Part 6
JAG Ops
Wednesday
January 21
Chegwidden isn’t happy with Webb. "Let me get this straight, we can’t just go to the Russian government and say, ‘One of your Mafiosos stole one of our jets, we want it back?’ We aren’t enemies anymore, remember?"
"I realize that, AJ." Webb looks as tired as I feel. There’s been a distinct lack of the demanding Webb that we’ve all come to expect. "The plane was stolen from one of our bases – doesn’t say much for our security, does it? So, we don’t want to broadcast it. The man contracting the theft, General Dosivitch, walks the fine line between the new Russian Army and the old Russian mob. My man inside has found the plane, and he determined that the mob is planning on selling it to Momar Atef, a cousin of our old friends."
"How good is your agent’s intel?" I demand. I don’t really buy into that psychic stuff, but my stomach tightens. I narrow my eyes, already knowing the answer before I ask the question. "Who’s your agent, and don’t give me that ‘need to know’ crap." He just looks at me. Our silent communication is not lost on Chegwidden.
"Sergei Zhukov!" The Admiral shakes his head. "Webb, you’ve got some nerve. You’ve got balls of pure brass."
Webb breaks eye contact with me, and turns his attention to the Admiral. "Nerve? You forget AJ? I’m the one who got him out of that POW camp. I’m the one who brought him here. And I’m the one who found him a job when he asked for my help getting back home to Russia."
"I should’ve known." I always suspected that Sergei landed on his feet rather easily, but I chalked it up to Rabb luck. Now I wonder if some of my own luck can be traced back to the cocky little bastard in front of me. "Why didn’t you tell me when you knew he was unhappy here?" Of course, why the hell didn’t I know sooner?
"Because he asked me not to," Webb says wearily. I wonder how much sleep he got last night. Did he go to Mac’s after I left? Did she tell him it was over? I can’t tell with him. Even as tired as he is, I can’t read him. I hate that. I’m good at reading people. Their cars were both at Manny’s when I drove by this morning. Well, even if she didn’t tell him, when this is over, he and I are going to have a long talk. He’s no good for her. I may not be perfect, but I’ve got to be better for her than a spook who’s gone more often than he’s in town.
We spend the next hour going back and forth over the details. I don’t like it one bit, and neither does Chegwidden.
"So let’s make sure I have all this, Webb." The Admiral’s growl makes Webb flinch. "You leave tonight, flying directly to Helsinki. You cross the border through CIA channels, meet up with Sergei, who’ll fly you two into the base in his chopper, under the guise of a routine delivery of supplies."
"Yes."
"Then Rabb will fly the plane with you in the Rio’s seat, and Lieutenant Zhukov will just fly his chopper out? Just like that? No problems?" The Admiral’s incredulous, and I’m doing all I can to keep from crowing over Webb’s discomfort.
"Well, it is Harm, AJ. What can go wrong?" Cute Webb, real cute. "I have some other business there, but, yes. Basically, Sergei and Harm will ready the plane, I’ll grab my stuff, and meet them at the hanger. But, Sergei will take off in the chopper before Rabb and me. Once we’re in the air, all hell’s going to break loose on that base. I’m hoping that Rabb can get us back to Turkey before they shoot us down. As soon as we’re on the radar, my people will have the Navy contact the Russians, and tell them that we strayed over Russian airspace by mistake."
Chegwidden looks unconvinced. "This has all the earmarks of a real fiasco." He looks at me. "Well?"
He’s giving me the opportunity to decline. But, I want to see Sergei. I want to talk to him again, and see if he’s really happy. I want to talk to Webb about Mac. Make him understand. "No questions, sir. I need to give Turner the Hopkins case."
He cocks an eyebrow and nods, clearly surprised that I don’t say anything further. I stand, and Webb stands to follow me out of the door. "A moment, Webb." I know that tone. I leave the office, but don’t quite close the door. Tiner looks at me rather funny, but I wink, and he’s so surprised that he doesn’t say anything. "What the hell were you doing at Manny’s this morning?" The Admiral snaps. "Are you involving Mac in your scheme? I won’t have it! Where the hell are you going?" I look back in time to see Webb smirk at me and close the door.
Mac’s in her office. She looks like hell, too. The three of us could be poster children for the Sleep Disorder Clinic. "Hey." I walk in and start to close the door.
"Leave it open, please." She’s staring out the door, and I know she’s looking for Webb.
"Mac, I want to tell you about…"
"He told me this morning."
"He told you about…"
She finally looks at me. "He told me what he felt he could. I respect that."
"Did he tell you he got Sergei his job in Russia? I bet it was just a ploy to get him on the CIA payroll to spy for him."
"I’m sure." She’s not even listening to me. In fact, she’s already out the door. I turn to see her approaching Webb. He says something and she nods. Then she takes his arm, and they walk to the elevator together. Damn it. I kissed her last night, and she kissed me right back. I check my watch. I want to follow them, but I have to talk to Sturgis, then go home and pack.
Mac returns shortly. But then, Mac’s not one for public displays. Sturgis has just left my office, and she stops at my door. We exchange a long silent look. She seems calm enough.
"Say your goodbyes?" A real goodbye, as in, it was all a mistake; I don’t want to see you again? No, Mac wouldn’t do that. Not before a mission. I can wait, too.
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I get the sick feeling that she can read my mind. "Take care of him, Harm. Take care of yourself. And, give Sergei a hug for me." And then she turns away. When did it get so cold in here?
We fly first class. Maybe we need to clear the air before we go into Russia. I can’t wait until it’s over. Unfortunately, the stewardess pays far too much attention to me, and by the time I turn to Webb, he’s sound asleep. I’d wake him up and have it out, but we’re both so tired that if we come to blows, the air marshal will just arrest us both. Maybe it would be best if I took a quick nap, too.
It’s an eight-hour flight to Heathrow, where we’ll change planes. I sleep through the dinner service, not waking until the stewardess comes by to tell us we’re landing in ten minutes. Our layover isn’t long, but Webb gets us inside the VIP lounge, and we can at least change our shirts and shave. There’s a pretty nice buffet spread, too. We’re both so hungry, we don’t have the opportunity to talk in the lounge. Our flight’s called, and we walk to the gate, side-by-side, the consummate professionals. People passing us have no idea of the tension between us.
This leg of the flight is four hours, and neither of us can sleep. We both try to find things to do; Webb looks at reports, I read the in-flight magazine. Finally, I can’t stand it any longer.
"I’m not going to let you do this, Webb."
He doesn’t look up from his report. "You’re not?"
"You think you can buy her affection with stupid trinkets in a Tiffany’s box?"
"No." Damn him. He won’t look up from his paper, but he doesn’t sound like he’s smirking. He’s afraid to look at me.
"You’re no good for her."
"I know that." A simple statement of fact, devoid of any outward emotion. Coward!
"Damn you, look at me!"
He turns his head, and I’m right. There’s no smirk. I see the same anguish on his face that’s been in my heart for two weeks. "She’s mine, Clay. We’re meant for each other. She loves me!"
I wait for his response. I swear if he says, ‘I know that, too,’ security be damned. I’ll cold cock him. But all he does is return my steady gaze, and I feel ashamed. "Okay. Fine. So I don’t deserve her either. I’ve been a real jerk. But no more." His expression never changes. "I love her."
He looks back at his report. Is he trying to come up with a retort? Or is he reminding me that we have a mission to accomplish, and now’s not the time. Too bad. I have to make him understand. He wants something from me; I want something from him. "I want you to leave her alone. I’ll do this mission, but then I want you to step back."
He flips the page, but I’d bet my last dollar he hasn’t seen a word on it. "You’ll do the mission, Harm. And, not for me. Never for me." I remember the last time he said that. Years ago. "You never feel you owe me anything, do you?" His voice is gentle; there’s no evidence other than the look in his eyes, as to what he’s really feeling. I wonder if he knows I can read him like a book. "You’ll do the mission, and when we get back it’ll be what Sarah wants. Not you – not you, this time. You’ve jerked her around for years. You’ve hurt her badly. Even I, who am never around, know how badly you’ve hurt her. The things you’ve said? They’re legend. You only care now because she’s interested in me. Hell, you didn’t even remember her birthday."
Damn him. I don’t care if he’s right. I’m not giving up. "What were you doing? Lying in wait? You tell her what a jerk I was, really rubbed it in, did you?" Again, only his eyes betray the strain of emotion that he’s under. I press forward. "Why now? Why when I was getting ready to…" But I see the flicker in his eyes, and if I can read him, I realize that he can read me just as easily. For someone that I only see occasionally, we’ve become closer than most people I know. "I love her. I can’t lose her, too."
"You never had her – except as a friend. That’s all you ever wanted from her. How sick is that? You’re like some parody of a country western song."
"I love her." Maybe if I keep repeating it, someone will believe me. I don’t know if Mac really did.
"I don’t care. It’s too late for you."
"No, it’s not. We’ve had eight years together. I’ll win this. You hanging around will only make her unhappy."
"Is that a fact?" I can see his control is slipping. He takes a deep breath. "We’ll see, when we get back."
"You can’t win."
His eyes turn the color of the raging North Atlantic below us; icy green. "You’ve known me as long as you’ve known Sarah."
"So?"
"Would you say I’m tenacious?"
"Stubborn as a mule." Where’s this going?
"Good. Keep that in mind."
"Why are you really doing this? You know what she means to me."
The ice melts, and I see the immense sadness there. "Now I do."
"And, knowing that, you’re not going to back down?"
"That’s right."
"I thought we were friends?" God, I’m pleading with him. He just cocks an eyebrow. "You know what I mean. We’ve meant something to each other these past years. I owe you; you owe me."
He leans back in his seat, staring up at the overhead instructions. "Yeah, Harm. I know what you mean."
"Then why, damn it?" The stewardess comes by slowly, checking out the intense conversation, afraid in this day and age what it might mean. I smile at her, and she sort of smiles back, and walks to the front to keep an eye on us.
"Because, I love her, too. Because, I’ve decided that I want her in my life – that I NEED her in my life."
I hear the truth there. I realize that this is more than a competition between us. This isn’t about position in the herd. I recognize his need. "I’m sorry, Clay. I know that I’ve waited almost too long. But I’m not giving her up without a fight."
"I know."
We say nothing else to each other. We find our bags, and sit side by side in the cab. The hotel is one of the nicest in Helsinki. It’s colder than DC; colder than I like it, but not as cold as where we’re going. He hands me my papers, identifying me as a salesman for British Petroleum, and my key card. "I’ll meet you downstairs tomorrow morning at 0600 hours." Then he goes to his own room, and closes the door.
The next morning, we leave the hotel and grab a cab to the dock. The trawler is rusty looking, but we make good time to St. Petersburg, just two days on a normally choppy sea. Two days of little conversation. Mac’s never far from my mind, but now, the prospect of seeing Sergei again is taking precedence.
He’s not on the docks waiting for us, but Webb doesn’t seem too concerned. "He might’ve pulled a late duty. He’ll contact us at the hotel." The hotel isn’t nearly as nice as the Radisson; in fact, it’s in a rather seedy part of town. It’s nearly midnight, and I’m a little sick from the smell of boiled cabbage and whatever passes as meat in this place. Webb made me eat something, but I didn’t think about it. I know we need the nourishment, but I doubt if there were too many vitamins left in the boiled mess. Three days together, and we’ve spoken less than ten words.
Finally, a little past midnight, there’s a furtive knock at the door. Webb pulls his gun, and nods for me to open the door. My brother, who I haven’t seen in nearly a year, is standing there, a worried grin on his face. "Harmon." We embrace, and I drag him into the room. Webb closes the door behind us. "It is good to see you, my brother." He holds me at arm’s length, and we check each other out. I have to admit, he seems happier than the last time I saw him.
"You’re doing well?" I ask.
"Most excellent. My fiancé is very beautiful. I wish you could meet her this trip."
Webb chooses that moment to interrupt. "Another time."
I glare at him, but Sergei releases me to clasp Webb’s hand. "Webb! My friend, it is good to see you, too. You are well?"
"I’m fine. What’ve you got for us?"
"Everything’s going according to your plan. I have another delivery to make tomorrow afternoon. Do you have everything that you need?"
Webb pats the small carry-on that never left his sight. On the plane, it supported his paperwork; at the airport, it never left his hand; on the boat, it was locked in his cabin, and he was never out of sight of his cabin, taking his meals there, while I ate with the crew. "This will buy what we need." And I know he isn’t talking about supplies. "You have everything you need?"
Sergei shrugs in that way Russians have. "I have more than many. I owe you much, Webb."
"You’ll earn your keep." He says it gruffly, but I can see the concern in his face. I wonder if he shows that kind of concern for all his agents in place. He checks his watch. "I know you two want to get caught up. You know a place where you can talk?" There’s no way I want to have this conversation in front of Webb. But I have to give him points for sensitivity.
"There’s a small bar not far from here. I have money," Sergei says quickly as Webb reaches inside his coat. But he sighs, and takes the roll of bills. I don’t have much Russian currency, or the language to actually use it without drawing attention to myself. I’m here as the hired hand, the pilot. Perhaps I’m the carrot on the stick to get my brother to help Webb. Well, I’ll soon find out.
"We need to leave here at 11:30; I want to get some sleep, so don’t wake me up when you come back." He tries for snide; he achieves weary pleading.
"Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll take off my shoes." I feel better than I have in two weeks. I’m going to have a quiet evening with my brother. I’m going to try and figure out why he left.
The bar is noisy and smoky, and I wish now we’d stayed in the room and kicked Webb out. But we talk, and he tells me of his fiancé and his life in St. Petersburg. "Because of Webb, we have more than many of the people around us."
"Is that why you agreed to return to Russia?"
He looks at me and sighs. "No. I returned to Russia because it is my home."
"We could’ve made a home for you and your fiancé in America. Why’d you leave?"
"You’re not listening, Harmon. That is something you don’t do very well. Tell me this, my brother, would you move from America to be with me?"
"I know your argument. However, you have to admit, things in Russia are hard."
"True. But, I know that I’m helping to make it better. Just as you and Webb help to keep America better."
"I suppose." I take a sip of the potent vodka.
"So, how is Sarah? Have you two finally come to your senses?"
I look through the smoke. Ghostly images of the two of us flash before my eyes. "I suppose I have."
"But not Sarah? What is the matter?"
I don’t know why I tell him. I tried to talk to Sturgis about it, but he just told me that I had to talk to Mac. Well, I tried that, and as the days pass, I’m growing more and more uncertain that I can get through to her. I know she’s doomed to make the same mistakes she has in the past. "Mac and Webb are together."
He doesn’t say anything at first. He finishes his drink and orders another round before I can stop him. "What will you do?"
"Try to talk some sense into her. I can’t believe that she could fall for Webb’s line."
"Webb, how do you say it, fed her a line?"
"That’s how you say it, and that’s what he did. He had to. Eight years we’ve known each other, and for eight years he never once made a move on her. It’s a complete shock."
He shrugs and tosses back his drink. I look at him in awe, and push mine towards him. "Perhaps, not quite a shock?"
"Why!?" I demand. "What had he told you?"
"Told me? Nothing, really. Just the way he speaks of you both. You speak of her with exasperation, he…" He shrugs again, and stands up from the table. "Come. It’s getting late, and you need to get some sleep."
My baby brother is watching out for me. I don’t know whether to be pleased or pissed off. Once we’re outside, I fill my lungs with air that is, if not clean, better than inside the bar. "How does he speak about her to you?"
"With respect and esteem."
Now that shocks me. That really hurts. "I respect Mac."
"Do you? You don’t show it. Just like you don’t show your respect for me." He says it with no rancor in his voice. He’s merely stating a fact. "I know that you care about me, just as you care about Sarah. But you don’t show it." We’re at the hotel. "I must get back. I have things to prepare first thing in the morning." He hugs me tight, and I manage to embrace him, though he’s hurt me deeper than he can ever know. I turn away from him, and hurry up the steps. I find the key that Webb gave me, and since I don’t want to face him, I’m very quiet, though I want badly to wake him from his sleep.
I make no noise, and actually consider taking off my boots, but I know I don’t make any sound. Regardless, as I stand there, the light from the dim bulb in the hallway illuminating the room, I can see he’s sitting up in bed, the sheet and thin blanket falling down over his fully dressed form, the muzzle of his Sig Sauer pointing right at me. "Sorry," I mutter, hoping that he’ll just lie back down.
He watches me for a moment. "Close the door and lock it."
"I’m not a novice, Webb. Not that this lock will keep anyone out."
"No, but at least we’ll have a couple of seconds to react." He puts the gun under his pillow, but doesn’t lie down again. The moon leaves a square on the hotel room floor, but with the door closed, all I can see is his shadow. "You reek of smoke."
"I can think of worse things," I snap. But he’s right. "But for you, I’ll go shower."
"Yeah, right."
It’s as close to our old bantering as we’re likely to get. One part of me regrets that. Webb and I, for all our bickering, work well together. That is, when we aren’t trying to outdo the other. Is that what this is about? It was with Mic. I wish I could say that’s what it is now. But I believed him when he said he loved Mac. We’ve got to work this out. I don’t want to lose his friendship, but I’m not going to let Mac go.
The water pressure, this time of night, isn’t bad, and I always pack my own soap when I can. I wash the stench of the bar from my hair and body. By the time I return, I can hear his breathing has evened out. He trusts me enough to share a room. He trusts me enough to take on a mission. He just doesn’t trust me when I tell him that he’s no good for Mac.