"CHAPTER TWO: Part A- Nothing Else"
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ZNN NEWS OFFICES
ARLINGTON
2340 HOURS ZULU
I sat in a leather chair while someone fussed over my hair and applied more make-up than I had thought humanly possible to my face. Every time the woman stepped away to gather supplies or attend to the other five people in the room, I swivelled around to face Clay and Josh who were having a good natured pissing competition about their respective achievements. The only obvious sore point was the now smashed up red Mercedes that Webb had "borrowed" while in pursuit of an immigrant suspected of bank fraud. The car had been carrying Josh's girlfriend at the time, and had somehow ended up plastered to the concrete wall of a shopping complex. Both Webb and the girl escaped unscathed and proceeded to have a relationship, however the grief was obviously for the car and not the girl the way the two of them joked about her giving them their "first dose of a broken heart". I smiled to myself. It sounded so typically Webb: embark on some dangerous, impossible and ultimately unsuccessful mission, destroying all moving vehicles he came into remote contact with and almost facilitating the demise of the innocent bystander in the process. Agent Webb in a nutshell. Clay would've killed me had he been able to hear such thoughts in my head.
We were also discussing strategy for my brief address, which had been pre-written. I'd worked on it all afternoon at JAG while waiting for Webb to return with the news he had a friend willing to help out. It wasn't brilliant in my opinion. As a litigator I hated relying on emotional appeals and compassion-seeking arguments, but in the case I had little option. I could tell all of America the details of Harm's mission and convince them with the facts that he needed assistance, but what would that prove? The answer was nothing, it would only serve to jeopardise national security as well as his life. I could stand before my fellow citizens and make a touching plea for their support as the cold, heartless director of the CIA and friend of Satan allowed my best friend to die a painful death. There was the other angle of course, that I could inform the American public of the results of Harm's mission without delving into the causes, the events that led up to what had transpired while still relying on emotional appeals and touching pleas to win the hearts of the voting public. I consulted Webb and Josh on this matter.
"I think you should go for the facts," Webb replied immediately, "Go up there and tell them how it is. If you just stand there and bawl your eyes out, all Tennet's going to do is stand up and ridicule you in front of the entire country."
"No Colonel, I think you should appear as a respected woman. You know, strong, in command, making Tennet sweat and loving every minute of his discomfort. But at the same time, you can't appear too harsh. I don't think you should resort to quote 'bawling your eyes out' but let them know how much this guy means to you. Struggle to retain your composure as the speech goes on, refuse to cry in front of the cameras, make a show of not showing emotion, of holding back in order to convince these people using the facts and then persuade the American people to see things your way."
I decided to use the best of both the appeal of my gender and military training to successfully brand the CIA akin to the Devil.
"Because we all know you like having things your way," Webb commented dryly, grinning at me.
"It's not my fault," I retorted, "I'm a General-in-training you know."
We shared a laugh at the expense of the two-stars sitting on the opposite side
of the suburb in the Pentagon. I also laughed because I had no chance of ever
making General, what with all the interesting things already on my record.
After this broadcast to the entire nation I'd be lucky to remain in the
Marines, blessed to make full Colonel and bar a miracle, would never be made a
General.
Sometimes desperate people make desperate decisions. Desperate decisions are rarely rational, usually unwise and in most cases, incredibly insane. This was one crazy decision. I was about to trash the director of the CIA on national television, in a desperate gamble. I didn't like the odds. Here I was hoping that I could somehow save Harm's life (even through association), not get kicked out of the Marines and convince the American people to take my side. The other outcomes: lose best friend, lose job, lose Webb (probably), have Webb lose his job too, start a chain reaction that would bring my world crashing down around me.
The other outcomes sounded more probable.
But I had to do it. I had things to say, closing arguments to make, resolutions to reach. And there was no way I was letting some American-hating terrorist or over the hill, paper-crunching, two-piece suit with a receding hairline and a comb-over deprive me of that chance.
Besides, he had done the same for me. He resigned his commission to come to Paraguay after me. Why had I been so hell bent on hearing three words? I should have known he loved me: he'd given up his job, which was more than just work for him, it meant he'd given up the Navy and flying and JAG. I knew he loved all of those things. He'd risked his life and made his own desperate decisions just to find me, and I'd simply dismissed all those facts because I needed to hear the words. Webb had said them and he hadn't. What was with those three little words and me? They're not even big words really: 3 words, made up of 8 letters. But I had to hear them. I knew he loved me, but I had to test him. As if the choice to chase after me had not been test enough. I'd always hated emotionally driven arguments, so why on earth had I not listened to the facts? The man had given up just about everything he loved in life (for once I had priority over a Tomcat… I mean, we're talking about Harm here; that had to mean something.) He'd flown across the Atlantic, compromised his moral values, nearly lost his life, gambled for me and lost.
The things we do for love. Here was me, about to throw my career away and risk everything for my best friend. There was Harm, who'd come to save me in Paraguay, lost his job, all but lost me, joined the CIA because he loved flying and was now almost dying somewhere because he'd loved me enough to resign his commission to find me. And then there was Webb, who was doing everything within his power to allow me to find Harm even though he knew it would mean he would most certainly lose his "girlfriend". The man really did love me.
"Clay?" I called to him quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Good luck Sarah."
I stood quietly on the instruction of a tech-assistant and followed him to a dark corner of the studio with two chairs positioned facing outwards but turned in toward each other. He sat me in one of the chairs and began to brief me on the equipment.
"Ok, see your mike?"
I nodded.
"I'll turn that on right before you speak, so don't worry about not saying anything. You'll be on about 12 minutes into the news, but I'll signal you guys before anything happens. When the mike does come on, speak normally; otherwise it'll interfere with the sound. When Sandra gets here I'll get her to go through camera tips with you. She'll be asking you a few questions to start with so just follow her prompts," he instructed, "You Ok with that?"
"Yes," I responded quietly.
"Good luck Ma'am, I heard what you were trying to do," he grinned, "Hate the intelligence people myself. Never say anything about nothing, and say nothing about anything."
He left me to the shadows of the corner, sitting in silence, folding and re-folding the sheet of paper in my hand. I was so absorbed in thought that I didn't notice the woman rush in and sit next to me until she had repeatedly called my name several times.
"Colonel?"
"Uh, yes?" I recovered quickly.
"You're Colonel Mackenzie?"
"Yes."
"Sandra Jameson," she announced, offering me her hand. I accepted the handshake from across the small table between us.
"I'm going to ask you a few questions to direct the flow of the report into your speech," she informed me, "Don't worry, they won't be hard to answer, just do the best you can."
I nodded in acknowledgement.
"When the cameras start, act as though there are no cameras. It looks more natural that way and you appear better on screen, more relaxed. It looks more realistic," she informed me, "Don't feel self-conscious. Yes it's a live feed, but you're not going to make any drastic mistakes."
She regarded me for a long moment.
"Clay said you're a hotshot lawyer, so I'm sure the public speaking part won't give you any grief. It's just the cameras and all the tech equipment. My advice to you? Pretend you're in court. It's your home turf, so it'll make it easier. Me? I'm a university lecturer, or I was, so when I do this stuff I just pretend I'm giving a lecture," she smiled, "Helps you to relax."
I returned the smile nervously, crushing the paper between my clammy palms.
"It's Ok, they're gonna turn everything on now," she whispered, "Ready? 3-2-1… Good evening," she launched into a tirade notifying the viewers of the situation. I was vaguely impressed. Someone had briefed her well in a very short space of time.
Much to my dislike, the time between her monologue and my speech was brief and passed all too quickly. I answered her questions with short, polite answers. Repeating Ms Jameson's advice in my head, I tried to ignore the lights. The cameras weren't an issue: it was too bright for me to see them.
"I believe you have a short statement to make to our viewers?" Sandra Jameson began, with a stated question that was obviously meant to be my introduction.
"Yes, I do," I responded, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore my nerves and sounding more confident than I felt.
"Good evening," I continued, reciting what I had rehearsed with Clay and Josh, "Yesterday evening at 6:30pm, I learnt of a complication to a mission undertaken by two Central Intelligence Agency employees: Harm-on Rabb," I slipped, but quickly continued, so it sounded more like a stumble, "And William Graham, the first of these men being my former partner and best friend, who had recently become employed by agency," I paused.
"This morning I was privileged enough to be offered the audience of Mr G Tennet, director of the CIA. In this meeting, I asked Mr Tennet what had had happened to my friend. As his next-of-kin, I had expected some official notification of the incident. Mr Tennet claimed I did not 'need to know' the details of the whereabouts and well being of my best friend and what caused a seemingly routine operation to go wrong.
The CIA's mission files on this operation were yesterday re-classified to be so secure that only three people in the world may read them, yet Mr Tennet had no information or knowledge of my friend's existence."
Pause.
"Reasonably this seemed a little strange to me. Enlisting the help of my contacts within the intelligence industry, I was able to locate a copy of these highly classified files and was surprised at what I read."
Inhale.
"While performing an important reconnaissance mission in North-West Afghanistan, Harmon Rabb and his co-pilot, William Graham, were shot down over an unknown geographical location. Within hours, Rabb and Graham had been imprisoned by a local warlord and held hostage. A demand for ransom as well as an armistice was received by the Central Intelligence Agency at 5am this morning. The CIA did not acknowledge this demand. Both men have been removed from the agency's records. The files were made classified and destroyed shortly after 4pm this afternoon. Clearly the CIA is hoping that these two men will fade out of existence without jeopardising the secrecy of the CIA's mission."
My voice wavered a little and I let my lip tremble before continuing.
"Two of our fellow Americans have been captured and injured while serving our country. These two men…"
I inhaled sharply, masking a sob.
"They were defending American interests and gathering intelligence to protect both Afghan civilians and the American people. How can we not act? How can we the people of the United States of America, leave our fellow Americans for dead?"
I was getting patriotic. I can't help it. I do love my country, and I'm passionate about America. There's this concept, this culture, this amazingly wonderful inspiring atmosphere in this country. It's in the people, the land, the cities, the rivers and lakes and mountains. It's addictive and I love it.
"In the words of Thomas Jefferson, We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Do these two men not deserve that liberty?"
My voice was getting a little louder, more passionate, and rousing. I wondered where I was going with all of this. This had not been in my planned speech.
I kept going after a quick pause.
"Is this not the land of the free and the home of the brave? Are we not Americans? A nation, a brotherhood, we happy few, are we not a band of brothers?"
Where in hell was I getting this stuff from? I'd obviously paid more attention during my education than I remembered.
"And do we not owe it to our brothers, our countrymen, our fellow Americans, do we not owe it to them to secure their freedom and their unalienable rights of life, liberty and pursuit of happiness? Are those who's mission is to protect our great nation America not due our every effort to ensure the safe return home to this, our country, this sweet land of liberty?"
I finished, flushed and a little breathless. Within minutes it was over and I was sitting next to Webb in Josh's office.
"Didn't know you thought of Rabb as a brother Mackenzie," he jibed.
I glared, "Clay."
"What?"
I sighed, "Nothing."
"Thanks Josh, that was important to me," Clay expressed his gratitude to his friend.
"Pleasure," Josh grinned, "It's a good story and today was a relatively quiet day. No mass shootings," he joked.
I sat in silently contemplation, consciously thinking about nothing, but really overcome by subconscious melancholy.
"Mac?" Clay called.
I only vaguely heard him and didn't respond.
"Mac?"
"Oh yeah," I blinked twice and turned my head to face him, "Yes?"
"Are you Ok?"
"I'm fine."
"Josh just asked us to dinner. You up for it?"
"I think I might go home," I apologised, "You go ahead, I'll see you some time."
"Yeah," Clay mumbled in reply.
The atmosphere was ridden with tension, like we were waiting for a WMD to explode.
"Thanks so much Mr Ashworth," I turned to him, offering my hand and slipping into overtired Marine mode.
"You're welcome Colonel. Look after Clay, and don't let him drive your car," he grinned, returning my handshake enthusiastically.
I meandered across the floor to the doorway as Clay and Josh made arrangements for the evening.
"You can drive yourself home can't you?" Clay asked me, "Cuz Josh'll give me a lift, and you can go now."
Was he dismissing me? It didn't sound like a question.
"Yeah, Ok," I agreed distantly, "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Or maybe Wednesday, or Thursday. I'm busy at the moment," he shrugged, "The office."
I pressed my lips together in a semi-smile which more closely resembled a grimace, "Yeah, I know what it's like. Well I'll see you anyway. Bye."
"Yeah, see you."
"And thank you very much Mr Ashworth."
"Any time Colonel."
I smiled more convincingly this time, before disappearing into the hallway and walking toward the elevator. As I walked I replayed the events of the past 36 hours. When I reached the conversation I had just left, I examined Webb's responses thoughtfully. Was he angry with me? Was he ignoring me? He had blatantly blown me off, and that comment about Harm being my brother was a bit too biting for a joke.
I sighed.
Men. Too much trouble, too much pain but women can't live without them. God certainly was strange. The laws of nature make no sense.
* * * * * * *
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH
1358 HOURS ZULU
Uncharacteristically, I entered the office five minutes late to find the usual gossip circulating, the usual paperwork looming sinisterly in the still-shadowy depths of my office, and the usual people coming and going at the usual pace.
He wasn't there. I was used to that now, but every second morning I'd think about him not being here, and this was a second morning. I was once again reviewing our conversation in Paraguay in my head, when I was interrupted by a Lieutenant's voice.
"Ma'am," Harriet called. "The Admiral wants to see…"
"MACKENZIE, IN MY OFFICE," Chegwidden bellowed, appearing before anyone had the chance to come to attention, "NOW!"
He disappeared without his customary 'as you were'.
I cringed slightly.
"That would be his request Ma'am," Harriet observed meekly, with a sympathetic look.
"Thank you Lieutenant. Either wish me luck or give me a gun," I paused, "He appears homicidal."
"Yes Ma'am," Harriet agreed, "Good luck."
"Thanks Lieutenant," I responded weakly, moving in the general direction of Chegwidden's office, depositing my belongings in my office en route.
As I approached Tiner came to attention.
"Thanks Petty Officer," I sighed.
"Uh, as you heard, he wants to see you right away Ma'am."
"Yeah," I swallowed, "What's your weather report Tiner?"
"He's, ah, really pissed off Ma'am."
"God help me."
"TINER," the Admiral's voice bellowed through the closed door, "WHERE IS COLONEL MACKENZIE?"
I crossed the distance between the polished wood and me and knocked.
"ENTER."
I complied apprehensively, not encouraged by Tiner's sympathetic glance.
"SIR," I announced my presence, standing in front of his desk at attention.
"COLONEL MACKENZIE, I PRESUME YOU DID NOT SEE THE 7 O'CLOCK NEWS LAST NIGHT?"
"Uh, no Sir," I mumbled quietly.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PEOPLE DID?"
"Roughly 2 million Sir," I estimated.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY IMPORTANT POLITICAL FIGURES SAW IT?"
"No Sir."
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHY I WOULD BE SO ANGRY ABOUT A NEWS BROADCAST?"
"Well," I began dryly, "It could have, you know, just maybe, it might've been due to the fact that I…"
"YES YOU. YOU PUBLICALLY DEGRADED AND HUMILIATED THE DIRECTOR OF THE CIA, THAT'S WHAT YOU DID!"
"I don't know about degraded Sir."
"YOU ACCUSED HIM OF LYING TO YOU."
"All the evidence suggests that he did Sir."
"ARE YOU ARGUING WITH ME COLONEL?"
"No Sir."
"GOOD! NOW, DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHY I WOULD BE UPSET ABOUT THIS?"
"Uh, well, yes Sir."
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW IRATE THE SECNAV WAS WHEN HE CALLED ME THIS MORNING?"
"I can only imagine Sir."
"YES, WELL HE WANTS YOU IN A COURT MARTIAL ASAP. THAT WAS BEFORE MY FIRST CUP OF COFFEE COLONEL."
"My apologies Sir."
"AND THAT IS NOT THE WORST COLONEL. DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THE SECNAV CALLED?"
"I have no idea Sir."
"THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES WAS ON THE PHONE ASKING WHY IN HELL I COULD NOT KEEP MY PEOPLE IN CHECK. THE PRESIDENT!"
I gulped. This was a lot worse than I had expected.
"Did you give him my regards Sir?" I mumbled, too quietly for him to hear. Dear God, I was never going to survive this.
"DO YOU KNOW WHAT I TOLD HIM?"
"No Sir, I do not."
"I TOLD HIM THAT THE REASON I COULD NOT KEEP MY PEOPLE IN CHECK WAS THAT THEY PERSISTED IN GOING ON DANGEROUS MISSIONS WITH THE CIA AND ALMOST GETTING THEMSELVES KILLED AND THE REST OF MY STAFF CONTINUALLY AND FREQUENTLY LAUNCHED WILD GOOSE CHASES AND PASSIONATE CRUSADES TO SAVE THEM. I TOLD THEM MY WHOLE DAMN STAFF HAD A HERO-COMPLEX AS WELL AS A DAMSEL-IN-DISTRESS DISORDER."
He paused for a breath.
"Do you have any idea how much damage you have done?" he asked me quietly, the restrained anger perfectly audible.
"I don't like to speculate Sir."
"You will be court martialled for this Colonel, there really is nothing I can do about that."
I nodded dreading the rest of my life entirely.
"On the other hand, you did make the Director incredibly nervous," Chegwidden's anger seemed to dissipate. He smiled at me.
I almost fell over in shock.
"Maybe there'll finally stop trying to use this office as a recruiting post."
Oh I got it now. I'd won his pissing contest for him. Great. I inwardly rolled my eyes.
"On the other hand, you did get my ass kicked before a decent hour of day," he sighed wearily, "Although I believe I returned the favour."
"I'm sure you'd give the Secnav a good competition any day of the week Sir," I asserted ruefully.
"Dismissed Colonel."
"Aye aye Sir."
I exited the office as fast as I could before the events had a chance to register in my mind. Suddenly the reality of the whole situation hit me: a court martial. That was it. I could see myself waving good-bye to my career as the jury published its findings: dishonourable discharge with a siding of fries and coke. (The fries and coke did of course involve my bank manager and maybe a room in local brig.)
I cursed quietly, almost immediately regretting the impulsive decision of the night before. With a slight satisfaction I slammed the door to my office behind me and marched over to my desk. As my eyes skimmed the pages of the radio communications transcript, the anger and regret faded instantly. I was reminded of the need to reach a resolution with him that was the justification of all the risks I had taken. There was only one objective in my mind, and nothing else mattered.
* * * * * *
A/N: I will update this chapter, as it's not finished. The ending is a bit dodgy, but I wanted to post it before the weekend.