Webb's insistence on no painkillers was expected - and frustrating. The 'medic', it turned out, was a retired surgeon, though no surgery had taken place to help the agent. The doctor deeply cleaned the wound, an effort that on its own lost the spy to thankful unconsciousness. This allowed the doctor to clean both the entrance and exit wounds in a way that would surely have caused Webb extreme pain if he had remained awake for it. Rabb was glad he was out. The surgeon treated and then wrapped Webb's upper arm tight against his body to prevent unnecessary movement that could restart the bleeding.

The doctor had been clear to Rabb in his instructions: this was a temporary fix, it would not last for long, and Webb needed to have surgery as soon as possible. The man emphasized the high risk of serious, permanent damage if he wasn't treated properly soon.

Though the doctor had provided topical antibiotics and an injection as well, the wounds had already been slightly infected and might cause more illness before the antibiotics kicked in, the doctor warned.

Before leaving, the medic told Rabb to expect Webb to sleep for several hours. That was not good news to Rabb, but true to Webb's stubborn nature, the spy was awake less than an hour after the doctor had departed.

"What's the damage?" Webb asked softly. The sun was setting in the hill country not far from the location of two great battles of the Civil War. The golden light was filtered by cloud cover, but still helped to cast a warm light on Webb's features. Rabb doubted that his actual skin tone was really any better at all.

The Navy commander seemed to be battling on a number of fronts: what, if any, relationship was there worth salvaging with the CIA man, what he needed to do to get Webb the help he needed, what had gotten the operative in this situation in the first place. There were actually few names that came to mind of those he would trust with whom to venture into battle. Despite their recent, fragmented past, Clayton Webb's name still remained on that list.

"Some bone shattered when the bullet went through," Rabb started as he brought a tray over to the coffee table. He handed Webb a glass of water. Webb drank thirstily. "That's why you have so much pain. Doc said when the bone chips move it's like slicing through with a knife. Easy with that, Webb."

"Good description," Webb sighed, handing the glass back, a slight tremble in his left hand noticeable to the JAG lawyer.

Rabb knew that Webb had suffered some serious nerve damage during those sessions of torture in Paraguay. It had been most obvious in the agent's right hand. Rabb hoped this new injury, also on the right side, would not inflame that only recently healed injury.

"Yeah. You've also got a fever." Rabb held a bowl of soup and appeared ready to help Webb to eat it. Webb looked Rabb dead on, as though the thought of a naval officer feeding him was the worst possible scenario of this current predicament.

"It's okay with me if you do this yourself. I just didn't think you'd be up to it."

"Just leave it on the table. I've been feeding myself for a long time now, Rabb." Rabb nodded, thinking how similar they were in temperament.

"Okay. I've got some pills you need to take. More antibiotics, enough to get you through the next day or so."

"Damn. Forgot about them. They make me drowsy," he added, struggling with a spoonful of soup.

"You need them, Clay," Rabb said seriously.

"I know." Webb finished a second try at the soup and then leaned back, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths.

"Not feeling so hot," Rabb stated.

"Not really," the illness evident on every inch of the spy. "But I'll live."

Rabb sat down again on the coffee table. He had hoped to give Webb some time, a little more time to rest and get some nourishment in him. That part didn't seem likely just yet, and they really didn't have the luxury of waiting around; that just meant delaying the medical help that Webb so clearly still needed.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

The spy looked the lawyer square in the eyes. "Yeah, but you're not going to like it."

"When do I ever?" Rabb replied snidely.

"Well, this time," Webb paused to sit up, a chorus of aches greeting him as he did. He closed his eyes to ride out the pain, and Rabb felt a twinge of guilt at the earlier curt comment. "This time you'll be justified."

"Clay, I didn't mean." Webb interrupted before Rabb could finish.

"I know what you mean, Rabb. Just let me get through this."

Rabb knew he needed to let Webb continue. They'd have to discuss the rest - that underlying tension that made Rabb say things that he really didn't mean, the tension that had manifested itself in a similar manner with Mac so many times before - that would all have to wait for when time was not so dear, and lives were not in jeopardy.

"Sure. Go ahead."

"I got a call from one of my contacts in Paramaribo. Never thought time spent in that place would ever amount to anything useful, but the guy put me on to a lead on a group called Brothers for Islamic Freedom. Ever heard of them?"

"No, but I can imagine what they are," Rabb shook his head, wondering when the hate would ever end.

"They're a splinter group, a few times removed from the Taliban. They've been importing large shipments of guns into the states."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's disillusioning to think just how vulnerable we are at the border. My man gave me inside information on where the B.I.F. were hiding their stores and where the next shipment would be arriving. I've been working with Mexican intelligence and they've been able to track down and isolate the source. This route into the country is effectively shut down."

"That's all good news, Webb. The warehouse where I found you wasn't that place, right?"

"No." Webb was tired. Beyond tired. But this story needed to be told. Rabb sensed that there was still something big that Webb had yet to divulge; the reason why he was the one Webb reached out to, despite their recent estrangement.

"CP Imports is the front for the guy running the operation."

"Running the operation? I thought this was Taliban-related." Rabb was confused that someone other than the terrorist group would be doing the importing. "And why, by the way, has the CIA allowed the Taliban and others the freedom to build up their operations here?" As soon as it came out Rabb regretted verbalizing that thought.

Webb sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking at the significant sweat on his fingers before wiping it on the blanket surrounding him. Maybe Rabb had been the wrong choice here. He always saw things so clearly. Life was delightfully clear and uncomplicated when you were Harmon Rabb, Webb thought.

"I don't know, Harm."

Rabb watched the spy. He knew he couldn't hold Webb responsible for all of the failures of the U.S. intelligence community. Webb just happened to be conveniently available to vent to. Rabb acknowledged that this was not the time or place for discussing the political, social or human consequences of those failures.

"Sorry. I thought you said this splinter group was running this?"

"No. The B.I.F. is the customer. CP Imports is procuring the weapons and selling them to the B.I.F."

"CP Imports?" Rabb asked, eyes wide at the implication.

Webb knew it would not take Harmon Rabb long to put everything together. Recognition shown in Rabb's face when he offered, "Clark Palmer. CP Imports."

"Yes. I traced the operations to a website where I found two things: the host of the site was a server at Fort Leavenworth and they had offices here in D.C."

"Warehouse 34."

"Right. But before I got there I was ambushed. They shot me, but they didn't kill me. And they put that tracking device on my coat."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure."

"You have an idea, though."

"You could say that." Webb was perspiring heavily now, but Rabb needed to know more if he was going to help Webb get out of this mess. Again he felt obliged to let the agent continue, even though the thing Clayton Webb needed now more than anything was rest.

"Go on."

"I found another name with the stuff I unearthed about CP Imports. A long trail of incriminating evidence of collusion, aiding terrorist activities, probably a dozen other indictable offenses by someone you'd never suspect would be working with Clark Palmer."

Rabb was surprised to hear this. Palmer was a loner and had always taken great pleasure in performing his acts of treachery, and worse, solo. It was clear that whoever it was, it was a name with which Clayton Webb was familiar, and fully expected Rabb to recognize as well.

"Who is it?"

"Harmon Rabb, Jr."

"Me?" he shook his head, the slightest laugh preceded a look of admiration at Palmer's efforts.

"You've had a busy year, Harm. Since that Singer fiasco, then saving the day in Paraguay." Webb looked away, the regret lingering over his failure to capture Sadik Fahd, though the thought of what could have been lost tempered any actual losses. "Then working for the CIA, and then not working for the CIA, then back at JAG. Hard to believe you'd have." Webb coughed, and Rabb finished the thought.

".time to organize all this." The coughing went on, exhausting the operative. Webb looked worse now than he had when the doctor finished working on him.

"You okay?" Rabb's face displayed a mix of worry for Webb's condition and concern that Clark Palmer was wreaking havoc once again. Would he ever be rid of that menace?

"I'm fine," Webb answered, though it was clear he was far from it. The recent prolonged bouts of coughing indicated that Webb might have aspirated some during his earlier bout of illness. That meant possible pneumonia - other causes of the coughing had far worse implications, though the doctor had been fairly confident that no damage had been done to Webb's lung by the bullet.

"I've got some painkillers, if you want them." Rabb knew what to expect in reply, though he was obliged to offer. He had little else to offer the injured man. Well, that was not entirely true, but he wasn't sure his head was yet at a point that he felt comfortable offering more. His heart was providing incentive in that direction, but Harmon Rabb knew he needed more time. At least he thought he did.

"I'm fine," Webb stated firmly, the conviction in his reply and in his bearing trumping the way he felt, or looked.

"Okay." Rabb looked intently at the hurting man before him but did not pursue what Webb so earnestly chose to ignore. "Do you have a plan?"

"I do. Where'd you dump the tracking device?"

Rabb was stunned. He was sure Webb had been unconscious while he removed the device and stowed it in the last rest stop before exiting the interstate.

"Rabb," Webb started, slight frustration marking his tone. "you're not stupid enough to lead someone here. You had to have dumped it."

"I did. I thought.you've seemed so out of it."

"Didn't think I had it in me?" The question rang with sadness. Disappointment. Rabb hated to hear it, because what he really felt for Clayton Webb right then was deep admiration, and guilt, for having doubted Webb's abilities, and forgetting Webb's intense devotion to his job and country - and his determination to do the right thing.

The fact that Webb sought him for help was really more an effort to assure Rabb's good name, the Navy man now realized. Webb's belief in Harmon Rabb's innocence in any complicity where Palmer was concerned said so much about how he was perceived in the eyes of the spy. Their distance of late never compromised that. Rabb owed Webb much, much more than he'd ever thought he would, especially after the debacle in South America.

Rabb had viewed the entire Paraguay fiasco as just that: a fiasco, perpetrated by Clayton Webb. Slipshod and dangerously risky, jeopardizing his own life, but worse, Mac's life and possibly many more had those stinger missiles not been found and destroyed. Rabb knew that he had viewed everything that Webb had done on that mission, either as an eyewitness to the events himself or in hindsight, with the taint of a failed operative, and with little thought given his own part in Webb's initial downfall and banishment to Suriname.and subsequent locations far worse, Rabb later learned.

Had his feelings for Mac, and his jealousy over Webb's closeness with her been so blinding? Had he allowed it to derail not only a friendship but also the respect due a good man? He hoped he wasn't that shallow. He hoped it wasn't too late to rebuild a relationship that his heart seemed to ache to renew.

"No. That's not it at all, Clay. You just never cease to amaze me."

"Yeah, well, we better get moving," he replied, unsure just what to feel about Rabb's admission. "I'll tell you my plan on the way."

A long ten minutes later, the CIA agent and the Navy lawyer were on their way.