A/N: Okay, the chapters haven't been very good. Eternally sorry. But, I warn you, they are about to get dangerously good. Also dangerously shippery, but that's another story (not really) . . . R&R (otherwise I don't know whether to continue).

P.S. sorry the chapter names are all screwed up. Don't know what happened there. But hopefully from now on everything will go as it should.

Classified Information

"Harm, Mac."

I can feel Mac's arm, which had instinctively wrapped tensely around mine, loosen up a bit. It's that voice . . . the voice I know too well. All too well . . .

"Webb," I respond, dangerously shaky. Does he know what he just did to us? No, probably not. He could have given the both of us a heart attack. Of course, we've seen the other end of a revolver before . . . but that's really not the point.

"I apologize," he replied sincerely. Sincerely for a spook. "But you had to get into the cab quickly. Before anyone saw you."

"Forget it," said Mac, pushing a stubborn strand of her dark hair out of her face. She pushes herself back in the seat, as if trying to calm herself, and then she stared at Webb with a look that ordered him to go on.

"I suppose I have some explaining to do."

"No kidding, Webb," I snarl. "How about starting with the fact that this supposed 'Phantom' killed your father? Or that you've been after him for years? Or the fact that you're going to drag us into another one of your schemes."

Webb was quiet for a moment. He sat in the front seat of the taxi, swiveled around in his chair so he could face Mac and I. The driver, the one with the gun, seemed not to have ears at all. And if he did, he either found this information very unsurprising or he just didn't care.

"You've found out quite a lot in a small amount of time," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. The small cab whizzed along the highway, eating away miles.

"Including that you think the Phantom's one of the NCIS team," Mac interjected. Webb whirled around so fast a crick appeared in his neck, which he continued to rub gingerly while he spoke.

"How," he paused quietly, words still forming in his mind, "did you come to that conclusion?"

"Because we have heads, Webb," I grumble, staring out the window rather than at him. "And we know how to use them."

"It made sense," Mac said quickly. "Why they had so little information. You were cutting them out of the loop." She stared intently at Webb with those chocolate brown eyes I love so much. "Why?"

"That's classified," he responded swiftly.

"Who do you think it is?" I interject.

"Classified."

"Any suspects?"

"Classified."

"Which organizations are "in the loop"?"

"Classified."

"Favorite burger, A&W Mama burger or a Beltway Burger?"

Both Webb and I just stare at Mac and she grins to our response. "Just wondered if that was classified too."

"Look, Rabb," Webb sighed. "I can't answer any of your questions because we're all still working it out. It took us a long time to realize it was one of our own people. And by that time, most of the damage was already done."

"Continue," I said slowly. We're finally getting a real answer out of Webb . . . I think.

"Then that took all the more time because we had to figure out which organization held the leak," Webb said calmly. "The FBI, NCIS, or−" he cut off staring at us. "We didn't know where the leak was. And there were so many connections. NCIS was running forensics, the FBI had to talk with all the departments so that was ten organizations right there, not including the actual FBI themselves. It was a nightmare. And, of course, there was our organization which you can agree is by no order small−"

"You're babbling, Webb," Mac interrupted. "Cut to the chase."

"Lovely mouth you have there, Mackenzie," Webb grumbled annoyed.

"Apparently you liked it," Mac shot back. "I don't seem to recall you particularly minding my mouth when we were−"

"Anyways," I interject immediately. We definitely do NOT need to get into that conversation . . . ever.

"I was only going to say when we were in Paraguay," she replied shrugging nonchalantly.

"Sure you were," both Webb and I reply in unison. We just stare at each other for a moment and then both shake our heads at each other.

"Back to the Phantom," Mac says sternly. "How did you figure out it was NCIS?"

Webb looks around uncomfortably. We're zooming down the highway at God-Knows-What-Speed. But I guess CIA agents get exemption from speeding tickets or something. That would explain a lot.

"Yeah, I know," I reply rolling my eyes. "It's classified."

Webb breathed, as if willing himself to break the rules, just this once. "We fed each department a different story, a different hypothesis as to what the pattern of the killings was, to see what the Phantom would do next."

"A trap," Mac breathed, deducting exactly what I was.

"Yes," Webb said, shaking his head. "And it worked too. Each department was given different information as to how the killings would take place. You see, the Phantom's a very craft person . . ."

Webb's eyes misted over, his voice suddenly growing far way. Mac and I could only listen. "He feasts on the approval of others. In my opinion, it's the only reason he or she kills them. Because they want the fame . . . the recognition. They want the name 'Phantom' uttered around the world. With fear, or respect. I don't know. The Phantom is smart . . . smarter than even your average serial killer. And serial killers are smarter than your average person. There is a pattern between the victims. A pattern that only the Phantom knows. And he secretly wants us to figure him out . . . so he can come out into the public's eye as an infamous serial killer. The world's best . . . it's all about the fame to him. He craves the media. The attention. And he's playing with us," Webb sighed. "That's the worst of it all. To the Phantom, this is all one gigantic game. He baits us, and we follow like on a hook and line. He calls and we come all ears.

"But," he sighed unhappily. "We have no choice. If we don't, more die. And if we do . . . they still die."

"You lose no matter what," Mac whispered sympathetically. She reached out an arm and rubbed it on Webb's shoulder. The sight absolutely sickens me.

"That's a very nice story Webb," I say nastily. "But what are we supposed to do about it? In case you haven't noticed, we have nothing to do with you and your people."

Webb and Mac just stare at me.

Okay, so that's not entirely true.

"Well, we don't want to have anything to do with your people," I correct myself forcefully. "And we care, Webb. We really do . . . except you seem to be on top of everything."

Webb leaned back in the seat, his back to us. Mac whirls around to meet my eyes and she mouths the words 'Be Nice' but I'm in no mood. Webb's ruined my life way to many times for me to pass up the option to stick it back to him.

"Except we're not," Webb breathed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "We're not on top of things. The Phantom's still out there and we're virtually clueless."

"Oh, you can't be that bad off," I object, shaking my head. "You know it's someone in NCIS. How hard can it be?"

"Except that it's not someone really in NCIS," Webb replied, covering his face with his hands. "NCIS is their connection. And the tricky part is, is that NCIS might not even know it."

"You lost us, Webb," Mac said, speaking for the both of us.

"My sources found out that NCIS doesn't have a direction connection with the Phantom," Webb explained slowly. "In other words, they're not the Phantom."

"How can you be so sure?" I butt in.

Webb just looks at me, and a grim smile comes to his lips. "That's classified."

"But the Phantom's definitely not one of the NCIS crew?" Mac asked uncertainly.

"We've confirmed it," Webb said nodding. "But we know the leak is definitely in NCIS."

"Then find those with a connection to a possible suspect," Mac said bluntly. "It can't be hard."

"And it wouldn't be," Webb admitted. "If the Phantom had a direct connection to NCIS."

"And we're back to ground zero," I sneer. "Webb, what the hell are you talking about? We're just going around in circles."

"I mean, the Phantom may be using NCIS . . . and they don't even know it."

Mac and I steer our eyes towards each other so we can meet in one hesitant gaze. Mac's hand slowly folds over mine. It's not a particularly tense moment, but we do a lot of that handholding nowadays.

"What do you mean, Webb?" Mac asked, voice strong.

"What I mean, is the Phantom's using NCIS. They have no clue . . . but we had to cut them out of the loop anyway," Webb said. "We couldn't risk the Phantom learning anymore than he already has."

"Which is . . ." I prod. "What information has the Phantom learned?"

Webb turned around and lay back in his seat. "That's classified too."

The cab came to a screeching halt in the JAG parking lot, but Mac, Webb and I stay in the cab.

"Well, pardon me, Webb, but I'm a little confused," I snarl. "I'm confused as to why Mac and I are here if you have no apparent use for us."

Webb stared at me, his steely eyes meeting mine. "I never said I had no use for you."

"Then what is it Webb?" Mac challenges. "Spit it out!"

"We haven't got all day," I wrap up.

"I need you to do something for me," he said quietly.

"What?"

"You play a very important part in the plan."

"Which is?" Mac cut in.

"In fact, it's probably the only way we'll be able to catch the Phantom . . ."

"And are you going to bother telling us?"

Webb just stared at the pair of us. "If you could let me speak . . ."

"Oh, we're so sorry, Your Highness," I sneered. "Except we're a little preoccupied with the fact that there's a serial killer on the loose."

Webb turned to me and opened his mouth to say something but the words caught in his throat. Mac stared at him . . . hard.

"All right . . . here's what I want you to do . . ."

Mac and I bent out heads in.

"Absolutely not!" both Mac and I scream.

A/N: Wanna know what happens? Reviews please . . .