Disclaimer: Of course i don't own them...never have never will...
Prologue
Present Day
I can’t believe I’ve finally found her. She proved true to her word; she dropped off the radar better than the stealth bomber. I shouldn’t have expected anything else. Not from her. Once she was gone, she was nearly impossible to find. Nearly, but not quite. I’ve been trying to catch up with her for nearly ten months. Ten long, arduous months of searching and traveling and worrying. She’s been on the move the entire time, spending no more than a week in any one place. Traversing the country, her check points had alternated between towns with populations in the one thousand range and the biggest cities in the country.
She was smart, almost too smart for her own good. She didn’t use her credit cards, she used several different aliases, she was always on alert, she avoided deserted places. Instead of staying in hotels she cajoled kind-hearted, unsuspecting citizens into offering her free food and board. The story was always different, but the idea was the same; she was traveling cross country to see a terminally ill cousin or visit a long lost relative and had been on the road for days and was exhausted and could they just let her stay a night or two to rest up? Thanks so much, and did they think she could take just a little bit of food with her? They were too kind. And, if it’s not too much to ask, did they think they could keep this just between them? See, she’s got a crazy ex-husband that’s hot on her trail, and the less he knows the better.
It was always a sympathetic story, and they all fall in love with her. More than once, I’ve been on the receiving end of a blow from her protectors who thought I was the man who was after her. Of course they didn’t believe me when I told them I was trying to find her to help.
That’s a likely story, they said. She told us not to listen to your lies.
It was damn frustrating, but at least I had the small satisfaction that I wasn’t the only one who would have trouble finding her.
Either way, those kinds of stops left little or no trail, and I was hard pressed to find one to follow. I even would have given up during more than one information drought, but ten months is a long time to be on the run and she began making mistakes. She’d had to resort to credit cards when her funds ran down, and began telling too much to the people she met. Too much about her past, things they would remember, things they wouldn’t mind telling someone who came looking for her.
That’s why I’m here, following her surreptitiously as she strolls the streets of Boston. She told the last family she’d stayed with that she had always wanted to go to New England, and they told her they had family up north.
Would she like their number? She could call if she ever made it there.
She did.
I was already there. Obviously, my one advantage was that I could fly, she had to drive. Airports, especially these days, were too closely watched. Even now, people may be surveying them closely, waiting for her to show up.
She hasn’t and she won’t. She drove across the country more times than you would think you could in an old beat up Honda. Her corvette was another thing that was just too highly recognizable. I’m sure she felt a pull at her heart when she had to leave that behind to buy (or steal, I’m not really sure) a used ’92 Accord.
It’s only about an eight hour drive from DC to Boston, but it took her much longer. Three days to be exact. You can’t do much to avoid I-95 if you’re traveling up the eastern seaboard, but it’s not safe on the interstate. So periodically she would take detours, driving in large, looping circles to make sure there was no one behind her. And she unintentionally gave me enough time to catch up.
Even if she hadn’t relaxed her guard, I know her too well. I staked out the areas that had been special to her, or us. Red Rock Mesa, San Diego, even the Washington suburbs. Imagine my surprise three weeks ago when I followed her all the way back home to DC, only to find that I’d just missed her. I was closing in, and now, I was there.
I followed her to the residence where she was staying, intending to sneak in at some point to confront her. Those plans were scrapped when I fell asleep waiting for her to relax enough to give me a jump start. I needed to catch her off guard if I didn’t want to let her get away again. She’d been up for hours, working intently at a computer and assumedly using the internet. She would be researching whatever she could about the men she was running from. She couldn’t run forever, and when she stopped she needed to have some hard evidence to argue her case.
I can only hope she found what she was looking for.
I awoke in a panic this morning at the thought of letting her slip right out from under my nose, but I needn’t have worried. She was still asleep, but now the hosts were awake, and I couldn’t risk getting caught in there. So I waited for her to leave, uncomfortable after having been in the car for so long, and here I am.
Hesitation is something I don’t usually have much patience for, but I’ve displayed it myself all morning. She’s been window shopping, just walking along casually, seemingly enjoying an unusually warm October day. I’m actually a little surprised at the level of carelessness she seems to be displaying. For someone who had been so sharp about avoiding detection, her behavior seems sloppy. I won’t tell her so if I get a chance to talk to her, though. It might be the only reason I’ve been able to get to her.
There is another issue, here. I have no idea what her level of trust in me is right now. The circumstances from which she was forced to flee were hectic and confusing and downright terrifying; conflicting information flying in from all sides, people who should have been on the same page pushing her in different directions, and old friends exposed as long time adversaries. I won’t be too surprised if she’s really running from me, as well.
I can’t put this off any longer. With every moment I wait, I risk two things. First, that she might notice me and run. Secondly, that she might get caught by some other, unfriendly entity. If I’ve found her, the others can’t be too far behind.
Now I’m looking for an opening. I can’t approach her in a crowd. Whatever her response is, I suspect it will not be quiet, and we can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves. She’s still meandering along, taking her time. There’s something about downtown historic Boston, with its large brick buildings, and the warmth of the late morning sunshine that affords itself to leisurely going if you don’t have anywhere particular to go.
Suddenly, I’m aware of our location for the first time this morning. We’re approaching the metered parking lot where she left her car. She’s heading back, and this might be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. On the way in this morning, she cut through an alley instead of going the long way around using the more populated walkways. I’m taking a chance, but I’d bet she’ll go the same way again.
Ducking quickly down an alley that runs parallel to the one she used earlier, I break into a half jog so that I can head her off. When I emerge from my alley, I find myself in another. Down at the end to my right I can see the parking lot and the main road in the distance, and closer is the opening of the short cut she should take. The air in the small, enclosed area is stale and I’m uncomfortably warm in the jacket I wore to conceal my weapon.
Crouching behind a large, rank smelling dumpster, I wait. She’s taking a long time to come through, but the way she was going earlier it doesn’t worry me. And from where I am, I’ll be able to see her even if she doesn’t take the short cut. I just won’t be able to get to her.
I’m beginning to feel dizzy from the heat and the smell and finally decide to shrug on out of my jacket. There’s no one here to see my shoulder holster, and I’d rather not pass out right now. Halfway through the process, I’m alerted by a soft sound behind me. Before I can even begin to turn, I feel the hard, cold steel of a gun pressed against my face.
“Don’t even think about moving.”
On my knees, my arms tangled behind my back where my jacket was not yet free, I freeze. There’s little else for me to do, I’m in no position to put up a fight.
“Who are you and why are you following me?”
Her voice is just as cold and hard as the weapon she’s brandishing. Some of the panic I felt at first dissipates, but just barely. She doesn’t know who I am yet, which means she still might calm down when she knows it’s me.
“Mac, it’s me, Harm.”
I say it calmly, but my heart is racing. This is the moment of truth. There’s a brief silence, and then I hear her back away. I risk turning my head around to take a look. She’s still pointing her gun at me. Damn.
“Stand up, slowly. Put your weapon on the ground.” I do as she says with slow, controlled movements. I let the jacket drop to the ground and remove my gun from the holster, holding the muzzle, and place it carefully on the ground.
“Move away,” she says and gestures with the gun. I take four or five steps to the right, holding my hands up where she can see them. She quickly picks up the gun and takes out the clip, putting them both in her purse. She picks up my jacket where I left it and checks the pockets. Finding nothing, she tosses it over her shoulder. Never relaxing her guard, she circles around behind me and pats me down. Stepping back in front of me, she lowers the gun, but keeps her finger on the trigger.
“What are you doing here?”
“Mac, we’ve got to get back to DC. They’re on to you. Whatever you know or have, we need to get it out in the open now. They’re coming, and they aren’t going to let you get away this time.” I’m speaking earnestly, trying to express the need to hurry.
“How do I know I can trust you?”
She looks at me with eyes so different from the ones I used to see every day. She looks a lot like the woman I was first introduced to eight years ago; distrustful and lonely. It had taken so long to earn that trust, and now we were going to have to repeat the whole process. And neither of us was to blame this time.
“If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already. Beyond that, you’re just going to have to go on faith. We don’t have time for all the explanations right now. I can tell you everything on the way, but we have to go. Now,” I repeat emphatically.
“They’re coming?”
“Yes.”
There’s a long pause before she finally hands me my jacket and speaks. “Let’s go.”
Part 1 Ten Months Earlier
Mac was distracted, that much was obvious. Sitting across from her at the conference table during the Monday morning staff meeting, Harm watched as her usually attentive gaze flicked absently from the stack of files in front of her to the window overlooking the parking lot. Twice he caught her glancing at the watch on her wrist, as if it might prove that her internal clock was off and the meeting really was almost over. Each time she sighed and closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again they looked glazed and distant.
She seemed unfocused but not upset, so he decided to let it go as simple boredom. He was bored, too. However, Mac rarely let disinterest keep her from being alert, and he promised himself that he would ask her about it later. Better safe than sorry, and as much as they trusted each other she probably wouldn’t come to him with a personal problem. Not on her own. Harm shifted in his chair and pulled his own attention away from his partner and focused back on the admiral, who was still going over the itinerary for the week.
“Commander Rabb, you will be heading to Norfolk to assist Lieutenant Roberts with the Sanders case, I trust you can get this thing resolved quickly…” Admiral Chegwidden continued to speak, but Harm found his gaze wandering back to Mac. She was now idly drumming her fingers on the smooth wood of the table, and the soft rhythm drew the attention of the admiral.
“Am I boring you, Colonel?” he asked pointedly.
Mac looked up guiltily. “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”
After letting his glare linger for a few seconds, the admiral resumed handing out assignments. Mac took each envelope from her pile and passed them down the table until there were none left. She looked up at the admiral in surprise.
“Nothing for me, sir?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“Not at the moment, Colonel,” he responded blandly.
Harm glanced from one to the other, just as puzzled as Mac. Occasionally one of the officers would get off with a light load, but it was almost unheard of for one of them to get nothing. What was she supposed to do for the next week? Harm found it hard to believe that the admiral would waste her talents so completely. He caught Mac’s eye and sent her a questioning look. She just shrugged.
“I guess that wraps it up. You’re dismissed, people,” the admiral said. The officers stood and began collecting their things. Still a bit miffed at the situation, Mac walked over to where Harm and Sturgis were talking.
“What was that all about, Mac?” Sturgis asked, and held up the latest additions to his own ample case load. “It’s not as if there’s a shortage of work.”
“I know,” Mac said with another shrug. “I can’t explain it.”
The group turned and walked out into the bullpen. Sturgis stepped into his office, but Harm followed Mac to hers. Stepping inside, he shut the door behind him and stood watching her. Mac tilted her head at him curiously.
“What’s up, Harm?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
She waved him into the seat in front of her desk as she sat down herself. “I told you, I really don’t know why-”
“No, not that. I’m sure there’s a method to the madness that we just don’t know about yet. I was talking about how distracted you were in there.”
“Oh, that,” she said with forced indifference. “That was nothing.”
The subtle changes in her voice and posture were all Harm needed to hear to know that it wasn’t 'nothing'. “Come on, Mac, you can tell me. You were worlds away.”
Mac shifted uneasily in her chair. How could she tell him? It was just a dream, Mackenzie. But it had been disturbingly real, and putting it into words would only make it seem more so. She was saved from having to explain herself by a knock at the door.
“Enter.”
“Sorry to interrupt, Colonel, Commander,” Petty Officer Tiner nodded to Harm then looked at Mac. “The admiral would like to see you in his office, ma’am.”
“Thanks Tiner.” After the Petty Officer left, Mac smiled wryly at Harm. “I guess now I get to find out what I’m really going to be doing this week.”
They both stood to leave, but just as Mac reached to open the door, Harm put a hand on her arm. “Let’s have dinner.”
Under other circumstances, Mac might have been pleased at the offer, but in this case she knew it was just Harm’s way of making sure he had a chance to grill her about what was bothering her.
When she hesitated, Harm said, “Look, you said it’s nothing, right? Then you should be able to tell me. Even if it’s just for my own peace of mind.”
Mac sighed and nodded. “Alright. When do you think you’ll be back from Norfolk?”
“Either late tonight or early tomorrow. Dinner at my place, 1900 tomorrow?”
“That’s fine. See you then,” Mac said and headed to the admiral’s outer office. Tiner wasn’t at his desk, so she stepped forward and knocked firmly on the door.
“Enter!” came the somewhat muffled response from within.
Mac strode up to the desk and came to attention, apprehension already growing within her. Warming his hands over the fire was none other than everybody’s least favorite Special Assistant to the Undersecretary of State.
“At ease.”
“Admiral,” she nodded to him. Then her voice took on a suspicious note. “Webb.”
Flashing that ever smug grin, Webb said, “Mac.”
“Sit down, Mac,” Admiral Chegwidden said from where he sat behind his desk. Looking warily from one man to the other, she did as she was told. Rather than telling her what was going on, the admiral looked to Webb. Mac got the distinct impression that he didn’t know much more than she did as to why Webb was there.
“Do you feel up for a challenge, Mac?” Webb asked, walking over to lean causally against the admiral’s desk.
“For you, Webb? Since most of the ops I do with you are ‘simple’ and yet still manage to put my life in danger, I’m loath to hear what you’d think of as a challenge,” she responded sarcastically.
“I’m sure you’d be up for it. Do you read the Navy Times?”
“Occasionally.”
“Did you read this issue?” Webb handed her a copy that featured a good-looking Navy lieutenant smiling broadly in his dress whites.
“Yeah, Lieutenant Booth was rewarded a DFC for his actions in Iraq, wasn’t he? I don’t remember-”
“Not that,” Webb interrupted. “Turn to page 43.”
Mac flipped through the magazine and scanned the page. Nothing really caught her eye except a short article about Secretary Nelson retiring. Confused, she flipped back to the cover to check the date. As she suspected, the magazine was issued months ago. Looking up at Webb, she shook her head. “I don’t get it Webb. We all know why the Secnav had to step down. Why don’t you just tell me what you have to say?”
Pointing to the magazine, Webb leaned forward and said somberly, “You think you know why.”
She was walking down a long, dark corridor. Her heels rang loudly with each hurried step. There were doors on either side, each indistinguishable from the next. Behind her, there was nothing but darkness; in front, a dim light shone in the distance. A single manila envelope was clenched tightly in her left hand, her right held tightly to her side in pain.
There was an evil presence behind her, and her fear was urging her to even greater speeds as the way before her seemed to elongate; the light was no closer now than it had been before. A twinge of nervousness in her gut, a twinge of pain in her arm. She was running to a friend, looking for guidance and comfort. She knew he was in the light, just ahead, and if she walked long enough eventually get there. But she needed to be there now.
Suddenly, a voice from out of the dark just behind her.
“Don’t go to him.”
She turned, searching anxiously. She couldn’t see anything behind her.
Cautiously, “Why not?”
“He’s not who you think he is.”
“What do you mean?”
But there was no response. Taking one step back, she squinted into the darkness, to no avail. Clenching the file tightly between her hands, she spun on her heel and continued down the corridor.
There were no more doors, and now the light was coming closer with each step. Slowly, the silhouettes of two men began to take shape in front of the light. As she drew closer, she could have sighed with relief. There he was. She couldn’t see his face with the light behind him, but she knew it was him.
The man turned from his companion and looked at her. Mac stopped suddenly. Something was wrong. The way he was looking at her…. He looked remorseful for the briefest of moments. Then his features hardened and he began walking towards her.
“Give it to me.” The order came growling out of his throat, and Mac’s eyes widened. He was still moving closer, but now there was a hallway just to her left. The desire to protect the file from him suddenly overwhelmed her. There was suddenly nothing more important in the whole world than making sure he didn’t get it. She shook her head, rooted to her place. In slow motion, the man came to attention in front of her and saluted.
Confused, she just stood still. Then, just as fast as he had been slow moments before, he drew a gun and pointed it at her. Terror, for herself and the file, over took her and she spun away, ducking down the dark hallway. She heard him coming after her, and she drew her own weapon painfully, still nursing the pain in her arm. He turned the corner and faced her, weapon still trained on her.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Fine.” Without another word, he pulled the trigger.
Mac screamed and clutched at her chest, pressing her hands against where she knew the wound was. There was nothing there, and slowly she realized there was no pain. Prying her eyes open, she looked first down at her chest, and then at her surroundings.
She was in her bedroom. Sucking in huge breaths of air, she kicked at the hot sheets that were tangled around her legs. The fear from the dream still had her adrenaline pumping, and she was sticky with sweat. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed she reached for the phone. ‘Nothing’ or not, she needed to talk to someone. Fear born of dreams was irrational, but it was still fear.
Halfway through Harm’s number, she realized the problem. He was in Norfolk. Groaning in frustration, she put her head in her hands. She could try his cell, but honestly that seemed like a bit much. Mac set the phone back down. She was going to have to be satisfied by the knowledge that they would talk the next day.
Her nerves were finally settling down, and she headed to the bathroom. Splashing cold water over her face and running her fingers through her hair, she wished she could laugh. Gripping the edge of the counter tightly, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She saw the fear and concern still lingering in her eyes and shook her head. It wasn’t something she liked to see, so she turned out the light.
She really shouldn’t let a dream get to her like that. The problem was that it didn’t feel like a dream.
The reaction was so physical, it was akin to the way she had felt when she found Chloe in the woods, when she pinpointed the location of Harm’s raft on the map, and when she had helped solve the murder case in Rock Creek Park.