Moooooooving right along. If some of this looks weird, just go with it. This was written last year and I haven't exactlly gone over it. Much. ;)
Enjoy!
Jackie
ACT 4
0450 Zulu
Harm's Quarters
Miami, Florida
His eyes had never been so sensitive to light. With a groan he fumbled with the switch to the lamp on the table and then dimmed the rest of the lights in his tiny apartment. Harm pinched the bridge of his nose, then massaged his temples in hopes of getting his head to stop pounding. "Feels like I have a jackhammer in there."
Sighing dejectedly, he threw himself onto the sofa, dragging his feet up as he intended to rest his aching body. These types of investigations weren't for him anymore. Then again, he was sure that even if he were younger, he wouldn't be able to take the beating night in, night out. The sad fact of it all was that he was no further along. Past the illegal betting and the fights, there was nothing to report on. Those instances alone would bring down the current circuit, but it meant nothing if he couldn't find the person responsible for it all. It meant even less if he couldn't prove, without a shadow of a doubt that Sutton and Greene were responsible for Lt. Commander Riedling and Lance Corporal Donovan's deaths.
The shrill of his cellphone caught him slightly off guard. Not wanting to move, he extended his hand and took the device only to find there were three missed calls. As it rang again, he flipped open the phone and brought it to his ear. "Rabb."
("Harm?") His eyes went wide and his body automatically snapped into a sitting position. It was Mac. ("Harm?") He remained silent for a moment longer, his brain telling him that he should have checked before answering that phone. ("I know you're there, answer me, please." Her voice seemed frantic, hurt and etched with worry.)
Harm knew that every second he didn't answer was like a black mark on his record with her. Damnit, he didn't want to hurt her, but he needed his mind on his work not moping about as he was in London. Clearing his throat, he brought up the courage to speak. "Hey, Mac."
("Where are you?")
He winced at the tone of her voice which had gone from emotional to pissed off. "I ah. . .I can't say."
(Mac held the phone in something of a vice grip. She knew she couldn't be mad at him for not telling her his location, but, she wasn't exactly happy about it either. Relenting, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. . .I know you can't talk about the investigation. . .I just need to know that you're okay. . . Your voice sounds funny.")
Closing his eyes, Harm wavered slightly at the dizziness and nausea. He barely managed to swallow down the bile that had risen to his throat. "Mac, I'm fine. . .investigation is taking long and I think I'm sick. . . a cold or something." He bit his lower lip as he lied, but he knew he couldn't very well tell her exactly what he was doing, she'd be worried to death.
("Look, I know you're going to say that I shouldn't be worried about you, but I am. . .I have this. . .this. . . FEELING that something is going to happen." She waited for him to answer, but when it didn't come, that feeling she had became even stronger. "Harm? Are you still there?")
The pounding of his head took a more violent form as Harm managed to stand up. "Look, Mac. . .nothing is wrong, I just feel like crap and need some sleep. . ." His sourly tone bit back at her as he stumbled through the kitchen. His stomach was now joining in the party as he felt it lurch suddenly. "Ugh." Barely making it on time, he had just enough strength to place the phone on the countertop before his body was taken over by dry heaves.
(Mac bit back a motherly instinct as she heard him getting sick over the line. "Oh, Harm.")
Bent over, he emptied his stomach into the kitchen sink groaning from the aches of his muscles and the cramping of his stomach. When his body stopped revolting, he cleansed up the sink, poured water over his head and drank some right out of the faucet. With a hint of distaste, he reached for the cellphone and gingerly placed it towards his ear. "I gotta go, Mac. . .tired."
("You're starting to scare me. . .Why won't you tell me what's going on?" She demanded this time in a tone that left no arguments for him. Mac had good reason for the sudden surge of anger, they'd come too far to let an investigation put a wedge between them. She wouldn't let it. Mac wouldn't let him shut down. "Damnit, Harm. . .ANSWER ME!")
Her demand was the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. The anger, the aggression that had been awaked ever since he stepped foot in the Underground, came alive. For some reason, it even cleared the nausea. "Damnit, MacKenzie, I CAN'T!. . .I feel horrible and the last thing I need is you nagging me to death!" With rage, he slammed the phone shut and shoved it into his pocket. As his head started pounding again, he reached for the coffee mug and hurled it across the room watching as it broke into a zillion pieces.
The sound made Harm snap back to reality. This wasn't him, he'd never do something like that. Holding onto the side of the counter, he closed his eyes tightly as he felt remorse from his words to Mac. "Oh God. . .I'm losing it. . I really am losing it." Glancing up he saw his reflection on the window over the sink. The image was distorted and bruised, much like he felt inside.
"I have to get out of here. . ."
Somehow, he wound up back at the Underground where the crowd had become smaller but held the same rich enthusiasm as that of the bigger group. Though he wasn't feeling up to par, he found that just being around the group made him feel better, more alive. As he was stepping over to place a bet, something from the corner caught his eye.
Corporal Greene and Lance Corporal Sutton were dragging a limp body out of the fighting room. It was then that he remembered what he was doing there and set himself to motion. Without being seen, Harm quietly headed down the hallway, using the darkness as an aid to keep himself hidden. He followed the two men as they went farther into the bowels of the warehouse finally entering a room without a door. In there, he squatted behind a stack of crates as he watched Sutton and Greene tying the PA officer, Ensign Lane to the metal piling.
From the shadows another man stepped out and a distinct smell of Monte Cristo cigars filled the air. The man watched as the other two did their best to work up Ensign Lane who kept pleading for them to stop.
Greene hovered over the man with a sneer, then punched Lane in the gut, chuckling as he folded over in pain. "What is it with you Navy guys huh? You really can't handle Marines?"
Sutton, moved in behind Greene. "The last sucker we had down here was also Navy and a Lieutenant Commander to boot. . .at least Maxwell didn't sob as much as you." He also took a swing at Lane, chuckling as the man's body slumped just a bit more.
Eyes wide from the shock, Harm stared on. They had killed Riedling! Moving forward somewhat, he was assaulted again by the smell of Monte Cristo. He'd remembered, quite vividly smelling that recently. Of Course! Colonel Barrette! The man had to be the kingpin in all of it. He was the one with access to everyone in SOUTHCOM and he was the one that had so much to gain from the fights. Damnit! Colonel Barrette. But, he needed proof.
Remembering the cell phone in his pocket, Harm fished for it, hoping that it's built in camera could catch the men. He took off a few snaps, then moved in a bit closer when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Spinning around, he came face to face with Zadora. "Fancy meeting you here, Captain." He said in a voice that echoed through the confines of the room.
Without hesitation, Harm slugged Zadora then took his body and shoved him through a stack of cardboard boxes. Ignoring the unrelenting pain of his headache, he quickly headed out of the room. "He's a JAG!" Zadora yelled as he held onto his side which had been hit with the force of the blow. "Captain Harmon Rabb Junior!"
"Get him!" Barrette ordered and the two Corporal's quickly sped out of the room.
As he ran down the corridor, Harm held onto the walls, using them for support as his body was threatening to give out. He raced through the fighting room, pushing past the crowd and dodging men as they tried to shove him into the middle. Somehow, he managed to get out and was soon standing outside of the warehouse with the rain pounding onto him.
Glancing around, he quickly took note that there were few things he could use as a hiding place. Jumping into the Miami river became a viable idea until he saw the metal stairs that lead to the upper half of the warehouse. He took the steps two by two and stood slightly surprised as the metal door at the top swung open with ease. Inside, he stumbled into the darkness, the only light coming from the city lampposts which were shining through the broken windows. From the outside, he could hear voices, men yelling at each other. Cautiously he went towards one of the windows glancing down to find five men scattered amongst the warehouse grounds. Two of them were making it up the stairs.
As he ran through the upper level, the cellphone in his hand shrilled to life. He stopped running momentarily, glancing down at the caller ID, then placing the receiver to his ear. It was Mac. "Mac, listen to me carefully, I'm in serious trouble. . .Call Cresswell, tell him the assignment went to hell and I'm at the warehouse, I need back up. . .You hear me? I need back up, right now!"
(Mac had been sitting in her apartment, hoping to give him some space, some time to calm down. She needed to call him back, to apologize for not trusting that things were fine. Now, as she heard his frantic voice on the line, she sat up, ram rod straight, eyes wide with fear. "WHAT!")
"I'm being followed, I don't have time. Please, Mac, call Creswell right away tell him that Barrette is involved. . . Barrette is involved!" He made it to the end and ducked into an office, squeezing himself past a metal filing cabinet that was blocking his way. "If anything happens to me, remember, I love you. . .I love you so much. Oh no." With that, he dropped the phone; its clattering sound echoing in the empty space as he came face to face with Colonel Barrette. From behind, someone wrapped an electrical cable around his neck and squeezed, the lack of air knocking him out.
("Oh no? Harm? Harm!" He didn't answer her again, but she heard the scuffle, the sound of voice. Worse yet, Mac heard that Harm was choking . . Then, just as quickly as the sounds began, they stopped. "Harm? Oh God. . .Oh God." She didn't want to hang up in hopes that she'd hear something that was pertinent to the situation. Keeping her ear to that phone, she ran across the apartment, seeking out her cellphone. Frantically her fingers danced over the keypad. "General, it's Colonel MacKenzie. . . Harm's in trouble.")
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