Disclaimer: Don't own JAG blah blah…..

A/N: Finally a new chapter. I've been home sick for a week, so I had time to write. At least the cold was good for something…

Part 11

Victor hung up the phone after the talk with Webb. They had agreed to pursue the lead. It was the only thing they had, so it was everything or nothing. He looked down at the list again. Edwin Anderson was one of those that had given a phone number when he ordered the ticket a month ago. It was an American number, and if Anderson and Palmer were the same guy, the number would probably be bogus and lead to nothing. Victor dialed the number and waited for reply. It came almost instantaneous; "USP Leavenworth, how can I help you?" Victor had to laugh. Palmer usually had everything figured out to the smallest detail. Leavenworth had been Palmer's "home" the last four years, so actually it wasn't a bogus number. But Leavenworth was also probably the place Palmer hated the most in this world, and a place he certainly not wanted to return to. Anderson and Palmer were definitely the same guy. It was just like him to come up with this little inside joke.

"Excuse me," a nervous looking guy in a black suit had apparently come out from nowhere and was now standing in front of gunny's desk. "My name is Jr. Agent Benson. Agent Webb sent me here to deliver this information to you personally." Benson handed Victor a grey envelope. Victor looked at it and opened it quickly. All the documents inside were marked "Classified" with a red stamp. It was interesting reading. Webb had tracked down the travel agent where Mr. Anderson had bought his ticket. Santiago was just an intermediate stop. Mr. Anderson had also reserved a ticket from Santiago to Western Samoa in the heart of the Pacific. He was probably already in Western Samoa or from there headed off to God-knows-which island. The phone rang. Webb's familiar voice could be heard. "Pack your bag Gunny, we're going to Samoa."

- - - - - - - - -

Palmer sat on a small dock near a small village in Western Samoa, looking out over the sea. He impatiently looked at his watch. There was an oppressive heat, and not as much as a gust of wind, he was drenched in sweat. The sky was blue, but there were some very dark clouds in the horizon, and they were getting closer. He had removed the disguise just after he arrived to Samoa. It was too hot to walk around with a rubber nose and a lot of padding underneath his clothes. Finally what he was waiting for arrived. A small two-motor seaplane touched the water and made its way to the dock. This was how he was going to get to his tropical paradise. He had the route staked out. They had to fly in stages, the plane could only carry that much fuel, and the distances in the Pacific were vast. First stop was Atafu, a small atoll in the archipelago of Tokelau north of Western Samoa, in the middle of nowhere, where they would just stay a couple of hours to get more fuel. But the weather bothered him. Hopefully the storm that seemed on the way wouldn't be so bad, or maybe the pilot knew how to avoid the whole thing. Palmer had no time to loose. People had probably tracked him to Santiago at least, or even to Samoa if they had some wits. So Samoa wouldn't be safe for very much longer. But he wouldn't have stayed there anyway, there were too many people, both natives and tourists. He was heading for more remote areas.

- - - - - - - - -

Bud had cases up to his head. He hadn't even had time to go and visit Harm after he had woken up. He read the next case file. A corporal caught in the act while spraying not-so-pleasant words on his superior's car. Why was this case on his desk? It was a case like made for Lt. Singer. Maybe it wasn't just lack of time that had kept him from visiting Harm. He had heard that Harm's paralysis probably would be permanent and deep in his mind he still had lots of thoughts about whose fault it was. He went through the whole unpleasant incident over and over again and couldn't get the scene out of his head. And every time he came to the same conclusion. It was his fault. He just couldn't face Harm.

Harriet couldn't avoid seeing her husband's anxiety. Bud hadn't been himself after it all happened, and Harriet suffered with him. She had tried everything to cheer him up, but it had no effect. Something had to be done.

- - - - - - - - -

No matter how much he tried, Harm couldn't persuade Mac to leave him or leave the room. The argument had taxed his energy completely. He suddenly felt so tired and even if he tried he couldn't fight the sleep that came over him. It was a restless sleep. His eyelids were flickering. Mac looked at him; he probably would have been tossing and turning in bed, if he could. But except for his eyelids he didn't move a muscle. It went cold down Mac's spine as she realized. It was really this bad. But as suddenly as he fell asleep, he woke up again, his eyes opened wide. They were filled with terror. Mac, who had taken a little walk across the room to stretch her sore muscles, rushed to his side again. "Everything will be okay, it was just a bad dream," she reassured him.

A few seconds went by before Harm could speak; he had to get his breath back. "It was so vivid. It was Palm...," he stopped in the middle of the sentence, swallowing.

"It helps to talk about things, you know, even for a pigheaded flyboy," Mac said with a small grin.

"Huh, me pigheaded, and that comes from you. When you have made up your mind about something, it's like talking to a damn lamppost. I would probably get more out of the lamppost," for a second Harm was back to his old self, with his usual apt comments.

"No, your not pigheaded at all," Mac said with mock mildness in her voice. "You just think everything is better when you deal with it alone, and you're willingly to do everything to get it your way. When will you realize that two people together can deal with a lot of things better than one?" Mac rose from the chair and walked around the room a little, before she stopped in front of the window, looking out on the grey, soggy world outside. It had been raining for days.

"The dream was so vivid," Harm said quietly.

Mac turned away from the window and towards Harm; he looked like a scared little boy.

"I'm starting to wonder if it wasn't a dream at all," he continued. "I was lying on the floor in my apartment, Palmer sat on the couch. On the table in front of him were a whole lot of different syringes and a couple of medicine bottles. On the floor beside me was some electrical equipment, that kind rumors say some agencies use when people don't cooperate the way they want." He paused, it was painful memories.

"Electrodes?" Mac interjected, it was just like the doctor had explained.

Harm nodded. "Palmer had stripped me down to my boxers, and attached all these electrodes to me, and sat there looking at me. Then he rose from the couch and went towards me with a wet sponge, all the time with that devilish, insane smirk on his face. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't, my mouth just wouldn't form any words. I tried to move, but my body wouldn't listen. I was terrified, he knelt down beside be and stroke the sponge over my body and didn't stop before my whole body was wet. He fetched a small remote control with one black and one red button from his pocket and looked directly into my eyes, smiling, when he pushed the red button. And you know, water and electricity isn't a pleasant combination. The pain that struck me, I can't describe it." It dawned upon him that he wasn't telling Mac about some bad dream, it was much worse than that. He had really gone through all this. His memory had started to return, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to remember more. "And he did it over and over again," Harm continued quietly.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Mac turned towards the door. Bud came stumbling in, it almost seemed like someone pushed him. Leaving steps could be heard from the hallway. It sounded suspiciously like Harriet. Mac ran out in the hallway to catch up with her. So Bud stood there in the room with Harm, perplexed, not quite sure what he was doing there.

"You look like you just came falling down from the sky, Bud," Harm chuckled. Bud's rather comical entrance made him cheer up a little, forgetting his horrible memories and the pain for a while.

"Uh, what?" Bud was completely out of it. He didn't know where to look or what to say. Harriet had tricked him into this. Why would she always interfere in everything?

"It seems like you're in the wrong room, or on the wrong planet for that matter. But anyway, you saved my day, it was miserable before you came along," Harm smiled. "So how are people at work? Overworked and underpaid as usual?"

"Yeah, as usual, I guess" Bud mumbled. He made no attempt to continue the conversation when Harm stopped asking. An awkward silence settled.

"What's wrong Bud, you're never this silent?" Harm broke the silence.

"I really didn't want to come here. Every time I see you, the whole scene flashes through my head. And every time I see all the mistakes I did more clearly. I forgot the simplest things, like placing you in a recovery position and..," Bud said somberly.

Harm cut him off. "Wait a minute, do you blame yourself for what happened to me," he asked in disbelief. He had wondered a little why Bud didn't come by, but this thought had never crossed his mind. "But that's ridiculous. If you hadn't done what you did, there probably would have been a grave with my name on it somewhere. You saved my life, Bud!"

Bud was staring at the wall, but now looked up with a faint smile on his lips. "Thanks." He felt relieved. Maybe everything would get better now, if he just tried.

Bud turned towards Harm. "You'll never walk again, will you?"

Harm shook his head; "no, doesn't look good. If I'm lucky I'll be able to move my right arm the doctor said. I'll start with physiotherapy tomorrow." There was a pause. "Life will not be the same," he continued thoughtfully.

"I just can't imagine how it must be, are you in a lot of pain?" Bud asked concerned.

"Only all the time, but Mr. Morphine here does wonders you know," Harm glanced up at the small bag of morphine solution hanging on the IV stand. And it's a good excuse too, if I say something stupid, I can just say it's the morphine speaking," Harm said sarcastically. He could find some humor in almost every situation.

Steps were heard from the hallway again. Either a doctor or Mac coming back, Harm thought. In fact it was neither. A smiling Webb, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and kaki pants, showed up in the doorway. "Aloha."