Chapter 18
May 29, 2011
05:43 ZULU
Taedong River
Somewhere in North Korea
The boat coasted slowly up to the abandoned jetty. The rotting planks were barely visible through the overgrown weeds and only the faintest depression in the tall grass suggested the presence of the footpath that led up the river bank to the warehouse. The low, sagging structure had reached almost the same level of deterioration as the jetty, leading Harm to suspect that it had been a long time since anyone had found a use for either structure. The building was a cobbled together affair, with a rusting tin roof and double doors framed out of wood and clad in the same, rusting corrugated steel. The doors hung half open, as if the last occupant of the building had not been able to summon the energy or the care to close them, leaving the entrance gaping open like the entrance to a dismal cave.
The crew was tense and silent, as the Captain picked up a flashlight and switched it on. The beam was quickly fading in the gray light of the early dawn, but he directed it towards the warehouse and flashed it three times in rapid succession. After a moment's hesitation, an answering flash came from the depths of the building as the dual beams of a vehicle's headlights repeated the signal. An air of relief seemed to wash over the crew and the throaty roar of an engine echoed from the tin clad warehouse.
The smugglers moved efficiently, casting out the lines and making the boat fast to the pilings as the large North Korean army truck lumbered out of the building and ground to a halt at the top of the hill near the foot path. A precarious looking plank was extended to the jetty and four of the smugglers, followed closely by Kim, Galindez and Rabb, made their way to dry land.
Harm felt the slight shift of the plank beneath his feet, heard the soft rustle of movement behind him, and half-turned as he stepped to the ground, automatically offering his hand to the woman. He was barely surprised to see that she was following. Her presence had become almost ubiquitous throughout this entire deal they had struck with the smugglers. From the docks, to the restaurant, to the message that had been delivered to his hotel and finally to the helicopter and freighter that had connected them to this tiny river vessel, the woman had been with them every step of the way. Always silent, always subservient, she poured their tea, brought their food and guided them with unspoken directions from one point to another.
Frankly, he didn't know what to make of it. Perhaps it was all a part of the service the Dragon offered to his clients, but something about it just didn't fit. Like many ancient cultures, the Asians had a tendency to keep their women in the background, and crime lords were no exception. It struck him as odd to see one so closely accepted on the front lines of an operation. He had the distinct feeling that there was more to the woman than there appeared.
It was a suspicion that was verified the instant her small, booted feet touched the earth. She forged past him without so much as a glance of acknowledgement, and the four smugglers parted before her like waves breaking upon the shore. Picking her way up the footpath she approached the driver of the truck, a thin, nervous looking man wearing the uniform of a North Korean Army Sergeant. Her sharp tone carried all the way down the hillside as she issued an order to the man. He nodded quickly and opened up the back of the truck, dragging out a crate for her inspection. Reaching into the box, she pulled out an automatic rifle and a full clip of ammunition, ramming the clip home with expert efficiency.
Turning back to the rest of the crew, she barked another order in rapid Korean, tilting her head to indicate the truck. The four men responded immediately. Jogging up the hillside to the truck, they began to unload the crates as more of the smuggling crew debarked and began to carry them down the footpath to the boat.
Rabb shot a look at Galindez. "I don't know about you, but something tells me the lady does a lot more for these guys than pour tea."
Galindez continued to watch the woman, who was now overseeing the unloading of the crates. "You think?" he said dryly.
11:28 Zulu
Somewhere in North Korea…
Victor peered through the gap in the canvas tarp that covered the truck bed and watched the endless miles of mountainous terrain roll past. He supposed there were those who might find Korea beautiful, but he was coming to think of it as cursed. The small dingy hunts and thin, grimy faced children that paused to stare as they passed through the tiny villages were little different from those he'd seen in Iraq, Afghanistan, India, South America and the dozens of other places Uncle Sam had sent him. Maybe Rabb was right, he thought as he let the canvas fall back into place. Maybe he was becoming jaded.
On the other hand, he couldn't escape the nagging suspicion that something was about to go to hell. What, exactly, he didn't know, but he could feel it: the same little buzzing feeling at the back of his neck. It was the same feeling he'd had as he'd watched Webb leave on the commercial flight to Beijing with Benny Kwan trailing in his wake. It might be the woman. Maybe it was just the kid. He supposed it could even be Rabb, but he couldn't escape the sensation that that there was more happening here than he was aware of. All the more reason for him to make the exchange, he thought. The hell with what Rabb said. There was no way he was going to trust Clay's extraction to anyone but himself.
He was still forming the arguments in his head when the truck ground to a lumbering halt on a wooded section of road. The woman motioned for everyone to get out and Victor listened carefully as she began to give careful instructions, explaining their location and distance in relation to the prison. His gaze flickered over the boy, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes and settled upon Rabb.
"She says the prison is only a couple of miles down the road. The exchange will happen there. If you follow the tree line, there's good cover, and you can get a decent view of the compound."
Rabb raised an eyebrow. "Me? You're the one with the hike ahead of you."
"Change of plans," Victor said, sounding eerily like Webb. "I don't like the way this feels. I'll make the exchange."
Rabb scowled. "Look, we already discussed this. I told you, Gunny. I need to be the one to make the deal. –And I need you on that hillside."
Galindez stared hard at him, not giving an inch and something flickered in the dark brown eyes. "Why?" he demanded.
"I told you why," Rabb snorted. "You're the better shot."
Galindez shook his head. "No," he said carefully, "--Why do you need to be the one to make this deal?"
The question seemed to bring Rabb up short, and Galindez caught the momentary hesitation. The lack of sleep, the worry over Webb and the dangerous situation they had immersed themselves in had set his normally mild temper to hair trigger and for once, he let it take control. Reaching out with both hands, he grabbed fistfuls of Rabb's shirt and shoved him hard against the side of the truck.
"What are you not telling me?" he hissed.
Rabb was clearly taken aback at the move. Clearly he had assumed he was still dealing with the efficient and obedient Marine NCO that had snapped to his orders so quickly in the old days at JAG. He was not at all used to this incarnation of Victor Galindez, CIA operative. Here was a man as used to giving orders as taking them, a man who did not follow blindly –a man who trusted almost no one but himself, and who put his own intuition above all else. Victor bit back a grim smile as he saw this realization register in Rabb's eyes. He had Clayton Webb to thank –or blame—for that particular change in his demeanor.
Rabb slowly raised his hands and detached Galindez's fingers from his shirt front. "Webb taught you well," He murmured, using the same smooth voice he'd reserved for soothing clients on the stand. "You really don't trust anyone, do you?"
"I trust my instincts," Galindez said coolly, "and I trust Webb."
"But not me," Rabb stated flatly.
Galindez shrugged. "It seems to me that a lot of water has passed under the bridge between you and Webb. Not all of it good."
Rabb's jaw hardened and the blue eyes flashed with anger. "You think I'm trying to sabotage this? Sell Clay out? Come on, Victor, you can't be serious! You know I'd never do anything like that!"
Victor tilted his head and assessed Rabb with a hard gaze. "Frankly, Captain, it's been a long time since you and I have worked together. I really can't say with any certainty what you might do." The brown eyes narrowed. "Jealousy can do funny things to a man."
Rabb's hand shot out, shoving Victor backwards a step. "Just what in the hell are you trying to say?" he hissed, his eyes were blazing now with fury.
Victor paused, carefully weighing his words. He was now more certain than ever that there was more going on here than he was privy to, and every subtle indicator seemed to point to Rabb. There was something Rabb wasn't telling him. He was sure of it. He cursed silently to himself. Rabb, of all people, should know better. Secrets at this stage of the game were a dangerous thing, likely to get one –or all—of them killed. He couldn't have it. He had to push Rabb's buttons and get him mad enough to spill. Judging from the Captain's enraged glare, he was getting close, but Rabb seemed to have a remarkable control over his temper. He'd questioned Rabb's judgment, his trust and his loyalty to Webb, but he hadn't broken him yet. Unfortunately, Victor only knew of one button left to push. He didn't really want to do it. He liked Rabb, and it would be like pouring salt and vinegar in an open wound, but it was the only way he could think of to break through to the truth of the matter.
"What I'm saying," Victor said deliberately, "is that it's no secret the way you feel about the Colonel –and you've never forgiven Clay for beating you to the punch. You said as much yourself last night." Galindez cocked his head, gnawing slightly on his bottom lip. "It would be convenient for you if Webb doesn't walk away from this one. It would clear the playing field. –Give you a second chance."
For a moment, he thought Rabb was actually going to hit him. He expected it. He might even have welcomed it, considering what he had just said. The taller man's face went deathly white then instantly flushed scarlet, the veins in his forehead suddenly standing out with the force of his anger. Amazingly, though, he managed to control the urge, clenching his fists tightly, but keeping them at his sides.
"You're way the hell out of line, Galindez." He rasped. "I'll—
"Have me court-martialed?" Victor smiled grimly. "Sorry, that one doesn't wash any more. I'm out of your chain of command."
The rage burnt brightly in the sapphire blue eyes, and there was an instant when Victor was not so sure Rabb might not still jump him. But Harm's fortitude was stronger than he expected, and the anger slowly faded to a look of desperation …and anguish.
"Goddamn you," he whispered. "Just let me do this. I need to do it."
"Why?" Victor demanded again. "You haven't seen or spoken to him in years. Why is this so important?"
"Because I owe it to him," Rabb said.
"And you can pay it back from that hill side just as easily as you can in the middle of that compound –and with a hell of a lot less risk." Victor scowled as a thought occurred to him. "Or is that what this is all about? –The risk?"
Rabb's eyes darted briefly away and Victor, whose years in law enforcement had made him a life-long student of human nature, followed Rabb's gaze to where the boy stood, wide eyed and clutching the brief case.
"What's in the briefcase?" he demanded.
"What they want," Rabb said simply. "Information."
"What kind of information?" Victor pressed, still smelling a rat.
"Disinformation," Rabb assured him. "—Nothing we would mind them getting their hands on, but it's better if I deliver it."
"Better for who?" Galindez snapped.
"For you and Webb," Rabb said quietly, and flashed a wry smile. "Look, what I'm giving them is phony intel, but my using it in this case isn't exactly…" he searched for a word, "…sanctioned," he said at last.
"Admiral LaPorte denied your request?" Galindez asked.
Rabb shrugged. "I didn't ask."
"Why the hell not?"
Rabb scowled. "When I told him I wanted to take a little extra time to stay here and help you find Webb, he wasn't very receptive. Considering that Webb declassified the information that landed his daughter on death row, what do you think he would have said?"
"Jesus!" Victor breathed. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? They can court-martial you for this! You could be tried for treason!"
"Not treason," Rabb assured him. "Not unless the information I'm trading is real –which it isn't." He smiled grimly. "They probably will court-martial me though."
He shook his head. "My luck, Bud will be assigned to prosecute and Tiner to defend." He looked thoughtful. "Of course I could just defend myself."
Victor raked a hand through his hair, sick at heart and thoroughly exasperated. "You should have said something. We could have found another way."
Harm shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "We couldn't. There wasn't enough time. You know that."
"Yeah, but this—
"Is what I owe Clay," Harm said quietly. "He took a hit for me once –for a lot less reason. The least I can do is return the favor."
Galindez looked back at the briefcase. "You've already done that, haven't you? Look, there's no sense in trying to take all the heat. I'm as deep in this as you are." His eyes swiveled back to Rabb's. "It doesn't make any sense for you to go. You don't even speak the language."
"I'll manage," Rabb said irritably.
"How?"
"Me," Kim said boldly, stepping forward. "I go with him. I talk for him."
"No!" Rabb and Galindez's voices snapped in perfect unison.
The boy pulled the briefcase tighter to his chest, determination burning brighter in his dark eyes. "You need me, Joe," he said stubbornly. "I go with you."
"Kim, there no way—
"Enough!" The woman's voice sliced through the damp mountain air, bringing their argument to an abrupt halt. All three whirled to stare at her, silenced not by her tone, but the language in which she had spoken.
Cradling her weapon in the hollow of her arm, she stalked towards them. Her small delicate face was the picture of serenity and control, but each man could see the dark fire that burnt in the depths of her eyes. Halting directly before the three of them, she focused upon each one with surgical precision as she spoke.
"We do not have time for this!" She spat, her softly accented English much clearer and somehow harsher than the boy's.
She turned to Galindez. "You are the marksman. You will take the position on the ridge."
Her gaze cut to Rabb. "You have made the agreement to deliver the information. You will deliver it." Her eyes barely traced over Kim. "The boy stays here."
Galindez stared at her, a flush of anger rising in his cheeks. "You speak English?" he said softly, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "All this time you spoke English and you're just letting us know about it now?"
The woman stared at him and he could not help but suppress a shiver. Her face was as still as the waters of a reflecting pool, without the faintest ripple of emotion. "You did not ask," she said simply.
Victor rounded angrily on Rabb. "This is exactly what I'm talking about!" He said angrily. We can't trust them! We can't trust anybody. This is all the more reason I should go –or at least go with you!"
Harm looked at the woman and the knot of men that had quietly gathered behind her, their weapons held easily in their hands. "I don't think we've got a whole lot of choice," he said quietly.
Victor uttered a sharp epithet and raked a hand through his hair. He looked at the smugglers and then back to Rabb, the grim look in his eyes his only concession to defeat.
"I don't like it," he said again, "—and I sure as hell don't trust her. Watch your six."
Rabb nodded and offered his hand, along with a small grin. "That's what I'm counting on you for."
Victor accepted the handshake, but his tone was doubtful. "There's only so much I can do from a distance. Be careful, Captain."
Rabb grinned. "Good luck, Gunny."
"You too, sir." Galindez said, reverting for a moment to the Marine he had been.
Turning to Kim, Rabb pulled the briefcase from the boy's grasp and reached out to ruffle the silky black hair. "Look out for the Gunny, Kid. His Korean isn't so great, either."
The boy looked at him worriedly. "You come back," he said urgently. "You keep your deal."
Rabb smiled at the boy and nodded, but his eyes strayed meaningfully to Galindez. "Don't worry, kid. I always pay what I owe."
Following after the woman, Rabb tossed the briefcase in the back of the truck and climbed in after it. The woman barked a sharp order to the driver and the engine coughed to life and started down the rutted track of the mountain road with a grinding of gears.
Slinging his rifle, Galindez stood with the boy in the middle of the road and watched as the truck slowly disappeared from sight. When it was gone, he turned back to the men that remained with them and issued a clumsy order. Wordlessly, the men slung their weapons and filed into the heavy growth picking their way along the ridge in the direction the woman had indicated. As he picked his way along a narrow game trail, a smuggler ahead of him, and the boy close behind, he could still hear the faint sounds of the truck's engine fading in the distance and wondered why it was that Harmon Rabb's soft 'good luck' had sounded too much like goodbye.
***
"He does not trust you."
The woman's black eyes seemed to drill into his as they sat opposite each other, huddled behind the stack of crates and sacks of rice flour in the back of the truck. Rabb scowled at her and leaned back against the side of the truck, trying unsuccessfully to find a more comfortable position.
"What makes you say that?" Rabb said sarcastically.
"You did not tell him of your bargain."
"He never would have agreed to it."
"Understandable," she said, "considering the stakes."
He knew now that she was likely the only other person involved in this besides himself who knew the full details of the agreement he had made. She had been the one who had brought the video tape of Webb, bound and beaten but still alive, to his hotel room after the meeting at the restaurant. Along with the tape, she had also delivered the typewritten demand from the North Koreans and the strict list of stipulations for the trade as they had been set forth by her boss. And when he had finished watching the tape and reading the letter, she had carried his own answer back to the Dragon.
She continued to study him, unable to completely contain her curiosity.
"Do you trust him?" she asked.
"With my life." Rabb said firmly.
She tilted her head and smiled at him. It was an odd expression, filled with empathy and understanding that seemed somehow out of place with cold poise she presented to the world.
"Yes," she said softly, "But can you trust him with your death?"
***
Either the security was incredibly sloppy or they were expected, for the guards gave the truck little more than a cursory glance as they waved it through the outer gates. Once they were inside the main prison compound, Harm risked a glance through the gap in the canvas. He caught glimpses of several thin-faced prisoners laboring with hand tools in a spindly looking patch that must have been a vegetable garden. Beyond it, an open field, also under cultivation, stretched nearly to the sparse tree line before stopping abruptly at a high fence of razor wire. A tall wooden tower, staffed with two snipers ensured that no one would attempt to venture beyond this boundary. It wasn't the most secure prison he had seen, but in retrospect, he supposed it did not need to be. From what he had seen of this country, whatever deterrence the snipers and barbed wire did not provide, the harsh landscape would.
He snuck another glance at the tree line. Galindez was out there somewhere. He could feel it. He only hoped that he was going to be able to get close enough. It was nine hundred yards from the edge of the tree line to the edge of the compound, and probably another hundred and fifty to the complex of austere buildings that dominated the center of the prison yard. With a good rifle and the right wind, a military sniper could easily manage that distance, and Galindez was all of that. But as he let the canvas fall back into place, Harm admitted to himself that it wasn't really Galindez's skill that he was worried about.
The truck ground to a halt and the engine died. This was it: the moment of truth. The tail gate was quickly lowered and the crates and rice sacks yanked aside to reveal two slim and lethal looking North Korean Army soldiers. They stepped back carefully, their weapons at the ready and took positions on either side of the truck. The woman rose, just as carefully, and slung her rifle over her shoulder. She jumped down from the truck, her slight frame landing with a barely audible sound and turned to look expectantly at Rabb. He followed, landing somewhat harder with the briefcase clutched tightly in his hand.
He spared a quick glance at their surroundings and mentally swore. The truck had been backed up close to the open doorway of a long, low building, effectively screening them from view. So much for plan A, he thought wryly.
The woman took a step towards the doorway and made a slight bow before speaking in rapid Korean. It was only then that he noticed the man standing in the shadows, the man with whom the bargain had been struck. Watching the woman as she finished her short speech, he could not help but be impressed. Whoever her mysterious employer was, he had built an effective network of skilled employees and valuable contacts. It wasn't just any crime lord who could feel confident enough in his people and his power to talk his way into a North Korean prison and back out again. Harm's eyes flicked to the man in the shadows. –And it whoever this agreement had been made with had a hell of a lot of nerve as well. He'd bet his Stearman that this guy was more than just some greedy prison guard looking to make a buck. Judging by the way the two guards had jumped to attention; it had to be an officer. Maybe even the camp commandant. As if in answer to his question, the man stepped out from the shadowed interior, revealing himself and Rabb started as the man's features became visible.
The man bowed slightly and offered a small smile that did not reach his eyes. "Welcome to Taedong prison, Captain Rabb."
***
Victor pressed his back tightly into the crotch of the tree he had climbed and brought the rifle to his shoulder, sighting it in.
"What you see?" the boy's voice, hushed and tense floated up from the ground.
He focused in on the army truck, now lumbering to a stop in the center of the complex. "They're in," he reported, his voice equally soft. The boy turned to the smuggler that had accompanied them and relayed the message in a soft bubble of Korean. Of the men that had accompanied them, two had remained back at the road to keep watch, one was staked out not far down the trail and the last remained with the boy at the base of the tree Victor had selected.
Lowering the rifle, he took a moment to judge the distance from here to the army truck. It was better than a thousand yards. He considered this, and adjusted the scope. The rifle was good for a thousand, but anything more than that and it started to get iffy. He couldn't afford uncertainty. He had to be sure. Bringing the rifle back to his shoulder, he focused again on the truck and swore as he watched the driver back it up close to the side of a building, effectively screening the occupants from his view. The distance was bad enough, but from this location there was no way in hell he was going to be able to get a clear shot. He quickly swept his scope over the rest of the complex. Not much cover that he could see, except for here, and the perimeter of the camp was carefully watched by each of the four guard towers. Focusing back on the truck, he acknowledged the tightening in his gut with silent resignation. There was nothing he could do. Rabb was on his own.
***
The sound of his own footsteps echoed loudly in his ears as he strode down the length of the empty cell block. The woman's step he heard not at all, though she followed close behind. In his years with the JAG corps he had visited many prisons, both stateside and abroad. He was used to a cacophony of shouting voices, moans, pleas and profanities, but this one possessed an eerie silence that made his skin crawl. As they passed cell after empty cell, he understood the unearthly stillness. The man he was dealing with wanted no witnesses –no matter how trivial—present for this exchange.
Harm slowed as they reached the heavy wooden door of the last cell and cast a glance to the woman. She nodded and he put the key into the aged lock. It turned reluctantly under his hand, but the tumblers gave way and the door inched towards him on creaking hinges. He found himself hesitating upon the threshold; uncertain of what he might find when he swung the door wide. Had Yi been true to his word? Or would this cell be as empty as the others they had passed? If it was not, would the man they found inside really be Webb? If it was, would he be badly hurt? Would he even be alive? These and a hundred other doubts assailed him as he put his hand upon the door, but none of them prepared him for the sight that met his eyes as he entered the cell.
A single beam of sunlight filtered through the iron grate set high in the wall, illuminating the stark gray room with the metal table, the two chairs, and the thin and filthy mattress shoved against the wall. But Harm gave these items little more than a passing glance. His single focus was fixed upon the man who knelt in the pool of sunlight. The faint golden rays cast faint highlights in the dark brown hair and outlined the tense, well-muscled body drawn as tight as a bowstring. The silence of the moment deepened as Harm took it all in: the trembling fingers, the broken piece of a pen barrel, and the thin stream of crimson that reddened the cuff of the blue button down shirt.
Harm moved slowly, not wanting to spook the man, and set the brief case down upon the table. He never took his eyes off Webb, and an eternity seemed to pass in that moment, but neither man spoke. Webb swallowed hard, his eyes still tightly closed, and a bead of perspiration dripped down the side of his finely chiseled nose. He seemed to gather himself in that moment, and a stab of frantic realization forced the words from Harm's throat in a quiet rush.
"I don't think you really want to do that."
Hazel eyes flew open, widened in disbelief, then narrowed as surprise and suspicion took hold.
"H-Harm?" Webb's voice, rusty from disuse, sounded thin and tentative in the hollow atmosphere of the room.
"Yeah," Harm said quietly and took a careful step forward. Webb tensed like a feral animal, clutching the pen and his wounded wrist more tightly to his body.
"What are you doing here?"
Rabb allowed himself a moment to consider the man in front of him before answering. Webb was clearly on the razor's edge, his eyes half wild, his voice and body trembling. Clay had clearly meant to take his own life, and Harm had little doubt he'd have done it if left to his own devices a moment longer. He wondered what in the hell they had done to him. Drugs? Sleep deprivation? Some sort of sophisticated brainwashing technique? Whatever it was, he had to talk Webb down, and fast. The clock was ticking.
"Getting you out," he said calmly, taking a step and then another until he was standing over the spy. "What are you doing?" he asked, the inflection in his voice subtly turning the question back.
The green eyes that locked on his were dark, desperate and chillingly sane. "Getting out," Clay replied.
Harm slowly lowered himself until he was crouched before Webb, his blue eyes level with murky green ones. Reaching out, he took hold of the shaking wrist and turned it to inspect the slow trickle of blood from the wound.
"I can think of better ways."
"Until a minute ago, my options were somewhat limited," Clay snapped, dropping the pen and closing his hand over the wound. A fine stream of blood seeped through his fingers. "The Chinese will be here soon. I couldn't afford for them to take me. Their interrogation methods are better than the North Koreans. –As sophisticated as ours. I couldn't risk it."
Tearing a strip of cloth from the tail of his own shirt, Harm reached for Clay's wrist, pulled his hand away and began to bind the wound. Webb peppered him with a barrage of questions.
"What's the plan? Is Galindez here? Who did you bring with you? --A CIA extraction team or Special Forces?"
Webb hissed sharply as Harm yanked the dressing tight, staunching the flow of both words and blood. But he quickly started in again, his mind racing at top speed.
"It doesn't matter," he decided, launching himself to his feet. "We've got to get moving. It's almost time for the afternoon meal. The guards will be coming soon."
"Clay—
Webb ignored him, stifling a small gasp of pain as he put his full weight on the injured leg and limped towards the door. He risked a small glance through the crack and into the corridor.
"How many guards did you see?" He said softly, trying to peer further down the length of the corridor.
"Clay…" Harm said again, but Webb flashed him an irritated look.
"No time for small talk, Rabb. You can tell me on the way."
"Clay, I'm not going."
"What?" Webb's blank expression would have been almost comical in any other setting, Harm thought, but it was difficult to find the humor in it now.
"I'm not going," Harm repeated.
"What do you mean you're not going?" Webb demanded, his voice coloring with anger.
"It's part of the deal," Harm explained.
"What deal?" Clay snapped.
"The deal to get you out."
Webb's eyes took on a dangerous light. "Maybe you'd better tell me just what in the hell is going on, Rabb."
Harm drew a deep breath. "There is no team, CIA or otherwise. Just Gunny and me and a half-dozen smugglers with mercenary tendencies. Victor couldn't get Kershaw to go for an extraction."
"Of course not," Clay murmured. "So you and Galindez went off the reservation and arranged this by yourselves?"
"More or less," Harm replied.
"I don't believe it," Webb said flatly, raking a hand through his hair. "This is crazy. –There's more to it, right? This is all a scam. You're sending me out on an exchange and then breaking out on your own. Right?"
"Something like that," Harm said.
"And Galindez went along with it?" Webb was incredulous.
"He wasn't crazy about it," Harm allowed. That much at least, was true. Unfortunately, he'd never been particularly good at subterfuge and he was being scrutinized by a man who was its master. The olive green eyes narrowed upon him.
"Victor doesn't know," Webb guessed. "What the hell are you playing at, Rabb? Do you even have a plan for how you're going to get yourself out of this?"
"Yes," Harm said simply, crossing to the table and unlocking the briefcase.
"What?" Webb demanded.
"Need to know," Harm said with grim satisfaction and more than a touch of irony.
"Damn it! I need to know!" Webb insisted.
"No," Harm said gently, his blue eyes locking steadily upon Clay's. "You don't."
"And what if this plan of yours doesn't work?" Clay persisted. "Have you thought about that?"
"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," Harm said.
"Not good enough." Clay snapped.
Harm didn't answer for a long moment. "If it comes to that," he said quietly, "Gunny knows what to do."
"Goddamn you Harm," Clay whispered, and sagged against the wall. He absorbed the words like a physical blow, for it was in that instant that he intuitively understood what it was that Harm was not saying. There was no escape plan. Rabb had never made one. There were only two things that Harm was counting on to get him out of this, and that was Victor Galindez and a well placed bullet.
Clay felt the nausea rise in the pit of his stomach. 'No,' he thought. '–Not like this.' He'd always known Rabb had a hero complex. The man would never be satisfied with going out in anything less than a blaze of glory, but damn it, he didn't want to be the reason for it. …Not like this. …Not for him. There was already too much blood on his hands without adding to it the life of a friend.
He had to talk him out if it, Clay thought desperately. He had to make him angry …make him leave. Hell, it shouldn't be that hard. He was already angry! Who in the hell did Rabb think he was, anyway? He'd spent most of the long, sleepless night wrestling his demons and counting his regrets. He'd accepted his fate. What in the hell did Rabb think he was doing? –Showing him salvation at such a terrible price?
He watched as Harm calmly began unbuttoning his shirt, removing it and laying carefully on the table.
"I'm not going to let you do this, Harm." Clay said firmly. "I don't want you playing the martyr for me."
"I'm not doing it for you," Rabb said evenly, stripping down to his boxers. He opened the briefcase and removed a grimy pair of khaki trousers and a sweat-stained blue oxford shirt of the same approximate style as Webb's. Clay noted that someone with an eye for detail had even doused the left pant leg with blood.
"No," Webb laughed bitterly. "Of course you're not."
He shook his head. "Jesus, I should have realized. –You're doing it for her, aren't you? After all these years, you're still trying to be her hero."
"This isn't about Mac," Harm said, pulling on the clothes. He reached into the brief case and pulled out a small square of leather, tossing it to Clay who caught it instinctively. Webb stared at it blankly. –His wallet. The guards had taken it from him when he'd been captured.
He opened it slowly, as if in a daze. It was empty, save for the driver's license and insurance card in the name of Anders Vandergraaf, his cover identity. Glancing down, he noted that the driver's license now sported Harm's picture instead of his own. He flipped to the other side of the wallet. The money and the credit cards were gone –no surprise—but the picture was still there. It was a small, artfully posed studio portrait of Sarah and Penny on an ornately carved carousel horse. His throat tightened. Of all the things they'd taken from him here in the camp, this was the only thing he'd missed.
He'd spent most of the long, sleepless night alone in the darkness, trying to recall each beloved detail of their faces. –Trying to remember the rich, warm sound of her voice as it blended with Penny's childish laughter. --Trying to imagine the caress of her fingers over his skin.
Rabb reached out and took the wallet from him. Clay stared at it dumbly, knowing even then, that he had already lost.
"The other day you told me that you weren't going to make the same mistake your father did."
Harm paused and looked down at the picture. He ran his thumb across Penny's cherubic, smiling face. "I'm not doing this for you or for Mac. I'm doing this for her."
He looked up suddenly, and Clay found himself seared by the fire of the brilliant blue gaze.
"I don't want that little girl to grow up making the same mistake you and I did," Rabb said. "I don't want her to spend the rest of her life looking for a man who never came home."
Webb stared at him silently. There was no argument for that. He watched as Harm folded the wallet and stuck it in his pocket, picture and all. He didn't resist as Rabb stripped him of his field vest and put it on. The vest was a little short at the waist, but it wasn't likely to be noticed.
"I'm not leaving you here, Harm," Webb protested. His eyes were wild, his voice desperate. "There has to be another way. We'll think of something. I'll get you out."
Harm shook his head. "Don't waste your time. You're in no shape, and we both know that Galindez and a handful of hired guns is no match for the North Korean Army."
Webb shook his head stubbornly. "I
won't do it. I won't leave you here to die in my place."
Harm merely smiled and
adjusted the vest. "You really want to do something for me?" He tilted his head
towards the barred window. "There's a kid out there with Gunny –answers to the
name of Kim. He's a pretty good kid, aside from the fact that he's caught all
the rotten breaks in life. Look after him, will you? Get him off the streets.
Better yet, get him out of Korea.
Send him somewhere where he can get three squares a day and enough of an
education to make a life for himself." Rabb shrugged. "I'd do it myself, but…"
"Damn it, Harm!" Webb ground out. His voice was cracking with fury and frustration and soul eating despair. "Don't do this! Don't ask me to live with this! ---I can't—
Rabb gripped his shoulders and yanked him close, then slid one hand to the side of his neck, forcing Webb to meet his eyes. "You can," Harm said, his words were hot and harsh against Webb's cheek.
"No— Clay protested, and Harm squeezed gently, stopping the words in his throat.
"Yes," Harm insisted, and Clay couldn't avoid the desperate intensity of the crystalline blue eyes. "You have to do this. You have to walk out that door and live with this, --because I can't do it. I can't walk out of here knowing that I'm leaving a good man behind to die."
"But I can?" Webb's voice was angry, but Harm also heard the pain in it. He nodded slowly.
"Yes," he said simply. "You can. --That's the difference between you and me, Clay. You can live with it. –I never could …and I've come too far to go back now."
Harm smiled wryly, "Come on Webb, it's not that bad. We both know I've got the easy road out of here."
Webb was struggling for breath now. A fierce pain was constricting at his throat and his eyes were burning furiously as he rapidly blinked in an effort to see. Harm yanked him into a rough, brotherly embrace then pushed him back a step. Blue eyes locked with green and hung suspended upon a sea of anguish.
"Go home, Clay," Harm said hoarsely. "Go home and watch your kid grow up."
Stepping back with a shaky breath, Webb managed one sharp nod.
…And went.
AN: Last warning to any interested readers! Due to ensuing violence, the story is going up to an "R" rating from here on out…