"CHAPTER THREE: Flying Through A Storm"
A/N: So it's been a while. Apologies to all those who've been waiting and thanks for the kind words. They really are appreciated. This chapter may be a bit flashback-y because it's 1am and I don't feel like going into sordid details which will be entirely fictional. I honestly have no idea what they do before the CIA does its thing in country.
Whoever said half the fun was in getting there clearly hasn't endured the process of being trained and screened to participate in a CIA operation led by Clayton Webb, all the while being teased about being the ringleader's girl and therefore not taken seriously in the slightest, has never had to explain to her already pissed off CO why she'll be leaving JAG to run off with the CIA (again, and after the last time was a complete fuck-up no less), and then boarded a J-model C-130 at 1am to be tossed around in turbulence for the whole trip.
Looking around the gut of the aircraft and yawning, I saw Petty Officer Mohammed- a corpsman- sleeping, stretched out across the seating arrangements under the windows, enjoying the comforts of military travel. The sky was black outside, clouds occasionally obscuring the ebony view. We had flown through a storm just after leaving the States and my stomach had never full recovered. Ryan Hawkes was still sitting next to me, and had abandoned all attempts to make me feel less sick after realising they were futile.
Emil Jackson, a spook, and Webb were huddled in one corner, discussing tactics presumably. Whatever it was, it didn't sound thrilling. Alexander Princeton and Michael James, Webb's two favourite analysts from Langley were in the "spy" group. Despite the fact that all of us within the aircraft's pressurised fuselage were part of the operation, the spooks liked to stick together.
Hawkes, Mohammed and I were always left out of the kind of discussion they were presently having. Hawkes was FBI, in on the op because Webb had picked up a report on his counter-terrorism work. Mohammed was a Navy Corpsmen who saw action in Kosovo. His background and knowledge of country and culture what scored him a ticket on this bird. And me? To my knowledge I was the only one who had talked my way into it.
It was a bizarre group and it had been a bizarre couple of days. Four days ago, I requested leave for personal reasons and drove out to Langley for the day (and night as it later turned out) to meet Webb and his team.
"So you're Sarah Mackenzie?"
I just nodded.
"Colonel in the Marines," Webb announced, walking up behind me.
Michael James raised his eyes brows and offered a low whistle.
Desperate to get a word in, I replied, "Careful, I bite back."
"Could you wait here a second?" Clay asked me distractedly.
As they walked off I heard James mutter, "You scored their Sir."
I scowled.
The day had progressively got worse. The briefs were boring- nothing I hadn't heard before. For the most part, the company left a lot to be desired, and the food really sucked.
"How can you eat this stuff?" Hawkes muttered, pushing his plate away.
"I never knew a cop who refused food of any nature before," Mohammed responded.
"Yeah well, you don't look hard enough."
I rolled my eyes, they'd been griping over trivialities all day, "So, why are you two here?" I asked, bored beyond belief.
They exchanged looks, "We got calls Ma'am."
I glared.
"I've just about had with everyone around here giving me looks like I slept my way onto this op."
They both looked at me, with "You mean you didn't?" faces that made me want to introduce both of them to the garish shade of green carpet Langley had picked for its cafeteria.
"Take me seriously. Just because I wear a skirt doesn't mean I can't hold my own."
"Yes Ma'am," they both replied.
"Jerks," I muttered under my breath and walked away.
After lunch Clay decided he wanted to know if we could shoot, which was fine with me. I knew there had to be perks to this spy crap somewhere. Mohammed had gone first, with a score that my grandmother could beat. In his defence, he was a squid. Jackson shot one-handed at first and after missing twice decided to stop acting like James Bond. I wouldn't make him a sniper if you paid me, but he wasn't bad. Good for cover fire- the kind where you don't actually have to hit anything. The FBI agent had said he was a killer shot, and didn't disappoint. His had been the highest score before my turn. I won, naturally. Naturally none of them could believe it.
"Man," Hawkes groaned in defeat, "Woman, you can shoot."
I shrugged, "What do you think we do in the Marines? Teach people how to knit?"
"You know I always thought you were just here..."
I rolled my eyes, "Because I'm sleeping with the boss."
"Well yeah, but after that, I change my mind."
"So because I can aim a weapon at a target and pull a trigger you like me?"
"Nah, that requires no skill. It's because you can aim a weapon at a target, pull the trigger and hit the target that I like you."
"Hi, I'm Sarah Mackenzie."
"Ryan Hawkes, nice to meet you."
"Same to you."
"You've got a head on your shoulders."
I shrugged, "I was beginning to think yours was otherwise occupied, but since that attitude problem is in the past..."
"Hey, I can't believe you haven't already kicked my ass into next week for that crap."
"Hey, we have something in common."
That was the start of people taking me seriously. I was beginning to see the reason the FBI and the Marines share Quantico. Hawkes and I thought alike, although he was a field thinker. I was just a thinker. Nevertheless, we got along well after that. He quit it with "the Marine that's screwing Webb" deal too, to his better fortune. I couldn't say the same for Mohammed at that point. He was being a typical sailor (read: jerk) right up until Clay said the words "self-defence" and put me against the Petty Officer with the instructions "show me what you know." It was time to put the Navy in its place, in true Marine style.
"Jesus fucking Christ, what did you do to me?"
"Time out, Mac, what the hell did you just do?" Clay called from a bench a few metres away.
He fucking asked for it sugar.
I raised a hand to my mouth to hide the small smile playing at my lips, "Oops."
"Fuck," the Petty Officer sprawled on the floor in front of me groaned.
Not that Mohammed didn't deserve a kick in the pants, but maybe taking things literally was a bit harsh. After all, all rumours say it hurts more than any pain imaginable. And seeing the way he grimaced, I felt a little sorry for him.
Offering a hand, I bent down to speak to him, "Here, get up off the floor."
"Ow, Ma'am?"
"Yes Petty Officer?"
"I take back everything I ever said against women in the field, but please promise me you won't do that again."
"Will I have to prove myself to you again?"
"No way Ma'am, as far as I'm concerned, I want you on my side."
"You're a wise man Petty Officer."
"A smart ass Gunny once told me you should never mess with a Marine."
"You believe him?"
"No Ma'am, not then. Now? That was probably the one thing that guy said that wasn't bullshit."
I laughed, "No hard feelings right?"
"Nah, just bruises Ma'am."
"Don't go there Petty Officer."
Monday through Wednesday had reminded me how much I hate Langley. Webb told us all to go home and sleep on Wednesday night, but there is no rest for the wicked apparently. I spent all of Thursday trying to rid myself of the paperwork that plagued every aspect of my existence at JAG, the Admiral prying for information as to where I'd been all week and why Webb was hanging around a dingy corner of the bull pen.
"Colonel, there's someone here to see you," my CO announced, after calling me to his office.
"Sir?"
Last time I checked I didn't take my appointments in Chegwidden's office.
"Webb has been hanging around my office all day. I don't know what he wants, but get him out of here."
I was a bit taken aback by the fact that everyone in Washington seemed to know I was dating Webb, but nodded, "Yes Sir."
"Actually Admiral," Clay drawled from behind, "I'm not here to see her. I'm here to see you about her."
My CO glared at the spook, "Oh?" he pushed his chair away from his desk and looked from me to Webb, "Why do I feel outnumbered here?"
"I'd like to borrow Mac for a while."
"After what happened last time? Forget it."
"Sir please, if you just give me some leave" I began, stopping short when he shot me a look.
"I get the distinct feeling of deja vu. I remember the last time one of my officers ran off with the CIA and things went south, Rabb was in here asking for leave," he paused, "And you know what I told him."
"I have a letter ready Sir."
"Colonel, sit down."
"Sir?"
"Do I have to make it an order?"
I took a seat.
"Think about this for a second Colonel."
"I've already thought about it. It comes down to one thing: my best friend is out there somewhere suffering God knows what at the hands of some barbaric... monsters and I'll be damned, Paraguay or no, if I don't go after him. It's that simple Sir."
"I can't let you go."
"Sir..."
"That doesn't mean I don't want to let you go, but consider the lesson learned, this office is no longer an affiliate of the CIA."
"Sir, with all due respect, if you don't let me go, I'll go anyway."
"Mac," he said softly, and I looked up in surprise, "I didn't expect anything less," my CO sighed, "Webb."
"Yes Admiral?" Webb replied, jumping at the two star's sudden bark.
"Close the door behind you."
"Admiral?"
"I said go away, don't make me call security."
"I'm gone AJ."
"Good."
I turned to watch the door closed.
"There's one thing about you and Rabb, when one is in trouble the other is always ready to follow," he folded his hands and looked down at something on his desk.
"Not always Sir," I murmured, more to myself than him. I hadn't been a good friend to him over the past year.
"Mac, it's your crusade, not mine. But be safe and... while it's not any of my business, get your damn personal life sorted out."
"Sir?"
"You didn't see him when you were in Paraguay. I... I was tempted to let him go, he was useless here. Harriet said he stopped sleeping. He was a wreck without you. I've never seen anything, much less anyone, have an affect on that man in that way."
I swallowed, "I... I guess I know how he must've felt."
"Then if you know why, don't you think it might be time to do something about it?"
"Sir?"
He just raised an eyebrow at me, "I'm in no position to comment any further."
"Should I give you my letter Sir?"
"I'll see what I can do Colonel."
"Yes Sir."
"And Colonel?"
"Sir?"
"When you find him, tell him from me that we need to talk about this job of his."
"Yes Sir."
Chegwidden had taken it better than I thought he would. In the end, the letter of resignation never moved off my desk. I never gave it to him. Webb was usually pretty good at pulling strings, but Kershaw was the master. Within hours the Admiral had me back in his office, scowling about the fax from the DCI's office, but his eyes had been smiling. That was the highlight of my day. It only got worse from there. Around lunchtime, Webb left, only to return hours later to drag me from my office without so much as a word. All he would tell me is that he needed a female operative and still wasn't sure whether I was cut out for Afghanistan. I knew him better than that. He wasn't testing my skills, he was testing my willingness to take his crap. When we arrived at our destination, a run-down suburban apartment, I decided I had to take it.
"We need to gather some other intelligence before we go in country," Webb explained, "We're starting here tonight and this will be your final test. The others will all be ready by next Monday. You're the last to qualify before I go to the reserves so get it right, I don't want to spend my weekend finding another member for my team."
"Ok," I nodded.
He led me up the stairs of a old-looking suburban apartment. Opening the door and gesturing for me to enter, he stood at the doorway looking at the woman who met him. She was of medium height and build, with dark brown hair and piercing brown eyes. Her dark skin was contrasted by pale sweater which read 'Guns don't kill, I do'. I stared at her in much the same way as Webb, my mouth opening slightly and my hand rising to cover it.
Then, as soon as the moment had of awkward silence started it was finished with Webb finally shutting the door on the cold Autumn air and launching into the introductions, "Hallie, this is Sarah Mackenzie, Lt Colonel, USMC. She's helping me out on the op."
"Your big op?" Hallie teased.
"Yeah, she'll need some assistance. This is her final test. She's had some field experience but-"
"Yeah, yeah, I read the brief," Hallie cut him off, punctuating her sentence with a loud 'pop' as a bubble of pink gum burst, attaching itself to the corners of her perfectly shaped rose-coloured mouth.
"Good, then you know what I want you to do," Webb stated, "I'll leave you ladies to it."
"Right," the other woman replied turning her back on Webb, who subsequently wandered down the hallway and into a room at the back of the apartment, clearly gone for the duration of whatever I would be doing tonight, "You ready for your first recon op in a church?"
I didn't trust her.
"What do you mean?" I asked warily.
"Spooky spider didn't give you details then?"
I was slowly becoming accustomed to the many nicknames Webb had acquired in the field- he'd been labelled everything from 'that jerk' to 'King Clay' and I was not surprised at this new addition to the long list of pseudonyms. This one at least made some sense to the average person, some of them were just plain weird.
"No."
"Well, we've got to go into the mosque across the street and suss out two new arrivals from Saudi Arabia."
"Suspects?"
"Linked to al-Qaida."
"Proof?"
"Nothing conclusive, but we're working on their paper trail. Their charity is a front for a terrorist backing and recruiting agency. Financial connection. Unfortunately for them we noticed a great deal of money being transferred to banks in South America. Thanks to your little stint in Paraguay we've busted 'em pretty bad down there."
"Ok," I nodded, processing the information instantly.
"We don't why they're in the States, but we don't intend to let 'em leave."
I nodded again.
"Here," she threw me a plastic shopping bag, "Get changed. There's a veil and all that jazz in there. Make sure none of your hair is showing etc etc so on so forth. Webb said you knew Middle Eastern culture. I hope you do cuz you don't want to draw any attention to yourself in there."
"Alright."
She ushered me into a small bathroom and closed the door. When I was dressed, I stepped into the hall to find her sporting the same style of clothing.
"Good, we're ready," she half-smiled in approval. Speaking into a small, barely visible mouthpiece that was taped to her cheek she said, "Webb, Mackenzie and I are ready to roll."
I didn't hear the reply because the ear piece was in her ear.
"Yeah, he says Ok," she informed me, throwing me another radio.
"Put it on," she instructed, "Doesn't have a mouthpiece but you'll be able to hear what's going on, which is important."
With little help, I managed to slide the device into place beneath the long veil of black cloth.
"Webb's got a team ready in case we need some ammunition."
"What, we're going in unarmed?" I inquired sceptically.
"This is a covert operations." She responded.
I eyed distrustfully.
"How old are you?" I asked suddenly, realising what it was that was making me uneasy about her.
She shrugged, "My files says I'm 29."
"No way in hell are you 29."
"No," she agreed, "I'm not. I'm a 20 year old bitch from Dallas with one heck on an attitude. Barely finished high school, had tonnes of college offers, told 'em all to take a hike. Webb here caught me in the wrong place at the right time when I was 18. We altered my birth cert and jazzed up my qualifications and here I am."
I stared at her, "You obtained employment under false pretences?"
She gesticulated with her shoulders, "No one cares as long as I do my job. I'm good at what I do, the best shot in this joint."
"So how'd you convince Clay to lie for you? Are you involved with him or something?"
"I hear that's your department Colonel. Me? I did Clayton a few favours back when he was in that legendary partnership with Phillips."
"Who?"
"Just Webb's ex-partner---" she didn't finish the sentence.
"What happened?"
"I don't know. Mackenzie, let's get this show on the road."
"Sure."
"Heard you had some linguistic talents."
"Farsi."
"Good for shit all in there but listen out, you'll catch some of the Arabic."
"You?"
"Fluent."
"Family connection?"
"Nah, these looks are African, just picked it up. I have a brain for languages."
"Oh."
"Yeah, technically I'm a 'translator'. The directors office doesn't know I translate in the field and not at a desk yet."
"Should I trust you?"
"Definitely not," she assured me, "This is the world of intelligence, trust no one."
"Have you got my back?"
"If you've got mine. Seriously, I'm not about to get Webb's plaything killed. Last time that happened someone got a new rear orifice."
I ignored her degrading label of 'plaything' and decided to cure my own curiosity, "It's happened before?"
"Later Mac, we've got work to do."
"Sure thing."
"Maybe you shouldn't trust me, but you can," she added.
"I can look after myself."
"This ain't a battlefield Jarhead. This is a whole new set of games."
I swore I would hate spy games forever after Paraguay. That night had just reaffirmed the strength of my conviction. To say it had gone south would've been an understatement.
"What was all this about a covert operation?" I screamed at Hallie, another round from an AK-47 slamming into the ornate artwork above my head, "Last time I checked, 'covert' didn't involve bullets."
"Shit, you think this is my idea of fun?"
I swore as the pot plant next to be shattered, "Tell me again why we're not getting the hell out of here?"
"We have to wait for the signal."
"Oh, here I was thinking we were asking for a bullet in the chest. My mistake."
"I thought you were a Marine."
"I am. We know when to retreat."
"Jesus Christ Webb, get us out of here," she yelled above the noise.
"You know," I began, "We're not really in a good place right now. Rumour has it standing in between two groups of people with automatic rifles who are firing at each other isn't a smart idea."
"WEBB! Your woman has an attitude problem."
If it weren't for the extenuating circumstances, I would've made her plastic surgeon rich after the nasal reconstruction.
Webb of course thought the night was a raging success. The terrorists had escaped the mosque, but were intercepted on their way to Dulles. The information they had given us was the closest thing to gold in the way of intelligence. Two diamonds had been missing after Paraguay. In terrorist currency, that was a shit load of money, or a lot of weapons. His analysts had spent all night pouring over documents and looking at transactions from certain European bank accounts to other bank accounts the world over, trying to find some pattern. Hallie had gone home, but since Webb had given me a ride out and my car was still at JAG, I was forced to sit around being bored and drinking bad coffee.
"Heard you got freaked in there for a while," Emil Jacobs addressed me, handing me another mug filled with a watery brown liquid that looked less than appetising. And I thought the Navy made pathetic coffee.
"Me?" I raised an eyebrow, "No, I'm just used to having something to shoot back with."
"Right," he said disbelievingly, turning back to the group pouring over the finance statements of our favourite Islamic Jihad group.
I once again felt the need to drag out my resume and highlight my most kick- ass-Marine achievements. No-one would take me seriously. Spooks are jerks.
Clay leant back in his chair and threw his tie across the table, "We're getting nowhere with this. James, what else did you dig up from Fort Meade?"
"Well..." he paused, glancing at me, "Um, what's the go on clearance Sir?"
You know, I could understand if I was blonde and ditzy like Harm's girlfriends, but honestly. The son of a bitch.
"We're all cleared for anything you can get your hands on," Webb replied, meeting my gaze for a second with a pleading look.
I just glared back.
"Right, well, the NSA seem to think it's possible Fah'd's friends have acquired nuclear capabilities, although they're decoding software for whatever coding those guys are using for their secure e-mail is still in the developmental stages. So, they say they can't be sure and the computer might be generating crap. Also, the code words could mean anything, these guys aren't going around talking about a huge secret project in plain words. I think it's a serious possibility and we should take it that way. The mere threat of a nuclear attack means we have to be on our toes and we have to be ready..."
They got into a heated debate over whether it was actually possible our fundamentalist friends had acquired weapons of a nuclear nature. Emil "Jerk" Jackson launched into an explanation of geography which required a lot of table space. A stack of boring looking papers filled with numbers were pushed in my direction. It reminded me an awful lot of the JAG budget, therefore immediately gained my contempt.
"See, there is no way they would've been able to get weapons over the border between Uzbekistan and Afghanistan," Jackson continued. I didn't bother telling him that Uzbekistan and Afghanistan didn't actually share a border so of course they'd find that part difficult.
Yawning, the papers in front of me rustled slightly as the heating kicked in with a waft of warm air. Disinterestedly scanning the pages, I noticed that whatever genius had printed the records had transactions catalogued by amount not date. Scanning down the list of dates, a few appeared more than others- 04/05/04, 04/11/04, 04/18/04, 04/25/04. Grabbing a few highlighters, I proceeded to highlight all those dates, revealing that the amounts were always being transferred to the same 32 accounts. The sums were small enough not to warrant notice, but large enough to be useful. Next step was figuring out where all the money was.
"Hey James," I interrupted, not really caring that it was rude. They were still arguing over the plausibility of nuclear weapons anyway.
"Yeah?" he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose wearily.
"Have you got these things electronically? I mean, I've got amounts and account numbers and bank names but not branches for where all the money's going."
"What do you mean?" he asked, "There's no pattern there, we've looked."
"Yeah well, look again," I snapped, tossing him the stack of paper I was working on.
He glanced over it for a second, "Yeah, so they do their banking on the same day of the week, big deal."
"Let me see that," Jackson asked, his finance background evident. After glancing at it for a second he looked up at me, "Got a history with this sort of thing Colonel?"
"I've seen bank records before. They're usually done by date, but some genius at Fort Meade printed these according to the amount transferred."
"Because we figured it would be a large amount of money," Princeton muttered.
"What, you actually thought they'd transfer several million dollars in a lump sum?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.
Jackson grinned, "That would be too suspicious. What you're looking for is there Colonel, give me that folder at the bottom."
I slid the unmarked manila folder down the length of the table.
"Branch number 50678PAR," Jackson read from the highlighted sheets then ran his fingers along the pages in the open folder, "What do you know, our friends still have bank accounts in Paraguay. That's Concepcion... 50325COL. Columbia. 20456IND. Jakarta. 20893TUR. Istanbul. 14599UKG. London. 13567FRA. Strasbourg..." he continued reading until all 32 accounts were revealed. About halfway through I told him to stop and told Clay to get a map so we could plot the points.
"Now I'm thinking," he muttered, following my orders and rolling his eyes at the reactions of Princeton and James when I took control of the group. I hid a smile: never mess with a Marine boys.
Two hours later we had a total amount of money of around US$5 million scattered in various bank accounts across the globe, all transferred within the same month.
"Don't look now," Jackson said to James slyly, "But that looks like a pattern to me."
"Now can anyone get the records for all of these accounts?" I asked, "Because we need to see where the money went from there."
James hurried off to call the NSA, Princeton wandered over the window, Clay sipped another cup of coffee and Jackson looked at me inquiringly.
"What?"
"You're not as stupid as I thought."
"Yeah well, never send a man to a woman's job," I stared back at him without blinking, "You were doing everything ass-backwards. Who looks at transactions by amount anyway?"
He just stared incredulously.
Spooks are jerks.
Friday had been uneventful so far, although I hadn't slept in over 24 hours and my mind was starting to fog up. Leaning back against the window, I turned to find Hawkes staring at me.
"What?"
"You look thoughtful."
I laughed, "I feel green actually."
"Well you're that too."
"Just reflecting on what kind of week it's been."
"And?"
"I've had better."
"I know the feeling."
The aircraft shook a little and my stomach protested vehemently.
"Hey listen, I'm going to walk around for a bit," I told him, "It might make me feel a little better."
"Sure thing, I was thinking about sleeping for a while anyway."
I nodded and left my seat, wandering over to the door on the rear left of the fuselage and peering out into the darkness around us. We were flying over the ocean, so there really was nothing interesting to see. Over the sound of the aircraft's engines, I didn't hear the movement next to me, nor did I notice the woman beside me until the fifth mystery member of our team tapped incessantly on my shoulder.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I yelled a bit, to be heard over the noise. How anyone could sleep in one of these things was beyond me.
"Yeah," Phillipa Bryant rolled her eyes at me, "Could I get a look for a moment? I think I'm going to be sick."
I laughed and nodded, stepping backward, "I'm familiar with the feeling."
"You're Mackenzie right," she said after a moment, "The Marine?"
"That's me."
"Phil," she offered a hand. She'd shown up in the early hours of the morning, talked to Clay for half an hour and boarded the plane with us three hours ago.
"Mac," I shook her hand.
She grinned, "I was beginning to think I was the only one with a nickname like that."
I shrugged, "That Marines'll do that to you."
"I wouldn't know."
"You're CIA?"
"Affirmative."
"You the last minute miracle or something?"
"Me?" she shook her head, laughing mirthlessly, "I had to talk my way onto this thing."
I smiled, "I thought I was the only one."
"Yeah, I heard some stories about you and Clay."
"Guilty as charged for the most part."
"So you're the lawyer he took down to Paraguay?"
I flinched a little at her nonchalant tone, but reminded myself that Paraguay probably represented an average day on the job for her, "Guilty again."
"I read the reports, the names were mostly blanked out and a lot of stuff was cut out, but from what I read, you did a good thing down there."
I stared at her for a long moment.
"I earned my place here," she announced finally. The silence had been awkward, if not silent... the engines continued to drone in the background, "So did you."
"You're the only one here who thinks so."
"We'll stick together then."
I studied her face for a second. She was genuine and very un-spooky.
"What's your story?" I queried.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, from the way you talk to Webb, you're old-school CIA, yet he didn't want to bring you in on this and you don't act like an agent."
"You mean I actually show a few isolated scraps of humanity at times?"
"I was going to say you sound like you have moral fibre, but anyway."
She shrugged, "I was brought up to believe in a set of values. Friendship above all else, then truth, justice, honour, loyalty... they say the ones with values never survive in this business," she paused, "Which is why Webb didn't want to bring me. We just have a history. It goes back a long way. Long story."
"We have a few more hours up here yet, and I don't know about you," I hollered, "But I don't think I'll be able to sleep with all this noise."
She laughed, "Right. You want to know the story?"
"I do."
"Sit down."
I complied and she collapsed next to me.
"Firstly, before you ask, we've never slept together."
I raised an eyebrow.
"We were partners."
"Ah, and you got that all the time?"
"The only people that didn't think we were together were us."
"Been there."
"Rabb?"
I rolled my eyes, "Who else?"
"Right. Anyway, we were the best. Our networks never leaked. Our people never talked. Out assets were unfailingly loyal. We picked good people."
"I didn't know the CIA did the partner thing?"
She shrugged, "It doesn't usually. But we brought out the best in each other. Kershy, way back when he was an ickle station chief, knew that. Ran us together every time."
"So what happened?"
"I made a bad call which compromised the whole operation, got one of our assets killed. Clay, he never forgave me."
"Why?"
"He was in love with her."
I didn't reply and gave her the time she needed to continue, "It was our first op that went sour. Our last too," she grinned wryly, "I got reprimanded, he got promoted. And so it goes."
"There's more to it than that."
She shook her head, "It'd take all day. There were other things involved... we'd worked together for five years at that point. When you've known someone that long you have a history. Reactions aren't always clear cut and rational."
I nodded. I knew that one firsthand.
"So what about you? Why are you here?" she answered her own question, "Wait, you're bailing Rabb out right?"
I contemplated my answer, "He's my best friend. It's what we do."
"What? Run off with the CIA and almost get killed for each other?"
I tilted my head to one side. That was the essence of it after all, "I guess."
"You two must be interesting lawyers."
"You have no idea."
"So you're hauling your ass halfway across the globe to drag his ass out of trouble, but you're with Clay?"
"You would have no idea how many people react that way."
"Can you blame them?"
I raised my hands in a shrug, "Like you said, when you've known someone a long time there are other things involved than just the immediate past."
"He rescued you in Paraguay didn't he?"
She was smart. No doubt those names had been blacked out too.
I nodded, "And I never got to thank him."
"Don't get too involved here Mac," she warned, "This business can be harsh when it comes to love."
I started at her.
"Who said I was in love with him?"
She just stood up and wandered over to the window, "I've been there before."
I followed her, "And?"
When she spoke her voice was even and toneless and I immediately knew she'd closed herself off, "Let's say I wouldn't recommend it."
"How'd we score such bad weather anyway?" she commented idly as the Hercules descended suddenly, both of us grasping around for something to hold onto.
"Hey ladies," Webb called, walking down the aisle, "Enjoying the trip?" he smirked.
"Clay you know I hate flying," Phil glared, looking nauseous.
"Well sit down, strap yourselves and enjoy the ride. The loadmaster just asked me to tell you things are about to get bumpy."
"Shit," she swore, flopping down in a seat and pulling the belt over her hips.
"My thoughts exactly," I echoed, sitting beside her and swallowing my stomach.
Webb just stood there looking at the pair of us for a second.
"I should've known you two would get along," he shouted, lightening illuminating the clouds outside the window.
"We have a lot in common," I told him.
Phil nodded, "More than you might think."
A/N: So it's been a while. Apologies to all those who've been waiting and thanks for the kind words. They really are appreciated. This chapter may be a bit flashback-y because it's 1am and I don't feel like going into sordid details which will be entirely fictional. I honestly have no idea what they do before the CIA does its thing in country.
Whoever said half the fun was in getting there clearly hasn't endured the process of being trained and screened to participate in a CIA operation led by Clayton Webb, all the while being teased about being the ringleader's girl and therefore not taken seriously in the slightest, has never had to explain to her already pissed off CO why she'll be leaving JAG to run off with the CIA (again, and after the last time was a complete fuck-up no less), and then boarded a J-model C-130 at 1am to be tossed around in turbulence for the whole trip.
Looking around the gut of the aircraft and yawning, I saw Petty Officer Mohammed- a corpsman- sleeping, stretched out across the seating arrangements under the windows, enjoying the comforts of military travel. The sky was black outside, clouds occasionally obscuring the ebony view. We had flown through a storm just after leaving the States and my stomach had never full recovered. Ryan Hawkes was still sitting next to me, and had abandoned all attempts to make me feel less sick after realising they were futile.
Emil Jackson, a spook, and Webb were huddled in one corner, discussing tactics presumably. Whatever it was, it didn't sound thrilling. Alexander Princeton and Michael James, Webb's two favourite analysts from Langley were in the "spy" group. Despite the fact that all of us within the aircraft's pressurised fuselage were part of the operation, the spooks liked to stick together.
Hawkes, Mohammed and I were always left out of the kind of discussion they were presently having. Hawkes was FBI, in on the op because Webb had picked up a report on his counter-terrorism work. Mohammed was a Navy Corpsmen who saw action in Kosovo. His background and knowledge of country and culture what scored him a ticket on this bird. And me? To my knowledge I was the only one who had talked my way into it.
It was a bizarre group and it had been a bizarre couple of days. Four days ago, I requested leave for personal reasons and drove out to Langley for the day (and night as it later turned out) to meet Webb and his team.
"So you're Sarah Mackenzie?"
I just nodded.
"Colonel in the Marines," Webb announced, walking up behind me.
Michael James raised his eyes brows and offered a low whistle.
Desperate to get a word in, I replied, "Careful, I bite back."
"Could you wait here a second?" Clay asked me distractedly.
As they walked off I heard James mutter, "You scored their Sir."
I scowled.
The day had progressively got worse. The briefs were boring- nothing I hadn't heard before. For the most part, the company left a lot to be desired, and the food really sucked.
"How can you eat this stuff?" Hawkes muttered, pushing his plate away.
"I never knew a cop who refused food of any nature before," Mohammed responded.
"Yeah well, you don't look hard enough."
I rolled my eyes, they'd been griping over trivialities all day, "So, why are you two here?" I asked, bored beyond belief.
They exchanged looks, "We got calls Ma'am."
I glared.
"I've just about had with everyone around here giving me looks like I slept my way onto this op."
They both looked at me, with "You mean you didn't?" faces that made me want to introduce both of them to the garish shade of green carpet Langley had picked for its cafeteria.
"Take me seriously. Just because I wear a skirt doesn't mean I can't hold my own."
"Yes Ma'am," they both replied.
"Jerks," I muttered under my breath and walked away.
After lunch Clay decided he wanted to know if we could shoot, which was fine with me. I knew there had to be perks to this spy crap somewhere. Mohammed had gone first, with a score that my grandmother could beat. In his defence, he was a squid. Jackson shot one-handed at first and after missing twice decided to stop acting like James Bond. I wouldn't make him a sniper if you paid me, but he wasn't bad. Good for cover fire- the kind where you don't actually have to hit anything. The FBI agent had said he was a killer shot, and didn't disappoint. His had been the highest score before my turn. I won, naturally. Naturally none of them could believe it.
"Man," Hawkes groaned in defeat, "Woman, you can shoot."
I shrugged, "What do you think we do in the Marines? Teach people how to knit?"
"You know I always thought you were just here..."
I rolled my eyes, "Because I'm sleeping with the boss."
"Well yeah, but after that, I change my mind."
"So because I can aim a weapon at a target and pull a trigger you like me?"
"Nah, that requires no skill. It's because you can aim a weapon at a target, pull the trigger and hit the target that I like you."
"Hi, I'm Sarah Mackenzie."
"Ryan Hawkes, nice to meet you."
"Same to you."
"You've got a head on your shoulders."
I shrugged, "I was beginning to think yours was otherwise occupied, but since that attitude problem is in the past..."
"Hey, I can't believe you haven't already kicked my ass into next week for that crap."
"Hey, we have something in common."
That was the start of people taking me seriously. I was beginning to see the reason the FBI and the Marines share Quantico. Hawkes and I thought alike, although he was a field thinker. I was just a thinker. Nevertheless, we got along well after that. He quit it with "the Marine that's screwing Webb" deal too, to his better fortune. I couldn't say the same for Mohammed at that point. He was being a typical sailor (read: jerk) right up until Clay said the words "self-defence" and put me against the Petty Officer with the instructions "show me what you know." It was time to put the Navy in its place, in true Marine style.
"Jesus fucking Christ, what did you do to me?"
"Time out, Mac, what the hell did you just do?" Clay called from a bench a few metres away.
He fucking asked for it sugar.
I raised a hand to my mouth to hide the small smile playing at my lips, "Oops."
"Fuck," the Petty Officer sprawled on the floor in front of me groaned.
Not that Mohammed didn't deserve a kick in the pants, but maybe taking things literally was a bit harsh. After all, all rumours say it hurts more than any pain imaginable. And seeing the way he grimaced, I felt a little sorry for him.
Offering a hand, I bent down to speak to him, "Here, get up off the floor."
"Ow, Ma'am?"
"Yes Petty Officer?"
"I take back everything I ever said against women in the field, but please promise me you won't do that again."
"Will I have to prove myself to you again?"
"No way Ma'am, as far as I'm concerned, I want you on my side."
"You're a wise man Petty Officer."
"A smart ass Gunny once told me you should never mess with a Marine."
"You believe him?"
"No Ma'am, not then. Now? That was probably the one thing that guy said that wasn't bullshit."
I laughed, "No hard feelings right?"
"Nah, just bruises Ma'am."
"Don't go there Petty Officer."
Monday through Wednesday had reminded me how much I hate Langley. Webb told us all to go home and sleep on Wednesday night, but there is no rest for the wicked apparently. I spent all of Thursday trying to rid myself of the paperwork that plagued every aspect of my existence at JAG, the Admiral prying for information as to where I'd been all week and why Webb was hanging around a dingy corner of the bull pen.
"Colonel, there's someone here to see you," my CO announced, after calling me to his office.
"Sir?"
Last time I checked I didn't take my appointments in Chegwidden's office.
"Webb has been hanging around my office all day. I don't know what he wants, but get him out of here."
I was a bit taken aback by the fact that everyone in Washington seemed to know I was dating Webb, but nodded, "Yes Sir."
"Actually Admiral," Clay drawled from behind, "I'm not here to see her. I'm here to see you about her."
My CO glared at the spook, "Oh?" he pushed his chair away from his desk and looked from me to Webb, "Why do I feel outnumbered here?"
"I'd like to borrow Mac for a while."
"After what happened last time? Forget it."
"Sir please, if you just give me some leave" I began, stopping short when he shot me a look.
"I get the distinct feeling of deja vu. I remember the last time one of my officers ran off with the CIA and things went south, Rabb was in here asking for leave," he paused, "And you know what I told him."
"I have a letter ready Sir."
"Colonel, sit down."
"Sir?"
"Do I have to make it an order?"
I took a seat.
"Think about this for a second Colonel."
"I've already thought about it. It comes down to one thing: my best friend is out there somewhere suffering God knows what at the hands of some barbaric... monsters and I'll be damned, Paraguay or no, if I don't go after him. It's that simple Sir."
"I can't let you go."
"Sir..."
"That doesn't mean I don't want to let you go, but consider the lesson learned, this office is no longer an affiliate of the CIA."
"Sir, with all due respect, if you don't let me go, I'll go anyway."
"Mac," he said softly, and I looked up in surprise, "I didn't expect anything less," my CO sighed, "Webb."
"Yes Admiral?" Webb replied, jumping at the two star's sudden bark.
"Close the door behind you."
"Admiral?"
"I said go away, don't make me call security."
"I'm gone AJ."
"Good."
I turned to watch the door closed.
"There's one thing about you and Rabb, when one is in trouble the other is always ready to follow," he folded his hands and looked down at something on his desk.
"Not always Sir," I murmured, more to myself than him. I hadn't been a good friend to him over the past year.
"Mac, it's your crusade, not mine. But be safe and... while it's not any of my business, get your damn personal life sorted out."
"Sir?"
"You didn't see him when you were in Paraguay. I... I was tempted to let him go, he was useless here. Harriet said he stopped sleeping. He was a wreck without you. I've never seen anything, much less anyone, have an affect on that man in that way."
I swallowed, "I... I guess I know how he must've felt."
"Then if you know why, don't you think it might be time to do something about it?"
"Sir?"
He just raised an eyebrow at me, "I'm in no position to comment any further."
"Should I give you my letter Sir?"
"I'll see what I can do Colonel."
"Yes Sir."
"And Colonel?"
"Sir?"
"When you find him, tell him from me that we need to talk about this job of his."
"Yes Sir."
Chegwidden had taken it better than I thought he would. In the end, the letter of resignation never moved off my desk. I never gave it to him. Webb was usually pretty good at pulling strings, but Kershaw was the master. Within hours the Admiral had me back in his office, scowling about the fax from the DCI's office, but his eyes had been smiling. That was the highlight of my day. It only got worse from there. Around lunchtime, Webb left, only to return hours later to drag me from my office without so much as a word. All he would tell me is that he needed a female operative and still wasn't sure whether I was cut out for Afghanistan. I knew him better than that. He wasn't testing my skills, he was testing my willingness to take his crap. When we arrived at our destination, a run-down suburban apartment, I decided I had to take it.
"We need to gather some other intelligence before we go in country," Webb explained, "We're starting here tonight and this will be your final test. The others will all be ready by next Monday. You're the last to qualify before I go to the reserves so get it right, I don't want to spend my weekend finding another member for my team."
"Ok," I nodded.
He led me up the stairs of a old-looking suburban apartment. Opening the door and gesturing for me to enter, he stood at the doorway looking at the woman who met him. She was of medium height and build, with dark brown hair and piercing brown eyes. Her dark skin was contrasted by pale sweater which read 'Guns don't kill, I do'. I stared at her in much the same way as Webb, my mouth opening slightly and my hand rising to cover it.
Then, as soon as the moment had of awkward silence started it was finished with Webb finally shutting the door on the cold Autumn air and launching into the introductions, "Hallie, this is Sarah Mackenzie, Lt Colonel, USMC. She's helping me out on the op."
"Your big op?" Hallie teased.
"Yeah, she'll need some assistance. This is her final test. She's had some field experience but-"
"Yeah, yeah, I read the brief," Hallie cut him off, punctuating her sentence with a loud 'pop' as a bubble of pink gum burst, attaching itself to the corners of her perfectly shaped rose-coloured mouth.
"Good, then you know what I want you to do," Webb stated, "I'll leave you ladies to it."
"Right," the other woman replied turning her back on Webb, who subsequently wandered down the hallway and into a room at the back of the apartment, clearly gone for the duration of whatever I would be doing tonight, "You ready for your first recon op in a church?"
I didn't trust her.
"What do you mean?" I asked warily.
"Spooky spider didn't give you details then?"
I was slowly becoming accustomed to the many nicknames Webb had acquired in the field- he'd been labelled everything from 'that jerk' to 'King Clay' and I was not surprised at this new addition to the long list of pseudonyms. This one at least made some sense to the average person, some of them were just plain weird.
"No."
"Well, we've got to go into the mosque across the street and suss out two new arrivals from Saudi Arabia."
"Suspects?"
"Linked to al-Qaida."
"Proof?"
"Nothing conclusive, but we're working on their paper trail. Their charity is a front for a terrorist backing and recruiting agency. Financial connection. Unfortunately for them we noticed a great deal of money being transferred to banks in South America. Thanks to your little stint in Paraguay we've busted 'em pretty bad down there."
"Ok," I nodded, processing the information instantly.
"We don't why they're in the States, but we don't intend to let 'em leave."
I nodded again.
"Here," she threw me a plastic shopping bag, "Get changed. There's a veil and all that jazz in there. Make sure none of your hair is showing etc etc so on so forth. Webb said you knew Middle Eastern culture. I hope you do cuz you don't want to draw any attention to yourself in there."
"Alright."
She ushered me into a small bathroom and closed the door. When I was dressed, I stepped into the hall to find her sporting the same style of clothing.
"Good, we're ready," she half-smiled in approval. Speaking into a small, barely visible mouthpiece that was taped to her cheek she said, "Webb, Mackenzie and I are ready to roll."
I didn't hear the reply because the ear piece was in her ear.
"Yeah, he says Ok," she informed me, throwing me another radio.
"Put it on," she instructed, "Doesn't have a mouthpiece but you'll be able to hear what's going on, which is important."
With little help, I managed to slide the device into place beneath the long veil of black cloth.
"Webb's got a team ready in case we need some ammunition."
"What, we're going in unarmed?" I inquired sceptically.
"This is a covert operations." She responded.
I eyed distrustfully.
"How old are you?" I asked suddenly, realising what it was that was making me uneasy about her.
She shrugged, "My files says I'm 29."
"No way in hell are you 29."
"No," she agreed, "I'm not. I'm a 20 year old bitch from Dallas with one heck on an attitude. Barely finished high school, had tonnes of college offers, told 'em all to take a hike. Webb here caught me in the wrong place at the right time when I was 18. We altered my birth cert and jazzed up my qualifications and here I am."
I stared at her, "You obtained employment under false pretences?"
She gesticulated with her shoulders, "No one cares as long as I do my job. I'm good at what I do, the best shot in this joint."
"So how'd you convince Clay to lie for you? Are you involved with him or something?"
"I hear that's your department Colonel. Me? I did Clayton a few favours back when he was in that legendary partnership with Phillips."
"Who?"
"Just Webb's ex-partner---" she didn't finish the sentence.
"What happened?"
"I don't know. Mackenzie, let's get this show on the road."
"Sure."
"Heard you had some linguistic talents."
"Farsi."
"Good for shit all in there but listen out, you'll catch some of the Arabic."
"You?"
"Fluent."
"Family connection?"
"Nah, these looks are African, just picked it up. I have a brain for languages."
"Oh."
"Yeah, technically I'm a 'translator'. The directors office doesn't know I translate in the field and not at a desk yet."
"Should I trust you?"
"Definitely not," she assured me, "This is the world of intelligence, trust no one."
"Have you got my back?"
"If you've got mine. Seriously, I'm not about to get Webb's plaything killed. Last time that happened someone got a new rear orifice."
I ignored her degrading label of 'plaything' and decided to cure my own curiosity, "It's happened before?"
"Later Mac, we've got work to do."
"Sure thing."
"Maybe you shouldn't trust me, but you can," she added.
"I can look after myself."
"This ain't a battlefield Jarhead. This is a whole new set of games."
I swore I would hate spy games forever after Paraguay. That night had just reaffirmed the strength of my conviction. To say it had gone south would've been an understatement.
"What was all this about a covert operation?" I screamed at Hallie, another round from an AK-47 slamming into the ornate artwork above my head, "Last time I checked, 'covert' didn't involve bullets."
"Shit, you think this is my idea of fun?"
I swore as the pot plant next to be shattered, "Tell me again why we're not getting the hell out of here?"
"We have to wait for the signal."
"Oh, here I was thinking we were asking for a bullet in the chest. My mistake."
"I thought you were a Marine."
"I am. We know when to retreat."
"Jesus Christ Webb, get us out of here," she yelled above the noise.
"You know," I began, "We're not really in a good place right now. Rumour has it standing in between two groups of people with automatic rifles who are firing at each other isn't a smart idea."
"WEBB! Your woman has an attitude problem."
If it weren't for the extenuating circumstances, I would've made her plastic surgeon rich after the nasal reconstruction.
Webb of course thought the night was a raging success. The terrorists had escaped the mosque, but were intercepted on their way to Dulles. The information they had given us was the closest thing to gold in the way of intelligence. Two diamonds had been missing after Paraguay. In terrorist currency, that was a shit load of money, or a lot of weapons. His analysts had spent all night pouring over documents and looking at transactions from certain European bank accounts to other bank accounts the world over, trying to find some pattern. Hallie had gone home, but since Webb had given me a ride out and my car was still at JAG, I was forced to sit around being bored and drinking bad coffee.
"Heard you got freaked in there for a while," Emil Jacobs addressed me, handing me another mug filled with a watery brown liquid that looked less than appetising. And I thought the Navy made pathetic coffee.
"Me?" I raised an eyebrow, "No, I'm just used to having something to shoot back with."
"Right," he said disbelievingly, turning back to the group pouring over the finance statements of our favourite Islamic Jihad group.
I once again felt the need to drag out my resume and highlight my most kick- ass-Marine achievements. No-one would take me seriously. Spooks are jerks.
Clay leant back in his chair and threw his tie across the table, "We're getting nowhere with this. James, what else did you dig up from Fort Meade?"
"Well..." he paused, glancing at me, "Um, what's the go on clearance Sir?"
You know, I could understand if I was blonde and ditzy like Harm's girlfriends, but honestly. The son of a bitch.
"We're all cleared for anything you can get your hands on," Webb replied, meeting my gaze for a second with a pleading look.
I just glared back.
"Right, well, the NSA seem to think it's possible Fah'd's friends have acquired nuclear capabilities, although they're decoding software for whatever coding those guys are using for their secure e-mail is still in the developmental stages. So, they say they can't be sure and the computer might be generating crap. Also, the code words could mean anything, these guys aren't going around talking about a huge secret project in plain words. I think it's a serious possibility and we should take it that way. The mere threat of a nuclear attack means we have to be on our toes and we have to be ready..."
They got into a heated debate over whether it was actually possible our fundamentalist friends had acquired weapons of a nuclear nature. Emil "Jerk" Jackson launched into an explanation of geography which required a lot of table space. A stack of boring looking papers filled with numbers were pushed in my direction. It reminded me an awful lot of the JAG budget, therefore immediately gained my contempt.
"See, there is no way they would've been able to get weapons over the border between Uzbekistan and Afghanistan," Jackson continued. I didn't bother telling him that Uzbekistan and Afghanistan didn't actually share a border so of course they'd find that part difficult.
Yawning, the papers in front of me rustled slightly as the heating kicked in with a waft of warm air. Disinterestedly scanning the pages, I noticed that whatever genius had printed the records had transactions catalogued by amount not date. Scanning down the list of dates, a few appeared more than others- 04/05/04, 04/11/04, 04/18/04, 04/25/04. Grabbing a few highlighters, I proceeded to highlight all those dates, revealing that the amounts were always being transferred to the same 32 accounts. The sums were small enough not to warrant notice, but large enough to be useful. Next step was figuring out where all the money was.
"Hey James," I interrupted, not really caring that it was rude. They were still arguing over the plausibility of nuclear weapons anyway.
"Yeah?" he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose wearily.
"Have you got these things electronically? I mean, I've got amounts and account numbers and bank names but not branches for where all the money's going."
"What do you mean?" he asked, "There's no pattern there, we've looked."
"Yeah well, look again," I snapped, tossing him the stack of paper I was working on.
He glanced over it for a second, "Yeah, so they do their banking on the same day of the week, big deal."
"Let me see that," Jackson asked, his finance background evident. After glancing at it for a second he looked up at me, "Got a history with this sort of thing Colonel?"
"I've seen bank records before. They're usually done by date, but some genius at Fort Meade printed these according to the amount transferred."
"Because we figured it would be a large amount of money," Princeton muttered.
"What, you actually thought they'd transfer several million dollars in a lump sum?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.
Jackson grinned, "That would be too suspicious. What you're looking for is there Colonel, give me that folder at the bottom."
I slid the unmarked manila folder down the length of the table.
"Branch number 50678PAR," Jackson read from the highlighted sheets then ran his fingers along the pages in the open folder, "What do you know, our friends still have bank accounts in Paraguay. That's Concepcion... 50325COL. Columbia. 20456IND. Jakarta. 20893TUR. Istanbul. 14599UKG. London. 13567FRA. Strasbourg..." he continued reading until all 32 accounts were revealed. About halfway through I told him to stop and told Clay to get a map so we could plot the points.
"Now I'm thinking," he muttered, following my orders and rolling his eyes at the reactions of Princeton and James when I took control of the group. I hid a smile: never mess with a Marine boys.
Two hours later we had a total amount of money of around US$5 million scattered in various bank accounts across the globe, all transferred within the same month.
"Don't look now," Jackson said to James slyly, "But that looks like a pattern to me."
"Now can anyone get the records for all of these accounts?" I asked, "Because we need to see where the money went from there."
James hurried off to call the NSA, Princeton wandered over the window, Clay sipped another cup of coffee and Jackson looked at me inquiringly.
"What?"
"You're not as stupid as I thought."
"Yeah well, never send a man to a woman's job," I stared back at him without blinking, "You were doing everything ass-backwards. Who looks at transactions by amount anyway?"
He just stared incredulously.
Spooks are jerks.
Friday had been uneventful so far, although I hadn't slept in over 24 hours and my mind was starting to fog up. Leaning back against the window, I turned to find Hawkes staring at me.
"What?"
"You look thoughtful."
I laughed, "I feel green actually."
"Well you're that too."
"Just reflecting on what kind of week it's been."
"And?"
"I've had better."
"I know the feeling."
The aircraft shook a little and my stomach protested vehemently.
"Hey listen, I'm going to walk around for a bit," I told him, "It might make me feel a little better."
"Sure thing, I was thinking about sleeping for a while anyway."
I nodded and left my seat, wandering over to the door on the rear left of the fuselage and peering out into the darkness around us. We were flying over the ocean, so there really was nothing interesting to see. Over the sound of the aircraft's engines, I didn't hear the movement next to me, nor did I notice the woman beside me until the fifth mystery member of our team tapped incessantly on my shoulder.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I yelled a bit, to be heard over the noise. How anyone could sleep in one of these things was beyond me.
"Yeah," Phillipa Bryant rolled her eyes at me, "Could I get a look for a moment? I think I'm going to be sick."
I laughed and nodded, stepping backward, "I'm familiar with the feeling."
"You're Mackenzie right," she said after a moment, "The Marine?"
"That's me."
"Phil," she offered a hand. She'd shown up in the early hours of the morning, talked to Clay for half an hour and boarded the plane with us three hours ago.
"Mac," I shook her hand.
She grinned, "I was beginning to think I was the only one with a nickname like that."
I shrugged, "That Marines'll do that to you."
"I wouldn't know."
"You're CIA?"
"Affirmative."
"You the last minute miracle or something?"
"Me?" she shook her head, laughing mirthlessly, "I had to talk my way onto this thing."
I smiled, "I thought I was the only one."
"Yeah, I heard some stories about you and Clay."
"Guilty as charged for the most part."
"So you're the lawyer he took down to Paraguay?"
I flinched a little at her nonchalant tone, but reminded myself that Paraguay probably represented an average day on the job for her, "Guilty again."
"I read the reports, the names were mostly blanked out and a lot of stuff was cut out, but from what I read, you did a good thing down there."
I stared at her for a long moment.
"I earned my place here," she announced finally. The silence had been awkward, if not silent... the engines continued to drone in the background, "So did you."
"You're the only one here who thinks so."
"We'll stick together then."
I studied her face for a second. She was genuine and very un-spooky.
"What's your story?" I queried.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, from the way you talk to Webb, you're old-school CIA, yet he didn't want to bring you in on this and you don't act like an agent."
"You mean I actually show a few isolated scraps of humanity at times?"
"I was going to say you sound like you have moral fibre, but anyway."
She shrugged, "I was brought up to believe in a set of values. Friendship above all else, then truth, justice, honour, loyalty... they say the ones with values never survive in this business," she paused, "Which is why Webb didn't want to bring me. We just have a history. It goes back a long way. Long story."
"We have a few more hours up here yet, and I don't know about you," I hollered, "But I don't think I'll be able to sleep with all this noise."
She laughed, "Right. You want to know the story?"
"I do."
"Sit down."
I complied and she collapsed next to me.
"Firstly, before you ask, we've never slept together."
I raised an eyebrow.
"We were partners."
"Ah, and you got that all the time?"
"The only people that didn't think we were together were us."
"Been there."
"Rabb?"
I rolled my eyes, "Who else?"
"Right. Anyway, we were the best. Our networks never leaked. Our people never talked. Out assets were unfailingly loyal. We picked good people."
"I didn't know the CIA did the partner thing?"
She shrugged, "It doesn't usually. But we brought out the best in each other. Kershy, way back when he was an ickle station chief, knew that. Ran us together every time."
"So what happened?"
"I made a bad call which compromised the whole operation, got one of our assets killed. Clay, he never forgave me."
"Why?"
"He was in love with her."
I didn't reply and gave her the time she needed to continue, "It was our first op that went sour. Our last too," she grinned wryly, "I got reprimanded, he got promoted. And so it goes."
"There's more to it than that."
She shook her head, "It'd take all day. There were other things involved... we'd worked together for five years at that point. When you've known someone that long you have a history. Reactions aren't always clear cut and rational."
I nodded. I knew that one firsthand.
"So what about you? Why are you here?" she answered her own question, "Wait, you're bailing Rabb out right?"
I contemplated my answer, "He's my best friend. It's what we do."
"What? Run off with the CIA and almost get killed for each other?"
I tilted my head to one side. That was the essence of it after all, "I guess."
"You two must be interesting lawyers."
"You have no idea."
"So you're hauling your ass halfway across the globe to drag his ass out of trouble, but you're with Clay?"
"You would have no idea how many people react that way."
"Can you blame them?"
I raised my hands in a shrug, "Like you said, when you've known someone a long time there are other things involved than just the immediate past."
"He rescued you in Paraguay didn't he?"
She was smart. No doubt those names had been blacked out too.
I nodded, "And I never got to thank him."
"Don't get too involved here Mac," she warned, "This business can be harsh when it comes to love."
I started at her.
"Who said I was in love with him?"
She just stood up and wandered over to the window, "I've been there before."
I followed her, "And?"
When she spoke her voice was even and toneless and I immediately knew she'd closed herself off, "Let's say I wouldn't recommend it."
"How'd we score such bad weather anyway?" she commented idly as the Hercules descended suddenly, both of us grasping around for something to hold onto.
"Hey ladies," Webb called, walking down the aisle, "Enjoying the trip?" he smirked.
"Clay you know I hate flying," Phil glared, looking nauseous.
"Well sit down, strap yourselves and enjoy the ride. The loadmaster just asked me to tell you things are about to get bumpy."
"Shit," she swore, flopping down in a seat and pulling the belt over her hips.
"My thoughts exactly," I echoed, sitting beside her and swallowing my stomach.
Webb just stood there looking at the pair of us for a second.
"I should've known you two would get along," he shouted, lightening illuminating the clouds outside the window.
"We have a lot in common," I told him.
Phil nodded, "More than you might think."