Thanks: I need to thank Catmom for her input on airlines and pilot stuff. I stayed as close as I could for what I wanted to do. Also to my military advisor Jan for corrections on places, titles, regs, etc. Again, I colored within the lines the best I could. Thanks to Chris for other airline advice and taking on my grammar. Finally thanks to TX-b-JAG for continuity and support.

With all that, the story remains mine, and any issues or inaccuracies are my responsibility.

Storm Clouds
Part Two



Trans-Platinum Air
Flight 1653
Washington D.C. to Norfolk
Mid June, 2004
1725

Harm really didn’t like the look of those clouds. The tops were white and billowy in the low angled rays of the early evening sun, but the huge centers had a dark angry look. If he wasn’t mistaken, he’d just spotted sheet-lightning flash in the brooding heart of the fast moving storm.

This weather pattern was beginning to really annoy him. He’d been on the East coast for over twenty years and he’d never seen a hurricane season like this one. The constant line of storms that had marched up the coastline seemed destined to test his skills. Fortunately, other than aggravation, a bit of flooding, and some power outages, along with broken trees and downed signs, none of the storms had done any catastrophic damage.

They’d had warnings this system would possibly gain tropical strength, but it wasn’t supposed to happen so soon. His last weather check when he departed D.C. had forecast a landfall of sometime around 2300. He had planned to be home in bed with a good book before it hit. The size of this thing already looked like something he’d once flown into with a Tomcat, and wound up parking it on the bottom of the ocean.

“Trans-Platinum Air 1653 this is Norfolk tower,” the radio squawked.

He’d been handed off by D.C. control a short time ago. He’d flown the route three times a day, round-trip, for over four months, and he had every aspect of the trip committed to memory. It was an odd flight. Not quite an hour in the air, he spent nearly half of it climbing and the other half descending. Although he’d already started his decent into ORF, it wasn’t time for his landing instructions.

“Norfolk tower Trans-Platinum 1653 here,” he replied.

“Captain, we have a problem. This storm suddenly took a turn. It’s heading inland rapidly,” the ATC informed him.

“Is it going to hit us before I land this baby?” Harm inquired with more nonchalance than he felt.

“No, but landfall is now predicted to be between 1900 and 2100 hours. That’s three to four hours earlier than originally projected. The winds are really picking up. Weather service isn’t calling it a Cat-1 yet, but we need to get everyone down and back out of here soon. We’d like to send you to Richmond. They have a half hour to forty-five minute holding pattern, but you’ll be farther inland.” The voice didn’t sound very steady about the suggestion.

“No can do, Norfolk, unless you can get me priority parking in Richmond. I’m bingo fuel for that long of a wait.” Harm mentally calculated turning back towards Richmond and spending what would surely be much more than half an hour flying circles in the air. It would require nearly double the fuel he had on board.

“Yeah, I figured that. That is priority, Harm. It’s most of the regional traffic and privates that can’t turn back, the jumbos are going somewhere else,” the voice informed him

“Can’t do it then, and I can’t return to D.C. either,” Harm replied to this information. If they were diverting all the regional jets and private traffic, something was bound to happen to keep him in the air longer.

“D.C. wouldn’t do you any good; both airports have an hour wait to land. DC and Baltimore are taking most of the larger planes. We’re just trying to get everyone out of the air the best we can,” the ATC was thinking out loud. “We could re-route you into Newport News/Williamsburg it’s a little farther from the storm.”

“Whatever you say,” Harm acquiesced. The passengers would be upset, but that was the airline’s problem. A cab across the bay, if they haven’t closed the tunnel due to the weather, would cost damn near what they’d paid him for the flight. Maybe Trujillo and Stevens, his co-pilot and flight attendant, would like to split the fare. The airline would send a shuttle, but it would be passenger priority. He’d probably be better off finding a hotel room for the night.

Five minutes later the radio came to life again.

“Trans-Platinum 1653, Norfolk tower here.”

“1653, ready to copy,” he told them, expecting new landing co-ordinates into Newport New.

“Can’t do it, Harm. PHF just had a nasty mishap. An executive jet hit the runway upside down, and it will take hours to clean up the mess. We might get emergency clearance at one of the area bases in time to get you down, but…,” the guy sounded doubtful. The military wasn’t likely to play with civilians unless it was a dire emergency. The surrounding bases had already cleared all their aircraft just in case the storm gained hurricane strength.

“Six of one,” Harm answered. “None of them are that much farther from the storm and they aren’t likely to welcome me if you can take me. I have a little gas to spare, but I can’t go gallivanting all over the state looking for a parking place. I’m going to have to bring her in.”

“Okay, uh, we’ll have three MD80’s stacked up behind you, but by the time you get here you’ll be the last RJ we have in the air. The planes need to be down, refueled, and back out of here as soon as possible,” the voice prompted nervously. Harm was an unfamiliar element to this particular ATC after Trans-Platinum’s recent shakeup, and he wasn’t interested in having a mishap on his watch. He didn’t like the options, but there weren’t any others. The 80’s were heavier, and to his mind had more experienced pilots; the ATC considered them less of a risk. The smaller plane had less fuel onboard for a holding pattern, but if the pilot didn’t have enough experience, it could easily flip if the wind hit it wrong.

Ultimately, the final decision was up to the Captain, and without knowing Harm’s background, the guy’s stomach contents boiled in anticipation of this landing. He held his breath and prayed this new pilot was some kind of magician with wings. He gave Harm wind speed and direction, and lined him up with the main north-south runway. He considered landing Harm on the smaller runway in case he didn’t make it, but if he lacked experience, the shorter, narrower airstrip would increase his chances of having an accident. “We’ll keep you posted on any sign of downdrafts. You have a strong crosswind, but it’s hitting both runways at almost a perfect 45 degree angle,” the ATC informed Harm. “I’m bringing you in on the big runway. We’ll be standing by.” His tone subtly indicated that emergency vehicles would be ready.

“I’m not going to break the airplane,” Harm informed him through a clenched jaw. This guy’s attitude was beginning to annoy him. “I have forty-eight paying customers, and two crew members on board. You just hold the deck steady. I’ll hit the three wire.”


Norfolk International Airport same time

“Navy pilots. Gotta love ‘em.” the first man commented. He stood near a huge picture window that overlooked the runway.

His expensive suit was already rumpled, and he doubted this storm would give him any rest for a while. As Airport Director, it was his responsibility to monitor all air traffic then remain on the job until the last plane had landed, been refueled, and taken off again. If there was a mishap, he might be lucky enough in the following days to get a nap or two on the nice leather couch against the side wall of his office.

The second man nodded sagely towards the unseen aircraft. “Can he do it?” As an attorney, he was mentally calculating the scope of the lawsuit if this line of planes didn’t land safely.

“Yes, he can,” the director nodded. “He started flying from here for Trans-Platinum almost five months ago, but this hurricane season has already been full of nasty surprises. He’s proved his mettle more than once. I don’t know more about his background than the fact he’s former Navy, but he’s a genius with an airplane. This is the guy you’re waiting to see, right?”

“Mmmmhhmmmm,” the attorney murmured. “A favor for a very old friend.” The white-haired man returned his gaze to the window. This would certainly be a landing to watch. With his hands behind his back, he crossed his fingers.


Forty-five minutes later
Terminal B Gate 18
Norfolk International Airport

“Nice landing, Captain.” The dapper white-haired man intercepted Harm as he stepped past the boarding gate.

“Were you on board?” Sometimes passenger thanked the crew as they got off the plane, but they didn’t wait around for them.

“No, I watched from upstairs,” he indicated the upper level of the building.

“How’d you get in here?” Harm asked automatically. His mind was still buzzing from the rush of the landing and his thought processes were suffering. “You can’t get past TSA without a boarding pass.”

“Yes, I can, and I did. I have connections.” His smile held strong self-confidence, but no cockiness.

Harm regarded him with his raised-eyebrow look of doubt that usually annoyed people.

Without losing the smile, the neatly dressed older man reached into his pocket and pulled out a card.

Wilton Emerson, Esq.
757-555-1529

It read in elegant script.

Harm looked at the card. “Is someone suing me?” he inquired cautiously.

“No, and if they were I’d probably help represent you if it had to do with flying. I’m chief counsel for the Airport Authority.”

“Oooohhh, I see,” Harm responded. Well, that explained why the man had access to the boarding area. Handing the card back, he continued politely, “Then what can I do for you, Mr. Emerson?”

“Oh no,” the elegant man refused. “You keep that. You will need it. Is there somewhere we can talk? Perhaps the restaurant if you’re hungry,” he offered.

“Sounds good,” Harm agreed. His mind was clearing, but his body was a little shaky. “I didn’t feel very hungry earlier, but that landing dumped a bit of adrenalin,” he admitted.

Pulling off a landing like that made him feel bulletproof for a few short minutes, but experience had taught him that the feeling was transitory. He would never again take his skill for granted. His co-pilot, Mariposa Trujillo, and the flight attendant, Merrick Stevens, had both performed remarkably. Stevens had somehow kept the passengers nearly unaware of the danger from the storm, and Mari had risen to a performance he wouldn’t have expected when he first started flying with her. She’d told him last week that she’d learned a lot from him. If that was so, it certainly had paid off today.

“Would you prefer a drink?” Emerson offered.

“Uhn uh,” Harm replied absently, as he turned down the corridor towards the concessions, “still have to drive home.”

With Harm unconsciously matching stride with the slightly shorter man, they walked towards the restaurant.

“You still haven’t told me what you want, Mr. Emerson,” Harm persisted.

“Call me Wil, I think we’re going to see a bit of each other. Does Willoughby Spit ring any bells with you, Captain?”

“Call me Harm.” He narrowed his eyes in thought, then shook his head. “Only the time I spent living in an old boarding house on the beach while I was stationed at Oceana.”

“Why did you commute that far from the base?” the man inquired, more curious than demanding.

“It started with Mace, my RIO,” Harms face darkened with the memory. “He had a small room there. The place wasn’t much, but it was on the beach and it was cheap. We could work on our tans and pick up girls,” Harm shrugged more in the sense of making an expected flyboy comment than that it held any truth.

“And?” Wil Emerson urged as they took a table in the corner.

Harm took out a menu glanced at it and shoved it back behind the condiments. He ordered an iced tea and a Club on wheat with extra tomatoes. Emerson ordered a cup of coffee.

“And a real nice old man owned the place. Paul…um…Singleton, that’s it, Paul Singleton was his name. It was falling apart around him so we spent most of our spare time helping him make repairs. I learned a lot about handyman work those two years.” Harm smiled disarmingly, “What’s this all about?”

“Mr. Singleton left you the boarding house in his will.”

“He died?” It oddly upset Harm to find out the man he hadn’t thought about in years had died.

“Last week,” the white head inclined. “It took me a few days to track you down.”

“Why me? I mean Mace…” his voice trailed off.

“Yes, Mr. Mace helped as well. Mr. Singleton was aware of the accident that claimed his life. He was also aware you were cleared in the ensuing investigation. At the time, Paul had a son, a Marine Captain, who would have inherited. Unfortunately, he was lost in a much later conflict. Apparently, in his lifetime the three of you were the only people to have made a lasting impression on him. You, unfortunately, are the only one left.”

“So now I own a broken down boarding house. I mean I’m flattered the guy liked me, but what am I going to do with it. I have a career. I don’t intend to give up flying to run a home for wayward jet jocks,” Harm smiled nervously.

Wilton Emerson chuckled in appreciation. “Well, you couldn’t if you wanted to. As a matter of fact, the building has been condemned. Paul continued to live there in a small apartment out back until his death, but the city was trying to dislodge him when he died.”

“What happened? I mean, what was wrong with him? If it’s okay to ask,” Harm ventured awkwardly. The man hadn’t crossed his mind for years, but for some reason it mattered.

“Emphysema,” was the reply. “The doctors told him he might live longer if he quit smoking and moved someplace drier, like Arizona, but he wouldn’t do it.”

“Why not?” Harm’s curiosity was piqued. “He could have sold the place and used the money to move.”

An elegant shrug was his answer. “He told me he didn’t want to leave the one place that had all his memories, just to die in some strange place.”

“I wish I’d known. Maybe I could have helped him somehow.” Harm hid the emotions playing over his face, by taking a sip from his glass of water.

“You did help him…when it counted for him. He never forgot that,” was the kind answer.

Embarrassed by the sentiment, Harm tried a lighter comment. “How’d he afford a big time lawyer like you? That place didn’t make him that kind of living.”

“No it didn’t. The house has been closed for years, but even I had to start somewhere. Paul was one of my first clients. Look, Captain…”

“Harm,” the pilot corrected.

“Harm. I know this is somewhat of a surprise…”

“To put it lightly.”

Another kind smile. “As I’ve said, the building isn’t worth much. However, the land has substantially increased in value the last few years.”

“The yuppies have discovered the area?” Harm ventured.

Emerson nodded with a knowing smile. “Beachfront property on the Chesapeake, as they say, they aren’t making any more of it. Right now the neighborhood stands at about forty five percent new development.”

“Meaning McMansions?”

“’Fraid so, but at least it increases the value of your land. Razing the building will be expensive, but a developer would pay...”

“I’m not sure,” Harm mused. He might run it by Frank and his real estate venture group. “Let me think about it.”

“I’m not trying to pressure you,” Wil Emerson’s smile was comfortable. “I don’t need the business. Stop by my office when you have some time. I need you to sign a few papers, and I’ll give you the keys. As a favor to Paul, if you need to find a buyer let me know,” he offered. Sliding from the booth, he picked up the check.

“You don’t have to do that,” Harm protested.

“No, I don’t, but you made my afternoon very interesting. Keep in touch.” He threw a small salute and walked away.

Harm watched thoughtfully as the man handed the cashier the bill and money for payment. Just as Emerson walked away, he turned and smiled, then he was gone.

Now that was damned interesting, Harm thought to himself. And what the devil was he going to do with an old building that wasn’t good for anything but a bonfire. He’d call Emerson in the morning and check on the insurance.

In a neighborhood, like Willoughby Spit, where million dollar homes shared a street with barred and shuttered convenience stores, and professional landscaping vied for attention with gang graffiti, someone was likely to set fire to the place just because it was there. As Emerson alluded, it was a neighborhood in the painful throes of transition.

End of part two

Storm Clouds
Part Three


CIA HQ
Mc Lean, VA
Early July



The call had awakened him from a sound sleep late last night. Damnable spies! It had been Webb, asking him, no, ordering him to come to CIA Headquarters during his afternoon D.C. layover the next day. Harm had been groggy and told Webb where to go and what to do with it in fairly specific language. Webb just chuckled and instructed him to ‘be there’, then hung up the phone.

Frustrated, Harm had lost more than an hour of sleep to no small amount of aggravation that quickly segued into foreboding. More than anything else, it was a warped sense of curiosity that eventually spurred his trip to the Langley complex.

A visitors badge was waiting for him in the reception area and his concern grew when no one appeared to escort him to Webb’s office. The guard just waved him through to the elevators. Something was very wrong.

“Welcome back,” Webb greeted Harm with a dark look. “Have a seat.

“Webb, I’m in no mood for your stupid jokes.” Harm sat on the edge of a chair, indicating his intention that this meeting be short.

“No joke, Harm. You didn’t really think we’d let you go that easily, did you?” the spy offered lightly.

Harms jaw tightened. A knot formed in his stomach that told him he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear.

“Whatever you have to say, say it. I have a plane to fly back to Norfolk in two hours.”

“You sound happy with that,” Webb chided.

“Actually, I am. I’m quite happy,” Harm assured him, realizing not for the first time since he took the job that it was true.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Harm, but we have a job for you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You haven’t a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Webb. I have a job.”

“Which I’m sure you got all on your own.”

The pit dropped out of Harm’s stomach. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t worry. We didn’t pull any strings. Just dropped a hint here and there.”

“I’m well qualified for that job and you know it,” Harm insisted defensively.

“I know it, Rabb, and you know it, but unless some information had been placed in the right hands, no one else would have ever known it.”

“What are you trying to pull, Webb? Whatever you’re up to, I’m not amused. The Agency made it quite clear they didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Correct. We don’t. I don’t. You’re too visible, so someone farther up the food chain decided that the best place for you was somewhere equally visible. A place so visible no one would suspect you had anything to do with us.”

“So you’re saying you arranged for the airline to hire me?” Harm was steaming now.

“Not exactly. I’m saying, we suggested that if they could use a really good pilot, there was one available. And it would be real convenient if he was assigned to an East coast route.” The praise ground from Webb’s mouth as though it hurt to voice it.

“So the job isn’t genuine?” Harm asked morosely.

“On the contrary. You qualified proficiently and according to reports, you’re doing a stellar job. In fact they want to give you a raise.”

“Dammit, Webb, quit playing with me.”

Webb held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “On the level, Rabb. You are officially and legitimately employed by Trans Union as a Trans-Platinum pilot. Only you can change that. The job is yours as long as you want to keep it and can pass your yearly qualifications.”

“Then whatever you want I guess I can tell you to go to hell and go back to doing my job.” Harm started to rise.

“Well, not exactly. That’s where it gets complicated. You see, due to everything you know, everything you’ve seen, both with the agency and the military, we couldn’t really cut you loose. You never really were debriefed, and you’re much too valuable to just forget about. Incidentally, that’s the Navy’s opinion, not mine. Unfortunately, Rabb, regardless of your grandstand plays you do get results. So we just tucked you away somewhere high profile but low key until we needed you.”

“Now that makes less sense than anything you’ve said so far.” In the back of his mind though, Harm was quickly figuring things out and he didn’t like his conclusions one bit.

“Okay, to put it in simple terms, when Kershaw dismissed you he didn’t really ‘fire’ you he just sort of ‘reassigned’ you.”

“Reassigned?”

“Sort of.”

“To where?” Harms voice caught.

“It worked sort of the same way as when we ‘reassigned’ you from the Navy to the Agency.

“To where?” he repeated through clenched teeth.

“Back to the Navy, actually to Naval Intelligence. But they loaned you back to me for this operation.”

“Naval Intelligence!? Funny, no one mentioned for the past eight months that I’m still in the Navy.”

“I know, isn’t that perfect? The whole thing just fell together flawlessly.” Webb gave a sarcastic grin. “Now you’re in exactly in the position to do the job we need done. And no one is the wiser”

“Webb, I don’t know whether to believe you or not. How do I know the Navy still owns me? Trans Union writes my checks, and the last time I looked I didn’t have anything else going into my account from the government.”

“Well, here’s how it happened, you were sort of put on a temporary inactive reserve status.” Webb tap-danced around the truth. “Of course, since you weren’t really required to serve the usual weekend a month there was no pay accrued.” Webb waved his hand as though the finer details were inconsequential. “Now that you’ve been reactivated you’ll get paid again. I guess no one figured you’d really miss the BX. In fact, I hear your new job affords you the luxury of some pretty high end shopping. You’ve become a real clothes horse, Rabb. Armani? Hugo Boss? Wish I made that kind of money,” Webb sneered.

“I bought a new suit and a sports coat, Webb. Not exactly a wardrobe, and you forget I know about your family,” Harm matched him sneer for sneer.

“Never mind,’ Webb dismissed the confrontation as though he hadn’t started it. “Now that we’re ready for you to step in on this case you’ll be back on active status, but on loan to us.”

“And I’m just supposed to jump through your hoops because you tell me you got me this airline job?”

“I told you the job is genuine, Harm. You work for them and you’re paid by them. You just happen to belong to the Navy as well, who incidentally loaned you to us,” Webb reiterated slowly as if he were speaking to a child.

“So who’s paying me now?”

“Well Trans-Platinum still pays you to fly their planes, and as for the rest…” Webb waved his hand casually, “The accountants will work that all out somehow. It doesn’t really matter. Anyway, if we paid you into your regular bank account someone might notice, and that won’t do, so, we’ll have a special account set up for you. Someone will tell you about it later.”

“I can’t be on active duty for the Navy, and work for the airline and the CIA too. It’s not legal. At least, I don’t think it’s legal. You can’t get away with this, Webb,” Harm charged. He wasn’t sure what Webb was up to, but last time he looked the CIA wasn’t supposed to operate inside of U.S. borders, so who knew what other rules had been changed in the past year.

“Yes, we can, and we have, Commander. Consider yourself something akin to an independent consultant…only not really independent.” Webb’s cold smile was infuriating. “Besides, your country needs you, Harm, so I doubt you’ll make waves. Bottom line, there are all kinds of these little wiggle holes that fall under Homeland Security and the Patriot Act if you really want to be troublesome…” Webb’s tone was mildly threatening. “Look I can give you someone to talk to, hell, you can talk to Kershaw if you want,” he offered with a fraction of tired patience.

“Not if I can help it,” Harm replied disdainfully.

“Then call Slater at the Pentagon, or Henry in Naval Intelligence. They’ll verify. Or you can just take these.” Clay handed him two IDs, one a Navy/military card with his rank as Commander, the other, CIA.

“Which one of these is phony?” Harms asked suspiciously.

Webb gave Harm a devious smile. “Let’s just say the Agency one is ‘temporary’. Don’t let anyone see either of them unless you need to use it for official identification.”

“I’m not completely stupid, Webb.”

The spy gave him a hard look.

Harm stared at the two ID cards. Webb was right, if they were calling him back, regardless of the circumstances, he would do his best. But that feeling warred heavily with the self-satisfaction and comfort he’d felt doing his job for the airline. Finally, he took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Okay, what is it you need me to do?”

“Now that’s the old team player I remember and love,” Webb crowed caustically.

Harm returned a hard look. “I was dumped by Chegwidden because he said I wasn’t a team player.”

“Yeah, he blew that one badly,” Webb shrugged. “Chegwidden had some personal issues that got the better of him. It’s unfortunate. He was a good man up until then.”

“Was?”

“He retired last month. Sometimes it’s just time to go fishing, you know?” Webb remarked cryptically.

“Yeah, I know. Or flying.”

“You can still fly. I’m telling you, Harm, the job is genuine. The only thing you might find from time to time is that there may be a temporary transfer to a new area, but believe me we have enough stuff going on right here and we’re not completely inept. We won’t over-use you. You’re sort of our secret weapon. We’ll only pull you out when we really need you. Agreed?” Webb now exhibited a false cheeriness that grated on every nerve Harm possessed.

“Agreed,” Harm surrendered grudgingly. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “Tell me what you want me to do?”

“You’ve heard about the new carrier they’re building, and the prototype for the joint strike fighter?” Webb jumped directly to the point.

“Yeah, so has everyone else on the planet. That information isn’t anything earth-shattering. They’re all over the news. There are even sites on the internet.”

“Correct, but what isn’t public knowledge is the part that’s important, not the fact that they’re being built.

Harm cocked an eyebrow.

“A certain percentage of the information about a new weapon or piece of equipment is released both for funding and general public information. It’s information that couldn’t really be kept secret anyway. What they don’t release is the precise specs, for example, how fast a fighter flies, its exact turning radius, or its weaponry, the range of the carrier’s new electronics, its shielding, or its actual top speed, special programs that run things, that sort of stuff. The other side can guess maybe even make a good educated guess, but they can’t know, and it’s things like that they want. That’s what the whole world wants, because unless they have a clear idea of what they’re up against, they can’t build a weapon to combat it.”

“Uh huh. But we’re not fighting the whole world,” Harm responded, still not surprised.

“Maybe not today, but you never know who will be on who’s side tomorrow.”

“Is that what drives you, Webb? This paranoid suspicion that everyone on the planet is your enemy?”

“Precisely, and you better get with the program because you’d be really surprised where this guys contact is peddling the information.”

“What guy? What information?” Harm insisted impatiently.

“The exact specs on this equipment almost as fast as it’s decided. It’s been leaking for almost a year.”

“A year? Who? How?” Now Webb had his attention.

“Come around here,” Webb instructed tapping some keys on his computer.

“This man is Richard Patterson.” He showed Harm a photograph of a rather innocuous looking middle aged man. Nothing was particularly startling or noticeable in either his appearance or demeanor. Several short clips showed him walking, talking, even eating a hot dog from a vendor on the Mall.

“So?” Harm responded.

“It’s taken us months to narrow it down, but this is our man.”

“Then arrest him. Why do you need me?”

“Because we can’t actually catch him at it. That’s why we need you. And it would be real handy to find out who he’s passing the information to and how.”

“I thought you said you know who is getting the information,” Harm challenged.

“We know where it’s ending up, but not how it gets there. It’s that intermediary we want. The one Patterson sells to. It’s kind of difficult to bring someone to trial without direct evidence,” the wily spy smiled blandly.

“Not that he’d ever see the inside of a courtroom. More than likely once you get firm evidence he’ll just meet with a terrible accident.”

“Harm, you wound me,” Webb insisted dramatically.

“Give it a rest, Webb. If you know who it is, why is this so difficult, and why did it take you so long to catch on to him?”

“Process of elimination, mostly.”

“Clarify, please,” Harm was losing patience again.

“There are naturally only certain people with access to the information we’re talking about.”

“Naturally.”

“Well it was a slow process of feeding incorrect information to everyone, one at a time until it turned up in the wrong hands.”

“Okay, I still don’t see how this involves me.”

“We’ve followed this man everywhere, but we can’t find him contacting anyone we don’t know. The only place he’s out of our sight is when he’s on your plane.”

“My plane?”

“Yes. Once a month, occasionally twice he travels to D.C. to present the newest information to the Joint Chiefs and the Senate Armed Services Committee. Sometimes it’s just ordinary updates, and others it’s the newest information on high-level systems. But within a week the other side always has the information he had.”

“Phwew! He has that kind of clearance?”

“A Program Director. That’s why it took us so long to sort him out. At some point, he’s involved with nearly every aspect of the two projects. We had to search hard to find areas he had no direct knowledge of in order to identify him. His particular responsibility though, is to keep the people inside the Beltway in the loop, to explain the technicalities, demonstrate the specs, and computer models. He carries it all on a specially coded micro drive. It’s supposed to play in only two systems, one in the Chief’s meeting room, and one in the Senate committee room. It’s only accessible after specific codes have been entered by both Patterson and the head of each group.”

“You mean he can just download anything he wants and take it home with him?”

“Of course not, Rabb,” the spy spoke with exaggerated patience. “When his briefing is set up only the exact information he needs is fed to a special link in IT. They load it into a secure program on the drive and it then passes through physical security with a code that is changed each time at the last minute.”

“Sounds tight, so what’s the leak?”

“We finally discovered he was making a copy from the micro drive using a hole in the security software.”

“What kind of hole?”

“Need to know, Rabb.”

“Webb, if you want…”

“Okay, okay, it’s a programming hole.”

“The programming has a hole in it?” Harm was astonished.

“Well not exactly a hole. It’s that…not everyone in the government has the latest computer equipment, or runs the newest operating systems. Naturally, ours are top flight,” Webb preened.

“Naturally,” Harm conceded the point.

“Also the contractors use the newest and best.”

“Get to the point.”

“I am. You people at JAG had pretty updated equipment, because you carried your laptops around and were always breaking them.”

“And?”

“And the point I’m making is that in less high tech areas they have older equipment and older systems. The computers are stand alones, so there’s no possibility of a breach, but anything you run on them, any programs used have to be backwards compatible. That makes for some natural loopholes due to the older operating system’s. Some are still running Windows 95.”

“So how did he find them? I thought he was an engineer,” Harm puzzled impatiently.

“He is, a Computer Engineer, his specialty is all the programs that drive and operate the carrier and fighter. However, his minor was in computer programming. That gives him all the skill he needs to break into the miniature drive and accomplish the theft. He found a hole in the program and copied the information.”

“Then jam the micro-drive, confiscate his computer, anything.” This just didn’t sound like something they needed him for.

“Our computer wizards have done something better. After we discovered who it was and what he was doing, we placed a second file on the drive. We feed the incorrect information into the original file so he continues to pass on false information. A new file on the drive is coded differently, the new one only plays on a completely rewritten program for the proper people in D.C. Naturally, they’ve upgraded their computers. But so far he doesn’t realize it was anything more than a scheduled replacement.”

“Why not keep feeding him incorrect information?” Harm remembered an operation when they did exactly that with a Tomcat captured by the Cubans.

“This operation isn’t just one shot, its long term with repeated changes and updates. There’s too much chance he’ll find out what were doing, and once again find a way to access the genuine information. Or worse, he’ll realize he’s been caught and disappear before we can nail him. No, we have to stop him now that we’ve identified him.” Webb held up a hand to still further protest. “Before we go any further, sit here,” he moved from his seat, “Read his file, it will explain everything. Don’t mess around with the computer,” Clay warned. “If you try any thing funny it’s programmed to shut down and dump the hard drive.”

Harm just gave him a disgusted look and took a seat. “I not only don’t want to know what’s in your files, Webb, I don’t care if I ever see them again. You have any coffee? My sleep was all messed up last night.” He grinned broadly, knowing it would annoy Webb to fetch him the drink. Turning to the computer, he smiled to himself when Webb stomped off.

“Extra cream, easy on the sugar, please,” he called after the retreating spy. Then he opened the first file.

Paging slowly, he became thoroughly familiar with Patterson’s habits, mannerisms, and job description. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about the man. He had little family, only a few cousins in another state. No one in his background or family had the least suspicion connected to them. He’d put himself through engineering school using scholarships and a small inheritance from his father. Since he was hired during a college recruiting session, he had made steady progress up the ladder in his company. He had no questionable or expensive habits. Drove an ordinary car, ate in ordinary restaurants, wore ordinary clothes. He was almost too ordinary. He was someone you wouldn’t look at twice if you walked past him, and probably would have difficulty keeping your attention focused if you found yourself in conversation with him. There was no particular reason on earth for the man to sell his government’s secrets to the enemy, and no particular reason for him not to.

Harm had just finished reading the specifics of how they had identified him as the leak, and what had been done to track his movements, when Webb returned. Following him, his assistant placed a tray with coffee and a couple of sandwiches on the sideboard.

“Laura, reminded me of my manners, Harm. After all I’m taking your lunch break.”

Harm smiled a polite ‘thanks’ at the young woman as she scurried out of the office closing the door behind her.

Rising from Webb’s seat, he took advantage of the food and the coffee. They actually had a decent cafeteria at Langley. This chicken salad was his favorite.

After he doctored the coffee to his liking and took several bites of his sandwich, he cocked an eyebrow at Webb. “Am I missing something here? I still don’t see how there’s anything I can do.”

“We can’t put anyone else on your plane to watch him in flight. Those planes are too damned small. He’d spot another tail. We need help from someone who is already on the flight. It’s the only place he has left that he could possibly be handing off the files.”

“How do you figure?”

“We have him sewed up too tight everywhere else. He can’t sneeze without at least ten people saying Geshundheit! On the ground we can use ten or twelve people to tag team him, but on a plane that only holds fifty people, it’s just too difficult. It has to be someone he expects to see there, someone he doesn’t really see.” Webb moved his shoulder to indicate the answer should have been obvious.

“Who does he usually sit next to on the flight? Is it the same person every time?” As soon as Harm asked the question, he knew they had checked it thoroughly, but he felt it might push some of Webb’s buttons so he asked anyway.

“Of course we checked, Harm. We do know our job.”

Harm just shrugged. Given his history with Webb and his Agency, he wasn’t thoroughly convinced.

“We put someone on the plane once or twice,” Webb hedged. “We also checked the passenger list for every flight as well as reviewing security tapes, but he’s always next to someone different. One thing is funny though, Patterson sits in the same seat on the same flight every time. Seat 5C, flight 0735 on Monday morning and flight 1653 on Monday afternoon. He tells the reservation agent he’s superstitious, so either he’s passing to different people every time, or someone is getting a last minute change of seating. There isn’t always something new every month, but occasionally he makes trips twice a month or more, and we’ve yet to find a pattern in his seatmate. We need you to find out if someone is allowing a seat switch and who. It could be your co-pilot. She checks out as a nice young woman…Hispanic background…close family ties, but she could also be part of a sleeper cell. Her facial features are general enough she could be from the Middle East, or she could be just an Islamic sympathizer.”

“How do you figure? She seems to have a perfect background.”

“That’s my problem with her, she’s too perfect,” Webb responded.

“Hmmm, more of your paranoid suspicions, I suppose,” Harm ventured. “Doesn’t seem likely. Still anything is worth checking. But if she asked to have a seat changed for a passenger very often it would look suspicious.”

“Perhaps, there’s no record she did anything like that, as I said there isn’t something to pass on every week. If she has another friend with the airline…perhaps a gate agent…,” Webb shrugged, “check her out anyway. In any case shes a good looking woman and you need to do something about your social life, Harm,” Webb taunted.

“Leave my social life out of this Webb, this is business,” Harm scowled.

Webb laughed. Goading Harm would be a perfect way to keep him off balance. More seriously, he continued, “Actually the one who could get away with it easiest would be your flight attendant. Merrick Stevens is a young man who lives an alternative lifestyle,” Webb added disparagingly. “That kind’ are never trustworthy.”

“’That kind’, Webb?”

“You know what I mean, Harm. Furthermore, he blames the industry, possibly ‘the government’,” Webb made little quotes in the air to indicate a generalization, “for the death of his long time lover in a crash years ago. Right after the crash Stevens disappeared. He only resurfaced in the last year or so and coincidentally applied for the job with Platinum Commuter Flights.”

“Maybe it ‘was’ just a coincidence, Webb.”

“Maybe, but my money is on him.”

“Where was Stevens when he ‘disappeared’?

“Word is he was staying with his grandmother in Devon.”

“What does she say?”

“She says he was there, but won’t answer any questions about his activities.”

“Sounds like my grandmother,” Harm mused. “Why does his lifestyle make you particularly suspicious of him?”

“Some men never forgive or forget when they lose someone on the job,” Webb answered vaguely, with questionable relevance.

“You referring to Mac?” Harm challenged, realizing Webb had dodged the question.

“Does it apply?”

“Everything applies, Webb,” he ground out. The thought of Mac nudged something he’d kept tightly locked away. He knew if he opened that particular vault the contents would eat at him until there was nothing left.

Webb turned away, looked out the window, not meeting Harm’s eyes.

“I have a new job, and I’m starting a new life, Webb. The past is past.”

“Perhaps that’s true. For you.” He turned back towards Harm, something unidentifiable in his eyes.

“It has to be true for me, you saw to that, both in Paraguay and when you got me fired. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“It seemed best for everyone at the time,” Webb’s answers were still ambiguous

“And now you’ve decided you need me, so I get to play double spy games again, but if I get caught by anyone I’m up a creek. Isn’t that how it works?” Harm had become impatient with the cryptic tone of the conversation.

“Essentially, that is exactly how this business works. By the way, I hear you inherited an apartment house.” Webb changed the subject abruptly.

“Yeah,” Harm laughed derisively. “And from what I’ve heard, it needs to be burned down.” He really needed to find the time to go check the old place out.

“We could arrange that,” Webb answered enigmatically.

“Why don’t you just arrange to cut me loose for good,” Harm’s reply was harsh. But something deep inside didn’t really mean it. He was back in the game.

“Unless you have any more questions, you have your assignment, Harm,” Webb ordered in a tone that was sudden, abrupt, and dismissive.

“I think I have what I need. I’ll be in touch, Webb.” Harm’s face was transparent, the wheels already turning. Processing the information he’d just received, the ramifications of this man selling defense secrets, and just how he would go about discovering who was helping him. He walked quickly through the door pulling it closed behind him.

The look of satisfaction on Webb’s face indicated that he’d read Harm correctly. He knew if given the challenge Harm couldn’t resist. Webb had however expected more questions regarding Harm’s return to duty. He’d thought he was going to have to pull a major bluff and he wasn’t sure he was good enough. Harm must have been particularly stunned by the news of his status, or he would have been more suspicious. Webb would have to think of ways to keep him off balance.

It had been mere hours after Harm had left the Agency’s employee, that several people started thinking it was a bad idea to let him get away. It had taken months to get the approval to reinstate him to the Navy retroactively.

After a lot of foot dragging, having the paperwork shuffled to the bottom of various in-baskets, this thing with Patterson had come to light and suddenly everyone concerned could see the merit in restoring Harm to the Navy. Just two hours ago, Kershaw had called to inform Webb that everything was in place. Harm’s status in the Naval Reserve had been approved. At least that part of the operation was now legal…

Driving his rental back to the airport, Harm mulled over how sticky this could all get. What impact his activities could have on his ‘new life’? Discovering he was still attached to the Navy had somehow given back a lost part of his pride.

Unfortunately, his piloting career might be threatened, and he realized more than he had imagined just how much he enjoyed it. And threatened it would be, if it were ever suspected that his had been the finger that pointed to a co-worker. It would be difficult to fly with people who didn’t trust him. There could be no vindicating details of this operation to instill confidence, only the suspicion that he had been responsible for the loss of a fellow employee. He would be walking a very fine tightrope.

He considered calling Davis and demanding to know just how much influence Webb had exerted to get him the job, but he quickly reconsidered. That was an ego driven move. The fact was he had the job, even Webb had admitted it was legitimate and the airline was well pleased with his performance. Hmm, so they were considering him for a raise. That would be nice, as long as he didn’t blow this case and mess up the status quo.

For now, he could only concentrate on the assignment. Orders were orders. The easiest place to start would be investigating ‘Mari’. He’d ask her out for dinner, get to know her personally, see what his sixth sense told him. Webb would like to see him seduce her and he might have to play his intentions that way, but it was the farthest thing from his mind. Still, he could dust off a gentle version of his old fighter jock charm and mix it with a smidgeon of grumpiness towards all things ‘official’.

If she ‘was’ playing for the other team a disaffected pilot with a head full of government information could be just what she was looking for. He’d see how she responded to his masquerade.

He refused to allow his mind to think about Mac at all.

End part three

Storm Clouds
Part Four


Norfolk International Airport
Friday Late July
Final Approach of Flight 915

The plane banked slightly and flew over NAB Little Creek, as it lined up with the Norfolk runway. Colonel Sarah Mackenzie was in seat 5A. She reached to tuck the mindless airline magazine she’d been paging through into the seat pocket. Glancing out the window at the threatening clouds hanging about ten miles out to sea, the air went out of her when she heard his voice.

“Well folks, this is your Captain speaking,” he addressed the passengers jovially. “You’ll want to get all tucked into your nice cozy hotel room’s way ahead of this storm. The weather service has downgraded it to a severe thunderstorm when it makes landfall late this evening, but it’s still going to be wet and messy. Hope everyone picked a place to stay that has a good restaurant. You won’t want to be out in this stuff. Thanks for flying Trans-Platinum Air. We try to be the best little commuter service anywhere, and we hope you’ll choose us again for your next flight. Have a good stay in Norfolk.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. Harm, flying a commuter jet? He’d always poked fun at his former flying buddies who had gone to work flying a ‘bus for tourists’ as he’d put it. Was this the only thing he had to fall back on after that fiasco with the CIA? All the more reason never to forgive Webb and his bunch. She may still have to work with them, but she didn’t have to like them.

Remaining in her seat, she made certain all the other passengers had left before she stood. The flight attendant watched her carefully as she pulled her small carry-on from the overhead storage. Was he suspicious because she had delayed leaving the plane?

Walking forward, she addressed him directly. “I’d like to speak to Comm…uh…Captain Rabb, please.”

A faintly startled look flashed across the young man’s face. The Captain hadn’t used his name during the flight announcement.

“He’s an old friend of mine,” Mac softened her request a little. “I haven’t seen him in a long time. We…uh…we’d lost track of each other,” she explained uncomfortably.

Merrick Stevens looked her over. A full measure of cautious mistrust mingled with intense curiosity. “I’ll see if he’s available, miss, uh… That is…Colonel…?”

“Mackenzie, Colonel Sarah Mackenzie,” she supplied. Her voice penetrated the cockpit.

Harm heard her request and swore under his breath. That was all he needed. First Webb, now Mac. What was this? A conspiracy against him ever moving on to a peaceful life? As quickly as the unfair suspicion arose, he pulled himself in. Webb was a surprise, and an unpleasant one, but like it or not, he had to admit that flying this route the odds were that sooner or later he’d run into Mac or another of his former coworkers. It was just damned inconvenient that it happened under these circumstances.

If ever there was a time that he had to look completely uninvolved with anything military or official, it was now. He’d tried to erase her memory, tried hard not to think about her after he’d spoken to Webb, when the spy had so blatantly marked his territory. It was truly unfortunate timing, because he had to admit he actually would like to talk to Mac, to make amends for his behavior the last time they spoke. Instead, he would be forced by circumstances to make it worse. Not for the first or last time, he cursed Webb and his machinations

“Captain,” Merrick’s voice penetrated his thoughts. “There’s a young…uh… a Colonel Mackenzie asking to see you, sir…says she’s an old friend.”

“Fine,” Harm answered somewhat curtly. “I’ll be right there.”

He grabbed a stick of gum from his pocket, gave it two savage chews, and pulled himself from the confined left seat. Turning the few steps possible within the tight cabin, he took a deep breath, mentally changed his entire demeanor, and leaned into the doorway. Looking her up and down his heart skipped a beat. Damn, she looked good. He felt his nerve endings light up the minute his eyes touched hers. At least this part of the ruse would come easily. His body was responding in a completely inappropriate manner, it was exactly the mindset he needed for what he was going to do. Grinning in a too familiar way, he spoke insolently past the wad of gum in his jaw.

“Well, Colonel, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from JAG’s finest?”

Taken aback she didn’t have a ready answer. She might have expected indifference, embarrassment, or even anger, but not this formulaic flyboy impertinence. “Uh… I heard your voice, Harm. We didn’t know what had happened to you. Everyone has been concerned. Bud said someone else is living at your place.”

Embarrassment washed her cheeks, she sounded so disoriented, her thoughts were tumbling out of control. None of her ramblings were destined to break through the shell Harm was deliberately wearing, but they gave him plenty of ammunition.

“I leased it to a couple of college kids.” he shrugged, the impudent flyboy grin widening. “Not convenient for me. Somehow, Colonel, I didn’t feel your deep concern the last time we spoke, other than what I might do to make your job easier,” he commented, laughing effortlessly, as though the harsh words had no real meaning for him, as though he didn’t really care anymore. “And as you can see nothing has happened to me. I’m just fine. I have a great job, kinda fun actually.” At least that part was true. He’d never expected the rush he experienced from direct responsibility for so many lives. “I had to relocate. My base is here now.”

It was difficult to soften the blow of his words. He hoped the added information would get past the attitude he was giving her. He couldn’t have any of his co-workers, or any lingering passengers, suspect he had even the flimsiest ties to his previous life. It had to appear that whatever he’d left, and why, it had not been under happy circumstances. He definitely had to appear to be a disaffected former government employee and her sudden appearance gave him the perfect foil. It wouldn’t be difficult for anyone making the most cursory search to discover his former ties. He was using her to prove that those ties were broken. Tragically, he knew after this conversation any hope for making amends would be destroyed.

“I see.” She was left nearly speechless by his arrogance.

“By the way, Colonel, congratulations.” Something withered inside her when his fingertip brushed the new insignia on her collar in a way that was both too intimate and too disrespectful. “I see you got a promotion after I left.” He chewed his gum and grinned wider, allowing the thought to hang in the air, the implication that she was only promoted once again due to his absence. It was a low blow and it worked.

She flushed at his insinuation, anger burning her cheeks now. She was left with little to say. This shouldn’t have happened in front of others. His entire demeanor had been an unpleasant surprise. “Sorry I bothered you, Harm. I just thought we might have time for coffee or something, maybe we could catch up,” she stammered angrily. To think that a few moments ago she’d actually felt sorry for him.

The predatory flyboy grin reemerged and he drawled, “Well the ‘or something’ sounds interesting but…” he turned to look over his shoulder at his pretty co-pilot, “I think I’m going to be tied up this evening. Sorry,” he shrugged.

“Yes, of course.” her face veiled, and the ‘Marine Colonel’ returned to her demeanor. “Well, take care of yourself,” she told him in a tone that said she couldn’t care less.

“Always do. Bye, Colonel,” he used the rank somewhat pejoratively.

Fortunately, she turned away quickly before she caught the look behind his eyes. He couldn’t let her see any more of this charade; he wasn’t that good an actor. Her eyes had filled slightly. Not much, just enough that Harm noticed.

It broke his heart, but he had spotted the man in the walkway behind her while they spoke. Ostensibly looking through a stack of baggage checked at the gate, he was obviously absorbing their entire conversation. It was the man in Webb’s photograph, the liaison to D.C., Richard Patterson. Harm had to cut it clean. He didn’t need her mixed up in this mess, and he needed his cover intact. Damn Webb, just what was he up to? Was this a coincidence or one of his stupid monkey wrenches?

Harm shook his head in thought. Up until a few minutes ago he’d been convinced he never wanted to see her again. The instant he’d heard her voice he realized that wasn’t true. Though Webb had drawn a sharp knife across Harm’s feelings when he made it clear Mac was his, Harm would have loved to talk to her, to at least part friends. In any case, he hadn’t wanted to be mean to her, to hurt her again. They’d hurt each other too much, there was just no point any more.

Harm watched the man behind Mac as she turned into the walkway. He felt, more than saw, Merrick stiffen next to him, heard the slight intake of breath that signaled recognition as he got a clear look at Patterson. Harm arranged his features into a hard stare, as would any Captain suspicious of someone loitering about his plane. The man quickly picked up a bag and followed Mac down the jet-way into the terminal.

Shrugging off the encounter, Harm crossed over to the outside door, and descended the metal stairs to pre-flight his plane. This was a quick turn around. They would fly back to D.C. within forty minutes. He needed his senses alert to pilot the plane. There would be no time to dwell on the ramifications of that encounter. As soon as baggage was loaded, and the fuel replenished, the passengers would board and they’d take off again.

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Mac pausing near a window in the terminal. He couldn’t even acknowledge her for fear Patterson or someone assisting him would see the exchange. His mind kept telling him a clean break was better. But his heart was telling him something completely different. Now that the memory of her had been set free by the reality of this meeting, he knew every thought of her would eat away at his soul. It didn’t matter though; it was unlikely he could find a way to fix this. When he glanced back a few seconds later, she was gone.

He’d contact Webb when they landed in D.C., to let him know about Patterson, and about Merrick’s reaction. There was always the chance Webb would care enough to get Mac removed from the Norfolk area. Whatever her case was about, it was entirely likely someone else could take over.

He completed his visual inspection of the plane and recomposed his demeanor as he climbed the stairs. Merrick’s reaction meant something and he had to find a way to discover what that was. Completely miserable he retook his seat, prepared to berate Mari for the slightest mistake she might have made in shutdown procedures, but he found nothing to criticize. Without reason, this made him even angrier. He wasn’t sure if it was because there was no outlet for his emotions or because she’d become so damned perfect.

Fighting his dark mood, he began the preflight, awaiting the signal from the ground crew to restart the engines.

A few minutes later he took a deep cleansing breath and turned to her with his most charming smile, “So now, about dinner. What time shall I pick you up?”

“It’s okay if you go with your friend there, Captain.” she waved a small graceful hand eloquently. “We can always do this another time.” Her entire manner seemed to indicate that she wasn’t particularly concerned whether they had dinner together or not.

“In the first place she’s not much of a friend,” he snorted. “Best I’d call her would be an adversary. Friends don’t play games with friends’ careers.” That was enough information for the elusive Mari. “So what time and where do I pick you up?” He resumed his playboy smile.

“Why don’t we just go from here? It will be 1830, by the time we return and finish for the day. It will be too late to go home and change.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “You want to go out to dinner in uniform?” He’d hoped for a more date-like atmosphere this time, but if she were comfortable in her uniform, perhaps he’d learn more. Their last ‘date’ was an early afternoon lunch when she’d countered his invitation to dinner. He’d taken her to an upscale restaurant in D.C., hoping to unsettle her. She’d been impressed, but unintimidated. They’d spoken casually about their families, lightly touched on politics, as Harm tried to draw her out. He’d hoped this time for a more relaxed atmosphere, maybe a few drinks to loosen her tongue.

Mari had been altogether unimpressed by his behavior towards the Colonel. Though she’d barely glanced at the woman’s face she’d recognized the mask of lost love. “I can eat in anything, Captain, it’s just dinner.” she looked squarely at him, her meaning clear.

Still wearing the vestiges of his flyboy persona, he’d almost responded with ‘or nothing,’ but immediately corrected that thought. His goal was to discover who was helping Patterson, not get himself fired for sexual harassment.


Reagan National Airport
One hour and twenty minutes later

“Did you send Mac down here to mess things up, or did you just think it would be fun to give me something else to worry about?” Harm charged, when Webb answered his phone.

“What the hell are you talking about Rabb?” Webb responded with his customarily aggravated voice.

“I’m telling you Patterson was on that flight this morning and so was Mac. She stopped by wanting to have a little tea party for old time’s sake.” Harm’s voice dripped with rage and sarcasm.

“Damn, he wasn’t scheduled today,” Webb swore. “Look, Rabb, I don’t know anything about it. She’s not working on anything for me.”

“Well see if you can get her out of here. I don’t want her involved in this. If they are doing what you say, they’re dangerous.”

“Oh they’re doing it alright, and in case you didn’t notice she’s a Marine.”

“Didn’t we have a little discussion once about letting people know what’s going on Webb? If you keep setting people up in situations they know nothing about you aren’t going to have anyone left to do your dirty little jobs. Now get her out of there,” Harm wanted to throw the cell phone against a wall, but he still had business to take care of.

“Another thing,” he said in a slightly calmer tone. “Merrick knows Patterson.”

“How? How do you know?” The rivalry evaporated. Webb was all business.

“I don’t know how, but when Mac and I were talking, Patterson was in the jetway pawing through some bags. I could tell by his reaction that Merrick recognized him.”

“Well then I suggest you work your not inconsiderable charm on him and find out,” Webb was back to being Webb.

“You have any ideas how I might do that?” He wanted to see just how far Webb would push.

“Your idea of investigating Mariposa Trujillo is to take her on a date maybe the same tactic will work on Stevens,” the spy smirked.

“That sort of thing may work for you, Webb, but it’s not my style,” Harm shot back.

“You work for this agency long enough, Rabb, and you’ll be surprised what we do to get information,” was Webb’s rejoinder.

“When this job is over, Webb, I’m going to make sure I never work for this agency again, no matter what it takes,” Harm promised.

“You make it sound so easy,” Webb sneered. The tone of the spy’s voice was really beginning to annoy Harm.

“Maybe it is. I’ve never called in very many of my markers, maybe it’s time I did,” Harm replied. “Besides I’ve found I like flying tour buses.”

Webb was still laughing when Harm broke the connection.

End of four

Storm Clouds
Part Five


Trujillo home
Norfolk VA
2035

Harm had picked a nice little Italian restaurant more for its atmosphere than its cuisine. The food was simple and appetizing, but not extraordinary. However, the strolling minstrels and low lighting, as well as the cozy booths, lent a promise of romance to the scenario.

The promise was wasted on Mariposa Trujillo. She was so very disinterested in anything remotely personal with the man she worked beside, that she had tried to take the check when it arrived.

Harm didn’t need to be hit by a rock to get the message; nevertheless, he had a job to do. To that end, he tried to dazzle her with interesting conversation peppered with leading questions, as he urged dessert and coffee on her. He knew the gooey chocolate concoction and rich, heavy coffee would keep him awake tonight, but if he found out what he needed to know it would be worth a sleepless night. He was off tomorrow and could take a nap if he needed.

“That was fun,” Harm ventured a facile ‘date lie’, as he pulled up in front of her residence. “Suppose we do it again on a night off when we aren’t so tired.”

“Perhaps,” Mari responded distractedly, as she looked towards the house.

A rambling structure, it had obviously grown from an original smaller home, but the additions had been done well and weren’t obvious. It surrounded a front courtyard on three sides; the fourth side was a rock wall with an ornate wrought iron gate. Music, light, and the laughter of several dozen people poured from the courtyard.

“Your family having a party?”

“You might say that,” Mari replied coolly.

“I didn’t mean to make you miss anything important,” he teased.

“You didn’t,” she shrugged. “It’s just getting started.”

“Well, do you need an escort? I’m available.” his smile faltered as a large Hispanic man appeared at the front gate.

“Everything okay, Maria?” His deceptively soft voice used familiar Spanish to inquire.

“I’m fine, Ramon” she replied in kind, somewhat exasperated.

“Who’s that, your body guard?” Harm joked.

“He’s my youngest brother and he’s very protective.”

“So what do you say about the party? Or the dinner?” Harm pressed.

“Captain…” she paused for a moment, not wanting to be entirely rude. “Captain, this is a deeply personal event, a celebration for my cousin. It has both social and religious significance. It’s not an occasion for cross cultural information gathering. This is a large reunion of our extended family and close personal friends that lasts for several days. Our escorts are arranged in advance.” Abruptly she opened the door and started to exit.

Harm reached out tentatively, laying a gentle hand on her arm.

“Im sorry,” he replied sincerely. “I was out of line.”

Ramon stepped closer to the car, but she held up a quick hand to stop him. Looking first at Harm’s hand then into his eyes, she found sincerity. “Of course, Captain, you couldn’t have known. Forgive my rudeness.”

“It is you who must forgive me, it was my fault entirely,” he replied graciously, then nodded towards the young man waiting impatiently. “I think your brother would be more comfortable if you joined him.” he gave her a friendly smile with no underlying suggestion.

“Good night, Captain,” she smiled her acceptance.

He’d learned what he wanted. If her life was a ruse, it was a very elaborate one. Most likely though, her straightforward background as reported in the CIA dossier was entirely accurate. Gathering from their conversations of the last few weeks, she seemed to hold the most conservative and loyal political beliefs. She’d brushed aside all the petty grievances he’d ventured as insignificant. He’d received no sympathy and less agreement whenever he made a disparaging remark towards the military or the government.

As Harm watched, she took Ramón’s arm. He helped her from the low-slung convertible, then escorted her up the flagstone steps into the patio. The laughter and closeness they shared told of a warm sibling relationship. Ramón’s protectiveness was obviously genuine. It only solidified his conclusions.

The wind had increased during dinner. He could hear it tossing the thick, tall, trees overhead. The storm suddenly looked like it was going to get very nasty in spite of the milder predictions. It wasn’t supposed to be more than some heavy rain and thunder, but it had shifted in the last few hours and now the wind was coming inland hard. It was barely 2100, he hoped the weather wouldn’t interfere with the Trujillo family party.

The powerful engine gave a throaty rumble, as he slipped into gear and pulled away from the curb. The heavy purr of the finely tuned machine was a pleasure to drive. It triggered the distant memory and deep satisfaction of time he’d spent rebuilding the car from the frame up. Checking his rearview mirror, he found he was still being followed. It was discreet, but as he turned into a main thoroughfare, he could see the small black vehicle about three cars back.

He could open the Corvette up and lose the tail, but even with the light traffic, it would be dangerous in this wind. Turning left at the next light he headed for the freeway on-ramp that would take him in the direction of his apartment. With this storm approaching so quickly, he’d need to put the top up soon. All evening he had thought about trying to talk to Mac, wondering if she would listen. He couldn’t go near the base as long as he was being followed.

At the last minute, he took a chance and stayed on the freeway using a different exit. If he couldn’t shake the tail, he could at least accomplish something he’d been meaning to do. Slowly he drove through the old neighborhood. He was surprised by how many homes he recognized from when he’d lived here. Some had fallen into terrible disrepair; others had been gloriously restored. Most just reflected their long lives.

Turning right, he pulled up across the street from the shabby old Victorian he’d called home for a short time. Two of the lots on this side of the street were vacant, with only the remains of old foundations visible through the weeds. The house he remembered living in was a now a ruined hulk in the darkness. In one corner, an elaborate turret was missing half its roof. Upper windows were missing completely, and lower ones were boarded with peeling plywood.

A brief flash of light revealed the leaded cut-glass front door, the only outward sign of the building’s former glory. The light must have come from a car on the next block. Perhaps his tail. He would come back this weekend and see if it was possible to do anything with the living quarters out back. For a short time, it could provide him a beachfront retreat unless the city discovered him. At very least he had to salvage that door, it must be worth something. Maybe there were other fixtures inside he could reclaim before he contacted a demolition crew.

It certainly wasn’t something he’d be able to concentrate on fully until this mess of Webb’s was cleaned up. He put the Corvette in gear and pulled away taking a meandering route back to the freeway. Behind him, he only saw darkness. Strange, but whatever someone wanted to know about him it was apparent they were no longer interested.

Maybe he’d still have time to find Mac and talk to her. He didn’t know why, but in the last few hours the importance of seeing her had his gut tied in knots. As a precaution he headed for his apartment, he wanted to change out of his uniform, then pick up the Lexus. It was quite a bit less conspicuous than a bright red classic sports car. If someone had followed him from the airport, they might not know about his second car.


One hour later
NAB Little Creek

The waves were building, rushing onto the beach with a rumbling display of nature’s power. No doubt the evening news would have film of a few hardy but foolish storm watchers playing dangerously close to the surf.

Harm had called Norfolk Naval Base this afternoon and was informed by the clerk in officer billeting that Mac wasn’t staying there. Apparently, there was some large conference and all the guest quarters were full. Then unexpectedly the civilian staffer had cheerfully volunteered the information that she was staying at the Navy Lodge at Little Creek.

He’d arrived at the Lodge less than ten minutes ago. The desk clerk looked him over for half a second, then with a shrug told him that the Colonel had gone for a run on the beach.

‘Damn’ he swore under his breath. She was the most stubborn of women. She should know better than to be out on a dark beach in this kind of weather. Quickly he reminded himself that Mac hadn’t grown up near the beach as he had, perhaps she wasn’t really aware of how dangerous and unpredictable a storm could make the ocean. Shaking his head in frustration and concern, he’d run to his car and driven to the west end of Beach Road.
.
He spotted her struggling to run along the shoreline, the wind whipping her hair and clothing. There was still just enough of the half moon coming through the broken clouds to see shadow and light.

The wind pulled at the water, sucking it away from the beach, and each time it ran back up the sand it was deeper and higher than before. If she weren’t careful, she’d be swamped by one of the next few rising waves. The rain was just beginning, the drops large, hard, and wind driven. As the clouds condensed, the moonlight would soon disappear completely.

He started towards her waving his arm, pointing to the surf behind her. In an ordinary thunderstorm, it wasn’t common to have this kind of wave action on the west side of the bridge. This storm must have completely changed character in the last two hours.

She saw him advancing and ran down the beach to avoid him. He couldn’t tell if she recognized him or if she thought he was an attacker. He couldn’t blame her if she didn’t want to talk to him, but her life was in danger. The storm designation hardly mattered now. She was going to be hit by that next incoming wave.

He stopped again, putting all his breath into his voice. “Mac!!! Noooo!! Watch out!!” he pointed behind her then set off at a dead run straight towards her. She still pulled away from him, watching him and not the water. Then the wave turned. He stopped again, waving his arms and pointing frantically towards the water. Finally, she turned and looked out to sea, but it was too late.

As she started running, the huge wave overtook her, throwing her like a rag doll as it rumbled up the beach. There was nothing he could do except watch as she was tossed and tumbled beneath the foaming surf. He was too far away. He moved forward, then sideways, trying to line up with her last position, fighting the wind for balance, looking for a chance to dive into the advancing wave, wondering if he had a snowballs chance in hell of finding her.

The water hit his ankles, then his calves, then his knees. He flailed around as the water swept up his thighs, then to his waist, knowing it was hopeless, that they would both probably drown. Suddenly he felt something collide with his legs. The full force of her body hit him sideways, taking him down with her.

He reached out for her in the tumbling surf as it swept them further up the beach. His only advantage was that he’d had a half second warning and had taken a huge gulp of air before his head went under. Grabbing her around the middle, he aligned her lengthwise with him and body surfed them both inland as far as possible.

The wave was still deep, turning them over and over, when it paused for just a brief instant. He knew what had happened, the wave had reached its peak and would now retreat out to sea. He scrambled for footing and managed to raise both their heads above water for a precious second, hoping she was capable of taking a breath. As the water rushed past them, the sand was sucked from under his boots and he fell.

Rolling her under him, he took a wild chance. He used their combined weight to sink them against the beach, digging the toes of his boots and his long fingers into the moving sand. Constantly, he shifted his grip, grabbing any new foot or handhold he could. There was almost no chance this would work, but if he flattened their profile, like a seashell washed ashore, there was the remote possibility he could cling to the beach.

It was mere seconds, or an eternity when he realized it actually was working. His head was spinning from the lack of oxygen but the suction of the surf was lessening. They had been carried down the beach, but not out to sea. Almost immediately, he could raise his head above water taking a deep breath and hauling her with him. Covered in sand and soaked by the sea, he stumbled to his knees gasping in air, tugging at her, until he had her tucked under his arm face down, but out of the water. Half-crawling, half-running, he pulled her up the beach, struggling against the approach of the next wave, until they were well above the water line into dryer sand. The rain pelted harder now and the wind picked up the moist sand, blasting the fine grains against their skin

Still moving towards safety, he wondered if she’d survived. As he quickly worked the steps for CPR in his mind, she choked, coughed, and threw up in the sand. He moved her a bit further then gently lowered her to a kneeling position. She collapsed in a heap, still not breathing, so he ran his arm under her body, turning her over. Leaning down he placed his ear to her breast, relieved to find her heartbeat. Touching his lips to hers, he gave her one breath then two, before her body convulsed. He turned her on her side as she threw up a second time, followed by a spate of coughing, a desperate gasp, and a weak swear word.

He smiled with an overwhelming feeling of delight. She was alive, at least she was alive. He had to get her to the hospital, but at least she was alive. Somehow, against all odds, he’d saved them both. He just prayed she wouldn’t get pneumonia, or a bacterial infection, that none of the seawater had actually entered her lungs.

He knew he was grinning like the village idiot, thrilled to see her breathing on her own. She sat up weakly, looking at him, not smiling in return, when he offered, “Sorry, Mac, I tried to warn you.”

She nodded, “Why are you here?”

“I came to apologize, to explain about this afternoon.”

She gave him a hard look. It didn’t indicate in any way that she either believed him or cared.

“No, I mean here, on the base. How…?” The rest was lost in another uncontrolled fit of coughing.

He took her head in his hands holding her while she wretched with dry heaves. “Let’s get you to my car you need to see a doctor.”

She flailed her arms. “No!” was followed by more coughing, and more loss of stomach contents although there was little left to lose.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that, Mac, and since you can’t even speak without choking, I guess we need to find a doctor.”

Standing he scooped her up from the sand. Truth was he was barely able to carry himself, but it was his one chance to make a move like this. If she were even slightly in better shape, she would have fought him off. Since he’d first seen her on the plane, his mind and body were telegraphing every manner of strange and wonderful ideas. He had no idea if they would ever happen, or if he was just torturing himself again, but he wasn’t going to blow it by falling or dropping her.

His heart was warmed by her sudden trust, when she willingly sank against him. If only he could hold her like this forever. Too soon he reached the car, wrapped her in a blanket, and placed her in the passenger seat, then closed the door gently but firmly and hurried to the driver’s side.

She sat looking straight ahead, obviously exhausted from nearly drowning, but withdrawing from her moment of weakness. With a resigned sigh, he fired the engine and put the car in gear.

“How?” she asked again in the barest whisper, not wishing to tempt her throat muscles.

He studied her profile for a heartbeat before releasing the brake, wondering if she was up to the story. He remembered Webb’s remark about her being a Marine and his rejoinder about letting people know what’s going on. She deserved to know at least in general terms.

“Look, Mac, I can’t tell you all of this, at least not right now, but I’m working for Webb.”

Her eyes came around, staring at him as if he had two heads. “Webb?” she murmured scornfully. “Why?”

“I’m still in the Navy. That’s how I got on base.”

“You’re what?” she exclaimed putting her throat her into another seizure.

Harm fished around in the back seat and brought out a nearly full bottle of water. “Sorry, I drank out of it, but it’s probably better for your throat than sand and seawater.”

She took small sips, opening the door to spit the first mouthful on the roadside, then another sip or two to clear her throat.

“I didn’t know, Mac, honest. I truly believed they’d sacked me. I was happily flying around the friendly skies when I got the call. Don’t worry, I gave Webb a piece of my mind, but the upshot is the Navy still owns me. I’ve apparently just been serving a purpose working for the airline, some sort of out in the open undercover gig,” he snorted.

She still had that look on her face. Like he was crazy, and maybe she should call the MP’s, but then her look softened, this was Harm, he wouldn’t make this up. His outrageous performance on the plane would have cued her that something was amiss if she hadn’t led with her heart. The ire he displayed speaking of Webb and his convoluted schemes was enough to verify his story.

She smiled tentatively, then whispered, “Welcome back.”

“Thanks. Anyway, my whole outward appearance has to be one of a former Naval officer with a lousy attitude towards the government. You showed up at just the wrong time. There was no way I could let anyone know how glad I was to see you. I’m sorry. You got the brunt of something you knew nothing about.”

“What’s the case?” she asked again in a whisper, quickly reducing the importance of the morning incident.

“Can’t say at the moment, but I let Webb have it with both barrels. You’ll either be briefed tomorrow, or taken off whatever case has you down here. If we keep running into each other there’s going to be a slip.” his jaw tightened.

Her eyes flashed. “Harm,” she started then softened her voice, taking another sip of water. “I’m working on a…well, I have to handle this case.”

“It might be wise then to have the Admir…uh, your boss talk to Webb’s boss. Someone needs to co-ordinate the two operations. We’re playing with dynamite.” He slipped his foot from the brake and turned the car back down the street heading for the hospital.

“My ticket was changed at the last minute,” she offered.

“What?”

“My ticket. I had reserved a seat on another airline. It was changed last night just before I left work.”

“Webb,” Harm guessed with a disgusted snort.

“No doubt, but why?” she agreed.

“No one ever knows what Webb is up to. He told me he had nothing to do with your case but…be careful, Mac,” he cautioned.

She looked out into the darkness thoughtfully, saying no more until they pulled up in front of the building. “Harm I…it’s…the Naval Weapons Station at Yorktown. They’ve had a series of thefts. Truckloads of hand held weapons. All kinds. My client is the Master Chief who organized it. He’s ready to spill on his buddies and reveal where the stolen items are stored for an easy sentence. I have to stick with this.”

Harm acknowledged the importance of her case with a nod, then capturing her eyes, he revealed, “Military equipment specs, Mac, stolen from the contractor and sold to...well…according to Webb everyone. Someone has to work this out, but for the duration of this case, no one can see us speak a civil word. I can’t even go in to see the medic with you, there’s no way to know who might be involved in your case or mine. Promise me you’ll go see the doctor.” He reached to squeeze her hand, indicating the emergency entrance with a glance.

She looked down at his big hand wrapped around hers, then up into his eyes, with an affirmative movement of her head.

“Call me when it’s over?”

“I will,” he said, knowing there was probably little point. If he remained in the Navy, even the Reserves, and he was assigned to Intelligence, this sort of thing could happen again. There was no point in trying to continue their friendship.

She nodded, accepting his word, but knowing he hadn’t promised anything. Silently, Mac slid from the car and walked stiffly inside, not daring to look back.

Harm took a deep breath, expelling it forcefully with a very unacceptable word. Carefully, he pulled away from the curb, then headed for the nearest gate and the furnished efficiency apartment he called home.

End of five

Storm Clouds
Part Six




Following Friday afternoon
Late July
Reagan National Airport
Flight 1653

“So this dapper little man walks up to me, and hands me his card, and says ‘nice landing, Captain’. I look at the card and see he’s an attorney, so I think someone on the flight is already trying to sue me for scaring the stuffing out of them,” Harm chuckled as he repeated the story.

Mari and Merrick both laughed, then Harm continued.

“Anyway, he says ‘no, but he wants to buy me dinner’. Seems I’ve inherited this old house on the beach from a client of his. Anyway, long story short, I lived there in another life when I was a cocky young jet jock and now its mine. Trouble is it’s good for nothing more than a bonfire.”

“But there might be a few fixtures and things that I can strip off to help pay for the demolition, so I’m going out there tomorrow. Also there’s a small apartment added on the back and I’m going to try to fix it up for a weekend getaway. I can’t get a legal C of O on the place, it’s been condemned, but that sterile efficiency I’m renting is driving me nuts.”

“If you need help, I learned a few things about using tools on the family farm. I think I could use a day at the beach, Captain,” Merrick offered.

Harm took scarcely a second to consider the offer. It would give him the needed opportunity to get some background on the younger man. “Great, I could use some help. That door looks heavy, and I’d like to get it down in one piece. I think there may be a couple leaded glass windows too, but I couldn’t see them in the dark the other night. We’ll have to see if there’s anything left inside. The place is pretty much of a wreck.”

Just then the signal came from the ground crew to begin the startup checklist. “I’ll give you the address when we land,” he threw over his shoulder, as he turned his attention to the flight console and Merrick began boarding passengers.


Willoughby Spit
Saturday morning
0815

The brilliant sky reflected off the sparkling whitecaps, dancing in the light breeze that blew across the bay. Once again, the storms had scrubbed the world clean and left it shining. He allowed the thought of acquiring a small sailboat to play across his mind. No, too expensive, he decided. If this property turned into a major project, there would be no time or money for a sailboat. Anyway, he could always rent one.

Harm was unloading a folding ladder, and his toolbox, from the flat bed trailer hitched to his Lexus, when Merrick Stevens drove up in a small white sports car. Mentally Harm scratched one item off his list. It hadn’t been Merrick who’d followed him.

Holding out his hand, he addressed the younger man, “Thanks for coming out, Stevens. I’m not sure this is going to be much fun, though.”

The two men stood on the sidewalk looking up at the old queen of the neighborhood. The tattered rags of her shell hardly spoke of her glorious youth. Harm had seen illustrations of haunted houses at Halloween that looked more inviting. It was difficult for him to recreate the warm memories of his days here as a young man. In the brightness of daylight he gave up any thought of restoration.

He had walked the perimeter when he first arrived, lost in that bright and promising career of his youth, and the sadness of the event several years later that changed his life. Deep in reverie, he missed the fresh oil in the driveway, and the new padlock on the cellar door.

I see you brought some plywood, two by fours, and stuff” Merrick looked at the stack of wood and building supplies on the flat bed trailer. The back of the Lexus contained several plastic containers and a roll of packing material. “We can use some of it to package the door and those two front windows, and the rest to board the place up.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Harm replied. “Let’s get started.” He shouldered the ladder and started gingerly up the porch, hoping it would hold his weight.

It was an unpredictable operation, and it took more than three hours, but they were able to remove the door and matching windows intact. They’d been so heavily painted over the years that the wood was miraculously preserved. Harm figured he’d get a nice price from one of the renovation supply companies that specialized in parts from old houses. He was disappointed, however, once they got inside.

They extended the ladder to the second floor after discovering the entire black walnut staircase was missing. From what he could see looking around, every single piece of decorative wood and hardware, everything of value had been stripped from the second and third floors, including the hardwood floors. It left the structure with a flimsy feel, and an unhealthy creaking sound that wasn’t present when Harm lived here as a young man. He guessed this was the means Paul Singleton had used to pay for his medical care once he’d become sick and could no longer take in boarders. He must have sold off pieces of the house a little at a time. No wonder the city had condemned it.

The floors and trim were also stripped from the first floor, but plywood and cheap two by fours had been used to provide support. It was about the only thing keeping the building from collapsing and Harm wasn’t much interested in spending too long inside this firetrap.

They found two light fixtures in the downstairs hallway, another in the front parlor, and a fourth in the dining room. There were a dozen hand-carved and glass fronted cabinets as well as an antique stone farm sink in the old kitchen. A half dozen etched pewter doorknobs were still attached to three original doors scattered around the first floor. Quickly they removed everything they could find, securing the smaller pieces in bubble wrap, then placing them in a Rubbermaid container inside Harm’s car. The front door and windows were sandwiched between sheets of plywood. They wrapped the cabinets in plastic tarps, and secured everything to the trailer.

By 1400 they were ready to tackle the small apartment attached to the back. A former porch, it had been enclosed to provide a small living quarters. Harm unlocked the door and they stepped inside to assess the damage. This was where Paul had lived. The addition was only about twenty-five years old, and if it was repairable, he would stay here on the weekends until he could get a feel for the place.

A broken window on the beach side had allowed wind driven water and debris to collect inside. The flooring was a mess and a chunk of sheetrock had fallen from the ceiling due to a leaky roof. He would have to see if the roof could be repaired, otherwise using the place would be akin to camping out. Even with the roof fixed, it wouldn’t be luxury living with no electricity, but at least he could step outside and smell the ocean.

He had no idea what he might want to do with the property. Even if he could afford a house to match his newer neighbors, he wasn’t sure it was what he wanted. The lot was oversized and he had the zoning to put a multi family structure on the property. Frank’s investment group would be glad to partner with him. It was unlikely his neighbors would appreciate that option though.

Another suggestion had been a spec house. Build the McMansion that fit the emerging neighborhood. Something they could sell and split the profit. His bank account could certainly stand an infusion of cash.

Harm and Merrick spent fifteen minutes poking and prodding at the walls, ceiling, and floor, investigating the closets, and the remaining windows and doors for soundness before he spoke.

“I don’t think this will be much of a problem,” was Harm’s assessment. “Let’s take a look at that roof. If I can fix it with the two packages of shingles I brought, then nailing up a new piece of sheetrock on the ceiling should be easy.”

“If you have some heavy plastic sheeting I can tape it over that window. I don’t think it’s been broken long. The floor is messy, but not really damaged. The wood underneath is sound. It shouldn’t be difficult to have the window re-glazed, its only single pane,” Merrick added.

They walked back to the truck in companionable silence collecting the supplies they needed. Harm climbed on the low roof, and Merrick handed up the shingles and nails then disappeared inside with a roll of plastic and some duct tape. In minutes, Harm was tearing up damaged shingles and nailing down new ones.

The job finished, Harm tossed the remains of the old shingles off the roof, narrowly missing Merrick as he came through the door

“Whoa, now, you don’t want to have to break in a new flight attendant do you?” Merrick could have no idea what kind of thoughts stabbed through Harm’s mind with that comment. But the look on Harm’s face made him stop the playful banter.

Quickly descending the ladder to cover his discomfort, Harm stumbled halfway down when his foot slipped off the rung. Reacting swiftly, Merrick grabbed Harm’s upper thigh to steady him, and shoved his shoulder into the ladder to keep it from twisting. For just a split second, Harm stiffened. Webb’s prejudice flashed unfairly through his mind.

“You have oil on the bottom of your shoe, Captain,” Merrick commented coolly.

“Hmmm, wonder where I picked that up,” Harm replied absently.

The young man had been a good worker and had offered friendship. He’d learned little about him this afternoon except that he possessed a good work ethic, but it was unjust to treat him this way. Harm smiled tentatively trying to break the tension, then he continued his descent unaided. Reaching the ground, he studied the bottom of his shoe more closely than it deserved. Ultimately he shrugged, wiping the oil off in the sand and gravel of the half-dead lawn. It gave him a minute to regroup.

As if reading his thoughts, Merrick chuckled and added lightly, “And by the way, you’re not really my type.”

Harm just nodded, “Look Merrick…I…”

“I did have a reason for volunteering, besides a day at the beach and a chance to get my hands dirty,” Merrick his voice was suddenly uncomfortable, something significant lay hidden in the undertone.

Harm remained silent, wondering what Stevens had on his mind. He studied the young man openly. Merrick’s joking comment had broken the tension, but Harm felt mildly foolish for his reaction. He turned an inquiring expression to whatever Merrick wanted to tell him. He felt he was about to discover if Merrick’s troubled nature was personal or something more serious. Maybe he believed Harms façade, maybe Webb was right and he was the one they were looking for.


“Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Perhaps you’ve heard I sort of had a breakdown for a while,” he began.

“No, I didn’t hear that,” Harm replied truthfully. That wasn’t at all what Webb had told him, nor what he’d implied.

“My…best friend…my partner died in a crash several years ago. Tomorrow to be exact.”

“The Concorde?”

Merrick nodded. “We’d been best friends since grade school. I found I couldn’t fly after that. I didn’t want to trust the airline, any airline really. I went and stayed with my grandmother for a long time. Sounds like a silly thing for a grown man to do, doesn’t it, Captain?”

“Harm,” he invited. A conversation this personal wasn’t the kind he usually cared to participate in with anyone, but a first name basis would certainly encourage confidence.

“What?”

“Harm, my name is Harm. We aren’t flying now, and no, it doesn’t sound silly. Grandmothers have a way of giving comfort without getting hysterical like mothers do.”

“You, too?”

“Yeah, long time ago.”

Merrick nodded acceptance. “Anyway, I finally found myself again about two years ago, but it took a while to get a job. Eventually, Platinum Air was willing to hire me. I had left my last job rather abruptly and that sort of word gets around, you know? In any case, I was sure I’d get sacked when they went into receivership, but somehow I survived.”

“Probably because you’re good at what you do,” Harm commented mildly. He was gathering his tools, and Merrick helped him carry them to the Lexus.

“Thanks. A lot of people don’t notice us… the flight crew that is, except when we do something wrong.” He seemed less certain of himself in this setting; there was none of the funny, almost brash, personality he displayed while he worked.

Harm deemed it a personal style of camouflage. Maybe he still worried about flying, but couldn’t stay away. He knew that feeling. “You couldn’t stay away?”

“I guess you do understand. Was yours a crash, too?”

“Yeah.” he didn’t invite inquiry. Merrick just nodded and looked at the ocean for a minute.

“Pretty beach. I’m glad I came today.” He sighed heavily. “Don’t misunderstand, but could we walk out there for a minute?”

“Sure,” Harm replied, not certain what was on his mind, but certain his motives weren’t personal.

“I don’t want to be overheard,” Merrick gave half an explanation, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

They walked to the waters edge before the younger man spoke again. “You used to be in the Navy didn’t you, sir…uh…Harm?

“Yes,” Harm answered cautiously. “Why?”

“I just thought …well I thought you might know who to talk to...to tell about this.”

“What is it?”

“There’s this guy…this uh…passenger. Well, he’s made passes at me a few times and…”

“I’m not sure this is my department, Merrick.” Harm became instantly defensive.

“No, that’s not it.” he smiled quickly, dismissing Harm’s conclusion. “I’ve done this long enough to be able to handle that… it’s just…well …I know he works for that big ship builder...you know, in Newport News?”

“Yeah, I know.” The hair tingled on the back of Harm’s neck. “How do you know?”

“He told me…told me all about his job and how important he is… trying to impress me I guess. I sort of cut it in half…figured he was exaggerating a bit. Said he was liaison on a couple secret projects...that it was his job to brief the Pentagon and some other mucky mucks in D.C. I didn’t pay much attention, ‘cause I figured he was just blowing hot air,” Merrick waved his hand.

“So what ‘is’ this about?” Harm moved the narrative along.

“It’s just that once every few weeks he flies up to D.C. and then back at night. On the return trip, he often has the same man sit beside him, but they don’t come together and they always act like they don’t know each other.”

“Sounds a little odd,” Harm was having trouble containing his interest. Webb swore Patterson never sat with the same man.

“Yeah, but the funny thing is…you’re going to think I’m nuts…”

“No, go on,” he encouraged casually.

“Well, the other man goes to great pains to disguise himself.”

“Really!?” Harm stood a little straighter and looked hard at Merrick. CIA facial recognition software should have picked that up. “What makes you think that?”

“I’ve seen a lot of faces over the years. Except for my little hiatus, I’ve flown since I was nineteen. Some attendants never look at faces much, well at least not before 9/11, then they started training us to look more closely, but I’ve always studied faces. It’s sort of a game to make the job more interesting.” The lilt of his voice questioned Harm’s understanding.

“Go ahead.”

“It’s his eyes and something in his voice. He changes the sound and uses some realistic accents, even speaks several foreign languages, French, German, Arabic, Russian, very fluently,” Harm raised an eyebrow. “I flew on the Concorde as well, you pick things up,” he added with a shrug. “The point is there’s a certain cadence to his speech that he can’t disguise or doesn’t realize is there. I’ve seen him before I know I have. It was when I flew in Europe. I wish I could remember his real face. His eyes…they change color…contacts I suppose… but when he tries for the blues or greens, they look muddy. I’m fairly certain that a light brown is his natural color, but its more than that, it’s the way he uses them, the expression in them when he says certain things, asks certain questions, or just when he watches me serve. There’s something in his stare that makes me want to get away from him. Sorry, I’m not often spooked by people,” he apologized.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harm reassured him absently. His mind was going a million miles a minute. “Does he know you’ve recognized him? If you’re suggesting anything…”

“I’m not suggesting,” Merrick declared flatly. “I saw it…just once, but …welll...” He hesitated for a long moment suddenly unsteady about trusting anyone.

“Look maybe you should be talking to the police or someone,” Harm tried to sound casual. “A passenger in disguise…”

“That’s just it. The disguise is so good, I’m not sure anyone would believe me. I know security has all sorts of ways to check these things. TSA, Homeland Security, and all the rest. Maybe he’s innocent, and if I have him hauled off the plane…well…” he spread his hands.

“But you’re certain…you’re convinced it’s the same man.”

“I am. It’s just nothing I can easily prove. They’d have to arrest him and strip him. God if I’m wrong, just think of the mess! No, I was just thinking you might be able to tell me who to talk to,” Merrick’s tone was almost pleading. “Look Harm, I think this man is getting something from Mr. Patterson.”

“Patterson?” Harm played dumb.

“He’s the guy who works for the government. I know you think I’m being melodramatic but, damn it, I’m sure. I saw him give this other guy one of those little flash- drive thingies.”

“Are you certain, Merrick? Absolutely certain?”

“Yes! I was serving another regular customer. A professional travel photographer. He turned his laptop to show me one of his newest photos. It’s one of those expensive ones with a high resolution display and a smooth, shiny, screen. The light hit it just right and turned the screen into a mirror for about ten seconds. I saw it plain as anything in the reflection. I know what I saw, and I know what I believe. If this man is passing secrets the implications…”

“I know the implications. Look, I’ll have to check into how to verify this, but if what you say is true…” he equivocated, letting the thought hang. “If you don’t have enough to go to security, then don’t talk to anyone about this, not a co-worker, not even your best friend. I may know someone who can check it out. It might be nothing, but you could also be in a lot of danger if it’s true. Just don’t talk to anyone. Promise me,” Harm had the younger man by the arm and nearly shook him.

“I…I promise.” He looked down at his arm. “You do believe me don’t you? I knew you’d understand. That Colonel…you aren’t as far away from her as you tried to act.”

“Leave her out of this. She’s just a former friend.” Harms face froze. “Someone I used to know in another life.”

“Maybe,” Merrick replied cannily. “And whatever she was to you, she’s still burning a hole in your heart, isn’t she?”

“Some fires just won’t go out,” Harm replied automatically, failing to protect himself for a split second. “Doesn’t matter though, she belongs to som