Webb Odyssey

by Claire Vincent

Final Chapter, really! Couldn't resist just one more short chapter to wrap it all up. Clay becomes a father!

11. Red, White and Blue Webb

Author: Claire Vincent Date: September 2004

Disclaimer: The Clayton Webb character, and other JAG characters, belong to Donald P. Bellisario, Bellisario Productions, CBS, et al. All other characters and situations of this story belong to the author. No copying of this material is allowed without my consent. For your reading pleasure, one copy is allowed.

WEBB Odyssey Adventures of Clayton Webb and his friends at JAG, and certain special someone.

Rating: PG-13 Classification: JAG - Story Webb/other Romance - Adventure Spoilers: None, written after Tangled Webb.

Chapter 11 Red, White and Blue Webb

Outside Insurgent Compound Northern Iraq 2018 hours local time

Combined US, Coalition, and Iraqi forces had been pounding this compound of an insurgent group for almost 3 days. They were a tough bunch, but they were going to lose this battle, and it was going to be soon.

Gunnery Sergeant Peter Hobbs and his squad were already inside the compound, and were making their way slowly to what was believed to be the main building, where the leaders were reported to be holed up. Hobbs expected heavy resistance, and had ordered his team to approach with caution.

They had already advanced to within about 30 yards, and were about to make the last move to the building itself. Hobbs used hand signals to order half his team to run ahead and reach the building, while the rest stayed behind and cover them. He moved ahead with his men, and made it to the building without a shot being fired by either side. They had expected tough resistance in this area of the compound, but had not seen any yet. Maybe the advanced reports of this being the main building were wrong, he thought.

Hobbs crawled quietly a few feet under a window, and listened. He heard people moving about inside, but no voices. He wasn't sure, but it almost sounded like there was a fist fight going on in the room. He heard punches, and bodies falling, and furniture breaking. This was all very strange. They had to secure the building, which meant going inside and capturing anyone inside, and securing any and all documents. Hobbs signaled his team again, and the signal was pasted round the building to all members. After a count of 25, he moved to the door, and stepped inside, with a couple men following him.

They made their way down a short hallway, seeing no one inside, but hearing the scuffle in the room at the far end of the building. On a count of three, he and his two men stormed the room, with rifles ready and shouting loudly.

Hobbs wasn't surprised at the sight in the room. A fight had been going on inside. Papers were scattered over the floor, and broken furniture lay everywhere. One man lay in a crumpled heap on the floor unconscious. Two other men had been struggling together, until Hobbs' men broke them up, separating them one on each side of the small room. Both had cuts and burses on their faces, and were breathing hard.

The gunnery sergeant took a good look at both men, and told them 'You are now in the custody of the U.S. Marines.'

A voice reached him from one side. One of the prisoners spoke, in very clear English. 'That won't be necessary Gunnery Sergeant. I am an American citizen.' The man paused here to catch his breath, and wait for the Gunny to turn and give him his full attention. 'My name is Clayton Webb. I work for the CIA.'

You could have pushed Gunnery Sergeant Hobbs and his men over with a feather at this statement. The two Marines looked to their leader for directions.

Hobbs didn't know what to say. 'You have any ID to prove this Mr. Webb?'

A look of disgust came over the man's face. 'What do you think?' was the surly reply.

'Until it can be verified, I will have to take you into custody. I'm just following orders.' There, thought Hobbs. He had to follow his orders. He could keep this one separate from the others, until they were able to verify the story. Hobbs sort of trusted him, but he wouldn't be the first American caught fighting with the enemy in this war. Hobbs just had to cover himself and his actions. The Gunny ordered his men to secure the prisoners, and lead them out. The small group prepared to leave.

Clay allowed the Marines to bind his wrists. It was degrading, but he knew they were only following orders. A few calls should be all it took to clear this up. He had been out of contact with all coalition forces since that day at the train station. How long ago was that? Clay had lost track of time, but it had been too long. CIA had to know he was still here and probably expected that he had gone deeper under ground. This will all be verified, and then he will be able to report on all terrorist activity in the area, their tactics, strengths, plans, everything. It was good that coalition forces had broken into the compound, and he had enough information to help clean up this half of the country. At last, his work was done here. He could really go home. It was hard to believe, but it was a welcome thought.

The Marines lead them out of the building. The compound that Clay had lived in for the past months was hardly recognizable since the attack. It seemed that most of the fighting was over. More prisoners were being rounded up from other areas and they all were brought over to troop transfer vehicles. Kharrat walked in front of Clay. Hassid was still unconscious and was being carried out on a stretcher behind them. In the final part of attack Clay had finally made his way from his appointed spot, and came to take care of Kharrat and Hassid himself. They would be taken away alright, and made to suffer for all the things they had done, but Clay had wanted first crack at them. He had just about won too, when the Marines broke into the room. That was all right. In fact, everything was going to be all right now.

A week later JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA 0803 hours local time

CMDR Harmon Rabb, Jr. exited the elevator and began walking over to his office. He had been working for the Sec Nav's office for the past week, and knew he had a pile of work on his desk here at JAG waiting for him. The TV monitors were on in the bull pen as usual, set to ZNN. As usual he was ignoring them as he entered his office, but Bud followed right behind him into the office.

'Sir, you may want to come out here and see this report.' Bud said.

'I haven't got time this morning Bud. I have to begin digging out my desk again…'

'Sir,' Bud insisted. 'You really need to see this.'

Harm looked up at him, and noted his intent expression. Harm gave up, and stepped outside to the bull pen, looking up at the TV.

A ZNN reporter was saying something about a US citizen suspected of serving in some kind of paramilitary group in Iraq. The suspect would not talk to authorities in Iraq, and insisted on being brought to the US to face charges. Harm only half heard any this. The moment he looked up, he saw the man dressed in a bright orange prisoner suit. He couldn't believe it. It was the face he thought he would never see again. It was Clayton Webb.

Harm was struck dumb. He didn't know what to do, or say. He tried to concentrate on what was being said while he watched Clayton being placed into an unmarked car and transported somewhere. He didn't even know if it was a live shot, or when it had been videoed. He couldn't concentrate. Clayton Webb, alive, and facing some sort of charges?

The report ended, and the picture changed to another story. Harm stood still, trying to sort everything out. The first thing that came to mind was to call Sarah. He turned to go back to his office, and heard his phone ringing. He thought maybe Sarah had heard the report to, as she drove into the office. But it wasn't his wife's voice on the other end of the phone line.

'Cmdr Harmon Rabb.' He answered.

'Harm?'

Harm stopped, could it be? 'Clay?'

'Hello Harm.' Clay's voice came over the phone very calmly. 'I need your help.' He said simply.

'Yes, it seems you do.' Harm replied, although he didn't know where to begin.

Clay seemed to understand this. 'Harm. I am only allowed one phone call, and I called you. I hope you can help me.'

'Of course, I will do whatever I can. Where are you?' Harm said, then wanted to bite back those words. He obviously was in prison nearby.

Clay told him exactly where he was being held, and when he could receive visitors. Harm wrote everything down, and promised to come as soon as possible. 'And Harm. Call Amy for me. I tried the house, but…it was disconnected. Has she moved? Its ok if she did, but there was no forwarding number…' Clay sounded disappointed, and a little worried.

Harm wished he could reassure Clay, but could not. Now was not the time to go into all of that however, not over the phone. He would talk to Clay face to face. 'I'll take care of it.' He told Clay. 'And call my mother too. Try to reassure her that everything will be all right. I hate that she will see those reports on TV that must be out there now.'

Yes, Harm thought, this will be quite a shock to her too. 'I will call her too. Leave it to me. I will bring Sarah in on this too.'

'Thanks,' Clay said. 'I think I will need all the help I can get. I'll see you soon?' Clay asked a little anxiously.

'Yes. We will be there soon.' Harm promised, and hung up the line.

Federal Prison Outside Baltimore Maryland

Clay hung up the phone and immediately felt the guard step up behind him, waiting for him to stand. Clay obliged him, and they stepped toward the door to the hall.

Another guard opened the door, and the three of them, with Clay in the middle, walked down the pristine hallway in the bright light. They made one turn to the left, then down another identical hall. At the fourth cell on the left the threesome stopped. The electronic door was opened by some faceless guard watching through a camera above, and Clay stepped inside his cell.

He continued facing the wall to the back of the cell. It was bad enough that he had to hear the cold clang of the door closing; he didn't want to watch it too. After the lock clicked into place, Clay could hear the guards move off. The cell was small, with a bed, chair, table, toilet and sink. Clay sat down in the chair, close to the table, and continued to face the wall. There was another camera in his cell also, so he was never completely alone, but he didn't feel he had to face the blank stare of the camera all the time. Having his back to it was all the privacy he was going to get.

He looked down at the table, but did not see it. He closed his eyes and wished again that he would wake up from this nightmare and be standing outside his home, Amy opening the door with a smile on her face and welcoming him home.

Since being taken as a prisoner at the compound, his life had turned upside down. The prisoners were taken to a holding camp, and Clay was separated from the main population because he was an American. The camp commander had taken his statement, and information, who Clay was, who he worked for, his superiors at CIA, and who should be contacted to verify his reasons for being in Iraq, and in that paramilitary compound.

After that, Clay had waited. It was almost relaxing for him. He didn't have to constantly watch his back, or be careful of everything he said or did. He could rest when he wanted, he didn't have to find food, and he was sure everything would be fine. One day became two, and two became three and still no word from the camp commander. Finally on the fourth day, Clay was brought into an interrogation room, and the commander was waiting for him.

'None of the contacts you gave us were of any help in identifying you.' The Marine Colonel stated. 'They were either unavailable, or denied any knowledge of a Clayton Webb.'

Clay could not believe it. 'What do you mean? What are you saying?'

The colonel continued, 'Until we can find another American to collaborate your story, you will be known as Prisoner 514887, American John Doe. Unless there are other people we can contact you will stay a prisoner.'

Clay interrupted him here, 'You are saying that you contacted the list of people I gave you and they would not confirm who I am. I'm Clayton Webb! You sent the picture and the finger prints you took?'

'Yes. Now is there anyone else we should contact?' the colonel was sympathic it this man's situation. He obviously was an American, but the paper work was lost, or he really was someone who had gone to the other side, and was trying to cover his tracks now. The colonel didn't know what to believe, but he had to follow procedures.

Clay had not heard the last question. His mind was racing. Something was drastically wrong. Something big had happened, bigger than Clay and the colonel would ever know about. Whatever that something was, he didn't want to drag his family and friends into it. Not yet. He had to think, and he had to get back to the US.

The colonel was asking again. 'I said, is there anyone else to contact who…'

Clay interrupted him, 'No. No one. What will happen now? I am an American citizen, you do believe that don't you?' he asked.

The colonel looked at him from across the table, and answered him honestly. 'I believe you are, or at least were educated in the US.'

I graduated from Harvard for God sake! Thought Clay, but didn't say it out loud. He didn't want the colonel to start trying to look there too. He had to be careful what he said now. He asked instead. 'What will happen now? Will I be sent to the US?'

'Oh yes, you will be sent as soon as possible to the US to face charges.' He started to stand up, indicating the end of the discussion, and his involvement with this particular prisoner.

'Charges, what charges?' Clay asked him.

'Treason against the United States.'

Treason, treason, treason against the United States…..

The words still echoed in Clay's head, and made his heart sink to his feet. He was in prison, facing a life sentence, or even death. He just had to start finding some answers, or he would slowly go mad.

His call to Harm was the first step.

The following morning Federal Prison outside Baltimore, MD 0814 local time

The lights came on in his cell at what he supposed was the usual time, whatever that was. There was no clock in the hallway or cell. Probably just as well. He didn't really need to know how slowly time was passing anyway.

The guard came and led him down to the showers. He was handed a clean towel, soap, shampoo, all in the small size one usually sees in a hotel, disposable shaver, and a clean uniform. He cleaned up and was taken to the mess hall for breakfast. As he was going in, he was told that he should eat quickly, he had visitors waiting.

Clay ate what was served, without really noticing what it was, and then he was lead to a different part of the cell block, to a larger room, with a table and chairs, and finally some friendly faces.

First his mother approached him. So strong, but looking older than he remembered. She opened her arms and held him close. The tears that she had been struggling to hold back came through. 'Clayton. Oh, Clayton.' Was all she could say.

'Hello Mother.' He said, holding her while she cried. 'I'm so sorry to put you through all this.' He whispered. He didn't know what else to say.

Once he felt she had calmed down, she pulled way to look at him. 'You're so thin.' She said looking at him.

Another person came with her arms open. 'Clay.'

'Sarah.' He said, and welcomed her embrace. She also was at a loss for words right now. 'It's good to see you.' She finally said, as he pulled away. Clay nodded. 'Thank you for coming.'

Behind her stood Harm. He reached around his wife and took Clay's hand. The exchanged a masculine hug, one arm around each other, then sort of shook hands again. This was as important to Clay as the welcome from his mother, and Sarah. It felt so good to be among loved ones again. Better than he ever imagined.

He searched each of their faces, and saw love and support, but not the face he had longed to see.

'Where is Amy? Is she coming later?' Clay asked.

His mother and two best friends in the world, all looked at each other, waiting for one of them to answer. None of them seemed to willing to offer a response. Nor did any of them meet his eyes.

Finally, his mother said, 'Clayton, why don't you sit down.'

Clay had feared this. He expected it, but still was hoping Amy would be here for him. 'She doesn't want to talk to me, does she?' He knew Amy would be angry with him. He just knew if they could talk, he could try and explain things. He just wanted the chance. He turned to Sarah, 'Couldn't you talk to her? You are her best friend. Please. Try and convince her to call me. I just want to talk to her.' Clay knew he sounded like he was pleading, but he didn't care.

The other three still looked at each other, and the nerves were becoming more obvious. There was something they were reluctant to tell him. He could feel it.

'I wish I could call her, Clay.' Sarah said. 'It's just not that easy.' She hesitated.

'What's going on?' Now Clay was getting nervous. 'What aren't you telling me?' He was nervous, and fear was coming up close behind. Amy was hurt. Amy had not made it home safely when she had left him in Iraq. She was dead. Clay's voice rose in tandem with his growing fears, as all the possibilities raced through his head. Amy had found someone else. He looked at all three of them in turn. 'Where is Amy?' he demanded.

'Clay, please sit down.' His mother pleaded.

'I don't want to sit down Mother.' He yelled back at her. 'I want to know where my wife is! One of you better start talking.'

'Clay, calm down. We'll tell you everything.' Harm finally spoke up. 'As far as we know Amy is fine. There is nothing to worry about.' He tried to reassure his friend. It worked. The sweat that had broke out on Clay's face, and the fear in his eyes seemed to disappear with his words. 'Have a seat, we will tell you everything we know.'

Clay took a breath, and nodded, as he pulled out a chair and sat down. They all followed suit, and Harm began.

'After you left, after the wedding, Amy was assigned to JAG HQ, and has been working there since.'

Porter picked up the thread here, 'It was good for her Clayton. She was very worried about you, and missed you, and it was good for her to be with her friends. While you have been away, we have all kept very close ties on Amy.'

'Thank you. I appreciate that. I'm sure Amy did too.' Clay said, calmer now.

Sarah continued. 'After about 2 months she even took a week off. Went out to see a friend in Oregon that seemed to do her a world of good. She came back very up beat, and hopeful.'

Oregon? Clay thought. 'That would have been how long ago?' he asked.

'Um…well fourth months ago now I guess.' Sarah answered.

Amy didn't go to Oregon, that was when she had been sent to Iraq to meet with him. She had not told her best friends about that trip. He didn't understand why, but he would not interrupt the story now. She had her reasons, and until he knew, he wouldn't tell them where Amy really had been that week.

The three of them stopped again and looked at him. Porter decided she should be the one to tell next part. 'Clayton, three months ago, we were told you were listed as missing, presumed dead, by CIA.' She stopped here and let that sink in for him.

'I'm dead? You thought I was missing and probably dead?' what did all this mean? He couldn't think straight.

Porter continued, 'Marcus Stillman told Amy and I separately that he had a report that confirmed you were killed when a train station was blown up. That you had made contacts and was on your way home, and terrorists had booby trapped a railroad track that had blown up the platform and most of the station that you had been last seen at. Around 100 people were killed, and you were counted as on of them.'

'What did Amy….?' He asked.

'Amy took it very hard, Clayton.' His mother said. 'It was all very hard for her.'

They were all quiet, watching Clay as disbelief and confusion moved across his face. Clay didn't know what to do or say. If he was thought to be dead…, it may explain a few things. But he had too many questions now, and too few answers.

'What did Amy do?' he asked quietly.

'She tried hard to…' Sarah began, but was at a loss for words to describe what she saw her best friend go through at the news of the death of her husband in the field. 'Amy tried to pick up her life. But she was so unhappy, Clay. She told me she still looked for you everywhere, waited for the phone to ring and she would hear your voice.'

'After a month or so, Amy came and told me she had to leave Washington. She had decided to start a new life of her own. Washington had been your home, not hers. She wanted to leave all the sadness and worry behind, and start her own life.' Sarah explained. 'She resigned her commission with the Marines. Packed up her things and left. She said she would be in touch.'

'Did she go back to Wisconsin? Have you talked to her father?' Clay asked hopefully.

'I've talked with Mr. Harris a few times. He has not heard anything from her, and he is getting worried.' Porter answered.

'She just left? She ran away, and you all let her go?' Clay was getting worried again.

'Clay we couldn't forbid her from leaving, or tie her here.' Harm reasoned. 'She is a grown woman, and was very unhappy. We didn't like the idea of her leaving, but we had to let her make her own decisions. We had all hoped she would have contacted us by now to at least let us know she was all right.'

Clay wasn't ready to give up yet. 'What about…, a…a Driver's license, or bank accounts? Is there any trail to follow to find out where she is?'

'I began looking at that the moment I finished talking with you yesterday. I haven't found any trail yet.' Harm said.

'Mother, what about the bank accounts. We opened a joint account right before the wedding.' Clay asked.

'I haven't had the heart to close it yet, Clayton.' Porter said. 'And it hasn't been touched since you left. Amy kept her own account open even after the wedding, and just used that. When she left, that was cleaned out and closed.'

'So she took her money, closed the account, left town and no one has heard from her in three months?' Clay paused, trying to get his mind to accept these facts. 'It's almost like she doesn't want anyone to know where she is.' There was something here, he just couldn't put his finger on it yet.

'Clay,' Sarah interrupted, 'we all thought you were dead, until we saw you on the news reports.'

'That's right darling.' Porter agreed. 'You may not have realized this, but your picture is all over the news. They are not using your name, because they don't believe you are who you say you are. But your face is there. Wherever Amy is, she will see you, will see you are alive and she will come back. For whatever reason Amy ran away, the biggest was that she loved you. And still does. It might be a shock to find out you are alive. But she will come back, Clay. She loves you.'

Clay looked at the smiling face of his mother, and hoped with all his heart she was right.

Marie's Café Northern Ottawa, Canada The next morning 0957 local time

Porter Webb had no idea how right she was.

Marie's Café occupied a bend on a stretch of lonely Canadian highway, equally distant between two small towns. It was a humble establishment that boasted hearty homemade meals. Marie's customers were the truckers that had routes up and down this road, vacationing families, and in the winter, traveling hockey teams.

The Café looked a little old and run down from the outside and the inside too, if the truth were known. But it was clean, and smelled of good food. Marie was proud of her little café, as she looked over the dining room, and enjoyed a cup of coffee between the breakfast and lunch rushes. In a few minutes, she would have to go in the kitchen and start the prep work for lunch, but now she could relax. There were only a couple of truckers in a booth, talking over coffee, and her waitress was clearing the last of the dirty dishes from a table.

Her new waitress was working out just fine. She had come in for dinner, and inquired about the help wanted sign in the window. Marie had hired her on the spot, no interview. She had also asked about a place to live, and Marie was happy to set her up in the efficiency apartment over the restaurant. That had been 2 months ago, and she had been working there ever since. She was a smart one, could be doing better things than waiting tables in a small restaurant, but she seemed content to be doing this for now. Marie had her suspicions; maybe she was running away from the law, or mean husband, or just running. Marie would learn the story when Aimee was ready to tell it.

While Marie watched Aimee pile dishes in the dish pan, and lift it to bring it in the back, Marie absently listened to the TV that was on in the kitchen. Her cook, and her friend, Charlie, had it tuned into a news channel. The announcer was describing the story of an American found fighting with a terrorist group in Iraq, and how this man was now facing charges for treason. Marie thought, good for the Americans. Stick it to all the terrorists. Then didn't give it any more thought as the relative quiet of the café was shattered with the sound of many breaking dishes.

Marie raced over to the two-way door separating the dining room from the kitchen, where Aimee had just disappeared with the load of dirty dishes. The poor girl looked like she had seen a ghost. She was as white as her apron, staring at the TV that sat on the kitchen counter. At her feet were the remains of dirty dishes, but Aimee did not see them, her eyes were glued to the TV report that showed a picture of the American traitor.

'Aimee, are you all right?' Marie asked as she stooped down to begin gathering the dishes back into the dish pan. 'Did you slip, honey?"

Aimee swallowed, and was able to take her eyes from the TV once the reporter had moved onto the next story. She saw the dishes at her feet, and realized what must have happened. She didn't remember any of it right now. She only remembered seeing that face.

Coming back to herself, Aimee stooped down, and helped Marie pick up the dishes. 'I'm sorry Marie, I don't know….I must have slipped or something.' Aimee said.

'Oh, accidents happen, its ok.' The dishes stacked once again, Marie took them and stood back up. 'I'll just take care of these. Why don't you go sit down, dear. You look a little shook up.'

'Thank you, I think I will.' Aimee said, and moved over to the stairway that led to her room above the café.

Above Marie's Café Northern Ottawa, Canada 1018 local time

Alive. Clay was alive. Amy lay on the narrow bed beside the one window in the small room her employer generously called an 'efficiency apartment'. It consisted of a bed, a beat up dresser, a dirty upholstered chair, and a bathroom Amy could barely turn around in. Right now, she took no notice of her surroundings, staring at the ceiling, replaying the pictures she had just seen on the TV downstairs in the kitchen.

It was defiantly Clay. What was he doing there? How could he be alive? Marcus had been so sure. He was in prison? Facing charges of treason? What was going on?

She had just barely begun to get used to the idea of a life without Clay, without the Marines. She realized running away had been an impulsive thing to do, but she was scared, and confused, and wanted to time to herself, time to plan what came next in her life. The future had become very important.

Now this. Clay was alive, and there were more questions now than when he had died. Or they thought he had died. It was all a jumble.

Where had he been all these months? She could well guess. If Clay had been found with an insurgent group, Amy knew too well who the leaders were. But what had Clay been doing there? How had he gotten there, and why hadn't CIA known where he was and what he was doing? Or had CIA known all along, and just made up the story of his death? But why would they do that? Why put her and Porter through that heartache? Amy paused here in her thoughts. Who could ever know why CIA did anything for that matter? And why hadn't anyone from CIA come forward and claim him as an agent? Amy knew the CIA only took care of their agents when it was convenient. If someone was caught, they were on their own. But to let him be taken to prison?

Had Clay actually been a prisoner of Kharrat and Hassid? It didn't bare thinking about. But US Marines could have told the difference between a prisoner and someone there in the compound…doing what? What had Clay been doing there?

And treason? That was ridiculous! How could anyone accuse Clay of treason? Amy would believe in little green men before she believed that. What was being done about the charges?

Amy sighed in frustration, and tried to calm her head and her heart. There were too many questions now, and the answers were back in Washington. She would have to go back to Washington. Why did the thought of that sadden her? Of course she should go back to be with Clay. He is alive, and still her husband. Still the man she loves, right? She had to help. But what help could she offer? Would he want her help? Was it better she stayed away for now until this was all cleared up?

Yes, she loved Clay. But she could not go back to that life, not now, not after all that has happened. He promised her he would come home in a month. That was four months ago since he had made that vow to her in the hut in Iraq. And he had broken that vow. No matter the circumstances, or what he was trying to do to save the world or his country, he had broken another vow to her. She loved Clay, but was tired of taking the back seat of his life. She wouldn't do it anymore. She couldn't anymore.

The tears started to fall, trailing down her head to pool in her ears as she stared at the ceiling. If she was honest with herself, she could not go back to that kind of life. So where did that leave her and Clay? She didn't have an answer to that question either. He had the answer and he was in prison somewhere near Washington.

She will have to work through the day here, lose herself in the physical work, and try not to dwell on questions she couldn't answer for now. She would leave at the end of the day. Drive back to Washington and try to find her life again. She and Clay will have to work out some sort of arrangement. Married or not, she would always love him, but that may not be enough anymore.

Federal Prison Outside Baltimore MD 1934 hours local time

For the past few days, Clay had been telling his story to Harm and Sarah. He had begun at the train station and told them everything he did in the compound up until the time the Marines had found him in the fight with Kharrat and Hassid.

He had gone through training with all the other men. Clay had prepared for attacks of different kinds, learned to use all sorts of weapons. He had learned tactics the terrorists used to obtain and use information about enemies, the mind set it took to be willing to strap on several pounds of explosives and walk into a public place to blow yourself up.

Clay learned about their supply lines, cash flow, even some of their plans for big operations. He had kept a low profile, acted like he was dedicated to the cause when it was required, and listened to everything.

Harm and Sarah were amazed again and again that Clay was sitting here in prison, facing such outrageous charges, when he should be talking to CIA and the other government officials and passing on what he had learned in three months. It could completely change the war on terror, and how the US handled it, but here he sat, a supposed enemy to his own country.

Clay described how he had left his post a few times at night, under penalty of death if he had been caught, to try and make contact with coalition forces. He had not been able to contact anyone, to pass along any information during this time. He had thought that if he were selected to go on a mission, he would make contact with US forces while on the mission. He had hoped that would be possible anyway, but the opportunity never happened.

When the Marines started moving in on the compound, he had seen both Kharrat and Hassid make tracks for their building, and Clay had been concerned they were trying to destroy evidence and or escape. So he had followed them there, gotten into a fight, and that is when the Marines came in and took over.

Clay had no idea as to why he was charged with treason, or why no one in CIA was willing to come forward and claim him. Aside from his friends and his mother, no one seemed willing to stand up with him. Even Amy seemed to have forgotten him. It had been a few days since he had come back, and they still had heard nothing from her. Clay was at a loss as to what to think of this. Was she still hiding? What was she hiding from? Did she hate him? Probably, he couldn't blame her if she did. They had been married six months, and he had been gone exactly that long, with very little contact. Clay still had not told Harm and Sarah about the few days he and Amy had been together in Iraq. He had no good reason to keep it from them, but he had no good reason to share it either. It really was between he and Amy anyway. Those three days had been very special. Clay had thought of them often in the following months. And thinking of them now, he could not believe Amy had left him. But she had been told he was dead, so was it really leaving him? He folded his hands in front of him on the table, and rested his forehead on them. The three of them had been at it since early morning, and he had a headache. He simply couldn't think anymore.

Harm was quiet too, across the table. He watched Clay rest his head down, and felt sorry for him. Harm shared his frustration, and confusion over the past weeks events, and was angered again at the waste he saw before him. Clayton Webb was a hero. A man who had put his life on the line for the past three months, well, really the past 6 months, or his whole adult life for that matter. And here he was in prison, and no one was coming to his side to claim him.

In two day's time, he and Sarah would accompany Clay into a court room to begin a preliminary hearing to see if there was enough evidence to take Clay to trial for treason. Harm was sure there would be enough to send him to trial. Whoever was pulling strings here, or cutting strings, as the case may be, was sure making an easy case against him. Just how he and Sarah were going to defend Clay was still unclear.

'We have to find out why CIA is disavowing you. And, find someone who will stand up for you and what you did in Iraq.' Harm said, thinking aloud.

Clay's voice came, muffled from the table. 'That will never happen. Once an agent is out, he's out.' The weight of this truth seemed to wash over him, and he wanted to drown in it, and end it all.

'There's got to be a way. There's got to be someone…' Harm insisted.

'We've tried everyone. They won't call us back; they are ignoring us as much as they are ignoring Clay.' Sarah said. 'It's getting late. They are going to kick us out of here in a few minutes. We better box this up, and look at it again tomorrow.'

She knew both men had heard her, but neither of them moved. Sarah wanted to offer comfort to both of them, but didn't know what to do or say that would help.

She stood up, and began gathering the files and papers and notes into a couple of boxes. Harm helped her, and in a few minutes the boxes were closed for the night. They would be here for them to begin again in the morning.

Clay had stayed seated through all the shuffling. A guard came to the door to escort Harm and Sarah from the prison for the night. They said good bye to Clay, but he gave them no response. They left him alone in the room.

Clay just kept his head on the table. He was so tired. He just wanted to go home. But where was home? For over a year now, it had been wherever Amy was. And where was she? Each day he had asked Harm and Sarah if there had been any word from Amy. And each day they had told him no, she had not contacted them.

In a minute or so, a guard would come to escort Clay back to his cell. He could sleep then. Fall into darkness, and forget for a while the darkness that had become his life, and threatened to stay that way.

JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA 0825 local time Next morning

Harm and Sarah arrived at the office together. They exited the elevator, walked through the bull pen and headed toward Harm's office. They both had a grim expression on their faces, and looked at or talked to no one as they walked through the office. Harm sat down at his desk, and Sarah took a chair on the other side. They put their briefcases on the desk in front of them, then sat back and looked at each other.

Clay's case was not going well. The government was not even allowing him to be recognized by his name, since according to CIA, Clayton Webb was dead. From there, matters just got worse. Both Sarah and Harm had been thinking, and talking about how to handle the case since leaving Clay yesterday. But they had not come up with any defense strategy yet, and they were going to court in two days.

'We don't have a case.' Harm stated.

'We have to find one, and do it today so we are ready. I still think we can make a case for him on his CIA operation record.' Sarah stated hopefully.

'Let's look at that record from the other side.' Harm suggested. 'Clay gets the job done, but he bends the rules to suit himself, and had used us countless times to get the job done. CIA doesn't take kindly to their operatives using non company assets to complete a mission. It makes CIA look bad, and they have to split the credit.' He explained.

'Yes, but the missions were completed.' Sarah insisted.

'Still, it doesn't sit well with CIA.' Harm said. 'And what about bending the rules for his own ends?' he continued.

'What ends are you talking about?' Sarah asked.

'Clay used his CIA clout to get my brother Serge out of a prison camp. I'm forever grateful to him for that, but it can't look good on his record. Then there was the rescue Clay orchestrated with the Admiral for Tim Fox in Italy, against a CIA directive to stay out of it. And what about the Angel Shark investigation? Clay gave us information that the CIA had classified and never would have released to us or the families.'

'Yes, but Clay paid for that mistake with his career, by being sent to South America.' Sarah said.

'Doing time down in South America doesn't wipe the slate clean, Sarah. And look at what happened in Paraguay. He was captured, and nearly got you both killed.' Harm reminded her.

'If you had not gone after us, we probably would be dead now. Certainly Clay would be.' Sarah felt an uncomfortable surge move up her spine at the memory of their days in the hands of Sadik.

'You and I had to stop Sadik that time, and save Clay. Again, making Clay and the CIA look incompetent.' Harm said.

'Then there was Iraq, when Amy was captured. OK, so Clay's op record is not the greatest. Now he turns up still in Iraq, seemingly working on the other side.' Harm paused here, thinking. 'I just can't understand why they are deserting him this way. There has to be something else in the mix, not just a vendetta on Clay for being in that camp, or for his history as an agent.'

They both stare down at the desk in front of them, trying to think of a way they can best defend their friend.

The quiet is broken when Bud walks into the office. 'Good morning Sir, Ma'am. How is Mr. Webb's case going?' he asks brightly.

Harm glances up at him. 'Not well I'm afraid Bud. We can't figure out why no one from CIA is coming forward to say Clay has been working for them all along. They have completely disavowed any knowledge of him. And I know this is CIA, and that's what they do, but…this is Clayton Webb.' Harm finished frustrated.

'Well Sir, having found Mr. Webb in the compound, alive, after everyone thought he was dead and all the others had been ordered out, puts CIA in an embarrassing situation, to say the least.' Bud offered.

'What did you say?' Harm asked. 'What do you mean "all the others had been ordered out"?

'I just mean all the other special ops forces, and operatives had been ordered out of the country a little over a month ago, Sir.' Bud answered.

'Bud what are you talking about? Start from the beginning.' Sarah said.

Bud stepped further into the office to tell the story. 'About a month ago, Gunnery Sergeant Galindez stopped by JAG to say hello to everyone while he was in Washington. He had just returned from duty with his special ops team in Iraq. There had been a Presidential Order for all intelligence activities by US and coalition forces to cease, and all of those forces to be sent home. The Iraqi government had requested it, and had put their own special ops forces in place. But they were still being observed by US commanders.'

'Are you saying all operatives, and special ops forces in Iraq were sent home by special order a month ago?' Harm asked excitedly.

'Yes sir, I guess it was about a month ago. You were on assignment for the Sec Nav at the time Gunny came in, and you were in court that day Ma'am.' Bud answered.

Harm interrupted him. 'Bud, you may have given us the answer.' He looked at Sarah, who still looked a little confused. 'If all agents were ordered home, Clay would have been sent home. But CIA thought Clay was dead, so no order was given for him.'

Sarah picked up the thread. 'But now he shows up alive and working under cover to break up a terrorist group, when he should not have been there at all.'

Harm continued. 'CIA can't recognize Clay now because it would look like they didn't follow a direct Presidential Order, and it would anger our newest ally, a free Iraq. Clay being alive and working covertly over there now is an embarrassment to our government, and the CIA.'

'Yes, Sir, that's what I said.' Said Bud.

'Bud, can you get me a copy of that Presidential Order?' Harm asked quickly.

'Yes, Sir.' And Bud left to go and find a copy in the government documents database.

'How does this help Clay's case?' asked Sarah.

'It doesn't really.' Harm answered, 'but at least we know why CIA is acting this way, and why no one will talk to us, and isn't likely to talk to us.' He thought for a moment, and then said 'I'm not sure what to do now. How do we get around a Presidential Order?'

'He didn't know about the order. It was never given to him directly.' Sarah offered.

'Well no, they couldn't, they thought he was dead.'

Sarah thought a moment. 'Do you believe that CIA really thought he was dead? Could they have known all along where he was and what he was doing, and was reluctant to pull him out until he had completed the mission?'

'It's possible, but they still would have had to get him out some how, or face this situation of having an operative still active in country after the order.' Harm said.

'Unless the Marines came into quick for Clay to get out under cover, and now they are stuck prosecuting him because he got caught.' Sarah continued. 'I hate to think that Clay will go to prison for the rest of his life to cover some CIA administrator's butt.' She stated angrily.

'If it does come down to that,' Harm said, 'I'm still not sure how we defend him.'

The two officers were interrupted again, this time by Petty Officer Coates. '

'Excuse me, Commander? Mrs. Webb is on line 2 for you, Sir.' She said, poking her head around the door frame to his office.

Harm looked at Sarah, 'Mother. What do we tell her?'

But Coates interjected, 'Oh, Commander, it's not Mrs. Webb, it's Mrs. Amy Webb on line 2.'

'Amy!' Harm and Sarah said at the same time in surprise, and Harm immediately reached for his phone, punched the speaker, and punched line 2.

'Amy? This is Harm, and Sarah is here too.' Harm spoke to the phone on his desk. He heart was pounding, finally she was contacting them. Maybe somehow she could help. She at least could help Clay. He needed her right now, more than ever. Each day they had gone to see him; he had asked if they had heard yet from his wife. And each day, Harm had to tell him, no, Amy had not called, and watch a little more hope fade from Clay's eyes.

'Hello Harm, Sarah.' Came the voice over the speaker. It was Amy's voice, but it didn't sound like her somehow.

'Amy where are you? Are you all right?' Harm asked her.

'I'm fine. How is Clay? Was he hurt?' she asked.

'Clay wasn't hurt, he is fine Amy.' Sarah answered. 'But he is frantic to talk to you.' She added.

There was no response to this from Amy. There was a quiet moment as Harm and Sarah waited for her to say something. Finally she said. 'What about these charges, Harm. They are ridiculous. If Clay gets a paper cut he bleeds red, white and blue.'

Harm was surprised she had changed the subject, and was disappointed she wouldn't say anything about talking to Clay soon, but he answered her question. 'Sarah and I are defending him, but it is a difficult case. The government is insisting on calling him John Doe, since officially Clayton Webb is dead. He can't even use his own name. And we are having trouble making a case for him having stayed in Iraq.'

'What about talking with someone at CIA?' Amy interjected. 'Have you talked to Marcus Stillman?'

'No one at CIA will talk to us.' Sarah answered. 'And Stillman won't take our calls.'

Harm said. 'If I knew where he lived, I'd camp out on his front lawn.'

'Why are they doing that?' Amy asked angrily.

Harm was glad she at least showed some anger at how Clay was being treated by CIA. 'We just found out that there had been an order a little over a month ago to cease all special ops, and send all agents back to the US. The Iraqi government requested it, to get their intell forces up and running.'

Amy put the pieces together. 'But they thought Clay was dead, so he never got the order, and now he shows up still operating uncover. The US government is stuck and has to prosecute him; otherwise it angers our newest ally, the new Iraqi Government, and cover some diplomatic butt in the process. That about right?' she says sarcastically.

'That about sums it up, yeah.' Answered Harm.

'Amy,' Sarah began. 'Clay really needs to talk to you. Where are you? He can take calls and accept visitors. Here, let me give you the number to call him.' And Sarah started to rummage through her case for the number.

Amy said. 'Thank you anyway. I will be in touch.' And then she hung up.

Sarah looked at Harm across the desk, a look of disappointment and surprise on her face.

'What is she thinking?' Sarah asked, nor really expecting an answer.

'You tell me, she is your friend!' Harm said.

Sarah thought a moment, then said out loud, 'Amy has to deal with this in her own way. She has been through a lot these past months with Clay gone all the time. Then he was reported dead, and she grieved for him, and now she discovers he is alive. It all has to be quite a shock.' Sarah didn't know what her friend was feeling, she was just thinking out loud, trying to understand where her friend was coming from and trying to defend her. But Sarah was having a difficult time defending Amy's actions, and seemly disinterest in how her husband was doing, or offering him any support, when he needed her the most.

'I feel like I have just talked to a CIA agent.' Harm remarked.

'Why do you say that?' Sarah asked him.

'She asked questions, and we gave her all the information we had, but when we asked questions, she ignored them, or gave us vague answers. We still don't know where she is, where she has been, if she is coming to help, or even see Clay!'

Sarah had to agree with him. It felt like Amy had 'handled' them very well. 'What do we tell Clay?' she asked.

'We tell him about the Presidential order. That is enough bad news for one day.' He replied.

'We don't tell him we have heard from Amy? He will ask us, he always asks about her.'

'No.' Harm replied. 'What would we tell him anyway? She called, but wouldn't tell us anything? We don't know if he will even see her again. No, we don't say anything for now. Let's get the order, and work on that, see if there is anything there that we can use to help in Clay's defense. If Amy shows up later, or calls us with more information of her plans, then we tell Clay.'

Sarah nodded, thinking that it wasn't being fair to Clay, but it probably was for the best. They both opened their briefcases, and got down to work.

Marcus Stillman Residence Arlington, VA 0240 local time Next morning

The black clad figure moved quietly and carefully across the yard toward the sprawling, executive home. Everything was quiet on the street, and the last light in the house had gone off hours ago.

The figure circled the house, examining cracks in the siding, and the corner covers very carefully. They moved around the house to the back, and found what they were looking for.

Close to a high small window on the back wall of the garage there was a group of wires leaving the outside wall and entering the garage. The intruder pulled the siding away a little more, and began examining the bundle of wires.

After a few moments, they seemed to have made a decision, and pulled out a wire cutter from a zippered pocket in their pants. In quick succession, the intruder clipped the wires in a particular order, and a soft hum that could barely be heard coming through the window, abruptly stopped.

The wire cutters were put back in the zippered pants pocket, the siding was replaced on the garage, and the intruder moved over to the back garage door. Another zippered pocket was opened, and long handled instruments were taken out, and with gloved hands, the intruder started picking the deadbolt lock on the door. The tumblers scraped inside the lock, and the intruder whispered an 'Oops' then heard the lock bolt move, and the door was unlocked.

The intruder opened the door, and entered the garage. The luxury sedan was parked there. The intruder held their breath and purposefully bumped into the car. If the alarm was on, they were going to have to run for it. But they assumed Marcus Stillman would have felt his car was safe, inside the security system that surrounded the garage, and would not turn on the separate alarm system of the car. Nothing happened. Marcus was lax in his sense of security within his own house. All the better.

The intruder opened the back door to the sedan, and made themselves comfortable. They knew Marcus well enough to know he drove himself to his office at Langley early every morning. He told some people it was because he wanted to save taxpayer money, or that it kept him sharp, or he didn't like drivers, couldn't trust them. The intruder knew the real reason was that Marcus tended to get motion sick reading documents riding in the back seat of a car.

The intruder settled down to wait.

Marcus Stillman Residence Arlington, VA 0447 local time

Marcus entered his garage carrying the morning paper and his briefcase. He had his keys in the other hand, and opened the car door and sat down behind the wheel. He slammed the door and reached over to the automatic garage door opener to open the door behind him, when a head popped up in the back seat.

'Good Morning Marcus. You're an early riser.'

Even though the CIA Assistant Director of Operations – Middle East was seated with his seat belt on behind the wheel of his car, his body jumped several inches to find someone greeting him from the back seat of his car, this early in the morning.

'Amy!' he shouted in surprise, then waited for his heart to stop pounding in his chest. 'Are you trying to give me a heart attack?'

'Sorry for the surprise Marcus.' Amy said with a playful smile.

'How did you get in here!' he demanded.

'Please, you call that little system of yours security? I had it figured out and disabled in under 3 minutes. But I'm rusty. I used to be in security, remember?' She paused, then added, 'Oh, and I owe you a new deadbolt lock on your back door. Sorry.' She offered.

'What are you doing here?' Marcus asked.

Amy stifled a yawn. 'Sleeping. Waiting to talk to you.'

'What do you want to talk about that you have to do it in my garage?'

'That's a stupid question, Marcus.' Amy said flatly.

'There is nothing I can do to help him.' Marcus answered even before the conversation could begin. He didn't want to get into it with her.

'No.' Amy said patiently. 'You mean there is nothing you will do for him. I'm here to change your mind.'

Marcus looked at her through the rear view mirror. He had not expected this tactic, but if she was here now, they would talk now. 'Amy,' he began, but she interrupted him.

'Tell me one thing, honestly for once Marcus. Did you believe Clay was dead?'

Now he turned in the seat and looked at her in the eye. 'I don't play around with news like that Amy, certainly not with you and Porter. Yes, I believed Clay was dead.'

Amy looked back at him, searching his face to see if this was the truth. The light was not very bright inside the car, but she could tell he was telling the truth to her on that subject. Amy went on with her questions.

'How can you sit back and let Clay be prosecuted for treason? You ought to be ashamed of yourself Marcus.' Marcus turned back around and faced front again. She sounded like his mother, scolding him about not picking up his room. She went right for the heart of the matter though. He was ashamed to stand by and watch what was happening to Clay, but it was being handled higher up, and there was nothing he could do.

Amy continued. 'Three generations of Webbs have worked in intelligence for this country. His father died on duty. And now you all are going let him be labeled a traitor and send him to prison for life, just to cover your butts?'

'Amy, I don't know what you mean…' Marcus tried to explain, but Amy wasn't in the mood to listen. She had started now, and wasn't ready to stop yet.

'I know about the Presidential Order, Marcus. You all thought Clay was dead, and now he shows up alive and it looks bad for everybody. But do you have to ruin him, and his good name, just to wrap up your mistake?'

Marcus was silent. He didn't know what to say. She was right, but he had no answer for her. He waited.

'What do you expect me to do Amy?' he asked finally.

'Make some calls. Surely you have some contacts in Iraq who could help with this. Wouldn't it be better for everyone if it looked like Clay working for CIA, and the new Iraqi security forces had worked together to bring down Kharrat and his army?'

Marcus started thinking, she may have something here. Let the Iraqis in on the operation to bring down Kharrat, and the new security forces gain some clout and prestige in their own country right off the bat. It could make CIA look good too, and would let Clay off the hook.

Amy continued. 'You know it is the right thing to do, Marcus.'

'I got rid of my conscience a long time ago, Amy.' Marcus said dryly.

'Just consider me your conscience, Marcus.'

'Why should I do this, besides appeasing my "conscience"?' he asked. 'What's in it for me?'

'I'm giving you the chance to look good Marcus.' Amy answered him. She had got him thinking now; she just needed a little extra something to close the deal. 'Otherwise, I will make the calls myself and make CIA look bad, turn the story around that Clay had tried to involve CIA, but had gotten no cooperation, so began working for the new Iraqi security organization. I have my contacts too.' She bluffed.

Marcus wasn't sure what to think. There was no doubt Amy had information that could be spun around to make CIA look bad, and they both knew the CIA didn't need anymore bad press. Marcus had tried to keep a close watch on Amy since the report of Clay's death, but she had disappeared a few months ago. He had thought it was the fatherly side of him coming out, try to watch over her, but it was also interest. He wanted some day to have a talk with her about applying her skills for the intelligence community. Recruiting was such a cold word among friends. She could have gone anywhere in the past 3 months, including Iraq, where she could have made all sorts of contacts. She had threatened to do just that when he told her Clay was dead. There was no telling what damage she could do to him, or the agency.

He needed some time to think. He stalled. 'You want me to falsify records? Make up a cover story?'

'It wouldn't be that big a stretch for you Marcus.' Amy answered sarcastically.

He continued the banter. 'Answers like that are not going to get me to cooperate.' He chided her.

'Pathetic excuses like that are not going to get me off your back.' She retorted.
'Clay goes before a judge for a preliminary hearing tomorrow at 0900. You have until then.' Amy moved across the seat to get out on the passenger side.

'What happens if I don't have things in place by then?' he asked.

'I will be outside the court house ready to give my story then.' She answered matter of factly.

Marcus thought for a moment more. It could be a bluff, but her plan could work too. 'I better get to work then.' He started the engine. 'Can I drop you somewhere Amy?' he offered, all friendly again.

Amy got out of the car on the passenger side. 'No thanks Marcus. I'm fine.' She turned and walked out the back door of the garage as he pulled out in the opposite direction in his car.

Federal Prison outside Baltimore, MD Cell of prisoner John Doe, 874 2007 hours local time

Cmdr Harmon Rabb Jr. made his way through several security checks on his way to see his client. Due to the late hour, and the fact that they were appearing in court for the first time in the morning, Cmdr Rabb was given special permission to visit his client. However, at this time at night, the prisoners were in lock down, confined to their cells for the night, so Harm was going to see Clay in his cell.

Harm had been in prisons before, each them were bleak. But as he was walking the cold hallways, this one seemed the worst some how. Or maybe it was because he was seeing his friend, and seeing for the first time the conditions he had been living in the past days.

When Harm arrived at Clay's cell, he was sitting at the table, resting one arm on the table; the other was limp in his lap. Clay's back was turned from the cell bars, and hallway, so Harm could not see his face. He almost looked like a statue sitting there. The electronic door hummed and clanged as it opened, and Harm stepped inside. The sound was loudly repeated as the door slid closed behind him. Harm had seen the other cells in this area were empty, and so he felt they were somewhat alone for their conversation for last minute plans for tomorrow's appearance in the court.

Clay had not turned around when Harm entered, he seemed lost in thought. Harm tried to get his attention. 'Clay.' But this got no response. He tried again, stepping further into the cell, saying his name a little louder, 'Clay.' But he still would not look up. Harm moved in front of him, and waved a hand in Clay's face. 'Hello? Anyone home?'

Clay finally snapped out of wherever he was. 'Oh, Hi.' He said.

Harm sat on the corner of the table, since there was no other chair in the cell. He took a good look at Clay. His friend's eyes were tried, and glassy. He had a couple days growth of beard on his chin, and hair was a mess. He did not look like the well groomed, confident person Harm was used to seeing.

'You better snap out of this by tomorrow morning or we have lost before we get into court. You look terrible.'

'Oh. I will.' Clay said despondently. 'Mother brought me one of my suits, and I'll get cleaned up, and shave I guess.' He said, indicating a suit that hung on a hanger from a hook, and sliding a hand across the stubble on his face.

'That's not what I mean.' Harm said. 'You look defeated. You go in there tomorrow looking like this, and we have lost already.' Harm was trying to bolster Clay a little, try and give him back some confidence.

'I have lost.' Clay replied sadly. Harm was quickly trying to come up with an answer, but Clay continued. 'I'm not a traitor Harm. And I don't want to go to prison for the rest of my life. I want to go home. I want the life I had begun with Amy, but I think that is over.' Clay looked away. He said, mostly to himself, 'If she is gone, I might as well be in prison.'

'Hold on here. Let's take a look at your "Wife". Where the hell is she?' Harm was not happy with Amy's actions, or lack of action since this whole thing began. And to see Clay so despondent because of her, just made Harm madder.

'Don't start Harm.' Clay warned.

'Where is she when you need her? Some wife you have here.'

'This isn't her fault, don't start on her. This is my fault.' Clay declared, just as angry as Harm now.

'How do you figure that?' Harm wanted to know.

'I broke one promise too many, that's what I mean.' Clay answered.

'What promise was that? She knew what she was getting into when she married you.'

'And I left her to serve my country half world away within 12 hours of exchanging vows.' Clay countered.

'There are a lot of people serving over there that got married and boarded a ship or plane to go serve their country.' Harm pointed out correctly.

'They write or call or can email their families, almost everyday. For four months all Amy got from me was a taped message that lasted about a minute. Then she received a report that I was dead. Now I am sure she doesn't know what to think.'

'No matter what she thinks, she should be here for you now!' Harm insisted.

'Why?' Asked Clay. 'I wasn't there for her when she needed me. Ever.'

'I'm not having that argument with you again. You were following orders. Keeping yourself safe, keeping me and Sarah safe.'

They both knew Harm was right, but it still hurt Clay to think about leaving Amy at the hands of those terrorists. That all seemed so long ago.

'I just feel I have lost her for good this time Harm.' Clay said quietly.

'Want to tell me about it?' Harm asked. He didn't know what Clay was talking about for sure, but if it would help him to talk about it, Harm was ready to listen.

'Amy wasn't in Oregon visiting a friend. She doesn't know anyone in Oregon.' Clay began.

'Where was she then?'

'In Iraq with me. We were together for 3 days.' Clay was looking at Harm to watch his reaction. He was rewarded with the look of utter surprise that moved across Harm's face.

'What was she doing there?' Harm asked.

'She had been recruited by CIA, Marcus Stillman, to go and set up a safe house for agents working under cover. She had contacts, supplies, money, and we could pass information on to her to bring back here. She had no idea she would see me, and I of course had not expected to see her. Marcus had set us both up.'

He paused in his story here, and Harm asked. 'Why send Amy? Why was it a set up?'

'Amy had orders to give exit plans to get the agents home, whether the mission was complete or not. Marcus sent her knowing she would find me, and I would have a tough time ignoring the request from my wife.' Clay was angry at the memory of how Stillman had used Amy this way, and it showed again as he shared his story with Harm. 'She had all the exit papers, tickets, contacts to get me out of Iraq and back to Washington. I promised her I would come home in one month, no matter what.'

'Within a couple of weeks, I had lost Kharrat's trail. I had never really found him again after going to the safe house. So I prepared to come home. I was ready. I was so damn tired, tired of being alone, of living on the edge like that for so long.' He paused here, still feeling tired, and living on the edge. 'I was at the train station, had the ticket in my hand.'

Harm knew what happened next, and picked up the story. 'That is when you saw Kharrat, and joined his group.'

Clay nodded. 'I tore up the ticket, and got in line.'

'But,' Harm interjected, 'If you had gotten on the train, you would have been killed. It was that train that exploded later that day.' 'Yes.' Clay answered. 'But I broke my promise. Maybe I would have survived. Either way, I let her think I was dead for three months.' He paused, was staring at something on the floor, a million miles away. 'All I ever did was break promises to her. And all she ever wanted was to love me.'

Harm sat quietly looking at his friend; at felt maybe he had been wrong to withhold information from him too. Clay had told him the whole story. Now, it was his turn.

'She called the other day.' Harm said.

Clay looked up at him. 'She called, and you didn't tell me? Where is she? Is she all right? Is she coming?'

'I asked all the same questions, and received no answers to any of them. I wanted more information before I got your hopes up. I'm sorry.' Harm confessed.

'What did she say? What did you talk about?' Clay asked.

'We told her about your case. She knows about the hearing tomorrow. We gave her all the information she asked for, but she gave us none in return. I had the distinct feeling I had just talked with a CIA agent.' Harm said jokingly.

That started Clay thinking. 'CIA?' he said. And for the first time since coming back to the states, a slight smile moved across Clay's face.

'What is it?' Harm asked guardedly. 'You don't think Amy is an agent now?'

Clay looked over at Harm, 'No.' he said. 'Amy hates CIA, she would never work for them. But she knew Stillman liked her, and was interested in recruiting her. CIA keeps a close tab on the family of an agent that is killed. Stillman would never have approached her yet, but she may have felt it was coming. She ran away to get away from CIA. That's why she was so careful not to leave a money trail or any trail.'

'And that's a good thing?' Harm asked, as he watched the smile get bigger on his face, and life spark in Clay's eyes again.

'Well, yes.' Clay said as if it was obvious. 'It means she didn't run away from me, or any chance I may come back. She didn't completely believe I was dead, maybe, but she ran from CIA, not me.' He paused. 'Maybe I still have a chance.' He thought out loud.

Suddenly he felt full of energy. He finally had some hope. He stood up, ready to do whatever he had to do to gain his freedom again. 'What do we have to do Harm?' he asked excitedly. 'I'll do whatever you say. You have to get me out of here, so I can go out there, and find my wife.'

Harm was glad to see this change in Clay. He felt bad he had not told Clay about Amy's call before this. He had come here tonight to go over Clay's testimony one more time, and now he looked ready to work. 'Let's get to work.' Harm said.

Federal Court, Room 25 Federal Court of the District of Columbia 0900 local time

The judge entered, and called the court to order. The government representatives were there in their suits, and the defense was across the isle, in full dress uniforms of a Naval Commander and a Marine Colonel. The accused was in a dark three piece suit, that looked a little to large for him, as if he had recently lost weight.

The clerk read the charges of the Government vs. John Doe 874; Treasonous activities against the United States of America in a foreign country.

'How does the accused plead?' the judge asked curtly.

'Not guilty, your honor.' Clay answered strongly.

'Please be seated.' The judge said. Then he turned slightly toward the other side, and addressed the counsel for the government. 'Since this is a preliminary hearing, we will dispense with opening statements. Please call your first witness.'

The government lawyer stood. 'The government calls….' But he was interrupted by someone entering the court room from the back.

'Excuse the interruption your honor. May I have a word?'

Walking up the isle was Marcus Stillman. He looked only at the judge, keeping eye contact with him, and not looking at anyone else in the room.

'What is the meaning of this? Who are you!' demanded the judge as Marcus approached the bench.

Marcus reached up and over the high desk, and used his hand to cover the microphone and had a quick, whispered conversation with the judge.

Harm and Sarah sat in complete amazement. Clay's heart was pounding, and his ears were straining to hear what Marcus was saying. All he heard was '…talk in chambers…' They were going to move to the judge's chambers. Was that good or bad? Clay had no idea.

After the hushed conversation at the front, the judge turned his attention to the counselors. 'Will both parties please join us in chambers?' Harm and Sarah looked at each other, and stood up, grabbing their notes. Clay stood also, then stopped and looked up. The judge continued. 'Bailiff, please escort the accused to a waiting room.'

'No, wait a minute.' Clay began. He wanted to go into the chambers too. It was his life they were discussing after all. But the bailiff came forward, and pulled out the hand cuffs and began putting them on Clay again. He looked imploringly at Harm. 'Harm, can't you say something?'

Harm shrugged his shoulders. 'I don't make the rules, the judge does. Sit tight. We will let you know as soon as possible.'

Sarah looked at Clay too. 'It will be fine. Don't worry.' She said, though she was not convinced either.

Clay watched helplessly as the judge, Stillman, and all the lawyers left the court room through the back door, and the bailiff started guiding him through a side door. He caught one last glimpse of his Mother, who was sitting in the back. She nodded her head in encouragement as if to say 'It's all right, Clayton.' Then he was pushed out the door, and down a hallway.

They brought him to a small room with a couple chairs and a table. The bailiff took the cuffs off, and left him alone in the room, locking the door behind him.

Waiting room Five Federal Court of The District of Columbia 0947 local time

Clay had been in the waiting room alone, alternately pacing and sitting in one of the chairs. He didn't know how much time had passed since there was no clock in room, and he was not allowed to wear a watch. What was going on? What was taking so long? It seemed like hours since he had been lead from the court room, but it probably wasn't that long. What was Marcus doing here? Was it a good thing that he was here? He hoped it would not be too much longer, he didn't know how he was going to handle it.

Suddenly the door opened and Harm and Sarah walked in, both with broad smiles on their faces.

'The charges have been dropped!' Harm announced. 'You are free to go, Mr. Webb.'

'What?' Clay couldn't believe his ears. 'What happened?'

'Stillman came through.' Sarah said. 'He presented documents showing the Iraqi government knew you were in place, undercover in Kharrat's camp. They wanted you to stay in place until the Iraqi security forces and US Marines were ready to move on the camp.'

'I never worked with the Iraqi security forces. I tried to contact people on the outside, but never did make contact, I told you that.' Clay said nervously.

'According to Stillman, you didn't have to, they knew you were there, their operatives had reported that you were working inside the compound, and were waiting for the right time to move in or contact you for more help. As it turned out, they didn't need your help, and just moved in on the compound.' Harm explained.

'Don't you see Clay?' Sarah continued. 'This clears you of the Presidential Order. Since the Iraqis have confirmed they knew you were still there working, and accepted your presence, you were not breaking the law, and not working for the enemy. The treason charges have been dropped.'

Clay was still having trouble accepting it all. 'I can leave?' he asked carefully.

'Anytime you want to.' Sarah smiled at him.

'I don't know where to go.' Clay confessed.

'Well,' Harm said. 'Why don't we go see your Mother for starters, then we can start looking for your wife.' He suggested.

That finally got through to Clay. 'Let's go.' He said, breaking into a large smile of his own, and walking through the door.

All three of them walked down the hallway, and exited the building. Porter Webb and Marcus Stillman were both there waiting for them. 'I'm so happy for you Clay.' His mother said, giving him a hug and kiss on the cheek.

'Thank you mother.' Clay said, and turning to Marcus, shaking his hand. 'I guess I have you to thank too, Marcus. I probably owe you my life.' He said, knowing Marcus had put the story together to cover Clay's tracks and get the charges dropped. Marcus smiled at him. 'My pleasure, Clay. I knew you were no traitor.'

'What made you finally come forward?' Harm wanted to know.

'Let's say I had an attack of conscience.' Marcus answered.

Turning back to Porter, Clay said, 'Mother, I want to head to your house first, then try and find Amy.'

Looking across the sidewalk, toward the parking lot, Porter said, 'I don't think you will have to look very hard, Clayton.'

Everyone turned and saw Amy getting out of a car. She saw them all looking at her and stayed behind the car that was beside hers. She stood there between the cars, looking over the roof, not sure what to do next.

Clay didn't take his eyes off her. He walked down the sidewalk, and started running to her in the parking lot. When he got close Amy held up her hand and said, 'Stop right there Clay. Tell me what you have to say from right there.'

The others came up behind him, and watched, concerned what she was going to do. Harm was afraid she may decide to get back in her car and drive away. He didn't know what Clay would do then, or how he would be able to help his friend if this conversation did not go well.

Clay's heart was racing. She was here. She looked beautiful. 'I forgot how beautiful you are.' He told her. 'Just let me look at you.' He paused. All the things he had practiced saying to her, in those endless hours in a prison cell, or time he had lived in the compound, were gone now. He couldn't think of what to say to her.

'Amy,' he began, 'I'm sorry. I know I have broken my promise to you. I've broken so many.' He stopped. She was just standing there, with no expression on her face, good or bad. He was feeling a little scared now. 'Amy, tell me what I can do, or say to make it right; to get a chance.'

She kept looking at him, not knowing herself what to say. She moved her attention to the small group of friends behind him, seeing Marcus Stillman among them.

'Hello Marcus.' She said.

'Hello Amy.' He replied.

'Harm,' she asked, 'have the charges been dropped?'

'Yes. Mr. Stillman here came forward with evidence that cleared Clay from breaking the Presidential order, which then cleared him from the charge of treason.'

Amy nodded her head. Clay was still looking at her, his heart on his face. He loved her, and needed her, and he was waiting for her answer. She hated to make him wait, but all her questions were not answered yet.

She turned back to Marcus. 'Marcus, does Clay still have his job with CIA come Monday morning?'

Now everyone looked to the CIA officer, to wait for his answer, except Clay, whose attention had not left his wife. Marcus looked at the people around him, looked at Clay, and then looked back at Amy. 'No, he doesn't' he answered simply.

Clay turned around and faced him at this answer. How could he say that? What did he mean?

Marcus continued, talking directly to Clay, 'I'm sorry, but I can no longer use you in the field Clay. The whole world knows you are a CIA agent after today. You will become our unwanted poster boy.'

Clay looked away, understanding the truth in what Marcus said. He would be a liability in the field now. As he thought about that, and what it meant, he realized it didn't matter.

Marcus was still talking. 'This doesn't mean you are finished at CIA, Clay. You are still a valuable asset for research, analysis, and direction of field operatives, but you will be doing it all much closer to home from now on.'

It was this last sentence that hit Clay right in the heart; "Closer to home". That was what mattered now. He had enough of the travel, and danger, and everything that went with that kind of life. Clay looked back at Amy. Now she looked nervous. 'Can you accept that Clay?' she asked him.

He knew now he could. 'Amy, I don't care if I have to dig ditches all day, as long as I can come home to you every night. Please, I want to come home, and home is wherever you are.'

Amy looked down at her feet, almost afraid of the raw emotion she saw on Clay's face. She was afraid, afraid if he would believe what she was about to tell him. But the time had come. She couldn't hide anymore.

She stepped out from behind the car. Amy had always had a slim build. Now however, there was a decidedly round thickening in her middle. She was obviously pregnant. 'That home better be big enough for three, Clay.' She said, looking at herself, and then looking up to him. Now her heart was in her eyes. She was afraid he and all of them would assume the worst of her. 'It happened when we were together in Iraq Clay.' And she couldn't help it, she started to cry, afraid of what he would say, and what the others would say.

'Oh, Amy.' Clay moved to her and took her in his arms, kissing her hair, and face and lips.

As the couple reunited, the group of friends and family stood awestruck. Marcus spoke first. 'If there is any question in anyone's mind, I assure you, Clay and Amy were together for 3 or 4 days, four months ago in Iraq. And, that looks to be about the right timing.' He said nodding towards Amy and her new shape.

Porter replied. 'Of course it's Clay's. Amy loves him, and never for a minute believed he was dead. I just feel bad she had to go through the past months alone.'

'That's why she left.' Sarah stated. 'None of us knew she had been with Clay. Then she suddenly finds herself pregnant, but couldn't tell us about the trip to Iraq.' Sarah glanced over to Stillman. 'She was under too strict of orders at the time, am I right?'

Stillman nodded. 'For her own protection, and Clay's.' he stated, knowing now it probably didn't have to be so secret.

'Well, Mrs. Webb,' Harm said. 'It looks like you are about to become a grandmother. What do you think of that?'

'I think it is about time.' She said. 'And I prefer the name "Nana".' Everyone smiled at that, as they watched the couple move off to the car Amy had arrived in, their arms still wrapped around one another. Though the group behind them could not see their faces, they would have been pleased to see the couple were wiping tears from their eyes, and had bright smiles on their faces.

The End Chapter 11 Webb Odyssey Book 1