1612 EDT
QUANTICO MARINE BASE ENLISTED MESS HALL
QUANTICO, VIRGINA

Gunnery Sergeant Garry Connors paced the small room restlessly, tossing glances toward his apparently unperturbed platoon mates. He didn't know why he was so nervous. He had nothing to worry about, right? Other than shipping out to a war zone in three days, that is.

"Sit down, Connors. You're wearing a groove in the floor," one of the other senior NCO's finally said. Connors stopped pacing and faced the man, a worried look in his eyes.

"Why the hell are they singling us out? Since when does a complete platoon get dope-tested at once?"

"You got something to worry about, Connors?" Gunnery Sergeant Kevin Kepler asked, eyebrows quirked.

"No, Kepler, I don't. But..."

"Then relax. It's jus-- Attention on deck!"

All thirty pair of eyes turned briefly towards the opening door, and all snapped to attention as one. The tension in the room multiplied when a tall colonel strode in, followed by what appeared to be a squad of MP's, and two men with NCIS ball caps on their heads.

"Gentlemen. I'm Colonel Bryce Coleman, base CO in case you didn't know," the colonel stated. "And we have a problem."

Cue opening credits

*****
Stay tuned this fall, for a brand new reality show: The Accountant. Follow the young accountant all through his day of account balancing and conciliation, see him go through harrowing month end transactions. Don't miss the excitement of our new hit reality series, The Accountant. Coming this fall to XBS. *******

SATURDAY,
0602 EDT
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Harm and Mac exchanged dubious glances as they followed the admiral towards his office. Getting called in before 0700 on a Saturday morning was never a good thing.

"I hate to miss golf with Senator Carson, but once this thing hits the news, there'll be a firestorm," Blankenship explained, as he stepped behind his desk. "Have a seat," he invited.

Harm did so, his brow furrowed. "This have anything to do with the upcoming deployment, sir?" he asked, mentally reviewing what could warrant such an urgent meeting. The only thing he could think of was the planned deployment of three MEU's to Iraq. The units were slated to leave from Quantico in less than 72 hours, to replace troops already deployed.

"Indeed, Commander. But not like you might think."

"Sir?" Harm reiterated, frowning. If it wasn't protests gone bad at Quantico, then what could have the media up in a frenzy?

"Protesters have been unusually well-behaved, so this has nothing to do with altercations between Marines and detractors of our presence in Iraq. Yesterday morning, the Quantico NCIS office received an anonymous tip about possible drug smuggling going on in one of the 24th Expeditionary Company U's platoons, as well as falsified drug tests. So, after coordinating with Colonel Bryce Coleman and the U Company commanders, the platoon in question was confined to the mess hall, and all were drug-tested while their barracks were searched."

"I take it the search revealed drugs, in quantities sufficient to support the claims of possible trafficking, sir?" Mac summarised.

"Oh, they found about twenty-five grams of cocaine in a gunnery sergeant's locker, but that's nothing. No. It's much worse than that, Colonel," Blankenship answered nonchalantly, a false air of satisfaction on his face. "Nineteen out of twenty-nine Marines tested positive for cocaine."

Harm's eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped a little. Two thirds of a platoon. No wonder the big brass was worried about the press. His gaze briefly met Mac's, finding a similar expression on her face. "Charges, sir?" he finally asked.

"Each of the men who tested positive will have to face a drug charge, and a Gunnery Sergeant Garreth Connors is charged with possession with intent to distribute." The admiral took a deep breath and cast pointed looks at both his officers. "I want to know how the hell this can happen. Nineteen Marines. Nineteen! It's a slap in the Corps' face, as if its reputation could afford one, and only serves to feed the rumours of rampant drug use amongst the military."

"How do you want us to handle this, sir?" Mac dared, not sure if the remark about the Corps reputation was directed at her or not.

The admiral stared at both officers long and hard before replying. "I want you to find out how in blue blazes those Marines avoided the random screenings, and I want to know about any involvement in the chain of command," Blankenship snarled. "And most of all, I want you to restore our proud Navy's image. I don't care about those morons. I want them to pay for bringing shame to our Navy!" the admiral snapped, a slight grimace of disgust on his face, all the while casting a sidelong glance at Mac.

"Is that clear?" Blankenship growled.

Both officers snapped to their feet, Harm darting a brief glance to Mac. "Understood, sir," both replied as one.

"The files are on my yeoman's desk. Dismissed."

Both officers made a quick exit, Harm casting a sympathetic glance towards Mac.

"The Blank Stare, again," she breathed, with only a vague trace of irritation.

Harm snickered. "Nice one. I wonder what the Marines did to piss him off like that," he said, picking up the armload of folders on Coates's desk.

"Yeah, well, whatever it is, since I'm the only one in the line of fire, I don't really care. I just wish he'd..." Mac checked over her shoulder, making sure they were out of the admiral's earshot, "he'd drop the pompous superior attitude and recognise my talent, but since that's not going to happen, let's just concentrate on the case, all right? I guess we better get out there now."

Harm shook his head in disbelieving wonder. "All right," he finally said. "Let me pick up a few things from my office before we go."

"Sure thing. I'll meet you downstairs. And since I'll be the one going down to the motor pool, I'll be the one driving!" Mac chided, as she pushed through the bullpen doors. Again, Harm shook his head and chuckled softly.

In the last few weeks, the dark cloud of Clayton Webb's death seemed to have faded, leaving Mac once again happy and smiling. He knew the medication she was taking for the endometriosis seemed to be working, as he 'd only rarely seen her massage her lower back recently. He turned his attention back to his office door, drawing his keys from his pocket. He unlocked the door, flicked on the light and dropped the thick pile of folders onto his desk. He gathered the few items he'd came for and threw them into his briefcase, along with the thick sheaf of documents. He snapped the lid shut and turned towards the door, ready to rejoin Mac downstairs. When he slid the heavy case off his desk, something else went tumbling to the floor.

Curious, he set his briefcase down, the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly standing on end. He crouched down and carefully picked up a thin manila envelope. It hadn't been there last night. He'd left his desk clear, and his office door had been locked. He resisted the urge to examine the door for signs of forced entry, knowing he'd find none. Government office locks were surprisingly easy to pick, experience had taught him. He carefully unsealed the envelope, pulling out a single sheet of plain white paper. He scanned the page quickly and sighed heavily, his eyes taking on the color of tempered steel. Slipping the sheet back into its place, he added the letter to his briefcase.

****

We work in kilometres. We say Zed, an ay, and we actually do freeze in the winter. What are we? We. Are. Canadian.

And so am I.

****

When Mac pulled the Navy issue sedan into the employee parking lot, Harm was waiting for her, standing rigidly, almost at attention, both hands clasping the handle of his briefcase tightly. She could see his knuckles whiten under the strain. As soon as she came to a stop, he opened the door and folded himself into the passenger seat. Instead of storing his briefcase into the trunk, as she expected, he kept it with him, jammed between his knee and the door. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but she wasn't fooled, her own expression clouding over at his obvious worry.

"What is it?" she asked, suddenly tense.

Harm quickly glanced at his surroundings, and pressed his lips into a thin line. "I'll tell you on the way."

"All right," she reluctantly agreed, and put the car in gear, heading towards Quantico. She waited patiently for Harm to come out and say what was bothering him, but he stayed silent. Apprehension rising, she again turned to him. "We're on our way, now. Have been for a while. What's up?" she asked, dreading the answer. The look in his eyes was one of concern-filled anger, something she rarely saw in him.

He took a long breath through his nose, never taking his eyes off the road. "Someone left an envelope in my office."

"Nothing unusual about that."

"After it was locked. No name, no address. Just a name, and last known whereabouts."

Mac swallowed quickly, trying to quell the sudden butterflies in her stomach. "They confirmed the ID of the man Clay was after." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yeah. Zayeed Fahd," he confirmed.

Her hands tightened around the steering wheel. "Damn it," she swore softly. "And I bet they lost track of him too."

"Right again. He was seen in Paraguay about a month ago, and then they tracked him to Caracas three weeks ago. That's where he vanished."

Mac let out a long sigh, trying to still the pounding of her heart. Would Paraguay ever cease to haunt her? A warm hand closing over hers almost made her jump, and she cast a sidelong glance at Harm. His eyes were still hard and worried, but something much softer shone from their depth.

"I won't say don't worry. But know this, Mac. You will *not* have to face this alone. Not this time. You have me by your side. Okay? I won't let him get to you."

His voice was so filled with conviction, with the same firm commitment he'd shown since Admiral Chegwidden's Dining Out. Then, she'd thought he was just concerned for her, that he was playing his perpetual knight-on-the-white-horse routine, but as time wore on, she wasn't so certain anymore. Sure, he'd changed after Mattie's arrival, but the transformation was deeper than that. There had always been something there, something she suspected from him, but had never dared truly believe in. She'd been secretly in love with him for so long that she'd almost learned to live with it, almost convincing herself that all the strange, intimate, wonderful moments she'd shared with him were fortuitous twists of fate, angled only at making her doubt her own interpretation of their relationship.

Now, though, the feeling of something just barely buried under the surface had become a constant companion. He was always there, close by, smiling at her, being there for her, gentle, considerate, yet unobtrusive. It was the emotions radiating from him that had changed. Even as he offered his friendly support through her grieving, she could *feel* his intent. That was new. He'd never said anything more than he would always be there. She had asked for intent, in one of their many wars of words, in Paraguay. She'd gotten her wish, it seemed. She just wasn't sure yet. She wondered briefly if she would ever be.

She suddenly realised that he was waiting for a response from her. She smiled, as much as she could, despite the worry still clawing at the back of her mind. "I know. But... Sadik managed to get to you. What if..."

He shook his head vigorously. "Don't even go there, Mac. I had no idea Sadik was after me, or that he was in DC for that matter. We know he's coming this time. He won't catch me unawares. I promise you."

She drew in a deep, soothing breath. Rationally, she knew his promise was just about impossible to keep, but where this man was concerned, she had more faith than reason usually allowed. It was then she knew she was done grieving for Clay. It was the first time she'd given thoughts to her feelings for Harm, without a flood of guilt over Clay overshadowing her thoughts.

She turned once again to him, her smile just a little brighter. "Since I know you never break a promise, I believe you, Flyboy. And trust me, after being stuck at HQ while you were missing when that helo crashed, I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she stopped breathing, realising the enormity of what she'd said.

Beside her, Harm gently cleared his throat. Her hopes that he'd somehow hadn't heard her faded, but for some reason, she didn't really mind. "I'd like that," he said quietly. "But I guess we need to talk about this, don't we? I mean... Clay's death and, um..."

Mac couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped her throat. "Don't worry so much about me, Harm. I'm doing a lot better about that." She took her eyes off the road for a few long seconds, locking her eyes with his. "You've been there for me, like you said you would be. I'm done hiding behind the grief, and yes, I do want us to talk... About what you said, at the Admiral's Dining out... About you always being there...About us," she finally managed to say, cursing the sudden clumsiness of her words.

He barely had time to open his mouth before she held up a hand, letting her eyes go back to the deserted highway. "I know what I said, and I was wrong. There is something there... I'm just not sure how much, and I... want to talk about it."

"You've got a deal," he said, almost breathless, trying to hide his hopeful smile.

"Now, I guess we better get our minds back on the case. We're here."

*********

It's cool.

It's new.

It's real.

The Accountant

Watch it, this fall on XBS.

*********

A half an hour later, after having reported to Colonel Coleman, Harm sat down in the conference room that would serve as their work space for the day. He gratefully sipped his steaming cup of coffee before turning to his attention back to the stack of folders in front of him.

"Well, what a way to start a weekend," Mac commented dryly, taking a seat across the table. She studied the pile for a moment before reaching for half of it. "Nineteen Marines in one platoon. That's what I call taking unit cohesion to a whole new level," she said, flipping the first folder open.

"You think they did this as a team?" Harm replied, his brow furrowed. "Why would they do that? Drug use, aside from homosexuality, is one of the biggest taboos in the service."

"Think about it, Harm. What kind of sentence do you get for this kind of offense?"

He leaned back into his chair, turning the possibility over in his mind. "Counseling, loss of pay, bad conduct discharge, and if you're really unlucky, a year of hard labour."

"Heck of a lot better than deploying to a war zone, don't you think?"

"A ploy to avoid hazardous service," Harm breathed, starting to agree with her train of thought, but not quite believing it yet.

"Yep. The guys sniff a little coke, stash some in a locker, and place an anonymous call to NCIS. Perfect way to avoid being shipped out. "

Harm inhaled sharply and shrugged, his brow folding. If she was right, the Corps' morale would suffer, and a lot of lives would change for the worst.

"Let's not jump to conclusions just yet. We still haven't interviewed them. We'll see what they had to say to NCIS."

"All right," Mac replied, a bit skeptical. "Shall we split them up?"

Harm thought for a moment. "No, I'll take them. Why don't you tackle the NCIS evidence, see where the call came from, and where they found the dope?" he suggested instead, burying his nose in a file. Her musical laugh had him look up however.

"What?"

She smiled, her eyes full of mischief. "Have you suddenly become allergic to all things NCIS? You afraid of running into Agent Gibbs or DiNozzo?"

Harm huffed, giving her a shriveling look. "I am not! I just... Once a year is enough, and that was earlier this summer," he finished, not quite kidding. He paused, suddenly mesmerized by her smile. How long had it been since she'd smiled like that at him? How long had it been since they'd been this close? The pier in Norfolk came to mind, and a few moments after that, but they were fewer and far between in the last couple of years. Maybe he hadn't been ready to commit before. Or maybe he'd just been too afraid of getting hurt, whether it was because of his father, or because of Diane. Now though, he longed for his life to be complete, filled with more than just a career. He'd realised in the past year how little it filled of his life, once he'd found himself cut loose from the Navy or the CIA. Mattie had filled part of the gap, but a child couldn't fill the void that remained.

"Harm? He-lo-ho..."

Harm snapped out of his reverie, a slightly sheepish expression on his face. "Huh? Um, I was--"

"Let me guess. Thinking," Mac kidded, taking advantage of the situation. His flaming cheeks were just too much of an opportunity to pass up.

"Something like that," he replied, tossing her a thick folder. "We better start," he mumbled, still off balance.

He shook himself quickly and opened the case file. Time to get back into the game. He scanned the list of names for familiar ones, not really expecting one to stand out. However, his eyebrows jumped to his hairline on the fifth one. Staff Sergeant James Tesla. A ruddy blond head of curly hair crowning a boyish face, a huge smile and a good dose of arrogant confidence. One of "his" Recon Marines.

Harm sighed, shaking his head in sad disbelief. He remembered that case as if it were yesterday. Four young recon trainees and Gunnery Sergeant Post. The falling shells, Tesla trapped under the beam of the collapsing hut, the huge, proud smile on his face when they'd finally pulled him to safety. He was a poster Marine. The Tesla he remembered would never have done something like this... He pushed the feelings aside and went though the rest of the list. He had nineteen statements to review before starting the interviews. Maybe he'd find an angle to attack this mess.

At least, he knew exactly where to start those interviews to shed a little more light on the matter.

****

They're so cute in thee pet shop window. Just think about their mom, locked in a cage, with minimal food and no veterinary care. Or think about how big that pup will grow, or about who will take care of him while you're on vacation, to all those abandoned in animal shelters.

Be responsible. Don't buy in pet shops, and help close puppy mills.

And remember. A dog is not just for Christmas. It's for life.

Visit www.akc.org, or www.ckc.ca

*********

Mac waded her way though the technical language of the evidence report for about two hours, while Harm read through the nineteen statements the men had made. She kept looking for either the head or the tail of what was beginning to look like a Chinese puzzle, never finding a clear picture of what had happened. The more questions she asked herself, the fewer answers she came up with. Still, the smile she'd had on her lips since her talk with Harm in the car wouldn't leave her. She couldn't quite believe she'd actually said she'd never let him out of her sight again. The funniest thing, though, was that he actually didn't seem to mind. So much for his precious control...

But doubt still nagged at her mind. Harm had always been there for her, regardless of her involvement with other men, despite what she'd said to him about his interest wavering. He'd thrown it back in her face earlier this year, but she couldn't really blame him. She'd been running on adrenaline, and she'd been itching for a fight. He'd responded in kind, managing to widen the gap just a little more.

She truly wanted to believe there was more than just a friendly interest for her well-being in his actions, but at this point in her life, she wasn't quite ready to trust in her stars. Too much had happened for that.

She watched him work, his sharp eyes focused on a folder in front of him, scribbling a note once aver few minutes, completely intent on their task. She sometimes wished for his ability to detach himself so completely from his feelings, to focus solely on the task at hand. She'd always thought Admiral Chegwidden had been in the wrong when he'd said Harm was completely controlled by his emotions. They often guided his decisions, but once he was focused on a task, he let nothing get in the way of completing it. Nothing.

Not even her.

That was one of the things that scared her. She was just plain afraid that if they ever managed to untangle the years of miscommunication lying between them and finally reach each other, that one day, something would come along and plant its claws in him, dragging him away from her, digging up into his need to reach the goal, to complete the mission at all costs, and that she would lose him for good.

"Done?"

She jumped a little at the sound of his voice. She realized she had been staring at him for over a minute, lost in her own convoluted thoughts.

"Yeah," she replied as brightly as she could, trying to hide her unease at being caught off guard. "This thing is starting to make less and less sense."

"Tell me about it. And Admiral Blankenship wants a preliminary report before 1700," Harm reminded her. "That's what I call putting pressure on us for a quick resolution."

She scoffed. "That's one way of putting it. Let's just say the admiral isn't one for bad press."

Harm chuckled. "That," he said, pointing a finger, "is putting it mildly, coming from a politician like Blankenship. I doubt he cares much about the truth," he said, his eyes carrying a silent air of... Again, she didn't quite know what to make of this new way he had of looking at her.

She nodded, cocking her head. "Yeah, well, regardless, we're interested in facts."

"So what have you got for me?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Anonymous call was made from a pay phone on base, in the housing district where ten of the men reside, so it's not really conclusive. NCIS restricted the platoon in question to the mess hall and searched the barracks indicated by the caller, and found two packages, totaling 25 g of cocaine in one locker, assigned to Gunnery Sergeant Garreth Connors. Three sets of fingerprints were recovered on the locker. One belongs to Connors, and one to another man from his platoon, Private Jackson Richter, assigned to barracks maintenance."

"The platoon janitor, so no big surprise there," Harm summarized. "What about the other set?"

"Unidentified. Then, corpsmen from the base hospital performed standard urine tests on all twenty-nine men," Mac continued. "Nineteen came back positive." She leaned back in her chair as well, a grimace of disgust on her features.

"Unbelievable. How could those men all avoid the random screenings?" he asked, doubt nagging at the back of his mind.

"Records state fourteen of the men were tested in the last twelve months; of those, only three in the last six, since they learned they were being deployed. The other five just got lucky, I guess. Just to be on the safe side, NCIS is going through the files of all personnel involved with those tests, see if any connections jump out. They're checking his phone records as well. They'd like to find his source, if possible, especially if he's operating on base. Those nineteen guys aren't going anywhere, but that doesn't mean there aren't any others pulling the same scheme."

"You seem awfully sure Connors is our man, Mac. Any solid proof?" Harm asked, her eyes sharp. "You think it's as simple as that? Eighteen addicts and a pusher? Wouldn't Connors's financial records bear trace of that?"

Mac gave her a noncommittal toss of the head. "I'll know when we get them. Bank's closed till Monday. I don't know about this being a simple drug ring, Harm. That's what it appears to be, but something just doesn't make sense on the tests."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. The titer, or concentration in the blood's plasma for each man was different, but once related to weight, the overall blood content was the same. Like if all the men had been given the exact same dose, which makes no sense if they were addicts. And none of them exhibit signs of cocaine addiction."

"Everything points to either a set-up, or them planning this to get out of going to war," Harm breathed, leaning forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table, chin in hand.

"You know as well as I do that it's hard to find one Marine who shirks hazardous duty, let alone nineteen, not to mention in a single platoon."

Harm thought for a moment, and flipped through his notes. "In their statements, several of the men said Connors's behavior had changed recently. My money's on him drugging the others."

Mac scoffed. "Oh, come on. You can't make a Marine sniff coke if he doesn't want to any more than you can make a tank move by blowing on it."

Harm smiled. "I know what you mean. Regardless, that's the option that makes the most sense."

"What sense? Why? And how? I don't see a motive anywhere!"

"You're the one who came up with the pact idea! Maybe he put the drug in their food. Motive is for us to determine, but, his wife died a couple years ago, and he has a teenage daughter..."

"But drugging his fellow Marines is a plan to land himself in the brig for god knows how many years, not more time with his daughter." Mac sighed again, frustrated. This case had her feeling like she was walking into a thick blanket of fog; where everything was just barely out of reach, but completely hidden. She pushed off of her chair, and slowly began to pace the room.

"Okay, so first, we need evidence that Connors bought the drugs," she summed up.

"Which either his phone or bank records could help with. But NCIS isn't done processing the former, and we need to wait till Monday for bank records." He crossed his arms and frowned, turning over possibilities in his mind. "What about the guy who called in the tip?" he finally asked.

Mac went back to the table and flipped thought the evidence report. "Girl, actually. The voice was distorted, but it's clearly female. Lab is still working on getting a clean sample for eventual comparison. But we need something to compare it to, and since all our suspects are male... It could be from one of the wives, but we need probable cause to ask for a warrant for a sample, and right now, we don't have it. So that's another dead end."

"Great."

"So we're going with Connors on this?"

Harm shrugged. "Best guess at this point. About all the statement are the same. All of them deny taking any drugs, and according to some men in his section, he's been a lot more anxious lately. Maybe he's been using since his last drug test."

Mac leafed once more through the evidence file, resting her chin lightly on her hand. "Which was eight months ago. So that's possible."

"And the fact the coke was found in his locker gives us means. What about opportunity?"

Harm leaned back in his chair, thinking. "Either they ingested it in food or they willingly took it, which is unlikely. If they'd wanted to get out of being deployed, we'd be swamped with guilty pleas already. So far, all the men deny having taken any drugs, and all want the charges cleared ASAP so they can ship out with the rest of their unit."

"So we need them to have eaten together in the 24 hours preceding the anonymous call. Anything in their statements regarding that?"

Harm shook his head. "Not really. The entire company was on liberty until 0600 today. They got called back due to the tip. If they got together, it's either off base, or at a private affair. But we may have a way to get inside information."

Mac's brow furrowed. "How?"

Harm rose to his feet, a smirk on his face. "I'll show you."

*******
We've got geese named after us, and even Dollars. We have oceans, and even the North Pole!

Come to Canada.

Come visit, and meet the friendly neighbors.

*******

The door to the interview room opened with a creak as the guard brought in a tall, rusty blond man.

"Gunny!" the man cried joyously, a broad grin splitting his previously sullen face. "I mean, sir!"

Harm smiled back, as Staff Sergeant Tesla came to attention. "At ease, Staff Sergeant." He extended a hand, which Tesla grabbed right away. "It's good to see you."

"Same here, sir. At least now I have some hope of getting out of this mess," Tesla said emphatically.

Harm motioned to a chair across the table and tossed his head towards Mac. "You remember Colonel Mackenzie," he said, studying the man in front of him carefully.

"I do. Pleasure to see you again, ma'am."

Mac smiled. "Likewise, Staff Sergeant. Although I hope you'll be more cooperative this time around."

Harm's gaze turned inquisitive, Tesla's uncomfortable.

"Yes ma'am. But... this is different. And besides, I owe the commander my life. And I learned my lesson."

Harm's brow furrowed further, but before he could ask, Mac explained. "I forgot. You missed the initial interviews into Captain Coonan's conduct. His recruits were... How should I say... Close mouthed? All I got from Mr. Tesla is that he'd follow the captain to hell and back."

"I see," Harm replied carefully. Time to play a little poker, he thought. "So, I guess you won't feel like ratting out whoever did this, Sergeant."

Tesla's eyes turned to confusions, and briefly, to panic. "But sir... I swear to god... I didn't have anything to do with this! I don't know what happened, sir, honestly I don't! I mean, guys tend to do some pretty stupid things before deployments, but I've never touched the stuff. I can vouch personally for the three men from my Recon section, ma'am, sir."

"Do you know who did?" Harm asked sharply.

"No sir!" Tesla replied, clearly frustrated. "None of us understand how this could have happened. On my honor, sir. None of us take drugs."

"What about Gunnery Sergeant Connors?" Mac asked.

Tesla tossed his head and ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. He chewed on his lip, casting Harm and Mac uncomfortable glances.

"Look, Tesla," Harm said, "all we're trying to do is get to the truth, and I think you can help us. I know I can trust your word. Here's what we think happened: one of the men involved somehow managed to spike the food with coke, possibly to avoid being shipped out. What we need to find out is who, how, and why. And right now, evidence points to Connors. So, do you think he could have done this?"

Tesla shook his head. "No, sir. At least... I didn't before."

Mac leaned forward on the table. "What makes you say that? Has his behavior changed recently?"

"Yeah. I mean, since his wife died, he's been a lot more quiet, keeps to himself a lot. But in the last couple of weeks, he's been... Gunny Connors never gets on your case for no good reason. He's a smart one. He knows what we can do and what we can't, and he takes care of his men. He'd make a fine officer, but says he wants to stay in the thick of it. He's good at what he does, and he's a good teacher, sir, ma'am, but lately... The smallest thing would set him off. Like last week: we were having this picnic, you know, for the men about to deploy, and his daughter showed up late. He reamed her a new one in front of everyone. I mean she's only 17, and she looked so pissed... They got into it pretty bad."

Harm held up a hand. "Hold up. Picnic? When was it held exactly?" he asked, his mind suddenly working a mile a minute.

"Thursday afternoon, sir. Why?"

"Right before the tip was called in. That's when it must have occurred," Harm concluded, casting a sideways glance towards Mac. "Must have been in the food at the picnic."

"You mean a guy slipped coke in the mess food?" Tesla queried.

"It's possible. Any of the men giving grief to the cooks?"

"The usual hassle, sir, nothing major, but there weren't any of them there. Officers' wives were doing the serving."

"Were all the men who tested positive at this picnic, Staff Sergeant?" Mac asked, her eyes on Harm's.

"All of them ma'am, plus a good deal more."

"Did you notice any strange behaviour among the men who tested positive?" Harm questioned, leaning back into his chair, pondering new possibilities and suspects.

"Not really, sir, but we played football for a good portion on the afternoon. I mean, the game was rougher than usual, but a lot of us were working on adrenaline, y'know? We're... We were shipping out to a war zone in a couple days..."

Harm rose from the table in one swift move. "Thank you for your cooperation, Staff Sergeant. We'll be in touch. Guard!" he yelled, calling the attention of the Marine standing guard outside the door.

"Sir, wait! What happens now?" Tesla asked, worry clear in his pale eyes.

"Now, Tesla, you trust me, and go back to your men. I believe that neither you nor they had anything to do with this mess. As soon as we get this cleared up, I'll see that you can join your unit. All right?"

Tesla came to attention. "Aye, aye, sir,"

"Dismissed."

When the door was closed once more, Harm turned back to find Mac half seated on the table, a crooked grin on her face.

"What."

She studied him for a few more seconds, eyeing him with a mixture of wonder and amusement. "You've got that look about you," she said simply.

"What look?"

"The look of a bloodhound on a trail."

Harm snorted. "Funny. At least we have opportunity now, and maybe another suspect."

Mac tossed her head. "One of the officers' wives? Oh, come on, Harm. You know how ludicrous that sounds? And wouldn't she have drugged just her husband to prevent him from being sent to war?"

"We can't overlook a possibility just because it isn't the most logical one. I'll speak to the company commander, see who was there at the picnic. You go to the mess hall and see if you can find any leftover stuff from the picnic, and if you do, have NCIS take a look at it. We'll meet back at the O-club for lunch, all right?" he said, stuffing the scattered files into his briefcase, completely oblivious to Mac's gaping expression.

"Aye, aye, sir," she finally replied, tossing him a shrewd look, hands on her hips.

He instantly paused, and looked up, his eyes going for focused to contrite in a single instant. "Aw, Mac..,. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"I know," she said forgivingly. She snapped her attaché closed and walked to the door, casting him a saccharine smile, her eyes twinkling. "Like I said. Just like a bloodhound: When on a trail, there's just no time to stop and think!" With that, she sauntered out of the interview room, her soft laughter clinging to the air like a heady perfume.

Harm could only stare at her retreating figure, unable to think clearly. It had been a long, long time, since they'd been comfortable enough around each other to tease as mercilessly as this. It had been even longer since she'd made him feel completely off balance, just by being her. At this precise moment, he couldn't be bothered to be insulted at being compared to a dog.

He chuckled to himself, earning him a puzzled glance from the MP standing at the door. After all, bloodhounds were made to find criminals, so maybe his doggy qualities would come in handy. He walked out of the room, nodding at the MP, and made his way to company command.

Now, he had over two hours to come up with a good comeback.

********
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Adopt one from a shelter, give it a new home, a new life, a new hope, for the rest of its days.

A dog isn't just for Christmas. It's for life. www.akc.org

www.springerrescue.org
*******

1803 ZULU
Officer's club
Quantico, Virginia

Harm strode into the O-club, his eyes instantly finding Mac's figure, seated at a quiet table off to one side. He joined her, dropping his briefcase to the floor in a heavy thud.

"Wow, you're actually getting better! Only three minutes late," she commented, as he snagged the ice water glass in front of him. Once the glass was drained, he put it back on the table, wiping his forehead with a hand.

"Be glad I'm still alive, Mac. Jogging across the base with that thing," he motioned to the briefcase, "is enough to kill anybody in this heat."

"Why didn't you take the car, if you had to go across base?"

"Wasn't planning to. I just started going door-to-door to see the officers' wives, and I found myself all the way across base before I knew it."

"Was the trip worth it?" Mac asked, signaling to the waiter.

Harm nodded, wordlessly thanking the steward for refilling his water glass as he took another large gulp of cold water. "It was. Guess who Mrs. Fiona Mandelsen, wife of Marine Captain Gerry Mandelsen, saw alone in the mess hall?"

"Let me guess. Gunny Connors."

"And the lady says my brain doesn't work. She said she came in a few minutes after she heard some yelling out by the picnic tables. Connors was alone, stirring the punch. Said the steward that was there had to leave because of a family emergency."

Mac nodded, pulling a pad out of her purse, and flipping though it. "Private 1st class Jason Laughlin. I spoke to him. His wife went into labor. First time dad. You should see the baby pictures he showed me," she finished, a brief flicker of longing casing over her features.

Harm wanted to reach out a hand to hers, and tell her they'd get their chance. He held back, though. It's too soon, he admonished himself. Don't push her, or she'll just bolt again. Give her time to get over Clay. Some part of his brain reminded him that she'd told him, not even 12 hours ago, that she was doing better about that, but somehow...

"Harm?"

"Huh?" He blinked a few times, bringing Mac's face back into focus.

"Lost in your thoughts again?" she asked, her head tilted to the side.

He smiled. "Yeah. Just catching up on those I missed while I was playing bloodhound."

Mac smiled back, and lowered her eyes back to the notes on her pad. "As I was saying, Private Laughlin asked Connors to keep an eye on the food till the lady in charge came back. All the dishes from the picnic have been washed, but they used plastic serving containers instead of the stainless steel ones for outdoor activities. I called NCIS. They're processing them now. Some residue could have survived washing, so we should know before tonight."

Harm leaned back in his chair, thinking, as he studied the menu.

"There's only one thing left to do, then," he said finally.

Mac nodded. "Interview Connors."

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

1945 ZULU
Base brig
Quantico, Virginia

The loud grating of the heavy metal door signaled the arrival of Gunnery Sergeant Garreth Connors, escorted by two burly guards, and for a moment, Harm was glad that the man appeared calm. Connors was at least as tall as he was, but at least twice as large. He towered in the room, like a giant tree. His dark brown eyes were hard, starring straight ahead of him, at rigid attention.

Harm studied the man for a moment, casting a wary glance to Mac.

"At ease, Gunnery Sergeant," he said finally. "Have a seat."

The man complied, his eyes still locked on the wall behind the two officers. Harm felt the tension in the room expand and grow, until it became almost tangible. He nodded to the guards, and the heavy door swung shut with a clang.

Harm thought for a moment, unsure of how to begin. He'd expected the man to clamor his innocence, or at least to have said one word by now. But the man seated across the table had all the makings of a brick wall. So he decided to give it a swing.

"Gunny, you are aware that NCIS found a quantity of cocaine in your locker?"

"Yes, sir." The voice was as deep as the man's chest.

"Is it yours?"

"No, sir."

"Then who put it there?"

"Don't know, sir."

Harm sighed and leaned back in his chair. This wasn't going to be easy. "Gunnery Sergeant, you're in a heap of trouble right now, and if I were you, I'd start cooperating. You're looking at 18 counts of assault, at the moment, unless you can clear the situation up for us."

That got his attention. His dark eyes flashed not with anger, but with puzzlement. "Assault?"

"You spiked the food at the picnic. Poisoned your men. That's assault," Mac stated coldly.

The gunny's expression regained its cold impassibility. "Can't prove it."

"You had opportunity, at the picnic. The mess cook left you in charge of the food when he left. Mrs Mandlesen found you alone in the mess hall, twenty minutes later. What I'd like to know his why, Gunny."

The man remained quiet as a stone.

"Is it because of your daughter?"

Rage flickered over Connors's features. "Leave Shawna out of this," he growled.

"Is it because you wanted to stay with her? I know your wife passed away last year. I can understand you not wanting to leave her--" Mac tried, but Connors cut her off, his jaw twitching.

"You have kids, Colonel?"

"I don't."

"Then don't pretend to understand. Just leave Shawna out of it. Your beef is with me. Not her."

"Did you do it?" Harm asked bluntly.

Connors tossed his head and didn't reply. Before Harm could ask another question, Mac's cell phone chirped. She checked the caller id and nodded, rising from her chair. Harm waited for the door to close once more to turn his attention back to Connors.

"I have a... I have a teenage ward. She's 15. I can't imagine leaving her for six months, going off to war, not sure if I'll ever come back..." Harm lied. He could imagine himself being deployed, leaving Mattie. But she had Tom. She wouldn't be alone. It would rip his heart out, and make him take extra care and make sure he would come home in one piece, but they'd survive it. Still, maybe Connors would commiserate.

"Don't try to bond with me, Commander. You're wasting your time."

Harm tossed his head, his features hardening. So much for that tactic.

"Fine. Then give me something that makes sense, Gunny. The drugs were found in your locker, and you were left alone with the food that was spiked for at least 15 minutes, after a shouting match with your only daughter. Maybe you thought you'd be the only one caught... Maybe you made a mistake. Give me something to help you, Gunny. Otherwise, this is going to get hung on you, and instead of staying here to take care of Shawna, you'll be spending the next decade in Leavenworth."

For the first time, Connors looked at Harm, straight in the eyes. "Commander, if you had any proof-"

"Oh, but we do," Mac said from the door. She stepped in and went back to her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. She stared at Connors, hard. "Anthony Rockovich. That name ring a bell, Gunny?"

Silence greeted her question.

"Or maybe Fingers will jog your memory," Mac tried.

Harm kept his expression neutral, despite the questions crowding his mind. Mac obviously had some new evidence. Connors kept stubbornly quiet, seemingly either unimpressed, or uncaring.

After letting Connors think about what she'd said, Mac once more rose to her feet. "Guard! We're done here. You'll be hearing from us soon, Gunnery Sergeant," she said, as the bear of a man was escorted out of the room. Both attorneys gathered their belongings, and calmly made their way back towards the conference room they were using as a temporary office.

Twenty yards after stepping out into the sweltering heat, Harm's curiosity won out over his patience.

"Okay, who's Fingers?"

As they saluted a group of passing enlisted, Mac took a deep breath before launching into an explanation. "Anthony Rockovich, AKA Fingers, drug dealer operating mainly in the Quantico area, with ties to the Colombian drug lords supplying the East Coast. He was arrested early this afternoon in a local bar, called the Craps. He boasted to a police informant about selling dope to 'the few, the not so proud anymore,' to quote him."

Harm shrugged. "And the informant passed on the info to the locals, who wasted no time in grabbing him. How did we get notified so fast?"

"Seems NCIS has some contacts in the local police, so they were given a courtesy call. Seems Fingers was quick to offer his cooperation in exchange of leniency. He ID'd Connors out of a photo line-up. Says he sold him 4500$ worth of coke."

"So we've got an ID by a known drug dealer. Not exactly strong evidence, Mac," Harm replied, as he pulled the door open and held it for her.

"I know, but there's more. NCIS also tested the dishes from the picnic. The punch bowl and several cups revealed cocaine residue."

Harm whistled, checking his watch. "Wow. That was fast!"

Mac scoffed. "Yeah, well, a call from a 2-star admiral tends to light a fire under your six."

"You mean Blankenship actually called NCIS?" he asked, incredulous.

Mac cocked her head, pausing just before the conference room entrance. "Well, no one has the interest of our good Navy at heart like Rear Admiral John Carroll Blankenship the Fourth."

Harm squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate effort not to burst out laughing. The words 'Rear Admiral' in the manner in which Mac had delivered them had an almost obscene quality to them. However, something made him sober instantly. He entered the conference room, giving Mac a soft smile.

"It's really nice to see you having fun, again, Mac. I missed seeing you smile."

Her cheeks suddenly redder, Mac turned away. "Yeah.. I... I missed smiling too."

They stood, eyes locked, momentarily alone in the middle of the bustle of the base. But something changed subtly in Harm's eyes, breaking the spell. He lowered his gaze and turned back towards the building.

"I guess we should get the rest of the interviews finished and start putting together a prelim report for the admiral," he said, no longer facing her.

"Um, sure, yeah," Mac replied, her tone hesitant.

Harm grimaced, still facing away from her, picking up his pace. Damn. If he wasn't more careful and kept letting her get to him like that, he would tip his hand, and push her too soon. He'd let on to too much, and now, she wasn't comfortable anymore. He sensed it in her voice, felt it in her tone.

"Too much, too soon," He muttered under his breath, cursing his own stupidity.

"So, do you want to re-interview all the other men, with what we know in mind?" Mac asked from a few paces behind his elbow, her voice just a little tense. Realizing he was almost double-timing, he slowed his gait, letting her catch up, but not quite letting her close enough to see his face. As they again saluted a passing group of Marines, he took the opportunity to tap the bill of his cover even lower over his eyes.

"We better. It'll go faster if we split them up." He paused by a row of stone benches in the courtyard of the admin building, opening his briefcase in one swift move. He rapidly rifled through the thick sheaf of files, selecting half of them and holding them out to Mac.

She reached for them, but stilled, both of their hands resting on opposite sides of the folders.

"What just happened, Harm?" she questioned, her eyes sharp. "Why did you almost run off just now?"

He held her gaze, licking his lips. He could *feel* her doubts in the air, mistaking his intentions, again. However, now was not the time, and this was certainly not the place to correct that. After a few more seconds, he broke off his gaze, a half-apologetic, half-amused grimace on his face. "Playing bloodhound again. I don't know, Mac... Something about this case is just rubbing me the wrong way. I know everything we have so far points to Connors, but... I'm just not sure."

She studied him for a few moments more, and finally took the folders out of his hand, seemingly accepting his explanation. "I know how you feel. Let's reserve judgement until we've completed the interviews and until the rest of the evidence comes in."

"Still, unless the interviews reveal something new, we're looking at Connors on this."

Mac nodded gravely, her features hardening. "I'll have a chat with his daughter, see what the argument was about. He was a little too adamant about us staying away from her for us to actually do just that."

"Yeah," Harm said softly. He inhaled sharply, shaking off the dark mood that had suddenly slipped over them both. "Okay, let's see what Miss Connors and the other men have to say. Maybe this will look different from another perspective.

********
We have our own kind of football, and our own kind of bacon. We even have a French-speaking part, and the only fortified city in North America.

Welcome to Canada.

*********

1748 EDT

Unfortunately for Gunnery Sergeant Connors, not only did things not change, most of the men commented on his odd behavior without being prompted. One of them had even mentioned his unusual nervousness at being drug-tested, and his daughter didn't have a clue of what would push her father to do such a thing, and according to her, the argument had been over her new boyfriend, and the fact he was twenty-three and had been caught with his hands under her shirt.

Harm reviewed the preliminary report he and Mac had just finished putting together, alternatively pursing or chewing on his lips.

"Well, looks like we'll make the admiral happy. We have a suspect, and the preliminary investigation is about concluded," he said wearily. "I faxed the report to the office," he added finally.

Mac smoothed her skirt, before sitting on the edge of the table, glancing at the report on the table. "I know this seems thin, but... Circumstantial evidence points to Connors. He has means, opportunity, and motive. Also-"

Harm raised a hand, lowering his head in surrender. "All right, all right. You don't have to argue the case to me. I signed the report, remember?" he said, looking at here through his lashes, his index finger tapping on the bottom of the page in front of him. "It's just... I'm a bit more wary of those kinds of cases. I don't want to jump to early conclusions, that's all."

Mac gave a soft chuckle, squeezing his shoulder compassionately. "Understandable. I agree, the evidence we have is incomplete. We'll have confirmation of our suspicions when we get the bank evidence on Monday, and when NCIS gets their hands on Rockovich's computer. Maybe there's a clear link to Connors in there. If there is, we have probable cause for a warrant to get Connors's computer and we can find corroboration there. But for now, that's what the picture looks like."

Harm breathed in a quick sigh, tossing his head in surrender. "I know. So you want to call him?"

Mac gave him a wide-eyed shriveling look. "Me? Do I seem suicidal to you?"

Harm raised his hands and pushed his chair back from the table, letting it roll toward the small desk, and the phone resting on it. "Funny. I thought Marines weren't afraid of anything, certainly not a certain admiral," he said, as he lifted the receiver and punched in the JAG Ops number.

"Oh, I'm not afraid. Just smart. It's 1751." Mac replied smugly, crossing her arms over her chest

Harm's jaw dropped open, his eyes widening. Before he could utter a sound, he heard a click in his ear.

"Blankenship."

The tone was gruff, already filled with dissatisfaction. Harm cleared his throat, and swallowed quickly. "Ah, sir... It's-"

"Commander Rabb. I have been contemplating what reason I could give to Mrs. Blankenship as to why I was late picking her up at the spa, on this lovely afternoon. Might I summarize that the excuse I'm about to give her is that the senior JAG prosecutor cannot correctly use a simple timepiece, despite his years at the Academy and law school?"

Harm stiffened in his chair, hesitating between irritation and repentance. The admiral had the annoying talent of making him feel like a first year midshipman. Not that he was intimidated. It was more a feeling of always being in the wrong, unable to please, or do the right thing, despite knowing he was in fact doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing. So he willingly chose irritation, careful to keep it out of his voice.

"I apologize for the delay, sir, but Colonel Mackenzie and I have completed our preliminary investigation. We only wanted to make sure the report was complete before presenting it to you."

"I see. I am pleased to hear you've taken the critical timetable of this issue to heart, Commander. I do appreciate the quick resolution. So you've got a suspect?"

"We do, sir. Partial evidence points to-"

"I've read the report, Commander. We have enough to satisfy the Secretary of the Navy and the press that we're moving with utmost efficiency on this matter, not to mention convene an Article 32. Thank you for resolving this in a timely manner, Commander."

"Sir, Colonel Mackenzie was equally helpful in gathering pertinent information and constructing a clear picture of what actually happened."

"Yeees, I'm sure she was," Blankenship trailed snidely. "I want to see both of you in my office Monday at 0730 sharp. In the mean time, I suggest you review the Officer's manual on protocol, specifically, the section on etiquette regarding promptness, Commander."

"Aye, aye, sir," Harm said tightly, waiting for the telltale click of the line, before slamming the receiver forcefully down on its base.

Mac waited patiently for him to speak, her arms still crossed over her chest.

Harm cocked his head, his jaw set, his expressive eyes taking on an icy blue tint of irritation. Mac was having way too much fun with this.

"So?" she ventured.

Harm drew in a sharp breath, raising his eyebrows in a mixture of sarcasm and humor. "Next time, you're calling."

********

MONDAY
1042 EDT
JAG HHEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Bud shifted his right off his bad leg for the tenth time as he stood in front of Admiral Blankenship's office door. His stump always tingled when he was nervous. It was the first time he'd been summoned by his new CO. So far, he'd seemed happy with his work, so he told himself no news was good news. The admiral wasn't one to distribute praises, or apparently reward hard work.

To his disappointment, when case after case was handed at staff call, he was always left either empty-handed, or with cases easily handled by a first-year law student. He was beginning to get used to being treated as an inferior kind of human. However, accepting it from the Navy was a harder pill to swallow. Maybe Admiral Blankenship was testing his character, somehow, waiting to see how long it took for him to complain about the situation, or-

"Commander? The admiral will see you now."

Coates' cheerful, although quiet voice brought him swiftly back to the here and now. He gave the Petty Officer a quick smile and rigidly stepped into the lion's den.

"Lieutenant Commander Roberts reporting as ordered, sir," Bud announced, coming to perfect attention in front of the admiral's desk.

Blankenship kept his eyes on the papers spread out in front of him. From the quick glance he'd been able to get, Bud knew he was studying his service record.

"Your court record is impressive, Commander. You've even beaten Commander Rabb a few times."

Puzzled by the admiral's statement, Bud didn't quite know what to reply. "Yes, sir," he chose.

"Wounded in action. A rare occurrence for one of the Juris Doctor fraternity, but you seem to have overcome your limitations, despite a few... stumbles last year, particularly in defending Commander Turner."

Bud's fists tightened briefly. Now he knew where this was going. So, the admiral did want to see how far he was willing to be pushed. "Sir, as Commander Rabb once commented, I lost my leg, not my brain. Respectfully, sir. I only momentarily forgot that."

Blankenship's eyes left the page in front of him, his pen dropping to the desk with a leather-cushioned click.

"At ease. Sit, Commander."

Bud did as he was told, the admiral's piercing eyes on him, his craggy features drawn into a rumpled expression that the he couldn't describe. For an instant, Bud was sure he'd just scuttled his career, and wasted all the effort the admiral had put into getting him that promotion, until the man in front of him gave a hearty guffaw.

"Well, Commander, I must say, you've got a lot of aplomb," the admiral said, lightly, but his features hardened once more. "You'll need it. You'll be opposing Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie in the Connors case," he finished, staring hard until Bud almost had the urge to jump back to his feet at attention.

"Yes sir, thank you, sir," Bud replied, trying hard not to be intimidated.

"I don not have to explain to you the possible media impact of this case, Commander. I trust you'll make use of your judgment to make sure this is resolved with utmost attention to the Navy's best interest."

Again, Bud felt a slip on indignation creep up into his mind. "Sir, I firmly believe that the fairness and justness of the Navy's judicial system will insure this matter is resolved in the most appropriate manner."

Blankenship's jaw twitched only slightly at the implications of the statement. The rest of his face remained impassible, but Bud could see his shoulders rising and falling with each controlled breath. This time, he'd really done it.

"Dismissed," the admiral growled.

A curt "Aye, sir," and he was out of the office. He paused just outside the doorway of the outer office, taking a deep, steadying breath. The only thing that remained now was to meet his new client, and hopefully, he'd do a good enough job to earn the admiral's respect. Deep down, he knew he shouldn't have to. However, he'd learned at a very young age that the world was anything but fair. Resolutely, he headed for Commander Rabb's office. The sooner he got started, the better.

*********
A soft knock on his doorframe had Harm look up from the pad on which he was scribbling case notes. A warm smile spread on his face as he saw bud standing there.

"Hey Bud! Come on in."

"Thank you, sir," Bud said, as he took a seat across his desk.

"What brings you here?"

"Connors case, sir. I need a copy of the file. I've been assigned as defense counsel."

Harm nodded approvingly, impressed. "So the admiral's finally recognized your talent."

Bud winced, and gave Harm a pained expression. "I think it's rather the opposite, sir. I think he's counting on my *abilities*, or lack thereof, to get the verdict he wants." His expression turned serious. "I think he wants me to fail, sir."

Harm drew in a deep breath, his lips pressing into a thin line. He wouldn't put it past the old weasel. Despite their difficulties in the past year, Harm sorely missed Admiral Chegwidden.

"Then, there's only one thing you can do, Bud."

"What's that, sir?" Bud said, suddenly all ears, leaning forward in his chair.

"Prove him wrong."

"Prove who wrong?" Mac asked, stepping into the office, a thick padded envelope in her hand. "Hi Bud."

"Ma'am," Bud replied politely.

"The answer to your question would be our commanding officer," Harm explained, motioning for her to take a seat as well.

"Harm, please tell me you don't plan to shoot up another ceiling," Mac said, only half-kidding.

Harm gave an exasperated huff, throwing his hands in the air. "Would you drop that one? That was years ago! Will I ever stop hearing about that one?"

Bud and Mac exchanged a quick glance, wide grins on both tier faces.

"No," was the common, simultaneous answer.

Harm clicked his tongue, only vaguely annoyed. "So, did you come here with a specific purpose in mind, or just for the pleasure of hassling me?"

Mac raised the hand holding the package. "Computer evidence from Anthony Rockovich's computer, and bank records for Gunnery Sergeant Connors."

Harm reached for the package, ripping the seal off. He tossed his head towards the filing cabinet to his right. "Bud, the Connors file is on there. Just have Coates bring it back when you're done with it. We'll go through this and make sure you get copies of anything pertinent."

"Yes, sir. I'll have it back to you as soon as I can. Once I've reviewed it, I'll meet with my client and communicate any relevant findings."

Mac scoffed. "Good luck, Commander. Connors is as talkative as a rock."

Bud shrugged. "With all due respect, ma'am, I'm not out to nail him to the wall. Might entice cooperation."

Mac tossed her head, unconvinced. "Well, good luck, Bud,"

Mac escorted Bud out and drew Harm's office door closed, as he withdrew a pile of papers from the envelope, giving one bundle to Mac and keeping the other one for himself. Time to make or break their case.

"Okay, let's see..." she murmured.

Mac leafed through the report on the computer evidence, while Harm dug though the bank statements. On the second page, Harm paused and cursed softly.

"Damn."

"Found something?" Mac asked, looking up from her stack of papers.

"A withdrawal of 4620.00$ from Connors's account, ninety minutes before the alleged meeting for the buy on Wednesday night."

Mac pulled a sheet out of her pile, showing it to him. "This is a email message recovered from Rockovich's computer. It's from a Coldmail account, viper3584, setting up a meeting at Craps Bar, for 2300, on the night before the picnic. The sender signed Guns Co. Too much of a coincidence, don't you think?"

Harm nodded. "So the dealer was telling the truth. Connors did set up the buy."

"Looks that way. We can get a warrant from his computer now, and we'll have our corroborating evidence."

"All right, then," Harm sighed. "Let's get this show on the road."

They spent the next three hours prepping the case, laying out all the evidence on a white board: means, opportunity, timeline, evidence.

As early afternoon set in, Harm leaned back in his chair, hands crossed behind his head, eyes lost over the board. He pondered each piece of the puzzle, turning it over in his mind. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together.

"We're missing something," he finally said.

Mac eyed him warily. "Oh no."

Harm turned to her. "What?"

"You're thinking."

Harm's brow furrowed. "So? You complain when I'm not thinking, and when I am too?"

Mac ignored his statement. "So what are we missing?"

"A motive." Harm thought for a moment more, letting the thought hang in the air for a moment.

"I thought we'd agreed he did this to stay with his daughter."

Harm shook his head no. "Sounds too weak. Evidence doesn't show that, and neither does his attitude. No. Doesn't work," he whispered, still lost in thought.

Finally, he drew back, locking his eyes on hers.

"Mac, I don't think Connors did this," he stated firmly.

She tossed her head and threw her hands up. "Well, that just figures, now doesn't it?"

To Be Continued...