"So where is Mac?" asked Jack Ketter as he made himself more comfortable in the booth. The bar was so full of smoke and so dimly lit one could probably kill a person a disappear without anyone noticing, as long as you did it quietly. In fact, Ketter had trouble seeing Harm's features, obscured as they were by the shadows. It has been just a few months since they had seen each other, but Harmon Rabb looked suddenly older, tired and his jaw seemed permanently clenched. Keeter couldn't help but remember the bright, laughing boy who had been his roommate once, when they were both so much younger, so much more innocent and still believed in lofty ideals. Harm still did, at least to a degree. Jack Keeter has lost all of them, but his naturally cheerful disposition combined with the ability to detach himself from things which were bigger than himself ensured that in spite of working for CIA he was always able to channel the happy-go-lucky persona. When they were younger, they were both reckless but Harm tended to be the one to save the situation when it got really bad. Now it was Keeter who felt he needed to be the protective one. Especially after that phone call last night.
"She is at the hotel," Harm said, his fingers busy tracing the glass of bourbon he was yet to take a drink from.
"Is that safe?"
"Last night I rented another room in a completely different part of the hotel," Harm explained. "Under a made-up name. And I moved Mac there when we woke up. The room under my name is empty now."
"OK, sounds smart," admitted Keeter.
"If I were so damned smart I would have figured many things much sooner and maybe the woman I love wouldn't be hunted and the only thing we collectively own would not be an old photo of my dad."
"You are too hard on yourself."
Harm just shrugged.
"Does she know about this?"
Harm said nothing and it was as good an answer as any.
"Does she know what you want me to do?"
More silence.
"Harm?" Keeter prodded.
"I don't want to put any more guilt on her than she already feels. I won't have her thinking she caused the death of a man, even such a man as Webb," Harm admitted after a while, speaking low.
"But you will take that on yourself? Harm, I know you, buddy. If you kill the guy, if you manage to get him killed, it will eat you up. It will destroy you. Slowly."
"Better me than her."
"Why does either of you need to go through that?"
Harm was slightly taken aback. What was there to explain? He had told Keeter everything. Was he supposed to add more? Like the fact that when he moved Mac into that other room she just curled up on the bed and pretended to sleep. That she refused breakfast. That her eyes were growing haunted again. No. Clayton Webb deserved to die. He needed to be dead.
But it was not that easy, no matter how much hatred Harm felt, no matter how much he replayed every horror and ever lie he and Mac had been put through, Keeter knew him and his words were true. It was one thing to kill when in combat or to protect oneself. It was something else to predetermine the death. To order it as if from an expensive menu. The knowledge and the guilt would eat his soul, corrode it, break it. He would be a murderer with no excuse in the eyes of the law - or his own. But then he remembered the blazing inferno of his loft, the sterile odour of Mac's apartment and the surreal, blood-stained motel room where she had nearly driven herself crazy. Where she put her hands through a mirror and drove glass into her own feet.
His soul was a price he was willing to pay if she would just be spared any more fear.
"Webb threatened me and her again. I will not let him anywhere near her and if you won't help I will find some other way," he said and stood up.
"Wow, wow! Stop!" Keeter reached out and stopped him, then motioned for him to sit down again. Harm did, watching his old friend expectantly.
"It is not that I don't wanna help," Keeter said. "Hell, I would wring his neck myself if I could. But..."
"But?"
"It may not be possible to ... eliminate him."
"Why not?!" Harm almost erupted. "I am sure there were other spooks who were gotten rid off by the company for lesser crimes. Even if they wouldn't care about what he did to Mac..." he paused and took a breath to calm himself, as the mental image crossed his mind, "...he is now a threat to the public. He does drugs and I'm not talking Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Given the stash he had at Mac's place he probably stole it from the CIA vaults. And now he obviously managed to get explosives and bombed a building. Who's to say he won't come after us at the hotel? Or even a JAG?! How is that not possible to make him disappear?!"
All the while Harm was angrily hissing through his teeth, even though he wanted to scream. He had to remind himself that they were in a public space and talking bombings and drugs might attract more than its fair share of trouble. Keeter looked as if his teeth were hurting, then he finally admitted:
"Webb is no longer in the company. Or rather - he is there officially, but he is not working there any longer."
"What are you talking about?"
Keeter leaned over the table and spoke even lower than before.
"Webb has started at the CIA as one of the most promising agents, but his OPs were quite soon notoriously disastrous. He had some bad luck, other times he failed at planning ahead and eventually he was simply fucking up. As you have probably noticed. They kept him on for two reasons. First, he could be one of the most ruthless and get-the-mission-done-at-any-cost set guys. Second, his lineage. Webb is sort of a company royalty. His mother, his father, his grandfather even - they have all done some dark and weird and important shit for the state. I think that he often bit off more than he could chew simply to further the family legacy or to live up to expectations. Who knows? In any case, his career was going down to the depths unimaginable for a while and it was pretty much over by his one-man-show in Paraguay. He spent almost five months getting himself back together. He spent the rest of the year by begging for another mission, chasing unauthorized assignments and..."
Here Keeter suddenly halted and a wry, apologetic smile appeared on his face.
"And dating Mac," Harm said coldly.
"Well... yeah. He was quite vocal about it as if we were at high-school and he scored the prettiest girl there. He only stopped once Sadiq showed up and she was the one who took him down. I don't doubt Webb was relieved, Fahd was his nightmare, but that was when he stopped talking and boasting about Mac. I guess his pride was wounded."
"Jack," Harm interrupted, "none of this is a reason why he couldn't be..."
"Let me get there! See, when Webb faked his death and Tanveer was after him, the CIA did lie for him, but they also did not move a finger to help him. They were hoping he would get killed and only then they would get Tanveer. But the killer was too clever and got you and Mac involved, and of course, they did not expect his old Mama to there. Since then Webb has been in the company, but he has been banned from working on any OP. His CIA status is just a label now. And... yeah we know he is on drugs and he stole it. The bombing was a surprise though. Still, you are not the first who has thought about making Webb disappear."
"Then why hasn't he?"
"It all comes back to that one person whom he could never alienate."
It took Harm only half a second to realize whom Keeter was talking about.
"His mother."
Keeter just nodded.
"What leverage does she have?"
"I don't know."
"Yeah, right!"
"I swear! At least I don't know any details. Kershaw just knows that she has gathered a lot of information of the most sensitive nature over the years. Information about some highly-placed CIA operatives. And she made it clear, years ago when her baby boy first came close to being kicked out of the company, that should anything happen to him or her, the information would be revealed to people interested."
Harm leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. This was a nightmare. The CIA would not help him. They did not care. They were too scared of Porter Webb and her treasure chest of secrets, ready to be opened like Pandora's box the moment they would lay a hand on her son.
So he would have to do it himself.
He would have to find Webb. And kill him.
His insides twisted at the thought. Then he had a moment of clarity.
"This is why you let him steal the drugs," he said and it was not a question. "CIA hopes that he will overdose and die. By his own failings."
Keeter said nothing and just drew patterns on the table with the droplets of condensation from the glasses.
"I need to speak to the General," Meg announced to Petty Officer, who was filling in for the still distraught Jennifer Coates, looking slightly nervous and clutching a thin folder. Inside there were charges she would suggest to be drawn. Against Harm and Mackenzie. No. She was a Commander in the United States Navy. She was doing her duty and she would charge the Chief of Staff, responsible for writing fit reps, of fraternizing with Commander who was technically a junior officer. It was hardly her fault they both let their lust and libido overrule the good order of regulations. What if somebody else found out and also realized she herself knew about it yet had done nothing? She would not lose her career for those two. For the wreck of a woman she did not know. For a man who failed to love her back years ago and who cruelly played with her feelings, so lovingly laid out for him, now.
She had spent the whole night preparing her speech to the General.
She was not acting out of jealousy. She was hurt, yes. But with the charges she would, with the same breath, insist on defending Commander Rabb at the Article 32 or subsequent trial hearing. She would show him her love was still there, wounded but patient.
Her face fell when the Petty Officer merely shook his head.
"I am sorry, ma'am, but General Cresswell has left for San Diego won't be back until next week."
Meg thanked her for the information and left.
Maybe it was a good thing.
She could talk to Harm first. Give him a heads up. Because the storm was coming his way.
"Mac?"
The room was eerily quiet when he finally got back. It was late in the afternoon and already the sun had fled the sky, leaving behind just darkness and heavy clouds smelling with snow yet to fall. There was not a single lamp lit in the room.
"Mac?!" he called again but she did not answer. He switched on the lights and quickly scanned the room. Everything looked untouched as if she had never been there. The already familiar feeling of rising panic gave way to relief when he finally heard a muffled: "I am here."
He frowned.
"Here where?" He couldn't see her anywhere.
"Here," she said simply again.
It took him about a minute more before he found her sitting in the back of an empty closet. Her arms were tightly hugging her knees to her chest. She looked lost. She looked immensely sad.
"Hey," he said after just looking at her for a while, unsure of what to do. It did not seem appropriate to just flood her with the details he had learned. He also did not think telling her Keeter had offered himself as a temporary bodyguard - and already booked a room next door - was what she needed to hear.
"What are you doing in there?" he simply asked and smiled at her, hoping for a smile back that never came.
"I... this..." she started to explain, clearly struggling for words. Wherever she had been in her mind in the past few hours, it was a dark place and she had trouble leaving it. She took a breath and started again: "When I was a kid I would hide in the closet when my father was drunk. It made me feel...not safe but... at least a bit safer."
"You are safe, Mac," he said and prayed it was the truth.
She said nothing. The loss of his loft pained her possibly even more than it did him. It was her safe place. The only place where she never felt threatened or used. Just valued. And loved. The impersonal hotel could never give her the same feelings. It was better with Harm near though.
Finally, she gave him a small smile.
"Is there a room for two?" he asked softly then.
"I'm not sure," she said, but by that time he was already there, nudging her forward and awkwardly settling behind her. She could not help but laugh softly at his long legs trying to find an angle in which he would not be too uncomfortable. Giving up the fight, he left one of them just sticking out of the half-closed closet door. His arms drew her near, her head settled over his heart - her favourite place in the whole world. They stayed like that until his back began to protest. Meanwhile, she listened to his heartbeat and he kept humming a lullaby into her hair. He did not remember the words. Just an old melody that his grandmother had once sung over his own crib.
