Chapter Eight

15:55 ZULU

DUMBARTON OAKS SENIOR LIVING COMMUNITY

GEORGETOWN

            Mac paused just inside the automatic sliding doors of the main lobby and took a moment to absorb the impact of the sleek and slightly garish décor. She always felt like she had entered a time warp each time she came here. In a certain sense, she supposed that that was exactly what she had done. The main lobby, the dining room, and many of the other common areas the residents shared were something straight out of the late 1960's, right down to the clunky, rotary dial telephones,  the blonde coffee and end tables. Even the huge cabinet television sets had knobs and dials, rather than buttons and remote controls. The resident apartments were a bit more updated; as they usually featured a more casual blend of the residents personal effects with sixties style furniture and fixtures.

            She shook her head as she crossed to the desk to greet a nurse in pristine whites that reminded her a little too much of "Nurse Dixie" from the old Emergency TV show. Crazy as it all seemed, there was a method to the madness, and she had to admit that the method seemed to work. The nurse paused to look up from the data she was entering into the computer hidden behind the counter and greeted Mac with a genuine smile.

            "Good afternoon, Mrs. Webb. Are you here to see Meredith?"

            Mac paused to consider this. "It depends," she said at last. "What kind of a day is she having? I don't want to stop in if you think it will upset her."

            The nurse, whose black name badge identified her as Susan Richards, RN, seemed to give the matter serious thought as she moved her mouse quickly over her desktop and selected the files for the patient in 117.

 "No, she seems to be having a fairly good day," the nurse said at last. "She's had her usual ups and downs, but she seems to be pretty lucid. I'm sure she would appreciate the company." Nurse Richards smiled. "But be warned. Her imagination has been fairly active lately."

            Mac smiled back. "That's no surprise. You should have seen her ten years ago."

            Making her way around the corner and past the desk, Mac followed the long, brightly lit corridor that featured a long bank of windows to the East, sporadically interspersed with a few doors inset into the West wall. Coming to a stop before number 117, she drew a sharp breath and braced herself, wondering exactly who she would find behind it this time. She knocked hesitantly and waited, some half-remembered part of her still waiting for the familiar voice and the cheerful invitation to enter, but it never came.

            Putting her hand on the door knob, she turned it slowly and pushed the door inward, peering in cautiously. There was no response from the wing chair beside the window, but Mac could just make out the familiar form seated back against the cushions, her head tilted to stare vacantly out the window and her hands folded quietly in her lap.

            Moving slowly into the room, she paused long enough to drop her bag on the small coffee table in front of the love seat, and made her way to the woman's side.

            "Meredith?" she asked gently, laying her hand on the thin shoulder.

            Meredith's head turned at the sound of her name, and warm brown eyes swept intently over Mac's face, searching for recognition…and failing.

            "I'm sorry," Meredith said at last, "We're not having classes today and my office hours are from…" she trailed off, not quite remembering when her office hours had been.

            Mac smiled faintly. "Eleven-thirty to one," she said softly, "I know."

            She sat down in the chair opposite Meredith's. "I just thought I'd stop in for a while," she explained gently. "The nurses said they thought you might like some company. –Would you?"

            There was a brief pause, and then slowly, Meredith nodded. They sat in silence for a few long minutes. Meredith stared distantly out the window at the fresh crop of bright spring flowers waving gaily in the breeze. Whether or not she really registered them was hard to tell. Her face was impassive, with no hint of the random thoughts that struggled through the muddled maze her mind and memory had become. Meredith watched the flowers. Mac watched Meredith. Even after these last few years, it was hard to reconcile this silent, passive figure with the bright, vibrant, articulate woman she once had been. It was difficult for her to see Meredith like this, but hard as it was, she knew that it had been harder on A.J.

            Both he and Meredith had put up a valiant fight those first few years after she had been diagnosed. They had done all the medicines, all the treatments, all the different types of therapy and counseling they could find, even though they both had known the day would come when the Alzheimer's would win. That day had come a little over three years ago when Meredith, caught in a fit of dementia, had wandered away from their Alexandria home and nearly been struck by a car. In the twenty odd years that she had known him, it had been the only time she had ever seen A.J. Chegwidden bowed by an experience.

            "I can't do it anymore, Mac." He had murmured. His posture had been weary and his eyes defeated. "I can't take care of her. I can't keep her safe. Will you help me find a place?"

            Together, they had found this one. It had seemed a little odd at first, but the Alzheimer's wing at Dumbarton Oakes had come highly recommended in spite of its unusual approach. Designed by a prominent gerontologist who specialized in cases of memory loss and dementia, the rather dated interior design served to reduce the confusion of its elderly residents by removing them from the confusion of the modern world and taking them back to a time they remembered more vividly. Many of Meredith's neighbors –and Meredith included—hadn't the slightest idea of how to run the sleek, voice activated video screens and other technological wonders that the younger generations had interfaced so seamlessly with. But in this world, they didn't need to. Their short term memories might be completely non-existent. They might not remember something that happened five minutes ago, but most of them had no problem managing to surf their favorite channels on the old-fashioned television sets, or making popcorn in the ridiculously large, clumsy microwave that occupied the entire corner of the rec-room kitchenette. If anything, the antiquated furnishings seemed to decrease their anxiety and instilled in many a confidence that they had lost those last few years of struggling in their own homes. Certainly the place had had a soothing effect upon Meredith, and much of her room was furnished with the small, cozy and useful items with which she had furnished her office at the college. She was comfortable here, not the anxious, nervous wreck she had become those last few months at home. If anything, there were days when she seemed almost normal. –Except for the silence.

            Mac still couldn't get used to it. Meredith had been one of the most intelligent, and vibrant personalities she had ever known. It was odd to see her like this, so quiet and introspective. It was almost as hard as the days –like today—when Meredith didn't know her. Unfortunately, those days had become more and more frequent over the last few months. She feared the day was soon coming when the final spark of self-awareness would disappear completely, and all that would be left was a vacant shell. She tried to tell herself that she would still come to visit, that she wouldn't completely abandon her friend when that day came, but she feared that day just the same. As hard as it was to be here now, how much harder would it be when there was nothing left of Meredith at all? But she was Meredith's friend, she told herself stubbornly …and she had promised A.J. She would come. She had given her word.

            Seeking to shake herself from the dark path her thoughts had taken, she rose and turned to smile at Meredith. "I could use a cup of tea," she announced. "Would you like some?"

            Meredith nodded again, and Mac set about putting the water to heat in the small electric tea kettle that sat on the small kitchenette counter in the corner of the long room that comprised Meredith's apartment. Rummaging about in the cabinet for some tea bags and sugar, she set them on a small metal tray along with a couple of ceramic mugs and a small box of cookies she found in the cabinet. When the tea was ready, she brought the tray over and set it on the small table between the two wing chairs.

            Meredith stared at the tray for a long moment. Then with slow and hesitant movements, she picked up the spoon and extracted the tea bag from her mug, squeezing the excess liquid from the bag with her thumb before depositing it on her saucer. She used the spoon to scoop two lumps of sugar from the small porcelain bowl, and then stirred it carefully. After another long moment, she removed the spoon from the mug and set it on the saucer. She gazed anxiously at Mac.

            Mac smiled and nodded her approval. She picked up her own mug and brought it to her lips, taking a tentative sip. "It's good," she said encouragingly. "Try some."

            Meredith obeyed, taking her own cautious sip. Her brown eyes lit with pleasure and she smiled. Mac's heart squeezed slightly in her chest. There, at least, had been a bit of the old Meredith.

They sat for several long moments, drinking there tea, and Mac finally started to felt the tensions of the day slip away from her. She would have to get back to the hospital soon, she knew. Clay and Penny would be wondering what was keeping her. It had been more than a little out of her way to run Penny back to Bethesda, but sitting here alone in Meredith's silence; she knew it had been the best thing to do. Penny had been a good sport about the flowers, and the walk around Arlington had burned up some of her boundless energy. However, in light of the events of the weekend, bringing her here might have been a bit much. Besides, after spending most of the day in the midst of Penny's adolescent sarcasm, she figured that Clay more than deserved a dose of his own daughter for a while. She had dropped Penny off at the hospital after they had returned from Arlington and sworn her to secrecy about the car before accompanying her upstairs to check on Clay. She had promised them both to be back in time for dinner, and she didn't need to glance at the clock on Meredith's wall to know that it was almost five. By the time she got back in Clay's car and braved the rush of Saturday evening traffic, it would be perilously close to the dinner hour. She would have to leave soon.

            "Where is Penny?" Meredith's voice, so clear and curious, surprised Mac and she jumped slightly.

            She turned to look at Meredith and was grateful to see a glint of awareness in the whiskey brown eyes. So the nurse had been right. It was one of her good days after all.

            "She's with Clay," Mac explained, setting down her empty mug. "He's in the hospital. He had a heart attack, but he's going to be ok. The doctors will probably let him go home tomorrow."

            Meredith nodded vaguely. "I think I heard that," she mused, taking another sip of her tea. "I wonder who told me?" She frowned in concentration. "Maybe it was A.J.," she decided at last.

            Mac smiled faintly. "Actually, I think it was Harriet. She said last night that she'd been here visiting with you when Bud called to tell her what happened."
            "Oh," Meredith said vacantly. "That's right," and Mac wondered if she even really registered who exactly Harriet was. Somehow, she doubted it.

 Meredith sighed. It was a small sound of self disgust. "I was the one who told A.J."

            Mac's smile twisted slightly, but she said nothing. Meredith set down her mug. "It's too bad you missed him," she continued, her voice conversational. "He was here this morning, but he left. I think he was going to go play golf with Tim Fawkes.

            Mac's smile broadened. "Somehow, I never pictured the Admiral as much of one for golf."

            Meredith shrugged. "All in all, he'd rather be fishing, but I think Tim twisted his arm. Tim was going to go play with the Webbs and they needed another person to make it a foursome."

            This time Mac barely suppressed a chuckle, she understood what the nurse had meant about there being nothing wrong about Meredith's imagination. She suddenly had a clear mental picture of A.J. Chegwidden, Tim Fawkes, and Porter and Neville Webb riding around on a little white golf cart and drinking martinis. She'd have to tell Clay. He'd get a kick out of it.

            The electronic Regulator clock on Meredith's wall chimed the quarter hour, reminding Mac again of the time. Actually, according to her own internal chronometer, the clock was five minutes slow. She definitely had to get going. Reluctantly she rose from her chair. "I hate to leave," she said, "But I've really got to get back to the hospital. I promised them I'd be back in time for dinner, and Penny's probably driving Clay crazy right now."

            "Oh," Meredith said, her voice full of disappointment. "Do you have to? A.J. will be back any time, and I know he'll be so disappointed that he missed you."

            Mac smiled. "Actually, I've already seen him."

            Meredith brightened. "Really?"

            Mac nodded. "Just before I dropped Penny off and came here. We took him some flowers."

            Meredith frowned. "Flowers? Whatever for?"

            Mac's throat tightened a bit, but she managed to keep her voice steady and her smile in place as she answered. "Oh, no reason. We just happened to be in the neighborhood and we wanted him to know we were thinking of him."

            Meredith reached up and grasped her hand. "He thinks of you," she said softly.

            Mac's smile turned tremulous. "I'm glad," she said, and suddenly remembered her reason for coming here in the first place.

            "Meredith, it's Memorial Day the day after tomorrow, and we're having a picnic out at the house. I was wondering if you were feeling up to it then, if you might like to come out for a little while. Maybe on the way home we could stop and …and see the Admiral …and Harm and Tim Fawkes."

            Meredith's hands twisted nervously in the soft velvet of her robe, and Mac could see that she was anxious at the prospect of leaving the safe familiarity of her room and venturing out into the wide and confusing world beyond. Another painful irony, she thought, that the woman who had once chased after adventure, had jumped out of airplanes and raced stock cars should be afraid of leaving this little room. But there must have still been a streak of the old Meredith around, for a moment later she cocked her head slightly as if listening to some unknown voice that only she could hear. She smiled faintly and glanced back to Mac, the distance growing in her eyes.

            "If it's a good day," she said, "Then A.J. and I would love to come."

            She was standing in the parking lot of the care center and fishing around in the bottom of her handbag for the keys to the Mercedes when her phone rang. Fumbling around in between her wallet, her business card case, her sunglasses  and Clay's phone, she finally managed to lay hands on her own phone and extract it from the bag. She punched the button and waited until the familiar face of Bud Roberts suddenly appeared in the small digital screen. Judging from the angle of the camera and the black Mr. Spock T-Shirt he was wearing, she guessed that he was likely calling her from his home computer.

            "Bud," she said, somewhat surprised to be hearing from him. When she had seen the name on the caller ID, she had expected it to be Harriet, calling with more details about the party on Monday.

            "Mac," he returned, his voice halfway apologetic. "I haven't caught you at a bad time, have I?"

            Frankly, this whole weekend was a bad time, but she shook her head and lied gracefully into the tiny vid-cell camera. "No," she replied, "Not at all, I just finished visiting Meredith and was on my way back to the hospital."

            Bud nodded. "How's Clay doing?"

            "Good," she replied. "He was already driving people crazy when I left."

            Bud shifted uneasily in his chair. "Look, I hate to bother you, especially with everything that's going on, but I was wondering if you might be able to meet down at the office in about half an hour. I just got off the phone with Bobbie, and she's already heading out."

"What's up?" She asked quickly, her interest sparked.

Bud frowned. "There's been a new development in the Zhukov case."

"What sort of development?" Her voice was a bit sharper than she had intended.

Bud gazed unflinchingly into the camera. "I've just uncovered something that could have a direct bearing on our appeal for the exhumation request," he explained. "I had a friend go digging through the old autopsy reports from the Coroner's office at Pearl. The logs show that a Coroner's exam was performed on Captain Rabb when the body was flown in from South Korea. Apparently it's standard procedure to confirm identification and be sure that no dangerous communicable diseases or viruses are transmitted with the remains."

            "And?" Mac demanded, her patience thinning.

            "Like I said, the log shows that an autopsy was performed, but the autopsy report is missing."

            "We know that, Bud." Mac said impatiently, "That's the standard line the Navy has been giving us for the last six months. The report was mis-filed and lost."

            "It wasn't lost." Bud said. "It was destroyed."

            "What?"

            Bud leaned forward in his chair to pull a file from his desk, the angle of his monitor mounted camera giving her an unflattering close-up of Mr. Spock as he did so. The rumpled Vulcan features receded as he leaned back in his chair and began paging through the file.

            "The log at Pearl happened to list the name of the Navy Coroner who performed the exam …a Doctor Bailey. I had Lorna track him down. He's out of the Navy now. He's the head of the Dane County Coroner's Office in Madison, Wisconsin. I just had a very interesting telephone conversation with him."

            "And?" Mac demanded. The suspense was killing her.

            "Let's just say that if Doctor Bailey is willing to testify, our case for appeal will be a slam dunk."

            "What did you find, Bud?" Mac asked. Her mouth suddenly felt dry.

            Bud shook his head. "Not over the phone," he said. She heard the faint slamming of a door somewhere in the background and the faint chatter of voices. Harriet and the kids must be home. "How soon can you meet us downtown?"

            "I'll be there in thirty minutes."

***

18:15 ZULU

KRESGE MEDICAL CENTER

PIMMIT HILLS, VA

            "Daaad…" Penny drew out the word in the wheedling tone he knew so well, "you really should eat something. Nurse Ratchet is gonna have a fit if you don't."

            Clay's mouth quirked slightly at his daughter's wicked appellation for the woman who was the terror of the seventh floor. "I'm surprised you even know who Nurse Ratchet is. Isn't that story is a little before your time?"

             "We had to read One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest for American Lit." She tossed him a disgusted look. "Quit trying to change the subject, and eat your supper."

            He stared down at the unappetizing blob that the hospital cafeteria was trying to pass of as chicken cacciatore.  He looked back up at Penny. "I'll give you fifty bucks if you'll call Andre's and have them deliver us an order of soft shell crabs."

            She folded her arms across her chest in a perfect imitation of her mother. "Nice try, Daddy. It won't work. Mom has your wallet. Besides," her voice took on a superior lilt, "the doctor says you're on a strict diet. You eat what they give you."

            He shot her a challenging look. "And if I don't? –What are you going to do? Tell Nurse Ratchet?"

            She shook her head. "Worse," she proclaimed flatly. "I'll tell Mom."

            He glared at her and picked up his fork. "Who taught you to fight so dirty?"

            She twitched her lips slightly, flashing him his own patented smirk. "You did," she replied. "Just think of it as getting even for that time you made me eat the brussel sprouts at the birthday party for the Belgian Ambassador's grandson."

            A soft chuckle emanated from the doorway, and he looked up to see Rear Admiral Sturgis Turner regarding them with amusement dancing in his coffee brown eyes. The agent on duty was standing slightly in front of him, and Clay nodded to the man, bidding him to allow Turner to enter.

            "What's so funny?" Clay demanded, his irritation growing.

            Turner merely smiled and shook his head. "Nothing," he said easily, stepping a little farther into the room. "I was just suddenly reminded of an old line of my father's. …Something about how everyone gets the children they deserve."

            "You think it's funny now," Clay said, stabbing viciously at the rubbery chicken with his fork. "Just wait, it'll come back to bite you in the ass later."

            Turner raised an eyebrow in the expression of wide-eyed innocence. "Me? --I don't think so. I was an angel …and that's what God gave me."

            "That he did," Clay agreed quietly. "Where is the lady of the hour?"

            Turner's proud smile broadened. "Right here," he said, stepping aside to reveal Rachel, standing behind them.

            "Hi Uncle Clay," she said shyly, offering him a tentative smile.

            "Come here," he said gruffly. He dropped his fork and pushed his dinner tray aside, grateful for the momentary reprieve. She came slowly, her footsteps hesitant. He opened his arms and she hurried into them, hugging him almost as fiercely as Penny had done.

            "I'm sorry," she sobbed, a small shudder racking her slim body as she pressed her chin into his shoulder.

            "For what?" he murmured, rubbing her shoulder blades in a soothing motion with the hand that wasn't jabbed full of intravenous tubes.

            "For causing your heart attack," she sniffed. "It never would have happened if you hadn't been fencing with me."

            His eyes met Sturgis's across the room and a swift and silent look of understanding passed between them. Pushing Rachel back, he took her face firmly between his palms, willing her to look directly into his eyes.

            "Hey," he said sharply, commanding her attention. "None of this is your fault. "

            He brushed his thumbs across her cheek bones, wiping away the damp trails of her tears. "This could have happened anywhere, at any time. I could have been working at my desk, or sitting at home watching TV. It still would have happened."

He stroked back a handful of her tightly woven ebony braids, tucking them behind her ear. "I'm just glad it happened when and where it did," he said quietly. "Do you know what I probably would have been doing if I hadn't been fencing with you? I'd probably have been out to the stable, taking Ajax for a ride, or home doing laps in the pool. Penny would have still been at school and Sarah was at work. –I would have been alone, Rachel. I would have died."

            This elicited another wave of tears, and he wrapped her in another hug, rocking her gently and smiling. "It's ok, honey," he murmured, pressing his head tightly against hers. "I'm glad I was fencing with you. I'm glad you were there."
            "I was so afraid," Rachel sobbed, "I thought you would be mad at me."

            "Now that is the most ridiculous thing I've heard all day," he proclaimed, pulling back to look at her once more. "What I am is grateful," he said, fixing her with his level green gaze. "What I want to do is thank you, sweetheart. Thank you for saving my life."

            He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and she smiled shyly at him.

            "Thank you, Uncle Clay," she said, wiping her cheeks. "I'm really glad you're going to be ok."

            "So am I," he murmured and then gave her a sidelong glance. "Of course, this doesn't give you an excuse to slide on your training. I fully expect you to qualify at the trials next week. Victor is back in town, so there's no reason you can't spend at least a little time out at the range with him, and it would do you and Penny both some good to get out and ride a little more."

            "Oh believe me," Turner assured him as he leaned one shoulder against the wall. "She'll be doing her share of time at the gym this week." He shot Clay an inquisitive look. "When did Vic get back?"

            "Last night," Clay replied.

            Turner frowned. "Funny. Paulina didn't mention it when Bobbie called her this morning to see what she was bringing for the picnic."

            "She probably didn't know," Clay said. "He hadn't been home yet. He had to go to Langley and debrief."

            "Oh, he is a dead man." Sturgis said thoughtfully, carefully drawing out each word. "If we tell her, that is." His smile was deceptively pleasant. "I think I know who's buying the beer this year."

            "Yeah," Clay snorted. "Too bad I won't be able to drink any of it."
            "We'll do our best to pick up your slack," Sturgis assured him. "Speaking of which, you know Bobbie and I were thinking that maybe we ought to have the party at our place instead, seeing as how you and Mac already have so much to worry about right now."

            Clay shot him a surprised look. "You really want Tiner's kids running through your house? At least at our place we can run them all out into the back yard and lock them in. The worst they can do is drown each other in the pool."

            "We should have drowned Tiner," Sturgis grumbled. "You'd think he and Jen would have had the sense to stop at five." He shook his head and straightened away from the wall. "Anyway, Bobbie was going to pitch the idea to Mac. We figured this way you guys won't have to worry about a thing. Bud and I are taking care of the steaks, Bobbie and Harriet, Jen and Paulina are already all over the rest of the food and we'll leave the beer to Galindez."

            Clay smirked. "Just do us all a favor and keep Bud away from the CD changer."

            "Got it covered." Sturgis said. "I put Tiner in charge of the music."

            "God help us," Clay groaned, and then brightened slightly as another thought struck him. "On the other hand, I can always go home. –You're the one who'll be stuck with Bud's music and Tiner's kids."

            Sturgis shot him a sidelong look. "You're a real pal, Clay," he said dryly.

            Whatever witty repartee he might have added was abruptly cut off as the bedside table with his dinner tray was suddenly shoved back under his nose. Penny leaned over it, her hazel eyes flashing with a hint of gold and green. "Ok, Dad, enough stalling. You're not going to talk your way out of this one."

            He flashed her an annoyed look and began cutting into the chicken which was even colder now than it had been when they first delivered it. It tasted like cardboard and marinara sauce …cheap marinara sauce. He chewed it without relish and swallowed, then took a sip of the lukewarm coffee to wash it down.

            "Satisfied?"

            "No." She said honestly. "Not until you eat it all. –You made me eat all of those brussel sprouts."

            God, how had he managed to raise such a pain in the ass? Had he been that bad when he was her age? He took another bite of the chicken, resenting every morsel, and thought about it for a moment. Yes, he decided. He supposed he had.

Between small talk with Sturgis, and the occasional sip of water to rinse his palate, he dutifully plunged into the meal. It was an effort, but somehow he managed to finish the chicken and the vegetables and the rubbery jello under Penny's watchful eye without too much grumbling. He was eternally grateful that the strict guidelines of his new diet dictated the vile portions be small. He doubted he could have stomached any more of the stuff.

Glancing at the clock mounted high on the wall above the foot of his bed; he again took note of the time and felt a small twinge of concern stab at the back of his consciousness. Damn it, she was late. –A good hour late, in fact. He didn't like it. It wasn't like her not to at least call. He sighed and cast an irritated glance at Penny, who was chatting animatedly with Rachel.

"I wonder where your mother is."

Penny shrugged, unconcerned. "She probably just got stuck in traffic on the beltway or something."

Clay tugged restlessly at his sheets. "She knows better than to take the beltway. –And even if she didn't, she could at least call."

"Actually," Turner offered, "She's probably down at the office with Bobbie and Bud."

"What in the hell are they doing down there?" Clay asked sharply. "It's a holiday weekend for God's sake. Nobody works on a Saturday in this town if they can help it."

Turner shrugged. "Search me. Bobbie called me an hour ago and told Rachel and I not to wait dinner on her. She said Bud called and something big had broken open on one of their cases. I assume they're all meeting down there for a pow-wow. Likely Mac got caught up in it too."

Clay was about to grouse that it was still no excuse for her not to call and at least let them know she wasn't dead, when he was interrupted by a soft electronic jangle. Sturgis reached down and grabbed his phone off his belt. He glanced at the caller ID. It showed the number for Mackenzie, Latham and Roberts.

"Speak of the Devil," he said and answered the call.

"Hey Honey," he said, smiling down into the tiny camera.

Bobbie's voice responded, but it was garbled and filled with static. Turner frowned and stabbed another button, bringing the phone up to his ear. "Sorry babe," he said, speaking closely into the phone, "Have to ditch the camera. The reception isn't very good here. I can barely hear you. –Where are you at?"

He paused for a moment, walking towards the window, where the reception was better. "Uh huh," he said, glancing out the window. "When are you gonna get home?"

He smiled faintly. "That big, huh?" He paused and listened to her reply, nodding his understanding.

"Hey," he said, catching Clay's worried glance in the reflection of the window. "Is Mac there with you? Clay and Penny have been looking for her."

He paused again and then turned and nodded his confirmation to Clay. Webb relaxed a little, some of his worry easing. Still, he couldn't help the edgy feeling that was growing upon him. It wasn't like Sarah not to call. Turner continued to listen to Bobbie's litany, nodding and making small noises of understanding from time to time as was appropriate.

"Uh-huh," he said at last. "That's not a problem. I'm at the hospital now."

Sturgis turned to look at Penny and Rachel, who had resumed their conversation and smiled faintly. "No, I don't think they'll mind a bit." He shot a speculative glance in Webb's direction. "Clay's here too. Does Mac want to talk to him? I can put him on."

A brief look of surprise crossed his face. "Oh. Ok. –I'll tell him that."

He paused to catch Bobbie's last few words. "All right," he said at last. "We'll see you later then. Love you too, babe," he added, and ended the call.

"Well?" Clay said impatiently, a little piqued that Sarah had not bothered to take the time to talk with him.

"It sounds like they're having a pretty big meeting down there. They could be a while. Mac wanted to know if we could take Penny home with us. She's not sure she's going to make it back here before visiting hours are over."

He glanced at Penny. "You can stay over again if you want too. From the sound of things, they might be pretty late wrapping things up."
            "You should stay," Rachel cajoled, looking at Penny. "Then we can go riding together in the morning."

"Cool," Penny said.

Sturgis looked at Clay. "Well, I guess that's settled."

"I guess so," Clay returned. He kept his voice carefully neutral, but it didn't fool Turner. The Admiral shot him a small smile.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," he said. "Knowing Mac, she'll probably try to sneak in on her way home, even if it's after visiting hours. Either that, or she'll probably call."

"I'm sure she will," he said, but suddenly, he wasn't sure at all. He could feel the stone sinking in the bottom of his stomach. –A big break on a case… What if …? He felt his stomach clench. God, don't let it be that. Not here. Not now.

He somehow managed to feign carelessness as he chatted with Turner a few minutes longer before finally kissing Penny good night. He waited for a while after they left before turning on the television in a vain attempt to catch up to the news, but his mind wasn't on it. The eight o'clock visitor's bell came and went. The ten o'clock lights out sounded, and the rooms automatically darkened. Uneasily, Clay settled back into his pillow and stared at the faint flashing light of the heart monitor.

Sarah hadn't come …and the phone never rang.

18:30 ZULU

LAW OFFICES OF MACKENZIE, LATHAM & ROBERTS

725 F STREET

WASHINGTON, D.C.

            Bobbie Latham Turner settled into the padded leather chair at her end of the small conference table and glanced through the jumble of handwritten notes, still warm from the copier, that were placed in front of her.

            "So what exactly do we have here, Bud?"

            "A rough transcript of my conversation with Doctor Bailey," Bud replied settling into his own chair and looking from Bobbie to Mac. Mac noted that although he was still dressed casually, he had at least taken the time to exchange the Star Trek T-shirt for a simple white polo. She couldn't blame him. She imagined it would be a little difficult to get anyone to take you seriously with Mr. Spock glaring at them from across your chest –especially your business partners.

Bud sorted through his notes as he mentally ordered his thoughts. "I think once we go through everything, you'll both agree that it's worth flying Lorna to Wisconsin next week to take his formal deposition."
            "What exactly have you got?" Mac asked, anxious to hear the news.

Flipping through his legal pad, Bud found the page he was looking for and waded in. "Ok," he said, squinting down at his own cramped notes. "According to the military service records and Doctor Bailey's own account, he was a Navy coroner stationed on active duty at Pearl at the time of Captain Rabb's alleged death."

"Alleged?" Bobbie asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bud held up a hand, "I'll get to that."

He continued skimming through his notes. "Apparently in cases where active duty personnel have died or been killed outside of the United States, it is standard procedure to have an official coroner's exam –if not an autopsy—performed upon the body's first point of arrival in the United States. In the case of Captain Rabb, that would have been Hawaii. The log books show that Doctor Bailey was the only coroner on duty the day that the Captain's body was flown to Pearl. As a result, he would have performed the exam."

"Did he?" Bobbie asked.

"Doctor Bailey claims he did." Bud replied. "The Navy, however, has no record of this procedure."

"The Navy has no records, period," Mac grumbled. "We've been fighting the lost records and sealed files battle for months."
            Bobbie looked unconvinced. "Dr. Bailey must have performed thousands of autopsies and exams in the course of his career. Are we really asking a judge to accept that this one particular case could stick out so vividly in his mind that he could recall the details accurately, ten years after the fact?"

Bobbie's years on Capitol Hill had made her skilled in the art of inquisition, and as a result she fell quite naturally into the role of Devil's Advocate. There had been a time, back when they had first started the firm, that Bud and even Mac had been a bit disconcerted, and even intimidated by it. Over the years, however, they both had learned not to take offense as they argued their points to the bitter end. There were some who found Bobbie's personality abrasive, but Mac had to admit that she was a top flight lawyer, and in the course of these long and oftentimes frustrating arguments around the conference table, Bobbie had served to make both Bud and herself better lawyers as well. When it came to testing a case for holes, Mac's private rule of thumb was that if Bobbie couldn't shoot a hole in their arguments, then a judge or an opposing trial lawyer damned sure wouldn't be able to, either.

Bud met Bobbie's direct gaze unflinchingly. "Actually, Dr. Bailey remembers the case vividly. He cited it as one of the more memorable episodes in his military career."

"All right," Bobbie said at last. "You've got my attention."

Bud leaned back in his chair and relaxed slightly as Bobbie conceded the floor to him. "According to Dr. Bailey, he was indeed on duty the night that Captain Rabb's body was flown to Pearl. He and a Petty Officer drove out to meet the plane. He said that the body was accompanied by two Navy officers, a Captain and a Lt. Commander …and one civilian."

"State Department?" Bobbie asked.

"Or the CIA," Bud added.

"There's really not much difference, is there?" Mac said grimly. She looked at Bud. "I don't suppose Dr. Bailey's memory is good enough to recall any names?"
            Bud shook his head. "He never knew their names, but I'd say that the Naval officers were likely Captain Macy and Lt. Commander Howard, the same officers who accompanied the body back to Washington. The civilian Bailey mentioned isn't named anywhere in the Naval documents, but if we can locate Macy or Howard, there is a chance that they might remember. –Not that they're likely to tell us much. They were both working with Naval Intelligence at the time. Odds are pretty good that they'll give us the standard party line."

"Need to know," Mac said irritably. It was a phrase she had grown entirely too tired of hearing over the years.

Bud nodded. "But that's beside the point. I think what everyone will find most interesting is Doctor Bailey's recollections of the events of that night." Bud referred to his notes once again.

"Apparently, when Bailey and the Petty Officer went to collect the body off of the airplane and deliver it to the morgue, they were surprised to discover that it had already been embalmed and sealed in a military issue aluminum casket."

"Why was this surprising?" Bobbie asked.

"Personnel who die overseas are usually shipped cold storage in body bags to the nearest U.S. base with an appropriate forensic facility. In the Pacific, that would be Pearl," Bud explained. "Because of the high risks for transmission of contagious diseases from third world countries, and to avoid the possibility of misidentification, all remains of deceased personnel are processed and embalmed at Pearl. Doctor Bailey was very surprised to discover that the Captain's body had already been packaged, so to speak. He asked them who had done it, and was told that it had been handled by the U.S. Embassy in South Korea, which he found unusual because as far as he knew, the U.S. military bases in South Korea still sent all of their bodies to Pearl for processing. When he asked for a copy of the coroner's report to include in his records, they couldn't provide him with one. This was about the same time as the large influenza outbreak in the Pacific, and they were under strict orders not to ship remains home without the proper tests and paperwork.

"When Bailey insisted that he be allowed to view the body and perform the proper tests, the officers accompanying the body protested. Since they outranked him, Bailey knew he was caught between the brass and the regulations, so he called his commanding officer. Bailey's CO ordered the casket ordered and the coroner's exam performed."

"Did he open the casket?" Bobbie asked.

Bud nodded. "Yes," he said, in spite of the stringent protests of the men accompanying it."

"And was there a body inside?"

Bud hesitated. "Yes," he said at last. "But not the one he was expecting."

Mac felt the blood drain from her cheeks as she absorbed the statement. "Are you saying it wasn't Harm?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bud looked from Bobbie to Mac. "According to Doctor Bailey, it wasn't even close."