Dancing in the Dark
Part two
"Harm," I gasped as his weight drove me into the mattress.
His forearm came down on my throat, and I began to struggle in earnest. "Harm, stop," I whispered again clawing at his arm with my loose hand. "It's me, Mac."
Recognition slowly crept into his eyes, only to be replaced by horror at what he had done.
"Oh, god, Mac." He released me and rolled away with his back to me. He sat on the side of the bed with his head hanging down, breathing loudly and struggling for control.
I crawled over to him and put my hand on his back. He glanced at me and then dragged me up beside him and buried his face in my neck.
"I'm sorry." He pulled back to look at me. "Did I hurt you?" His hands ran up and down my arms and across my throat.
"You didn't hurt me, Harm." My heart was still about to pound out of my chest. "But what just happened? You scared me to death."
"I just threatened to kill you," he said with disgust. "That's what happened."
"Obviously, you didn't know it was me."
"If I'd woken up in bed with a woman a month ago I don't think that would have been my reaction." He moved away from me, stood up and started gathering his clothes. "I shouldn't have come here."
"Don't do this, Harm." I jumped off the bed and grabbed his arm. "I want you to stay here and explain to me what's going on. How did everything about our lives get so mixed up in such a short amount of time?"
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "The only thing I can tell you is that I'm trying to get things back on track, and for now, doing this job is the only way I know to do that." He pushed his legs into his jeans and threw on his shirt without buttoning it while he looked for his socks and shoes.
"At what cost?" I demanded.
"Everything has a cost, Mac."
"That's not an answer, Harm. I need to know why in the world you are working for the CIA. Have you even talked to the Admiral about coming back to Jag? Help me understand this. No one has given me a straight answer since I've been home. Not the Admiral. Not Webb. Not even you. I can accept it from them, but not from you." I was ranting, but I couldn't stop.
Suddenly he looked so defeated, and I realized how that must have sounded considering all that he had given up for me. I quickly added, "Harm, I owe you my life, but you owe me something too. You can't just show up in the middle of the night whenever you feel like it and then disappear for weeks at a time. I'm worried about you all the time, and I want to kill you the rest."
He sank down onto the side of the bed and just stared at the floor.
I pleaded with him. "You've got to give me a way to live with this."
Finally he looked up and asked, "Do you have anything to eat? I'm starving."
At least he wasn't running out the door. I let out the breath I had been holding and asked, "How about a peanut butter sandwich?"
"With honey?" His smile was tired but sweet.
"I think I can manage that."
He followed me into the kitchen and buttoned his shirt while he watched me make his food.
"Do you want some tea?" I asked.
"Sure, tea would be great."
I put the kettle on while he poured himself a glass of milk. We carried the food out to the dining room table and sat down.
"When is the last time you ate?" I asked as I watched him wolf down the sandwich.
"Yesterday morning," he admitted before downing half of his glass of milk.
"I'll make you another one, but it's going to cost you."
"I'll tell you what I can, Mac. You deserve that much." He seemed more resigned than happy about it.
I got up and made him another sandwich and finished making the tea. When I sat back down I said. "Ok, talk to me."
He closed his eyes and said, "You know I made a deal with the CIA so they would help me find you."
"Yes, and when we took out the stinger missiles and flushed out the mole that deal should have been fulfilled."
"Well, they don't quite see it that way."
"Harm, they used both of us to do their dirty work and that should be the end of it. You need to talk to the Admiral about coming back to JAG. It's where you belong."
"When we blew up those missiles it stirred up a hornet's nest."
"I'm not surprised. That's the nature of those kinds of operations. You shut them down in one place and they crop up somewhere else. What does that have to do with you?"
"Well, you know Gunny stayed in Paraguay when we came home." I nodded and he continued. "One of his contacts, a woman named Esmelda, worked at a local manufacturing and distributing company. They had a warehouse out in the middle of nowhere that had a small run down airstrip attached to it. The warehouse was being used to store counterfeit knock offs-cds, watches, even designer purses and shoes- before they shipped them off to other countries to be sold. Then the money from the sales would be funneled back into the terrorist organization by sending money to P.O. boxes set up by dummy corporations. From there the money could be wired anywhere overseas in a matter of minutes." He paused to take a sip of tea.
"An increase in activity at that airstrip made the CIA particularly interested in that business, and since their newest recruit was an ex-Navy pilot, I guess they thought I should be involved so they sent me back down there. It made sense to assume that besides being used to ship handbags, the airstrip was being used for transporting weapons, people, and even aircraft in and out of the country as well. We'd just set up some preliminary surveillance on the place when Gunny got a tip from Esmelda that they were expecting an important shipment at the airfield. She didn't have all the specifics but told us that security was being stepped up on a certain date and that everyone was unusually nervous. Two days ago based on her information and some other corroborating intel I gave the go ahead and we raided the airstrip. When we got there the place was deserted, except they had tied Esmelda to a chair and slit her throat."
His face was a mask as he related the last part, and his voice got even flatter if that was possible. "I left them to sort it all out and caught the first plane out of there. On the flight home every time I closed my eyes I would see her face-those lifeless eyes staring at me. And every time I tried to get the image of her out of my head it was replaced with one of you strapped to that table about to be tortured. I realized then that even if I had known it would cost Esmelda her life, I would still have made the same bargain to save you all over again. What kind of man does that make me?" He rubbed his hands over his face refusing to look at me.
Knowing he needed some space to keep his composure, I'd valiantly resisted the impulse to gather him into my arms while he told this story, but at his last words I stopped resisting and launched myself into his lap. He buried his face in my shoulder and held me tightly as he continued his confession, "I came here straight from the airport. You were asleep and I should have just turned around and gone home, but I couldn't make myself leave."
"I'm so glad you didn't leave." I held on tight trying to show him that this was where he belonged. "Harm, you've got to quit now. You don't owe them anything else."
His story was horrifying, and the wound was still too raw for him to see that the responsibility for her death wasn't solely his. But it wasn't in him to shift blame, so I could only hope that time would give him some perspective. I knew that he would always carry guilt over this woman's death, but he could come home now and start to heal, and I wanted to help him if he would let me.
I felt such relief that it was finally all over, until his next words stopped me cold.
"I can't quit, yet." He spoke with grim determination.
"Why not?" I demanded.
"Because there's a lawyer in Maryland that I need to eliminate."
To be continued--
Part two
"Harm," I gasped as his weight drove me into the mattress.
His forearm came down on my throat, and I began to struggle in earnest. "Harm, stop," I whispered again clawing at his arm with my loose hand. "It's me, Mac."
Recognition slowly crept into his eyes, only to be replaced by horror at what he had done.
"Oh, god, Mac." He released me and rolled away with his back to me. He sat on the side of the bed with his head hanging down, breathing loudly and struggling for control.
I crawled over to him and put my hand on his back. He glanced at me and then dragged me up beside him and buried his face in my neck.
"I'm sorry." He pulled back to look at me. "Did I hurt you?" His hands ran up and down my arms and across my throat.
"You didn't hurt me, Harm." My heart was still about to pound out of my chest. "But what just happened? You scared me to death."
"I just threatened to kill you," he said with disgust. "That's what happened."
"Obviously, you didn't know it was me."
"If I'd woken up in bed with a woman a month ago I don't think that would have been my reaction." He moved away from me, stood up and started gathering his clothes. "I shouldn't have come here."
"Don't do this, Harm." I jumped off the bed and grabbed his arm. "I want you to stay here and explain to me what's going on. How did everything about our lives get so mixed up in such a short amount of time?"
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "The only thing I can tell you is that I'm trying to get things back on track, and for now, doing this job is the only way I know to do that." He pushed his legs into his jeans and threw on his shirt without buttoning it while he looked for his socks and shoes.
"At what cost?" I demanded.
"Everything has a cost, Mac."
"That's not an answer, Harm. I need to know why in the world you are working for the CIA. Have you even talked to the Admiral about coming back to Jag? Help me understand this. No one has given me a straight answer since I've been home. Not the Admiral. Not Webb. Not even you. I can accept it from them, but not from you." I was ranting, but I couldn't stop.
Suddenly he looked so defeated, and I realized how that must have sounded considering all that he had given up for me. I quickly added, "Harm, I owe you my life, but you owe me something too. You can't just show up in the middle of the night whenever you feel like it and then disappear for weeks at a time. I'm worried about you all the time, and I want to kill you the rest."
He sank down onto the side of the bed and just stared at the floor.
I pleaded with him. "You've got to give me a way to live with this."
Finally he looked up and asked, "Do you have anything to eat? I'm starving."
At least he wasn't running out the door. I let out the breath I had been holding and asked, "How about a peanut butter sandwich?"
"With honey?" His smile was tired but sweet.
"I think I can manage that."
He followed me into the kitchen and buttoned his shirt while he watched me make his food.
"Do you want some tea?" I asked.
"Sure, tea would be great."
I put the kettle on while he poured himself a glass of milk. We carried the food out to the dining room table and sat down.
"When is the last time you ate?" I asked as I watched him wolf down the sandwich.
"Yesterday morning," he admitted before downing half of his glass of milk.
"I'll make you another one, but it's going to cost you."
"I'll tell you what I can, Mac. You deserve that much." He seemed more resigned than happy about it.
I got up and made him another sandwich and finished making the tea. When I sat back down I said. "Ok, talk to me."
He closed his eyes and said, "You know I made a deal with the CIA so they would help me find you."
"Yes, and when we took out the stinger missiles and flushed out the mole that deal should have been fulfilled."
"Well, they don't quite see it that way."
"Harm, they used both of us to do their dirty work and that should be the end of it. You need to talk to the Admiral about coming back to JAG. It's where you belong."
"When we blew up those missiles it stirred up a hornet's nest."
"I'm not surprised. That's the nature of those kinds of operations. You shut them down in one place and they crop up somewhere else. What does that have to do with you?"
"Well, you know Gunny stayed in Paraguay when we came home." I nodded and he continued. "One of his contacts, a woman named Esmelda, worked at a local manufacturing and distributing company. They had a warehouse out in the middle of nowhere that had a small run down airstrip attached to it. The warehouse was being used to store counterfeit knock offs-cds, watches, even designer purses and shoes- before they shipped them off to other countries to be sold. Then the money from the sales would be funneled back into the terrorist organization by sending money to P.O. boxes set up by dummy corporations. From there the money could be wired anywhere overseas in a matter of minutes." He paused to take a sip of tea.
"An increase in activity at that airstrip made the CIA particularly interested in that business, and since their newest recruit was an ex-Navy pilot, I guess they thought I should be involved so they sent me back down there. It made sense to assume that besides being used to ship handbags, the airstrip was being used for transporting weapons, people, and even aircraft in and out of the country as well. We'd just set up some preliminary surveillance on the place when Gunny got a tip from Esmelda that they were expecting an important shipment at the airfield. She didn't have all the specifics but told us that security was being stepped up on a certain date and that everyone was unusually nervous. Two days ago based on her information and some other corroborating intel I gave the go ahead and we raided the airstrip. When we got there the place was deserted, except they had tied Esmelda to a chair and slit her throat."
His face was a mask as he related the last part, and his voice got even flatter if that was possible. "I left them to sort it all out and caught the first plane out of there. On the flight home every time I closed my eyes I would see her face-those lifeless eyes staring at me. And every time I tried to get the image of her out of my head it was replaced with one of you strapped to that table about to be tortured. I realized then that even if I had known it would cost Esmelda her life, I would still have made the same bargain to save you all over again. What kind of man does that make me?" He rubbed his hands over his face refusing to look at me.
Knowing he needed some space to keep his composure, I'd valiantly resisted the impulse to gather him into my arms while he told this story, but at his last words I stopped resisting and launched myself into his lap. He buried his face in my shoulder and held me tightly as he continued his confession, "I came here straight from the airport. You were asleep and I should have just turned around and gone home, but I couldn't make myself leave."
"I'm so glad you didn't leave." I held on tight trying to show him that this was where he belonged. "Harm, you've got to quit now. You don't owe them anything else."
His story was horrifying, and the wound was still too raw for him to see that the responsibility for her death wasn't solely his. But it wasn't in him to shift blame, so I could only hope that time would give him some perspective. I knew that he would always carry guilt over this woman's death, but he could come home now and start to heal, and I wanted to help him if he would let me.
I felt such relief that it was finally all over, until his next words stopped me cold.
"I can't quit, yet." He spoke with grim determination.
"Why not?" I demanded.
"Because there's a lawyer in Maryland that I need to eliminate."
To be continued--