A/N: To all those who didn't read my Author's Note on Chapter 13 (which incidentally is the same as Chapter 12) there was a malfunction and some states/provinces received chapter 12 on their computer whereas my own city didn't, so I took the liberty of posting it again and that's when both chapters actually were seen by all computers. Sorry if you already read that chapter!

Now, let's pick up from where we left off . . . with Mac in Riley's office.

Sent Messages

"What are you doing in here!" Riley screams. I don't know how I ever thought Riley was even remotely good looking. His blue eyes are now wild, jumping around in their sockets, and his blond hair is issuing sparks.

Keep it cool, Mackenzie. Be calm.

"The file," I lie quickly, and I pull out the file on top of the envelope, quickly slipping it back into its slit. Hopefully Riley doesn't notice. "Ms. Lindsey let me into your office so I could take the forensics' file. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

I said it obediently, as though I really was sorry. If I was going to suck up to Riley, I would have to act weaker than he was.

His expressions softened, but his glare remained hard. He walked over to the desk and looked into the fourth drawer. I guess what he saw pleased him. There must be some outward way to see if the envelope's in its proper slit, even though I never saw the difference.

"I'm sorry for overreacting," he replied. "Next time you want something from my office, just wait until I'm around. I'll get it for you."

"Sure," I replied shakily, exiting his office. I sit at my desk and out of the corner of my eye, I watch Riley run his hands along the last drawer and then hastily withdraw the envelope. I held my breath as he inspected the envelope. He frowned slightly.

Slowly, I pulled out a piece of paper and with my Marine Memory in action, I wrote down exactly what had been written on the slip of paper. 24 letters and one number.

M E E O A E A C C T E T I A 7 T T A F P M H R E M

"Commander Hart?" Admiral Garret said, his eyebrow raised a little. Admiral Garret was tall, taller than me, with the look the Admiral had, a very cut man with too many years of experience.

"As reporting for duty, Admiral," I reply with the faintest trace of a smile.

Garret smiled and shot a sideways glance at Catherine. "He's pretty good. Looks like Hart also."

"Yeah," Catherine replies smiling. "That was a bit of a bonus."

"I hear, Commander, that you have experience flying," Garret said, sitting down in his office seat. "F-14s, I do believe?"

"That would be correct, sir," I reply steely-eyed.

"But you can fly F-18s as well," he said. He waits for my confirming nod. I give it to him. "Good, because Hart hardly every flew F-14s. They were always F-18s."

He stares at me, then Catherine, and then to Beth who was sitting quietly in the corner. "I don't know what's going on, Commander. None of us at the Base do. But we lost Lieutenant Commander Baron to cold blooded murder, and we don't want to lose anyone else. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that if you ever need help, just ask. We are all glad to serve you."

"Thank you, sir," I replied, with a tone of true patriotism.

"Everyone has been informed about the current situation," Garret reported. "At least, everyone that needs to know. Which really isn't many. If you spend most of the day up in your plane, we'll have no problem with anyone recognizing you on the ground."

"And if someone does recognize me, sir?" I ask.

"Don't worry about that," Garret said quickly. "If they only catch a fleeting glimpse of you, they'll assume you really are Hart. And as for your rio, Lieutenant Amanda Boyer has already been cleared by the CIA and informed of the present situation." He stares at me. "You can trust her, Commander."

"I don't think trust will be an issue," I say, nodding. "I look forward to meeting Lieutenant Boyer."

"Not too much forward, though," whispered Catherine grinning softly in my ear.

"And, Commander," said Admiral Garret, turning towards me as we began to head out the door. "If you ever have any suspicions as to who is behind the 1986 murders, please let me know."

"I'll do my best, Admiral," I said as we saluted in way of parting.

"That's good enough for me," Garret responded softly. "But if you're taking Hart's place, then whose on the case?"

"Besides half the FBI, NCIS, and a mixed part of the CIA," I say quickly, "my partner, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie."

I say the last part with a touch of pride. I had not forgotten this morning, or last night, or any day or night with her, for that matter. And if anyone could catch the Phantom and save my six while doing it, it would be her.

Garret notices that vote confidence embedded in my voice. "And you believe she will be able to catch the Phantom?"

"I have no doubts, sir," I replied. And then very quietly to myself, "none at all."

M E E O A E A C C T E T I A 7 T T A F P M H R E M

I stare at the letters (and one number, I add to myself) on the page. Half of my mind says that this can't be right. The letters make no sense. And then the other half that suffered through intense Marine training knows that I couldn't forget a simple 25 digit line.

No, this is definitely right, I tell myself. But what does it mean?

There are 24 letters and 1 number. So therefore, that number has to mean a time, number of a house, or it could mean anything.

I realize it's pretty much hopeless before I even begin. I play with the letters a bit, using something called mirrored order when you split the alphabet in half and made it like a mirror so that A was Z, B was Y, etc.

They now read: N W W L Z W Z X X G V G R Z 7 G G Z U K N S I V N

And of course that still didn't make sense. I bit back my frustration. Maybe I could use reverse order and see if that worked, splitting the alphabet in half once more except when reaching the letter 'M' which was the dividing letter, starting afresh in numbers so that 'A' would become 'N' and 'B' would become 'O'.

They now read: Z R R B N R N P P G R T V N 7 G G N S C

And that doesn't make sense either.

I bit back my frustration. Code breaking. What a time consuming job.

No, the letters were right. The original letters were correct, they were just in the wrong order. The letters shown in the original message were very common, daily used letters and therefore it was highly unlikely they were playing others.

I lined up the letters in rows, except there was 25 of them, not quite divisible by two, or three, or four for that matter. But, I realize, it did make a five by five square. I scribbled them down, quickly in order in to a five by five square.

M E E O A

E A C C T

E T I A 7

T T A F P

M H R E M

I gasped as I read the message. That's all the code needed. A little order. The message was exactly 25 digits, forming a perfect square that, if read vertically, skipping to the next column after finishing the first, it read:

Meet me at the Ciaro Café at 7 pm

"Ready to go, Commander?" asked Lieutenant Boyer, coming up from behind me. We're dressed in the traditional flight gear. It's six o'clock at night. I inhale that crisp night air, surveying the deck with tremendous satisfaction.

I'm flying again, a voice says inside me, screaming with joy. I'm flying again.

The sky is bathed in the royal blue light of evening with a blood red sun sinking behind the water, casting an eerie orange glow over the water. I stare into the sun, not even squinting as I'm hit by its rays. And the sun stares back at me, a face mirrored in its body.

A beautiful face, at that, I thought quietly. One with long thick dark brown hair and chocolate colored eyes that scream of the puppy dog pout that I can't resist.

And not for the first time since I had been airlifted to the aircraft carried I wondered what Mac was doing at this moment. What was she thinking? Was she thinking of me? Was she with Riley?

I couldn't hide the fact that I was scared for her. I was scared for myself too, but not nearly as much as I was her. No matter what anyone said, on this mission, Mac had the more dangerous job. She somewhat made it a habit to risk her life for mine and I knew that if the case presented itself once again, she wouldn't hold her breath to jump in front of a bullet for me . . . just like I wouldn't for her.

That was how our relationship works, I guess. The willingness to repeatedly risk our own lives for each others kept up the course towards friendship. Like Mac when we were in Russia, and me when we were in Paraguay.

But, I vowed, if she did anything like that this time, I would . . . I would . . . I couldn't even bring myself to finish the sentence. Would I die? Probably not. If she were to get hurt, would I feel like I was dead? Most likely. Because, as I was coming to realize, not only would I be willing to do anything for her, it was the fact that she reciprocated those exact feelings was the part that attracted me the most to her. It was also the part of her that I most feared.

Because, as I was also coming to realize, that not only did we get ourselves into many sticky situations, it demanded things beyond our control to get us out of them. And that consisted of luck. Something that, at some time, we were bound to run out of.

And I love Mac too much for that. My heart practically soared with feeling. I did. I loved Mac. I loved Mac far beyond the point that it was even healthy to love a person. I'm so madly in love with her that every night when I go to sleep, I dream of her face and every morning when I wake, I wish I could go back to sleep to see her once more.

"Thinking of someone?" smiled Commander Boyer. Her words pull me out of my dream world. I stare at her. We're leaning on the deck, watching all the Tomcats take off. The Admiral insists it's alright for me to be out here seeing as anyone who saw me from below would mistake me for Hart.

"You could say that," I said, smiling slightly at her.

"Someone back in DC?" she asked, returning my grin. Her long dark brown hair flies in the beating wind, reminding me of Mac even more, if possible.

"Yeah," I sighed. "Boy, if she knew I was flying . . ." I cut off

"A she is it?" Amanda says, her eyebrow rising in interest. "And what would she do if she knew you were flying? Kill you?"

"Something like that," I shrug. "She's never quite gotten over the last time I crashed."

"Which was?" she prodded.

"Well," I correct myself. "The last time she was with me when I crashed, so, I guess the time before that. Which was," I add, eyeing her, "about three years ago."

"You've crashed more than twice?" she laughed.

"Four times, actually."

She grinned. "You sound like a dangerous man, Commander. But," she said smiling, "a little danger never hurt a girl."

"Talking to you doesn't make you sound any tamer," I accused, laughing.

She nodded, "you're probably right. But," she said quickly, turning to me. "I've only crashed twice, and only had to eject once."

"Doesn't sound the safest," I comment.

"Safer than you," she pointed out. She grins and laughs wildly, "We're going to be one hell of a team."

"That we are," I agree.

"Commander, Lieutenant!"

My guard instantly go up and I turn so that my back's to the door while Amanda whirls around.

"Yes, Petty Officer?" she asks sharply.

"Control Tower says they're read for you," he reported, turning around and leaving as quickly as possible.

I exhale calmly and Amanda returns to the rail, looking out at the sea with me. "Anyways, you were telling me about this girl," she said, gently prodding the subject. "Your girlfriend?"

"No," I say calmly. Not yet . . .

She suddenly moves a bit the to the side, as if trying to create distance between us. "Your wife?"

I laugh hollowly. "I wish."

The space that she created between us disappears. "Then who is she?"

I stare out into the water, my sea blue eyes mirroring the waves. "My best friend, Lieutenant. My best friend."

For one minute, I don't know what to do. Obviously this message is of importance. Significance, you might say. Because, if I'm right (which I'm sure I am) then Riley is going to meet with the Phantom at the Ciaro Café at 7 pm tonight. Now what was I going to do about that . . . ?

Turning to my computer screen, I opened up my email account and typed out one email which I sent to three people.

Ciaro Café. Tonight. 7 pm. R + P.

– LCSM

Picking my Subject heading for my email I typed in 'Importance'. And then, pressing the send button, three copies of the message was sent to Agent Clayton Webb of CIA, Admiral AJ Chegwidden of the Judge Advocate General Corp, and that wild pilot I can't seem to get out of my mind, my best friend Harm.