Title: Friendly Rivalry
Author: Anne Taul, anne_taul@gowebway.com

Summary: CIA agent Webb faces a professional crisis, which turns very personal. Can his JAG friends help him to right wrongs and come to terms with people from his past, in his present and in his future?

Disclaimer: JAG, its premise, etc are the exclusive property of CBS, Paramount and Bellasarius. They also own the characters that normally appear in the JAG world; I don't. They don't own Sandy; I don't either (though I will cheerfully lay claim to her in many ways). This is a recreational activity. I do not intend to infringe on anyone's copyright, nor do I plan to offend anybody.

Dedication: This story is lovingly dedicated to Sandy ­ my friend and my inspiration -and sometimes my coconspirator, and to her ability to live vicariously through such a saga. Thank you, Sandy!

 

Friendly Rivalry

Sarah MacKenzie dropped her pen onto the desk in front of her and leaned back in the leather desk chair. A sigh escaped her as she glanced over the mound of unfinished paperwork before her. With Bud and Brumby working on a case out of town this week, her caseload was almost doubled.

These thoughts were interrupted when the pretty blonde head of Harriet Sims poked into her office to announce, "There's someone here to see you, Ma'am."

"Thanks, Harriet, who is it?"

"It's...," Lt. Sims seemed reluctant to identify the guest, "Well, Ma'am, it's...."

"Cmon, spit it out, Lieutenant. Who is it?"

"It's Mr. Webb, Ma'am."

Mac's sigh was more pronounced this time. She started to rise to meet him, but before she could get up, Clayton Webb had pushed into her office.

"?Good morning, Mac." He greeted her with a smile that she decided was just a little bit suspicious.

Mac offered him a seat. "Clayton, it's been a long time."

"Yes, it has. Too long."

"Well, Webb, what brings you to JAG? Do you have another covert mission that you want to send lawyers on to make the spy-world look good?"

"Not exactly. I thought that maybe you would help me out with a little information."

"and what makes you think that I know anything that you want to know?"

"I'm trying to locate Harm."

"Harm? Why? Harm's been gone from JAG for six months, I doubt very seriously that he's going to take time out from his fighter squadron to play any of your intelligence games."

"I just want to talk to him. It's a personal matter."

Personal? You and Harm?"

"Come on, Major, this is vitally important. I know that Harm has been changing assignments a lot. He's been moving from one ship to another too fast to keep up with. I just want to know where he is now."

"Harm had a lot of catching up to do. He says that he feels lucky that they've let him move from place to place so much so that he can get more time in and log more hours under different commands. It'll better prepare him to be the best pilot he can be. But what makes you think that I'm keeping up with where he is? As you say, he's moving around a lot."

"Mac, you and Harm have been through so much together. I know that you are very close friends. I'm sure that he keeps in touch with you.. So, have you heard, where is his most current duty station?"

Mac sat back heavily in her chair. She knew that Clay could look this information up easily. So why was he here? He hadn't mentioned wanting her to do anything ­ he was just looking for Harm. She couldn't lie and say she didn't know, because Clay would find him anyway. And.... If her best friend was going to be in danger (as was typically the case with a Webb scheme) she did want to know what was going on. Harm might need help. If she cooperated with Clay now, then he'd have to give her information so that she could help Harm later ­ if need be.

"Actually, I got a letter from him yesterday. He's been aboard the Coral Sea, but s going to change billots when they dock in Italy. What's today's date?"

Clay looked at the date function on his watch, "the thirteenth."

"Then as of today, he's assigned to the....."

He interrupted her, "the Eisenhower."

"If you already knew, why did you ask me?"

"Then it is the Eisenhower?"

"Yes"

A wave of relief washed over his face. "And the USS Eisenhower will remain docked in Italy for three more days."

"I don't know that." She responded truthfully. "Clay what are you up to? Why do want to know where Harm is?"

"I've got to talk to him. I need his help."

She could imagine how thrilled Harm was going to be about that. "So you're going to Italy?"

"Yeah, on the next flight. Is there any message you want to send with me?"

"Sure, tell him I said 'hi'."

Clayton Webb disappeared from the office almost instantly, leaving Mac to wonder what he had up his well-tailored sleeve.

As Webb exited the JAG headquarters building, he pulled out his cellular phone and hit one of the speed dial numbers.

A woman's voice answered, causing him to smile. "Honey, I won't be home tonight until very late."

After a pause, he continued, "It can't be helped. Yeah, it's business. No, I've got to take care of this personally. Sandy, I promise I'll make it up to you. I love you too."

He stopped on his way to the airport and ordered his wife some flowers. He knew that she was the most wonderful woman in the world.

A CAFÉ
SOMEHERE ON THE MEDITERRANEAN COAST
ITALY


A tall, dark-haired man wearing the khaki uniform of the United States Navy, picked up his drink from the bar. In two quick strides, he was across the narrow room, where he sat down on one side of a booth. He stared at the table in front of him, waiting.

Soon, an attractive man in an expensive suit and a black trenchcoat entered, spotted him, and moved to occupy the seat across from the sailor.

"Harm, thanks for meeting me.' The trenchcoat ­ clad newcomer said.

"Well, you said it was urgent." The sailor replied.

"It is."

"Webb, everything is urgent to you."

"No, this really is important."

"Okay, what do you want."

Clayton Webb handed over a photograph. "Ever seen this man?"

Harm studied it before answering, "No."

"His name is Dave Britton. I met him about ten years ago when we were both training for the CIA. I lost track of him about 5 years ago"

"Wait a minute," Harm interrupted, "I don't work for JAG anymore, you can't rope me into playing spy games."

"Harm, the man's promised to get me. I think what he has in mind will involve anti-nuclear warheads and the USS Eisenhower. You're going to be aboard that ship, so it does concern you."

"What are you talking about, Webb?"

"What I'm going to tell you has to be held in the strictest of confidence. It's highly classified. Can I trust you?"

"Okay, I'm in." Harm acknowledged reluctantly.

They rose and left the café, instead walking together through the streets of the village. As they talked, they purposely avoided contact with other people.

Clay's story was a fantastic one, and if he hadn't known him better, Harm might have thought that he was a little paranoid: 'Off and on for the past three or four years, I've been involved with a project to develop anti-nuclear warheads...."

Harm stopped him, "I thought that was all just rumor. I didn't know that anything like that actually existed. Can it really divert and reprogram nuclear missiles after they've been launched?"

"We hope so. It doesn't exist yet, not quite. But we have a prototype that's ready for some extensive testing. It's being shipped, secretly of course, to our testing facility in the South Pacific. Once there, we'll see if it works."

"That's interesting, but what does it have to do with me?"

"Harm, the pieces of the prototype are boxed up and aboard the Eisenhower. They're disguised on the manifest as medical supplies for one of the refugee camps that's been set up in the Pacific."

"Hmm .... How like you, Webb."

"Harm, this project is very important. You can see the obvious ramifications that something like this will have in the military community. For me, my whole career is resting on the safe arrival of this instrument at its destination."

"Aren't you exaggerating, just a bit?"

"Not at all. Everyone in the intelligence community knows that this has been my project and they're all watching to see what happens."

"What makes you think that anything's going to happen?"

I got a telegram yesterday from Dave Britton telling me that it was time for me to pay."

"Pay for what?"

"It's a long story, but I guess you'll need to hear it."

They sat down on a remote park bench and Clayton Webb began pouring out his past to Harmon Rabb. He and Dave Britton had joined the Company at about the same time. As new recruits, they were placed in the same training program. They became friends, close friends. Webb claimed that they were really more like brothers.

"So, this is how your friends treat you? Threatening you?" Harm interjected.

"We had a falling out about 5 years ago" Clayton clarified.

"Over what?"

The job. When we finished some special government training, I got the desirable assignment that everybody wanted ­ to the State Department. Dave was passed over for a placement at that level. He never really got over it. At first he said that he was happy for me, but eventually he couldn't even stand to be around me. He blamed me, somehow, for making him look bad to our superiors. We argued. He vowed that someday he'd make me pay for it, even after 5 years of friendship. He's waited all this time. Now, he thinks he's got me."

"Where's he been all this time."

"In the Navy."

"The Navy?"

"Yeah, when the Company didn't work out for him, he got on with NCIS. That's why I showed you the picture, I thought you might have run into him."

"No, but if he's in the Navy, we can figure out what he's doing. Is he assigned to the Eisenhower?"

"Not officially. I suspect he'll be there, though. He's waited five years for this missile project thing to come up, and now he expects to get me. He'll be there to see it, personally. That's what I need for you to do, keep your eyes open and find him aboard the ship. You can watch what he's up to and report back to me. This is too important, we can't let him sabotage this project. You will help me, won't you, Harm?"

"I guess I don't have any choice. After you've told me all this, if I'm not with you, I'd be a liability, right?"

"Smart," Clay admitted.

"Now," Harm began, "what aren't you telling me."

Clay swallowed hard, "You know my wife, Sandy?"

"Yeah, we've met a time or two. Pretty lady."

"Oh yes, she is." Clay said, adoringly. "When I first met her, she was engaged to Britton. He introduced us."

"So, this is about Sandy. You stole her away from Britton."

"He was my best friend, I never meant to hurt him. Sandy didn't either. For us, it was just immediate. We fell in love and couldn't help it. We had to be together. We were married less than six months after we met."

"You beat him out of the job, and you beat him out of the girl. That's rough. Does she know that he's after you?"

"No, of course not. And she won't. I don't want her to be involved."

Back at the café, Clay gave Harm a specialized telephone for reporting in to him, and arranged times for this. They shook hands and part

THREE DAYS LATER
ABOARD THE USS EISENHOWER


"That was an impressive flight, Commander." A young officer yelled to Harm, as he made his way along the flight deck.

"Thanks, Callaghan!" Harm responded.

He handed his gear to the man standing nearby and started down the steps toward the break room.

Harm poured himself a cup of coffee and walked back to his quarters. Thinking better of it, he stopped in front of a long line of telephones. He picked up a receiver and swiped his card through the machine. The number he dialed came quickly from memory. He knew Mac would be working, but just the sound of hr voice telling him so might be comforting.

Waiting for the connection to be made, he looked around. The only other person using the phones was a machinist's apprentice. He thought his name was Glover.

Harm's extension was busy, but he didn't hang up the phone until after Glover had finished his call and left.

Back at his quarters, Harm lay on his bunk and used the small telephone Webb had given him. It only rang once before Clay answered it. "Harm!"

"That was quick." Rabb complimented.

"What have you got?" Clayton was impatient.

"Well, he's here." Harm informed him. "He's posing as a machinist's mate named Glover. Run a check on Glover and see if it's someone who even exists."

"I'll do that. What does he seem to be up to?"

"It's hard to say for sure. But he is making a lot of phone calls."

"That's great. If you can alert us as to when he's on the phone, we can trace those calls. I'll have my people in Washington get on that."

"Your people in Washington? Where are you, Webb?"

"I'm still in Italy."

"I thought you were going home. You were worried about your wife."

"I always worry about her. The life I live puts an awful strain on her. She deserves so much more. But this is my project. I have to stay to monitor it to completion."

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth. I'm away working. I love her, and I'll make it up to her. There's not going to be much I can do, though until you all get closer to the target area, so I may go home for a few days."

"Good. You should do that. Take care of your wife, Clay. It's the right thing to do." Harmon Rabb longed for the day when he'd be able to take care o a wife, protect her, love her.

"Thanks, Rabb. Stay in touch. I want to know everything that's going on."

"Will do."

The connection was broken, and Clayton Webb began tossing things into his suitcase on the hotel bed.

THE WEBB RESIDENCE
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA


Special Agent Webb reached down to pick up the evening paper as he crossed the threshold of his house. Key still hanging in the lock on the door, he hollered, "I'm home."

There was no response.

He looked at his watch, then shrugged his shoulders. He thought she would be here at this time. His suitcase fell carelessly onto the stairstep, and he wandered into the kitchen. The sliding glass door was open. Soon, a head poked around it as a voice called, "Is anyone there?"

In two quick strides, Clay crossed to the door, reached around it and pulled his wife into the room. "Sandy." He whispered as he caught her in a fierce embrace.

She carried a garden trowel and her hands and clothes bore the dirt of outside work.

She pushed him gently away. "I'm planting flowers in the backyard beds, and you'll get your suit dirty." She admonished him.

To her amazement, he took off his jacket, let it fall to the floor, and pulled her back tight against him. "I don't care." He said.

Clay was normally so fastidious about his appearance.

Sandy Webb led her husband out into the backyard to show him where she'd been digging and planting the flowers. He kissed her neck gently as she leaned over one of the flowerbeds. She was just a little surprised, and so, lost her balance. They both toppled into the freshly turned soil.

They both laughed, then they rolled in the dirt, exploring the passion that builds up after a separation in a couple so obviously in love.

When they finally got up, Sandy tried to brush the soil off Clay's clothes, but he wouldn't let her.

Everytime she reached for him, he grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

After they had cleaned up, Sandy called a local restaurant to have a special dinner delivered. She told Clay that she wanted them to celebrate a special night together at home. Ordering out would give them extra time together that she would have had to spend preparing their dinner.

On another line, Clayton was calling a contact at the Pentagon for a progress report on tracing the ship to shore phone calls off the Eisenhower.

"I hope you can stay home for a while this time." She said.

"Honey, I'll probably have to leave again in the morning."

"Clay ...."

He cut her off with a kiss.

Then he spoke in quiet tones, "This is an important case."

"All the cases are important, Clay. We haven't spent more than a few days together in the last 3 months."

"I know." He conceded. "That's why I've been thinking that as soon as I wrap this one up, we should take a vacation, just the two of us."

"Where?" she asked

"Anyplace in the world that you want to go, Darling. Maybe someplace romantic."

"And you promise you'll take time off, and let somebody else do the work?"

"I promise."

They sat down on the living room couch, cradled in each others arms, discussing vacation plans.

That lasted for several minutes, until the doorbell rang ....

WEBB RESIDENCE
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA


Clayton Webb opened his front door and found himself face to face with Major Sarah MacKenzie.

"Mac ..."

Before anything else could be said, Sandy came up behind Clay wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Mac, do you know my wife?"

Mac smiled, "I believe we have met. Sandy, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's good to see you again, Mac. Won't you come in?"

Mac stepped inside.

Sandy moved away from her husband to act as hostess. "Can I get you both something to drink?"

"Why, yes. I'd love one, Dear. You know what I like."

Clay responded, ushering Mac into the living room to sit. "Coming right up." Sandy smiled. "How about you, Mac?"

"None for me, thanks." She stated.

When Sandy returned with his drink, Clay looked intently at Mac, "I assume this is business?"

"I have information from your contact in the Pacific." She answered.

Clay smiled broadly at his wife, "Darling, do you mind?"

"Of course not. I have to finish up outside, anyway." Sandy Webb said, as she excused herself.

Once alone, Clay queried, "Why did he call you instead of contacting me directly?"

She shrugged her shoulders slightly, but explained, "He said he tried to get you. He thought maybe the device you gave him went out of range when you came back to the States."

"It shouldn't have," Clay said, "but sometimes you can't tell for sure about these gadgets. Anyhow, what do you have?"

Even though she knew nobody was listening, Mac lowered her voice to almost a whisper.

"Harm said that the ship has been making some unscheduled stops. It's being explained to the crew as more dropoff points for relief supplies to the refugees inhabiting those islands. He says even though they haven't reached the South Pacific yet, they're unloading supplies."

She unfolded a map and showed him the points she had marked at Harm's instruction. "Clay, I didn't know that there were any islands in that area being used for refugee camps."

"There aren't." he said, gravely.

"Then," her eyes lit up, "I don't know all the details of what you guys are doing, but that must be whatever you're looking for."

"I guess it's time to get this taken care of. Mac, will you do a personal favor for me?"

It had been harder than he had imagined to tell Sandy that after being home for an hour, he had to leave again. He knew that she tried to understand, but she really wanted him to be home more.

He had left just as the dinner she had ordered was being delivered. He felt a little guilty, but knew it couldn't be helped. Clay loved her so much, and he knew he was a very lucky guy. As always, he told himself that he'd make it up to her.

Harm met him on an island off the East coast of New Zealand. In a bar near the docks, he learned of plans to off load more supplies from the Eisenhower. Harm had been watching Britton very closely. At each of these stops the ship made, he met with a group of men in a bar. They talked for while, then appeared to exchange briefcases. Harm didn't know yet what was in the cases,, but planned to search Britton's quarters at the next port.

"Is he on to you?" Clay asked, "Does he know you're watching him?"

I'm not sure. If he does, he's not letting on. Either that or he just doesn't care."

"Why wouldn't he care?"

"I don't know. That just doesn't make sense. The guy's been working Naval Intelligence for over 5 years, surely he knows that somebody's got to notice making all these stops and moving supplies to unplanned destinations."

"How long is the ship in port here?" Clay questioned.

"Until morning."

"Is Britton going ashore?"

"Yes. He probably won't be back on board until just before we sail."

"Good. Then we make our move tonight."

"We?"

"Yeah. Can you get me on board?"

"Sure, I guess so, but Clay, leave this one to the Navy. It's our ship being used for these activities."

"It's "my" equipment. Or, at least, I'm responsible for it."

"Okay, but we do this together. I'm going to watch your six."

"I'm counting on it." Clay grinned at him.

They shook hands and walked together out of the bar.

For a while, Harm walked along with Webb, thinking about all this information.

He asked, "Clay, we've known each other, worked together, even been friends for about three years now. How come I've never gotten to know your wife. Why do I still feel like we're mostly strangers."

Webb considered his response, "This is a dirty business. It consumes everything about you. I try to shield my family from it as much as I can. It's what I do, but sometimes I hate it. It could put my wife or my mother or my friends in danger to be too close to me and what I'm doing. There are times when I think I should've been a doctor or a lawyer, or anything more normal than this. I have to try not to mix my professional life with my personal life, otherwise it gets too complicated. You are business. Sandy is personal, so you haven't spent much time together. I think I would like for you to get to know her though.

Harm was taken aback, "Do you really hate the spy business?"

"No, I don't hate it. It just makes it really hard to form relationships. I don't really have many friends, because everybody I come in contact with thinks I'm only using them to accomplish some purpose. They can't see my as a person, only as a means to handle a dangerous assignment."

Harm lagged back a few steps and swallowed hard. How many times had he thought Webb was interested in nothing more than using him? How many times had he and Mac griped about Webb putting them in danger to play his little "spy games?" He felt a little guilty and he knew he should. Except for the one time when he thought Webb was dead, he had never really considered him as a human being.

Now, Clayton Webb was here with him, still working, but different. They were interacting like real friends. It was nice. Harm thought he might even really like this man. He was complex, but intriguing.

He took a couple of steps forward to catch up to his companion. "Clay, this might be dangerous. You're a family man, your wife's waiting at home for you . Why don't you let me handle it."

Harm, my wife knows what I do and how important it is. She doesn't always like the job, hell, I don't always like the job,! But she knows it's got to be done. She understands and she trusts me. And I love her. If she were here, she'd know that this was just something that I had to do."

Harm's mind reeled. Clayton Webb had the perfect wife, the perfect relationship. Who would have ever guessed? This was what Harm had been searching for all his life. Just for an instant, there as a wave of envy that coursed through him. Webb had exactly what he wanted out of life. He wondered if he'd ever find that perfect woman for himself. The one who would understand him and support him, the one who would love him completely.

A fleeting thought of Mac crossed his mind, but he instantly dismissed it. After all, that was ridiculous.

THREE HOURS LATER
ABOARD THE USS EISENHOWER


"Maybe we ought to just follow Britton when he leaves the ship. If we figure out where he's going, we'll know where to look for your equipment." Harm stated as he and Clay walked along the corridor leading to crew quarters.

"No." Webb corrected, "We need to prove that the parts to the system are aboard this ship and being disbursed illegally. When we find the goods, it will lead directly to Britton. Trust me on this one."

"Okay, it's your op. What do you want to do?"

Clay considered carefully before he answered, "Can you get us into the cargo area to open the supply boxes before they leave the ship?"

"Sure. I'll think of something to tell the supply chief. We'll have to do it now, though. The cargo is usually downloaded by nightfall."

"Let's do it." Clay suggested.

Harm addressed a young man with a clipboard, "Petty Officer Morgan, I'm Lt. Commander Rabb of the fighter squadron. The CAG ordered some special parts to repair the navigation system on my aircraft. The Navy supply chiefs swear that they were shipped to and picked up by us at our last port, but we can't find them. That was about the same time that we took on a lot of these refugee supplies for the UN, so we believe there's a chance that the cartons may have been mislabeled. The CAG ordered me to go through these crates until I find the parts that the mechanics need to make my aircraft navigational system work properly. You don't mind if I go through a few of these boxes do you?"

"Well, Sir, it's not exactly the way it's supposed to be done."

Harm gave him a pleading look.

"I guess I could let you in, Sir, if you hurry and never tell anyone that you got past me."

"Thanks, Morgan. I owe you one."

Harm and Clay started past the petty officer into the cargo area.

Morgan stopped them. "Commander, I can let you in, you're assigned to this ship, but who is this (indicating Webb)?"

Harm gave him an embarrassed look. "I'm sorry. Didn't I introduce you. That's rude. Petty Officer Morgan, this is Mr. John Clayton from Grumman, the company that manufactures the F-14 aircraft. He a systems engineer who here to install and test the new equipment in my aircraft. He'll help me look. He knows exactly what the parts look like. Then, when we find it, he'll direct our mechanics to install it."

"Okay." Morgan conceded, finally allowing them entrance into the sensitive area.

Harm took the younger man's clipboard. "You know, with two of us down here, there no reason why you shouldn't go ahead and get an early start on your shore leave."

"I don't know, Sir, are you sure that would be a good idea?"

"Of course. It'll be fine." Harm told him."

After the petty officer had left, Clay and Harm quickly located the crates marked with refugee supplies and scheduled to be unloaded that day.

Each starting at one end of the group, they began prying open the boxes and checking the contents against the manifest.

The crates were divided into two piles. On one side were the ones containing refugee supplies, on the other, technical equipment which Webb thought might be part of the anti-nuclear missile project. They were down to the last few when they heard a door open, then the distinct sound of the hammer being pulled back on a handgun. They froze.

A hoarse male voice said, "Clay, old friend, so nice to see you again. It's been far too long. And you are; Commander Rabb, isn't it?"

"Dave." Clay breathed under his breath.

Britton addressed Harm when he said, "Do you have any idea how close Clay and I once were? We would still be best friends if he hadn't cheated me to get what he wanted. Be careful about befriending him ­ he'd do the same to you."

Things happened so quickly that Clay's mind was spinning. Dave Britton had tied him up, then moved to do the same to Harm. He was taunting them with revelations about how the bomb he had planted in the Eisenhower's engine room would go off soon. They, along with the whole ship would be blown to pieces. Britton would have his revenge on Clay, and end up getting what he wanted.

"How's Sandy?" he smirked in Clay's direction.

"Leave her out of this!" Clay yelled, hardly able to stand the sound of her name on those foul lips.

"She can't be left out of it. You know that. But I will tell her that your last thoughts were of her."

"You bastard!" Clay hurled.

As Britton finished tightening the ropes around Harm's wrists, Harm relaxed his left arm just slightly. It was enough to allow him to slip his right wrist out of the rope.

He brought an arm around powerfully to connect with Britton's shoulder. The man was knocked off balance just a little and he stumbled backward. Quickly regaining his footing, he came at Harm, gun in hand.

The handle of Britton's weapon came down hard on the back of Rabb's head. Everything went black and Harm slumped to the floor.

By this time, Clayton Webb was thoroughly disadvantaged, and he knew it.

Britton moved slowly away from the prostrate form of Harmon Rabb, and Webb accused him, "Dave this isn't like you, or at least it didn't used to be, Whatever happened to you?"

"What do you care?" the aggressor spit back.

"We used to be such good friends. Come on, Dave, talk to me. What happened to us?"

"You know what happened."

"Maybe I don't, not really."

"I thought we were close, Clay. I trusted you. You were my best friend, then you cheated me out of everything I had."

"We were close, Dave. I loved you like a brother, then you turned on me. It was right after that special assignment training mission. I've heard you say before that I cheated you, but I don't know why you think that. What did I do, Dave?"

Britton was beginning to show signs of distress. He turned wildly to face Webb. "You had all those polished, sophisticated manners. You had that air of superiority. You came from that high- society background. You used your proper manners and social training to take everything from me. You took the State Department job, even though I should have been most qualified for it. Then, you lured Sandy into that society world of breeding, and you took her away from me too. You took all the things that I wanted and needed. I trusted you and you kicked me in the teeth."

"Dave, come on, be reasonable. I didn't steal anything from you. It's not my fault that the Company picked me for that assignment. You should know better. I didn't even think I was in the running for it. The job is not worth our friendship. And Sandy, well, I fell in love with Sandy. I didn't lure her away, there was nothing underhanded about it. The two of us have something very special. Hell, we've been married for 5 years. We didn't mean to hurt you, Dave. We both loved you, but we loved each other, too.

Clay glanced at the form of Harm, lying very still. "I know that you hate me. I wish we could work it out between us. But that's exactly what it is Dave, between us. Don't make Rabb suffer for our conflicts. Let him go.

"That's so touching, Clay. But I really don't care about you anymore. I'm finally going to take what's mine. I'm going to get what I want. If your friend has to pay part of the price, so be it. He can just die with you. Don't worry. I'll take good care of Sandy. She'll soon forget she ever even knew you."

Britton made quick egress from the cargo hold and disappeared from the corridor.

"Harm!" Clayton Webb called his friend's name, but there was no response. The Naval officer could be badly hurt. For just a moment, Webb felt an incredible pang of guilt for having involved his friend in this operation. Immediately, though, his mind turned to the more pressing problems. This ship was going to explode soon. He and Harm had to get off with the anti-nuclear missile prototype ­ or they had to disable the bomb. Considering that there were still many other people aboard, the latter seemed the most reasonable alternative. Where was the engine room? Harm would know. Then, the other problem ­ Sandy. He had to get back to her ASAP.

In a sudden burst of energy that came from he had no idea where, Clayton Webb managed to raise himself up off the floor just a bit, using his outstretched legs for leverage. When he did this, one finger from his right hand tore at the seam in back of the waistband of his trousers. Pulling the waistband apart, a razorblade dropped into his hand. He made quick work of the ropes which bound him, then moved to where Harm lay.

Clay slapped his face and shook his shoulders, but Harm was really out cold. Knowing that he needed to move fast, Clay wrapped Harm's arm around him. Using his own shoulder as leverage under Harm's arm, he got him to a semi-standing position. In his unconscious state, Harm's legs wouldn't quite support his weight, so Clay ended up mostly carrying him out toward the deck of the ship.

Once on the deck, the fresh air and a sudden spray of sea water revived Harm. Clay, tired from the effort, was grateful.

When Harm began to have his wits about him, Clay shouted, "Which way to the engine room?"

Harm pointed, then followed the CIA agent.

The engine room was dark and deserted. "The bomb could be anywhere." Harm observed.

"You look to the left and I'll look to the right." Clay ordered.

Whern they had split in their separate directions, there was a pronounced silence. Soon Harm detected a very soft sound interrupting the quiet. It was almost like the beating of a heart, but Clay was too far away for that. He pinpointed the sound and followed it to a fuse box.

Clay joined him and they carefully opened the cover. Inside was a small, but active explosive device, ticking away.

"Call a bomb squad ." Harm suggested.

"No time for that." Clay countered. He reached in his pocket for a knife. "I'll cut it loose and we'll toss it in the ocean."

"No." Harm insisted, "We're too far down, we'll never make it to deck in time."

"Rabb, get out of here. Get off this ship." Webb's tone was stern.

"Yeah, right." Harm responded.

With a glance he could see how serious Clayton actually was.

"I'm not leaving you here, Clay. No way."

"Go." Clay again ordered.

Harm produced a small flashlight from someplace. "We'll do this together." After a pause, he continued, "It's been really nice knowing you, Webb. In spite of everything."

"You're a good friend, Harm. But we're not done yet."

With the blade of his knife, he popped the small device out of the fuse box and took off running, Harm in tow.

When they hit the fresh sea air, even before he could really see exactly where he was aiming, Clay lobbed the device off the port bow, toward open sea.

It never hit the water, instead detonating in midair. The force of the explosion was enough to cause disturbances in the ocean beneath them. All the ships in harbor rocked violently.

Clay, thrown by the ship's motion and exhausted by his effort, collapsed into Harm's arms for support.

Soon he regained himself and said, urgently, "C'mon we've got to get to the airport."

"Now wait a minute." Harm admonished, "you need to rest."

Clay wasn't able to offer much resistance as Harm led him to sit down. But he pulled Harm down to sit next to him.

Rabb queried, "Where's the anti-nuclear missile?"

"It's still down there. He didn't take it." Clay informed.

"After all that, he didn't take it?"

"No, that's not what he was after, after all."

"What are you talking about, Clay?"

"It was a diversion, Harm. He was never after the prototype."

"But you were so sure that he was out to get you."

"He was, or rather, he is. That's just not the way he intends to take his revenge."

"What then?"

Clay couldn't hide the pained look in his eyes as he had to confess, "Britton's on his way back to the States. He's after something far more important to me."

They hailed a cab and began rapid movement toward the airport.

Harm couldn't hide his confusion and frustration any longer. Clayton Webb had come half way around the world to protect a piece of government equipment, involved him in a plot that had almost cost him his life, had an encounter with an old enemy and now, all of a sudden, he was willing to abandon the very thing he had wanted to find, and speed away to something else, "more important."

Webb explained it to him as they rode. Dave Britton had never really planned to steal the anti-nuclear missile. Clayton had just assumed since the threat from his old rival came at the same time that the prototype was being shipped, that that was what he was after. Britton played on his assumption and let him follow the false lead just to keep him occupied and away from the real target. By the thing Dave had said before he left the Eisenhower, Clay knew that his real revenge would be taken out against Sandy ­ the only thing in Clayton Webb's life more important than his work.

Harm immediately became concerned. It was one thing to play dangerous spy games with military intelligence and equipment, it was quite another to involve civilians. A man's wife shouldn't be put in danger just for loving him.

Clay spoke adoringly of Sandy and was obviously very frightened at the prospect of her being in danger. "Harm, you'd like Sandy, no, you'd love her ­ you couldn't help it. When this is all over, we'll all go out to dinner so you can get to know her."

"I'd like that, Clay. Maybe, just to balance it out as a even foursome, I could get Mac to go along."

"Oh, I'm sure you could." That's all he said, but Harm thought he might be implying something that wasn't there, or, at least, he didn't think it was."

Rabb finally asked, "Since he got a head start, how do you expect to get back to the States before he can get to her?"

"We've just got to get there as soon as possible."

Clay responded. "I asked Mac to look in on her."

"Why did you get Mac involved?" Harm hated the thought of his former partner in danger. "But if she's staying with her, nobody will get to her." So, Webb was still up to his old tricks, endangering JAG officers to cover himself. Nothing could happen to Mac, it just couldn't.

"Mac's the best, and she wanted to help after she learned that I was going to involve you.. But she's not staying with Sandy. I just asked her to keep an eye out. You know, check up on her, take her lunch, things like that."

"She'd be safer with a marine on her all the time."

"Yeah, I guess she would. But you don't know my Sandy. She wouldn't put up with a bodyguard. She thinks I'm too cautious anyway."

Next, Harm questioned whether her guard would be down, since she knew this Britton guy from the past.

Clay worried that, unfortunately, it probably would. Sandy had never really been aware of all the bad blood between the two men. He had wanted to shield her from that, as much as he could.

They talked more, but finally Clay said, "We'll get there in time. If not, Mac's watching out for her."

Harm sounded a little overprotective when he scowled, "If you get Mac in trouble, if anything happens to her, I swear, I'll ....."

"Calm down, she'll be okay. They both will."

AT THE AIRPORT


They learned that the next available commercial flight wouldn't be for almost 6 hours. Clay was distraught. He sat in the lobby with his head in his hands, mumbling to himself about what he could do.

After a few minutes, Harm reached for his friend's arm. "I have an idea!" he exclaimed.

"Will it get us to Washington?" Clay asked, dejectedly.

"I always got the impression," Harm began, a little uncertain, "that your family was wealthy. Do you have lots of money, Webb?"

"Well, let's just say that money has never really been a consideration. Why?"

"If you can afford it, you could charter a jet and be back in Washington soon."

"I can't fly it."

"Clay, I'm a pilot."

"So, you are. But I don't want to put you in any more danger than I already have."

"Webb, I'm in this, now. I plan to see it through. Except ...."

"I appreciate it, Harm, you're a good friend. This is great, we can leave right away. Except, what?"

"If I'm not back on the Eisenhower by 22 hundred hours, I'll be UA."

"I can fix that."

Harm was amazed. As he sat and watched, Webb dialed his cellular phone and spoke directly with the Secretary of the Navy. Apparently, the Secnav owed the CIA agent a favor, or liked him, or something. Because, within 20 minutes, Harm had verbally received temporary orders to work with Webb on his current project ­ the anti-nuclear missile. The Secretary would personally contact Captains Welliford and Peterson aboard the Eisenhower to let them know where Commander Rabb was.

Having this detail taken care of, Clay asked Harm to call Mac to alert her of the imminent danger to Sandy while he made arrangements for a charter jet.

JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA


Two women exited the elevator and walked toward Sarah MacKenzie's office. When they reached the office, Mac turned to her companion, saying. "I enjoyed our lunch, Sandy. Let's do it again real soon."

"I'd like that ." Sandy answered with a smile.

"Give me a call the next time Clay's out of town."

"Okay. That might be really soon. His schedule's been so strange lately."

The two women shared some parting words, then Sandy turned to leave.

Mac had barely stepped into her office when the phone rang.

She picked it up. Hearing Harm's voice on the other end made her smile broadly.

At first she was angry hearing a brief recap of the scheme Webb had gotten her friend involved in. She perked up and registered a hint of distress when she heard that Sandy was probably in danger. It was a relief to know that Clay and Harm were on their way from Italy, but how long would that take?

She charged Harm with a directive to "be careful," and got the same advice in return.

As soon as the call had ended, she rushed back out of JAG headquarters and toward her car. This was one of the times that she was glad she had bought the little sports car. Hopefully, no one would notice that she was going just a tad above the speed limit.

WEBB RESIDENCE


Mac parked the car and rushed toward the house, calling Sandy's name. She entered through the front door, but was not at all prepared for what she saw.

Clay was impatient while they waited for clearance to takeoff. Clay was impatient while they were in flight.

Harm had never seen him like this, so he tried to encourage him to talk.

All Clay wanted to talk about was Sandy. She was so beautiful. She was so sweet. She understood him like nobody else ever could. She was the part of him that made him alive.

Harm, who had been waiting his entire life to feel that way about someone, was sympathetic. He knew that if the positions were reversed, that Clayton Webb would move heaven and Earth to help him, so he vowed to try to do the same.

The airport traffic was terrible. Clay maneuvered his car in and out of the almost standstill lanes. Once on the beltway, headed toward Alexandria, he let it run wide open, oblivious of speed limits. In his mind. It would be favorable to be chased by the police. Then, they'd have more reinforcements when they reached his house.

WEBB RESIDENCE
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA


The car had scarcely stopped before Clay and Harm were on their way up the drive to the front door. They drew weapons, then entered carefully. There, in the foyer, was the crumpled figure of a woman. Both men gasped.

Clay instinctually moved against the wall and scanned the room, providing cover for the others.

Harm, also, acted from pure instinct, but his instincts were different.

Harm ran immediately to the injured figure, dropped to his knees and cradled her head in his lap. He softly called to her, "Mac!" but there wasn't an answer.

After securing the area, Clay moved to his friends. "How is she?" He was genuinely concerned.

"She's alive, but unconscious. Help me get her up."

They moved her to lie on the couch in the living room.

Clay sensed Harm's anxiety, so he went about searching the house.

Left alone, Harm sat quietly by his best friend. He was grateful that she wasn't injured. The lump on the back of her head indicated that she had been struck there. She would be okay, as soon as she regained consciousness.

Looking down at her still figure, he experienced an overwhelming sense that she was the most important thing in his world. But since this didn't serve any practical purpose right now, he pushed the thought aside. He brushed a few stray strands of brown hair off her brow and stared down at her beautiful face.

By the time that Clay reported back that he found no sign of his dear wife, nor any evidence of a struggle, Mac was coming around.

His first thought was to get her to tell him where Sandy was ­ what had happened. But considering her condition, and how he knew Harm would react, he restrained himself.

When she was able to sit up, Mac was asking for Sandy.

Finally, Clay could hold off no longer, he shouted, "Where is she? Where is my Sandy? What did they do with her?"

"I don't know." Mac's voice was also raised. She sounded a little scared.

Harm draped a supportive and protective arm around her shoulders. For once he wasn't concerned about Clayton Webb seeing this, or anyone else for that matter.

After a few minutes, she remembered something, "They left something for you."

"What?"

"It was a manilla envelope. It's over there." she supplied.

Clay moved to the table she indicated and removed an envelope from behind a lamp.

He carefully removed the contents. His fingers touched each documents as if her life depended on it.

When the items were all laid out on the table, there were four photographs and a handwritten note.

Clay picked up the pictures. He looked at each one, then passed them to Harm and Mac with a brief explanation. The first was of Sandy from about 10 years ago. It was taken around the time that she and Clay met. The second was a picture of Sandy with Dave Britton. Looking at it, Clay was able to identify it as one that was taken at the party where they first met. She was still engaged to Britton at the time it had been snapped.

The third photo was of Sandy, Dave and Clay. The three of them were laughing and talking together at the same party, obviously the best of friends. Clay sighed hard, looking at it.

The final picture was a simple Polaroid snapshot of Sandy and Dave, taken much more recently. Dave Britton looked very happy, but Sandy looked frightened. The date scribbled on the back was .....today's date. So, this was very recent.

Harm laid the four picture out , in sequence, on the coffee table. Clay turned his attention to the note. Mac stood behind him and asked, "What does it say? Is it Sandy's handwriting?"

"No. Britton wrote it. It says:

' Sorry we missed you, Buddy. Remember, a true friend would never try to steal his best friend's girl. You had me going there for a while, but Sandy and I are going to pick up right where we left off.'"

"He thinks he's winning Sandy back. He thinks she'll love him again." Mac exclaimed with some shock.

"Where would he take her?" Harm asked.

Clay moved to gaze out the window. "Oh, Sandy, where are you? I'll find you, My Love, if it's the last thing I ever do."

Mac and Harm exchanged glances. They had never seen Webb like this.

Mac reached out for Harm's hand and squeezed it . She knew this was hard for him too.

It was several hours later when Mac approached the chair where Clayton Webb sat without moving. She put a bowl of soup on the table beside him. "Clay, you've got to eat something. You're not going to be any good to her when we find her, if you don't keep your strength up." She wanted to comfort him, somehow, but she didn't know how.

Harm approached, holding the note in his hand. "It says they're going to pick up where they left off . Could that be a clue? Where did they leave off, Clay?"

Suddenly Clay sat up straight in the chair, his eyes lit up. "At that party I told you about, the night we met. She came with Britton, but left with me. That's got to be it! He'd take her back there!"

Mac slowly touched his arm. "Where was the party, Clay?"

"At the St. Jacques Regent hotel in Richmond. That's got to be where she is."

Harm stood. "I'll cal the Richmond City Police and the FBI."

"No." Clay asserted. "I'm going there myself."

Neither of his friends could argue with his need to do this. They looked at each other and shrugged.

When he bolted out of the house, they were close at his heels.

They all piled into Clay's Volvo. Mac drove. It seemed that she was the closest to being calm at that moment. As they traveled, Harm prompted Clay to provide details of what had happened on the night he had first met his wife. He thought the information might be useful if Britton was really trying to recreate the evening, with a different outcome.

Clay told about how they had dinner, they danced and they walked in the historic hotel's formal gardens. It was in that garden that he'd realized that he was with the person he truly wanted to be with. After he'd mustered up his courage, he kissed her. To his delight, she kissed him back. There wasn't any messy breakup scene with Britton. They had just left early ­ together. It wasn't until the next day that Dave had knocked on Clay's hotel room door, demanding to know where Sandy was.

Clay didn't know what to tell him, and wasn't sure it was his place to tell him anything, so they waited until Sandy showed up there. She told Britton that it was never meant to be between them, that Clay was her soulmate.

At that time, Dave appeared to take it graciously. He left.

A couple of days later, he showed up at Clay's apartment in D. C. to demand that Webb quit seeing Sandy. They quarreled and fought.

That same day, Webb had been given the plumb assignment with State that Britton had wanted. They fought again. Britton vowed that he would make his best friend pay for betraying him and ruining his life.

He stopped his story and turned to Harm, "Will you represent me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I have a feeling that if we find this guy, I'm going to end up needing a good defense lawyer."

Mac looked at him in the rearview mirror, "And I didn't hear you planning to do him in."

Harm looked directly at Clay when he said, "As your attorney, I have to advise you not to say anything else that might be misconstrued as premeditation."

Clay was surprised, but glad that he remembered exactly how to get to the St. Jacques, once they arrived in Richmond. The sign was still out front, but was covered by another which announced that it was: 'Privately owned, Closed to the Public.' The door was locked and there was no evidence of habitation. A plaque on the front porch area listed a number you could call to inquire about leasing for 'special events.'

"So, how do we get in?" Mac inquired of the other two.

Harm ran his fingers carelessly through his hair. "We're from out of town. We want to know about the place. I say we just go next door here to the realty company and ask. They can surely tell us who owns it and what's going on here.

Mac rolled her eyes at him, "It'll look pretty suspicious, don't you think, if we just show up from out of town and start asking questions about this place for no good reason. We can't afford to let Britton know we're here yet. No, what we need is some kind of cover story."

Clay had been silent to this point, but now he spoke up, "You're absolutely right, Major."

Mac smiled at Harm, bemusedly.

"You know, I've been thinking," Clay continued, "Sandy's gone. It's time to move on. Mac, will you marry me?"

Mac and Harm both dropped their jaws and gasped in horror. "What?" they said, almost simultaneously.

Clay slipped his arm around Mac's waist and led her down the steps, off the porch. He whispered in her ear, "Just follow my lead. We'll be able to get all the information we need."

Harm watched them walk away. He had a very strange feeling about this. Being close to Clayton Webb had already been detrimental to one woman today; he hoped Mac knew what she was doing.

Inside the realty office, they were met by a pleasant-looking woman with an engaging smile. "May I help you?" she asked, sweetly.

Clay introduced himself as Albert Clayton and Mac as his wife, Sarah. He told the realtor that they had just driven in from Washington, hoping to stay at the St. Jacques. It was where they had spent their honeymoon 5 years ago, and since their anniversary was coming up it really was a special occasion.

"Oh, dear-y, that's not a hotel anymore. Some investment company from Washington bought it up several months ago. Now, they just rent it out for school functions and the like. There have been some people coming and going, so I think that maybe they're remodeling. Maybe they will eventually open it back up as a hotel. I hope so, there's really so much history associated with the place."

She didn't know the name of the company who had bought it, nor of any of the individuals associated with it.

Mac, remembering Clay's story of falling in love with Sandy, said, "Do you remember, Honey, how we fell in love in the garden? That was just the most beautiful garden, and so special. I'd just love to see that again. I don't suppose you have a window that overlooks the garden, so that we could just get a peek?"

Clay was truly impressed.

The realtor invited them up to a second floor storage room, where a window gave a nice view of the formal gardens and the back of the hotel.

The garden was surrounded by a wall. The back entrance to the hotel didn't appear to have been used any more recently than the front, but a light was visible in a third story window.

Mac oohed and aahed over the garden, then they thanked their benefactor and hurried back next door to meet Harm.

"This is the place." Clay assured them, confidently. "She's here."

"You don't know that for sure." Mac corrected him.

"Oh, yeah," Clay continued. "I do. I can just feel it. We have a very special connection, I know she's here. Besides, why else would a light be on on the third floor?"

"They're remodeling. Maybe a worker left it on."

Harm interrupted them. "We don't have any other leads, so we better assume that she might be in there. So, how do we get in to find her?"

MEANWHILE
ST. JACQUES REGENT HOTEL
A THIRD FLOOR ROOM


Sandy Webb drifted slowly into awareness. She tried to move her arms, but they were being held by something. They wouldn't move. As her consciousness increased, she realized that she was sitting in a chair with her arms tied up in restraints behind her.

She lifted her head and tried to focus on her surroundings. It was hard, her eyes were still heavy and her vision slightly blurred.

A vaguely familiar voice spoke, "Hello, Darling. I'm glad you're awake. Did you have a pleasant nap?"

It all came rushing back to her. She'd opened her front door to see Dave Britton for the first time in 5 years. They talked for a few minutes, then he started talking about strange things .It was kind of nice to see an old friend, but with Clay out of town, she was a little apprehensive about inviting him in. She didn't have to.

After a few minutes, he forced his way into the house and grabbed her. She had tried to get away and was successful at first, but he literally tackled her up against the wall. The side of her head hit hard against the corner of the antique mirror that Clay's mother had given them for Christmas. She loved that mirror!

Immediately, she felt sharp pain, then the oozing wetness of blood streaming down her head.

All of that must have been several hours ago, though her head still throbbed. Where was she now and how had she gotten here?

She said, "Dave, where are we?"

"In a nice place."

"Why did you bring me here? Did you just take me from home?"

"Well, Darling, when I came to pick you up, you were so glad to see me that I knew we could start again just where we left off."

"What do you mean where we left off? Of course I was glad to see you, Dave. It's always good to see an old friend after, what's it been? ­five years?"

"I'm more than an old friend, Sandy, you know that. We can start again and plan our wedding now. We never did get to have that wedding, but I know you're looking forward to a big ceremony."

"What are you talking about? I'm already married ­ to Clay."

This hit a nerve and he jerked around sharply. "No. Technically, you're a widow."

Her heart ached. Had something happened to Clay. Surely she would have heard if any thing had happened.

Britton continued, "Clay tried to steal you away, but I know you always loved me. So, now we can finally be together."

Sandy had lived with a spy long enough to know that she should be careful what she said to this man ­ and how she said it. It's not a good idea to antagonize a lunatic.

Her question was tentative, "Dave, what are you going to do?"

"I got us this nice hotel room for our wedding. We'll get ,married and then we'll live happily ever after."

"What makes you think I want to get married?"

"I know you do. You always did. It'll be just like we always planned. I love you, Sandy, and I know that you love me."

"Dave, I love Clay."

"No you don't. You never did; he just confused you, that's all."

Britton moved very close to her and dropped his arm around her shoulders. "We'll be very happy. I'll take good care of you, Sandy. And you'll love me, the way you always have."

Very cautiously, she sat up a bit straighter in her chair, "Dave, you can't make me love you by holding me hostage. What happened to the sweet, kind man I used to know?"

"You will love me. You do love me. And I love you. I'm the same as I always was, the same man that you love."

"No, you've changed. You're not the man that I once loved."

Something snapped inside Britton's head. His left hand formed into a tight fist and he brought it hard against the side of Sandy's head. She flinched away and moaned in pain.

He was immediately brought back to what was going on, "Oh, Sandy, my darling Sandy, I dodn't mean it. I would never hurt you, you know that. It was an accident. I'm sorry, Sandy.

She looked at him squarely. His eyes were moving about wildly. This was definitely not the dame man she had once planned to spend her life with.

And Clay. Clay couldn't be dead. If he were, she'd feel it. Dave was just telling her that to scare her.

"So, when is the wedding?" she asked him.

"Tomorrow. We'll get married in the afternoon and go on a glorious honeymoon."

Her body was just too exhausted to keep going. She fell into a fitful sleep.

By night fall Harm, Mac and Clay had checked into another hotel in town. They had dinner and made plans for their assault on the St. Jacques the next morning. It was agreed that they would be best off if they got a good night's sleep, so they retired early.

Clay didn't sleep well. He kept thinking of his beloved Sandy being so near by, but still too far for him to hold in his arms.

Harm was up early, having coffee and reading the morning paper in the lobby when Mac joined him. They decided to let Clay sleep as long as he could.

Mac reached around Harm's shoulder and helped herself to a section of his paper. "How'd you get involved in all this?" she asked him.

"Just in the right place, I guess." He laughed. "But seriously, I have to help Webb. He's a good friend. He'd do the same if it were y.....y....y....if it were a woman I loved."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

Harm reached for her hand and held it loosely.

Clay arrived a few minutes later and they all went off to eat breakfast.

The plans were made. They knew exactly what they were going to do, but they went over it again, anyway.

TWO HOURS LATER


A grappling hook pulled into place over the east side of the garden wall at the St. Jacques Regent. Mac touched Clayton Webb's arm and whispered, "Don't worry."

He smiled at her, then boosted her up and over the wall.

As soon as he was sure that she was safely in the garden, he moved quickly around to join Harm at the front of the house. Luckily, it was still early enough that the streets of Richmond were deserted.

Within minutes, the knob on the front door turned and Harm and Clay entered, closing it tightly behind them.

"Good job." Harm complimented his former partner.

"Gee, thanks." Her tone was just a little surprised.

They each checked the earpieces they wore for communication, then split up to move around the house, as they had planned.

Mac searched the first floor, including the garden. It was obvious to her, from the inside, that the rear entrance and the garden were being used by someone to come and go from the house. She hoped the others found more helpful things, though.

Harm took the second floor. It was filled with dust and cobwebs. He had to use all his willpower to keep from sneezing. Apparently no one had been living in this part of the building for a long time.

Clay rounded the corner of the stairway on to the third floor. The silence was deafening. There was light under the door of only one room. The whole area had been recently cleaned. Someone had definitely been here.

He relayed his findings, and his intention to check out whatever was in the lighted room to his accomplices. Then he flattened himself against the wall adjacent to the door of the illuminated room. His weapon was in the ready position.

Harm, on the floor just below, reached the third floor landing ahead of Mac, but only slightly.

Harm moved very close to Mac and whispered in her ear, "You stay here."

"Not happening, Harm." She corrected him.

For a reason he couldn't explain, he cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand and said, "Then be very careful."

"You too, Flyboy."

They took opposite side of the hallway and moved toward Webb.

As soon as his backup was in place, Webb positioned himself directly in front of the door. Mac was on one side, and Harm the other. Without ceremony, he turned the knob and used his foot to kick the door open. He moved into the room, while Mac and Harm advanced to the doorway. All three held their weapons at ready.

Immediately, Clayton Webb saw what he was looking for. His wife sat in a straight- backed chair, hands tied behind her, facing him. One side of her face was badly bruised, as if she'd been struck . Blood oozed from a scalp laceration. If he noticed her injuries, he showed no sign of it at this point, at least not outwardly. A slow seething rage began festering in him. He would not let anyone get away with hurting Sandy this way. God help Britton when he found him.

He ran to her, dropping to his knees, throwing his arms around her and burying his face in her chest. Tears rolled unchecked down his face as he sobbed her name, over and over, "Sandy, Sandy."

With no access to her hands, she felt helpless to try to comfort him.

Mac moved quickly behind Sandy, untying her hands.

Harm breathed a sigh of relief, then stepped back out into te hallway, feeling as though he might be intruding on a private moment.

The scene was perfect. Clay believed his world was slowly falling back unto place, and then......

A closet door across the room slowly and silently opened.

In a soft, but commanding voice, Dave Britton addressed his nemesis, "Clay, I'm so glad you could join us."

Clay got to his feet, holding Sandy's hand, firmly, but tenderly. "You Son of a ....." he exclaimed.

Britton continued, "You're just in time for the wedding."

"Wedding?"

"Yes, you see, Sandy and I are finally getting married. You had your chance to marry her, but you could never really make her happy. You see, I've always loved her; you just confused her for a while. Now, she'll really be loved and adored, the way she should be."

Looking at the wild expression in his eyes, Clay finally understood. "Dave, you're crazy. You're not yourself."

He looked at Sandy and the tears streaming down her face. Perhaps for the first time, he really saw her injuries. His hand gently covered her bruised cheek. The seething rage was rapidly escalating to a boil.

She winced in pain.

That was all it took. Clayton Webb lost his composure. Anger burned inside him, spilling over to fill the room He charged headlong across the room at his wife's abductor.

"Clay! No!" Sandy shouted, closing her eyes.

Webb hit against Britton's shoulder, knocking him off his balance. Clay stumbled and hit the floor briefly, but immediately bounced back to his feet. He landed a solid punch to Dave's left eye. They wrestled, each trying to overpower the other. When they separated, Britton slugged Clay soundly in the jaw, landing him squarely on the floor.

Meanwhile, leaning on Mac, Sandy had managed to stand. She tried to rush to Clay's side, but Mac pulled her out of the way, when she saw Harm level a gun in Britton's direction. Sandy screamed a warning at Clay. Harm fired.

Clay sank back to the floor as the bullet ricocheted off the wall behind him.

Britton moved quickly. He was out the window and headed down the fire escape by the time Harm could move toward him. He started to pursue, but was stopped by Clay's insistence, "Let him go. I have Sandy, that's all that matters. I'll find him later.

Sandy moved to Clay and held his head in her lap. She caressed his swelling jaw.

Mac used a small knife to dig the slug out of the wall. She turned and handed it to Harm. "Nice shot, Flyboy."

They shared a smile which spoke volumes of things that they wouldn't have wanted anyone else to be aware of.

On the ambulance ride to the hospital, Clay and Sandy held each other tightly and reaffirmed their love.

Clay looked deeply into her eyes, "Sandy, you're the best part of me. Without you, I wasn't really alive. Don't ever leave me again."

A tear rolled down Mrs. Webb's face as she kissed the hand that held hers.

Harm and Mac, arms around each other in a seemingly natural gestur that they didn't think necessarily deserved notice, left to follow them there.

ONE MONTH LATER
WEBB RESIDENCE
BACKYARD
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA


"Dave just never accepted that I fell in love with Clay and wanted to spend the rest of my life with him." Sandy said, a little regretfully.

"Honey, let's not relive that again." Clay chided her.

"Clay, Harm's been back at sea since that day in Richmond. He was a big part of rescuing me, you said so yourself. So, we ought to at least talk about it with him. We don't want him to think we're ungrateful."

Clayton Webb bent to kiss his seated wife on the cheek. She turned her head and their lips made contact instead.

Harm squirmed in his chair, just a little uncomfortable with this obvious affection.

Mac slapped him playfully.

He caught her hand and held it in his, unconscious of the gesture.

She had picked him up in Norfolk today when his ship docked. It had been his idea to go check up on Sandy Webb. He wanted to make sure, for himself, that she was okay.

He and Mac had agreed that the visit would be short. However, it was a pleasant place to sip lemonade, and the company was engaging. It was far superior to a ship full of tired sailors.

Sandy stood and ask Mac to come with her into the kitchen to bring out more lemonade, so Harm and Clay were left alone.

Harm asked, "Is she really doing as well as she seems?"

"Yeah, she's bounced right back ­ thank God. I'll be recovered too as soon as we can find Britton and get him behind bars."

"No word yet?"

"Not yet."

They got up from the patio and walked through the yard to a flowerbed in full bloom. Clay busily told Harm about each variety of flower.

Harm was again impressed by this man. He had no idea that Webb was a gardener.

Clay was aware of how comfortable it was to be with Harm. They had finally become good friends.

A sudden voice behind them made Clay's blood run cold. He and Harm both turned to find themselves face to face with Dave Britton.

"Is she okay?" Dave asked.

"You bastard!" Clay yelled, as he moved toward the intruder.

Harm's strong arm on his shoulder stopped him short of an attack.

"What are you doing here?" he again challenged Britton.

"I just came to find out if Sandy was okay. I do love her, you know."

"You sure have a funny way of showing it." Clay retorted.

"She should have been with me." Britton taunted, "You're not good enough for her."

"At least I'd never hurt her."

"I never meant for her to get hurt. I love her. This was just supposed to by between you and me. It was just a little friendly rivalry."

Clay broke free of Harm's hold and dove into Britton's mid section. Both men fell to the ground.

Webb landed a blow which dazed his opponent a bit. With Britton disoriented, he was able to get back to his feet. At Harm's bidding, he was moving away from the other man. Then he saw it .....

Britton reached into his coat pocket and produced a small handgun.

Clay reacted without any thought. From somewhere near his pant leg (Harm couldn't tell exactly where) he drew a Derringer and fired one round into Britton, who fell limp.

He walked to where Dave lay, knelt down and checked for a pulse. It was irratic and irregular. Before he breathed his last, Britton looked up at Clay and said, "A man should always keep his best friend away from the woman he loves."

The pulse ceased and Clay announced, "He's dead."

Harm offered a hand to help Clay to his feet.

The women appeared at the back door too late to get in on the action.

As they walked back toward the house to join them, Clay looked at Harm and said, "Oh Harm, stay away from Sandy."