~*~*~*~
Title: Virtual Season Finale: Family Ties Part II
~*~*~*~
Previously on JAG -
Colonel Wentworth: "I understand that there are bigger fish than me out
there. You just don't know where to look."
Mac: "We've been through so much, so much has happened. I'm just not sure
what to do, how to
make this work while facing all the questions."
Harm: "Apparently 'Fokusnik' came to the CIA's attention almost two years
ago. He's supposed to be a master spy, *very* good at covering his tracks,
lots of smoke and mirrors that has had the CIA running in circles trying to
track him down."
Colonel Wentworth: "But it is about family."
Unknown person: "Now we've got us a game."
~*~*~*~
1830 ZULU
"Do you always answer the door like this?" Mac teased as Harm opened his
hotel room door at her knock, dressed in only jeans. She had to force
herself to meet his amused gaze, her eyes stubbornly determined to admire
his bare and well-sculpted torso.
"Nothing you haven't seen before," he replied with a grin as he closed the
door behind her, his eyes doing a visual inspection of their own. She was
also dressed in jeans, topped off by a white button down shirt opened to
reveal a red tank top underneath.
She laughed at his expression, reaching up to drape her arms around his
neck. "Now, is that how you greet your girlfriend?" she mused, leaning
close enough that her breath blew lightly against his jaw as she spoke,
causing him to block out everything but the woman in his arms. "By leering
at her?"
"I wasn't leering," he protested, giving her his best dazzling flyboy grin
that set the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "I was admiring.
There's a difference. And what do you call what you were doing?”
“Well, if you’d put a shirt on ….” she began, pouting when he pulled out of
her arms and picked up the shirt laid out on the bed, pulling it over his
head.
He laughed when he had the shirt on and could see the look on her face.
“Ha,” he teased, reaching out and pulling her against him. “I wasn’t the
only one ‘leering’.”
She poked him in the chest. “If you can ‘admire’, then so can I,” she
retorted. “Now how about that lunch you promised? This Marine is starving
and you’re running behind.”
“I called Webb before I changed,” he explained. “He’s going to try to have
that list of personnel for us by the end of the day. He was practically
salivating at the thought that they might finally have a lead on Fokusnik.
I also gave him a rundown on the other stuff Wentworth gave us. An agent
will come by later tonight for copies. And it’s late in Moscow, so we can
call Falcon in the morning for information on Somanov.”
“Okay,” she replied, “and that’s the last I want to hear about anything
work-related until after you’ve fed me.”
“Deal,” he murmured an instant before his lips descended on hers, giving her
the greeting she’d really wanted.
After a long moment, she playfully pushed him away. “Food, remember?”
Chuckling, Harm grabbed the keys to their rental off the dresser and
followed her out the door.
~*~*~*~
1900 ZULU
“I’ll just have the chopped Mediterranean salad and coffee, black,” Harm
said, handing his menu back to the waitress, smiling politely at her,
conscious of Mac watching him from across the table – or rather, watching
the waitress, who was openly flirting with him. “Sarah, darling?” Darling,
he wondered. Where had that come from? Was it really possible to think of
a gung-ho Marine as ‘darling’? And calling her Sarah all of a sudden? He
could count on one hand the number of times he'd called her by her first
name.
Reluctantly, the waitress turned her attention to Mac, pen poised over her
pad. “I’ll have the soup of the day and the Lewisburg steak sandwich and
another coffee, black,” she replied, closing her menu and handing it over.
The waitress turned back to Harm as she stuck her order pad in her apron
pocket. “I’m Lanie,” she told him. “Just let me know if you need anything
else.” As she walked off, Mac kicked Harm under the table.
“Hey!” he protested. “What was that for? She was flirting with me, not the
other way around.”
“Does every woman have to flirt with you?” Mac muttered. At his raised
eyebrow look, she continued, thinking back over the five years they’d known
each other, “Let’s see, there was Alexi, the Romanian Princess. I would
count Annie the first time when we saw her, but I think that was more the
other way around with you doing the flirting – subtle, of course, given the
circumstances. Where was I? There was that doctor at Mercy Hospital. I
think Jenna was her name. Of course, let’s not forget Lieutenant
Schiperelli. I still remember the look on your face when I caught you
kissing her. And ….”
“Hold on a minute,” Harm protested, holding up his hand for emphasis. “Do
you remember every woman who’s looked at me twice since I’ve known you?”
“Yep,” she said, “and don’t tell me that you don’t remember every guy who’s
ever looked at *me* twice, especially since you’ve stared daggers at every
single one of them.”
Sheepishly, Harm lowered his eyes to stare at the scarred table top. She
had a point. He had not looked kindly upon any man who had shown more than
a second’s interest in her, not in all the time they’d known each other. A
classic case of not thinking anyone was good enough for the other person, at
least on his part. Mac had seemed to get along with Annie and Jordan at
least. Renee, he was pretty sure she had simply tolerated – the closest she
’d come to expressing the attitude he took towards her men, especially
‘Lowne the Clown’ and ‘BugMe’. “I thought you could do better,” he said
with a shrug.
“You mean, like you?” she asked, her grin taking any sting from her words.
Harm laughed. “Well, you are with me now, aren’t you?” he countered.
She picked up her napkin and lightly smacked his forearm with it, laughing
with him. “Well, I’m sure Mic would say that I could do better than you,”
she pointed out, wishing she could take back the words as soon as she saw
the hurt expression that crossed his features. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean
to bring up a sore subject.”
“It’s okay,” he said, brushing off her concern. They were both silent for a
moment, then he added, “Let me ask you something. If you were so sure that
marrying him was the right thing to do, why did it take you so long to move
the ring over?” The question had bothered him almost as much as the one
about her running to him so quickly had.
Mac looked away, not sure that she ready to admit the answer to him when she
’d barely admitted it to himself. In the days and weeks after Mic had
called off the wedding, she’d thought a lot about it and the answers she’d
come up with had only emphasized that Mic had been right to finally call
everything off and what a fool she was for not doing so herself. “I wasn’t
sure,” she finally admitted, “even after I moved the ring. When Harriet was
making such a big deal about it when she noticed the ring had moved, when we
had that double date and Mic was going on about having a big wedding, I was
wondering in the back of my mind what the hell I was doing. It was like I
was standing outside myself, watching someone else live my life. Hell,
kissing you at my engagement party was like a big flashing neon sign that I
tried my best to ignore.”
“Then why did you move it?” he pressed gently.
That was the part she was most reluctant to voice, concerned about his
reaction – at least to Mic’s part in her decision. “I’ll tell you, but
please, don’t take this the wrong way. Well, it happened the same night I
saw you at the Wall,” she began hesitantly. Harm reached across the table
and took her hand in his, receiving a weak smile in response. “I was upset
because I thought you were leaving …. leaving me again. Then I went over to
Mic’s and, um, he was in his uniform. He was frustrated about not being
able to find another job. I guess Kaliski had blacklisted him after he quit
and he said that he’d called his old CO about reactivating his commission
because there seemed to be nothing keeping him in Washington and ….”
“Mac,” he interrupted incredulously, gently tightening his grip on her hand
when she tried to pull it away. “Are you telling me that he blackmailed you
into accepting his proposal!?” His voice rose as he spoke and Mac glanced
around, hoping no one had noticed.
“I wouldn’t put it like that,” she protested. “If you want me to be
completely honest, my moving the ring probably had more to do with you than
him.”
“Because you thought I was leaving, you moved the ring over,” he concluded,
“just like you ran to him in Sydney because you thought I’d rejected you on
the ferry. Incredible.”
"I mean, I do understand why you wanted to leave," she said sadly.
"Sergei's your brother and he was missing, just like your father had been.
I probably would have thought something was wrong if you hadn't wanted to
look for him, especially after the way you'd looked for your father for
nearly twenty-nine years. But that didn't make it any easier." Mac finally
pulled her hand away and began fiddling with the edge of her napkin. “Look,
maybe we shouldn’t talk about this. We came here to have a nice, leisurely
lunch, not to rehash all the mistakes we’ve made.”
“Maybe we need to,” he said quietly, “rehash everything, I mean. You’re not
the only one who is …. scared of messing this up. Look at how many times I’
ve already screwed things up between us.”
“You’re not the only one,” she conceded. “But really, can we talk about
this later? I want to just enjoy being with you right now, as long as we do
come back to this later.”
Harm nodded. “Later,” he promised.
~*~*~*~
1900 ZULU
“Did you get the information?” Clay asked without preamble as his secretary
escorted Jessica Donahue into his office.
“Hello, Agent Donahue,” she mimicked sarcastically, “how are you doing
today?”
Clay looked up from the pile of paperwork in front of him, staring at her.
“Did you?” he repeated.
She handed him a slim folder with a sigh as she sat down in a chair in front
of his desk. “Out of all the members of the Navy and Marine Corps,” she
said as he began glancing through the scanty information included in the
file, “we’ve got a total of nine people who are first or second generation
Americans of Russian descent, both active duty and reservists. I did a
cursory glance through all their records, but nothing jumped out at me.
I've got someone pulling up passport information, seeing any of them have
made trips back to the mother country."
"Results from the Army and Air Force were similar," he said, showing her two
other folders. "Four Air Force, just two Army and nothing jumping out there
either. I've got some people I'm going to get on this. By the time we're
through combing through these peoples' lives, we'll know everything down to
what brand cologne they use."
"Or perfume," Jessica said. "There are two women in this group. So where
did you pick up this tip anyway?"
"Believe it or not, Colonel Wentworth," he replied. "He's offering
information on others spying for Russia and is being questioned at Allenwood
by two JAG officers. He said that Fokusnik had family ties to Russia.
That's why he's spying."
"Powerful motivation admittedly," she mused. "But are we sure this
information is reliable? Wentworth could be just feeding us information to
save his own ass. The CIA's been chasing their tails for what – two years
now? He keeps you chasing your tails, feeding you tidbits of information,
keeping himself alive a little longer."
"You've obviously never dealt with AJ Chegwidden," Clay said.
"Admiral Chegwidden?" she asked. "The Navy's Judge Advocate General? I
don't understand."
"He was also going to be prosecuting Wentworth," he explained. "And if he
doesn't like the report his people bring back from their interview with
Wentworth, no deal. He won't tolerate Wentworth feeding us a line of bull."
"So what about the other information Wentworth gave up?" she asked.
"Rabb gave me a rundown over the phone and I've got an agent heading to
White Deer to pick up copies of the notes," he said. "Wentworth's had
contact with one FBI and two CIA agents, passing information to them to be
passed on."
"Trusting guy, isn't he?" Jessica said.
"His contacts in Russia vouched for them," Clay said, "according to the
notes."
"At any rate, I'm sure the FBI is thrilled to have another Robert Hanssen in
their midst," she commented. "What about the CIA guys?"
"It's being handled," he said vaguely. Actually, his superiors had already
had their eye on one of the CIA agents Wentworth had given up. His
information had simply put the final nail in the man's coffin – literally.
Word in the halls was a sweeper had already been dispatched after the man,
who was currently on what would end up being his final assignment in the
Middle East. The other agent had come as a bit of a surprise – they'd
suspected there'd been another spy, but hadn't had enough information to
determine a who yet. But now that they had that, finding the evidence
should prove easier.
He shook himself when he realized that Jessica was speaking. "What?" he
asked.
"I don't know," she said. "Something just feels wrong about this. It's
almost as if it's too easy."
Clay didn't reply as he leaned back in his chair, unwilling to admit that he
shared her concern. Spies were successful because they managed to keep
their activities in the shadows. While they might have passed information
to their contacts in the receiving country, how many spies passed
information among themselves. But he pushed those concerns from his mind.
If they could prove the allegations, what did it matter how they came by the
information initially?
~*~*~*~
0115 ZULU
Williams was pacing his room nervously when his cell phone rang.
"Williams," he answered.
"Hello, Mr. Williams," his mysterious contact said, who'd only introduced
himself as Mr. Reed when he'd first contacted him. In a former life, R.
Johnson Williams had been Richard Dyson, top lawyer for the Condelli family
in New York. After watching his college roommate and law partner get blown
to bits by a rival crime family ten years earlier, he'd reevaluated his life
and decided that it had time to get out before he ended sitting on top of a
bomb himself. He'd carefully built a new identity for himself without any
help, refusing to break client confidentiality by going to the Feds and
requesting witness protection. He had his ethical standards. Richard Dyson
committed suicide, devastated by his best friend's untimely demise three
months earlier, and R. Johnson Williams had been born. Since he'd decided
to keep the same profession, he'd covered his tracks by even going to law
school a second time, using a fake transcript provided by a forger who'd
owed him a favor, the same one who'd provided all the other documentation to
support his new life.
The first time he'd been contacted by Reed, he'd blown the other man off.
The following morning, he'd received a FedEx envelope which had contained a
copy of Richard Dyson's death certificate. That afternoon, he'd received
another phone call, promising that proof that Richard Dyson was alive would
be sent to the Condellis unless he consented to perform a 'tiny' favor –
defend Phillip Wentworth and make sure that certain information made it's
way into the hands of the investigators. He knew that probably wouldn't be
the end of it, but he hadn't seen another option, short of starting over
again.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Reed?" he asked.
"Just wanted to check in," Reed said, "see if you got the new information I
sent you."
"I did," Williams replied. The message light on his phone had been blinking
when he'd gotten back to his room and a call to the front desk revealed the
presence of an envelope waiting for him there. He hadn't opened the package
yet, but assumed it contained more information to be passed to the JAGs
through his client. "I assume you want me to get Wentworth to hand it over
to those military lawyers?"
"Oh, no," Reed replied, chuckling. "This one's just for you. Go ahead and
take a look, tell me what you think."
Even more nervous, Williams slowly tore open the envelope, unfolding the
single sheet of paper inside. "What the hell is this?" he demanded.
"It's a birth certificate," Reed replied smugly, as if it should be obvious.
"This is a lie," he insisted, his hand shaking as he crumpled the
certificate.
"No, it isn't," Reed countered. "But we can discuss that later, in person."
"You're coming here?" Williams asked in a frightened tone.
"I've been tied up recently," he explained, "but recently managed to wrangle
some free time to oversee some things personally. I'll be there later and
we can talk then." He smacked his forehead, as if suddenly remembering
something. "Oh, wait, by then it will be too late."
Dizzy, Williams stumbled, hitting his hip against his dresser. He barely
noticed the sharp pain, trying to concentrate on what else Reed was saying.
"By later, you'll be dead," Reed continued, laughing when he heard a loud
thump as Williams fell to the floor, the birth certificate still clutched in
his hand.
~*~*~*~
"You know, this almost seems too easy," Mac said, tossing another page of
Wentworth's notes in Harm's direction. "I would have thought spies would
have preferred keeping to themselves, not getting close enough to other
spies to take notes on their activities."
"Webb's doing a thorough investigation on the people named here," Harm
reminded her. "And apparently, some of the information's legit. He hinted
that the Agency's already been looking at one of the agents Wentworth named,
a Jonathan Dyson. This just confirms they were looking in the right
direction."
"Hmmm," Mac murmured, reading over another page as she rubbed her neck.
Harm scooted behind her and began massaging her, his fingers pressing hard
against tired and aching muscles. "I'd forgotten how good that feels." She
sighed in contentment as he leaned forward, his breath tickling the
sensitive skin at the back of her neck.
"You're so tense," he remarked as he pressed his thumb against a
particularly sore spot, Mac groaning in response. "I think you need to
relax more."
She laughed, "I suppose you have something in mind to help me relax?"
"How about taking a week's leave?" he suggested, his tone suddenly serious.
"We can go away somewhere, anywhere you want. We can even work on some of
those – what did you call them once – deeper issues between us."
Mac turned around, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Anywhere I want,
huh?" she mused, a gleam in her eye. "I don't care, as long as I'm with
you."
"I like the sound of that," he whispered as he pulled her against him,
fingers tangling in her hair as his lips descended, lightly brushing against
hers at first before he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her
mouth. Barely conscious of it, he leaned back against the pillows behind
him, pulling her on top of him as her hands tugged at his shirt, pulling it
from the waistband of his jeans, her fingers dancing lightly over newly
exposed skin.
Suddenly, the sound of someone pounding on the door intruded on their
interlude and they broke apart, their faces slightly flushed. "That's, um,
probably our dinner," Mac said, pushing herself into a sitting position,
Harm following her, his fingers still curled around her hair. He buried his
face against her neck, his tongue swiping against the pulse point at the
side of her throat. "I'll, um, just get that and, um …. that's very
distracting."
Harm laughed, his breath against her heated skin causing her to shiver. "I
managed to distract the Marine from thoughts of filling her stomach," he
teased.
She lightly smacked him as she pulled out of his arms and climbed from the
bed. "Going through the stomach to get to the heart doesn't just work on
men," she teased as she opened the door to the room service waiter,
gesturing him in.
The waiter pushed his cart over by the table, moving the trays with their
food onto the table. "Room service for Rabb," he said, reading off the
ticket. "Baked salmon in lemon sauce and steak, well done. Sign here,
please." Harm walked over and signed the room service ticket as Mac pulled
the lid off one of the plates, sniffing appreciatively her steak. "Just set
the dishes outside the door when you're finished and someone will be by to
pick them up later."
"Thank you," Harm said, handing the ticket back and closing the door as the
waiter departed. "Figures you'd uncover the plate with your steak on it
first."
"I have a good nose for steak," she joked, sitting down at the table and
pulling her plate in front of her.
Harm peaked under the covers of the other plates until he found their
salads, setting one by her elbow. "Don't you think you ought to eat the
salad first?" he suggested.
"Now what would be the fun in that?" she said, cutting a bite of her steak
and twirling her fork around, holding it out in his direction.
"Hey," he protested, "get that stuff away from me." He dug into his salad,
his eyes fixed on her as she brought the fork to her mouth, closing her lips
around it, teasing him as she slowly pulled the meat from the utensil. He
never thought he'd be envious of a hunk of dead cow.
Mac laughed as she noted his intent and heat gaze. "Eat your dinner," she
said with a saucy grin, "then we'll see about desert."
~*~*~*~
0145 ZULU
Clay read over the service records of the Russian-American military members
for what felt to him like the millionth time, rubbing his forehead with a
tired sigh. Nothing leapt out at him, indicating that any of these men or
women might throw away their lives – and promising careers in just about
every case – for a few dollars thrown at them by a country they'd left
behind. Several of them had escaped to America after losing family members
in various Soviet purges, making them unlikely candidates to remain loyal to
Mother Russia. Most of the others had not apparent contact with the old
world once they'd set foot on this country's shores. There were a couple of
prospects more likely than the others, but none of them felt right to Clay.
"No luck there?" Jessica asked, entering Clay's office carrying a stack of
papers. "Not much here either. I had NCIS get information on any military
member who's been to Russia for any reason in the last ten years and only
one of our suspects shows up on this list and that was a trip back for his
mother's funeral in 94. I managed to confirm the mother's death, so it
wasn't a cover story." She tossed the papers on the desk with a disgusted
sigh, throwing herself into the chair she'd occupied earlier.
He started going through them, looking for a distraction from dry and boring
service records. "Maybe we're still running in circles," Clay admitted.
"I …. "
"Mr. Webb," his secretary said, poking her head into the office, "I'm taking
off for the evening if you don't need anything else."
"No, that's fine," he said.
"Oh and a Sergei Zhukov is on line one," she said as she left.
"A friend of yours?" Jessica asked, noting with interest the Russian name.
"Brother of a …. friend, actually," he said thoughtfully, picking up the
phone. "What can I do for you, Sergei?"
"I was trying to contact my brother," he said, pacing around the kitchen in
his grandmother's house, lifting the lid off a pot on the stove, despite the
tolerantly disapproving stare from his grandmother. "I tried his home and
cell phone and got no answer."
"I know he's on assignment in Pennsylvania," Clay said, "but he should have
his cell phone with him."
"He's in Pennsylvania?" Sergei asked.
"In another part of the state," he explained. "Probably about four or five
hours from where you are. I'm supposed to be talking to him later this
evening. I can pass along a message."
"Just ask him to give me a call when he gets a chance," Sergei said. "I
wanted to see if he could come up to the farm this weekend if he's not busy
to talk about my decision."
"So you've decided whether or not to stay in the States?" Clay asked.
"Yes," Sergei said. "I wanted to tell him and my grandmother at the same
time."
"I'll tell him to call you the next time I talk to him," Clay promised.
"Thank you," he said. "Goodbye, Mr. Webb."
"Goodbye, Sergei," Clay said. As he hung up the phone, his eyes fell to the
pages in front of his, his eyes widening as they lighted on a familiar name,
an idea occurring to him. "Agent Donahue, what if we're approaching this
from the wrong angle?"
She leaned forward, interested. "What do you mean?"
"Talking to Sergei made me think of it," he said. "My …. friend is his
half-brother. Their father was a prisoner of the KGB for eleven years
before escaping, when he met Sergei's mother. Never made it out of the
Soviet Union alive." He shook his head. "Anyway, it made me think. What
if Fokusnik isn't from Russia himself, but has relatives living over there,
whether business men or half-Russian family members?"
"Like your friend's brother?" she asked. She considered the idea for a
moment. "It's possible, probably as much so as looking for someone who is
Russian. It means widening our search. Looking for any military personnel
with family living in Russia is going to be like looking for a needle in a
haystack without something more to go on. Unless …. what if we start with
this list of personnel we know have been in Russia, see if any of them have
family ties in Russia?"
"It's a place to start," he said.
Jessica's cell phone rang and she smiled apologetically at Clay as she
answered it, "Agent Donahue."
"Jess, it's Rick," said her partner of three years, Richard Nelson. "We've
got another lead on Fokusnik."
"How reliable?" she asked. She put her hand over the phone and told Clay,
"My partner says he's got another lead on Fokusnik."
"It's anonymous," he replied. "The actual reliability depends on what you
can find on that list of personnel who've been to Russia. Our new
information says that our guy has made two trips to Russia, one in September
1998 and one last October."
"It's a long list, since the embassy's military personnel are included," she
reminded him. "It will take me some time to go through it. I'll call you
back."
She hung up and looked at Clay. "New info says that Fokusnik has made two
personal trips to Russia, one in September 98 and one just this past
October," she said. "The source is anonymous, but if we can find something
on that list …."
Clay stated at her, masking his expression as warning bells went off in his
head. The dates were eerily familiar. He had made trips to Russia during
those months. Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. A member of the
military with ties to Russia. Trips to Russia by said officer. "Come on,"
he said, grabbing his coat. If he was right, it wouldn't be difficult for
someone else to put two and two together and come up with five.
"What about …." she began.
"Forget about the list," he insisted. "If I'm right, I know who Fokusnik
is. Or who we're *supposed* to think he is."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, racing to keep up with his long
strides as he strode out of his office.
"It means that we're being lead around by the nose," he said cryptically,
"as we chase our tails." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit
speed dial one. "Mother, I need to borrow the jet. Have the pilot file a
flight plan from Reagan to Williamsport, Pennsylvania."
"Williamsport? That's the airport closest to Allenwood, where Wentworth is
being held," Jessica pointed out.
"I know," he said, dialing another number after he hung up with his mother.
"AJ, it's …. just listen. Meet me at Reagan National as soon as possible.
We're going up to Pennsylvania …. No, I'll explain on the way. Time is of
the essence if I'm right."
~*~*~*~
0230 ZULU
"Commander Rabb?" the man knocking on Harm's hotel room asked. "It's Agent
Reed. Mr. Webb sent me to pick up some papers." He smiled, already knowing
that there would be no answer. After waiting a moment just for the hell of
it, he slid a duplicate of Harm's key card into the door, opening it.
He survey the room with satisfaction. Harm and Mac's dinners were still on
the table, only half-eaten. Harm was slumped on the floor by the table,
appearing to have fallen out of his chair. He would have gone first, his
food more heavily dosed with the sleeping draught. It wouldn't do for him
to wake up too soon.
Mac had managed to make it as far as the nightstand by the bed before
collapsing as she'd tried to call for help, judging from the phone lying off
the hook next to her. Checking the phone to make sure that there was no one
on the line, he left it where it was. He wasn't trying to hide what
happened here. Lifting Mac up into his arms, he carried her out of the
room, managing to pull the door most of the way closed while keeping a hold
on her, going over his story in his mind in case he should run into anyone.
She was his girlfriend, not feeling well, and he was worried and taking her
to the emergency room as a precaution.
Luck was with him, however, and he made it to his car without running into a
single person, unceremoniously dumping the unconscious Mac in the back seat
and locking her in the car. He returned to Harm's room and let himself in
again. His eyes wandered over the scene again, making sure everything was
set before he took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and laid it on
the floor, tucking it under Harm's outstretched arm. "Let's see how good
you are, Rabb," he laughed. "Can you find the lovely Colonel before the
others find you? Good hunting."
Laughing to himself, pleased with the way everything was falling into place,
Clark Palmer let himself out of Harm's room again, closing the door behind
him. He knew he had a good two to three hours before Harm would awaken. By
then, the rest of the stage should be set and the players all in place.
Then the real fun would begin.
~*~*~*~
Tracy
Author: Tracy (hmtomcat@h...)
Summary: Harm and Mac are assigned to question a Marine Colonel accused of
spying for Russia about other military officers who may be spying, not
realizing that there is a lot more to the case than meets the eye,
especially when it comes to the identity of an alleged spy code-named
Fokusnik, whom the CIA believes may be a myth.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: Not mine. Belong to some really mean people in LA (you know,
the same ones who seem to be planning to string us along in season seven, as
much as the last two seasons).
HOLIDAY INN
NEW COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA
ELIZABETH’S AMERICAN BISTRO
LEWISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
HOLIDAY INN
NEW COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
HOLIDAY INN
NEW COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA
http://dresswhites.server101.com
Part III, the season finale.