0715 Local, June 10, At sea with the 3rd MEU

                "At the present time, it does not appear that any of the prime potential trouble makers is moving toward making any immediate mischief, but Iraq is still playing hide-and-seek with a lot of hardware that could be deployed fairly quickly. And the terrorist drums are continuing to beat more loudly in all of the fundamentalist countries," Mac concluded. "We are getting indications about movement in the terrorist area, but, frankly, nothing that can be pinned down. There may be more to talk about after the Naples meeting the first week of July."

                "Good briefing, Mac," Blackwater Buckner said before turning to the rest of the expeditionary unit's senior leadership. "Ladies, gentlemen, here's an old marine's gut opinion: Something is coiling the main spring. We're going to see something kick loose before the New Year, I'll promise you. And, I'll bet Mac's pension that it will be a terrorist headline event…like the Cole or Kobahr Towers.

                "Bill (Col. White, executive officer) get with and S-3 and S-4 and let's take a look at updating our contingency plans for action in Iraq against known WMD sites. Mac, make it a priority to get as much current information on our friends in Afghanistan as possible. If 'The Big O' makes a move Washington will want to have solid options from the field that can augment the canned response alternatives the JCS cloud gazers come up with.

                "Thank you folks. Let's go to work….Also, Mac stick around for a second."

                The general and the colonel looked at each other for a few moments while the room emptied. As soon as the hatch was secured Gen. Buckner updated his intelligence chief on some additional news. "Mac, we're leaving the Med for the Gulf. Our passage through the Suez Canal is scheduled in something like 72 hours. Once in the Gulf we will head for Bahrain and get the troops a few hours of shore leave.

                "You need to get a ride over the Stennis and catch the afternoon COD to Naples. The Brits have dug up some shit about Big O that's got them puzzled and they've called for a joint intelligence working group meeting in the morning. Be there. Keep your ears open and as much as possible your mouth shut. CENTCOM is sending some golden boy to get a theater update that's designed, from what I hear, to allow them to support their current dream of peace in our time…or at least in this part of the world.

                "Since The Bear retired no one at MacDill wants to believe we're looking down the barrel of a loaded gun here, and we're going to be the first ones hit when the damn thing goes off."

                On that encouraging note Mac took her leave and returned to her office to make the necessary arrangements to get a hop to the Stennis and a ride on to Naples. While she was talking with the ops people at the bird farm her secure e-mail flashed. A couple of mouse clicks later a message from 'Assistant Secretary' Webb appeared from the encryption program.

                'Mac, I will see you in the morning in Naples. In addition to the Brit's material our sources have some tidbits that you need to be aware of. Also, I bring greetings from Harm and the Admiral. – Clay'

                Greetings from Harm? That should be interesting Mac thought. Particularly in view of the fact that one of the last conversations, if you would dare call it that, Harm and Mac had prior to her departure from Washington was liberally laced with sarcasm, catty comments about the Harmon Rabb Fan Club, and a final, "Goddamn you Harm!"

April 28, 2030 Local, Washington, DC

                As farewell dinners went this had been exceptional. The conversation was light and fun. The meal – at one of Washington's legendary waterfront establishments – had been memorable. A horse-drawn carriage ride into Georgetown was incredibly romantic, and Mac was well prepared to execute her plan to entice Harm into bed…it would have to be his bed since her's was now in storage.  It was perfect. Head on the shoulder, exotic perfume, inflammatory unmentionables, hand on the thigh…. It was perfect when they ducked into an M Street club to listen to a little music before calling it a night.

April 28, 2115 Local, The Blue Note, Georgetown, Washington, DC

                The wheels fell off the Mac's seduction wagon with just five words out of Meg Austin's mouth. "Hey! It's Harm and Mac!" With that the cozy table for two turned into an impromptu going away party with the gold dust twins – a name Meg and Kate Pike picked up along the way – leading the parade. The fact that Meg, Kate, and Lauren Singer, had somewhere along the way picked up the Roberts family and Sturgis Turner made it all the better…for most of the group.

                Singing, more beer, and more conversation were really pretty neat, Mac thought. Everybody wished her well in her new assignment and told tall tales until the band started up again. A few couples headed for the small dance floor, and that really got things started. After a dance with Mac, as the ad hoc guest of honor, there was more beer. It was generally decided, or at least Meg and Kate decided, that Harm and Sturgis had to dance with everybody.

                A very proper turn around the dance floor with Harriett Roberts led to a dance with Lauren that came off without incident. The beat then turned more Latin…with Meg and Kate just back from Spain and Italy and well into the evening's refreshment… the courtesy dances that Mac was prepared to endure turned into…well they turned into an event.

                When the music started Meg and Kate swapped glances across the table; Kate grabbed Harm's hand and led him to the dance floor. The late hour (0030 if you were keeping score), the drink(s), and the Latin music all conspired to lead to a very hot floorshow starring a smoking Kate and a dazzled Harm. It didn't get better when the band picked up on the idea that there were some people in the crowd that loved Latin music and followed with a tango.

                The 'tango' that Meg lead Harm through took the breath out of most of the males in the bar, and about half way through the performance Mac grabbed her purse and headed for the door. As the music ended Harm and Meg took their bows as the audience went a little nuts. Mac's red dress caught Harm's attention as she vanished toward the street.

                "Mac," Harm called as she headed for the cabstand at the corner. "Wait up!" "Well, well, if it isn't the 'dancing flyboy.' I'm surprised you managed to tear yourself away from the roar of the crowd…or at least the Gold Dust twins. Couldn't you decide which way to lean? Maybe both?  I mean, shit, what else could have made the evening better?"

                "Mac, what are you talking about?" Harm asked. "We were all just having fun…." "Harm, I'm going back to your apartment and locking myself in the bedroom. I'll assume that you can find your way back in time to haul me to Andrews in the morning. If not…." Then the tears started. "Goddamn you Harm!" The cab door slammed, and that was that.

                'Wonderful. Fucking wonderful,' Harm thought as he returned to the Blue Note. Once inside Harm started making the rounds planning to say good night. Harriett, who had seen Mac storm out, took one look at Harm's expression as he walked over to she and Bud. "Harm, you've messed up big time this time out, and I don't think the 'Flyboy Grin' will save your ass tonight. And, if you leave here with either Kate or Meg I will personally kill you.  Get out. Go home. Get yelled at, but get this over with. Mac was looking forward to a last evening with you before heading out tomorrow, but I don't think this was what she had in mind.

                "Let me put it another way big guy, 'You've fucked up. You've flipped her evening over.'  Now you are both going to have to deal with the fallout. Love 'ya have a great evening." And with that Harriett walked back to the table and Harm walked out to find a ride back to his car.

0115, April 29, Washington, DC

                A single light was on in the kitchen when let himself into the apartment. The bedroom door was closed, and he wasn't about to try it fearing for his life. The couch was made up. His sweats were stacked neatly. It was bedtime.

                On the other side of the bedroom door Mac had forced herself into a restless, dream filled sleep…alone.

0630, April 29, Washington, DC

                The smell of coffee lifted Mac out of bed and into the kitchen where she found Harm stooped over looking into the refrigerator. "The aspirin is in the bathroom," Mac sniped. "Or, are you looking for an ice pack?" "Neither. I'm looking for the juice pitcher that got shoved into the back. How are you this morning? Better?" "Not really," Mac said. "I can't tell you how bad you pissed me off last night, and the part that really sucks is that you probably don't know why. If you think I'm mad because you played a starring role in the Georgetown Dirty Dance Fest that's part of it. If you think I'm mad because you all but ignored me when the 'fun' got started that's part of it. But more than anything else I am mad at you…and at myself…because I wanted last night to be special; be our night because we are heading in opposite directions and out into the cold cruel world this morning. Apparently didn't match up with your plans.

                "I said it earlier this morning, and it bears repeating: Goddamn you Harm!" With that Mac stalked out of the kitchen and into the shower.

                The ride to Andrews was made in icy silence. When the flight was called Harm stopped Mac's walk away with a  hand on the arm. "Mac, good luck! Keep your head down" With that he took her hand and said very softly, "I'm sorry about last night. I can't tell you how sorry…." Last call interrupted, but he finished looking straight into her eyes, "Sarah, you know I love you and would not have hurt you for the world." With that he turned and walked out of the terminal.

                "Goddamn you Harm!"

1330 Local, June 11, a small café, Naples

                "Mac, the package you will have waiting for you when you head out will be about all that I have that's new.  Something is going to happen. I don't know what or where, but it's important to remember that," Clayton Webb said in concluding the business portion of the day's activities. "Now, let's have a wonderful lunch and let me pass along the news from home before you leave.

                "The Admiral sends his best. He's really getting into his new project. I would not be surprised if he doesn't try to grab you when you get clear here. His current chief of staff hasn't been able to keep some of the key players in the Navy's portion of the program on the reservation so to speak. Boone and Rabb run all over the poor guy and it takes a lot of Chegwidden's time to keep them more or less under control.

                "Speaking of that dynamic duo, I don't know of anyone that isn't furious with them over something or another. They appear not to believe many of the sacred mantras the Navy holds dear, so they keep calling for more innovative methods and plans. What's a Pentagon planner to do if he can't just go back to some old page of the playbook and prepare for tomorrow?

                "Mac, they're working or traveling 20 hours per day, and the staff must be working 25 hours a day at least eight days a week just to keep up. I saw Harm the other day, and he looked like hell. He said that he logged 50 flight hours last month and that was on top of back-to-back-to-back 70-hour workweeks. They are planning to have a first draft for Chegwidden before the end of September."

                "Clay, two questions, and you have to answer both of them," Mac followed up. "First, are you still convinced that we are seeing the spring coil…just don't know where it will release?" "Yes, Mac. Tom Boone's also convinced, and that's part of why he is driving the organization so hard. He's convinced that some tactical adjustments in means and methods will be required in the near term in addition to the longer term fundamental changes."

                "Okay, now for the final question: How is Harm doing personally?" Clay took a long look at Mac while he marshaled his thoughts before answering. "Clay, I don't want you to spin anything for me. I want a clear, direct answer to a question that I think was fairly plain."

                "I don't know how to answer that question. Professionally he's at the top of his game. I haven't seen him more clearly focused on anything. Period. Personally, I don't have a clue. I understand that your last night was pretty rough, and that eats at him. But he really doesn't know what to do about the way things were left…or at least that is the way I read the situation," Clay ventured.

                "Mac, I'm not 'Dear Abby' and will not get involved with advice about personal matters, but, that being said, I'm really concerned about two of my limited band of friends. Both of you are working yourselves into the ground, because that's what is demanded today. But, neither of you seems to be making any effort to…I don't know…clear away the crap around your relationship. That's slowly killing both of you…."

                "Clay, do you know what happened the night before I left?" Clayton Webb would much rather be facing the proverbial thousand deaths than the tidal wave he was sure was coming from Mac no matter how he answered that seemingly innocuous question, so he just nodded his head. "Harriett told me some of it."

                "The blow up at the club was just the preliminary event. My yelling at the walls of Harm's apartment was probably pretty special, but that damned warehouse just seemed like the perfect sounding board for how I felt. The 'morning after' exchange of nasty comments was a refreshing way to leave for this cesspool, but the cherry on top of the hot fudge sundae came at the last moment.

                "He looked me straight in the eyes said 'I love you' and walked out of the terminal without another word. Clay, I am telling you that I am at the end of the fucking rope here. Harm hasn't written. He hasn't called. Now, you show like John Alden's alter ego to check the water temperature. That's bullshit. You knew that before you got on the plane. Why didn't you just take care of business and be the efficient, heartless spy you generally are? Why did you agree to even be part of this mess? Why are you handling Harm's dirty work? Why?" Sarah Mackenzie was not about to shed any tears for Clayton Webb, but it was a near thing.

                "Okay Mac, got it all out now?"

                "No. Not by a long shot, but I'm not going to yell at you anymore. Clay, I'm sorry. I know…."

                "Mac, you don't know…at least about me or my motives right now. You and Harm are more than friends of mine. You are both much closer, and I am tired of seeing both of you like this. In fact, I'm more than tired of it.

                "Harm's up to his ass in a huge problem with Tom Boone on his back to make things move more quickly and the entire naval establishment dragging its feet. You're up to your ass in what I am all too certain will be preparations for a war, and very few people want to open their eyes and see the possibility. You both are potentially hazarded, need emotional support, and can't, or won't get it from each other.

                "Mac the conclusion to this little speech is this: I will have the same message for Harm when I get back to Washington that I have for you now. 'If you love, fill in the blank, then get off your damn high horse or what ever you are on and call, write, cheat the system to visit, or something. If you don't love, fill in the blank, have the good grace of a long-time friend to put this misery to an end. Now."

                Nothing, absolutely nothing prepared Mac for Webb's monologue, and when Clay finished he stood up, threw a wad of bills on the table, and walked out the door leaving Mac sitting stunned at the café table. 'Well, that certainly went nicely…."

0715 Local, June 13, The Pentagon, Washington, DC

                "Harm, the 3rd MEU's going to go to war, along with a batch of other folks, sooner rather than later in the Middle East. That's a promise based on my expensive Ivy League education, generations of Webb family spying, close association with the intelligence community, and, more importantly, based on my firmly held conviction that at least one of the band of zealots has the wherewithal to make something big go bang. Maybe even in our backyard," Webb concluded the informal briefing.

                Turning to Tom Boone the 'Assistant Secretary' added, "The Air Force and Navy will get a lot of practice hauling scrap iron into somewhere, but this time out were going to have to get hands bloody if we're going to do anything about state-sponsored or transnational terrorism…."

                "Webb, you are right. But if we are going to be able to support a big operation a long way from home we don't have the assets…unless we strip some large-deck carrier of its air wing and mount spec-ops closely followed by massive logistical and strike support from the Army in country…and from that flight deck…unless we are prepared to invest hostile terrain with an MEU…be prepared to support that operation from long distance…and provide very close coordination with other services, allies, and vitally involved local freedom fighters," Adm. Boone summarized. "The bastards at CENTCOM and PACFLT have their heads so far up their collective asses that they won't see sunshine in this lifetime, so I don't see many of those things happening in the very near future.

                "Webb, once again you have managed to get my blood pressure up, but this time it's for a good cause. I'm on my way to the E-Ring to have a little chat with a couple of old friends who may see things in a little better light after I brief them on the 'developments' we just discussed. Harm, if you and Clay happen to wind up at the Army-Navy Club this afternoon the drinks are on me."

                "Well, that went nicely," Harm observed sourly. "You pumped the Admiral up just in time for his weekly 'chat' with the unconventional warfare group. By the time they get done I am not sure how long it will take to get him calmed back down. You know that we have got to have a first draft of the Navy's position squared away to discuss with Adm. Chegwidden before 11 September. He wants to hold a working group meeting no later than 15 September and have a final draft for the SECNAV by mid October. Jesus!

                On that note the conversation turned to more pleasant issues, at least until Clay's visit with Mac in Naples was on the table.

                "Oh, yeah. Mac was fine. She's about got things under control at the 3rd. They have moved to the Gulf, and she's trying to get a better handle on the mess down there. At least in the Gulf there's the real risk of getting shot at to help focus," Webb summarized. "But she's not a happy camper about things in general. In fact, I'm surprised she hasn't mounted a one-woman invasion somewhere just so she could go kill things."

                "Clay, I don't really want…." "Well, I don't 'really want' either, Harm, but Mac jumped into me with a vengeance in Naples day before yesterday. The conversation went something like this: 'Clay, I am telling you that I am at the end of the fucking rope here. Harm hasn't written. He hasn't called. Now, you show like John Alden's alter ego to check the water temperature. That's bullshit. You knew that before you got on the plane. Why didn't you just take care of business and be the efficient, heartless spy you generally are? Why did you agree to even be part of this mess? Why are you handling Harm's dirty work?'

                "Harm, I didn't realize I was walking into a mine field, and it would have been nice to have a little heads up before blundering into the line of fire." "Clay, I can't ever see you 'blundering' into anything…much less the line of fire," Harm chuckled.  "That's where you are wrong," Clay countered.

                "I understood that the going away party had a few rough spots, but I did not know about the thermonuclear finish. The scene at Andrews must have also been special. Jesus Harm, what was going through your mind aside from the leftovers from the previous week's production at Boston Brewing?"

                "Whoa. Where are you heading here Clay?"

                "Harm, you and Mac are part of a very limited band of true friends I can claim, and I am tired of watching you two spar with each other. Mac pushed me to the limit in Naples driving me to a rare moment of unvarnished candor. Before I was able to pull myself away and stop yelling, I put this thought on the table:

                "Mac the conclusion to this little speech is this: I will have the same message for Harm when I get back to Washington that I have for you now. 'If you love, fill in the blank, then get off your damn high horse or what ever you are on and call, write, cheat the system to visit, or something. If you don't love, fill in the blank, have the good grace of a long-time friend to put this misery to an end. Now.

                "As I thought about it on the flight home, that was good advice in Naples, and it's certainly good advice now. This needs to be fixed. Now. I'm not bullshitting you Harm events are going to overtake you and Mac one day…maybe today. Both of you need to fix this relationship. No matter what the fix may be. Now, I'm leaving. I don't want to be around here when Boone gets back from the E-Ring. I'll see you at the Army-Navy Club this afternoon."

                Clay's departure was well timed. Tom Boone came back from his meeting spitting nails and calling lightning and thunder down on everyone in his path. "Goddamnit Harm! The only bastards in this building that understand where we are heading are the fucking Marines, and that's a sad situation. The Commandant's guy from SpecOps is really on top of the game, and we're going to have to force feed some of that thinking down the line. Here's what I want you to do…."

1815 Local, June 13, O-Club, Washington Navy Yard, Washington DC

                The tall, heavily decorated former SEAL didn't "really" smile much, but the out-of-school briefing he just received over his second superb scotch brought out an ear-to-ear beaming smile. "Tell me Teddy, Harm didn't really tell Adm. Harwell that it was time to 'either sign on to the real world or get the hell out of the way.'" "So help me God, AJ that's what he said just before he pushed back from the table, got up, and walked the hell out of the room. It was a vintage Tom Boone performance…just from a taller guy with more hair."

                'Boone and Rabb will either be at the point of the spear, or have the damn thing shoved up their asses before this over with,' Rear Admiral (upper half) A. J. Chegwidden thought.

2100 Local, June 13, Army-Navy Club, Washington DC

                The booze started flowing when they walked into the club and nearly four hours later the three men were as drunk as they probably would be…until one or the other of them just passed out.

                "Goddamn Harm, Clay is right," Tom Boone emphasized. "The fucking nuts are going to eventually get their shit together and pop a big time cap right in our backyard…and we're going to all fall over each other trying to figure out what to do next." "Wait a minute Admiral," Harm started while backing away from the finger stuck into his chest…. "Admiral? What is this crap? We're in a damn bar. We're about to have a fight or at least a serious argument. I'm not telling you again…Harmon…it's CAG, Tom, boss, or shithead…not…oh, bullshit it's not worth repeating myself," Boone fumed.

                Through the thickening haze Clayton Webb saw the glimmering of an idea that could accomplish a number of objectives, some of them strictly personal. Speaking very slowly with a precision known only to the serious drinker, Clay jumped into the conversation. "Tom, Harm's been too close to the policy makers for too long. He needs to get with the implementers…to talk with the people who are going to get bloody when…if…things get ugly. Maybe it would help his, shit I don't know, his perspective to…."

                "Clay…that's an idea. Harm you're heading for Coronado to see…oh, hell who is the guy who you defended…Rivera…. Rivers. That's it Rivers. The hard assed black guy.  Anyway, tell him whatever you need to tell him…just get him started. Then head to The Gulf and get with Blackwater and his staff. Between the goddamn SEALS and the Marines deployed you should get a better picture of what's possible…and what would be needed to implement some of the shit we've been talking about."

                Even through the Crown Royal fog Harm saw the potential for a personal disaster of biblical proportions. If former lieutenant, or was it captain, Rivers didn't kill him just for practice…Mac, if he even got to The Gulf, probably would. "CAG…boss…I don't think…" That's as far as he got. "Harm. Make it so, and be out of town no later than noon Monday. I'll have the EA make the arrangements."