A/N: Alright, this is coming at you from the extremely humid, semi-popular Madras City (for those who don't know where that is . . . which is probably most of you, it is a rather deserted city on the edge of India) and I can tell you right now, I've had more bug bites than ever before in my life (53 so far . . . and the mosquitoes still won't let up)

Major thanks to all my reviewers. You guys are honestly the greatest. And special thanks to my friend Steelo for posting my – what was it, 19th chapter? – wow, this story is getting long. I appreciate all the Phantom theories that have been posed in front of me . . . most are possible, some are a little . . . out there, but I must say . . . and though this could be my eventual downfall, only one out of my many reviewers, was correct in their guess! Heh heh heh, props to the person who got it right (they know who they are)!

Browneyeez: I know you're a die-hard Webbie so an apology goes out to you (and all Webb fans) at my little comment in one of the beginning chapters on his various cheap suits . . . it was a poor shot (but justly made, don't you think?) I'm not exactly the biggest Webb fan (can you tell) . . . oh well, on with the story!

Phantom Unveiled

"You . . . she . . . what?" Webb gasped. I looked at him through pale blue eyes. He looks as if his blood pressure has just soared by a thousand points. I can barely contain a grin . . . barely. "Where is she!" he screamed.

I untangle my legs from the folded position they were in on the bed and stand up slowly, wiping dark blond hair from my eyes. "Long gone," I repeated again, somewhat wearily this time. "We stole a bunch of your Ids from your coat pocket – by the way you shouldn't keep so many in there at a time – and we both pretended to be various forms of you but–" I throw Webb's ID at his face – "you need to update them . . . or get the renewed or whatever. Mine's a little out of date."

I stared at her unbelievably. "Mac's gone . . ?"

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Does it look like she's here?"

"Where'd she go?" he cried pulling me up from the bed with one arm. Wow, that guy is strong. The look of worry on his face concerns me . . . especially because Webb is hardly concerned about anything.

"I don't know," I shrug. "Probably Interpol." I stare at him accusingly. "Why didn't you tell us you knew who the Phantom was?"

Webb looked at me, a sneer forming on his lips. "Who says I know who the Phantom is?" But I can see within the mirrored walls of his eyes that he's hiding something. I exhale. Webb's such an idiot. "And what makes you think I do?"

I shove the brown envelope at him and throw myself on the bed while he looks at me incredulously. "Did anyone ever tell you that it's impolite to go through a man's pockets?" he asked me roughly.

"Did anyone ever tell you that it's impolite to sleep with a girl and then imprison her in a hospital the next day?" I asked him, my blue eyes glinting dangerously. I smiled at his stunned expression and pull myself off the bed. "If we move quickly we can catch up with Mac at the Interpol. That'll be about a 30 minute drive," I look at him and catch myself unwillingly drawn to him, "that gives you half an hour to tell me everything you know."

Webb glared at me, sighed, and wrapped his arm around my shoulder and steers me out of the room. I stare at him questioningly. "Just follow my lead," he whispered into my ear as he veered us toward the guard at the entrance. "Excuse me, Clayton Webb of CIA. Me and my wife . . ."

"Harm?" I whisper urgently, squinting through the suffocating darkness of our cell. I can barely make out the edge of his muscular figure but nonetheless I immediately bent down to mop up the small stream of blood that was once again freely flowing from his temple. I sighed to myself. He had been unconscious for over two hours now. And if he kept on losing the same amount of blood . . .

"No!" I whispered to myself, turning away from Harm and forcing myself not to think about it. This was my mistake, I would get him out of it. Harm wouldn't be here if it weren't for me . . . supposedly. I sighed and found myself wondering how such a thing had happened to Harm. How on earth had he gotten involved with her . . ?

"I've got your six, Cat," I echoed into the walkie-talkie. I grinned as I watched her fight her way through the crowd, determined to keep her eye on Riley. I couldn't restrain my laughter, however, when I saw one extremely frazzled waiter dump the contents of a half full tequila on the front of her shirt.

"I wouldn't be laughing if I were you," a cold voice said from behind me. I froze, my grip on the mike suddenly becoming hard as stone. It couldn't be . . . not after . . . but wasn't it . . ? I just couldn't get my thoughts straight. I turned around slowly and faced a pair of eyes that I knew only to well. They were dark, cold, like empty tunnels that never ended. There was no warmth in them, like there had been at the beginning. At least . . . how I thought there was, at the beginning . . .

"Long time no see," I whispered slowly, clutching the walkie-talkie behind my back. The owner of the cold eyes smiled, an evil dark hearted smile and I could feel fear gnawing at my heart. That's how much power she had over me.

"Yes, it has been a frightfully long time, hasn't it?" she went on, gazing at me intently the entire time. "But don't worry . . . we'll make up for that."

Fright prickled at my spine. A stare from her shot me straight into her mind. I couldn't imagined what she had planned for me . . . but I knew her. And I knew how much there was to fear of her. And that more than anything scared me senseless.

"I'm sorry, but I'm a bit busy right now," I said slowly and quietly, motioning to turn away. That was my mistake . . . and I immediately regretted it.

In one quick move, she shoved a gun to my back and arched it in a way so that anyone passing by couldn't see. She twisted me around effortlessly, and removed the walkie-talkie from my hand, midway through a ranting Catherine going on about a tequila-soaked front. She stared at me coldly.

"You have time for me," she said quietly, her voice weighted down with hatred. "Or you'll make time."

I didn't even feel it when she injected me with a sleeping drug. I was too far gone. .

"Excuse me?" I shoved my way through the line at the Interpol's main office. It had taken me forever to persuade a taxi to give me a ride when I had no money. I had promised the driver that I would pay him as soon as I reached Interpol, which thankfully is close to JAG, allowing me to quickly run into my office and grab my purse. It was hell, however, dodging Bud, Harriet, Sturgis, and the Admiral in the hallways. "Excuse me?"

A thirty year old man with a rumpled tie sauntered towards me. "Yeah, lady?" he asked, trying to smooth his tie out when he caught me looking at it. I wrinkled my nose as I smelt alcohol on his breath, but I didn't push it.

"I need to run some information through Interpol," I said quickly. "Really, I'll only take a minute. Probably half that."

The man looked at me and then laughed. "You and the rest of the world need to use Interpol. Take a number, get in line, and wait your turn. Unless you're Government . . ." he said rolling his eyes up and down my body, making me want to knee him in an unwanted place. "You certainly don't look Government."

"Oh, but I am," I said quickly and I whip out Webb's fake ID – which has come in way too much use today. If being CIA means cutting lines, no speeding tickets, and disciplining unruly smoking teenagers (which I did on the way over here) then I might want to take it up.

The man surveyed me. "CIA, eh?" He shrugged his shoulders. "You get to move up to the front of the line, but you've still got to wait a while. Unless you have an appointment."

I roll my eyes. There's way too many 'Unlesses'. "Look," I said, my eyes darting forward menacingly. "I don't have an appointment. But this is a nation-wide emergency."

Okay, a little on the dramatic side, but it gets the point across.

The man shrugged. "Sorry, lady, rules are rules. No appointment, no entrance. Just wait in line with everyone else. We'll get to you in about an hour."

"But I can't wait an hour!" I practically scream. I can feel everyone in the room's eyes on me and it does nothing for my temper. "This is an emergency and you . . ." I whip out my ID again . . . "You, sir, are obstructing a highly-critical CIA mission, and if you don't get out of the way, I must insist –"

"Excuse me, is there a problem here?"

I whirl around to probably face the manager or some sort of high official. I can tell it in his voice. It just rings with authority. I pause long enough to take control of my emotions and my staccato breath. "Yes," I said slowly. "My being here is a matter of governmental emergency and this . . ." I stop, trying to find a description for him " . . . gentleman" – I couldn't help but emphasize the word – "is obstructing a CIA operation." I eyed him closely. "Am I to believe that you will handle it?"

The manager breathed. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. Truly. But you will have to wait with the other government officials unless you have an appointment." Both men waited tentatively, as if watching to see if I'd blow. But instead, I was thinking.

Unless I have an appointment . . .

"Excuse me, Mr. . . ." I stare at him.

"Bazhir," he barked.

"Excuse me, Mr. Bazhir," I continued calmly. "But is there, perhaps, an appointment for an Agent Webb?"

Mr. Bazhir looked at me through shifty, distrustful eyes but moved towards the computer. Tapping the keys loudly, he nodded. "Yes, an Agent Clayton Webb was booked for nine o'clock this morning." He looked at me. "Isn't Clayton a man's name?"

I nodded. "Yes, that would be my husband's name. I'm Sarah Webb."

He stares at me and I stare back at him with an overwhelming force. Hey, I COULD have been Sarah Webb . . . except then I came to my senses. (A/N: sorry, Browneyeez, but you gotta agree that Webb and Mac . . . it's just not right)

"Did my husband arrive?" I asked in that sweet, polite voice.

"No, actually," Mr. Bazhir continued, "he never showed up. Though a young gentleman did come here looking for him."

I paused. "Oh . . ." I replied. "Well, seeing as we did have an appointment – my husband and I – could we – I – possibly have the time now?" I watched Mr. Bazhir and the other guy converse privately for a moment and then Bazhir came forward.

"Right this way, Mrs. Webb," he said and I had to mentally remind myself that I was Mrs. Webb. I kept thinking that any moment now Clay's mother was going to walk into Interpol. I followed Bazhir down a hallway, up two flights of stairs, down another three corridors – they evidently don't want me here, they're making me walk a marathon! – and then finally he opened the door and shooed me into a small office. In it was barely more one desk and a computer. But out of the four walls of the room, one was a black screen. The entire wall. And I spied a small gray cord leading from the back of the screen to the computer.

"It's all yours, Mrs. Webb," said Bazhir and then he shut the door.

"Right," I muttered to myself and then began to type. "It's all mine."

"Alright, Clay," Catherine breathed as she slumped into the car seat beside me, "or should I say hubby?" I flash her one of those don't-joke-about-that looks. "What's up?"

I glare at her. "Where should I start?" I sneered. "Should I start with the fact that there's a serial killer on the loose that has kidnapped two – no, three – of our agents with only four left on this case: one is god-knows-where, another one I–" I broke off – "left in the JAG parking lot, and the other two are sitting in the middle of the blasted traffic –" I motioned with my hand to the window – "meanwhile the three that have gone missing are most likely injured if not dead, even one of my remaining agents was hospitalized because of the Phantom, and I officially HATE TRAFFIC!" I honked my horn like a maniac.

Catherine stared at me, sitting quietly in her seat. I glared at her. "So," she asked rather weakly. "You left someone in the JAG parking lot?"

I groaned, slamming my forehead against the steering wheel. "Ugh!"

But my cry was drowned out by the horn I had just slammed my head against. And on top of it all, my head now hurt. Today just couldn't get any worse . . .

How very stupid I was to think that . . .

"Harm," Beth murmured my name as my eyes flickered open for a brief moment. Her face is very close to mine, barely an inch or so away. Or maybe everything looks closer through swollen eyes. Yes, that's probably it.

"Blgrght," I mumbled, my head swimming. I had tried for 'Beth'. Evidently words were failing me right now. No pun intended.

"Shh," Beth cooed in an almost motherly way. I felt her arms wrap around me and then she dragged me up off the ground and leaned me against the cold cement wall. She smiled. "It's about time you came to."

I grin even though all my face muscles still hurt. "You were worried?"

Beth grinned back – I'm pretty sure, I still couldn't see properly. "Worried? Nah. With you gone I would have gotten your share of the food."

I laughed hollowly. "And you want extra gruel?"

Beth shrugged. "Hey, you take what you can get." She sighed and I moved instinctively closer.

"What's wrong?" I asked gently, feeling her sadness more than actually seeing it on her face or hearing it in her voice.

Beth laughed sardonically. "What's wrong?" she raised her arm and waved it around the room. "What's right about this place?" she slumped down beside me. "It's cold, we're hungry, you're . . ." she motioned towards me, "you're beaten half to death, and you ask me what's wrong?"

I shrugged. "Call me naïve, but – " I paused to meet her eyes. "That doesn't seem to be the only thing on your mind."

She sighed, leaned back towards the wall, shutting her eyes for a moment of peace. "We're going to die, Harm." I opened my mouth to argue but she quieted me with a glare. "We are going to die. Webb and his team don't know the first place to look." Beth laughed hollowly. "We didn't know what was going on and we had all the evidence shoved before our faces!" She groaned and leaned her head against my shoulder. "And it's not so much the dying part that's bothering me – Lord knows I would have left the CIA a long time ago if it did – but now that I think about it, so much has happened in my life. I've kept so many secrets. And now . . ." she moves her eyes up to meet mine. "I'd give anything to tell this . . . person . . . how I feel. But given everything that's happened–" I can see the tears in her eyes – "it's impossible."

I sighed longingly with her, Mac's face drifting into my vision. "I know exactly how you feel."

She raised her head from my shoulder, her eyes boring into mine. "Do you really?"

Suddenly the air's changed, it's become thicker, more full, and I can feel heat that I've never felt before erupting. "I . . . I think so," I managed to stammer. And before I know it, before I even have time to think, Beth pressed her body up against mine and her lips are much closer than an inch from mine. There's no space.

For a moment, I'm completely lost. I'm startled, I'm dumfounded, I'm . . . I'm shocked into oblivion. And it took me that full moment to get my brain kicked in. Wait . . . this is Beth. You can't . . . not with Beth!

I break my lips away from hers so violently that she's nearly thrown over. I stare at her and she stares at me. Suddenly a very awkward and embarrassing silence envelopes the room.

God, Mac, I feel myself thinking, I miss you so much . . .

Gender: Female

Area of Age: 30 – 50

Appearance: Unknown

Satellite Photo Location: Washington, Detroit, San Francisco, New York

Specific Satellite Photo Location: Ciaro Café, Washington

Satellite Photo Accompanying Persons: Lyndon Tang, Ray Baron, Nicholas Barret, Jeffrey Young, Harmon Rabb, Jr., Beth O'Neil, Aaron Riley

Specific Satellite Photo Accompanying Person(s): Aaron Riley

Satellite Photo Time slot: February 4, 2005 – May 18, 2005

Specific Satellite Photo Time slot: None

I paused to collect my wits. So far everything seemed correct. Stalling for a brief moment to read over the profile, I grimly nodded to myself, and willed the mouse towards the key 'Submit'.

Immediately, the large wall-screen zoomed to life. A large block appeared in the center. '114 Possible Suspects'. I groaned and clicked the arrow to go back to the profile. I began to highlight phrases, delete, and then retype. Today was going to be a long day . . .

Gender: Female

Area of Age: 35 – 50

Appearance: Unknown

Satellite Photo Location: Washington, Detroit, San Francisco, New York

Specific Satellite Photo Location: Ciaro Café, Washington

Satellite Photo Accompanying Persons: Lyndon Tang, Ray Baron, Nicholas Barret, Jeffrey Young, Harmon Rabb, Jr., Beth O'Neil, Aaron Riley

Specific Satellite Photo Accompanying Person(s): Aaron Riley

Satellite Photo Time slot: February 4, 2005 – May 18, 2005

Specific Satellite Photo Time slot: May 15

I pressed the 'Submit' button and '64 Possible Suspects' flashed on the screen. There was no way I was going through 64 profiles. I continued to edit the profile and subsequently the numbers of possibilities went down. Sighing slightly, I looked at the last profile, detailed to the very last inch.

Gender: Female

Area of Age: 35 – 45

Appearance: thin, blonde hair (I could only guess because all Harm's girlfriend had blonde hair)

Satellite Photo Location: Washington, Detroit, San Francisco, New York

Specific Satellite Photo Location: Ciaro Café, Washington

Satellite Photo Accompanying Persons: Lyndon Tang, Ray Baron, Nicholas Barret, Jeffrey Young, Harmon Rabb, Jr., Beth O'Neil, Aaron Riley

Specific Satellite Photo Accompanying Person(s): Aaron Riley

Satellite Photo Time slot: February 4, 2005 – May 18, 2005

Specific Satellite Photo Time slot: May 15, 19:00 – 20:00

I pulled the mouse towards the 'Submit' button and the wall-screen flashed '3 possible suspects'. I sighed in relief. Three I could deal with.

Clicking on the screen, I moved the mouse arrow towards the first one. Immediately, a detailed profile zoomed onto the screen with satellite photos arranged at the top as well as the passport photo, driver's license photo, various ID photos. I could only gasp when I saw the picture.

No . . . I breathed. It couldn't be.

"I never expected to find you here."

A cold voice spoke beside me causing me to jump. A small man of slight build walked into the room. He had dark brown hair combed lightly to the side. His glasses were drawn close to his gray eyes and his suit looked like something out of a 'We have everything here at Wal-Mart' commercial.

"I'm sorry?" I said uncertainly as a wave of coldness threatened to overtake me. I could just tell, from the moment he entered the room, I hated this man. "I don't believe I know you."

The man chuckled. "Well, I know you, Sarah Mackenzie. Or should I say," he paused, his eyes glinting dangerously at me, "Sarah Webb."

I backed up against the computer desk, facing him with a dark, determined expression. "If you will excuse me, sir, I'm on a matter of Government business, this is extremely confidential and put that thing away."

The man swung his gun carelessly in front of me, shutting the door behind him with his foot. He didn't even look away. "I have waited a long time to meet you, Sarah. You don't know how many things I have heard about you. How many times I've heard your name."

I could feel his breath upon my face. That's how close he was. He looked at me, his expression terrifying. "Webb would speak of none other than you. Rabb screams in his sleep about you." My eyes jumped up to his. Harm. "Even that idiot Riley seems to show some affection for you."

I quivered as he advanced once more. "Who are you? What the hell do you want?"

The man grinned – insanely. "My name is Agent Harris. You don't know me." He stared at me. "But I'm under proper orders to bring you in. Yes. You'll make a very nice incentive for our friend, Mr. Rabb."

I shot up. "What are you doing with Harm?" I asked none to gently.

"Harm?" Harris grinned. "Harm. You sound rather close. He certainly seems to think you are, the way he calls your name at night." Harris brought up his arms in obviously fake gestures. "Mac . . . help me, Mac," Harris moaned, "I love you . . . Mac. Don't leave me!" Harris cackled and I paled before his eyes.

"What are you doing to him?" I asked, white hot with rage. "He . . . he's alive."

"Oh, yes, he's very much alive," said Harris dully. "We wouldn't think of killing him. No, but a fair beating does him nicely, even if it doesn't make him a little more open to our . . . interrogations. You," he hissed, "certainly will."

"We wouldn't think of killing him?" I whispered slowly, vehemently. "Who is we?"

"Me and the Phantom of course!" Harris chorused. "Do keep up, girl. We have no use for stupidity."

Harris grinned and drew his face near mine. "But you are a rather attractive thing. I can see why the others like you." He grinned at me. "It's a shame none of them will be sticking around to – " my fist collided with his jaw and sent him flying into the screen across the room. I pelted for the door but Harris recovered quickly and grabbed my leg before forcing me into the room.

"Stupid move, girl," Harris hissed as he stabbed me with something hard in the arm. I didn't even have to feel the weariness enter my system before I knew I was drugged. I stared at him with bloodshot eyes.

"Sorry to sound cliché," I croaked, "but you won't get away with this." I stared at him vehemently. "They'll find me. Webb will. And then you'll die."

Harris grinned. "If you were going to find us, you would have found us already. The Phantom has everything planned out. Everything. You will see," he whispered in my ear as my eyes grew tired and I could no longer keep them open. "In time you will see . . . your agents have not even begun to experience the likes of the Phantom."

A/N: Duh duh duh duh. Okay, so I didn't quite unveil the Phantom's identity in this chapter, but Mac knows and that's something! Okay, so I bet you didn't expect Harris to be in on it. I bet you didn't even remember Harris existed. I've planned him for a while, but when I sat down to write, I couldn't remember his name. How's that for writer's motivation, eh? Ah well, you guys know the drill . . . please review. Great hugs out to all of you who do. And as I pleaded in the chapter before, please please please tell me what happened on JAG on Friday? What happened with Vukovic? God, I hate that guy. Include all the gruesome details. More hate towards him the better!