closes the door of Francesca's bedroom behind him as he strips and steps into the bottoms. He glances at the top and decides against putting it on. He folds his worn clothing and returns to the living room. The only light in the room is from the fireplace. He joins Francesca by the fire. She looks up as he lowers himself next to her, noticing the finely chiseled muscles of his chest and abdomen. She thinks that she should think of something else, anything else, before she reneges on her promise to behave. "This is not going to be easy," she exhales.

"Sure it is. I snore and drool," Alex jokes.

"Alex, I, I want you to make love to me," she pleads.

"And I want to make love to you, Francesca, but it won't be tonight." Alex tells her gently. "Now back over here and let me hold you."

A part of her wanted to stay where she was, to let him come and get her. The other part complies with his request. To her surprise, her rising passion quickly dissipates as she relaxes to his soft voice telling her stories of growing up in Russia, tales of cousins and their antics. Soon Francesca is sleeping soundly with her head resting on the chest of a Russian army captain.

Alex listens to her soft breathing and wonders why he is being so cautious. He rationalizes that he really doesn't relish the idea of going head to head with her father if things don't work out between them. He also thinks of the KGB and the torture they could inflict upon her if they even thought he might be spying. He knows he isn't a traitor to his country, but these are difficult days in Russian politics. He's entered the political game by requesting this assignment to the States, but he knew when he requested it that it was the only way to see where this relationship with her would lead. He thinks of the seemingly insurmountable odds, the reasons why this relationship couldn't survive the future. First there were their religious differences. He could never become a Roman Catholic. She's not just Catholic; she's Italian Catholic. Didn't the whole church schism start over the Bishop at Rome pulling rank on all the other Bishops? Then there was the future of where to live. This assignment to the Embassy would last, at best, a year, possibly two. Then what? Who cares, a little voice cried out. You'll be tired of her by then. As Alex drifts off to sleep, he dares to let his thoughts run to a future, to marriage, and to children. How can this possibly work, he wonders. He rolls on his side, buries his face in her hair, inhales her scent, and lets himself sleep.

5 APRIL 2003

0700 ZULU

Nursery Bedroom

Harm wakes and attempts to stretch in the too short single bed. He grins as he thinks about the night before but groans when he realizes that he is stiff from sharing this bed with Mac. He looks around for her and realizes that he has overslept, again. He decides to shower and dress before making his way downstairs. Showering and dressing he can do in less than ten minutes, courtesy of the United States Naval Academy.

Kitchen

Webb refills coffee cups for both Betsy and Mac. Betsy rewards him with a smile and a kiss, Mac tells him he'll have to settle for a 'thank you' from her.

"Where is Rabb?" Webb asks.

"He's not a morning person," Mac muses. "He's going to be pretty stiff from sleeping in a single bed."

"Why didn't you take one of the other bedrooms, Mac? He's too tall to be sleeping in a small bed," Betsy asks innocently.

Mac smiles before answering. "Harm's adventurous side got the best of him. He wanted to try sleeping in that room."

"But, honestly, sleeping in separate beds on your honeymoon, that's dumb," Betsy comments.

Mac and Webb exchange knowing glances until Betsy catches on. "You mean you, you" Betsy stutters.

"You know the old song 'Sleeping Double in a Single Bed," Mac jokes.

"Isn't it 'Sleeping Single in a Double Bed?"

"Not for Harm and Mac," Webb quips. "Since Harm cooked last night, what do you say about my cooking this morning?"

Mac looks doubtful, "Can you cook?"

"Sure. What's there to cooking?"

"Clay, honey, you are a man of many talents. Some that I am just beginning to appreciate, but I'd be happy to cook." Betsy suggest.

"Can you cook?"

"My junior year abroad included a course with a chef,"

"What country?" Webb asks suspiciously.

"France."

"Sounds like she's cooking to me," Mac decides.

"I also spent some time in Tuscany," Betsy says as she moves to the refrigerator and takes out the eggs and butter.

Mac smiles as she looks at Webb, "Clay, with any luck, Betsy and Harm can take turns cooking and you and I can just eat while we're in Iraq."

"So we're a tag team, Betsy?" Harm says as he breezes in. He takes a cup from the cupboard, fills it with coffee, and moves to stand behind Mac's chair. "Good morning, Mrs. Rabb," he smiles and kisses her cheek. Mac reaches up and takes his left hand in hers and holds it there as the friendly conversation begins. Betsy, obviously competent in the kitchen, effortlessly prepares a frittata. The group chats as they enjoy coffee while waiting for breakfast to be ready.

The chirping of his cell phone pulls Webb away from the table. He steps into the mudroom as he answers. Harm pauses to listen to Webb's end of the conversation.

"When? How bad? Is there another plane? How soon will that be? I'll be here. Keep me posted." Webb snaps his phone closed and meets Harm's knowing stare. "The good news is that we don't need to hurry through breakfast. The bad news is that our plane just blew up."

"What?" gasps Mac.

"That was our pilot. He was doing his pre-flight inspection when he noticed what appeared to be a scratch in the paint near a vent. He tried to unscrew the vent cover with his screwdriver. When it was the wrong size, he went into the hangar to get another screwdriver, and in that amount of time, the bomb blew. Nobody was hurt, but the Navy can't supply us with another plane until tomorrow." As he spoke, he scribbled a note on a piece of paper and held it up for the group to see. "We will talk outside after breakfast," the note reads.

Webb says, "So Betsy, I guess we'll have Scotland to add to our honeymoon grand tour."

The group continues chattering through breakfast and while cleaning up the kitchen. When they finished washing the last of the dishes, Harm suggests that they walk down to the beach. The group grabs their jackets and walks down and stands on an outcropping of rocks where the sea spray dances around them. Webb and Harm walk away from the women and speak softly to each other. Webb returns to Betsy and stands near her, embracing her in order to whisper softly to her. "Betsy, are you wearing anything new that you didn't have at my mother's house?"

She shakes her head know, and then suddenly, as if remembering, she whispers, "Yes."

"What?" Webb mouths.

She points to the trench coat that she's wearing. Webb motions for her to take it off and she stands shivering in the sea spray. Webb pulls off his own jacket and wraps it around her. He holds up the coat as Harm walks over. The two men expertly inspect the lining of the coat until Webb finds a one inch section of seam that seems to have been repaired. Harm offers Webb his pocketknife and Webb slits the seam exposing a small transmitter. Without speaking, Webb winds his arm to hurl it into the sea when Harm grabs his arm and shakes his head. Instead, Harm takes the receiver from Webb and puts it between two rocks and the group walks away.

"You know that there are probably more," Betsy remarks.

"The house is probably being watched as well. We need a plan to get out of here," Webb orders. In the next half-hour, the four construct a plan to get out of Scotland without tipping off whoever is pursuing them that they've left the country. As they walk back toward the house, Mac remarks that the Academy Award winning performances are about to begin.

Two miles north of the house, a white van is parked while Raven sits inside listening. "We're picking up some time of interference, maybe something got wet. We'll pick them up again when they're in the house."

Entering the house, Webb announces that he's suffering from jet lag and plans to take a nap. "Care to join me, Elizabeth?"

"Sure, Clay. I'm feeling a little tired myself."

"Well, while you guys, um, take a nap, I think we'll take the motorcycle out for a little spin," Harm chimes.

"Before you go, remember that the Navy is sending somebody for our luggage. Just keep an overnight bag for today and tonight," Webb reminds them.

"Harm, I have most things packed but let's go upstairs to check," Mac suggests.

The Rabbs retreat to the nursery and quickly pack three suitcases. They then each pack a backpack with essentials: two changes of underwear, shampoo, toothbrushes, toothpaste, one clean shirt each, clean socks, and a pair of slacks. They each sling their backpacks over their shoulders and deposit one suitcase outside of Webb's bedroom door and carry the other two down to the kitchen to be picked up by the Navy driver. They leave the house, walk to the garage, and Harm starts the motorcycle. Mac inserts one backpack into a saddle bag and keeps the other on her back. She puts on her helmet and climbs behind Harm on the bike. Harm turns the motorcycle north, passes the white van, drives another mile before turning inland, and then turns south on the highway. When the motorcycle passes the van, Charlie asks Raven if he should follow them. "No. We've bigger fish to fry. The officers are out for a joy ride," Raven answers.

At about 1:00 p.m., Webb answers the knock of the Navy driver. He hands him the Rabbs' two suitcases as well as one of his own. "I'll see you in the morning, Petty Officer," he calls as the driver pulls away. As soon as the driver leaves, Webb calls, "Ready for your walk, Betsy?" as she joins him. They each carry a medium duffle bag, one of their own and one belonging to Harm and Mac. They walk toward the beach and enter the boat house. They toss the suitcases into a small sailboat, and Webb expertly turns to the sails into the wind and begins to sail to the south.

Betsy, obviously nervous about sailing in the North Sea in April, asks, "How long do you think it will take, Clay?"

"It's not far, Betsy, just about three miles. We'll be fine as long as we stay close to shore. When Harm and Mac didn't come back, we can be certain that whoever is watching is was to the north of us. I left the radio turned to talk radio in our room. I moved the bug near the radiator so with the steam and the clanging, it will be hard to hear that it's not us. I think we'll have a few hours on them."

In the while van, Charlie addresses Raven again, "There goes the Navy driver. Should we move in now?"

"We'll wait until dark."

"But won't the Marine and the Navy guy be back by then?"

"So we kill four birds with one stone."

Harm and Mac drove south until coming to a small town with a train station. Mac went in and bought two tickets for Edinburgh and they boarded the train and made the trip. When they reached Edinburgh, they quickly changed clothes in the restrooms at the train station. Harm bought tickets in a sleeper car for London, using a CIA credit card Webb had given him. They quickly boarded the overnight train, found their compartment, and settled in for the night.

Meanwhile, the Webbs continued to sail south until Webb noticed a stone manor house with what appeared to be an old man standing on the dock. "This is it, Betsy. There's the man."

"Clay, that's just some poor old man standing on his dock."

"My mother says that he's an old friend to can be trusted. I'm lowering the sail and using the motor to take her in."

"What's this guy's name?"

"David. That's all she would tell me."

The old man, wearing a wet suit, motions for them to bring the boat into the dock. He helps Elizabeth out of the boat and grabs the suitcases that Webb hands up to him. He then boards the boat, puts some odd contraption on the throttle, waves Webb off the boat, and places the boat in gear. He begins to head out to sea when Webb sees him jump off the stern of the boat and swim back to the dock. After he pulls himself up out of the water, the three watch the sailboat explode.

"That takes care of that, doesn't it?" David says.

"Have them send the bill to me in care of the CIA," Webb insists.

"It's my boat; there will be no bill. No bill; no trace," David quips.

Webb looks at him before responding. "Then how much do I owe you?"

David smiles at Webb and gestures for them to follow him to the house. As they walk, David offers Betsy his arm, "My dear, have you seen pictures of Clayton's father? What little your husband lacks in physical resemblance to his father he more than compensates for in his mannerisms."

"So you knew my father?"

David stops and pivots before looking at Webb. "Your father stole your mother's heart from me. Yes, I knew your father."

"Is that why my mother said I could trust you? Because you were in love with her once?"

"Your parents and I were colleagues. I owe them my life; a small sailboat is an insignificant price to pay for a forty-five year friendship. Before you ask more questions, I'm not going to tell you more about the past. I will tell you how I am going to get you two out of Scotland and into England and then from England to Iraq. From what your mother told me and from what I've been able to gather, you are being pursued by someone who has access to your schedule, Clayton. You need to go under the radar in your actions or soon or later, your good luck is going to expire." They reach the manor house and he invites them in. "In the dining room, you will find your dinner on the buffet. Please help yourselves while I change. My driver is going to drive us to London. You can meet your friends there."

Clay and Betsy eat their meal in silence as they tried to absorb the solemnity that David's contacts suspected that this cat and mouse game was from someone in the CIA. Webb mentally reviews his co-workers and his interactions for clues as to who might have a grudge with him. Within two hours of their arrival, they join David in the rear seat of his Rolls Royce and are being driven to London. Betsy rests her head on Webb's shoulder and is soon asleep. Webb, his mind shifted into overdrive, stares at his host, wondering about his past and his present. Finally, his curiosity will not be denied, "Are you married?"

David smiles, "I was. She died before Christmas last year."

"Does my mother know that?"

"Yes."

"Do you still have feelings for my mother?"

"If I did, wouldn't that be between your mother and me?"

Webb smiles. In spite of himself, he likes this septuagenarian and his wit. "Well, for whatever it's worth, I'm sure my mother will be very lonely while I'm in Iraq."

"Are you asking me to court her?"

"I just think she'd appreciate a friend, especially one that seems to know her so well," Webb smiles.

"I think that first we will make certain that you arrive in Iraq."

"We, sir?"

"Your mother and I make a formidable team."

"So you are working on this together?"

David smiles at Webb. Webb's mind begins to spin. Had his mother taken any trips since December? He had been so busy with his own schedule and his banishment to South America that he wonders.

"Clayton, stop trying to figure this out. Your mother will tell you what she wants you to know," David interrupts Webb's reverie. Webb relaxes. He knows he can trust his mother; his mother trusts David. For the first time in weeks, Webb settles himself and clears his mind, letting someone else worry for him. David smiles at him, thankful that Porter came to him for help. He thought he could tolerate Clay because he was Porter's son. He never planned to like him; now he thinks that he does like him. He's stiff like his father, David muses, but when he looks at his wife, he sees the tender heart of Porter. I'll keep him as safe as I can, Porter, David thinks as the Rolls races toward London.

Betsy wakes as they enter the outskirts of London. She smiles at her husband's sleeping form and then notices David's watchful gaze. She hears him instruct the driver to stay on the back roads. "Elizabeth, my dear, it's time to wake your husband. I have news that you'll both want to hear," David speaks softly to her.

Webb, hearing voices, lifts his head to listen to David.

"Glad you are awake, Clayton. We are going to a small airport where my plane is waiting. I've arranged for a pilot, some friend of your Commander Rabb, to fly you to Kuwait City. From there, you'll go "in country" with the troops. Your wife and I will find the Rabbs at the train station. You will stay at the airport with the pilot. Too many people are looking for you, Mr. Webb; you cannot risk being seen in London. You will be interested to know that the house in Scotland where you were staying has been ransacked."

"When?" Webb grunts.

"At midnight last night. It's only a matter of time before they realize that London holds the most options for leaving the UK. They will be checking all flight plans filed for mid-East countries."

"They won't check this flight plan?"

"Of course they will. This flight will have five passengers rather than the four that they are searching for and this flight is leaving for Naples, Italy. Then you'll be flying on a Navy transport to the Persian Gulf. The Navy will take you the rest of the way. I will conclude my business in Naples and return to my life of reading the classics in Scotland."

"You're going with us?"

"Just as far as Naples. You may have to layover there for one night while we adjust some of your pilot's paperwork. He obviously will not be flying as the Navy commander that he is. We had to get creative with his identity papers. I believe he's a Canadian for our purposes. Do not indicate that you know him until we are in the air. Here we are now and there's my Lear."

The car pulls up to the plane and Webb emerges first and is ushered to the plane. He notices the pilot doing his pre-flight inspection and realizes that the man looks familiar but can't come up with a name. He notices that the galley has scones and fresh fruit. He pours himself coffee and watches the Rolls drive away, hoping that David and Betsy can find Harm and Mac quickly.

6 April 2003 0700 ZULU

Harm stands near a newsstand in London's train station, keeping watch over his wife who is seated in a waiting area. He insisted that they split up since anyone searching for them would probably look for a couple. He thinks about the previous night in the cramped quarters of the berthing compartment and the night before that spent sleeping in a single bed. He prays that their bed in Iraq will allow him to extend his frame fully in order to eliminate the constant crick in his neck. He doesn't notice when a willowy brunette approaches him and begins to rub against his arm. He instinctively draws away until he hears a familiar voice whisper, "Harm, just play along that you're a weary traveler in need of companionship. We're going for a walk," she purrs.

"Betsy!" Harm thinks and almost laughs aloud, blowing her cover. Classy, brainy Betsy trying to pick him up like a common prostitute is ironic. Where's Webb? He immediately thinks. His eyes dart around the station and protectively back toward Mac when he sees an elderly gentleman engaging Mac in conversation.

"Where's Webb?" he whispers lovingly into Betsy's ear.

"Not here. David will get Mac," she assures Harm.

"David? All I see is some old geezer who looks like he's asking Mac for directions to the bathroom," Harm persists.

Betsy steals a look back to the waiting area where Mac is seated. "That's David, now kiss me quick," she pulls Harm into a steamy embrace as a group of men dressed in suits with earpieces in their ears move down the concourse before splitting up.

"Sorry, Harm, but we can't be too careful. I'm sure the Company has agents looking for you, good agents and bad ones."

"Just explain that kiss to my wife if she saw it. Have you considered a career in the theatre?" Harm jokes.

"No. Let's get out of here. The car is waiting in the taxi area," she says urging him toward an exit. A waiting chauffer quickly opens the door as Betsy and Harm dive into the back seat. The driver slowly pulls away from the curb.

"What about Mac?" Harm shouts.

"We'll go back for her and David. Trust me, Harm." The car makes its way through traffic to a country road and ends up at the small airport where David's jet awaits. The driver pulls to a stop and Harm opens his door. He spots Webb standing at the top of the stairs of the plane. Webb motions for him to come aboard. Harm reaches to help Betsy out of the car but instead, Betsy pushes his hand away and tells him, "I'm going back for Mac and David. Stay with Clay."

Harm reluctantly climbs the stairs to the plane and shakes hands with Webb. "Glad to see you made it. I'll feel better when Mac's here. What's the plan from here? Who's this David?"

Webb rakes his hand through his hair. "You're not going to believe it."

"Try me."

"My mother told me to take a small sailboat and sail south about three miles to a stone manor house with a three slip boat garage. This old guy was waiting for us on the dock. That's David."

"David who?"

"I have no idea. He's an old friend of my parents. Apparently at one time he was quite close with my mother."

"That's a little creepy, isn't it?"

"Normally it would be, but this guy is pretty cool. He slipped into a wet suit, took the boat out a little ways, jumped off, and blew it up. He swam a good half mile back to us at the dock. He fed us and then put us in the back of that Rolls and brought us here. He and my mother have concocted a scheme to take us from here to Naples. We'll have to stay out of sight for a day or so then the Navy is flying us to Kuwait City. From there we're going to Basra."

"Whose plane is this?"

"David's."

"Who's flying it?"

"I haven't met him yet. I haven't been allowed outside and he's been outside doing his visual. Besides, David told me not to talk to him. Someone might think I recognize him. You're the only Navy pilot with a commander rank that I know."

Harm looks out the window as the pilot ducks under the wing. "Well, I'd know that backside anywhere," Harm quips.

"What are you talking about, Rabb?"

"I'll wait in the cockpit. It's okay, Webb. We're as safe as we can be as along as you don't mind flying with the USNA Class of '85."

"Please don't tell me this is one of your cronies."

"A crony of yours and of mine. That's Jack Keeter. He must be on loan to the CIA again."

"I don't think so. Mother and David are leaving the Company out of this."

"How would they have known to get Keeter? Never mind, I know how they got him."

"How?"

They spoke in unison "The Admiral."

Within the hour, the Rolls pulls up outside the plane for the last time. Betsy, Mac, and David bound out of the car and up the stairs to the plane. Displaying strength that belies his age, David pulls the hatch closed as Keeter revs the engines with Harm sitting in the co-pilot's seat next to him. Mac walks forward to the cockpit and touches Harm's back to let him know that she is fine. Harm glances over one shoulder at her and grins as he and Keeter bark at each other in pilot code. "We're clear for take-off, Jack."

"Let's do it, Hammer."

"Mac, you need to be fastened in. We'll talk later."

Mac returns to the cabin, sits, and fastens her seatbelt. The others follow her lead as Jack Keeter's joking voice breaks over the public address system, "Ladies and Gentlemen, The Honeymoon Express has just been cleared for take off. Any beautiful brides who have tired of their substandard husbands can be assured that their Captain is more than capable of handling any of their wants, needs, or desires upon arrival in Naples. Sit back and enjoy your flight."

Once they are at cruising altitude, Harm leaves the cockpit to check the passengers. Webb introduces David to Harm and motions for Harm to sit down. David mentions, "I need to update you on our plans once we arrive in Italy."

Webb and Harm exchange glances and then focus on David.

"Commander Keeter is flying unofficially right now. He's technically still on leave. Your admiral tracked him down on a beach in the Keys and got him to fly to London. He'll be landing us at the Navy base. The admiral has arranged clearance with some friend of his there. That keeps us out of Customs and notification to our respective State Departments. It makes it much more difficult for whoever is following you, Clayton. Anyway, Keeter will need to report for duty and it may be a few days before he is cleared to fly you to Kuwait."

"Where will we stay? On the base? That's a little risky when there are five of us. That will call attention to us" Webb interrupts.

"Correction, Clayton. There will only be four of you. I remind you that I will be returning to Scotland," David explains. "Actually, you will not be staying on the base. We've arranged private accommodations with the mother of a friend of the Commander."

"Who would that be?" Harm asks, confused.

"Marcella Paretti,"

Mac's eyes open wide as she repeats, "Marcella Paretti? As in Francesca's mother?"

"The same. Apparently she has a roomy villa that is very private."

"Does the Admiral know?" Harm asks incredulously.

"I believe that your Admiral made the arrangements." David answers solemnly.

"This is going to be one interesting stay in old Napoli," Harm laughs.