Chapter 7

SEE PROLOGUE FOR DISCLAIMERS, ETC.

Al Calavicci had endured a tough night of partying with his wife of 51 years, their four daughters, three sons-in-law and one daughter-in-law (at least in Massachusetts, California, Vermont, Connecticut, and Rhode Island) before he arrived at the Project Quantum Leap headquarters deep in the desert of New Mexico on the morning of February 15, 2015. It had been quite a Valentine's Day extravaganza – and a secondary anniversary milestone – and his head hurt to prove it.

So much so, in fact, that he had completely forgotten that the most recent hostess of Sam's whatever it was that was leaping through time – Al preferred the Vulcan term "katra" from Star Trek III – had figured out far more than was truly good for her or the project. He was thus so startled that he fell flat on his ass when said hostess greeted him with a full Marine, "Good morning, sir!" as he opened the door to the control room.

The techs snickered but didn't look toward him. He wondered why for a moment, but then realized that Lt. Col. Mackenzie was far more important than what his staff thought of him.

"Good morning, Colonel. Did you sleep well?" He figured he would start talking before he got himself off the floor.

The shapely brunette scowled down at him and made no effort to help him up. "No, sir."

"I'm sorry. We can get a different bed for you or change the temperature-"

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think I'll sleep well again until I'm back in 2005 where I belong."

Al pondered this while he scrabbled around to find leverage and push himself upright. Luckily for the silk in his pants, the floor was spotless. "Right. Well, Colonel, we have our work cut out for us today. We need to comb the archives for all the information we can wrangle on the perpetrators of the UN chemical attacks so we can start feeding Sam the essentials ASAP." He beckoned her to follow him through a set of sliding doors into a vast old fashioned library.

"Archives?"

He could fall in love with her eyebrow, the way it went up and down to telegraph her moods. "It's a hologram. The room isn't really much bigger than the conference room on the other side, but I like the effect."

"Like a holodeck?"

Al smiled. "Exactly like a holodeck. It even works the same way. Twenty eight years ago on TV, it was special effects. Today, it's reality." He watched her as she looked around. "Go ahead, take a walk. I'll be here when you get back."

That was self-serving; he just wanted to ogle her backside as she sashayed around in that glorious red dress. Her front side wasn't bad, either, as she came back a few moments later. Just because he'd been married for 51 years didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a beautiful woman when he saw her.

"I am impressed, Admiral."

"Good. Now, let's get to work, shall we?"

She gave him a little smile. "What, do I just say, 'Computer, search for all entries related to the UN attacks on July 7, 2005' and wait for it to spit the whole thing out?"

Al shook his head. "We haven't gotten there yet. Let's see . . . you've used Google, I'm sure?"

"All the time. And Lexis-Nexis, WestLaw, and several other on-line services."

"Then this will be easy, at least to obtain the information. Sifting through it, well, that will be the hard part." He ushered her to a seat in front of a flat panel display and mini-keyboard. "The Internet is just bigger than in your time. Let's get some basic information first."

He had her search the on-line archives of several news organizations for the event and the aftermath.

"No investigative material?" That eyebrow went up again and he almost leaned over to kiss it.

"Not yet. I want to see what you can figure out from that first given what's happened already in your time."

"Okay."

He sat watching her, cataloguing her expressions of outrage, confusion, concern, sorrow, and discovery as she skimmed page after page of text, highlighting passages and phrases with a red pen from the desk. He had only seen one other person read as quickly as Mac: Sam.

An hour passed without either of them speaking. Mac looked up at him when she got to the bottom of the last page. "This smells like al-Qaeda. With some help from several unsavory characters in legitimate governments."

Al smiled. "Which unsavory characters in what governments?"

Mac considered for a full minute. "The head of secret intelligence in Syria, the finance minister in Kazakhstan, at least one immigration official in Belarus, and the deputy defense minister for arms acquisition in Turkmenistan. There are probably officials from Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan involved, as well, and I bet the US worked very hard to cover up any involvement by Iraqi interim government officials."

"Wow." Al sat back and studied Mac for several seconds. He propped his chin on his hand and wished for a cigar, but he had been the one who prohibited smoking in the archives. "That's only four days worth of coverage, Colonel. You could have saved the UN the 10 billion dollars it spent to investigate that part of the event. Who should Sam be looking for?"

"That's a little more complicated, sir." She pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. The gesture made Al's heart skip a beat.

"How so?"

"First of all, I wouldn't have a reason to be investigating anyone unless a connection came up in an ongoing investigation or trial. Second of all, at least in America, we have a Department of Homeland Security that's supposed to be watching out for suspects, and Sam can't just give them an anonymous tip to tell them to look out for men and women carrying Belarusian passports."

"So how do we get you into Naval Intelligence or back working with the CIA?"

"I will not be going back to the CIA as me or as Sam, thank you very much."

"What about Naval Intelligence?"

She crossed her arms. "It would have to be for a damned good reason."

"To keep Captain Rabb in the Navy? To save ten thousand lives? For God and country?"

"All of the above?" Her small smile told him he had scored.

"I'd say, 'Good girl,' if you weren't a Marine."

"I'll take that as a very back-handed compliment."

He smiled what he had always called his "Flyboy" smile and hoped it came close to the one he was sure Harmon Rabb, Jr., had inherited from the man he thought he remembered flying with. He made a note to look that up before long. "It was meant as one. The question remains, though, how do we get you into Naval Intelligence? I think that would end the leap."

Mac sat back with a sigh. "Would I remember anything I've learned, though?"

"We could work it out so that Sam leaves you really good notes."

"Then I guess we start with AJ Chegwidden."

"I know him. He's . . . go on. Why AJ?" No need to tell her more than she needed to for the purposes of getting the leap completed. That AJ Chegwidden was the Vice President of the United States was far more than she needed to know.

She pushed herself up and started to pace, her high heels shushing across the carpet. "The retired admiral's club has a lot of pull in the Pentagon for officers they've mentored along the way. Chegwidden also has pull with the SecDef, even if they butted heads more often than not. And I have the feeling that he had a plan to deal with an open relationship between Harm and me a long time ago and kept it updated as the years went by."

"We'll tell Sam. I should check in with him."

Mac shook her head. "We shouldn't bother him until after 4 his time."

"Why not?"

"Bethesda, the toy store, and then lunch with 4 kids. Didn't he say that kids and animals can usually tell he's not who he really is?" She wrinkled her nose. "That's not . . . I don't . . . you know what I meant, right?"

Al laughed. "Yeah, Colonel, I did." He winked. "And I think dropping in for lunch just might be fun."