A/N: Hey people, this is the chapter you've all been waiting for! Mac and Harm are officially reunited. Yes, they are, and . . . well, you just have to read on. Sorry if the last chapter was sucky. I hope this one makes up for it. You guys all get to find out who the Phantom is! I'm also especially happy because Vukovic (or Vic as Jennifer should call him) is TAD in Iraq (for those who didn't watch last night's ep)! Yay!

Special thanks to all reviewers: 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, beyblade, marinejag, Britanny445, and browneyeez. You guys are honestly the greatest.

I'm really sorry that I haven't been updating in a while. It was practically impossible when I was in India and now, well, I hope that the chapters come to you quicker. Well, you guys know the deal by now. Read, enjoy (hopefully) and review! And I've gotta thank you guys, because I passed 200 reviews (that's been my goal since I passed 100) and I owe it all to you!

Note: This chapter is not in it's usual format due to problems at If there are mistakes - typed or paragraphs are mashed together - they were due to my copy not coming out properly when I uploaded it. I tried to fix it as best as I can. Sorry!

Time Race

"Harm"

The strangled cry cut through my dream as sharp as a knife. I knew that voice. I loved that voice. But I was dreaming. I had to be dreaming. She couldn't be here. She wouldn't be here. She shouldn't be here.

"Oh, Harm!" Mac sighed. I could feel her press her body against mine and oddly enough I didn't feel the pain at all, just the warmness of her skin and her breath playing across my neck. The feeling sent shivers up and down my spine. God, what this woman does to me.

"M-mac," I manage to stutter. Emotions seem to take hold of my body. I'm tormented by the fact that she's joined me in hell and yet ecstatically happy just to be with her. I was convinced I'd never see her again. I run my hand along her arm and feel her goosebumps. I smile to myself. She always seemed to get those around me.

"What - are you doing here?" I strangle out. I still haven't got used to the feeling of my lips. Words fall cold against my breath. I love her - if she wasn't here I'd never get a chance to tell her. This has to be a sign from God. There is no way he could be this cruel.

"Harris," Mac said quietly.

"Harris?" I cock my eyebrow up and wincing as it hits a fresh cut. Harris . . . I know that name . . . oh my God. "Not CIA Harris?" I asked, getting up quickly - too quickly. My legs sway and my head is drowned in dizziness. I feel Mac grabbing onto my body and gently easing me against the wall. I'm grateful.

"Yeah," she said calmly. "I guess he pulled the wool over all of our eyes."

I stare at her - straining my whirling eyes to focus just on her. It's dark - the cell is hideous. She stands out brightly. Her face looks unmarked save the ugly bruise from where she hit her head falling from the roof. Her dark hair falls in long waves across her face and I'm barely aware I'm running my hands through it until I actually see them. Her brown eyes watch me - distantly - and I wonder what she's thinking about. She looks so lost. We all do.

"Harm," she begins, leaning close to me. We're both incredibly aware of the distance between our bodies - it's near to nonexistent. I trail my fingers down her lips, my eyes still following her movement. They just can't stop watching her.

"Harm, Webb and Catherine-" - And then Mac froze in mid sentence. Slowly - sound ringing around the bare desolate cell - there was the rhythmic thud of footsteps. The sound was lost on no one - not even me and I was still hearing the loud ring of bashing metal against the wall in my ears. That was the Phantom's favorite form of beating. And it showed - on my body.

Mac looked back at me to read my expression before standing up. I averted her eyes. She didn't need to see how mortally terrified I was. Beth got to her feet too - and for the first time since I opened my eyes, I realized she was there. I was instantly swamped with guilt - when I saw Mac, I saw no other woman. That little screen was built in from day one. Beth and Mac shared a stare, nodding briefly in what I can only imagine was a silent agreement to protect me. And this - if even possible - made me feel worse.

The footsteps stopped - the last one resounding with a snap. And then there was the familiar jiggle of the lock and the door opened. Aaron Riley stepped through the doorway. He wore dark clothing making his bleached blonde hair stand out vibrantly against his body. His blue eyes were dark - cold. He stepped into the cell and the oddest of smiles crept across his face. A merciless, victorious smile.

"You thought you'd get away with it, didn't you?" he said in a high-pitched voice. "You and Webb? Well you're wrong!" He cackled insanely. "I won't let you get away with it. We won't! You'll stay here until you tell us where Webb is."

I turned to Beth. Her eyes mirrored the same thought mine were. What the hell? I turned to Mac, my eyes meeting with hers for a moment. Oddly enough, she seemed to calmly understand and this more than anything was confusing me. What weren't we getting away with?

Riley turned to Mac. "I never thought you would be involved," he said, almost sadly. "I knew you and Webb had been together but I never thought you still were. You did an awful good impression of being madly in love with Rabb." Riley shot me a pointed stare. "You're all very good actors. But I didn't fall for it! Not for a minute!" He laughed. "And I suppose now you're going to tell me that you don't know what the hell I'm talking about and that you were never in with Webb in the first place!" He cackled. "Well it won't work! I'm smarter than that."

"Like hell you are," I muttered under my breath.

Riley turned his cold eyes towards me. "I would be very quiet if I were you, Rabb. You don't want me to call her back in here." His eyes glint dangerously. "You know who I mean . . ."

I stare at him defiantly but I feel cold dread seep through my body. He couldn't bring the Phantom in here. Not with Mac in the room - or Beth, I mentally correct myself. I couldn't put them in danger. I couldn't put my Marine in danger.

"What do you want, Riley?" I asked, my voice soft. "You have everything."

Riley stared at me. "I want to know where Webb is, what's your plan, and who's involved." A small smirk graced his features. "And," he said softly. "I want to know before today is up or -" he gracefully snaked his arm around Mac - "she's mine."

I stared at Mac, confusion clearly motioned in my eyes. Riley is standing in front of me with his arm around my Marine's waist and she doesn't even seem perturbed by the motion. He's not armed - he doesn't look it. So why isn't his back flat against the concrete with Mac's elbow making a permanent indent in his stomach? I stare into Mac's chocolate brown eyes. She stares at me back and then a small smile - invisible to everyone but me - graces her lips. And she nods slowly to me. I sigh. God help me.

"Give us time," I order slowly, still staring intently at Mac.

Riley smirked. "Time is one thing you're running out of, Commander."

Webb pulls into the JAG parking lot, slamming the brakes forward causing my head to nearly hit the dashboard. I glare at him but he shelves it as he flips himself out of the SUV. I follow him, wincing at the difficulty seeing as I AM wearing three inch heels but Webb - being Webb - doesn't slow down for a second.

"What's the big hurry?" I seethed through grinding teeth. "She's not going anywhere."

Webb's either deaf or chooses to ignore me. He pulls open the glass door to Interpol and holds it open long enough to let me in. I can only stare at the massive line developed in the lobby. Who the hell needs to use satellite tracking systems this badly? One woman by my side - wearing a blue printed dress and white pumps - a horrible match - is stroking a cat while she waits. I'll bet you my CIA badge that she's only using the trackers to locate the nearest pet food shop.

"Excuse me!" Webb calls, pulling us to the front of the line. "Hello, I'm Agent Clayton Webb and I had an appointment early this morning. I'm a little late. But it's a Government Emergency. Could you please tell me if a Sarah Mackenzie was in here at all today?"

A slightly disgruntled man surveys us through shifty eyes. His name card says 'Bazhir' on it. Terrible name. "Don't know no Sarah Mackenzie."

I sigh. "Look, Webb, she probably saw the line and decided it wasn't worth waiting."

Webb's relentless. "Excuse me, Mr. . . Bazhir, has a small pretty dark-haired lady used Interpol at all within the last hour and a half?"

Bazhir shrugged. "Thin?"

"Yeah," Webb sighed.

"Brown eyes?"

"Uh-huh."

"CIA?"

Webb stares at me. I mouthed 'your ID'.

"Yeah."

Bazhir scratched the top of his head. "Came in forty-five minutes ago and left about ten minutes ago - " Webb cursed the traffic - "with some brown-haired chap."

Webb jumps up, eyes alert. "What room?"

"Doesn't matter, you can't go in there," he replied.

"This is a CIA emergency," Webb said, whipping out his badge.

"Yeah, yeah," Bazhir droned. "That was the lady's excuse too, but all she ever did was look at pictures."

"What pictures?" I cut in.

"Who are you?"

"Catherine Webb," Clay cut in. "My wife. She's CIA too. Now what room?"

"X27," Bazhir drawled. Webb turns and runs. "Wait!" he called. "You can't go in there! You need-"

"Oh, shut up," I call over my shoulder, running after Webb.

Bazhir sighed and settled into his desk, picking up the telephone receiver. "Hey, Chuck, you still know that lawyer in Cincinnati . . ? Yeah - I want an Agent Clayton Webb brought up on charge of bigamy . . ."

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"Come on in," Riley said, opening the door for me and gesturing in a polite manner. I walked in. His room looks almost as bad as our cell did. Concrete floor and walls. No windows. At least his has a bed. But that's pretty much it. His clothes are in a heap in the corner of the floor - if you can call it a heap. He's folded them and stacked them. Even in a cement room he organizes it like the desk in his office. He had to have been raised by his mother.

"Can I sit?" I motioned to the bed.

He nodded.

"So . . ." I trailed. "How long have you been with them?"

Riley avoided my eyes. "With who?"

I sighed. "Harris, the Phantom . . . how long have you been living in this room?"

"Five days," he barked.

I nodded. "Five days, Ciaro Café." I looked at him sympathizing. "Aaron, you don't understand. It's -"

"I understand fine," Riley retorted immediately. "It's you who doesn't understand! Webb's got both of you in his sick hold. He's poisoned your minds - yours and Rabb's. He's the Phantom! Don't you get it? He murdered his father!"

I shook my head. "Webb wouldn't do that. You know he wouldn't."

"He cut my department off from information-"

"Not because he was the Phantom."

"He set us up at Ciaro Café!"

"He wasn't at Ciaro Café."

"Then how come the CIA was there!" he hollered back. "We found Agent O'Neil there! Harris thought I had deceived them!"

"Look," I retorted angrily. "Webb didn't call in Agent O'Neil. I called her in. I needed help. I knew the Phantom was going to be at the Café!"

"Because you went through my drawer!"

"Because I thought you were the Phantom."

"Because Webb told you to go through my drawer!"

"No, actually, he said to do exactly the opposite."

"Because he didn't want you to figure out the truth."

"Because he didn't want me to be in danger."

"So you admit he cares about you!"

"We're friends."

"He's manipulating you."

"No, they're manipulating you. They're using you to get at Webb! Don't you see, she's the Phantom!"

"She's against the Phantom!"

"Webb, can we slow down?" Catherine called from behind me as I sprinted down hallway G. When they said X27, they have one hallway for each letter - one after another. And 100 rooms in each hallway. I'm surprised Mac even made it to room X27 in the thirty-five minutes she spent in here.

I turn and run down another corridor and from the clattering of high-heels on the floor and the under-breath screeches of Catherine - I'd say she's pretty mad at me. "We can't stop!" I called back, gritting my teeth.

"But why not?" she panted.

"Because all Interpol research has a twenty minute save period and sixteen minutes have already gone by!"

"You don't understand!" I cried. "Harris and the Phantom are using you! They're going to kill us all. Even you when you've worn out your usage. They're planning something big! These murders are child's play!"

"And how do you know that?" he shot back.

"Because I saw it at Interpol!" I cried. "Harris gets involved with the Phantom case - he gets access to things he never did before - including CIA special ops material. Between Harris and the Phantom - they're making a bomb!"

Riley stares at me. "You're nuts."

"24 - 25 - 26 - 27, finally!" I call and I fling open the door and nearly hit Catherine in the face. She glares at me but follows me in. She's got her high-heels in her hands - she ditched them at around hallway P. We run in and I barely have time to check my watch.

"32 seconds left!" I holler.

"They are!" I cried. "Harris has ordered small doses of strontium. They've been picked and received in different locations."

"And how do you know this?" he shot back.

"Because one of the locations was Ciaro Café!"

"How do you access the memory database?" Catherine cried, flinging herself at the keyboard. The wall screen clicked to life.

"28 seconds."

"Memory database, Webb."

"27 seconds."

"CLAY!"

"Ctrl + Shift + P + 8 + Q."

"What!"

"Special Ops trick. We're in with Interpol."

Catherine grit her teeth, her fingers furiously searching for the keys. "Clay, I don't think it's working . . ."

"24 seconds."

"Ciaro Café!" Riley echoed.

"Yes, one of the satellite photos showed Harris exchanging a briefcase with a known mass destruction weapons dealer - Triphon. The Interpol scanner immediately recognized the face - blew it up and scanned the brief case. Strontium. The high level of radioactivity made it glow bright red on the screen."

"Interpol can do that!"

"No!" I cried sarcastically. "I'm just making it up."

"But what would they use it for?"

"Strontium is used to make a dirty bomb. Depending on where the bomb is broken, such high levels of radioactivity could make said area uninhabitable for decades if not centuries."

"We're in!" Catherine cried, voice triumphant. She pressed Enter and immediately the screen clicked to life, displaying a set of micro pictures.

"Start at number one and we'll work our way up," I ordered. "One of them has to have the Phantom in it."

"How many seconds, Webb?"

"21."

"Why the hell would they want to make a dirty bomb?" Riley cried. "It makes no sense. Even if they were the Phantom. The Phantom is a serial killer murdering those in the Naval Academy years ago."

"That's a cover. In each city where the Phantom struck - both strontium and their bomb structure was delivered. They couldn't order the strontium themselves because of consistency - so they had it delivered to each victim. Not knowing what it was the victims would receive the parcel and the high level of radioactivity associated with the package would kill them but the FBI would pick up on that so Harris and the Phantom would stab each victim to make it look as if they died from knife wounds when actually they were already dead."

"But wouldn't the CIA check for radioactivity?" Riley asked, his blue eyes perplexed.

"Tell me, when you scan a stabbed dead body, do you look for radioactivity?" I shot back. Riley didn't say anything. His eyes said it all.

"Come on," I muttered under my breath as Catherine opened each file and then immediately closed it. Each was photos from various Phantom-hit locations, and the others were face photographs of possible suspects.

"18 seconds left!"

"15 files to go."

There was the creak of a door and the snap of footsteps outside in the hall. Riley shot me a terrified look, the creaminess of his skin tone instantly drained to a paper-white ghost color.
"15 seconds!" I barked.

"9 files," Catherine countered.

I moved silently out of the way of the door, unnerved by Riley's sudden fear. He put his finger to his lips and motioned for me to be silent. I wouldn't have it any other way. Suddenly, a very powerful emotion seized me. I wanted to be with Harm - back in the cell. Wherever he was. Oh, Harm, I sighed. I love you.
"8 seconds!" I cried, one eye glued to the face of my watch and the other to the wall-screen.

"Last file!" Catherine cried and pressed enter. Immediately a series of blown-up pictures cover the wall. I feel the color drain out of my face and Catherine could only stare numbly at the picture.

"I don't believe it," I whisper.

The door to Riley's room swung open and in came the Phantom, her head held eye but her eyes ferocious. She stared at Riley and then at me. "Colonel Mackenzie," she said in a cold icy voice.

"Ms. Lindsey," I replied slowly.

"Ms. Lindsey of NCIS?" Catherine echoed incredulously. "Isn't that Riley's assistant?"
Nix: Whoa, that was a long chapter. And I revealed the Phantom's identity.

Steelo: About time, you promised the identity like three chapters ago.

Nix: Hey, all good writers take their time delivering. Besides . . . my reviewers probably liked all the suspense and stuff. It built up their anxiety on finding out who the Phantom was. See, they enjoyed it.

Steelo: Hey, Nix . . . do you hear what I'm hearing?

Nix: No . . . what?

Steelo: The torrents of protesting angry shouts from all your reviewers.