A/N: Hey people, well, I definitely had some interesting Phantom suggestions out there! Oh yeah . . . and let me tell you this, no one guessed the same person! Heh heh heh . . . you guys are really something. Anyways . . . don't forget to tell me what happens on Friday! I don't think you quite get JAG in India (or you get it with those little very small white subtitles at the bottom so that I'll have to squint to be able to read anything). Unlike probably most of you I was blessed with a non-JAG appreciative family, unless you count my Dad but he's no good because he's coming with me on vacation!

Anyways, major thanks to all those who reviewed me. In other words, thanks to: joanoa, Radiorox, Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, RoleModel2, Tomcat GM, jaka, mara-rabb, Abigaile, mjag, MichelleLee, CharmedAli, princess mai, dansingwolf, martini1988, squirtbug158, jaggurl, Tinny, Elysabeth, hothing40, jagdreamer, Steelo, Sube, rjm-az, cutieronnie, sarah, jtbwriter, smithknk, and anyone else who reviewed!

And props to you, Steelo, for posting this chapter while I'm having fun in the sun (okay, I'll stop rubbing it in . . . but it's so damn hard)!

Oh yeah, and before I forget, Bite Beccy, Steven Culp is the actor who plays Clayton Webb. Sorry, it was kind of a poor joke and I should have been clearer. Anyways . . . on with the story!

Identity Check

"The Phantom's female!" Catherine cries. Instantly, my head whirls around and I give her a piercing stare that shoves her scream right back down her throat. "Sorry," she whispers guiltily, looking around the walls as if they're all bugged. "I mean, the Phantom's female?"

I nod, turning my head away from her and back to the paper. "Webb has this theory . . ." I trail off. "That everyone the Phantom has effected . . . is meant to be."

"Mean to be?" Catherine asks, her eyebrow shooting up into oblivion. "This isn't exactly some crappy soap opera here, Mac."

"I mean, Beth wasn't kidnapped because she knew something or was a threat to the Phantom's security," I said slowly. "She was on . . . The List." I wince as I realize how cliché I just sounded. "The Phantom had planned her out as a target from the beginning." I gulp inwardly. "Just like the Phantom did Harm."

"So the Phantom wasn't going for Commander Evan Hart at all?" Catherine whispered softly as she pulled out Hart's paper, the one with the large red 'X' through it. "The Phantom was going for Harm?"

I sigh inwardly and then groan out loud. "That's what Webb thinks."

"But . . . why?"

"Because . . ." I trail off. "The Phantom's been a billion steps ahead of us through this entire . . . game. So why would the Phantom risk it all for a few careless errors. Kidnapping the wrong person . . . getting nervous and taking someone extra. That's not their way. If the Phantom targeted one person . . ." I shudder was I finish the sentence, "they had been plotted out that way."

Catherine looked down at the sheets. "But, Harm doesn't fit the profiles of everyone else. He's not in the same year as them. And Beth . . . she's female for Christ's sake."

"But they do follow the pattern," I replied slowly, lying down on the bed. "If Webb's theory proves correct. And if I'm not mistaken," I added grimly. "Right now he's scanning faces into Interpol."

"Well, thank you for not being cryptic," Catherine replied sarcastically. "What the hell do Beth and Harm have to do with-"

"They were the Phantom's former lovers!" I cried, a sick expression developing maturely on my face. "All of them were . . ." I trail off, staring at the papers. "That's why Webb circled them. All of them were last seen by their girlfriends. When they were murdered, they had just finished doing something with their girlfriends."

I wore a pained expression. "Harm had just come back from seeing me . . . and Beth had just finished shopping at the mall with you–" I cut off as Catherine jumps up to protest but I silence her with a look. "Yes, I know you weren't that way." She sits back down in her chair, her eyes demanding I go on.

"Somehow," I continue, "both of them, at some time must have . . ." I search for the words "crossed paths with the Phantom. And now she's reeking revenge on anyone that's . . . moved on, after they were with her."

Catherine stared at me, wide-eyed. "The sick, twisted, demented, freak . . ."

"And she's in with Riley," I said quickly, effectively cutting Catherine off. "She uses Riley to suck out all the information that NCIS has gathered and uses it to her advantage. She must have been gleeful when she found out Harm and I were coming down."

"Either that," Catherine mused, "or she wasn't planning on taking Harm down because he didn't have a girlfriend . . ." she stopped what she was saying abruptly, but I'd understood all to well.

"He didn't have a girlfriend . . . and then she saw me," I finished. A large lump settled in the back of my throat and no amount of swallowing would make it disappear. I avert my eyes from Catherine, staring at the ground. "I'm the reason he's gone."

Catherine stared at me for the moment, determined eyes flashing. "You may not be the reason he's gone . . ." she trailed off, her voice taking on an excited tone, "but you're going to be the reason he's back." Her eyes sparked electricity. "Now, what are we going to do?"

My back stuck to the cold cement floor, blood and sweat latching itself on. My eyelids were swollen shut. I couldn't have seen if I wanted too. But I wouldn't have tried if I could. Right now just thinking makes my head hurt. Hell, everything hurts. I've given a new meaning to the phrase 'beaten black and blue'. If there was ever to be a color any darker than black, I'd be that too. I hear moving behind me but I make no move to figure out what it was.

"Harm?"

I know that voice. I metaphysically try and turn on my brain. The voice sounds like sandpaper being rubbed together. Parched, starchy, dehydrated, like every word is a lifeline. But at the same time, the person has managed to convey a tone of caring.

"Uggghhh," I groan incomprehensibly. What word had I tried for? It's no use. I forget. I've been beaten senseless.

"Shh, Harm, it's okay," she cooed in my ear and I can feel rough hands slowly slide themselves under the back of my head and levitate it a little, placing my head on someone's lap. I winced at the pain it had caused by simply touching my head, but relaxed slightly as she began to rub my temples, putting me out of my painful misery for a few short moments.

I move my parched lips but no sound came out. Squinting open my eyelids through swollen slits I can make out a blurry figure. One with dark brown hair and a thin wiry body. "Mac . . ?" I ask groggily, my head filled in smoky glaze.

I could feel the figure draw back a little but her hands continued to massage my head. "No, Harm," the voice replied, light, fluent and angelic. I can feel more than hear the hesitance in the voice. The daring. "It's me . . . Beth."

Beth. Beth. I knew that name. Beth. Slowly, I reached out my arm towards her, touching the side of her face lightly. I trailed my fingers along her cheek, wincing as I did so. I was positive all my fingers were broken. "Beth . . ." I murmured slowly, my eyelids growing heavy. "Beth."

I could feel myself slipping out of consciousness and also the utter hopelessness of the situation rising up within me. I was powerless . . . weak. I couldn't do anything.

"Harm!" the voice was more urgent. Beth's voice. "Harm, please, stay awake."

I can't.

"Please, Harm . . . you've got to stay awake. They'll be back soon!"

I'm sorry, Beth.

"Please, Harm . . ." Beth was sobbing now, "you can't leave me. You can't . . ."

I don't want to leave.

"Help's on the way!" she cried. "Mac'll find us."

Mac . . .

"Please," Beth sobbed. She paused, and I was vaguely aware of the rolling tears that were slowly sliding on to my face. Her tears. "Please," she whispered slowly. "I . . . I love you, Harm."

I groaned as I slipped out of consciousness, detaching myself from the rest of the world

I love you, Mac.

"Now what are we going to do?"

I stared at Catherine. Her words echoed in my mind. Now what are we going to do? I slowly rose out of bed, and looked out the window. Below the window were three security cars, one blocking the main entrance, the emergency entrance, and another checking IDs of everyone exiting and entering the building. A small smile crept quietly onto my lips before turning into a full fledged grin.

"What are we going to do?" asked Catherine again, her tone taking on that of uncertainty.

I turned to her with no attempt to hide my grin. "We're going to get the hell out of here."

"Damn it!" Webb cried, jumping into the driver's seat. Quickly, he slid the black SUV out of the parking lot, swerving as he narrowly missed crashing into the small Toyota parked a slot behind him.

Slamming on the gas pedal, Webb veered into the highway. Shattering the speed limit, he shifted lanes, passing cars that he deemed to slow.

If Catherine found the papers . . . and Mac translated them from Russian.

He grimaced. He couldn't even think of the numerous possibilities. And each was as terrible as the next. All involved Mac and Catherine surrounded by guns, or their bodies sprawled on the pavement with the two stabs . . . or in any danger at all. It didn't quite matter. It would be entirely his fault.

Webb twisted the steering-wheel around and pulled into the entrance to the CIA Hospital. Tapping his fingers on the wheel impatiently as he waited in line, he pulled to the front, approaching an officer in a dark uniform.

"Excuse me," Webb called out. "Hello, I'm Special Agent Clayton Webb of the CIA and I ordered this lock down. It's crucial that I get inside to retrieve some documents from–"

"We're going to need some ID," the officer informed him, laying a hand on Webb's chest as Webb tried to pass him.

"Right," Webb breathed. "ID." He turned around to look at the passenger seat where his coat normally would have lay, with his various IDs in its pockets. Normally.

Webb groaned. Catherine and Mac had his IDs.

"So, which one do you want?" Catherine asked, as she flipped through Webb's IDs. "I don't think either of us will pass off as a guy."

"And if we do," I said, dumping out another wallet of fake IDs onto the bedspread, "I may just consider shooting myself."

Catherine grinned as she pulled out an ID registered to a Heather Fifer. The small square picture in the corner had been obviously computerized. They had taken Webb's face and brushed it so that the cheeks looked more feminine, the lips fuller, and his hair had been flat out redone. "Webb on the other hand . . ." Catherine trailed and I jumped up to see the picture, swallowing the grin that threatened to permanently attach itself to my face.

"He should seriously consider a sex change," I replied, with no hint of amusement in my voice. "He'd definitely get more dates that way."

Catherine laughed but the humor soon dissipated as the room once more was enveloped in silence.

"Okay," Catherine said briskly. "These are two female IDs with no picture. You can take . . ." she paused as she read the name, "Lidya Vanderpool, and I'll be . . ." she paused again, squinting at the miniscule typing, "Rachel O'Hara."

I took the ID from Catherine and made up the bed to look slept in but not wild. Catherine stuffed everything of Webb's back into his coat pocket and then put the coat on herself. I raised my eyebrow at her action.

"Oh, right, like we're going to leave it behind?" Catherine snapped defensively. She opened the door for me and we both walked out into the hallway.

"Stand up straighter," I ordered Catherine as we marched down the hallway at a brisk pace. "Remember, act like you're CIA."

Catherine paused. "I am CIA," she replied.

"Oh," I said and then smiled at her, "well, then act like you're actually important." She flashes me a mock hurt look. I grin it away.

"Excuse me," the officer in charge of admitting people out of the building said, flashing his junior-officer badge at us. "I'll need to see some ID, please."

"Right," I replied, and dove into my purse, pretending to be utterly distracted while clutching the ID in my fist the entire time. "Here you go," I said, pulling it out while making sure that he caught a glimpse of other objects in my purse. Just in case. "Will this do?"

The officer checked it, tapped a few numbers into his blackberry and then shrugged. "You're through." He turned to Catherine. "May I see yours?"

Catherine promptly handed her ID to him. Once again, the officer ran the numbers through his blackberry. "I'm sorry, miss," he said, returning the ID to Catherine. "Your identification has expired, and until you get it reinstated, I'm afraid we can't permit you to exit." At Catherine's horrified look he added, "I'm sorry for your inconvenience."

"Sorry for my inconvenience, my ass," I heard Catherine distinctly mutter. She shuffled away and I watched her. As soon as she was out of the guard's view she turned around and mouthed to me 'Go!'

I opened my mouth to argue with her and then realized what a truly foolish move that would be. I flashed her apologetic look which she returned by mouthing the words 'Hurry up!' I turn around and scramble out of that hospital as fast as I can go. Shooting right by one angry screaming Webb . . .

"You don't understand, kid!" I cried forcefully at some twenty-year-old hotshot who thinks having a badge means he's god sent. "I was the one that called for a lockdown. I just forgot my ID inside the building. If you will escort me in, I would be glad to show you it. I just need to get my jacket-"

"Sir," replied the officer running his hand through his thick blond hair. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you don't-"

"Mr. Webb!"

I turned to look at Officer Jenison running out of the building. I heave a sigh of relief. He knows I called the lock down. If anyone can get me out of this, it damn well is him. "Jenison, tell this young . . ." I look at the kid with an annoyed expression " . . . thing, that I called lock down and get me into that damn building!"

"Alright, hold your horses, Webb," Jenison said then turned to the kid. "Anthony, go help Oliver out at the entrance. Agent Webb here has A Class clearance."

I grin at the kid who looks like a befuddled mess knowing that he denied someone with A Class clearance but she shuffled away too quickly for me to rub it in. Oh well, I have other things to do. More important things.

"Jenison, I have no time to explain, but I need to get into a Colonel Sarah Mackenzie's room," I replied hurriedly. "It's crucial to the case."

Jenison nodded and I rushed through the halls and bang on the elevator button. Too slow. I take the staircase, running two steps at a time. I bang into at least three people, two of which are senior to me, don't bother to apologize, nearly trample a nurse, but finally, I reach the room. Out of breath and panting for my life, I opened the door . . .

To see Catherine Gayle sitting on the bed with legs folded across her chest wearing my jacket.

"Where's Mac!" I cried, sweat glistening on my forehead.

Catherine shrugged. "Long gone."

Sorry to cut it off here, guys, but I . . . well, it's hard to explain but in two minutes I've got to go down for some kind of family photo shoot thing. It's incredibly stupid but it's kind of a family tradition to take a picture of family members before they leave on a trip so they can see how much they changed when they get back. It's really idiotic but I have to do it anyway. Okay, review, tell me what happens on JAG and . . . I'll try and get to you the next chapter before I come back.

And this one was posted by my good friend Steelo, so . . . thanks loads. And major thanks to anyone who reviews to this chapter (this encourages me to write faster, by the way) and for all those people that read and don't review . . . you have no excuse now because I DO accept anonymous reviews (subtlety is not my strongest point).