A/N: Still a few chapters to go. Without giving away any of the plot, I can assure you that this is a Harm and Mac romance - more of that later - and my stories have happy endings. To find out how we get there, keep reading. Thanks to all of you who have written reviews and to all who are reading my story. I hope it provides some entertainment and enjoyment.
I should have included this disclaimer at the beginning - but you know the drill: I don't own and claim no rights to any of the JAG characters. Characters not in the series are mine. This story is only for entertainment purposes.
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Assignment for Webb
By Bernadeen
Chapter 9
Previous evening (Monday)
Hospital
NAS Corpus Christi
Harm lay on his hospital bed, his body sore and weary, his mind restless and worried. The doctor told him that the knife hadn't hit anything critical and he was responding very well to the antibiotics. He'd probably be released the next day, though he was cautioned to take things easy for a few more days and continue his meds. His mind replayed the assignment, the flight and forced landing, his fight with his pursuer, the feel of the knife in his hand ending a man's life. It wasn't the first time he had killed, but it always bothered him – he hoped he never got to the point of accepting killing without remorse.
His mind continued playback of yesterday's events with the Navy helo picking him up. He vaguely remembered Mac by his side in a helo but wasn't sure just where that fit into the chronology of events. By the time his mind was clear enough to think after his surgery, he was handed a note – a short, impersonal note from Mac saying she had been ordered back to Washington and would see him there.
His restless mind began to dwell on Mac – on how it felt to pretend that they were a couple – to be able to touch her affectionately whenever he wanted to. It had felt so good, so natural, so right, and he wanted it to go on forever. Instead, it lasted just two days, and now she was gone.
His thoughts turned to his future. It was uncertain. He wasn't sure whether his assignment was over – he hadn't been told anything.
As he lay in frustrated agitation, the door opened and a tall, blond man about Harm's age walked in.
"Mr. Rabb?" At Harm's nod, the visitor continued, "I'm Agent O'Conner with the Drug Enforcement Agency. Has anyone briefed you on last night's events?"
"No, I haven't talked with anyone."
O'Conner pulled a chair close to the bed and sat near the edge so they could talk quietly. "It was a very successful night. We rounded up forty plus people involved in transporting, smuggling and selling drugs in both Mexico and the States."
As O'Conner paused, Harm had the feeling there was more to this story. "That's good?" Harm made it a question, trying to find out what else had happened.
"As I said, we arrested many people, but we missed one important player – Charles Estavez. I understand you know him?"
"The man who hired me to fly the shipment was named Charles. He didn't give his last name. He was at the airfield to supervise the shipment, too."
"That was him. We've been tracking his movements, but we don't know who he is – that is, we haven't been able to get a photograph or any way to ID him by sight. You're the only person, outside of his gang, who can recognize him. We need your help."
For some reason, Harm didn't feel good about this – something didn't ring true – but he had no reason to refuse. "Sure, whatever you need."
"We're pretty sure that Estavez is in Houston. When we've confirmed his location, we'll arrest him. We need you to identify him as the man who arranged the flight."
"Okay. I'll probably be released tomorrow, so let me know when you need me."
"Good. Good. I'll be in touch, Mr. Rabb." And with that Agent O'Conner left Harm to resume his restless musings.
Next morning
Tuesday
Hospital
NAS Corpus Christi
Harm had spent a surprisingly restful night and awoke feeling almost back to normal – until he moved his body too quickly and felt a pain shoot through his side reminding him that he still had stitches and a knife wound. He managed to eat part of a not entirely unpalatable breakfast. The doctor came in, checked his chart, examined him, and told him he could be released any time today that he was ready to leave.
After the doctor left, Harm realized he probably didn't have any clothes. A friendly nurse offered to take his sizes to the PX and get him something to wear. While he was waiting for her to return, Agent O'Conner once again walked into Harm's room.
"Mr. Rabb, how are you today?"
"Much better. The doctor cleared me to leave – I'm just waiting for some clothes. Did you get him?"
"He's in custody in Houston. Whenever you're ready, I'll take you there."
He had just finished speaking when the nurse came in with a bag of clothes for Harm. He smiled gratefully at her and she left, a slightly dazed look on her face from receiving Harm's 1000-watt smile.
Harm took the clothes and told O'Conner he'd be with him in a few minutes. The nurse had bought two pair of jeans, two shirts, underwear and socks – the only thing that had been salvaged were Harm's boots. Someone had brushed off the soil and leaves, and left them in the closet in the room. The nurse had also bought a small duffle bag for the extra clothes. Harm dressed quickly. After signing the release papers and arranging payment for the clothes, Harm found O'Conner waiting in the main reception area of the hospital.
Leading the way to a black Suburban, O'Conner started it up and turned it toward Houston.
Harm found he was still tired and dozed during some of the trip. They stopped for a quick lunch, and so Harm could take his meds. Early in the afternoon, O'Conner pulled up and parked the Suburban in the parking lot of the Houston FBI headquarters where Estavez was being held.
O'Conner led the way to a small conference room, where he asked Harm to describe his encounters with Estavez. Harm spent several minutes recounting recent events, answering O'Conner's questions for additional details. When O'Conner was satisfied that he had the information he needed, he led the way to the line-up. They entered a darkened room that allowed observation of the men in the line-up without being seen themselves. Five men walked in and Harm recognized Estavez immediately. He took a few seconds to look at each of the other men in the row, then confidently identified Charles Estavez.
O'Conner spoke into a microphone, saying they had what they needed. As they were about to leave the room, another agent called to O'Conner. "Wait here, I'll be back in a minute." He told Harm before leaving the room and closing the door.
When O'Conner returned after several minutes, he told Harm he had just a couple of additional questions, and walked with Harm down another hallway to a room. This wasn't the comfortable conference room where they had first talked; this was clearly an interrogation room, with a sturdy utilitarian table, three battered chairs, and the usual one-way mirror on one of the walls. Harm felt a prickle of unease, but worked to continue to appear relaxed and cooperative.
"Mr. Rabb, though I know how the operation went down, I'd like to understand your part better." O'Conner's tone was still that of a friendly agent talking with a colleague, but Harm had been on the other side of the table too many times. He recognized that O'Conner was now in an interrogation mode and Harm was the suspect. Harm nodded for O'Conner to continue.
"So the CIA recruited you for this op?"
"That's right. JAG has worked with Agent Webb on several occasions."
"He approached you – out of the blue – no particular reason?"
"There was a reason. The CIA's pilot inside the drug cartel was killed in a plane crash. Webb needed a replacement fast. I fit his needs."
"And some coke was planted in your car, so you would be dishonorably discharged from the Navy and be a person of interest, so to speak, for the cartel?"
"That's right."
"So are you really out of the Navy?"
"Yes, the drug charges and dishonorable discharge had to be real to make a solid cover."
"You ever have any contact with drug dealers in Washington?"
"There are always a few cases, but any kind of drug use is a serious offense in the military so we probably handle far fewer drug related cases than civilian prosecutors."
O'Conner stared at Harm for a few seconds, apparently lost in thought. Finally he absently responded, "probably." A couple of seconds later he focused on Harm again and asked, "I understand you're one of the Navy's top lawyers." Harm stayed silent, trying to work out where this was all going. "You could make a lot more money in civilian practice – ever thought about it?"
"I like the Navy life."
"But you aren't in the Navy now. You have enough put aside to tide you through a dry spell?"
"Where is this going, anyway?" Harm was beginning to let his frustration show.
O'Conner ignored his question. "I hear you have a nice apartment downtown DC, drive a vintage Corvette and a Lexus. You live well for a military man."
Harm sat back in his chair, crossed his arms and remained silent.
"You come into some money recently? Or did you get a loan from your step dad – I hear he's a big shot at Chrysler." O'Conner allowed his friendly façade to fade away.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Harm was mystified and mildly defiant.
"How do you explain this?" O'Conner pulled a sheet of paper from a file he had brought into the room with him. He pushed the paper across to Harm and tapped his finger on it. "$250,000 deposited in your checking account four days ago."
Harm leaned forward to stare in surprise at the document. "I have no idea where that came from."
O'Conner barely gave Harm a chance to respond before rushing on, "And yesterday that $250,000 was wire transferred to an off-shore account."
"Well, I didn't make that transaction – I was in the hospital." Harm pointed out forcefully.
"You could have had your girlfriend transfer the money – or did you give her access and she cleaned you out? I hear she's quite a looker for a Marine."
Though a flash of anger shot through him at the snide reference to Mac, Harm valiantly remained cool. "Are you charging me with something, Agent O'Conner?"
"I think you were in the drug business before this op came up. And I think someone bought something from you – perhaps the rival cartel paid you to sell out Charles Estevez and his organization so they could take over. You didn't know our sweep would be wide enough to get key members of both cartels, did you? You didn't live up to your end of the bargain and someone's going to be mighty unhappy with you, Rabb," O'Conner jibed. "You're lucky we have you in protective custody."
"Charge me or let me go, O'Conner." Harm was tired of the game, his side ached and he needed to get back to Washington.
"Oh, like I said, you're safer with us for awhile, Rabb. We'll find you a nice holding cell for your own protection." And with that O'Conner stood and turned to leave the room. Harm started to protest again and quickly stood up to follow O'Conner, only to feel a sharp pain shoot through his side that doubled him over and reminded him that just this morning he had been in the hospital.
O'Conner continued out the door and found FBI Special Agent Linda Grinnell in the observation room. "Frank, what's wrong with him?"
"I'm told he took a knife in the side from someone who came looking for his downed plane two nights ago."
"You'd better arrange for a doctor to check on him – if he's guilty, we don't want to compromise our case with mistreatment and if he's not, well, then he deserves our help." When O'Conner only responded with a non-committal grunt, Linda decided she would make sure Rabb got medical attention. She followed O'Conner down the hall. "Did he identify Estavez?"
O'Conner glanced toward Grinnell. "Yeah, but after we found the money in his checking account, I don't know how reliable he is as a witness."
"So where're you headed now?"
"I'm going to keep digging. I need to get enough to charge Rabb."
"Need some help?"
Frank O'Conner looked at Linda Grinnell. She was a tall, attractive blond with a quick, logical mind and was a criminal's worst nightmare because she didn't quit until her case was made. They had worked together on a couple of other cases, and he had great respect for the agent. "Sure, let's go."
TBC