Chapter 13

May 24, 2006
2300 Local

The tall navy captain pressed his forehead against the two-way mirror, letting the cool glass sooth his rising impatience and accompanying anger. For over an hour he'd been watching from an observation room as they questioned Omahr Sharaq. Harm couldn't imagine the man could hold out against the CIA interrogator for much longer. Despite the mask of obstinacy he was wearing, the young man couldn't have been more than twenty years old, practically a child. He was no match for the trained agent grilling him in the dimly lit, cement gray room.

Since the young terrorist spoke no English, Harm had spent most of his time in the small room reading over the file on Abula Mahlik. It wasn't easy to get through; Mahlik was one sick individual. Harm found that more than once, he had to put the file down and walk away for a few minutes. It contained gruesome details of brutal violence, at times reading like one of those slasher films that Mattie and Jen were always so fond of. Unfortunately, unlike those late night movies, Harm couldn't simply banish these atrocities with a click of the remote.

Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted the file folder, currently laying on his long abandoned, metal fold out chair. He felt the anger, the disgust, well up in his chest. He closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath, trying to stifle his growing frustration.

That's when he noticed it. He froze, suddenly forgetting where he was, and why. He turned his head toward his shoulder a little more and took a second, even deeper breath.

He smelled like Sophie. It was in his shirt, that combination of powder and formula and all things innocent and pure. Harm reveled in it, allowing it to wash away the filth of violence, leaving his soul feeling clean and refreshed. He opened his eyes, a soft smile replacing the grimace he'd been sporting since entering Langley. Her scent suddenly seemed to surround him, protecting him like a shield; his own unique defense against the horrors of the world.

He was a father. The thought filled him with an excitement that almost made him dizzy. He was going to marry Mac and raise a family...Holy Mary, Sarah MacKenzie was the mother of his child…hopefully soon to be children. They were going to have a home with a yard full of toys. There would be PTA meetings and Little League games. Dance recitals and school plays. Chicken Pox and skinned knees... His smile turned somewhat giddy; he couldn't wait.

"I told you, you were meant for this job," Mattie had stated earlier, when he found himself alone for a few precious minutes with his new baby daughter. The teenager had snuck up on him while he sang a few cords of some old lullaby he remembered from his days as a child on Grandma Sarah's farm. He flashed her his famous smile, which she returned before crossing the room to sit on the arm of his chair.

"Thanks Mats," he said quietly, both watching as Sophie slowly gave in to sleep.

"For what?"

He turned his attention from the baby in his arms to the girl at his side. He caught her eyes with his before he answered.

"For reminding me how much I loved being a dad," he replied sincerely, wrapping his free arm around Mattie's waist, content to have a few minutes with his two girls.

The shouts of the interrogator in the next room jerked Harm back to the present. He gave a resigned sigh, his shoulder's slumped forward. He envied Mac right now, back at the house with Sophie, bonding with the little girl. He wanted to be there as well, changing her diapers and helping with her bath. Not here, going through horrifying pictures and military reports of Mahlik's terrorist activities.

He backed up a few steps and straightened his stance when he saw Clayton Webb turn from his place in the corner of the interrogation room and exit through the back. Two seconds later, the door behind him opened and the spy stepped up next to him.

"We're starting to get somewhere," Clay stated without turning his eyes away from the figures on the other side of the glass. "He's just confirmed that Greg Mason is dead."

Harm sighed heavily and let his eyes slip shut briefly in supplication for Greg Mason's soul. He didn't know the man, but he was willing to bet he didn't deserve to die…certainly, not at the hands of a monster like Mahlik.

Webb continued, oblivious to Harm's muted prayer.

"He's new to this game. He's only been with Mahlik less than a year. He claims that he was desperate for money for his mother and sisters and that's why he hooked up with the group." Harm shook his head, but remained silent. Surely there were better ways to make money than joining ranks with a terrorist.

"We're working on an agreement to relocate his family in exchange for his cooperation. If it's given the 'go ahead', Sharaq's promised us addresses in Palermo and Libya. We'll have our people out there securing the locations, and any 'business associates' we come across, in less than 24 hours."

"Is the deal going to be approved," Harm asked, his eyes still following the cat and mouse game, taking place in the next room.

"I see no reason why the offer would be denied by the higher ups," Webb replied, rather haughtily. "They prefer as little mess as possible, and if we don't get his information voluntarily, we'll have to resort to drugs." The agent turned to face Harm, the comment rolling off his tongue nonchalantly, as if drugging someone up to get answers was as common as slipping a maitre-d a twenty to get a table. Harm understood without a doubt the reason and necessity behind such tactics, but he still gave another silent prayer, this one of thanks that he was no longer employed by the Company. He didn't think he could stomach this kind of work day after day.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Harm groaned before looking around the room. "Who do you have to drug to get a cup of coffee?" he snarked.

Nonplused at Harm's tone, Clay walked back to the door he'd just entered from and had a few words with someone Harm couldn't see. Coming back to stand beside the navy man, his eyes returned to the figures behind the glass. "Taken care of."

Two minutes and a knock on the door later, Harm was sipping moderately decent coffee from a styrofoam cup. He wandered back over to the window and leaned his shoulder against it, watching as the agent continued to question Sharaq. Even if he'd not been told already, Harm could have guessed that the man had not been with Mahlik's organization long. Less than two hours had passed since the interrogation had commenced and already his stubborn set jaw had slackened to a pitiful frown and his eyes, once hard and unyielding, were now full of fear. They darted around the room spastically as if he expected some threat to jump out at him from the shadows.

The door in the interrogation room opened and an envelope was handed off to the agent. He pulled some eight by ten's out and studied them for only a second or two before slapping them down on the table in front of Sharaq. Clearly shaken by what he saw on the photographs, Sharaq pushed them away violently, only to have them shoved back in his face by the very determined agent

"What's with the pictures?" he asked Webb as he blew into his cup, hoping to cool the liquid down to a drinkable temperature.

Webb shuffled uncomfortably, peaking Harm's curiosity. He turned from the window to face the spook fully. "Clay?"

"They're crime scene photographs."

"Of Francesca's apartment? Why show him those if he was there?"

"Not that crime scene." Webb didn't elaborate any further.

"Then what..." Harm was sure that his face reflected the exact moment that he realized what crime scene Webb was referring to. The car bomb. He felt himself pale as he thought about what those photographs would depict. Turning back to the window, he watched the agent take a seat on the table next to the pictures as Sharaq reluctantly looked at each one.

"Has he said anything about the folder that was handed to Mason?" Harm turned his attention away from thoughts of grisly snapshots of Admiral Chegwidden's untimely death.

"Not much more than what Albina told us," Webb's frustration was evident. "They suspected that Mason handed it off to Jordan. They waited until Albina confirmed, then they attempted to eliminate it and anyone who they suspected saw the contents." He sighed deeply and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "He did say that the attack was called off when they couldn't find Mason or the papers. Whether or not they've decided to go ahead with the plan, now that Mason is dead and they know we don't have the documents..." he trailed off with a shrug, fatigue shadowing his eyes.

"Why was he in the country?"

Webb focused his hard gaze on the suspect in the next room, "He was told to rendezvous with Mahlik's son, Ali, for instructions when he landed in New York. We checked the meeting place, but by the time our men arrived, it was hours past the arranged time."

Before Harm could respond, there was a banging at the door, which then flew open, a young, over eager looking agent skidding to a halt in front of them. "Director Webb, we've just intercepted a police report of a fire in Arlington about two hours ago." The man paused to catch his breath.

Webb's eyebrows rose impatiently. "So?"

"The fire was reported at this address," he handed a piece of paper over to Webb, who scanned it before looking back up, his face no less befuddled. "That's Paul Jordan's address here in the states," the excitement of a possible break in the case gleaming in the rookie agent's eyes

Understanding dawning, Webb ordered, "Get some agents over there quickly." He turned back to Harm as the younger man exited the room. "That's what he was sent here for," he said, pointing to Sharaq in the other room. "They're trying to destroy any trace of those damned documents." He began pacing the room, then abruptly headed for the door. "Ali Mahlik could still be in the area."

Harm's eye's widened suddenly, a sick thought settling heavily in the pit of his stomach like stone. "Webb, would they target the admiral's house?" he asked anxiously.

Webb stopped short, his head swinging around to face Harm. "Wha-"

Harm was in the little man's face in two long strides, "Could they have planned the same thing for AJ's house?!" he shouted.

Webb turned back around, throwing open the door and startling the agents on the other side. His head twisted to face Harm. "What's AJ's address?"

Harm rattled of the house number as he fumbled through his jacket pocket for his phone, listening as Webb barked orders for a team to head out. He hit speed dial 1 for Mac's cell number. After the fifth ring, he was fighting the urge to throw the piece of plastic and wire at the wall in front of him.

"She's not answering her phone," he informed Clay in a tight, panic laced voice.

As one, the two men turned toward the door, sprinting past the young agent from earlier. Over his shoulder, Webb yelled, "Have the fire department and EMTs dispatched to that address as well!"

Harm was repeatedly trying to call Mac's cell phone, to no avail. Each time he received her voice mail announcing that the customer was 'unavailable at this time,' his heart constricted a little more.

'ohgodohgodohgod...'

Webb's cell phone rang, and for a split second, Harm thought that it was his own. That it was Mac calling to tell him that she and Sophie were just taking a bath, or that her phone had been turned down while she put the baby to sleep, or she forgot to….

"Webb."

Damnit.

"Shitshitshit. Alright, are our people on their way over there? … The emergency personnel? … Good. Keep me informed." He ended the call as the two reached his dark blue sedan. Throwing open the driver-side door, Webb caught Harm's eyes over the hood of the car. "Sharaq remembered two locations he heard in conversation before he left. Arlington and McLean, Virginia."

Harm's limbs felt heavy as he threw himself into the passenger's seat, the car rolling backwards out of the parking space before he had his door fully closed. He stared hard at the cell phone in his hand, silently begging it to ring. He felt tears prickling behind his eyes, but he refused to believe that there was anything to cry over. Not yet. Everything could be fine. Completely fine.

"Harm, you still with me?"

He saw Webb toss a concerned look in his direction.

"Yeah Clay, just get us to that house, okay." He pulled himself together long enough to meet the other man's eye momentarily, before the spook turned back to the road, tires squealing as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Harm faced forward, his spine stiff and his body tense as if preparing for a fight. He willed the car to go faster, even as he glanced at the speedometer and noted that the needle was creeping past ninety-five, well on it's way to one hundred. It wasn't fast enough. His family was across town, in danger, and he could do nothing but sit here on his ass in this damned spook car. He wasn't even driving. He should have been driving. Should have insisted on it. He'd feel useful if he were driving. He'd have something to concentrate on besides thoughts of Mac and Sophie and terrorists and fires...

"HARM!"

Startled, Harm dropped his phone onto the floorboards of the car, immediately bending over to pick it up.

"What?!" he answered irritably.

"Left or right at the light?" Webb asked impatiently, the light in question looming in front of them.

"Right," he replied, bracing himself with one hand on the dash and the other gripping the garment handle by his head as the car skidded around the corner, practically tipping up on two wheels. He had the brief, irrational thought that maybe he should have the same talk with Clay that he'd had with little AJ on the importance of keeping all the wheels of your vehicle on the ground at all times. Then reality gave him a swift, painful kick in the gut, and Harm was reminded why Clay was driving like a NASCAR contender. For all the animosity between the two men, Harm was relieved that it was Webb and not some nameless CIA agent who he was dealing with right now. No one else, short of himself of course, would move mountains to get to Mac.

Webb's phone rang again, and this time he simply hit the speaker button. "Talk to me," he demanded.

"Sir, just thought you should know that emergency crews have already been dispatched to the address you gave us."

Harm's heart simply stopped. It dropped to his stomach, which flipped over, threatening to expel it's contents all over the gray interior of the government issued car.

'Ohgodohgodohgod...'

"How long ago?" Webb asked in a clipped voice.

"Approximately twelve minutes, Sir."

Webb hung up the phone with another curse as he weaved in and out of what little traffic there was at such a late hour. "Harm, they're fine," he said without looking over at the navy captain.

Harm swung his head toward Clay, an acidic remark on the tip of his tongue. Then he saw the other man's white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and he swallowed it back, along with a large, suffocating lump. He's only trying to help, he told himself, taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the pang he felt at smelling his daughter's baby scent with every breath he inhaled. He took two more, in...and out...in...and out.

They didn't help. The panic from earlier was increasing to full blow terror. He was hanging on to his sanity by the weakest thread, the last words Mac spoke to him replaying over and over in his head. Taunting him.

'Sophie and I will be here when you get back.'

Then, just as he thought he had his churning stomach under control, the house came into view, and Harm was faced with a new wave of horrifying nausea.

From their position three blocks back, they could see the blazing inferno engulfing AJ Chegwidden's home. The street was full of emergency vehicles. Men and women in uniforms were setting up barriers around the perimeter of the house, while others, dressed mostly in pajamas, stood in the road and across the street. Red, white and blue lights flashed like some cruel mockery of the patriotism that Harm had built his life around. Men in yellow and black were diligently working to extinguish the flames as police officers worked to keep the gawking onlookers at a safe distance.

Webb's car barreled right up onto the lawn, jerking to a stop when he threw the emergency break. Without turning the engine off, both men jumped out of the vehicle. Harm immediately headed straight into the fiery hell, common sense a long forgotten concept.

"Harm!"

He felt Webb grab his elbow, but jerked it away, never slowing down.

"Damnit Rabb, STOP!"

This time Webb not only grabbed his arm, but used Harm's momentum to swing himself in front of the determined captain. Harm barely noticed. He could feel the heat of the fire on his face; sweat beading on his forehead. The smells and sounds of the burning house were predominate in the air, popping and cracking like some macabre camp fire.

"Excuse me, you can't be here!" A man in a police uniform ran up, waving a hand at the car parked carelessly in the yard. "And you can't leave your car there, either!"

Webb flipped his identification out for the officer. "I'm in charge here, now. There was a woman and a baby in that house," he spoke urgently, still gripping Harm's arm. "Have they been found?"

With those words, Harm's attention turned from the hellish destruction in front of him to the man speaking with Webb. He recognized the uniform as Virginia State Police. His vision narrowed to include only the short, stout man, nervously glancing between Webb's I.D. and the car behind them. His breath caught in his throat as the once inescapable sounds of the chaos around them faded to a distant hum. The only noise Harm was aware of was the sound of his own pounding heart echoing in his ears. He stared with a frightening intensity at the officer, who had no idea that with his next words, he had the power to break the unbreakable Harmon Rabb Junior.

'Ohgodohgodohgod...Please...'

TBC