The Spider and the Fly XVIII

Mac rose at 5 am, pulled on some spandex shorts and a T-shirt, and then padded out to the kitchen to make coffee. No sign of Harm when the pot finished brewing some ten minutes later. Tapping lightly on the spare room door, she pushed it open. Harm was lying on his side, arms wrapped around a pillow. He was sound asleep.

Mac took a furtive moment to admire him. His tall frame dwarfed the twin bed. Her eyes wandered over the outline of his curled body under the pink flowered comforter.

She loved Harm. And it was a treat to watch him wake this morning. Since her watershed revelation to Sturgis over a year ago, confessions like that one came easier.

She thought about their conversation last night. Assigning Harm, a newcomer to the CIA, to this high profile case was unusual. Kershaw had gone out on a limb. Mac could imagine the raised eyebrows inside of the CIA offices at Langley. But listening to Harm made her realize that time would prove the deputy director to be an astute judge of character. JAG or CIA, Harm was doing what Harm did best.

He jumped slightly when she rested her hand on his shoulder to wake him. She pulled her hand back and smiled at him. "Harm? You need to get going, remember?"

He rolled onto his back and rubbed his open palms down his face. "0500 already? Feels like I just fell asleep," he said, blinking.

"Look alive, sailor. You have lots to do today," she said smiling at him. He was downright adorable in a rumpled T-shirt and boxers.



Then he did it. He smiled at her. It was one of those smiles. She felt her heart flip. It had been a while since she had seen one. She tried to resist the draw of it for a brief moment. But her mouth widened and she grinned back. His eyes lit up. She felt a warmth rush through her.

The moment passed and his eyes clouded over. He broke contact and rolled over into a sitting position.

There was their elusive contact again. But something was new there. Was that a little tinge of hurt in his eyes as they clouded over? She sighed. It wasn't the first time she found Harm so hard to read.

Giving Harm a little privacy, she returned to her bedroom to finish dressing for her run. Socks, shoes, water bottle, tissues, towel. Was that everything? Harm was standing by the entryway when she emerged.

"Run at the gym," he said.

She frowned slightly at the commanding tone.

"Just till we catch Saddiq. It's safer than a deserted path in Rock Creek Park at 0530," he persisted.

She looked at him and then relented. "Okay." Maybe it was a good thing to be cautious.

#

Mac settled into her office chair with a steaming cup of coffee. She had already turned on the bullpen lights and made the first pot of coffee for the day. This was early, even for her.

She leaned back slightly in her chair, enjoying the solitude. She knew that within the hour, the offices and bullpen would come alive with people.

Her eyes flitted over to Harm's darkened office. The walls and desktop were bare. Harm had removed his personal effects when he handed in his resignation. But even before that, the NCIS investigation had turned it upside down. How long had it been since she saw the office in its usual state? Must be almost six weeks now. What a depressing thought.

Admiral Chegwidden had yet to assign the office to another officer. He too, was hoping that Harm would change his mind. But she knew he wouldn't wait much longer.

Pulling her mind back to the present and her thoughts of Harm, she began to sort through the stack of papers on her desk.

Her office phone rang. "Mackenzie," she said into the speakerphone.

"Sarah? It's Clay," said his voice through the speaker.

She grabbed the receiver and put it up to her ear. "Clay. You're up early! How are you doing?" she said.

"Better. In fact, the doctors are releasing me today. Mother has arranged for some private care at home and I'm strong enough to go. So I'm going," said Webb.

"That's wonderful, Clay. Really good news," she said.

"I have a favor to ask."

"Shoot," she said distracted, opening a file on her desk.

"Could you come and pick me up when they release me?" he said casually.

Mac stopped short and shut the file. Her mind raced around for an appropriate answer. Slowly she answered, "Sure, I think I can swing my schedule. What time would you need me to be there?"

"Around 1 pm," he said.

"One it is," she confirmed with false gaiety. She hung up the phone contemplating. Why did she feel so apprehensive?

#

It was a sunny, muggy Maryland afternoon. Harm parked his Lexus on the shoulder of Ritchie Highway and walked past the line of cars. The two-lane highway had dwindled to nothing more than a road through tall oak trees, bright pink azaleas and stately homes. It was packed with cars as far as he could see. Ahead he could see a clearing through the trees where the highway broke out to a height of land above the Severn River.

Harm walked around the tall, circular grey State of Maryland World War II Monument that occupied the high bank directly across from the Naval Academy. This was a favorite spot for the residents of Arnold and Severna Park to watch the 45-minute practice demonstration of the Blue Angels during Commissioning Week at the Academy. Blankets were spread on the green grass, toddlers scooted about and teens tossed Frisbees. The atmosphere was up beat as people checked the horizon for the first glimpse of the fighters.

Harm knew the Blue Angels made three appearances during Commissioning Week. There were two aerobatic performances, one practice and one actual, for graduates and visitors on Tuesday and Wednesday respectively. Their last appearance was the spectacular flyby for commencement on Friday. Harm believed Saddiq was targeting Friday's final ceremony.

The six precision F/A-18 fighters used the Severn River as their backdrop to put on a show for not only invited guests but for the people on the low rooftops of historic Annapolis, along the tree-choked banks of the river and bobbing in the hundreds of white boats around its mouth. Harm smiled as a startled baby let out a loud cry. The roar of the jet engines shook the ground as the team powered by in tight formation. He looked up and saw blue jets, blue sky and sparkling blue water. He grinned. This was as good as it got.

Only this day Harm knew he couldn't watch the aerobatic maneuvers of the team. He needed to use the vantage to get a feel for the performance. The stinger was a shoulder-launched weapon and a single person could load, aim and shoot. Its numerous appearances in film and newscasts meant that the shooter would need to be discrete. Harm scanned the area. Where would he launch an attack if he were Saddiq?

Harm grabbed a pair of Nikon high-powered binoculars from a small pack. He started to methodically scan the crowds on the riverbanks when he heard his cell phone ring.

#

Mac pulled out of the hospital parking lot. She had elected to drive a Navy-issued sedan from the motor pool instead of her low-slung Corvette. As she watched Clay stiffly enter the passenger side, she knew the sedan was a wiser choice. Clay was still a long way from being normal.

"Have you had lunch yet?" Clay asked.

It had been a busy morning for her as she rearranged appointments. She had left JAG just before noon, not leaving anytime for a quick bite. "No," she told him.

"I know a good restaurant in Annapolis," he said.

She looked across the seat to him. "Annapolis?"

Clay smiled. "Harm's investigation reminded me of how much I like that place."

Her eyebrows rose. She didn't believe him.

"Okay, I need to catch up with Harm. Regarding the investigation. He is there, isn't he?"

Sick as he was, Clay needed to be part of the action. "You've been talking to Harm?" She thought Harm was avoiding Clay.

"Sure," said Clay. "Any reason I shouldn't?"

"Of course not," said Mac a bit quickly. "Are you up to a side trip to Annapolis? And lunch? Is this a good idea?"

"Probably not, but let's go anyway. I need to get out," said Clay.

Mac nodded. Good thing she had cleared her afternoon.

#

Mac and Webb sat in the afternoon sun on the outdoor patio at Carroll Creek Restaurant. They were overlooking a forest of sailboat masts, rigging clanging in the breeze. The restaurant was across Spa Creek from the Annapolis public docks situated on the main harbor known as Ego Alley. Millions of dollars of sail and powerboats tied to the local docks and marinas made the term 'Ego Alley' an apt one. Mac watched as cars backed up on a nearby road waiting for a small lift bridge. A procession of sail craft was motoring slowly through the elevated opening on their way past the crowded dockage to the open bay.

Sipping an ice tea in the afternoon sun would be almost pleasant, thought Mac. If only she was wearing a summer dress and sandals instead of her uniform. If only there wasn't an awkward silence between Clay and herself.

Clay looked nearly normal despite his pale color. His white cotton button-down shirt was loose and it covered both bruises and bandages. The marks on his face were starting to fade. Clay, like Harm, always managed to look pretty good.

Clay was sitting back in the wood armchair, legs crossed, sunglasses on, looking out toward the horizon. They hadn't spoken much since leaving Baltimore.

Suddenly he turned towards her, putting his hands and drink on the table. "Sarah," he said. "We need to talk about Paraguay."

"Paraguay?" she parroted him somewhat inanely. This was the conversation she both wanted to avoid and wanted to happen. Her thoughts started to whirl faster.

"Yes. About what happened to us in Paraguay."

She almost said 'What happened to us?' but managed to stop herself. Instead, she looked at him mutely, not knowing what to say.

"Those were extreme experiences, Sarah. That compound of Saddiq's was pretty bad. What he did to those missionaries... Your report states he shot them in front of you?" Webb was speaking quietly and watching her intently.

Mac shivered slightly. These were memories that she had so far managed to bury.

Webb continued. "I wasn't there for you through that. I wasn't there through most of it."

"You kept them away from me until help came. I'm practically untouched today because of you," she said. "Clay, what you did for me..."

"...wasn't enough," he said bitterly. "I was convinced we were going to die there, Sarah."

"I had my doubts too, Clay," she said. "But Harm came."

"He did, didn't he? He defied Chegwidden. He defied the CIA in Paraguay. And he came and he got us. I owe him my life," Clay said.

"Me too," said Mac, not sure how to continue.

"You love him, don't you?" he asked.

Mac's eyes went wide. She started to mouth a denial. Instead she averted her eyes and said, "Yes." She couldn't look at Clay.

"I told you he was oblivious, Sarah. But maybe I'm wrong. He did come to get you," Clay continued.

"Us, Clay. He got us."

"You," said Clay.

He was silent for a while. Then he started again. "You never would have wondered how I felt, Sarah." Mac realized that Clay was speaking past tense. He continued, "I would have treated you well."

They were both silent for a while. Then Mac started to speak. "I owe you so much Clay. If you ever need a friend..."

But Clay wasn't listening. He was partially standing, looking out toward the busy harbor. Shading his eyes, he lifted his hand to point.

Mac turned to see what he was looking at. On the water less than a fifty yards away, there was a long, thin cigar shaped power racing boat, slowly moving past the end of the city wharf. The boat contained three dark-haired men.

Mac focused her attention on the driver in the right hand seat. She looked again. She turned to Clay. "Saddiq!" she said and immediately felt a cold chill. She grabbed her purse and turned to follow the boat along the shoreline.

"Wait," said Clay wincing as he rose. He flipped open his cell and pressed a number on speed dial. "Rabb! Where the hell are you? Mac and I just spotted Saddiq on a boat just exiting Annapolis harbor. Get you ass over here!"

#

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