The gunfire Commander Harmon Rabb heard on the other end of the phone was
rapid and loud. It sounded like Webb was caught in the middle of something
bad, but he had barely been able to discern it was the CIA operative on the
phone at all with the battle raging on the other end of the line.
"Webb, where are you?" Rabb asked, convinced that whatever trouble Clayton Webb had gotten himself into this time would drown out any chance of the spy hearing the question.
Rabb wondered why the CIA agent was calling him at all. The Navy man thought back to a time not so long ago when he had considered Webb a friend. Things had changed a lot in the last few months; Rabb wondered when the last time was that he actually thought of Webb in those terms. He had avoided using that word to describe their relationship for a long time. It wasn't what he had wanted or ever expected based on his first dealings with the cocky, secretive man he'd initially encountered. He hadn't even wanted to work with the man, let alone call him friend.
Despite their adversarial beginnings, Rabb knew that Clayton Webb had insinuated himself into his life, and ever since their first meeting Harmon Rabb's life had never been quite the same. This was not the first time in their history that Rabb had received a series of cryptic calls from his CIA friend. No, their history was a shared history of near misses and emotion- laden meetings. How they had gotten to their current state was unfortunate, and Rabb felt, irreversible.
This was now the third time that his 'friend' had called under desperate circumstances. The first time had led to the thankfully false impression that Webb had been killed in an explosion onboard a freighter. The feelings that overcame Rabb once he realized that the man was not dead were surprising in their intensity. Rabb hadn't realized until the moment Chegwidden told him that Webb was gone that he would miss him in his life, despite the frustrations associated with working alongside the man. The overwhelming sense of relief in finding his friend alive was something Harmon Rabb had never forgotten.
The commander never nurtured the friendship. It came naturally out of their shared sense of justice, of serving their country, of doing what was right. Rabb didn't necessarily agree with Webb's methods, but he quickly grew to realize that Webb was doing what he had to for the sake of national security. The fact that it took Webb so long to realize that they both shared that keen desire to protect their country's interests frustrated the lawyer and added to his reticence early on to welcome the CIA man into his inner sanctum.
There had been many times when he regretted that restraint. His own reserve had been finely built and honed over the years, nurtured by a childhood left empty by the loss of a father and encouraged by his own unwillingness to get too close for fear of negotiating that kind of loss ever again.
The second time he had experienced rushed telephone conversations with Webb was preceding that incredible day when Webb had brought Rabb's brother Sergei back from Chechnya. The emotional jolt of seeing his brother at the Vietnam Veterans memorial had almost blinded him to the injuries Webb had sustained in his efforts to get Sergei home for Christmas. There could be no more clear indication from Webb of his own affection for Rabb than the gift he had presented the JAG lawyer that midnight in December a few years before. To this day Harm could not think of the generosity shown him that day without growing emotional; he often cautioned himself to keep those thoughts for when he was not in the office.
Regretfully, the strain that the Paraguay fiasco had put on their bond had been severe. Webb's return from South America, followed by months of convalescence and recovery, and his growing relationship with Mac, had wrought a chasm that seemed impossible to fill. Webb's decision to deal with his recovery in privacy had certainly contributed to their distance with each other, as had Rabb's own jealous feelings where Mac was concerned. He had insisted on practicing a self-imposed exile from Webb once he realized the spy's affections for his Marine partner.
Rabb had no claim on Mac, that he knew. His inaction where Mac was concerned had left the door open, though he had always felt that the door would remain a little ajar for when his interest finally did coincide with his heart's decision to do something about it. But Rabb had found that the door was no longer open, even a little. Sarah MacKenzie had found someone who did not fall into the category of all of the other men who had let her down in the past, or who were beneath her. Clayton Webb was a formidable foe, Harmon Rabb had found. There seemed little in Mac's life that Rabb was useful for any longer, save the occasional second chair or opposing council in court.
He knew it wasn't logical, but Rabb looked at Webb now more as an enemy than a friend. Finding Webb's voice on the other end of his mobile phone was the last sound he expected to hear.
"Webb, I can't hear. Are you being shot at?"
Rabb saw Mac heading out of Admiral Chegwidden's office. Though tempted to wave her over, he chose instead to rise and close his door as she passed through ops and into her own office.
"You.might." the semi-automatic gunfire had been joined by the familiar popping sound of a nine-millimeter pistol. And it sounded close. A shockingly loud sound came next, which Rabb knew was Webb firing his own Glock.
Then quiet, save some faint, rapid breathing coming through the earpiece.
"Webb, you okay?"
Moments passed. Rabb thought that maybe the connection had been broken, though he sensed he still had a live line, and then the sound of Webb's breathing was overtaken by the familiarity of street noise.
"Webb?"
"I.," the faint voice began, followed by garbled words, then, "a minute." Then silence. Dead silence.
"Webb, I didn't hear what you said. You're breaking up."
"Give.a minute," Webb replied, breathing heavily into the phone. Rabb could hear the rustle of something, and then another sound that was vaguely familiar. What was Webb doing?
".battery.dying," Webb began again. "Can.meet me?"
"Where are you?"
".house thirty-four, load." Webb's cell phone was failing. If the spy didn't repeat the information again in seconds Rabb would have no way of determining exactly where he was. And he sounded like he needed help right away.
"Again, Webb," Rabb demanded calmly, knowing that time was precious.
"Warehou.thirty-four, dock twenty-s..." Rabb was sure he heard a groan from the CIA operative.
"Which dock?"
".nty-six," the heavy sigh at the end evidence of Webb's exhausted, and possibly worse state.
"Clay, are you all right?"
"I will be," he replied, too quietly, too weakly, too candidly for Rabb's taste.
"I'll call Mac."
"No! Ugh." This time Rabb recognized the definite groan of pain. "Don't.her later.need..." Rabb started up from his chair, knowing that he missed some important parts of Webb's last communication. He wondered if Webb's reluctance to have him contact Mac was security-related or something altogether different.
"Okay. Sit tight. I'm on my way," he added as he headed out of JAG headquarters, his eyes lingering over Sarah MacKenzie in her office as the elevator doors closed.
Rabb was sure he heard a sigh through his phone, though what came through most clearly was a grateful sounding though very weak, "'kay," before he heard the connection go quiet.
"Webb, where are you?" Rabb asked, convinced that whatever trouble Clayton Webb had gotten himself into this time would drown out any chance of the spy hearing the question.
Rabb wondered why the CIA agent was calling him at all. The Navy man thought back to a time not so long ago when he had considered Webb a friend. Things had changed a lot in the last few months; Rabb wondered when the last time was that he actually thought of Webb in those terms. He had avoided using that word to describe their relationship for a long time. It wasn't what he had wanted or ever expected based on his first dealings with the cocky, secretive man he'd initially encountered. He hadn't even wanted to work with the man, let alone call him friend.
Despite their adversarial beginnings, Rabb knew that Clayton Webb had insinuated himself into his life, and ever since their first meeting Harmon Rabb's life had never been quite the same. This was not the first time in their history that Rabb had received a series of cryptic calls from his CIA friend. No, their history was a shared history of near misses and emotion- laden meetings. How they had gotten to their current state was unfortunate, and Rabb felt, irreversible.
This was now the third time that his 'friend' had called under desperate circumstances. The first time had led to the thankfully false impression that Webb had been killed in an explosion onboard a freighter. The feelings that overcame Rabb once he realized that the man was not dead were surprising in their intensity. Rabb hadn't realized until the moment Chegwidden told him that Webb was gone that he would miss him in his life, despite the frustrations associated with working alongside the man. The overwhelming sense of relief in finding his friend alive was something Harmon Rabb had never forgotten.
The commander never nurtured the friendship. It came naturally out of their shared sense of justice, of serving their country, of doing what was right. Rabb didn't necessarily agree with Webb's methods, but he quickly grew to realize that Webb was doing what he had to for the sake of national security. The fact that it took Webb so long to realize that they both shared that keen desire to protect their country's interests frustrated the lawyer and added to his reticence early on to welcome the CIA man into his inner sanctum.
There had been many times when he regretted that restraint. His own reserve had been finely built and honed over the years, nurtured by a childhood left empty by the loss of a father and encouraged by his own unwillingness to get too close for fear of negotiating that kind of loss ever again.
The second time he had experienced rushed telephone conversations with Webb was preceding that incredible day when Webb had brought Rabb's brother Sergei back from Chechnya. The emotional jolt of seeing his brother at the Vietnam Veterans memorial had almost blinded him to the injuries Webb had sustained in his efforts to get Sergei home for Christmas. There could be no more clear indication from Webb of his own affection for Rabb than the gift he had presented the JAG lawyer that midnight in December a few years before. To this day Harm could not think of the generosity shown him that day without growing emotional; he often cautioned himself to keep those thoughts for when he was not in the office.
Regretfully, the strain that the Paraguay fiasco had put on their bond had been severe. Webb's return from South America, followed by months of convalescence and recovery, and his growing relationship with Mac, had wrought a chasm that seemed impossible to fill. Webb's decision to deal with his recovery in privacy had certainly contributed to their distance with each other, as had Rabb's own jealous feelings where Mac was concerned. He had insisted on practicing a self-imposed exile from Webb once he realized the spy's affections for his Marine partner.
Rabb had no claim on Mac, that he knew. His inaction where Mac was concerned had left the door open, though he had always felt that the door would remain a little ajar for when his interest finally did coincide with his heart's decision to do something about it. But Rabb had found that the door was no longer open, even a little. Sarah MacKenzie had found someone who did not fall into the category of all of the other men who had let her down in the past, or who were beneath her. Clayton Webb was a formidable foe, Harmon Rabb had found. There seemed little in Mac's life that Rabb was useful for any longer, save the occasional second chair or opposing council in court.
He knew it wasn't logical, but Rabb looked at Webb now more as an enemy than a friend. Finding Webb's voice on the other end of his mobile phone was the last sound he expected to hear.
"Webb, I can't hear. Are you being shot at?"
Rabb saw Mac heading out of Admiral Chegwidden's office. Though tempted to wave her over, he chose instead to rise and close his door as she passed through ops and into her own office.
"You.might." the semi-automatic gunfire had been joined by the familiar popping sound of a nine-millimeter pistol. And it sounded close. A shockingly loud sound came next, which Rabb knew was Webb firing his own Glock.
Then quiet, save some faint, rapid breathing coming through the earpiece.
"Webb, you okay?"
Moments passed. Rabb thought that maybe the connection had been broken, though he sensed he still had a live line, and then the sound of Webb's breathing was overtaken by the familiarity of street noise.
"Webb?"
"I.," the faint voice began, followed by garbled words, then, "a minute." Then silence. Dead silence.
"Webb, I didn't hear what you said. You're breaking up."
"Give.a minute," Webb replied, breathing heavily into the phone. Rabb could hear the rustle of something, and then another sound that was vaguely familiar. What was Webb doing?
".battery.dying," Webb began again. "Can.meet me?"
"Where are you?"
".house thirty-four, load." Webb's cell phone was failing. If the spy didn't repeat the information again in seconds Rabb would have no way of determining exactly where he was. And he sounded like he needed help right away.
"Again, Webb," Rabb demanded calmly, knowing that time was precious.
"Warehou.thirty-four, dock twenty-s..." Rabb was sure he heard a groan from the CIA operative.
"Which dock?"
".nty-six," the heavy sigh at the end evidence of Webb's exhausted, and possibly worse state.
"Clay, are you all right?"
"I will be," he replied, too quietly, too weakly, too candidly for Rabb's taste.
"I'll call Mac."
"No! Ugh." This time Rabb recognized the definite groan of pain. "Don't.her later.need..." Rabb started up from his chair, knowing that he missed some important parts of Webb's last communication. He wondered if Webb's reluctance to have him contact Mac was security-related or something altogether different.
"Okay. Sit tight. I'm on my way," he added as he headed out of JAG headquarters, his eyes lingering over Sarah MacKenzie in her office as the elevator doors closed.
Rabb was sure he heard a sigh through his phone, though what came through most clearly was a grateful sounding though very weak, "'kay," before he heard the connection go quiet.