Author's Notes: This has been a, well, crazy twelve days, for lack of a better word. I was going to put this out last week, but I had the flu, then work problems (things get very crazy when the troops are waiting for their marching orders - literally), then computer problems.

I did go back and reread this to make sure there wasn't anything I wanted to change in light of recent events. In the end, the only thing I changed was the date the last section takes place. It was originally supposed to take place one week after the showdown with Palmer, which would have been 13 September. I didn't want to ignore the events of 11 September, but this wasn't the place to incorporate them either, so I changed the date to Monday, 10 September. I guess it works just as well if they take a weekend to recooperate rather than an entire week.

~*~*~*~

0230 ZULU
REAGAN NATIONAL AIRPORT
ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

"Look …." Jessica began, her arms crossed over her chest as they waited in the airport terminal. Since they’d left Clay’s office at Langley, she’d been trying without much success to find out what he was keeping from her.

"No," Clay cut in forcefully. He wasn’t about to tell her anything until they were in the air and she’d be unable to do anything about it. In fact, he’d already confiscated her cell phone as they’d left CIA Headquarters and had threatened to throw her into lock-up at Langley when she'd tried to protest. "We are not getting anyone else involved in this. As far as your people are to know, you're still going through that list looking for Fokusnik. We get a bunch of over-eager agents in there, guns blazing, and innocent people are going get hurt."

"But if we're going after Fokusnik …."

"We are not going after Fokusnik," Clay countered wearily. Hadn't he already said several times that he thought they were still being led around by the nose? "If I'm right, he doesn’t even exists. We're just supposed to think he does. I just wish I knew why someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make us think …." He trailed off as he turned everything over in his mind. He wasn't just an innocent victim, chosen at random to be set up. Clay could only think of one man who would want to pull off something like this. Swearing under his breath, he pulled out his cell phone.

"Webb, this had better be good," AJ proclaimed as he strode up to them dressed in civilian clothes, a travel bag slung over his shoulder. Clay turned to face AJ, pausing in the middle of dialing.

"Very," he said. "Admiral AJ Chegwidden, NCIS Agent Jessica Donahue. Let's get going." He started towards the jet way, completing his call on his cell phone, expecting them to follow him. "Markowitz, Webb. I need you to confirm that Clark Palmer is still in Leavenworth …. I wouldn't be asking otherwise. Call me on my cell phone as soon as you've got the information."

Clay put his phone in his suit coat pocket and settled into his seat on the plane, finding AJ looking down at him with a hard stare. He spoke up before AJ could start demanding answers. "As soon as we're airborne, I'll explain," he promised. He flipped a button on bulkhead and spoke into an intercom. "Take off as soon as you can get clearance from the tower. Once we're in the air, give me an ETA for Williamsport."

Clay settled back in his seat, studying AJ and Jessica for a moment before he said, "First, Agent Donahue, the only reason you're here is because that's the only way I can keep an eye on you. If you're with us, you can't tell others what you know and that buys us time."

"If I knew anything to tell," she muttered. "All I know is you think you know who Fokusnik is, but you're convinced he *isn't* really Fokusnik."

At AJ's puzzled look, Clay explained, "In late 1999, the CIA began receiving information about an alleged spy for Russia know in intel circles as Fokusnik, which means 'magician' in Russian." He stopped for a moment, remembering Lieutenant Commander Parker's statement after she'd been held hostage by Palmer. She'd said he had posed as a patient, calling himself Lieutenant Mago. Mago was Italian for magician. Fokusnik meant the same thing in Russian. Just like Palmer – he could be so obvious if you knew what you were looking for or were just happened to be looking in the right place. But you had to be looking right at it or you wouldn't see anything. A magician.

"Anyway," he continued, pushing the recollection from his mind, "the most concrete information we had was a Swiss bank account, the records of which had been leaked to a newspaper. One of our agents found out about it and we got the newspaper's records. No name on the account, although an editor said she thought there had been a name on the account when they'd first found out about it. We could trace the deposits into the account back eventually to the central bank in Moscow through several intermediaries. When we first found out, the account had $800,000 in it. It's now up to nearly five million."

"What happened when you tried to find out the name on the account?" AJ asked.

"Our hacker's computer got infected with a virus," he replied, "and it spread through about a quarter of the CIA network before it was shut down. Every so often, we'd find out about another deposit and we'd hear whispers, but nothing concrete until you sent Rabb and Mackenzie up to Allenwood to talk to Colonel Wentworth."

"Wentworth said he had information on other military officers spying for Russia," AJ recalled.

"He had that, according to Rabb, plus info on a couple of CIA guys and an FBI agent," Clay said. "He also claimed to have information on Fokusnik. From what Rabb told me when I spoke to him this afternoon, Wentworth claimed Fokusnik was military and had family ties to Russia. Everyone assumed that he was either a 1st or 2nd generation American who had maintained ties to the mother country. But ….”

“You got that phone call from your friend’s brother,” Jessica interrupted, realization dawning. “And that’s when you suggested that maybe we were approaching the investigation from the wrong angle, that maybe Fokusnik wasn ’t Russian himself but had family in Russia. Why am I thinking that your friend is military and is going to show up on this list of military members who’ve traveled to Russia?” She pulled the folded list from her purse, where she’d stashed it earlier without Clay realizing it. She quickly scanned the list, then looked back up at the two men. “Just a preliminary glance at this list shows two people who traveled to Russia in the months mentioned. Unless we’re wrong again and Fokusnik is a woman, then this other person – a Commander Harmon Rabb – is …. didn’t you say the officers who went to Pennsylvania to question Wentworth were Rabb and Mackenzie?” AJ looked from her to Clay, stunned and just a little bit angry at the idea that one of his people was being accused of spying.

“Neither of them are spies,” Clay said calmly, but firmly, well aware of AJ's scrutiny. Absently, he rubbed his nose. “I also traveled to Russia in September 1998 and October 2000. During the October trip, I sat next to Colonel Mackenzie on the plane going to Russia and all three of us – Harm, Mac and myself - flew back together. AJ was present during the September ’ 98 trip and all four of us flew back together. That doesn’t make AJ or myself Fokusnik, any more than these trips make Harm or Mac our elusive spy. It’s all a setup. If you'll recall, I told you Harm and Sergei's father was held by the KGB for eleven years. Harm is the last person who would spy for Russia. In fact, he's trying to talk his brother into staying here permanently. If he's supposed to be passing secrets through his family in Russia, how can he do that if his family's over here?”

“What if you’re wrong?” Jessica persisted. “Why would someone want to set up one of these officers as a spy?”

“Palmer,” AJ said in comprehension. “You made a phone call checking to see if Palmer’s still in Leavenworth.”

“Who else?” Clay reminded him. “He’s got it in for Rabb and this is exactly the kind of scheme he might come up with if he’s somehow gotten out of Leavenworth.”

“Who is this Palmer character?” Jessica asked.

“Clark Palmer is a former DSD agent,” Clay began, noting Jessica’s sharply indrawn breath at the mention of the Defense Security Division. “The Bradenhurst Corporation out in California was testing a super-secret aircraft for the DSD under the direction of Agent Palmer. The aircraft was involved in an accident with a Marine helicopter and Rabb was sent to conduct a JAG man investigation. He was able to break into Bradenhurst and bring out information proving DSD was involved in various underhanded dealings, the details of which are still classified. Through high-level government intervention, the DSD was disbanded.”

“Leaving Palmer out of a job,” Jessica concluded, “something he blamed your friend for.”

“Next time he showed up,” AJ picked up the story, “he tried to impersonate Rabb in order to assassinate a Marine Colonel whom Rabb and Mackenzie were prosecuting. The Colonel had ties to the DSD and was on the verge of naming the names of people who were selling chemical weapons to countries in Africa. He’d made Rabb a prisoner in his own home and planned to make it look like Rabb killed Vickers then committed suicide. He didn’t count on Rabb escaping after a power outage disabled his motion-sensor bomb and taking him down at JAG Headquarters.”

“Sounds like this Palmer has quite a grudge against Commander Rabb,” she commented. “But are you sure ….?”

Clay motioned to her to wait when his cell phone rang. “Webb,” he said into the phone. He listened intently for a moment. “Damn. That’s what I was afraid of …. Any idea ….? You would think they would know better than to trust Clark Palmer to be let out without him trying to go after Rabb. Of course, it would be too much to hope for that they might warn Rabb …. Okay, keep me informed.” He clicked off the phone and looked at AJ, who was getting visibly angrier by the minute. He sighed heavily. “Palmer was let out, supposedly under armed guard, for a super-secret mission of some kind that Markowitz can’t get the details on. Apparently, he completed this mission, whatever it was, then gave his guards the slip when they attempted to escort him back to Leavenworth. Their bodies were found yesterday just outside of Baltimore.”

“But he’s had to have had some kind of access to the outside prior to now, whether through computer or a contact on the outside,” AJ pointed out, “in order to set all this up.”

“Markowitz already has someone combing through Leavenworth’s phone and visitor logs going back to when we first started getting information on Fokusnik,” Clay said, “which was early December 1999.”

AJ considered for a moment, trying to remember all the times Harm had confrontations with Clark Palmer. “As I recall, Rabb visited Palmer at Leavenworth at the end of November 1999,” he said. “He thought Palmer might have been responsible for that op-ed piece allegedly written by Rabb.”

“Do you remember which paper the op-ed piece ran in?” Clay asked.

“Washington Globe,” AJ replied.

“That’s the same newspaper that got the information on the Swiss bank account allegedly held by Fokusnik,” Clay said. “It might just be a coincidence, especially considering that Palmer *didn’t* have anything to do with the op-ed piece.”

“I don’t suppose you thought to call Rabb and warn him that someone has set him up as a spy?” AJ asked.

“No, I thought I’d let the FBI, CIA and NCIS figure it out and get to Rabb first,” Clay retorted sarcastically. “I tried calling both Harm and Mac’s cell phones and their hotel directly while we were waiting for you. I checked at Allenwood and they haven’t been back to speak to Wentworth since I spoke to Rabb the first time. Right now, I’m operating under the assumption that Palmer’s gotten to one or both of them. I don’t want to involve local law enforcement in case it were to get back to our multi-agency task force. I’m sure someone there is going to put two and two together and come up with Rabb sooner rather than later, especially if Palmer is making sure choice nuggets of information get to them. The only way to stop the task force from going after Rabb is to give them Palmer first.”

“He’ll likely go after Colonel Mackenzie,” AJ said with certainty.

“I know,” Clay said. “He takes her, gets Rabb chasing him while – unknown to Rabb – every law enforcement officer in the Northeast is going after him. Wait a minute ….” He pulled out his cell phone again and dialed a number, clicking the phone off after a minute. “I had an agent on his way to pick up copies of the information Wentworth gave Rabb and Mackenzie. I can’t reach him either. We’ll have to assume Palmer got to him somehow, too.”

“Why the elaborate scheme?” Jessica asked. “Why doesn’t he go after Commander Rabb directly? Why all the smoke and mirrors?”

“Because smoke and mirrors is what Palmer does best,” Clay replied simply. “He rarely goes after Harm directly. He’s more likely to strike indirectly by going after those closest to Harm. By that token, it’s surprising he hasn’t tried to use Mac before. She’s probably Harm’s greatest weakness – and he hers - although to get either of them to admit that ….”

“Mr. Webb,” said the pilot’s voice over the intercom, “we’ll be landing in Williamsport in forty-seven minutes. A car has been arranged for you at the airport.”

“Webb ….” AJ began in warning.

“I know,” Clay said, racking his brain to come up with a plan if Palmer had struck at Harm and Mac, fully aware that they were racing against the clock.

~*~*~*~

0315 ZULU
SOMEWHERE OVER CENTRAL PENNSYLVANIA

Her head was pounding. That was the first thing she became aware of as she slowly regained consciousness. The second was that she felt sick to her stomach. She forced her eyes to open, but found it hard to focus. She closed them again as she became aware of a loud hum, almost like …. no, not the Stearman, which is what the noise reminded her of. But a small plane of some kind. A Cessna, maybe. Or a Piper. Harm would know for sure.

“Harm?” she murmured.

In the pilot’s seat, Palmer glanced behind him with a smile. This could get interesting, he thought. She was actually waking up a bit earlier than he had calculated. He had a feeling Mac would prove to be as worthy an adversary as Harm. But right now, she was simply a means to an end, a way to get to Harm. “Sorry, Colonel,” he said, “I’m afraid the Commander’s not with us.”

Huh? Mac thought. She could make out someone saying something, but it was so hard to concentrate. Her eyes fluttered open again and she found it a little bit easier to focus. But moving her head proved more problematic and she couldn’t stifle the groan as the ache in her head increased when she tried to look around.

“I’m sorry, Colonel,” he said. “Does your head hurt? I apologize, but that ’s an unfortunately side effect of that drug you ingested. It should go away in a few hours. Or maybe not. Maybe the drug will just kill you.”

This time, she was better able to concentrate on the voice, a chill running through her as recognition dawned. “Palmer,” she whispered. She tried to move her arms, belatedly realizing that they were tightly bound with rope, as were her ankles. Not that she could do much in her condition. She didn’ t think she could get out of her seat without falling over.

“Very good, Colonel,” he said, turning around in his seat to face her.

“How did ….” She trailed off, momentarily forgetting what she’d been trying to say. Struggling to concentrate, she tried again. “How did you get out of Leavenworth?”

“You know, it’s amazing what a little quid pro quo can get you,” he replied. “I did a little favor for our government, so I figured they owed me one in return.”

“You escaped,” she concluded.

Palmer shrugged. “If you want to see it that way,” he said.

“You realize …. Ham will come after you,” she said, trying to lift her bound hands to rub her aching forehead, discovering another rope binding her to the seat, which didn’t have enough slack to allow her to raise her hands more than six inches above her lap.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he said with a cold laugh, “especially since I have something he wants. That’s where the fun comes in. It’s a shame I didn’t think about this before. All those times I’ve tried to get to him and the person he values most, the one he’d surely die for, was right under my nose the entire time. You know, it’s a shame the room service waiter showed up with your food when he did. Things were just getting interesting.”

Mac shivered, a cold, dead weight settling in the pit of her stomach as she realized the implication of what he was saying. “I never realized you were a voyeur,” she said.

“A good operative gathers all the information he can on his target,” he replied. “And I needed to know when to move in. It was so touching, seeing your concern for your fallen boyfriend, watching you try to call for help. Are you comfortable back there?”

“Would it matter if I said ‘no’?” she asked.

Palmer laughed in response. “Not really,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. We’ll be back on the ground shortly and then I fear things will get even more uncomfortable for you.”

Mac managed a laugh herself. “What makes you think Harm won’t stop you,” she pointed out, “as he’s stopped you time and time again?”

Palmer laughed as he turned back around, throwing a few switches on the instrument panel. “That’s why I’m hedging my bets, Colonel,” he said. “Aren’t you interested in where we’re going?”

She hadn’t thought of that. It hurt so much to think. She started to shake her head to clear it, realizing too late that wasn’t the best move as she felt another sharp, stabbing pain in her head. “Would you tell me if I asked?” she asked.

“Since you’ll recognize where we are once we get there,” he said, “I guess it doesn’t hurt to tell you. We’re going to Beallsville.”

Her eyes widened in horror as she realized what Palmer meant by ‘hedging his bets’. Two of Harm’s three living blood relatives were in Beallsville. She took a few deep breaths, hoping it would help clear her head. She had to concentrate. She had to hold it together so she could fight Palmer.

~*~*~*~

0405 ZULU
HOLIDAY INN
NEW COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA

“It’s against hotel policy,” the desk clerk said.

Clay yanked a billfold out of the inner pocket of his suit coat and slapped it down on the counter, opened so the clerk could see his ID. “I’m a federal agent,” he said firmly, “and unless you’d like to be detained for impeding a federal investigation, I suggest you provide us duplicate key cards for Commander Rabb’s and Colonel Mackenzie’s rooms. You are allowed to open up a guest’s room in case of an emergency, correct?”

“Yes, but ….” the clerk said nervously.

“This is an emergency,” AJ interjected. “Now I suggest you either give us the key cards or find someone to escort us to their rooms.”

“I’ll take you there,” the clerk said, turning to another clerk who’d been watching the exchange silently. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The clerk grabbed a master key card and led Clay, AJ and Jessica up to the second floor where Harm and Mac’s rooms were located. They came to a stop in front of room 215. “This is Colonel Mackenzie’s room,” the clerk said, sliding the card into the slot. He opened the door and Clay stuck his head in, quickly realizing there was nothing of value inside.

“The bed’s made,” Clay reported as he pulled the door closed. “She never went to bed tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “They’re dedicated, but I can’t imagine Harm and Mac would still be up working on the case, not after midnight. Unless she's …. where’s Commander Rabb’s room?”

“214,” the clerk replied. “Right across the hall.” He moved to the door and opened it. AJ, closest to the door, glanced inside. Someone had been there. The bed was made, but the covers slightly mused, as if someone had been sitting or laying on top of them. Folders and papers, presumably about the case, were scattered on top of the bed. The remains of Harm and Mac’s dinners were still on the table.

“There’s two dinners on the table,” AJ said. “Harm and Mac had dinner together while working on the ….” He stopped suddenly when he heard a soft groan. Stepping into the room, he finally saw Harm struggling to get up from the floor. Quickly, he knelt beside Harm, throwing a supporting arm around him. “Easy.”

“Admiral?” he asked in a daze. AJ realized from the way he was struggling to move and his heavy voice that he’d been drugged.

“Move slowly,” AJ said. “You’ve been drugged.”

“Should I call the police?” the clerk asked.

“She is the police,” Clay said, motioning towards Jessica, fudging the truth slightly. “We’ll handle this. Why don’t you go back to the front desk now?”

The clerk hesitated a second, then decided off Clay’s hard look that it would be a good idea to get back to work. After he’d left, Clay turned to Jessica. “You’re the criminal investigator,” he said. “What do you see here?”

“If he was drugged,” she said, slowly moving around the room, taking note of even the tiniest details, “it was likely introduced in the food. Notice how both dishes are little more than half eaten. I don’t know what kind of eaters your friends are, but room service is too expensive to let it go to waste.”

“Mac definitely has a healthy appetite,” Clay said. “The steak would be hers, the salmon Harm’s.”

“From his size and build, I’d say Commander Rabb’s food was more heavily drugged,” she continued. “And whoever did this would want to keep him out long enough for him to make his escape and get a good distance from here. Colonel Mackenzie’s food probably had less of the drug. He would only need to keep her out long enough to get her out of here. Notice how the phone is off the hook? But the Commander was over by the table. It looks like he fell out of his chair, which would support my theory that he ingested more of the drug. But Colonel Mackenzie was able to make it to the phone to try to call for help, probably after the Commander collapsed. Then she either lost consciousness or whoever did this showed up before she could complete the call.”

“She lost consciousness,” Clay said with certainty. “She’s a Marine and she ’s good in a fight. If she’d still been conscious, she would have fought and fought hard, especially with Harm’s life at stake. There's no sign of a struggle here. She was taken out of here after she lost consciousness."

“They’re that close?” Jessica asked.

“It’s complicated,” he replied with a slight smile. “It has been from the moment they met.” He looked over at AJ, who was slowly helping Harm onto the bed. “How is he?”

“Very heavily drugged,” AJ replied, the concern evident in his tone. “He’s having a hard time shaking it off.”

Clay moved over to the bed as Harm mumbled something. He looked at AJ questioningly. “He said ‘Mac’,” AJ said.

Clay crouched by the bed so that he was at eye level with Harm, who had fallen back onto the bed. “Harm, she’s gone,” he said. “We think Palmer has her.”

Harm tried to push himself up, but AJ held him down with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Take a few minutes to get your land legs back,” he advised.

“If Palmer has her, we may not have a few minutes,” Harm countered, pushing away AJ’s hand and pushing himself back into a sitting position. “I need to get up, work this …. drug out of my system.”

“Webb,” Jessica said, kneeling by the table, picking up a piece of paper off the floor. Clay joined her as she straightened up and unfolded the paper. “’How about a game? You’ll find the first game piece in this hotel, room 336.’”

“Palmer,” Clay said with disgust.

Harm overheard and struggled to stand, nearly falling over once on his feet before AJ put a supporting arm around his waist. “We’ve got to get moving,” he insisted. “God only knows how long he’s had to get away with Mac. What time is it?” He closed his eyes, imagining Mac’s voice rattling off hours, minutes and seconds without hesitation.

“Twelve fifteen,” Clay replied after a glance at his watch.

“Dinner was delivered about twenty-one fifteen,” Harm said hesitantly, trying to remember the details. “I don’t know how long it was before …. I just remember feeling very sick and dizzy all of a sudden. Mac seemed to be swimming before my eyes. I tried to reach out for her …. the next thing I remember is the Admiral helping me up.”

“Less than a three hour head start,” Clay said. “But he wants you to find him or why else leave this note?”

“Then we need to play along for now,” Harm said, just barely tightening his grip on AJ as another wave of dizziness washed over him, just enough so that AJ noticed. “We need to find out what’s in room ….?”

“336,” Jessica supplied. “Why don’t I meet you guys there? I’ll go get the desk clerk to let us in.”

“I don’t think ….” Clay began, not ready to trust her not to bring down the combined force of the FBI, CIA and NCIS on them.

“Look, I believe you about Fokusnik,” she said calmly, realizing the source of his reservations. “Everything that you said, everything I’ve seen, it all makes sense."

Clay hesitated another moment, then nodded. As she left, Clay took up position on Harm's other side, helping AJ support him. "Harm, are you sure you don't want to wait here?" Clay asked, the concern apparent in his voice.

"No," Harm said with a strength of tone that belied his condition. "Mac …. we have to find her."

"We will, Harm," AJ promised. Slowly, the three men made their way down the hall and up one flight of stairs, finding Jessica and the desk clerk who'd helped them earlier waiting for them outside room 336. The clerk opened the door for them, stepping back with a gasp. Jessica poked her head inside the room, then turned back to the men. "There's a man lying on the floor, clutching a piece of paper," she reported. "He appears to be dead."

With a nod, Clay dismissed the desk clerk again and the four of them stepped into the room. Harm let go of Clay and AJ, leaning heavily against the dresser while Jessica checked for a pulse. "He's dead," she reported, "and rigor is setting in. I'd say he's been dead several hours at least. Probably at least as long as you've been drugged." Gently, she rolled the man over, bringing looks of shocked recognition from both Harm and AJ.

"That's Colonel Wentworth's attorney," AJ said, "R. Johnson Williams. Why would Palmer want to kill him?"

Jessica knelt and started to reach for the paper in Williams' hand, stopping when Harm shook his head. "Palmer … considers himself a forensic artist," he explained, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to wish away the sledgehammer pounding in his head. "For all we know, that paper could be what killed Williams."

"Treated with a poison?" she asked. Harm nodded. She withdrew a pair of latex gloves from her jacket pocket and pulled them on with a snap, then gingerly pried the paper from Williams' fingers. "Whoa. You guys are not going to believe this." She lifted the paper up so that AJ and Clay, looking over her shoulder, could read it.

Both AJ and Clay's eyes went wide with shock. "It's a birth certificate," Clay said after a moment of trying to digest what he was seeing. "Father is Jason Michael Dyson, mother is Maria Elaine Palmer, unmarried at the time of their child's birth."

"Palmer?" Harm mused. "You're going to tell me the child is Clark Palmer?"

"Exactly," Clay said. "Clark Jason Palmer, born 15 April 1964."

"So what's the significance of the birth certificate?" AJ asked. "Palmer doesn't do anything without there being some meaning attached."

"There's something written on the back," Jessica reported, studying the certificate. "'I've taken care of my family, now I'll take care of yours.' I assume the message is meant for Commander Rabb."

"Harm, where in Pennsylvania does your grandmother live?" Clay asked, realizing in an instant where Palmer was going with Mac.

"Beallsville," he replied. "It's a small town outside of Pittsburgh. We need to get going." He started towards the door, only to stumble and grab the edge of the dresser for support.

"Slow down," AJ advised. "We need to figure out how we're going to do this. We need a plan and you're in no condition to take off half-cocked."

Clay pulled out his phone and dialed. "Markowitz, at the Holiday Inn in New Columbia, Pennsylvania, there's a dead lawyer in room 336," he said. "Get some of our people up here immediately. Specifically, I want a complete investigation on this man, R. Johnson Williams – complete background, run his fingerprints, everything. I want to know exactly how he's related to Clark Palmer and I mean that in the literal familial sense."

He hung up, then turned to the others. "We need to speak to the hotel manager," he said, "get them to keep everyone away from this room until my people get here. Then we need to make arrangements to fly to Pittsburgh …."

"That will take too long," Harm said. "We need to fly directly to Beallsville."

"How?" Clay countered. "We could rent a small plane, but you're in no condition to fly it and there probably isn't anyplace in Beallsville large enough to land my Gulfstream jet. And even if there were a commuter airport between Pittsburgh and Beallsville, where would we get a car to drive to your grandmother's farm? Harm, think. Palmer wants you there. He's not going to do anything to your brother, grandmother or Mac until you're there to watch it. In a way, that works to our advantage."

Reluctantly, Harm nodded. If he were alone, he knew he probably would go off half-cocked, as AJ had pointed out. Under normal circumstances, he'd managed just fine before, but right now, he had to admit that he was in no condition to face Palmer on his own, especially not with the stakes being so high. Palmer was holding three of the people he loved most in the world – two of them family, the third he someday hoped would be.

"Okay," he conceded. "We'll do this your way."

~*~*~*~

0430 ZULU
SARAH RABB'S FARM
BEALSVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA

Palmer smoothly landed the Cessna in the field behind the farm house, the same one Harm and Mac had taken off from in 'Sarah' just over two days earlier. Mac hoped the noise from the plane would awaken someone in the house, put them on their guard. Sergei would know how to defend himself and Gram. She had to hope it was enough until she was in a position to do something herself.

"Let's get going, Colonel," Palmer said, unstrapping himself from the pilot's seat. "We've got people to see before Rabb gets here." He looked at her, then smiled. "Sorry, I forgot. You need my help to disembark."

"It'll be a cold day in hell when I need your help," she retorted defiantly.

"I can see what Rabb sees in you," he said. "And in other circumstances, you'd probably make as worthy an opponent as he is. It's a shame I won't get the chance to explore that."

"You never know," she replied with a confident smile.

Palmer pulled a pocket knife from his pocket and opened it as he warned her, "I wouldn't try anything. I'm just cutting the rope holding you to the seat. Your wrists and ankles will remain bound, so you won't get anywhere even if you tried. And this knife could easily slip. I understand it's a rather slow death, bleeding to death from a slit wrist."

"Where would be the artistry in that?" Mac asked calmly, fearlessly meeting his gaze.

"The artistry would be in seeing the look on Rabb's face when he first sees your lifeless body," he replied with a chilling smile, "along with those of his beloved brother and grandmother."

"You've got to kill us first," she said, "and you may find that more difficult than you expect."

"Brave words from someone bound and unable to move," he countered. He was pleased that he was being proven right about her worthiness, unwilling to admit that her defiance was somewhat unsettling. People who knew they had nothing to lose could be dangerous. He just would not allow that.

"I'm a Marine," she said simply as he cut the rope tying her to the seat. He started to lift her up, then stopped when he noticed a light come on in the house. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a bandana and gagged her with it, tightly tying it at the back of her head. She forced herself not to wince as he tied it tighter than necessary.

"Don't want you try call out," he explained. "We don't want someone in the house to become alarmed and call the police. The stage isn't set yet."

He lifted her up and carried her off the plane, unbothered when she hit her head on the doorway. He grasped the knife in one hand, pressing it against her ribcage. It wasn't really for her benefit – he knew she currently wasn't in a position to do anything. It was a warning to Gram and Sergei to prevent them from doing anything foolish.

As they approached the porch, the front door opened, Sarah Rabb standing framed in the doorway, belting her hastily pulled on robe around her waist. "How nice of you to open the door for us, Mrs. Rabb," Palmer said.

Sarah calmly noted Mac's trussed up appearance and the knife held at her side. "Are you okay, Mac?" she asked, stepping back from the door as Palmer pushed his way into the house, kicking the door closed behind him. He continued into the living room, unceremoniously dropping Mac onto the couch while Sarah watched. "Is that really necessary?"

"You'd have to ask your grandson that," Palmer replied as he untied the gag, Mac spitting it out of her mouth as she coughed. "Speaking of your grandsons, where is your younger grandson?"

"I don't know," Sarah answered honestly. When the sound of the plane had woken her up, she'd first gone to Sergei's room and had found him gone, which hadn't really surprised her. As he'd struggled with his decision about whether or not to stay in America, he'd sometimes gone out at night for a walk around the farm or a drive around town, unable to sleep. She assumed that was what he'd done this night.

Palmer walked over to her, looming over her, but Sarah stood her ground, looking at him with her arms crossed over her chest. "I don't," she repeated. "He sometimes goes out at night when he can't sleep."

"It doesn't matter," Palmer conceded. "He'll come back sooner or later. Do you have some rope around here?"

Sarah nodded. "There's some in the front closet," she said.

"Get it, quickly," he ordered, moving over to the couch to stand over Mac, his knife visible. "Just a reminder not to try anything."

"This isn't like you, Palmer," Mac said once Sarah had left the room. "Again, where's the finesse, the artistry?"

Palmer laughed coldly, chilling both Mac and Sarah, who could hear him as she got the coil of rope from the closet. "You don't know the half of what I've done, Colonel," he said. "Rabb thinks that all he has to do is come here, rescue the girl and ride off into the sunset. But there's something he hasn't counted on."

"And what's that?" she asked.

"Fokusnik," he replied, laughing at the confused expression on her face. "But I think I'll keep to myself right now just how he figures into this. Let's just say Rabb has no idea what he's really walking into and *that* is where the artistry comes in."

Sarah returned and set the coil of rope on the end table. Palmer regarded her for a moment. "Aren't you scared, Mrs. Rabb?" he asked.

"What would be the point?" she countered. "You obviously have no respect for my age, so why would I think my fear would move you to mercy either?"

"Is this a Rabb family characteristic – this foolhardy defiance?" he asked as he cut off a length of rope, wrapping it around her wrists.

"It's hardly foolhardy when it's helped Harm stand up to you before," Mac reminded him.

"As I said," he said, "I've got an ace in the hole this time. That's not too tight, is it, Mrs. Rabb?"

"No."

"I'll even grant you the concession of not tying your feet together," he said with false graciousness.

He sat in a chair opposite them, turning his knife over in his hand. "Now what?" Mac asked, looking at Sarah, her expression concerned and apologetic.

"We wait."

~*~*~*~

0500 ZULU
SOMEWHERE OVER CENTRAL PENNSYLVANIA

Once airborne in Clay's jet heading towards Pittsburgh, Harm started bombarding them with questions, trying to figure out how they'd ended up in Pennsylvania. By the end of Clay's explanation, Harm's head was spinning and not solely because of the drug he was still fighting off. "You're telling me I'm supposed to be Fokusnik?" he asked incredulously.

"Palmer apparently has been carefully crafting a web for nearly two years," Clay said, "to make it appear that you're selling military secrets to Russia, complete with a Swiss bank account which receives periodic deposits from a bank in Moscow."

"Even Palmer would have know that I'd never sell anything to Russia," Harm said. "Those people held my father prisoner for eleven years and ultimately killed him when he tried to protect Sergei's mother. Look at General Krylov. He tried to have my brother executed for his crimes. In general, why would I cross the street for most of those people, let alone sell them information?"

"I don't know if Palmer's plan goes as far as ensuring you end up in a cell next to his in Leavenworth," AJ said. "His point may be to just generate confusion. You can't very well go after him if you've got to worry about the FBI, CIA and NCIS breathing down your neck. By the time it would all get sorted out, he'd be long gone, your family and best friend would be dead, and your life would be in ruins."

"The 'wilderness of mirrors' taken to an extreme," Clay added. "No one would ever look at you the same again, even if you were cleared of spying. And if his plan works, he'd still be out there, watching you sinking deeper into obsession, the obsession of getting back at him for what he's done to your family, to Mac. Simply put, he's trying to drive you crazy."

"He's tried that before, without success," Harm pointed out, leaning back in his seat, rubbing his temples. Three pairs of eyes studied him with concern.

"But never before with Mac," Clay said. Harm turned his head and gave him a hard stare, but he continued. "Somehow, even in Leavenworth, Palmer keeps track of you – not that it was hard with your accident a few months ago. That made the news. It probably wasn't too hard for him to ask questions, to find out the rest of what happened. It was probably like a light bulb going off for him. The way to get to you is primarily through Mac."

"So what's the plan?" Jessica asked. "From what I've heard about this man, we can't just go in guns blazing."

"No, we can't, not with up to three lives at stake," AJ said reflectively, a plan forming in his mind.

"We give him what he wants," Clay said.

"Meaning me," Harm said weakly.

"In your current condition, he's probably going to think you're less of a threat to him," Clay explained. "We let him think that and that you're there alone. Then one of us will take him out. Can you draw us the layout of your grandmother's house?"

Harm nodded and Clay handed him a legal pad and pen. As Harm drew a rough sketch of the house, the others couldn't help but notice how his hands shook, presumably a side effect of whatever drug Palmer had used. AJ motioned to Clay.

"Any way of finding out what he was given and how to counteract it if necessary?" AJ whispered. "For all we know, the stuff Palmer used could be deadly."

"Yeah," Clay said, pulling out his cell phone again and dialing. "Markowitz. Is the team in New Columbia? Have them check out room 214, Commander Rabb's room. There are two meals on the table that have been drugged. I want them analyzed. I need to know what was used, what the symptoms and effects are and what's the counteragent. And I need this yesterday. Also, get someone looking for Agent Jenkins. He was supposed to pick up some information from Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie and I can't reach him. I suspect Palmer may have gotten to him. The information was still in Rabb's room when I got there, so he never showed up."

He hung up the phone and turned to AJ. "They'll get back to me," he said. "The team investigating Williams' death is already there. We should know something soon."

Jessica was watching while Harm drew the diagram. "Is there a barn of something with at least a partial view of the second floor?" she asked. "If he's holding them up there, it makes it harder to take him out."

"There's no way to get a shot off from the barn," he replied. "It's at an angle to the house. You can see the house from one of the windows in the hayloft, but you can't see any of the windows in the house."

"Okay," AJ said, calmly processing the information. "If we have to infiltrate the house, is there anything we should know about the inside – loose floorboards, squeaky steps, anything which might give our presence away?"

"No loose floorboards," Harm said. "I repaired those for Gram several months ago. There is a squeaky step that's been there since my father was a child according to Gram." He paused while he mentally climbed the steps in his mind, counting them. "It's the fifth step from the top. She never would let anyone fix it."

"Ideally, we'd like him to be on the first floor," AJ said, "but we'll deal with it if he's holding them upstairs. How good a shot are you, Agent Donahue?"

"First in my class in marksmanship," she said.

"Good," AJ said, going into SEAL mode. "Remember, there's going to be three non-combatants, any of which Palmer might decide to use as human shields. Colonel Mackenzie has been drugged as well, so her condition is a question mark. Mrs. Rabb is elderly. Sergeant Zhukov is young and has spent two years in the Russian Army. If Palmer has underestimated him, that could work to our advantage. Webb, what do you have here in the way of weapons?"

"Sidearms or rifles?"

"Make sure everyone except Rabb has one of each," AJ ordered. "We'll play it by ear as to which one we'll use."

While Clay and Jessica got the weapons from a cabinet in the rear of the cabin, AJ sat down next to Harm. "How are you doing, Harm?" he asked.

Harm looked over at him, slightly surprised at the familiar form of address. "I never thought I'd ever feel sick on an airplane," he said, trying to make the statement sound humorous. "Sir, I just want …. to get Palmer."

"Harm, remember, Palmer's usual MO is to goad you into an emotional response," he pointed out. "He's counting on you trying to shoot first and ask questions later. Right now, in your condition, the only thing that's going to accomplish is getting you – and probably Mac, your grandmother and your brother – killed."

"I …. don't want …. anything to happen to them," he whispered, staring out the window into the dark night.

AJ could see the torment on his face reflected in the window and put a comforting hand on Harm's shoulder. "I know," he said. Nothing further needed to be said.

~*~*~*~

0540 ZULU
SARAH RABB'S FARM
BEALLSVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA

Sergei stared up at the starry sky as he rounded a corner of the barn, contemplating his decision. He'd told Clay that he'd decided whether or not to remain in the States, but that didn't mean he wasn't second guessing himself. All the questions which had plagued him up until he'd made his choice continued to haunt him.

On the one hand, there was his mother and he loved her dearly. For so long, she had been his only family. She had managed to raise him and work the farm on her own after her brother had died. On the other hand, he also loved his brother, despite their slightly rocky start. And his grandmother – she reminded him a lot of his mother and he felt as at home on her farm as he did on his mother's farm back in Svischevo. No matter what, he felt like he was going to be letting someone down.

He looked back down, ready to start back for the house to try to get some sleep when he stopped short at the sight of the small airplane sitting about fifty yards away. It looked nothing like Harm's plane. Besides, he already knew from Clay that Harm was away on assignment in another part of the state. Who would have landed a plane on his grandmother's farm, especially in the middle of the night?

On alert, he cautiously approached the house, careful to remain as silent as possible. He jumped when something nudged his leg, looking down to find his grandmother's dog Hammer looking up at him. During the summer when it was warm, he knew the dog slept in the barn. He patted the dog on the head to reassure him and motioned him to remain quiet. Quietly stepping up onto the porch, he crouched under the living room window and carefully poked his head up to look inside.

The curtains were parted enough that he could see enough of what was going on inside. A man was standing in the middle of the room, gesturing his hands, giving Sergei a glimpse of a knife in one hand. He could see his grandmother sitting calmly on the couch, facing the man, and he breathed a sigh of relief that she appeared to be unhurt. Then the man moved and Sergei had to stifle a gasp when he saw Mac sitting next to his grandmother. Clay had told him that Harm was on assignment and he had assumed that Mac had been with him.

He saw Mac's eyes widen when she caught sight of Sergei, then she quickly averted them so as not to give away his position. Sergei ducked back down under the window, contemplating the situation. He needed a weapon. He knew there was a rifle in the house to scare off the stray wild animal that wandered onto the farm, but that was inaccessible to him right now. His best bet was the barn. He knew there were some tools out there – rakes, shovels, some woodworking tools. Carefully, he made his way off the porch then broke into a run for the barn.

~*~*~*~

Palmer glanced at his watch. "It shouldn't be too much longer," he reported.

"How is Harm supposed to get here?" Mac asked. "You drugged him as well."

"Oh, Rabb will be here," he said. "He probably can't fly himself, but I'm sure he'll hire someone if necessary to get him here."

"And then what?" she continued, trying to draw him out, to get him to reveal his plan. If she knew what he was up to, then maybe she could figure out how stop him.

"Then Rabb gets to watch while I kill you," he replied. "I think you'll be last, Colonel. Let Rabb watch his grandmother and brother die, knowing the whole time that I'll kill you next."

"I guess you've forgotten that Sergei's not here," Sarah pointed out.

"Then I'll just keep all of you alive until your wayward grandson returns," Palmer replied. "He has to return sooner or later."

Mac caught a movement at the window and her eyes widened when she caught sight of a figure crouching on the other side of the window. It had to be Sergei. Quickly, she turned her head so Palmer wouldn't notice that she was looking at the window. She had to hope that Sergei could see enough to realize that they were in trouble and would get help.

Palmer turned slightly away from them and Mac took the opportunity to lean closer to Sarah. "Sergei's here," she whispered. "He was looking in through the window. He must have gotten suspicious when he saw the plane in the yard."

"Good," Sarah whispered back. She glanced at Palmer and quickly pulled away from Mac when he turned back in their direction.

"What are you two doing?" he demanded.

"Talking to pass the time," Sarah said. "You've had us tied up here for over an hour. It's the middle of the night, but we're hardly in a position to go back to sleep, so we're talking."

"Well, don't," he said, whirling around at a noise behind him.

"Hey, Hammer," Sarah called, whistling to the black lab that had just come into the living room. She smiled slightly, realizing that Sergei had to have let him into the house, perhaps as a distraction. Hammer walked up and nudged her arm with his nose.

"Where'd that dog come from?" Palmer asked warily.

"He was probably asleep somewhere in the house," Sarah lied. "He heard you and came to investigate."

"Get out," he ordered, kicking out at Hammer. The dog crouched low and growled deep in his throat. Mac instantly took advantage and lifted up her legs, kicking out and driving her feet into Palmer's knees. He stumbled backwards and Hammer jumped up, closing his teeth around one of Palmer's ankles. He lashed out with his knife, slicing the dog in the shoulder, but Hammer held on.

Mac looked around the room for something she could grab and throw at Palmer, then Sergei entered the room, swinging a shovel at the back of Palmer's head. Palmer turned around and reached to grab the shovel as Sergei swung again, this time hitting him in the face, blood gushing from his nose.

As he stumbled, a gun fell from the waistband at the back of his pants and Mac dove for it as best she could, clutching the handle in her bound hands, fumbling with it slightly as she tried to get it into a position where she could fire it. As Palmer righted himself and lunged for Sergei, Mac got off a shot, hitting him in the side and he fell to the floor unconscious.

Sergei tossed the shovel aside and picked up Palmer's knife, prepared to release his grandmother and Mac, but Mac shook her head. "Tie him up first," she said. "Just in case."

He hesitated a second, then picked up the coil of rope from the end table, cutting several lengths. He bound Palmer's wrists and ankles, double checking the security of the knots. He cut the ropes holding Sarah's hands together, then cut Mac's ropes.

Sarah rubbed her sore wrists, trying to restore circulation as Sergei threw his arms around her shoulders. "Are you okay?" he asked, his tone worried.

"I'm fine," she assured him with a smile, kissing his cheek. "I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," he replied. "Mac?"

"I'll be okay," she replied uncertainly as she tried to stand, stumbling as soon as she got to her feet. Sergei and Sarah each grabbed one of her arms and eased her back onto the couch.

"Take it easy," Sarah advised. "Let the circulation return." She watched Mac with concern as the younger woman pressed her hands to the sides of her head. "Mac?"

"He drugged me," she said softly. "That's how he got me. I think our dinner …. Harm. I don't know what happened to Harm."

"We'll try to call his cell phone," Sarah said, pressing Mac down so that she lay on the couch, "after we call an ambulance for you and Mr. Palmer here."

Mac settled onto the couch and looked at Palmer lying on the floor, Hammer standing over him, his teeth bared. "I wish …." she began.

"Mr. Palmer will pay for his crimes," Sarah said firmly. "Just relax."

Sergei set down the phone, having called 911 before trying Harm's cell phone. "The police and ambulances are on their way," he reported. "There was no answer on Harm's cell phone."

"I hope he's alright," Mac said.

"I'm sure he is," Sarah said. "Wasn't Mr. Palmer waiting for him to show up? Have faith that he'll be here soon."

They all turned as they heard a noise outside. Unaccompanied by sirens, it obviously wasn't the police or paramedics, not this soon. "Mac, give me the gun," Sergei said. She handed it to him and he cautiously moved towards the door. He pushed the door open just a crack, the barrel of the gun poking out. He peeked out and gasped at the sight. "A little late, aren't you, big brother?"

Harm, gripping the porch railing to steady himself, looked up at Sergei. "Gram, Mac?" he asked. "How are they?"

"Gram is fine," he replied. "Mac is …. "

"Mac is what?" Harm interrupted.

"She has been drugged," Sergei replied calmly, "like you, I suspect. She's lying down inside."

Harm started into the house, Sergei quickly throwing a supporting arm around his waist. Sarah looked up as they entered the living room, smiling. "Mac, there's someone here to see you," she said.

Mac opened her eyes, pushing herself into a sitting position as Harm fell to his knees beside the couch, pulling her into his arms. "When I found you gone," he whispered against her hair, his hands running soothingly up and down her back.

"I know," she said.

Harm glanced over at Palmer. "What happened?" he asked.

"Sergei hit him with the shovel," she replied, "and I shot him." She laughed as Harm lifted an eyebrow. "What, did you think you were the only one who could play the hero? Although in your brother's case, I suspect it runs in the family."

Clay, AJ and Jessica, who had come out of hiding after Harm and Sergei went into the house, watched the two officers with varying degrees of amusement. "Well, AJ," Clay said smugly. "Do you see what I see?"

"I don't see a thing," AJ replied gruffly.

"I …." Harm began softly, his voice breaking.

"I know," Mac whispered, brushing her lips over his. "You don't have to tell me anything. I feel the same way."

~*~*~*~

1215 ZULU
MONDAY, 10 SEPTEMBER
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

"Take a seat," AJ said as Harm and Mac came to attention in front of his desk. It was their first day back at work after their ordeal with Palmer. They had spent the weekend – after a day spent in the hospital for observation while the drug Palmer had used worked its way out of their systems – at Sarah Rabb's farm while everyone else returned to Washington to clean up the mess Palmer had created. Clay had just called a few minutes earlier to let him know that Fokusnik was officially being declared a myth by the CIA. "Webb called just now. You don't have to worry about an investigation into Fokusnik. Wentworth admitted that he was being fed information to give to you and they found enough other evidence to convince most people that the elusive spy was all Palmer's invention."

"What about the other people Wentworth named?" Mac asked.

"Now that information was actually accurate," AJ said. "The task force is busy building cases against the people involved. In fact, one of the CIA agents Wentworth named in his notes was already being looked at by the Agency, a Jonathan Dyson."

"Dyson?" Harm mused. "That was the name of Palmer's father."

"That's the other news Mr. Webb had," AJ explained. "They finally completed the investigation into R. Johnson Williams. His real name is Richard Dyson, a former mob lawyer for the Condelli family in New York. He supposedly committed suicide ten years ago. Both men are the legitimate sons of Jason Dyson."

"They're Palmer's half-brothers," Harm realized. "I always knew somehow that he despised his family. I guess I never realized how much."

"Apparently, Palmer kept track of his brothers," AJ said, "just waiting for the perfect time to move against them. They grew up in a well-to-do family while he went from foster home to foster home after his mother died when he was eight. The CIA thinks he was blackmailing Williams with knowledge of his true identity, then killed him when he was finished with him. With Jonathan, he just leaked proof of his spying then let the CIA take care of the rest."

"Sweepers," Mac said in comprehension. "I guess it's over then."

"Not quite," AJ said, looking from one to the other sternly. "There's something else I want to say about what I saw at the farm last week."

"Admiral, I …." Harm began.

"Let me finished, Commander," AJ interrupted. "It has bothered me the last two years, the obvious distance between the two of you, the occasional tension, even at times barely concealed hostility. While I am happy to see things return somewhat to normal, I don't want to have to worry that something will, um, develop that may cause further disruption in this office. Do you think you can manage for a change to keep your personal lives out of this office?"

Harm and Mac glanced at each other. "Well, Sir," Mac began a bit hesitantly, "we'll certainly do our best. After everything that we've been through, we do want to make this work."

AJ said nothing, simply nodding. "Dismissed," he said after a moment.

They both stood and snapped to attention. "Aye, aye, Sir," Mac said before they both pivoted and walked out.

"Is it just me," Mac asked after they closed AJ's door behind them, "or did he just give us his blessing in a roundabout way?"

Harm chuckled, "I think he just did. Hey, do you think you can swing a day of leave on Friday?"

Mac thought about her current case load, then nodded. "I think so," she said. "Why?"

"Sergei's coming down from the farm at the end of the week," he explained. "He wants to start looking into colleges in the DC area for the spring semester, plus we're going to get the ball rolling at State to get him officially declared an American citizen. I would really like you to come with us."

"Are you sure you don't it to be just you and your brother?" she asked. "Kind of a family day."

Harm turned to her and smiled, "It still will be with you there."

Mac smiled in returned and lifted her hand slightly to let her fingers brush against his.

~*~*~*~

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