Honor's Loss 3/?
Day 1832
Secure facility, just outside Washington, DC
0200 Zulu
It has been a long day for those gathered in the meeting room. They are waiting for the arrival of their director so they can deliver their reports and call it a night. They spent a large part of their morning attempting to calm the man who went from caged defiance to downright paranoia right before their eyes. Any and all attempts to calm the man resulted only in frustration for the staff. Authorization was finally obtained for more intensive measures and the doctor on duty quickly prepared a light sedative to help the man relax—that doctor won't be on duty for a while now, his duty station for the foreseeable future is the infirmary, nursing a broken wrist and serious concussion.
~~No one expected that the touch of the needle would cause such a reaction. From the ball he'd been curled in for the last six hours, the man exploded outward as soon as the needle pricked his skin. Although caught off guard, the doctor slammed the needle home and completed the injection in the moment before his arm was caught in a crushing grip and he was flung against the wall. Two members of the staff hurriedly pulled the doctor out of the room before the man could do any more damage, while the rest tried to corral the now enraged man. More guards appeared on the scene, followed a few minutes later by another doctor with a syringe, this one containing a very large dose of a very powerful sedative. At the behest of the new doctor and with much trepidation, a half dozen of the guards slowly approached the man. The ensuing struggle was short but decisive, the man got in a few good blows but he was no match for six men even larger than himself. The doctor approached cautiously, and the six guards pinning the man to the floor tightened their grip. Once again when the needle pricked his skin, the man tried to fight—this time though, they were ready.
It took nearly an hour for the sedative to take any effect. The guards were approaching exhaustion by the time they felt the man they were holding begin to relax. He seemed to struggle more out of a sense of familiarity than conviction when, after a prolonged conference with his colleagues, the doctor approached with another syringe. Less than five minutes later all struggles ceased abruptly and the guards cautiously got to their feet. The doctor wisely checked his approach when the man stirred and struggled back to his feet. He stood, swaying slightly, and asked with confusion clear on his face, "where am I?" before dropping tonelessly to the floor.
He was taken to the infirmary where he underwent a battery of tests—blood was drawn, x-rays taken, even an MRI was performed. Another half dozen guards remained as close as they could in case they were needed, but the man remained under the influence of the sedative. There was some discussion on safety for the staff when the man was returned to his room; it was finally decided that they would provide a larger security contingent whenever anyone needed to enter the room—although more serious measures were tossed around, they are placed on the back burner, for now. Hours later, the man is finally returned to his room, blissfully unaware of the debate regarding future security concerns.~~
The discussions have turned from security concerns to plans for days off by the time their superior finally arrives. He looks tired and drawn, his suit is rumpled and his shoulders are slumped in fatigue; his eyes, however, show an alertness the rest of him does not. He slips through the door of the meeting room, taking in the mood around him in that first moment. Behind him, three people enter who stop all conversation—the man in the rumpled suit they were expecting, the three in uniform they were not.
"All right Webb, would you mind telling us why you dragged us here?" the oldest uniformed officer—an admiral—demands.
"All will be explained shortly, AJ," Webb of the rumpled suit replies. "Just go and take a quick look at what's on the other side of the curtain over there and then the reason for me bringing you all here will be explained."
AJ and the other two officers, a Marine Colonel and a Navy Captain, slip through the indicated curtain warily, their gazes immediately drawn to the figure curled on the narrow bed. Although not by conscious choice this time, the figure's back is to the window—there isn't anything visible to give any clues to the identity of the person sleeping.
Webb joins them after a moment only to ask the confused officers to step into the main room again. In the short time they were in the little alcove, a television has been brought in and set up. "This will answer your questions," Webb assures the trio, indicating the tape one of the staff is feeding into the VCR. 'And it will probably raise quiet a few more,' he adds to himself ruefully.
Webb watches the reactions of the officers at the beginning of the recording. Shock, disbelief, confusion, amazement, sadness, grief, and finally anger transform the features of each. It is when the anger wins out at the end that he begins to worry about their reactions. All of this happens in the first few seconds, leaving him plenty of time to turn his attention to the screen. At the conclusion of the tape, the anger has been rejoined by confusion and grief.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Colonel Sarah MacKenzie asks.
"What was I supposed to tell you? That Harm is alive but he attempted to kill the President?" Webb asks just shy of sarcastic.
"How long has he been here?" Captain Sturgis Turner asks.
"Here? A couple months shy of four years." Webb is too busy trying not to look the three in the eye that he doesn't notice the anger radiating off of them. The others in the room, however, can see trouble brewing, they back away slowly as a group; those who are currently on duty try to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible while those who are not on duty escape to the cafeteria—once Webb extricates himself from his current 'situation' he's going to want to talk to them and they don't want to make him angry by having to look for them all over the compound.
"You're telling me Harm has been locked in that little room for nearly four years?" AJ thunders.
Webb belatedly realizes his mistake, but it's too late; they've cut off all avenues of escape. He nods meekly.
"And you're trying to tell me Commander Harmon Rabb, one of the most honorable men you know, tried to assassinate the President?" If anything, AJ's voice has risen a couple of notches. Mac and Sturgis hold their ground, content for the moment to let the former SeAL take the lead.
"I just received some information that makes me believe the explosion we all thought he died in wasn't an accident, but a carefully executed plan. I brought the three of you here for two reasons: one, to help determine the veracity of the information; and two, to see if you can help us get through to him."
"So why didn't you ask for our help earlier?" Sturgis asks.
"Quite frankly, I'm not sure how he's going to react now. He might just revert back to his previous state, which means I don't think anything will get through to him. Or—and I only say this because this was the first change in routine in the last three and a half years—we might finally be able to communicate with him and ask him what happened. Up until this time, he's not spoken a word of English to anyone—heck, he hasn't even acted like he's understood it. So, are you in?"
The two junior officers look to their former CO; they'll follow his lead. "What are the restrictions?" AJ asks.
"Same as everyone else here; you can't mention what's going on here to anyone. The only personnel at this facility who are aware of exactly what happens in this building are those you've seen and a couple of others. You will be introduced to each and every one of them so you will know who you can discuss this with. You won't be restricted to the facility or anything; people know it's here, they just don't know what happens behind the fences. You can keep in touch with your offices, families, anyone, as long as this isn't mentioned."
AJ almost smiles at the lengthy 'list'. "In other words, all of this is classified, but there are no physical restrictions," he sums up. Webb turns pink with embarrassment, and manages a nod. "I think they can do without my presence at the office for a few days at least," AJ says finally. "Colonel, Captain?"
"I don't have any pressing cases lined up," Mac admits. "I can probably clear my docket in a day or two." Soon after Harm was buried, Mac accepted a permanent posting to the bench; she's still at Headquarters, but tries her best to stay away from the bullpen and painful memories.
"I can probably have Captain Yorke take my first class, but I'd really like to keep the second for now. I can give you Tuesdays, Thursdays and the weekends." Two years ago, shortly after his wedding, Sturgis was asked to teach a class at the Academy. After some discussion with the dean, another class was added to his schedule earlier this year—it's very popular with the students.
"Thank you," Webb tells them sincerely. "Tomorrow…no, today's Friday. Do you want to come back on Saturday to begin?" he asks.
"I'll call the office from here and let them know I'll be out all day," AJ says.
"I don't have any cases to hear today; I'd like to stick around," Mac adds.
"I'm afraid I do have to get back to Annapolis," Sturgis admits. "I'll come back on Saturday." He'd really like to stay, there's just no one else to teach this particular class.
"Williams will drive you home," Webb offers. The three exchange goodbyes and watch as Sturgis takes his leave, following the driver who brought them here. As soon as he's gone, Webb turns back to AJ and Mac. "Do you want to get some shut-eye or come with me to get the story from my people?" he asks.
"Do you really need to ask? Lead on Webb."