Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.
August 2007, Monday
- JAG headquarters, in the morning
Harm wiped sweat off his forehead and sorted quickly through his notes, forcing himself to concentrate on his case. But his mind kept wandering to different things ... or more accurately they kept wandering to Mac.
He only hoped her mood would be better this morning. Last Friday she had been ready to kick him for not telling her and that should have been bad enough especially because he knew he would have deserved it. But somehow the confused pain under her anger had been worse. As had been the look on Webb's face.
The phone rang and he snatched it up immediately.
"Rabb!"
"You were right it was the Agency," Webb started right away without preamble. "And your Mister Johnson has quite a file no wonder they sealed it."
Harm breathed out. Thank God, finally a lead. "Shoot."
There were some clicking sounds probably as Webb scrolled down a computer screen.
"Martin Johnson. Thirty-two. Joint the Marines right out of high school then transferred to the Central Intelligence Agency four years later. And before you ask: No, I never worked with him. His record here is not the best - his intelligence and skills should have catapulted him upwards but a hot temper usually spoilt his success. 2003 he finally provoked a rather ugly incident with our French counterpart ... I DID hear about that but was never directly involved ... caused a lot of accusations on both sides and happened at a politically really inconvenient moment. He got fired." More clicking. "I must say this man has had some really interesting training."
"Interesting as in interesting or as in 'watch out'?"
"Unfortunately the latter," Webb stated grimly. "But so far I wasn't able to find any connection with the case you have mentioned."
"Damn," muttered Harm. "Where is Mac?"
There was a barely noticeable pause.
"Right now ... she should be on her way to JAG headquarters. Harrison is driving her."
"Good ... that's at least something." Harm glanced at his wristwatch and groaned. "Oh for heaven's sake... Webb, I'm expecting an important witness for my case any minute. Can you bring a copy of this file over? My appointment shouldn't take long and then we'll have a closer look at everything."
"Uhm ... wait a second."
Harm heard muffled voices, a sharp exclamation: "The file?", more murmuring, Webb pleading "Oh, come on, how long do you know me?", a not understandable answer followed by a not better understandable reply and finally a grumbling "You're really lucky I'm still in holiday mood". Then Webb was back in the line.
"All right, I can do that. I don't have a car here at the moment but as soon as Mac is safely in her office Harrison will-"
"Wait, I've got a better idea," interrupted Harm. "I'll send Ellis to pick you up. Saves a little time. And the boy needs something to do anyway."
"Ellis?"
"My assistant. Lieutenant Junior Grade."
"Fine by me."
"Good. Consider him on his way." Harm hung up and stepped to the door of his office. "Ellis!"
"Sir?" The young man hurried over. "Mister Tyler hasn't arrived yet..."
"Forget Tyler," Harm cut him short, "Get a car and pick up a friend of mine at Langley."
"Langley?"
"CIA. Clayton Webb, you can't miss him he's in a wheelchair."
"CIA?" Ellis gaze flickered. "Sir, is that ... is that the man you mentioned Thursday?"
"Exactly." Harm grinned. "And he really did find something. Johnson has a background now."
"Really?" Ellis repeated weakly. Then he suddenly snapped to attention. "Aye, aye, sir."
Harm frowned for a second, watching the retreating back of the young man then dismissed it with a shrug. Yes, the boy tended to behave strangely from time to time but it wasn't worse than Bud and his alien theories.
As he returned to his desk Harm suddenly realized that he had just referred to Clayton Webb as a friend.
Langley, Virginia, a bit later
"Mister Webb? I'm Lieutenant Ellis, Commander Rabb's assistant. My car is over there."
At the sound of the voice Webb looked up and narrowed his eyes. The man in a uniform of a lieutenant junior grade of the Navy had to be around thirty and wore a pair of those ridiculously large sunglasses that were so fashionable now. Nevertheless, he looked vaguely familiar. Well, he had probably seen him at JAG some years ago as a seaman or ensign. Not quite a quick career though. Putting the thought aside Webb closed the file he had been studying and stashed it away.
"Fine. Then let's go."
Not a word was spoken until they reached a dark car. Ellis was always a step ahead of the wheelchair and avoided looking back. It was hard to tell if he was shy or rude or simply embarrassed at the presence of a paraplegic. But Webb didn't bother thinking about it much. He had had his own frustrating experiences with NORMAL people since his accident - as many disabled people. He still didn't like it but he had learned to ignore it most of the time. He had learned to ignore a lot of things. And he knew himself well enough to admit that he was probably the wrong person to point his finger at someone else in this matter.
Still without a word Ellis opened the front door of the passenger's side. A door without the emblem of the Navy as Webb noted at the back of his mind. But he forgot about it as the younger man finally considered him with somewhat disturbing intensity.
"Do you need assistance?"
"No." Without hesitation Webb manhandled himself and the file into the car and then pulled and shoved at the wheelchair until it was folded in the middle. "Put it in the trunk."
Ellis simply slammed the door shut. Webb snorted. The lieutenant should be glad he was not using the bulky electric wheelchair or he would have had to drive with an open trunk. Then he grimaced. Not that he had had much of a choice. It was difficult enough to pass Langley's security with the mechanical considering that the metal set off any detector but the fuss they had made about the electronics and wires in the other one had quickly cured him of using it there again. Then he dismissed these thoughts just as he had done before and strapped in. He tried to push his body in a better position knowing all too well that he might not feel uncomfortable pressure but still got sore as a result.
"I've got to get something for Commander Rabb on our way," Ellis announced after he had closed his door and turned the ignition. "I hope you don't mind the detour."
"Whatever."
Webb's fingers drummed slowly onto the folder on his lap as they pulled out into the traffic. He really didn't understand how Rabb could call such a stone faced man a 'boy'. But Harm had always been rather special in his opinions. As had been Mac. His gaze wandered out of the window without seeing anything, lost in thought. He wasn't aware of the touch of sadness over his features.
JAG headquarters, Fall Church, Virginia
"Ma'am!" Ensign Nancy Arden jumped up from her chair and practically ran towards Mac as soon as she rounded the corner. "Oh, ma'am, I'm so sorry this happened! I should have stayed longer on Friday. I should have-"
"Nancy, don't be silly. It wasn't your fault. Besides, it's just paint. I see they're already redecorating my office."
"Well, thank God!" Arden shuddered. "All this red, a dreadful sight! Captain Rockwell wants to talk to you about it as soon as possible. He said they have some additional questions to Friday. He and his staff have been working all weekend."
Mac sighed. "Yes, I expected that." She looked around. "Did they at least find me a spare office for the time being?"
"Oh, yes, yes, sorry, ma'am, I don't know where I left my head this morning. I'll show you."
Involuntarily Mac chuckled as she followed her assistant down the corridor. Her handbag dangled against her leg and she grew serious again. A moment her hand dropped down and touched it.
A part of Washington D.C.
Webb woke out of his dark musing as the car slowed down and finally stopped. He looked around in the dirty little street and up the dirty houses.
"You've got to get something for Rabb HERE?"
"I'll only be a minute." Ellis climbed out of the car.
"Well, I hope we still have all wheels when you return," muttered Webb sarcastically. In his experience streets like this tended to have a life of their own. And usually no one cared much if a car was stripped off its wheels ... or a throat was cut. Involuntarily he shifted uncomfortably as he remembered Mac's words yesterday.
He glanced impatiently over his shoulder while Ellis opened the trunk and rummaged through it. And just before the lid blocked his view he once more felt an uncomfortable familiarity as he saw the younger man's face. A strange nagging feeling that he was missing something. Then Ellis slammed the trunk lid shut and came to the passenger side's back door.
"Forgot something?" Webb asked dryly as the Lieutenant slipped into the back seat.
"No, Webb."
Old instinct made Webb start but he wasn't fast enough to avoid the cloth that was suddenly pressed over his nose and mouth. And in this second all pieces fell into place. Not JAG. NOT JAG. The photograph in a file, on a computer screen, showing the man younger than he was now, his hair a different color and without sunglasses...
Involuntarily he screamed muffled as his head war jerked back against the headrest and a wave of dizziness clouded his eyes. His hands shot upwards in a desperate attempt to free himself or at least get some evidence under his fingernails but he dug in a thick leather glove. He tried to change direction and grabbed for the wrist but wasn't sure if his hands really did as he wanted. Then everything went black and he wasn't able to hear anything but the white noise of rushing blood in his ears.
His last conscious thought before the world tumbled over was how on earth Johnson could have known ... or better the answer to that question.
JAG headquarters
"Tell Captain Rockwell I'll be with him in a minute - no, tell him to come here. And take these files to Admiral Morris with my apologies. And I'll be in court afterwards!"
Mac shut the door of her interim office firmly, stepped around her briefcase on the floor and finally took the strap of her handbag off her shoulder. She hesitated a second after she had placed it on the desk, staring down at it.
By the time she had come down for breakfast Webb had already left the house and it had probably been better that way. Dinner yesterday evening had been exhausting enough. The silence. She hadn't known how she should meet his cool distance, how to react to his rigid self-control. It had been as if they were strangers. As if that moment of almost brutal honesty in the living room had never happened. Or maybe because of it.
Slowly she pulled a CD case out of her handbag and turned it in her hands.
She had tried to convince herself that the moment on the hill had meant nothing. That it had certainly meant nothing to Clay. That they had hurt each other too much in the past. Disappointed each other too often. Until she had finally started believing it. But now...
Mac sighed. It had been a strange little shop in the gas station where she had made Harrison stop to buy some juice. A very strange little shop ... as strange as the things the owner had decided to sell. Like books. Even audiobooks. But maybe he just knew how annoying a long drive with cranky teenagers could be.
Carefully she turned the cover of "No magic at all" around and glanced once more at the back. The reader's name was given as Zack E. Mainshare.
Mac looked up at the ceiling and bit her lips. It could not be coincidence. Not with Clayton Webb. But what left that to her?
Somewhere
Somebody jerked him back and forth and he moaned in feeble protest. Something was in his mouth and he wanted to spit out but his lips wouldn't open. An endless noise thundered in his ears. Again he was thrown around, his head hit a hard surface and it added to the throbbing pain of his headache. His stomach clenched at the smell of oil or gas filling his nostrils.
Webb rolled his head slightly. He tried to open his eyes but even this small effort sent a new wave of nausea through his body. The next second the world seemed to turn again and he couldn't hold back a whimper as he was violently shaken up and down. The uncontrollable movement in darkness increased the need to throw up but still he was unable to open his mouth.
Then the movement stopped and the most prominent noise died away. His surroundings shook again for a moment and a hard "bang" - seemingly directly in his head - made him wince. Then nothing.
A long time he simply lay there and breathed with relief. The nausea flooded up and down, sending either shivers or hot waves through him. He wanted to wrap his arms around his aching body but they didn't move although he could feel them, was lying on one of them rather painfully in fact. He stopped thinking about it.
Finally the dizziness faded somewhat and he managed to open his eyes. Into darkness. In raising panic he wanted to lift his head but immediately the nausea returned, making sweat pour down his face. He held still.
Listened to the confusing but distant sounds washing over him, becoming louder and clearer as the effect of the drug faded.
'Drug? What drug?'
The thought seemed to wade through mud but at least he didn't panic again. Carefully he tried to move his fingers but failed. Slowly he realized that his hands were tied behind his back with something sticky ... 'Duct tape?' ... It was even wrapped around his fists, covering them completely and obviously pinning them to his back by some layers around his body. The sticky substance covered his mouth too, gagging him effectively together with the thing in his mouth ... 'A cloth?' ... He moved his head slightly and his right cheek rubbed over some kind of rough carpet. Exhausted from the effort he just lay there again for a while, feeling sweat soaking his clothes.
'Johnson.'
Blinking he opened his eyes. It was still dark around him but he fought against the panic of his nightmares, against the memory of a different time when he was bound helplessly to a table, against the memory of a different threat... Threat.
'Sarah.'
Oh God, he was after Sarah.
A stab that had nothing to do with fear for his own life or health pierced through his body. With some effort he lifted his head and tried to penetrate the darkness with his eyes. It might be imagination but he wasn't sure if it was as complete as he had thought at first. Nevertheless he had the certain feeling of walls close around him. Still he smelled this combination of hot metal and plastic and a trace of oil or gas and now he recognized the earlier movement as what it had been.
A car. He was in the trunk of a car.
And he realized something else. He was almost sure the heat he felt wasn't a side effect of Johnson's drug. But the temperature was still rising. The car was standing in the sun.
