PART 11 – Neroli

December 23, 2010
1721 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia

"Well, so far so good, huh, Mac?" Sturgis was grinning like a kid in a candy store. The day had gone relatively well and his partnership with Mac had managed to taint civilian lawyer Charles Embry's defense of Major Melissa Timms. The judge was even considering letting their client out with the promise that he wouldn't run. Mac was one hundred percent certain that he was telling the truth and Timms had attacked him. The day earlier, when she and Sturgis had discussed the case with Wolf, there was something about him that made her believe what he was saying, something that Sturgis concurred. That was a good sign.

Mac matched his grin. "I can't believe the defense tried that tactic. A motion to dismiss with basically no ground. . .I. . .ah. . .I. . ." She swayed slightly, her right hand wrapped around the railing, as her left hand came to rest on her forehead. visions that came played behind her closed eye lids like a black and white movie. It was surreal, intense and it shook her to the core. Harm was in trouble. As she snapped out of it, her hand tried to steady her body, but it was no use and she stumbled down the last four steps.

"Mac!" Sturgis tried to reach for her but was unable to grab on to anything but her jacket. It slowed her down some, but not enough to prevent the fall. He came to his knees next to his friend and turned her head slowly. "Mac?"

She was still conscious but shaking furiously. "Harm." Her eyes settled on Sturgis with a sadness he'd never seen before. "Harm. . .Something happened to him."

As much as he wanted to disbelieve that connections between two people existed, he couldn't. The look in Mac's eyes made him believe just a little bit more. "What is it? What did you see?"

"Fire and water." Her head felt as if it were going to explode, her eyesight began to cloud over. "Harm. . .No." She called out as she slowly went into a visionless darkness.

"Someone call 911!" A small group had begun to form around Sturgis and Mac. Mostly junior officers gawking at the scene. One of them soon sprung into action, running for the nearest telephone, relaying as much information as possible to the operator.

The General was about to head towards the elevators when the commotion brought him to the scene. "Commander, what happened?"

Sturgis glanced up at his CO only briefly. "She took a spill, sir. . . We were talking about the case and she reached for the railing and stumbled." He looked Cresswell squarely in the eye and sighed. "It's Harm, sir. . .something happened."

Cresswell shook his head, his brow furling in confusion. "What do you mean 'something happened'? Explain yourself."

"I'm not so sure you're going to believe me. .. but."

December 24, 2010
1345 Zulu
Location Unknown

The soft sounds of waves lapping at the beach made up for the rain which had poured down overnight. A gentle breeze was rustling the leaves outside of the small 'house' which sat a good hundred plus feet away from the shore. It was only a house in the mere sense that a couple, Connor and Ella Gerard, had made it their place of residence. Past that it was probable that only castaways and members of indigenous, jungle dwelling tribes could deem their home a 'house.' It was shaped in normal fashion, four walls, some windows and a up-side-down 'v' shaped roof, however, none of it was made from conventional building materials such as concrete and plaster. It was made from products of the land around them, a land with no name and no country.

So yes, in a sense, they were castaways – save for the small army which had assembled 'over the river and through the woods', so to speak.

Slowly, Ella opened her eyes and glanced up at the thatched ceiling made out of palm leaves to find that, miraculously, it wasn't leaking. That alone was one thing to give thanks for. Turning to the left, her eyes settled on the deeply tanned skin of her husband, Connor. "Luv, go back to sleep. . .Smell the atmosphere, it's just going to rain again anyway." He turned towards her, his lips curling into a smile. Despite their living situation, it wasn't all that bad. He was with the woman he loved and they were alive. Of course, it had been six hundred thirty five days since they'd been shoved into a hellhole which some lunatics considered 'paradise', but they were alive.

"I know. . .I am just tired of being in here." She pouted, then lay back down, welcoming his strong arm wrapping around her middle. Who would have thought that two well paid aeronautics engineers would wind up in a situation that seemed to come straight from a movie? All they needed were loin cloths to make this another version of The Blue Lagoon.

It was nearly three years ago when they'd been approached by a group calling itself "Neroli." She and Connor had been working in Sweden then, helping out with plans for a new aircraft which would bring the world into the future. An aircraft that even the USA was taking interest in, the work would set them up for life and hopefully bring them closer to that family life that they'd both wanted. Connor was contacted first in secrecy. Meetings would occur in a shady club just outside of Stockholm. The instigator was definitely American with a John Wayne swagger and a demeanor that screamed 'traitor.' It was a conversation that brought light upon a secret organization of 'disgruntled' (for lack of a better word) ex-American patriots with just a little too much money and free time on their hands. "We understand that you and your wife are currently the best. . .And that's just what we need."

"Best for what?" Connor asked with a great deal of trepidation. Despite the fact that he could look the part of a sexy tough guy, he was really just a wuss. The information that was relayed to him made Connor physically sick. Why would anyone betray their country? Why would Americans want to fight America? Understandably, the last few years hadn't been proud moments in American history. Everything following 9/11 had been covered in blood and some were sick of it. Neroli wanted to take things into their own hands, teach the world what a small group with money and drive could do. "I won't take part in this, neither will Ella!" That was his mistake, pretending to be a tough guy who could do 'tough guy' negotiations. And he'd thought he'd won too. In fact, they allowed him to go home. When he arrived two men were waiting for him, one seated on the sofa reading a magazine. The other was standing behind his wife holding a gun to her head. The message was clear and since then, they'd served Neroli because of fear.

The group was good, managing to score anything from an oil rig to expensive MIG 25s which he and Ella worked on upgrading. They were shipped off to a small island just between Africa and South America that seemed to have been built specifically for that reason. It was as uncharted as uncharted islands came. The shipping lanes were hundreds of miles away in any direction. They were, in a word, isolated. Problem with working for secret organizations was their nasty ability to make you disappear and with Neroli, they didn't have to go too far.

They still needed the couple and for that reason, they were tossed on the opposite side of the island, far away from the base, where occasionally some provisions were dropped on their doorstep. A doorstep which the two had to build from scratch. For all that they had done, everything that they had sacrificed, Neroli would still call upon them and they would oblige hoping that, at some moment in time, they would go home and be freed. Those calls had been coming in short supply and though both of them held out hope, that was sometimes the only thing they had left. "Connor, let's take a walk on the beach before it's too late."

Sighing, he sat up in bed and stretched his weary back muscles. Sleeping on a bed made out of bamboo, palm leaves and old linens stuffed with cotton was taking its toll. "Fine, maybe we can find some fish."

Ella made a face, she detested fish. In fact, she hated seafood altogether – no shrimp, lobster, crayfish and certainly not the varying species of marine life that Connor seemed so pleased in catching. It was almost as if he were satisfying that basic, male, testosterone driven need to hunt. "I still don't understand why they don't bring us real food more often."

Connor shrugged. "They probably save it for their soldiers. . .I think we've officially become expendable." He cast an eye towards the makeshift calendar and frowned. The last time the group had needed their services was a good three months ago. "They haven't dropped food or clothing for the last. . ."

"Forty-five days. .. I know." She frowned. "Well, no sense on thinking about things we can't control. . .Let's head off, shall we?"

The pair started their usual trek which began on a ramped walkway which was built as a means to keep the creatures and the water out of their home which sat a good three free above the ground on large wooden pilings. It had taken them all of one and a half months to build the home to the specifications which they'd outlined on a large stone using makeshift charcoal from burning twigs. Often the rain would wash away the plans and a certain section would have to be started from scratch. They began with a 'bedroom' of sorts, using both palm and banana leaves to protect them from the elements. Neroli's highest ranking 'asshole', as Connor had deemed him, was so amused with the pair that he'd sent a contingency of four men to 'assist.' All the men would do was take photographs and mock the couple as they fought both the elements and each other in their task. At the very least, they'd brought food, clothing and netting which would be used to keep the bugs away. Of course, there was an ulterior motive to that too, the last thing the group needed was for the pair to suffer an insect borne illness and die.

The sun had begun its ascension just a few hours earlier and it was clear, by the dark gray clouds on the horizon, that it wouldn't be too long before its rays were smothered completely. "Hey! A crab." Using a spear which was made out of bamboo and a sharpened, pointy rock, Connor headed towards the creature, stabbing it with a pin point accuracy. He was never much for weaponry of any kind, but two years in a place like this brought out the 'savage' in him. "Look, Ella, lunch!" He beamed proudly, chuckling as his wife shook her head.

"My stomach is groaning in anticipation. . .Nice shot, by the way." She grinned, then set off in the opposite direction, leaving Connor with his new 'find.' She was always hopeful that something would happen soon, that, one day, she would look up and find some sort of massive vessel waiting to rescue them. Today, she wouldn't be too disappointed as it wasn't too long until she found something gray at the edge of the water twenty feet away. "Connor! Come quickly!"

Dropping 'lunch,' Connor ran to his wife's side. "Ella?" He approached the area where she was pointing at and quickly turned around. "Don't move, I'm getting the spear." He removed the crab from the spear and quickly sprinted back to his wife who had, indeed, moved and was using her feet to poke and turn over the body. "Ella! I thought I told you not to. . ."

"He's an American Pilot." She stated, finding the patch on a gray jumpsuit. The man was handsome, she could tell, despite the sand covering his face. Trailing her eyes towards the pilot's sternum, she found a name. "Captain Harmon Rabb Junior. . .US Navy." Ella turned to her husband, her face going white – it was as if she'd seen a ghost.

Connor shook his head, knowing what this meant. "It's not our fault, Ella."

"The hell it is. . .Oh God!" The man at their feet groaned loudly, then turned to the side and retched the seawater from his lungs. "He's alive." Immediately, she grabbed his shoulders, hauling him upwards and away from the water. "Help me!" She grunted out, giving her husband a hard look which he wouldn't dare defy. "He's got an injury on his leg, it's bleeding."

With a sigh, he gave in. "Fine, but if they find out, we'll be on their chopping block." He pushed Ella away and managed to pull Harm into a fireman's carry. Thank God for his six foot one frame. "Go open the door." This was the first time he would actually hate having a ramped walkway. The slope, though not very steep, was one hell of a task for a malnourished man carrying the dead weight of one very tall aviator. "Cover the floor with something."

Ella ran in and came back out. "With what?"

"Anything!" He yelled back. "Find some of my clothing, we need to get him out of this wet flight suit and check for injuries." While he carried his burden, he could hear the man groaning either from pain or something else. Finally inside, he placed Harm's body on a sheet which Ella had placed next to their bed. "Did you have to put this by our bed?"

She shrugged. "Help me get the flight suit off." The next several minutes the pair worked in silence, slipping off the wet fabric and slipping Harm into dry clothing. Connor raised his head while Ella placed a rolled up towel underneath as some sort of pillow. "His pulse is good." She told him with a smile.

Connor nodded, then moved downwards to the pilot's leg. "It's not a shark bite. . .There looks to be some metal in there."

"Metal?" She took a peek at the wound, turning her head swiftly in hopes to fight off the sudden attack of nausea. "Shrapnel." Ella gulped, stood up and took various pieces of equipment which they had sneaked out of the base. Taking a pair of pliers, she handed them over to Connor and raised a brow skyward as he cringed. "Luv, you have the stronger stomach."

He snorted in disgust. "Says who?" With shaky hands he reached for the tool then settled his gaze on the six inch long, half inch deep gash on the lateral side of Harm's left calve muscle. "Poor man, the pain alone should be enough to knock him out." He frowned, took the pliers and clamped down on a piece of metal which was jutting out at an odd angle. "It doesn't look as if it is in too deep."

"Thank God." Ella said with her back turned away from the scene. At a large basin which they used as a bathtub, she was working on transferring water into a smaller basin. Taking a handful of lavender leaves, she rubbed them briskly then placed the healing herb into the basin, watching as the oils rose to the surface. She'd always heard of the healing and sedative properties of herbs. It was the one thing she'd remembered from her grandmother and her youth. Lavender was always applied to all sorts of wounds, burns, cuts, bruises. Its antiseptic properties worked just as well as chemically induced products.

Connor's yelp of victory signified the end of the gruesome task. He tossed the shrapnel to the side then took a good look at the gash. It was bleeding profusely. "I need to use something as a tourniquet. . ."

She handed him a belt and also a small, travel sized sewing kit. "The wound needs to be stitched up, don't you think?"

"I can't do that. . . you know I can't. . ." Taking the belt, he wrapped it around Harm's thigh and tightened it. "You try." He told her, glancing between his wife and the sewing kit in her hands.

Dejectedly she turned towards the small basin, removed the needle from the kit and dipped it in the water. "Fine. . ." Shakily, she sewed up the gash, pausing time after time to throw up the contents in her stomach. Her face had turned green and despite the discomfort, she'd manage a nearly perfect suture. With her teeth she bit off the left over thread. "Give me the water in the basin."

Gently, Connor placed the basin on the floor by Harm's body. "You did good, baby."

A piece of wet cloth was pulled out and used to clean off the blood and the wound itself. The smell of lavender wafted up from the water, clearing Ella's head and senses. Taking a few of the lavender leaves, she placed them right on the wound, then bound it up with a dry cloth. "That should do it." She said with a sigh. "Now we wait."

December 24, 2010
0830 Local
Room 3014
Bethesda Naval Hospital
Bethesda, Maryland

The sun had settled in a certain section of the sky which sent rays straight into Sarah MacKenzie's room. Though she'd hit her head when landing, a brain scan had shown that there wasn't any damage. The doctor, however, was concerned about the elevated blood pressure and decided to keep her over night. She'd been in and out since the accident, the doctors suggesting it was more due to stress than anything really serious.

General Gordon Cresswell sighed heavily, his hand resting against the doorframe. The doctors had recommended that Mac not be put into any type of stress for the next day or so. Undoubtedly, the news he had would counter their requests, but it was something he had to do and soon. Pausing for a moment, he removed his hand away and turned so his back was to the wall. "Damnit." Much like most lawyers, Cresswell was a man of facts and figures and not of supernatural occurrences that could not be validated. When Sturgis had outright suggested that Mac could 'sense' Harm being in danger he'd almost laughed. "Commander, are you trying to feed me some bullshit line that Colonel MacKenzie has some mystical connection with Captain Rabb?"

Sturgis had stared at him blankly, knowing that if he said 'yes' he'd be considered a mad man, saying 'no' would only bring upon more questions. True to a lawyer's modus operandi, he answered with a question. "Sir, don't you believe that two people, if they really care for each other, can have a connection?. . .Like mothers who know when something has happened to their children?"

He wouldn't accept it then, but Sturgis had been right. Damnit, he'd felt a connection a good twelve years ago when his wife was in a serious car accident. He knew the exact moment that it had happened. Still, his beliefs in the supernatural were usually shattered by facts and figures. And now, his skepticism was hitting him squarely in the chest. Logically, he knew that Mac couldn't have possibly known the moment in which Harm's plane had gone down and yet, it was at that exact moment which she took a fall. Summoning courage, he turned and walked through the door to Mac's room. Quietly, he walked in hoping not to wake her, but finding a blank expression on her face as she stared out the window and directly into the sun. "Colonel?" No, that was too rough, too formal. "Mac?"

Realizing she was with her commanding officer, she tried to come to attention. "Sir."

"At ease, Mac. . .Just wanted to see how you. . .ah. . .how you were." He handed her a bouquet of flowers, smiling slightly when she instinctively smelled them. "The doctors say you are getting out of here later today."

"Something like that, yes. . .They can't find anything wrong with me. . .There isn't anything wrong with me." She said with conviction and yet, for the life of her, she couldn't remember what it was that brought on the spell. Why did she fall? "What about the case, sir? Was it postponed?"

Cresswell shook his head. "No, the Judge wants it wrapped up pretty quickly with as least publicity as possible. . .Big Holidays tend to mask the publicity somewhat. . .I appointed Commander Turner as first chair and Tali Mayfield will be sitting second."

Mac smiled, this would be Mayfield's first real roll in the limelight. "Good choice, sir. . .She is a rising star." She noticed a severe change in the man's demeanor and despite the fact that he'd usually been kind with her, it was something else. It was almost. . .fatherly? "Sir? Is something wrong?"

Yes. Spotting the chair next to her bed, he settled into it, his face taking a hard look. How many times had he done this? Somehow, it was easier back then. That was probably because he wasn't as biased as he'd become as of late. Then again, how many people sat around Harm and Mac for a year waiting for each of them to realize what everyone already knew. And yes, he knew it, so did Admiral Chegwidden who'd written in a personal favor in hopes of keeping Harm and Mac together should they reach the same page. "Yes, something is wrong. . . I have to say. . .this is difficult." He moistened his lips, then glanced down at his hands. Shoot from the hip, that was always his motto, his way of life. Now, he had no choice, there was really no way to soften the blow. "Captain Rabb's. . .ah, Harm's plane went down yesterday. . .At the same time that you had the accident, from what I understand."

"W-w-ent down? Is he?"

"Captain Loftness contacted me yesterday night. . .He was trying to contact you in San Diego, but the office said you were here. . .Basically, he and his wingman were flying maneuvers and came upon two jets, unknown origin. . .MIG 25s I think he mentioned. . .They lost radio contact with the ship for quite some time. .Harm's wingman was hit, but thankfully both pilots were recovered. . .Harm and Skates, I think her name was. . .They managed to blow one of the planes out of the skies. The second plane made a wrong movement and the explosion from Harm's plane blew them up as well. . .At first they believed Harm was a goner, but last night they brought the plane up. . .Investigators will be looking at it for the next few days. So far, what was recovered signified that he had ejected. . .They just can't find him. . .anywhere."

She felt sick. Physically, emotionally sick. Cresswell's retelling of the incident had hit her like a blow to the stomach and yet, she couldn't believe it. . .Not all of it. "He's not gone, sir."

"They don't know for sure. . .When I last spoke to Captain Loftness, the SAR crews were still searching. .. The problem is that they can only go so far. . . Damnit. . .Things like this just aren't supposed to happen."

Mac frowned. "No, they aren't. . .Harm wasn't supposed to be there, period. . .He was training the squadron, sir. . . He was never supposed to be part of it!" That was it, the breaking point. She bowed her head and let the tears come. Heavy sobs escaped her body, shaking her from head to toe. He wasn't gone, not yet, but there were worst things than death. Visions of Harm being captured passed fleetingly through her mind. What would they do to him for the vast expanse of knowledge he had in military aircraft? And his knowledge of the CIA? Harm was stronger than most and still, at some point in time, even the strong came crashing down.

1635 Zulu
Location Unknown

Connor, as usual, had been dead on about the rain. No sooner did they get the aviator cleaned up than the rain started pouring down on their home in heavy sheets. Frowning, he stared up at the thatched ceiling. "At least it's holding up." Throughout their time there, they'd gone through several methods of constructing roofing that was water proof. It never worked, eventually water would start to seep in. This time, he was pleased to note that their final idea was working quite well. It would probably have to be relayed if it rained this hard again, but for now, they were dry. He glanced out the window, unable to see more than fifteen feet away from the house. Sometimes it felt as if the wind was going to blow them away.

"I really wish he'd wake up." Ella pressed the back of her hand against Harm's forehead. "He's been burning up for the last hour." Grabbing a small bag, she pulled out a large prescription bottle and motioned at Connor. "We have to try to get some aspirin in him."

The man was all for helping someone in distress, but what if it made things worse for the stranger? "And what if he has an allergic reaction? All of this would be for naught. . ." Coming to his knees in front of his wife, he took her hands in his. "I know you want to help. . .I do too, but we have to be careful. . .For now, he needs to ride it out." Taking an old shirt, he stepped outside and dunked it in a large basin which was collecting rain water through a series of 'plumbing' they'd built with bamboo sticks. He brought the wet material inside and handed it to his wife. "Press this against the back of his neck. . .Maybe it will cool him down some."

Harm's body was shivering involuntarily. From time to time, he would moan indiscernible sentences and shift around almost violently. "He keeps dreaming about something frantic." She frowned. "I suppose he still thinks he's at sea." Pressing the wet cloth against his forehead seemed to calm the fury if just for a moment.

"Mac. . .Sarah." The words were whispered and hoarse, but there was no mistaking it when he'd repeated it. "Mac. . .Sarah."

The pair gathered around him, glancing in awe, as if he were a baby and those were his first words. "Maybe he wants us to call him Mack?" Connor suggested. "Mack? Wake up. . .wake up."

Eyes struggled open, the task itself seeming so difficult to do. Harm could hear people talking to him, urging him to open his eyes, but for the life of him, he didn't know why. Stop talking! His mind yelled at the two. Let me sleep! He felt something shake him and with a groan his eyes finally opened fully, focusing on a thatched palm roof before two people, a man and a woman, came into focus. Frightened, he tried to move away from them, but the pain on his leg was too much. "Who. . .are. . .you?" He questioned, punctuating each word because his throat was too sore to allow him to speak more.

Connor held his hands up in front of him, as sign of surrender. "We won't hurt you. . .My name is Connor Gerard, this is my wife Ella. . . Who we are is a story for another time, when you are feeling more up to it. . . Maybe you want to know where you are?"

Harm glanced around the area, his eyes trying to focus amidst the burning sensation and the brain splitting headache. "Ye-yesss."

Ella sighed. "We're on an island. . .Uncharted, apparently. . .Exactly where, we aren't too keen on. But, we found you. . .You washed up on shore. . .Do you remember what happened?"

Shaking his head Harm stared down at the clothing that was just a bit too small on his muscular figure. "N-no."

"Nothing at all?" Connor urged. "I understand that the US Navy dissuades you from speaking of your duties, but surely you can tell us that your plane was shot down."

"Plane?" He stared at them strangely with the eyes of a man who was completely lost to himself. "Wh-what. . .plane?" Before they had a chance to answer, there was another question which burned with more importance than any other. "Who. . .who am. . .I?" The pair sitting in front of him didn't answer but merely sat with matching looks of despair. "Who. . .am. . .I?" He yelled, the action rasping his throat even more so.

Ella leaned forward an action that had Harm recoiling in fear. "I won't hurt you." He remained recoiled as she reached inside the shirt and pulled out a set of dogtags. "This is you. . .You're a Naval officer, apparently. A Captain Harmon Rabb Junior. . .Does this ring any bells?"

"No." He frowned. Harmon? What kind of a name was that? "Har-mon?" He shook his head. "I don't. . .like. . .it."

"Would you like us to call you Mack?. . .You said that while you were. . .ah. . .sleeping?" Connor offered with a smile.

For a moment, Harm closed his eyes, willing the damned headache to stop. He felt like shit, literally. Bones, muscles, every origin and insertion in his body ached something awful. The room was also spinning, something that didn't stop even when he closed his eyes. Worse of all, he couldn't make head or tail of anything. Why couldn't he remember who he was? "Mac?" He questioned, opening his eyes just to close them again. Though overcast, the daylight was killing him. "Mac?" The name sounded somewhat familiar. It gave him a warm feeling inside, something that he couldn't define – something that he liked. "Yes. . .Mac."

Ella sighed in relief. "Good, Mack then. . .does that mean you are remembering things?"

Harm shook his head gently. "No. . .No-nothing."

"Perhaps you can tell me who Sarah is?" She probed, if he was calling out a woman's name, she must have been important to him. "A girlfriend? Wife? Your mum?"

Sarah. The name gave him the same effect that Mac did. He felt warm, comfortable, safe. Why was that? Closing his eyes again, he repeated the name. "Sarah." There was something about that name, something that was conjuring up an image of a woman he didn't know. Behind his eyes he saw her, a beautiful brunette with a killer smile and warm, chocolate brown eyes. "I. . .don't. . .know." He whispered with a frustrated sigh. Opening his eyes, he settled them on the woman. She looked nothing like Sarah, her skin was too fair and her eyes were green. "I. . .see. . .a woman. . .in. . .my mind." He managed to get out until a coughing fit erupted. He tried to get it under control and was blessed with some coconut water which Connor offered. "Thanks."

"Rest now, Mack. . .When you feel up to it, do you think you could describe that woman to me?" At Harm's nod she smiled. "Good. . .I can draw her for you. . .Maybe that will help your memory?"