One for the Money' (2/2 - Conclusion of the 2003 JAG Virtual Season)

Author: Daenar (daenarchurill@yahoo.de)
Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, CBS and Paramount Pictures. No copyright infringement intended.)
Rating: PG-13
2003 Virtual Season Episode 15
Summary: The murder of retired Admiral Martin Wilson proves more complicated to solve than Harm and Mac expected. Meanwhile, at JAG HQ major changes are foreshadowing...
Author's note: When we were planning this Virtual Season, all authors agreed that we wanted it to end in a way that would conclude the series for good. So, if you find the ending a little surprising - this is what we had in mind right from the start. And many thanks to Jen for trusting me to finish her double episode.
Also, many thanks to Heather for beta-reading!

**********

DJE's voice from the off: "Previously on JAG..."

Cut to Harm in the emergency call center:

"911 - what's your emergency?"

["My grandpa won't wake up."]

Cut to Harm handing Mac a newspaper at JAG HQ:

"Have you seen this?"

"Yes, why?"

"Did you read the part where his granddaughter called 911?"

Cut to Harm and Mac at the DCPD:

"As you can see, the preliminary cause of death is strangulation. Forensics haven't found any prints that don't belong there, no sign of forced entry and nothing missing."

"Well, it looks like we have our work cut out for us, Harm."

Cut to Bud leaving Jason Kent's office:

"With that salary, you'd never have to worry about money again."

Cut to AJ talking to Mac:

"They have told me I can bring someone with me. Mac, I'd like that to be you."

"I'd love to."

*************

Opening Credits - 'One for the Money' - Part Two *************
0124 Local
Harm's apartment
North of Union Station
Washington, D.C.

Mac's head was resting on Harm's chest, comfortable silence surrounding them. As she was listening to the low thumping of her fiancé's heart, she couldn't help marveling yet again at how perfect things had turned out for them in the end. She'd been at the verge of giving up hope forever that they'd get to this point. But, here they were, and with the admiral's offer of taking her to the Pentagon with him, even the very last of their crucial problems seemed to have been resolved. No chain of command was ever going to bother them again.

And yet, Mac couldn't bring herself to relax completely. The reason was: she hadn't told Harm about AJ's job offer yet, and she didn't have the slightest idea how he might react, hearing she intended to transfer out of JAG. Well, she had to tell him eventually, she resolved with a muted sigh. It might as well be now. From his breathing, she knew he wasn't asleep anyway.

"Harm?"

Silence. Frowning, she shook him ever so slightly. "Harm?"

"Huh?" He jumped and stirred, then looked at her and gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, honey. I can't help it but I feel like we overlooked some key detail in the Wilson scenario," he told her, more talking to himself than to her.

"Probable, but I need to..." she tried but he didn't even seem to notice she was trying to address another topic altogether.

"This murder is just too perfect," he mused, his voice taking up an exasperated tone. "And not a single enemy of his in sight." Sighing, he absentmindedly caressed her bare shoulder, fixing the ceiling.

"We'll go over everything again tomorrow," Mac promised, hoping this might close the chapter for today. "I talked to Admiral Chegwidden earlier, remember?" she ventured, trying to sound casual but not really succeeding and cursing herself for it. "He told me they wanted..."

She didn't get any further. "You know, Mac, the only thing we haven't taken care of yet," Harm again interrupted her, making her see she hadn't even halfway gotten through to him, "Is Hhis biography before he came to Washington in '82. Maybe we can find something in there."

"What do you mean?" she asked, resigned. She understood there wasn't any way she could possibly bring up career issues tonight. And if that be the case, she might as well help Harm brainstorm if the case was troubling him to such an extent. She lifted her head off his chest and made herself comfortable on her right side, facing him.

Harm turned towards her and met her gaze with a thoughtful _expression on his face. "When I thumbed through Wilson's personnel file," he explained, "I got an odd feeling that I couldn't place. But it felt familiar, and now I think I have an idea what it reminded me of. It was the same feeling I had when I read all those biographies from the Angel Shark. As if an entire time span was just missing somehow. We should try to find out what Wilson did from August 1970 to March 1971. In the file, it just says he was in Saigon, nothing more."

"Do you suspect he was enrolled in any spy games?"

Harm shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just raising questions. But I have an idea who might know. Webb's father was in 'Nam at the time." One of his eyebrows wandered up to his hairline. "I'm sure you still know how to contact your ex 'husband' wherever he is?"

Mac couldn't help smiling at the hint of jealousy Harm's voice still betrayed even though he knew she was his for good now. "Yes, I do," she confirmed, stretching out and pressing a quick kiss to his lips for additional reassurance. "And as a matter of fact, while you were studying Wilson's file, I checked his family background and called Clay to find out if Langley had any information on him. He didn't mention Vietnam, because obviously, I didn't ask him about it, but he did come up with something else. Something interesting," she added in a playfully seductive tone. "I wanted to shelve that till tomorrow because you were so dead tired when you came home, but if you're nice, I might bring myself to tell you now."

Immediately, his face lit up and Mac found her seductive mood reflected in the sparkle in his eyes. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked in a low voice, pulling her closer.

"Whatever you feel inclined to."

His face inches from hers, he challenged, "Now let's hear if the intel's worth the price. Spill it, Colonel."

"Rick Wilson is with the Agency," Mac informed him matter-of-factly.

Harm's face fell. "That's what I needed..." he grumbled under his breath. Then, with a quick shake of his head, he resolved, "You're right. Let's shelve that until tomorrow." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "What was that we were we talking about a minute ago?"

1031 Local
Home of Rick Wilson
Rosslyn, VA

Once again, Harm wondered where the old cliché of spies wearing trench coats, Panama hats and sunglasses had developed. Surely not from meeting people like Rick Wilson. Selling vacuum cleaners or used cars or even grilling hamburgers would have fit the appearance of the weighty, red-faced forty-something giant who opened the door of the small two-family home. 'I really need to stop thinking in categories,' Harm thought, suppressing a frown. Where Webb had masked his true persona with his sophisticated upper-class ways, Rick Wilson just as efficiently used the appearance of someone who practiced sports via cable TV, enhancing the national gross product by mass consumption of all kinds of unhealthy food. If anything, the masquerade seemed to work. Secret agent? Never.

"Colonel Mackenzie, Commander Rabb," Wilson greeted them in friendly wariness, asking them to come in and setting coffee and a plate of donuts in front of them.

"What can I do for you? How's the investigation going?"

"We're making some headway," Harm answered, "Slowly but steadily. How's Sabryn?"

Wilson sighed, rubbing his face with his enormous paw. "She's still pretty shaken, but at least she returned to school yesterday. Her mother and grandmother think some normalcy will do her good."

"I'm sure it will," Mac agreed with a nod. "Distraction can work wonders."

"As well as returning among her friends," Wilson added. "I'll go and check on my mother and my sisters later today, so I guess I'll see for myself."

"Tell Sabryn hello from me, please," Harm said.

"Sure thing," Wilson promised before they fell silent for a few seconds.

"Excuse my frankness," Wilson eventually said, cocking his head with the hint of a smile, "But I doubt you've come just to ask how my niece is doing."

"No, we haven't," Harm confirmed, giving the agent a 'touché' look. "We would like to ask you a few questions about your father."

"I suspected as much. Go ahead, Commander."

Not quite sure which would be the most promising approach, Harm decided to be blunt. Wilson wasn't someone to be easily led in an interview. "August 1970," Harm only said, observing the agent's face for a reaction.

Wilson's eyebrows rose slightly, betraying only mild surprise. "Webb told me he counted on you bringing this up at one point. I just didn't expect it to happen so soon. As you seem to be familiar with the Agency's ways, I don't need to tell you that I can't tell you very much. But this is what I can give you to work with: my father conducted several clandestine operations against the Viet Cong on South Vietnamese territory at the time. Thus, he was in possession of vital strategic information that the enemy tried to get their hands on, sometimes using despicable methods. When his missions were completed, my father returned to the States."

Suppressing the initial impulse of punching the agent for trying to use yet another CIA 'Need-to-know-and-you-don't' tactic on him, Harm simply asked, "What missions exactly, information of what kind exactly, what enemy exactly, what purpose exactly, what means exactly?" He noted that his voice held a decidedly exasperated and unnerved edge. 'Easy,' he admonished himself.

His face remaining as relaxed as ever, Wilson took a bite of his lemon-iced donut and, munching, muttered, "Classified."

"You don't seem too interested in knowing who killed your father," Mac observed in a guarded tone.

"Oh, I am, Colonel," he replied calmly. "It's just that I doubt that it has anything to do with what happened in Vietnam."

"I'm sure you know that sometimes, the most surprising connections might come up," Harm remarked. "But as we apparently don't need to know what happened in Saigon," he couldn't hold himself back from adding, "I'd like to hear what your family's situation was while Admiral Wilson was serving TAD. Maybe that'll get us somewhere."

Wilson didn't seem to take offence. "Mom worked part-time for a travel agency, and Kathy, Michelle and I went to school," he explained calmly. "We had a nice little house near Norfolk at the time. That's about all there's to tell. Oh, and I made quarterback of the school team," he added with a grin that Harm found just a little insolent.

"You said that, quote, 'the enemy' tried to get their hands on the strategic intel your father had," Mac carefully guided the conversation back to what she and Harm were interested in. "Those, quote, 'despicable methods' they used, did they involve your family in some way?"

"Now I see what Webb meant with 'persistent'," Wilson said with a shrug. "Well, for what it's worth, they blackmailed my father for what he knew. And it did at one point affect my family."

Harm leaned forward. "In what way?"

"Classified."

"Did you or anyone of your family know what your father was doing at the time?"

"No. We only knew he was in Vietnam like just about everyone."

"Do they know now?"

"My mother, but very little. My sisters don't."

"Did you join the CIA because you suspected something?"

"Yes, I did." Apparently, Wilson didn't see any need to elaborate.

"Do you think that someone might have held a grudge against your father from back then?" Mac cut in again. Harm silently thanked her for saving him from strangling Wilson for letting him draw every crumb of information out of his thick, red nose.

"No, I don't," Wilson declared and stood up. "Colonel, Commander, I appreciate that you dedicate so much thought to solving this mystery, but I doubt this path will lead you any further. I'm convinced the cause for whatever happened lies in the recent past. Listen," he hesitated, but then took a deep breath. "I hate to tell you this but maybe it might be an explanation for the missing fingerprints and everything. Although I've never witnessed anything of the kind and although I don't want to believe the rumors, I need you to know that my father had, well, a certain reputation as far as women were concerned."

'The hell he had,' Harm silently swore, all the time politely shaking the agent's hand and taking leave. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Wilson, we'll look into that."

"We'll let you know as soon as we dig up anything else," Mac added with an open smile.

"Thank you, Colonel. When is it you'll be talking to my sisters?"

"Katherine agreed to meet us tomorrow as she'll be in Falls Church to see a friend," Mac answered, "And we'll see Michelle later tomorrow, too. By the way, just to make sure we didn't miss out on anything: neither of them is married?"

Wilson shook his head 'no'. "Kathy was, but she divorced even before Sabryn was born. He didn't want the child. I couldn't think of any way Ken might be involved in this, but if you want to check him out as well: he works for Barclays in St. Paul. Kenneth Ross."

"Does he ever come to see Sabryn or your sister?"

"Not if he can help it."

Mac held out her hand to Wilson. "Well, I guess that's it for now. Thank you again and goodbye."

"Colonel, Commander," Wilson waved off some sort of a salute and closed the door.

In the car, Harm worked his frustration off on the steering wheel when he extracted the vehicle from the small gap he had parked it in. "Some supposed vindictive girlfriend, an ex son-in-law he never saw or military intelligence in Vietnam?" he ground out, panting. "Pick one, Mac."

She only looked at him, her eyes inquiring, 'You're not really asking me this, right?'

"Vietnam," they stated simultaneously.

**********
Commercial break
Witness housewives talking about laundry, men trying out fast cars, and children getting chocolate from their grandparents - and wonder where clichés come from.
**********

1207 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA

Once more, Bud's eyes ran down the column of names on his screen, but there was no denying: what he had stumbled over in pure coincidence, looking for some background information on the man who had made him such a generous job offer, proved to be hard facts.

He had in front of himself a list of all Georgetown law graduates of 1994. As he had expected from the information he had dug up earlier, in between the K's, the name of Kent, Jason S. had jumped out at him. But what he clearly hadn't counted on was what had happened when his eyes had, just out of curiosity, skimmed the other graduates' names. Another line further down had caught his attention, causing him to feel a sharp sting deep inside.

Rabb, Harmon

Was Harm trying to interfere with his career? Did he doubt the board's decision to let him return to full service? Or was his former mentor, his friend, his best man, AJ's godfather, harboring other feelings against him that would drive him to want him out of his way?

Acting innocent, Bud had called Kent's firm, telling his secretary he wanted to reschedule the telephone appointment Mr. Rabb had set up with Mr. Kent for the day after tomorrow. The secretary had of course been confused, but she had confirmed Bud's suspicion, asking him if he were perhaps talking about the lunch appointment they had made for next week? Shocked, Bud had feigned to have misread the calendar, apologized and ended the connection, not knowing what he was supposed to think.

What hurt most was that, try as he might, Bud could only come up with one single idea as to what he might have done to alienate the commander. The scenario was farfetched, to say the least, but Bud couldn't help but wonder. Should he have taken a firmer stand against the admiral when it came to allowing Harm re-enter the service?

'I'm sorry, Commander, but I fear you'll have some serious explaining to do,' Bud resolved, all the time staring at the monitor. But the picture displayed wouldn't change.

1332 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA

There was one thing AJ regretted about his transfer to the Pentagon. Glad as he was to take Mac with him - he would miss the whole JAG bunch. Seeing them occasionally just didn't compare to being surrounded by close friends at work.

When it came to JAG's destiny, AJ was sure that Harm and Sturgis would steer the ship in a secure way. Everyone knew what was expected of them, and AJ would personally see to it that Harm got a reliable replacement for Mac, probably another Marine. As to Harm being appointed the new JAG, AJ was quite positive. Though far from flawless, Harm's service record was impressive, to say the least, and he had been assigned to Falls Church even before AJ himself had taken over from Admiral Brovo. With Mac gone, Harm being made the JAG seemed the logical consequence.

So, everyone that AJ had come to take a personal interest in seemed to be taken good care of - except for one. AJ leaned slightly to his right and observed the lean figure piling, reading and rearranging files on her desk with fierce determination to make the file cabinets understandable again. Petty Officer Jennifer Coates had, despite her criminal record, proven to possess outstanding potential for a successful career in the service. But what the young woman needed was to feel included, needed and relied upon. Today wasn't the first time that AJ's thoughts circled back to how he might ensure that Jen would be valued the way she deserved once he was gone.

He knew that Harm would in all likelihood try to keep her as his yeoman if he was to take over at Falls Church. If not, he was sure the commander would do everything in his power to have Jen well settled in whatever new position she was destined for. However, AJ couldn't help feeling uneasy about leaving and not seeing to this particular detail himself. In the months since Coates's reassignment to Headquarters, the young woman had dedicated all her energies and spirit to rendering working life as smooth and agreeable as possible for him.

If AJ allowed himself a moment of honesty, he had to admit that the petty officer had grown to be like yet another surrogate daughter to him rather than a subordinate. 'Well, granddaughter might almost cut it,' he silently corrected himself with a smile. The least he could do was find out what might suit her best and point Harm in that direction. Just in case.

"Coates?" he called.

The young woman immediately dropped the file she was studying, hurried in and came to attention. "Sir?"

"Have a seat," AJ invited her. Jen's eyebrows showed slight difficulty to stay in place.

"Yes, sir."

Now, how to address the topic without giving away too much? "Uh, I don't think I've ever asked you how you like working at JAG Headquarters," he began cautiously.

Her face showing a strange mixture of enthusiasm and instant wariness, Coates replied, "Very much, sir."

"I noticed that," AJ reassured her, "And I want to thank you for the constant dedication you put into your work, Petty Officer."

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad I can be of service to you." Jen seemed to grow an inch or two in her seat.

'Now we're getting to the tricky part.' "Uhm, have you, ever since your return from the Seahawk, missed being at sea?"

Slight shock flashed in her eyes for a fraction of a second, but she immediately masked it. "Actually, no, sir. I mean, I'd never have thought I was cut out for an office job," she hurriedly added, speaking just a little too fast to sound unfazed, "But I've come to like my job very much, sir. It offers all kinds of different perspectives on things, I keep meeting interesting people, the JAG staff are the nicest people I've ever been around for so long and, well..." She made a helpless gesture with her hands, smiling uneasily. "This is all I could ever hope for, isn't it?"

Chuckling slightly, AJ leaned back in his seat. "I've met few people who're so enthusiastic about their everyday routine. I'm very happy to hear you feel you belong here, Coates, and I wouldn't want that to ever change. Still, have you ever given thought to advancing your career? Your record at JAG reads impressively. Wouldn't you want to move on? Aim at a promotion or anything?"

Her expression a little incredulous, Jen made a dismissive gesture with her hands, shaking her head. "No offence, sir, but I really don't think there'd be very much in store for me. And I'm not even sure I'd want to. As I said, this life is as stable and secure and satisfying as I've ever known it. Even if I tried to think about where to go, I don't think a solution would come to mind."

"Well, try all the same."

"Sir?"

"Just out of curiosity. What would you like to do after being my yeoman?" AJ sincerely hoped he had sounded careless enough to make her believe he was just playing 'What If'.

Jen bent her head back and searched the ceiling for a printed solution. Then she faced him again, raising her hands in a helpless shrug. "I don't really know, sir," she answered honestly. "I suppose I could adapt to doing just about anything as long as my commanding officer made me feel I was doing the right thing."

The hidden compliment got right through to the admiral's heart. 'Don't worry, Jen,' he thought, 'I'll see to it that you won't have problems respecting and valuing whom you'll be assigned to work for.' He gave her a smiling nod. "That's a good way to see things," he said appreciatively. "Hold on to that wherever your career path may take you. Dismissed."

Coates stood, clearly confused but trying not to let it show. "Aye, aye, sir."

AJ didn't miss the slight uneasiness in her eyes as she turned and went back to her files.

2248 Local
Harm's apartment
North of Union Station
Washington, D.C.

"Harm?"

He looked up from the tomato sauce he was stirring, just in time to see Mac slam the entrance door shut.

"Hey, power down," he said, raising his left hand in an appeasing gesture. "As far as I know, my door's done nothing to offend you. What happened?"

Fiddling with her coat and finally pulling it off her left arm, not caring that she'd turned the sleeve inside out, she stated, "Oh, nothing really. Just that someone thought this case wasn't complicated enough, apparently." With a few quick strides, she was at the kitchen counter and let an open folder fall onto it with a distinct 'splat'.

Harm turned off the oven and, spoon still in his hand, went to join her. "What's this?"

"Take your time," she only invited him sarcastically.

He took a closer look. "A new coroner's report?" he asked, confused.

"Yup," she confirmed curtly.

"Well, what does it say?" he inquired, underlining his impatient shrug with the cooking spoon in his hand.

Mac reached out, took the wooden device from him and walked over to the oven where the sauce was beginning to spit against the wall. "Admiral Wilson was strangled but not strongly enough to kill him," she explained, stirring the red mass. "Upon closer inspection, the larynx wasn't damaged as much as could have been expected. They did another chemicals check, but didn't get much out of it, only that he'd already been dead for five hours when they found him. The killer wanted it to look like he was strangled in his sleep - but apparently he was already dead or dying when he was strangled. They did find traces of valium, but his doctor said that he took it regularly, so no surprise here. If he overdosed, his body doesn't show it."

"Great," Harm muttered, setting the table. "So, what do you suggest we do about that?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"Sure," he replied, now meeting her sarcasm in full. "Pasta?"

"Thanks." Mac handed him her plate and for a while, they ate in silence, not really listening to the TV news anchor who was reading the day's headlines to the nationwide public.

["... U.S. troops in Iraq. In the course of today's press conference, Vice President Dick Cheney repeated..."]

"We need to try outmaneuvering the 'classifieds'," Harm eventually spoke up, putting down his fork.

"Good idea, if you tell me how you're planning on doing that," she replied, making a slight face.

["... answering to a protest note issued by the European Union's Secretaries of Foreign Affairs. In Madrid, EU Foreign Politics Representative Xavier Solana stated that..."]

"As we're running out of options, I'd try the simple approach: google the names on the net," he suggested.

"Wasn't I the one who made complicated things too simple?" she joked lamely.

"Shows the kind of influence you're exercising on me," he shot back with a half-grin. "I mean, look at it this way: we spent all day in the archives, trying to get our hands on whatever went on in Saigon in 1970. We haven't really had the time yet to think about what every student starts a research with."

["... Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon declared. Upon closer inquiry, Sharon admitted to having ordered the military..."]

"And you think that a net-research tool will get us where military archives haven't?" Mac asked, 'doubt' written on her forehead in bold letters.

"I was more thinking about the family."

["... discovered so far in the kidnapping of nine-year-old Lucy Smith. The Boston Police Department informed the public today that the parents received another message from the presumed kidnappers, without giving away..."]

He could see her eyes widen incredulously. "Come on. You're not seriously buying that 'My-dad-was-a-Casanova' stuff, are you?"

"No, I'm not, but admit it, Mac: we're running in circles. We might as well try it as not."

She sighed, frustrated. "I suppose we might," she said, getting up and heading for Harm's computer.

["... new album 'Discover My Soul'. Already nominated for three Grammy Awards, the Irish singer received this fourth nomination in..."]

Harm turned off the TV set and followed her. Mac had already logged on and was just typing "Katherine Wilson" into the search window. Throwing him another doubtful glance, she hit the 'search' button with a swift flick of her right hand.

Both stared at the long list of entries the engine came up with. But upon closer inspection, most links turned out the usual genealogy sites or firm personnel registers. Having clicked through six pages full of links, Harm was about to tell Mac that the idea hadn't been a direct hit after all, when she suddenly shushed him, pointing at a link to a private homepage a little further down the page.

Clive's Best Real-Life Crime Stories - www.cliveoncrime.net/kathywilson

"Why that one?" he asked.

"Because it's different," she answered in disarming simplicity and clicked.

"Page under construction," Mac read aloud, her frown audible, "But here's a note from the author: 'This entry will be posted as soon as more information can be obtained. Until further notice, check the links to online news archives as listed below.' Let's see..."

Mac moved the cursor down and opened the indicated page. Immediately, both gasped. The news headlines the author had posted had been taken from the archives of most major national newspapers. There were few actual articles as the archive entries had obviously been filed in more recent years, after the computer had beaten the typewriter in the journalistic world. The author hadn't computerized the old articles. But the titles listed in the electronic archives already managed to draw a surprising picture. Mac quickly copy-pasted a short selection onto a blank document and handed Harm the printout.

Washington Post, Feb. 12, 1971 - Six-year-old kidnapped from Norfolk school bus; child is daughter of USN admiral

Washington Post, Feb. 13, 1971 - Still no trace of kidnapped girl; parents waiting for ransom demand

USA Today, Feb. 14, 1971 - FBI still in the dark about kidnapping of Katherine Wilson

Washington Post, Feb. 14, 1971 - Kidnappers of Katherine Wilson state their demands. FBI keeps message classified. Mother: "No deal."

New York Times, Feb. 15, 1971 - Admiral Martin Wilson unwilling to negotiate his daughter's release

USA Today, Feb. 16, 1971 - Katherine Wilson still unaccounted for; FBI proclaims news embargo to ensure the girl's safety

Washington Post, Feb. 19, 1971 - Norfolk kidnapping ended by FBI intervention, Katherine Wilson freed, three kidnappers killed. FBI: "Ransom was $1,000,000."

Harm let the sheet sink. "They don't allude to Vietnam, but I think the connection is obvious."

"At least to us who know about Wilson's mission," Mac agreed with a slow nod. "And I guess we know now how the Viet Cong blackmailing Wilson affected his family. I'm only surprised no one came up with this bit of information yet."

"I'm not," Harm contradicted. "It's obvious that Rick Wilson wanted to lead us away from the truth. Why would he do that? Because the CIA or whoever else has an interest in keeping the info still classified. So they saw to it that all references to the kidnapping be canceled from accessible sources of information. Just looks like they didn't do thorough work here."

Mac drew a resolute breath. "Fine. We've made another step. But, to be honest, I don't really see how this might tell us anything about why anyone might want to kill the admiral more than three decades later."

"Maybe someone's starting to draw parallels from Vietnam to Iraq?" Harm suggested, sounding doubtful himself.

"But why would he choose Wilson, of all people?" Mac voiced his very own thoughts. "It's as unlikely as anything that anyone from the ex Viet Cong involved in the kidnapping might now be interested in the Iraq campaign. Apart from them, only a select few in the U.S. knew what was behind the scenario. So, if anyone of them were now drawing parallels, the situation would indeed have to be pretty much the same to make sense..."

For a second, she sat still, her voice trailing off. Then she abruptly turned back to the computer screen and opened ZNN.com. Scrolling down so fast that Harm had difficulties to recognize any words at all, Mac finally clicked on a link and turned to face him, grim triumph on her face.

"Here's the parallel we're looking for."

Still no trace of Lucy Smith - FBI issues news embargo on the case of the kidnapped nine-year-old

"I bet there's a handful of high-ranking Smiths serving in Iraq right now," Harm drawled in a low voice, squeezing Mac's shoulder in silent commendation for her combinatory talent. "You did it again, Marine."

"There are a few things I'd like to ask Katherine when we meet her tomorrow," Mac observed.

"So do I," he acknowledged. "And I'm sure a good night's sleep will bring up some more. Come on, let's hit the rack."

Seeing her hesitate slightly, he put an arm around her shoulders. "Don't you think you've shown enough of your investigative abilities today, Colonel?" he teased.

To his surprise, she remained earnest. "That's not it," she began. "It's that... I wanted to talk to you about something else. It's personal, well, sort of," she added.

Feeling a quick surge of concern, he swallowed the yawn that threatened to escape him and asked, "Urgent?"

"Not so very much. I'd just like to talk it over with you."

"Ahm..." He looked down and pinched the bridge of his nose, pondering his options. This case was tiring him out and he wanted to be sure he had his full concentration for tomorrow's interviews. On the other hand, if Mac had something personal she wanted to discuss with him, he'd better be all ears. "Now?" he asked, unsure how to read her _expression.

She seemed to fight a quick inner fight, then gave in. "No, it's okay. We can do it another time," she told him with a smile.

Grateful, he laid both hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks, Mac." Turning away, he didn't see the exasperation shadowing her face as she went to shut down the computer.

**********
Commercial break
Witness young women counting their first wrinkles, teenagers exchanging photos via cell phone, and skinny supermodels praising slim-fast products - and wonder where clichés come from.
**********

1031 Local
Mac's office
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA

"Mrs. Wilson for you, ma'am, sir" Jen announced.

"Thank you, Coates," Mac answered, rising to meet the woman clad in inconspicuous gray. "Mrs. Wilson? Thank you for coming to see us. I'm Colonel Mackenzie and this is Commander Rabb. Please, sit down."

"Thank you, Colonel," Katherine answered, meeting Mac's eyes only for a second and greeting Harm with a nod, not really looking at him.

"We're very sorry about what happened to your father," Mac opened the interview in a compassionate tone, "And we can assure you that we'll do everything in our power to find the culprit."

"Thank you," Katherine repeated, her voice barely more than a low mumble.

"Have you read the report we sent you the other day?" Harm spoke up.

For the first time, the woman turned to look at him directly. "Yes, I have. That was very thoughtful of you."

"Then you are familiar with what we have at hand until now?"

She nodded. "Yes. It's not that much, is it?" she asked, her voice uneasy.

Mac shook her head. "Sadly, no. But actually, we might have discovered another hint as to where to keep on digging," she added cautiously, "And that's what we'd like to talk to you about. If you're willing to help us."

"That's what I'm here for, right?" Katherine replied with a small, shaky laugh.

"We appreciate that very much," Harm took over in a gentle voice. "Mrs. Wilson, the colonel and I did a little check on your family background yesterday, to understand your situation and maybe deduce who might hold a grudge against you. By pure coincidence, we learned about what happened to you in February 1971."

Katherine paled. "Do you... you don't really think my father being killed might be connected to that, do you?"

"It's a long shot," Mac admitted, "But we need to consider all options. I know this must be very difficult for you, Mrs. Wilson, but would you mind telling us whatever you recall about the kidnapping?"

"I was very little," Katherine answered in a monotone voice. "I was in a dark, cold room. They gave me noodles and tea. They told me that if I made any noise they'd kill me. Apart from that, no one ever talked to me. I don't know how long I was there. It seemed like forever. One day, the FBI came and freed me. That's all I know."

"Did you know who your kidnappers were?"

She swallowed. "Not for a long time. Eventually I asked my father for details and he told me they were Vietnamese."

"What else did he tell you?" Harm inquired.

"Nothing."

"Didn't you want to know why they took you?" Mac asked, hoping her voice was calm enough not to upset her any further.

"I did, when I was in therapy. But... it was all about money," Katherine stated, finishing her sentence a little too quickly.

"Your father told you that?"

"Yes."

"Did they pay the ransom?"

"The FBI freed me first." Katherine's eyes stayed glued to her bag in her lap.

"You were held hostage for almost a week," Harm said carefully. "Did you... Have you ever wondered if you might have gotten out earlier if the money had been paid?"

Biting her quivering lips, Katherine finally looked up again. "Damned sure I have," she muttered angrily. "But apparently, that wasn't the point. I wasn't worth giving away secrets."

Astonished, Mac sought Harm's gaze and found her own surprise fully mirrored in his. She hadn't expected Katherine to know details of the kind. "Did your father ever tell you what he'd been doing in Vietnam?"

Katherine's chuckle was hollow. Staring out of the window, she said, "Of course not. I was only six at the time. A shrink would straighten me out and there'd be no need for him to violate his orders. And once buried, the matter was best left out of any conversation. My brother was in on the scheme. Just keep the information away from her, so she'll forget." Suddenly, she turned her head to face Mac, hatred flaring in her eyes. "It would have worked just fine," she went on. "But even my dear father and my oh-so-perfect brother hadn't covered all possibilities. When I heard on the news that they're doing it again, all came back to me..."

Harm placed a soothing hand on her forearm. "What are they doing, Katherine?" he asked softly, the gentle, velvety tone of his voice making a shiver run down Mac's spine despite the situation.

The woman sniffed and clumsily wiped her eyes with her hand in an impatient gesture. "Not giving a damn about some innocent girl's feelings and sacrificing her sanity on the altar of this great nation," she spat. "As my father did when they had me."

"Why do you think this new case is about politics? And how did you find out about your own?" Harm inquired, still holding her gaze with a compassionate _expression in his own.

"The news coverage on that other girl shook me up quite a bit," Katherine explained shakily, "Because out of nowhere, images popped up in my mind, and I knew how she had to be feeling. I went into the kitchen to get myself a drink, but when I wanted to go back in, I heard Rick telling Dad in a low voice that Lucy Smith was the daughter of an Army colonel serving TAD near Tikrit in Iraq. I can still hear his words: 'I can't give you specifics, but he's in the same place you were in in Vietnam. They're blackmailing him for intel in exchange for his daughter's life. We're working on finding out where they keep the girl.' Dad didn't even seem to care. He only said, 'Should the press find out, take care Kathy doesn't learn about it. She'd freak out. We need to distract her in whichever way we can. She could become a security issue.' And the matter was settled for him. That was when I knew he never cared about me."

A certain suspicion had begun to stir at the back of Mac's mind, and the voice wouldn't be stilled. Meeting Harm's eyes again, she deduced from his _expression that his thoughts were headed in a similar direction. 'Tread carefully,' he seemed to tell her, at the same time encouraging her to test the waters.

"That must have been dreadful," Mac acknowledged gently. "Did you confront your father about it?"

Katherine vehemently shook her head. "No. I only knew people like him had to be stopped. I..."

"Sorry to interrupt," a cold voice came from the door, "But the interview is over. Kathy, you go with these two gentlemen. You have an appointment with Doctor Wright, remember?" Rick Wilson entered the room, followed by two tall men in unobtrusive civilian clothes.

All of a sudden, Katherine seemed like a doll functioning on autopilot. She nodded a shy goodbye to the two stunned officers without looking at them and let herself be guided out. Silence began to stretch.

"Colonel, Commander..." Rick Wilson turned and started to walk out, too, but just in time, Mac managed to shake herself from her stupor. She sprinted out from behind her desk and reached the door a second before him, slamming it shut, turning the key and putting it into her pocket.

"Just a second, Mr. Wilson," she said icily, "This is still my office and you're in a military institution. I'm in command here, and I can have you arrested in the wink of an eye. So, if I were you, I'd better sit down and keep quiet."

In a brief second of confusion, Wilson's glance flew to Harm's who remained rooted in place. "You heard her," was all he commented.

Apparently pondering his options - his body mass against two younger athletic soldiers - Wilson eventually gave in and sat down in front of Mac's desk. "What's next?" he asked.

"The truth," Harm said quietly. "Then we'll negotiate your release."

"Ironic."

"So true, isn't it?"

Wilson sighed. "You'd have made decent agents."

"No, thanks," Harm retorted curtly. "Been there, done that."

"Got the T-shirts, men's and women's cut, as I'm sure you're well aware of," Mac added. "So, the stage is all yours, Mr. Wilson. Shoot."

"I guess you figured it out anyway," Wilson said. "My sister did it. I suspected she wouldn't be able to hold her tongue although we rehearsed this quite a bit. So I bugged her purse. I heard what she told you, so I don't need to make a long speech. We watched her closely for a few days. She seemed to settle down quite well after her initial fit when she'd heard about the Smith case. I let Michelle and my mother in on the scheme as far as was necessary, and they helped me to shut Kathy off from any new information. But we had no idea she'd overheard my father and me talking. When I pressed her for information after my father's death, she admitted that she'd dissolved a handful of his valium pills in the strong herbal tea he used to drink. That's why the coroner didn't find medicine remains in his stomach. Then she and Michelle and my mother left for their shopping tour. Half an hour later, when they were already on the mall's parking lot, she pretended she'd forgotten her credit card, dropped the others off and headed home again. There, it appears she found Dad had gone to bed but wasn't quite dead yet so she helped a little. She never even took her gloves off. Not that this would have made a difference, I assume. After that, she went shopping. You know the rest."

Mac hadn't expected a great display of mourning, but she was still shocked by such an apparent lack of emotion. She didn't know how to respond, asking herself if this was the kind of mindset one was destined to get out of too many years in secret service.

On Harm's side, the shock seemed to mutate to anger. "I only know that your little niece seems to be the only one who cared about your father," he stated rather brutally. Mac shot him a 'Stand down!' look, hoping he'd get a grip.

Wilson remained cruelly unfazed. "My mother did, but you're right, Commander: my father never managed to come close to us children. He was one for the money, so to say. Yes, he served out of conviction, but whenever a special op promised to pay off, he'd do it. Mom suffered from that attitude but she did all in her power to keep up the image of a model family. It's not that we weren't shocked by what Katherine did, but I doubt anyone besides Mom will cry big tears. And now you can call me a heartless ass. Go ahead."

Before she could glare another silent warning into Harm's direction, Mac noted she didn't need to. His face was frozen, letting no one but her get an idea about the rage boiling underneath.

"You just did it for me," Harm answered, his voice making the room temperature drop below zero. "We need to clear this mess up now in a way that'll meet everyone's needs. I assume the Agency and the FBI want this to be kept classified because of Lucy Smith?"

"Correct."

"I also assume that everything, I repeat, everything is being done to save the girl?"

Wilson nodded. "Affirmative."

"But you do see that a homicide case that's already attracted so much public attention needs to be solved, be it to feed and quiet down people's interest and to save the Navy's reputation?"

"I'm a Navy brat, Commander," was the only acknowledgement Wilson offered, sounding as if he couldn't care less.

Mac saw Harm's hand close to a fist behind his back. Yet, he kept his cool. "So, do you agree that we need to present a culprit, and that it would have to be your sister?"

"Leave her out of it!" Suddenly, Wilson came to life, but Mac's hand on his shoulder made him reconsider any rash actions. "If you can guarantee that she'll get a lesser sentence," he gave in.

"Given her history," Mac spoke up, "A psychological expert's report should grant her diminished criminal responsibility. I could arrange that."

Harm immediately took the hint. "If you agree to let us bring up the kidnapping, without alluding to its political dimension, we would be able to officially wrap up the case and keep the Navy out of trouble. Hard as it is: Sabryn can't stay with Katherine anyway. But she can live with your mother and Michelle. Katherine would be well taken care of and we wouldn't even have to mention Vietnam. No need to declassify any vital details or endanger a solution of the Smith case. A deal of the kind should be acceptable for everyone involved." Exchanging a quick glance with Mac, he added, "This is as much as you can hope to get from us, Mr. Wilson. Take the offer or face the consequences."

Wilson took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "You're on," he said heavily. "Can I leave now?"

Mac unlocked the door and held it open for him. "This is called interdepartmental cooperation," she remarked as he left. "You can be proud to be a pioneer on the field."

1331 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA

Returning from his quick lunch, Harm left the elevator and walked straight to his office. Half an hour to go. That meant at least one cup of coffee and finally time to take a closer look at this morning's Post before he and Mac were to meet with Wilson again.

This time, they were in for a large-scale meeting. Along with Wilson, they were expecting the psychologist Mac was currently talking to, Wilson's boss, CIA deputy director Philip Sumner, as well as the civilian prosecutor, an FBI agent working on the Smith kidnapping, someone from the SecNav's staff, and, of course, Admiral Chegwidden. No entity that might possibly have an interest in the outcome of this case would be left standing on the sideline. Harm was grateful he'd have the time to get into the necessary mindset to be able to explain his compromise to everyone.

Yet, as he was about to reach for the handle of his office door, he all but bumped into Bud who clearly hadn't gotten in his way by accident.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Bud," Harm apologized in slight confusion. "Can I help you?"

"Indeed you can, sir," the lieutenant replied, leaving Harm wondering if he had imagined the coolness in his friend's voice.

"Come on in," he invited him, closing the door behind them and taking off his coat. Then he pulled up two chairs. "Okay, what's the problem, Lieutenant?"

Bud frowned and faced him with a trace of anger in his eyes. "Well, apparently I am, sir. Aren't I?"

"Beg your pardon?" Harm had the distinct impression that there was something he didn't get about the picture.

"Georgetown Law, 1994," Bud stated, his face neutral.

"Yeah, that's when I graduated but... honestly, I don't quite get what you're trying to tell me, Bud."

"Well, Jason Kent graduated the same year, sir."

Harm felt his understanding dawn. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, he did. So he really got in touch, did he?"

"Yes, sir, he did," Bud answered, his voice tight, "And with a very generous offer, too. I'm glad it's such positive news to you that you might have managed to get me out of here."

"Wha..." Stunned, Harm needed a second to regroup. When he found his voice, it sounded a little sharper than he had intended. "What the hell are you talking about, Lieutenant?"

Bud shrugged. "I wouldn't really know myself, sir. That's why I came to you. I'd like to hear what I did to offend you so you feel the need to interfere with my career. You can't really fear my competition. So, do you think I let you down when Admiral Chegwidden wouldn't take you back at JAG, or is it that you just don't think disabled people should stay on active duty?"

At this, Harm momentarily lost it. He would never have suspected that his actions could be misinterpreted in such a manner. And he was deeply hurt, seeing that Bud apparently judged him capable of betraying him. He stood up and noted that Bud's _expression turned just a little guilty when he came to attention in front of him.

"Sir!"

"Before you draw hasty conclusions it's advisable to hear all parties, Lieutenant," Harm said icily, staring his friend down. "Leaving aside your insinuation that I might be prejudiced against disabled officers, tell me one thing: what makes you believe I'd want to interfere with your career when all I did was recommend you to a good friend who asked me if I knew a young lawyer who might be an asset to his firm?"

Bud's face was quickly turning red, and he swallowed. Still, he tried to make his point. "With all due respect, sir: what would you think if someone like Mr. Kent appeared in your life out of nowhere, making you an offer you find hard to resist. And when you try to find out what might make him want to draw you away from a position you fought so hard to keep, you find that one of your closest friends might have talked him into doing it? A friend that you happen to work with? Tell me, sir, what would you think?"

"I would have asked said friend about it before jumping to conclusions," Harm retorted sharply.

"Well, sir, that's what I'm doing. No offence, but a hint might have helped."

"At ease, Lieutenant. Have seat and hear me out." Harm let out an exasperated breath. "Bud, I wanted you to meet Jason without knowing he's a friend of mine. If you decide to work for someone, the working relationship needs to be based on trust and sympathy, not just on the knowledge that someone else finds your boss a trustworthy person. I couldn't possibly tell you anything beforehand. As to the Navy - well, to be honest: you have to admit that you'd never be destined for a great career. Okay, you knew it and went for reinstatement all the same, and we all supported you in that, if you'll remember. We still do, because you're a darn good lawyer and we need you here.

"But it's kind of sad to know you'll forever stay in a mediocre position, wasting your talent and your enthusiasm on low-profile cases just because a physical impediment keeps getting in the way. So, two can play this game, Bud. Imagine you were in my position. You have a friend who's senior partner of a very sophisticated and renowned law firm. A law firm that, despite their clients' wallets, has managed somehow to stay true to what you and your friend believed in when you were at law school together. This friend, whose income makes your own salary look like a monthly donation to some charitable organization, asks you if you know a bright, gifted and spirited lawyer who'd keep up the firm's high goals? Now, this in mind, you think of your dear friend who has a family and would really deserve a career boost such as this. In my position, what would you do?"

For a moment, Harm's words were met with silence. When Bud finally spoke up, his voice was rather low. "I'm sorry, sir. I should have trusted you. And I'm ashamed of how I reacted. I hope you can forgive me for being such a jerk. It's just... well... I'm not really used to being seen that way, sir."

"Get used to it, Bud," Harm only replied in an open tone. "Jason asks a lot of his lawyers, but he'll be sure to notice if someone excels his expectations, and he'll tell you so."

"I still need to talk it over in full with Harriet, but... do you think I should accept, sir?"

"You'll be missed at JAG, Bud. But: yes, I think you should."

"Thank you, sir," Bud said, lower still, "For everything."

Just then, someone knocked at the door.

"Enter!" Harm called, getting up.

Mac stuck her head in the office. "Commander, we're waiting for you in the conference room," she said with raised eyebrows.

"On my way."

When they joined the small assembly, Harm was struck by a sudden uneasiness. He could swear that something was up, but he didn't have the slightest idea as to what that might be. So he only greeted those present, sat down and waited to be addressed.

"Nice of you to join us, Commander," Admiral Chegwidden said pointedly. "I've been informed of an agreement you managed to negotiate with Agent Wilson concerning the, let's call them ROEs on the Martin Wilson homicide. Would you please elaborate for everyone present how you intend to cut the Gordian knot?"

Harm uneasily cleared his throat. Why did he get the feeling he was being tested? Pushing the thought aside, he explained, "Thank you, Admiral. Let me summarize the situation first. As everyone will be well aware, several different issues need to be considered in this case. Speaking for the Navy: a high-ranking, decorated officer was murdered. The media got wind of the affair and reported it accordingly, thus leaving the Navy in a position where we need to defend our reputation, namely by finding the murderer and bringing him to trial.

"As Admiral Wilson was enrolled in several clandestine CIA operations in Vietnam during the war, he was in possession of vital military intelligence that the Viet Cong tried to get their hands on by blackmailing him, kidnapping his daughter Katherine. Now, this would seem to be a scenario that's past long enough to safely bring it up when dealing with the murder. But just recently, a similar case was reported: nine-year-old Lucy Smith, daughter of Army Colonel Harold Smith, currently carrying out a classified mission in Iraq, was kidnapped to blackmail her father into giving away his knowledge.

"It is official U.S. policy not to negotiate with the kidnappers. So, as long as we cannot ensure the girl's safety, the Katherine Wilson case and everything related to Admiral Wilson's mission in Saigon need to be kept out of the media at all costs. This wouldn't have been too much of a problem, had Katherine herself not turned out to have killed her father, the Smith case stirring up the psychological aftermath of what she went through.

"In short, we need to cover four key points: a) end Lucy Smith's ordeal and rescue her, b) in order to achieve that, keep classified what happened to Martin and Katherine Wilson in 1971, c) safeguard the Navy JAG Corps's reputation in public opinion by successfully wrapping up a high-profile homicide case, and d) make sure that, despite the need to punish her for the crime she committed, Katherine Wilson won't pay too high a price for a condition that was brought on by violence she suffered as a child.

"The solution we worked out to meet every party's demands would be the following," Harm looked over to the psychologist, "A psychological expert's report states that Katherine Wilson's childhood trauma was revived again by the news coverage of the kidnapping of Lucy Smith. Thinking her own parents refused to pay a ransom when Katherine was herself kidnapped as a child, her anger eventually drove her to kill her father."

Harm's gaze wandered on to the man he supposed was Deputy Director Sumner. "No political reference will be made, neither to Vietnam, nor to Iraq. Katherine Wilson will be attested diminished criminal responsibility in court, granting her a lesser sentence and psychiatric care. Langley's missions will remain classified, so nothing might further endanger the rescue of Lucy Wilson," Harm looked over to Admiral Chegwidden, "All the while enabling JAG to wrap up the case and present an outcome. That would be it." He fell silent, noting that he was actually sweating.

Looks were exchanged across the table, oscillating in between surprise, disbelief and open appreciation. Harm knew that questions were unlikely to follow his speech. Everyone had been more or less up to date on at least parts of the plan before entering this room. All he had done was summarize the scheme and lay down a concise sketch.

"Thank you very much, Commander Rabb," Captain Gordon White, the SecNav's delegate, spoke up. "No objection from the Navy's side."

"None from Langley, either," Director Sumner agreed. "Agent Wilson strongly suggested the CIA should accept your offer, Commander."

"The FBI appreciates that the kidnapping is being made key priority," the Bureau's delegate interjected.

"Prosecution will use the proposed strategy," the civilian prosecutor declared, "If the necessary psychological expert's report will give us enough material to base the deal on."

"I can assure you of that," the psychologist said immediately.

"Well then," the admiral concluded, "If I don't hear any objections we'll consider this deal to be cut. Anyone?"

The following seconds figured among the longest Harm remembered in his entire life. Yet, eventually, even he dared to believe that no one would speak up anymore.

The admiral rose. "I thank everyone for having found the time to attend, and for having been so cooperative. I'll keep you apprised on any developments, and hopefully we'll be able to close this book shortly. My special thanks go to Commander Rabb who I hear had crucial influence on this agreement ever being set up. Nice work, Commander."

"Thank you, sir."

With a last nod, Chegwidden left the room, closing the meeting for good. Heaving a huge sigh, Harm wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, got a proud smile from Mac when he caught her glance, and turned to leave, tired and content.

"One moment, Commander."

Suppressing a groan, he turned, plastering a neutral smile to his face. "Yes, sir?" he answered politely when he saw that Captain White had called him back. The captain was still sitting in his chair, as were Director Sumner and another civilian who now presented himself as Anthony Wilkes from the Department of Homeland Security.

"Might we have a word with you, Mr. Rabb?" White asked. "In private?" he added when he saw that Mac was still waiting at the door. With a gesture of acknowledgement, she immediately disappeared and shut the door again.

"Sit down, please, Commander," White began.

Harm did as he was told. "Sir?" he inquired, not having the slightest idea what might be coming up.

"I can only second what Admiral Chegwidden just said. This deal is a nice piece of diplomatic artwork, Commander. You sure have a gift for seeing the bigger picture without overlooking the details. But I have to admit that your service record does show that diplomacy and delicacy haven't always been your strongest character traits. How come you let us see such a change?"

Not wanting to admit that once again, he was way too confused for his liking, Harm shrugged. "Thank you, sir, but I'm not sure myself. I didn't have the impression I was acting against my nature or just differently from how I normally tend to function. Maybe this has something to do with the dignity of age? I've just turned 40," he joked half-heartedly, hoping to ease the tension he was feeling.

Surprisingly, his tactic worked. All three men chuckled or at least smiled at his nonchalant statement. "Anyway," White answered, "Whatever caused the change might have provided us with a long-overdue solution to a problem that's been bothering us ever since 9/11."

Harm felt his stomach starting to knot. "Uh... I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid I don't understand."

"As you may have noticed in some of your own cases," Sumner took over the explanation, "Cooperation between federal institutions hasn't always been up to par ever since and even before the attacks."

Harm nodded and waited.

"For quite some time now, we've been thinking about creating a position of someone like a Chief Mediator between the authorities, who'd keep in touch with everyone involved in a problem, would address everyone's demands and work out rules of engagement, to take up the image Admiral Chegwidden used earlier. The person in question would need to have experience in the military as well as in secret-service operations. He or she would need to be familiar with both military and civilian law, and he'd need to be someone who knows how to build bridges and come up with innovative solutions. While your diplomatic talent might still need a little shaping, you've surely proven in the past that you can find solutions that no one ever came up with, Commander."

"Thank you," Harm said again, feeling stupid and sensing the bombshell was about to drop.

Wilkes was the next to address him. "To make sure the mediator is independent, he or she would be a direct subordinate to both the Secretaries of Defense and Homeland Security only. If the person in question comes from the military, he or she will stay in the service and work in the Pentagon. A civilian mediator would have his or her office in the DHS. But in any case he or she would report to both Secretaries and be part of both their executive staffs. In his or her hands would lie the key to an enhanced and more swift and secure cooperation between all authorities wherever vital American strategic and security interests are concerned. Commander, do you think you might be cut out for such a job?"

In front of Harm's eyes, the world began to spin. Leave JAG, transfer to the Pentagon, take responsibility, shape a tiny part of the world... finally marry Mac...

Slowly, the blurred images began to clear as deep inside his soul, a decision began to form.

"Actually, yes, sir," he answered slowly. "I think I just might."

**********
Commercial break
Witness men in blue jeans smoking cigarettes while riding horses, pearls of champagne rolling down slim female bodies, and men in tuxedoes conquering women with chocolates - and wonder where clichés come from.
**********

1945 Local
Ristorante 'Villa Toscana'
Washington, D.C.

For about the twentieth time, Mac noticed that Harm was watching her over the candle flame, his _expression deeply thoughtful. Dinner had been eaten, coffee had been drunk. Maybe this was the moment she could finally use to break her news to her fiancé. Harm had been absentminded ever since he had come out of that conference room. Maybe it was time to get his thoughts off whatever he'd been told. Be it good or bad news, a change of perspective might pull him up a little.

"Harm, I..." she began - only to notice that he'd spoken up the exact same second.

"You know, Mac, I..."

Slightly embarrassed, both smiled.

"You first."

"You first."

Their second simultaneous remark made them laugh.

"You know what?" she proposed, reaching for her purse and pulling out a small notepad and two pens. She tore off a sheet and handed it to him. "Let's just write down what we have to say and exchange the sheets. We'll open the messages at the same time. So neither one is being discriminated against."

"Works for me," he answered, took a pen from her hand and scribbled something down.

Bowing over her own sheet, Mac wrote,

Admiral Chegwidden is transferring to the Pentagon. I'm to go with him.

When she had finished, she folded the message and handed it to him, receiving a similar paper in return.

"Okay," she said, a little nervous, "On zero. Three, two, one, zero!"

As she pronounced the last syllable, she was already unfolding Harm's sheet, watching him closely. The moment he read what she had written, his eyes went wide, and to her astonishment, a grin began to spread over his face.

Looking down herself now to read what he had written, she couldn't prevent her expression from gliding out of control. She read,

I've been offered the position of Chief Mediator between federal authorities. I'm transferring to the Pentagon.

When she looked up again, she met his eyes that were sparkling with merriment. She suppressed a chuckle, then another, and upon a distinct snort form Harm she couldn't hold back any longer. Clinging to the little sheet of paper, she gave in to the most desperate fit of laughter she had suffered in a long time, from the corner of her eye noting that he wasn't any better off.

After entire minutes of helpless laughing, she eventually managed to regain control over her breathing. "This is so hilarious," she gasped, wiping her eyes with an angle of her napkin. "For seven years we beat around the bush and all but swallow our tongues not to go against regulations, because we don't want to transfer out and now..."

"...both of us do it at the same time," he finished the sentence for her, shaking his head in laughing disbelief, "And what's more, we end up under the same roof. I guess that's what kismet is all about, right?"

"Probably," she agreed, quieting down a bit. "Well, sailor, congratulations. If anyone had told me that one day they'd pick you, of all people, for a diplomat's post, I'd never have believed it. It's obvious you've grown up in the last months."

"Oh, thank you," he said with a reverend gesture. "But they told me they were mainly impressed by my ability to find innovative solutions to complicated problems," he added slyly.

"Such as firing an automatic weapon in a courtroom?" she inquired.

He sighed theatrically. "I'm never going to live that one down, am I?"

"Nope. Can you handle it?"

"I have lived with it, I can continue to do so," he answered. "But now tell me, what is Chegwidden supposed to do at the Pentagon, and why are you going with him?"

"Well, it looks like we'll be bumping into each other every few steps of the way," she explained. "If I got you right, yours is going to be an independent position?"

"As far as can be. Formally I'll stay in the service but I'll be accountable only to the Secretary of Defense, and at the same time to the Secretary of Homeland Security. I'll be on both their executive staffs, responsible for cooperation, exchange of information and assistance between the major federal authorities enrolled in national security and law enforcement. But what about you?"

"The admiral and I are going terrorist hunting," Mac stated. "Just like you, we'll have a lot of things going on in joined ops with homeland security, but we'll cover the military side only. By the way, he's going to get his third star. Seems like we'll conduct the military part of the very operations you'll draw out in detail for every entity involved. You know what? This is so weird."

"So I guess we'll once again be facing off," Harm said, "Just not in court, but over the conference table, when I'll be trying to find a way to make your SEAL/Marine joint ventures easier to digest for feds and spooks. Sounds intriguing, to say the least."

"But you're going to be tied to your desk, aren't you?" Mac asked with a frown.

"Not at all," Harm replied. "Sumner and White explained to me that in order to keep in touch with everyone involved and to make sure I always saw the whole picture, I'd have to go out a lot, seeing the places and situations myself to be able to judge them accordingly. I guess I'll get my share of adventure even without actively chasing Al Qaeda. And besides," he added with a wink, "White assured me that as a member of the Navy in times as these, I'd still be expected to do regular flying quals. A good pilot isn't something the Navy can afford to lose."

"You're going to need a darn good right hand," Mac concluded, in her mind summing up the heap of different tasks Harm would need to handle simultaneously.

"Yeah, I know, and the search isn't going to be easy," he said with a sigh. "I'd need someone I could trust unconditionally."

"And I know where to find her."

Surprised, he frowned until suddenly, understanding lightened his gaze. "Mac, you're a genius. Coates is going to be without a job shortly, right?"

She nodded contently, smiling as she saw him pull out his cell phone. He dialed a number and waited.

"Coates? This is Commander Rabb. I hope I'm not interrupting anything...? That's good to hear... Actually, yes. Jen, I was just wondering: have you ever thought about transferring out of JAG for a new position?"

Three months later
0902 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Chuch, VA

Commander Sturgis Turner, acting JAG of the U.S. Navy until someone else could be named, cherished the silence that for once reigned in the normally buzzing bullpen. The absence of noise was balm for his submariner's soul, one of the few things he'd missed at JAG. Today was different. At 1100, the entire staff was supposed to meet in order to welcome four new officers and two enlisted in their midst. But no one was due to show up before 1000. Sturgis had arranged for the few moments of quiet before the storm broke loose. He needed them for himself.

Slowly walking from office to office, Sturgis personally took down the nametags and attached the new ones. He was going to keep the little plates - as witnesses of an era. The admiral had taken his own with him. Even though he had been appointed acting JAG weeks ago, to Sturgis it felt still surreal reading his own name where he had been used to reading Rear Admiral AJ Chegwidden for so long.

Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie

Sturgis blew on the plate to remove a little dust. Mac was having fun in her new job. Harm had told him as much last week when they had met at the gym for a game of basketball. As he studied her nametag, Sturgis could see her discussing security issues with the admiral, pouring over a map of southern Texas...

"I can see your point, sir, but what if they're really planning on crossing the border with a group of illegal immigrants? They'd easily pass as Mexicans, and our patrols wouldn't have the slightest chance of recognizing them. I'd strongly recommend sending small recon units to do border patrols as long as Al-Boumraoui is still at large."

"All right, Colonel, let's do it your way. It's probably for the best. Please take care of informing the local authorities of the possible threat. But don't tell them too much, Mac. We wouldn't want a few lone country sheriffs trying their hands at playing Wyatt Earp."

"Understood, sir."

Putting the little piece of metal into his pocket, Sturgis slowly walked on.

Cdr. Harmon Rabb

Harm's plate was a little reluctant to be released from its hold. 'As could have been expected,' Sturgis mused with a slight grin. Harm's job seemed to prove one hell of a workload. He had admitted he was already thinking of asking for a second coworker to keep up with his schedule. Just last night, he'd had to cancel the lunch he'd set up with Sturgis for tomorrow, because he and Jen needed to make a quick trip to Saudi Arabia, to coordinate the handling of a few security breeches around one of the major U.S. military bases near Riyad. As far as Harm had hinted, the breeches had actually proven useful for the insertion of a U.S. double agent who was providing ample intel on local Islamic extremist groups. On the other hand, the info the agent revealed to those groups had turned out far more delicate than was considered secure by the base commanders. In front of his mind's eye, Sturgis could see Harm and Jen investigating in the camp, trying to get a feeling as to how much insight the military might allow into their locations in order to give the CIA the possibility to set up a thorough human-resources information network...

"Here are the telephone lists you asked for, sir."

"Already? Great work, Jen. Now I need to talk to whoever's in charge of supplies. You don't happen to know his name, do you?"

"Actually, I do, sir, and I've already scheduled an interview for you. You'll meet Major Karpinsky in his quarters in 20, if that's okay with you, sir."

"Good thinking, Jen, I appreciate that. That'll actually leave me enough time to meet with our ambassador today. Could you please arrange that for me?"

"Of course, sir."

'I'm glad someone's taking care of him, now that Mac can't be around all the time,' Sturgis thought. 'I only hope I'll get a good replacement for Coates. I might need a little help with my agenda, too.' He was to meet his new yeoman together with the other new additions to headquarters. On the picture, the young man looked a little like Tiner. 'That wouldn't be the worst of options," he mused, walking up to the next door.

Lt. Bud Roberts

Upon closer inspection, Bud's nametag showed a lot of scratches. Sturgis knew this was because Bud had once taken it down to clean it, and little AJ, who'd been at JAG with Harriet that day, had gotten his hands on it. He had played carpenter with it, using it as a meter, a saw or a file, whichever was needed.

Once his initial wariness had been overcome, Bud had immerged into the life of a civilian attorney with everything that was in him. Sturgis had gotten to know Jason Kent himself and had immediately understood why working for him fitted Bud just fine. He was a refined, intellectual person, and yet down-to-earth enough to see the real problems and accept cases where more than just the money mattered. Feeling he was working for the right cause, Bud had started developing a kind of self-confidence in court that Sturgis thought reminded him very much of Harm. Right now, Bud was working on a significant child-abuse case, and Sturgis had gone to see him hold his closing argument for the joint plaintiff...

"...and there will be no way Melanie Williams could ever forget that. We have heard the facts. We have all witnessed the prosecution lay down proof after proof that what this girl brought herself to reveal to us is true. We have seen Melanie struggle with her wounded soul when she faced her torturer again. And yet, she forced herself to do it, because she wants other children to be spared what she had to endure. So I ask you not to let this enormous sacrifice be in vain. Reward her courage and her tenacity and follow the prosecution's proposition. Michael Dornberg is guilty. Let Melanie Williams be the one to show him that justice will prevail. Thank you."

Sturgis remembered how Harriet had quickly wiped away a tear as he had finished, all the while cradling sleeping little Tina in her arms. He'd miss the family feeling he'd found so strange when he'd first arrived at JAG Headquarters two years ago. Now it would be strange to know that no one had anything more than a working relationship with everyone else around here. 'Well, that may change eventually,' Sturgis thought, resolving to revive the JAG family tradition his predecessor had founded.

And as long as the new JAG family was still 'under construction', he could always look forward to the numerous invitations he knew were due to come up anyway. AJ's fifth birthday, Mikey's graduation, Harriet's Thanksgivings and Christmases - and, last but not least, his oldest friend's wedding.

Sturgis looked at the nametags in his hand.

The end of an era indeed - but what was to come sounded promising. To say the least.

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End of the JAG 2003 Virtual Season
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