"CHAPTER ONE: Of Geese And Flying In Formation"
* * * * *
When a goose gets sick or is wounded by a gunshot and falls out of formation, two other geese break formation and follow it down, to help protect it. They stay with it until it is able to fly, or until it is dead.
* * * * *
Mac's POV
MAC'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN
0500 HOURS ZULU
I sat on my couch, my knees tucked beneath my legs, staring at Clay. He was on the phone again, waging Round Five of an all-day battle with the higher powers for me.
"I don't CARE about security clearance damnit. He's a friend. Now tell me where Rabb is Catherine, last I heard, he was undercover with you," Clay shouted into the odd looking contraption he's always trying to pass of for a cell phone.
"Undercover with her in more ways than one," I murmured to myself before I had a chance to pull my subconscious into line.
He quietened all of a sudden and apologised to the woman. Silently he approached me and handed me the phone. I stared at it, unsure of what he wanted me to do with it. Gently taking my hand, he lifted the phone to my ear and stroked the side of my face, mouthing, "She wants to talk to you."
I nodded in agreement.
"Hello, is this Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie?" a woman's voice greeted me.
"Yes, and you must be Catherine Gale."
"Yes," she confirmed, "I've been wondering about you Colonel. You're listed as Harm's next of kin on my files. Are you two…"
"No," I interrupted flatly, knowing what she was going to ask: Were we involved? We were more than just involved; we were in over our heads and both of us wanted out. I sighed. The rules of engagement had changed since Paraguay. I left messages; he didn't return my calls, yet he'd listed me as his next of kin on his CIA profile. Harmon Rabb Jnr is a walking contradiction in terms.
"Oh," Ms Gale responded quietly, "Webb says you want to know where he is. I would've thought he'd have told you."
"No," I answered, "The affairs of Harmon Rabb are top secret and classified. Not cleared for my eyes so to speak," I paused, "Or else I just didn't need to know."
I could feel her feathers ruffle at my sarcastic comments about the intelligence world.
"Why do you need to know now?" she probed, her tone changing. I sensed a slight hostility in her manner, "I don't usually risk my job for strangers without good reason."
She wanted to know if I was in love with him. I sighed again. Why do I always provoke this kind of reaction from Harm's girlfriends?
"Because he's in trouble," I asserted confidently, "Something has happened to him, and I want to know what."
"How do you know?" she asked, sounding genuinely interested and surprised.
"I just *know*," I tried to explain, "I woke up this afternoon and had this feeling… I know something has happened to him, and it happened at 1830 this evening."
"Look, I'd really like to help you attest the accuracy of your intuition, but I don't know where he is."
"This is not a test of my intuition," I objected irately.
The other woman laughed at me, "Having 'visions' Colonel?"
I exhaled in indignation, "What would you know about having visions Ms Gale?"
"Call me Catherine," she requested, "And I know because along with a generous appraisal of your many other talents, Harm has mentioned your ability to ah, see things. He trusts your ''visions' Colonel and I believe you have saved his life before. So 'fess up. What happened this evening?"
"I didn't have a vision or anything," I replied, "I didn't even dream about it. I was asleep this afternoon, deeply asleep, dead to the world, when suddenly I woke up. Just like that, no disturbance, nothing," I paused, "I just knew something had happened to him."
"It's interesting that you say that Colonel," she began, "Because at about 1900 tonight, his profile was made highly classified," she sighed, "Until this evening, I could access the details of his assignment. Now there's only three people able to do that: the Director, the Deputy and the President."
"Why do they do that in the CIA?" I inquired. It was hard knowing how the intelligence agency worked, impossible in fact. Since everything was on a need-to-know basis, no one fully knew what was going on at any given time. It seemed very inefficient to me.
"Colonel…"
"It's Mac," I interject.
"Fine. Mac, when missions go wrong they don't call the next of kin in the CIA," she informed me gently, "There's no telegrams and no dog-tags in the mail."
"No," I whispered firmly.
She mistook my statement for an expression of grief, "I'm sorry, but I can't think of any other explanation."
"No," I repeated, "He's not… dead," I stopped, shaking apprehensively, "He's still alive, but he's in trouble."
"How on earth…?" Catherine trailed off in question.
"Because I can still feel him here," I responded, "He's still here, but… but he won't be forever," I choked, repositioning myself on the couch so my knees were drawn to my chest and rocking myself gently, "For eternity."
I could almost hear the thoughts of Catherine Gale: 'This one's a head case.'
The very pregnant pause told me she was disbelieving.
"Catherine, you said you could access his mission details right?" I sat up, questioning the CIA lawyer confidently.
"Yes."
"Do you have a copy of those files which you were previously able to access?"
"I don't think so," she answered. I heard the sounds of shuffling paper across the line, "No, I'm sorry, but I don't appear to have printed a copy."
"But you accessed it via the Internet?" I could hear the excitement creeping into my voice.
"Yes."
"Catherine, open Internet explorer."
"Why?"
"Please, just do it."
"Ok, its open."
"Click on the file menu and scroll down to work offline."
"Yeah, I've done that."
"Now open your history. It's an icon above the…"
"Yeah, I understand what you're getting me to do now Mac," she laughed, "It's here. His entire mission details are here."
"Can you print me a copy?"
"Sure. I'll give it to Webb when he comes in tomorrow."
I blushed a little. Did the entire world know I was dating Clayton Webb? Was there some broadcast of CNN that I didn't see?
"No," I protested, "Tomorrow is too late. He could be…." I stopped, unable to continue for a few moments, "He could be dead by then."
She was quiet for a minute, "You have to accept that it's a very real possibility," she commanded soothingly, "When things go wrong in this business, the higher powers don't usually fix them."
"Well then I'll just have to convince them," I told her, "Where was Harm? On the files you have?"
"He was flying recon flights out of a Saudi Arabian Air Force base," she answered.
"Thank you," I murmured softly.
"Get some sleep Mac," she advised me, "He'll… be fine."
She sounded unconvincing to me.
"Ok, I'll try," I lied, having no true intention to sleep before Harm was asleep next to me, "Thank you Catherine. Would you like to speak to Webb again?"
"No, give Clayton my regards. Good bye Mac."
"Yeah, bye," I echoed, hanging up and standing up to press the cell into Clay's hands and myself into his arms.
"Thank you," I mumbled exhausted, kissing the side of his jaw sleepily. He held me upright and led me into the bedroom, kissing me into the pillow and letting me go before lying beside me. Then he was pulling me back into his arms and stroking my hair as I cried myself to sleep.
* * * * * *
Hashim al-Farrah's FORT
AYTAQ-I-SITUN, AFGHANISTAN
0800 HOURS ZULU
He lay unconscious in the dark and dusty room, the clay walls paying a silent tribute to the sleeping American. Their eyes watched over him, unable to protect or destroy, but condemned to watch. They met in the corners to discuss the new arrival. They hide in the shadows and observe, echoing every whimper of pain, every delirious murmur. The walls are wise. They tell an interesting story, and here begins a new chapter.
* * * * * *
CIA HEADQUARTERS
MARYLAND
1400 HOURS ZULU
At 0900 hours, Clay and I were waiting inside a small room he'd ushered me into. He'd called the director of the CIA and spoke to his secretary, letting her know that we were interested in meeting with Director Tennet about an incident that had occurred on a recon op yesterday evening. The secretary seemed to catch on that we knew about something we shouldn't know about. She offered to call us back.
Now we were forced to endure the agony of anticipation. I was pacing the small space like a caged lion.
"Sit down," Clay requested, gesturing to the seat next to him.
I shook my head, "I can't."
"Why not?"
"I don't know, I'm just… I'm ready for something to happen Clay," I informed him, "We've been sitting around here too long."
I tugged at my Marine green skirt. This little trip was probably going to earn me a letter of reprimand at the very least, very probably jeopardize my chance of making full Colonel and maybe even landing me in a court martial. At that point I didn't care. I walked over to the window, my gaze searching the earth outside the room.
Harm was out there somewhere.
My hand met the glass pane and relished its clear, cool surface. I had to find him. There was no doubts in my mind, no questions of morality. It was plain and simple, black and white: find Harm, and bring him home. That was what I was going to do, no matter how hard, how long and how difficult the fight was. Marines never surrender.
"Sarah, please," Clay asked again, "Come here, stop walking around and working yourself up over this."
"I'm not, I'm fine Clay," I assured him.
"No you're not. You're ready for treks through the Middle East, in desert utilities and combat boots. You're ready to shoulder a weapon and sleep in a foxhole. If that is how you characterize 'fine', then we're going to have some serious issues in there. Stop being so confrontational. He'll sense a battle-ready Marine as soon as you walk in the door."
"And he'd better believe it," I answered.
"Sarah…"
"Clay, my best friend is in life-threatening danger somewhere out there in that vast expanse of globe, and that stupid asshole upstairs refuses to acknowledge he even exists. Anyone, and I mean anyone, who is not interested in helping me find Harm deserves the wrath of a war-hungry Marine, and I intend to give it to them," I vowed vehemently.
"Cool it," he advised, "Kicking the director of the CIA up the ass won't solve any of your problems, nor will it get you what you want. Be a little more diplomatic…"
The ringing of his cell phone interrupted him mid-sentence.
"Webb," he greeted whoever was calling, "Yes. Yes, mmhmm, good. Thank you so much. Alright, bye."
He hung up.
"He's agreed to see us, but no threats of the infliction of grievous bodily harm."
"Pun not intended right?" I grinned at him as he placed a guiding hand on my back and led me down the corridor.
After taking a series of elevators, enduring a 15-minute security clearance process, we finally entered the waiting room of the director.
"Damn, they disarmed me," I pouted mockingly.
"Remind me never to give you heavy artillery Mackenzie," Webb sighed in exasperation.
"Clay, it's Ok, I'm not going to try and kill the guy. I don't blame him for what happened, I don't even blame him for not doing anything. I just want to know the truth, so I can go and find Harm."
"I don't think it's going to be that easy Mac," he began, cut short by the secretary of the director inviting us into his office.
"Good morning Mr Webb," Tennet greeted us.
"Sir," Webb acknowledged stiffly, returning his handshake tersely.
I sensed hostility in the room, tension between the two men.
"Sir, this is Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, US Marine Corps," Clay introduced us, "Mac, this is George Tennet, Director of the CIA."
"Colonel," he smiled faintly, offering me his hand.
"Sir," I responded, shaking it with my own.
Now that I was standing between the pair, the strain faded.
"What brings you here Wehh?" Tennet asked gruffly.
"The request of the Colonel here," Webb replied.
The two men turned to stare at me expectantly. Their mannerisms changed obviously when they referred to me, their opinion and attitude towards women apparent. I disliked the gentlemanly reaction. I wasn't used to being treated with awe-like respect because I was a woman. Equality and respect as an officer? Yes. Amazement? No.
I shot Webb a nervous look.
"Tell him what you know," he encouraged me, taking a step closer to m e and placing a hand on my upper arm.
"Sir, a few months ago as you may have been aware, a USN Lieutenant Commander made a deal with your office in an attempt to rescue Mr Webb and myself from a high-profile terrorist known as Sadiq?"
"Yes Colonel, that operation caused me a lot of grief," he glared at Webb, "I remember it well."
"Shortly after that incident, when we had all returned safely to the states, Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb approached you, asking for a job. I believe you offered him a place in your pilot program Sir."
I waited for verification.
"That I did Colonel," he replied.
"He was given an assignment flying covert recon operations out of a Saudi Arabian/US Air Force base," I continued.
"It should surprise me that you know that Colonel, but predictably it doesn't."
He gave Webb another poisonous glare. I wondered if I could somehow shift the blame from Clay at some point in the conversation without incriminating Catherine Gale.
"And I also know that at 1900 hours last night, his personal details and mission files were made so classified that inly three people in the entire world are cleared to peruse them," I finished the sentence accusingly, "Why?"
"That is something you don't need to know," Tennet replied.
"Something went wrong didn't it?" I challenged, "They were shot down or crashed or something potentially disastrous for foreign relations."
"I can neither confirm nor deny…"
"YES YOU CAN," I retorted, a little more heatedly than I had intended, "You just won't."
"Colonel…"
"Sir, with all due respect, my best friend is dying in some remote corner of the globe and you stand there and tell me you don't know WHY?" I crescendoed to an impressive drill sergeant's voice with a hint of female hysteria. I figured I might as well use my gender to my advantage.
"No Colonel I cannot, and I must say, your lack of understanding and respect for my position is disappointing for an officer of the Marine Corps."
Clay grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him before I had the chance to retaliate.
"Sir, I'm sorry," he apologised, "Colonel Mackenzie has been through a lot lately and she's very worried about Rabb. It's clouding her usually impeccable judgement," he explained, ignoring the fact that I was in the room.
"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you like this but Colonel Mackenzie is very sure that Rabb is alive and in need of assistance," he paused, "She thinks you'll just give him up for dead."
"I don't care what your precious Colonel thinks Mr Webb. I do however object to your apparent lack of objective assessment in regard to her less-physical characteristics. Not only did you screw up in Paraguay, now you're sharing national secrets with her as you lie in bed together."
I felt like slugging the man. Assault had never been so tempting.
"Actually Sir," Clay replied, perfectly cool and slightly supercilious, "I prefer not to discuss the sordid affairs of the office when I make love to my precious Colonel."
I blushed, staring furiously at Webb's back. Their discussion of my sex life in my presence was not amusing. Neither seemed to realise how imminent the realisation of a homicidal retribution fantasy was. I was growing tired and irritated of their male posturing.
"It wasn't Clay, sir," I interrupted, "I have other friends in the CIA, people with higher security clearance," I stated wryly. Webb had endured a slightly severe (in my opinion) demotion after Paraguay.
"Don't Mac," Clay warned me. I rewarded him with an absolutely withering look, all my previous doubts about Clayton Webb's integrity in relationships returning tenfold. His previous comments unnerved me entirely. Sure, we'd been getting along in the past few days but before that… I thought back to the past month. It would be an understatement to say there was a lot of physical chemistry there, but little else. I'd always felt like a prize that Webb liked to show off to his friends (in the intelligence world known as acquaintances. Acquaintances fell into two categories- hostile and non-hostile- characterised by the likelihood of them ending your life or career… a non-hostile might do this, a hostile definitely would.) That aside, emotionally he still felt like a friend, a good friend, a best friend even, but still a friend.
He met my gaze evenly.
I'd thought I loved him after all he did for me in Paraguay, confused by his loyalty and the fact that he'd said everything Harm hadn't said without fear. That was before I realised Clay's pledges and promises were those of an international spook: hollow when it suited him.
I sighed. The conversation between Webb and Director Tennet continued.
I guess we're all a product of our existences. Harm was afraid of commitment because of losing his father and then Diane and all the other people he cared about. Me? I was shit scared of my feelings for him and positively terrified of his feelings for me because of my father and the psychological affects of my childhood that always made me feel undeserving of that kind of unconditional love. And Webb was unable to make promises he could keep or commit to anyone or welcome any unconditional love because of the danger his line of work put him and those he loved in.
The present situation interrupted my musings.
"YOU WILL NOT TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CANNOT DO, MR WEBB," Tennet yelled.
I sighed once more. All the problems in my life could be justifiably blamed on the opposite sex.
Webb met the Director's volume with a biting comeback.
"WOULD YOU BOTH STOP?" I screamed, outdoing both of them.
They turned to stare.
"Yeah, stop behaving like children," I commanded wearily, "It won't solve anything."
They acknowledged that I was right.
"I'm sorry Colonel, but I'm not permitted to disclose the details of Rabb's mission last night in the interest of national security," the Director notified me on a final note.
"Then it was last night?" I grilled him, picking up on his slip instantly.
He was unable to respond for a moment, thinking of a diplomat's answer (ie. a way to lie without lying). He decided to concede defeat, "Yes Colonel, it was, and how do you know that?"
"I had a feeling," I answered as Webb jabbed me, "Besides Ca… the classification," I recovered quickly, "The reclassification of the files happened last night."
"Very good Colonel, I'm sure you perform a gruelling cross-examination, but if you'll excuse me…"
"Not until you tell me what happened at 1830 yesterday evening."
"Over my dead body."
I was more than willing and about to oblige when Webb physically restrained me again.
"Sir," he pleaded, "Could you tell us anything? Is he alive or missing?"
"I can't tell you anything because we don't know," the CIA Director answered.
"If you don't tell me, I swear I will ensure that your life is made worse than hell, so help me God," I declared.
"Careful Colonel, you wouldn't want to threaten me. Does your CO know you're here?"
He took my silence as an answer with a thin smile.
"Now this meeting has gone on far too long. If you'll excuse me, I'm a busy man," he concluded firmly.
His threat still suspended in the air, I turned and left without waiting for Clay's reaction.
"'Sarah," he called after me as I hurried out of the office and into the long hallway.
I stopped and faced him, "What, I'm not just your precious Colonel anymore?"
"Sarah, I didn't mean it like that…" he trailed off, his weak argument left unfinished.
"Clayton Webb, let's get one thing straight. What WE do in MY bedroom is not the business of YOUR BOSS!"
"That fact is firmly established," he assured me, "I'm sorry, but he still blames me for screwing up in Paraguay. You've gotta understand, its hard for me to… to just accept that. I know I made some mistakes, but I almost lost you," he paused, "That's punishment enough Sarah."
I observed him idly.
"I love you I swear," he attested quietly.
"I love you too," I replied, not adding the 'I think'.
"Good, cuz I want to marry you and have kids with you and make you happy for the rest of your life."
I smiled sadly.
I had enough problems with the dangers of bring a fighter pilot, let alone a spook, but here I was, talking about white picket fences and Holy Matrimony with Clayton Webb. Me, the object of a secret agent's affection… who would've thought?
* * * * * *
Hashim al-Farrah's FORT
AYTAQ-I-SITUN, AFGHANISTAN
2100 HOURS ZULU
The pilot slowly opened his eyes. His head felt like a large granite bolder, his eyelids were far heavier than they should've been, his neck ached, his shoulders were stiff, his arms throbbed with pain, his fingers were causing immense discomfort, his back hurt, his legs cried out in protest at the mere connotation of movement, and his toes were crushed. Fighting the hands of gravity and the objection of every individual particle that comprised his body, he lifted his head for almost a second before surrendering to the torture, giving into the release from the acute agony. He closed his eyes to the clay walls and listened to them whisper their history in a strange and exotic tongue.
* * * * * *
ZNN NEWS OFFICES
ARLINGTON
2140 HOURS ZULU
Webb and I arrived at the news officers at 1700, a thick manila folder resting on my lap. Webb had called the Assistant Director after we'd finished our meeting with Tennet. He had been a little reluctant at first, but after Webb reminded him of a few dues owing and several embarrassing personal facts, he'd hurriedly agreed to help.
The photocopy of the files had been delivered to a drop point in industrial Washington. It was all very exciting to me. The whole thing felt like an action movie: spies, dark alleys and hidden communication exchange places. Webb hadn't been enthralled in the slightest. It was all routine to him, except that he had me with him. The worry in his voice when he'd told me to wait in the car had amused me. After assuring him I was a Marine and could take care of myself, he had grabbed me and dragged me along behind him. The way he was intent on protecting me was unsettling. Tennet had been right. He did lack objective judgement when it came to me.
My discomfort had dissipated entirely as soon as we were once again alone and the folder was in my hands. I'd devoured it's contents eagerly. The incident report said Harm and his co-pilot had been hit by an unknown projectile. The last radio transmission they'd had was attached. I read it, the hair on my arms standing on end and shivering.
CIA RADIO COMMUNICATIONS TRANSCRIPT
Dark Rider: Nightfriend? Fuck pleasantries, the monkey's your uncle. I repeat, the monkey is your uncle. We've been hit with something explosive."
Nightfriend: Dark Rider, I need to confirm, the monkey is my uncle?
Dark Rider: Yeah, its urgent, we've been shot down.
Nightfriend: What is your position?
Dark Rider: We're just south of Santa's helpers at the North Pole. Slightly west of the toy factory. There's a hot 89 petalled rose at 74am and a cold 171.5 legged chair asleep at 154pm. Speed, average of my birthday and yours.
Nightfriend: Roger that, I'll try and get some help out there Dark Rider.
Dark Rider: Thanks Nightfriend…"
(The communications systems failed at this point.)
Nightfriend: Dark rider, do you copy me dark rider?
Dark Rider: Loud and clear, Nightfriend."
Nightfriend: KEEP IN RADIO CONTACT, DO NOT…
(The systems cut out for several moments)
Dark Rider: Nightfriend," he began, "Do me a favour would you? Tell Sarah I love her."
Nightfriend: Roger that Dark Rider.
Last transmission received: 2234 ZULU
Last transmission sent: 2236 ZULU
Date: 12Oct03
Signature of Submitting Agent: Haytham al-Farrah
I wasn't able to speak for almost an hour afterwards. Webb had dropped me off at JAG, and after enduring a bashing from the Admiral about missing my morning court appearance, I'd sat in my office and cried silently, not capable of movement, cognitive processes or verbal communication. Webb had reappeared just after lunch and asked me what was wrong. I handed him the tear-stained sheet of paper silently.
He had clenched it in one hand and let it fall onto my desk unceremoniously.
Two hours later, an idea occurred to me. I'd promised the Director hell and hell was what I was going to give him. If there's one thing that makes the Director of the CIA's life hell, it's the press. And the press love a good story about the CIA, especially one that causes political controversy. I relayed my idea to Webb. Sighing, he'd reluctantly agreed to help me. I could feel him growing tired of my efforts.
Now, as we stood outside the tall building, he was eyeing my wistfully. Though neither of us had voiced our thoughts or were willing to act on our realisation, after reading that transcript we both knew 'we' were over.
"You ready?" he asked me.
"Yeah," I answered, bouncing up the steps, eager to put our plan into action.
As we stood in the elevator, I leant up and kissed him.
"What was that for?"
"For being so wonderful," I smiled, "Thank you for all your help, it means so much to me."
He kissed me again, backing me against the wall with his hands either side of my curves, "My pleasure Sarah."
He led me out of the elevator, walked past the reception desk, smiling at the woman behind the counter and sauntering into a large office at the end of a long corridor.
"Sit down," he invited, stretching out on the leather couch and pulling me down beside him.
"Clay, do you think this…" I began but was interrupted by another voice.
"Clayton, good to see you."
Clay stood up and shook the man's hand, "Same to you Josh, it's been a while."
"No kidding. The last time I saw you we were fresh out of college."
The two exchanged a nostalgic laugh before Clay's friend turned to me.
"And who is your beautiful lady friend?"
"This is Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie," Clay introduced us, "Sarah, this is Joshua Ashworth, the head of the newsroom here."
"Hi," I said shortly, reaching over to shake his hand.
"Please, sit down," Ashworth requested, gesturing to the couch. He sat opposite us and smiled, "So what brings you here after all these years Clay?"
"I came to repay old debts."
It was clear Josh felt no resentment, "How do you intend to make amends for stealing my girlfriend and my car, wrecking the car and almost killing the girl?"
"I'll make you a deal you won't be able to resist," Webb suggested.
"Ok old friend, what've you got in mind?"
"Well I need a favour."
"I thought as much," Ashworth grinned.
"Actually it's me that needs the favour," I piped up
"Anything for a beautiful lady. What do you need Colonel?"
"I need about three minutes of air time on the 7 o'clock news," I notified him.
He stared at me, "You'd better have a good story Ma'am."
I laughed, "This is one story that's so good you won't believe it."
* * * * * * *