Prelude
27 July
Lucky Chance Nightclub, New York
2300 Hours
"Although he may not be the man
Some girls think of as handsome,
To my heart he carries the key.
Won't you tell him, please, to put on some speed
Follow my lead. Oh, how I need
Someone to watch over me"
Ada Marshall accepted the applause of the handful of drinkers and turned to smile at her new pianist. Clark was pretty good. A lot calmer now that he had hooked up with some decent shit.
The first couple of days he seemed so jumpy and nervous. Almost like he didn’t know his own name. But she had been desperate for a piano player since Joey up and left again. Clark hadn’t minded that he would work for tips. He just shrugged and said the hotel was taken care of. He hadn’t volunteered, and she hadn’t pushed.
She grinned sourly at her choice of words. Bobby had gotten her some smack and she helped Clark shoot up the first time. Considering how many needle marks were on his arm, you’d have thought he would be better at it than he was. He had caught on fast, though, and now he was just mellow. She wondered how long he would last. Junkies never lasted long. But maybe long enough for her to be discovered and get out of this smoky dive on West 117th Street. Or at least long enough for Joe to come to his senses and come home to momma.
He smiled back at her. He felt better than he could ever remember. Course, that wasn’t saying much. He didn’t remember a damn thing. When he woke up in that alley ten days ago in his bare feet, all he had on was faded jeans and a dirty tee shirt. Clutched in his hand was an old leather wallet containing $300, a credit card made out to C. Palmer and a social security card that looked like it had been through the washing machine at least once. He tried hard to think, but the only clue to his identity was the wallet. Looking up and down the street, he wondered what the hell to do. He recognized that he was in a dirty little part of a dirty little city, but until the cop car with its distinctive blue on white logo pulled up across from him, he didn’t realize the city was New York.
He couldn’t explain it, but just seeing the uniformed policemen brought on a deep sense of anxiety. Quickly, he turned away and began walking down the street. After he cut his foot for the second time, he went into a Goodwill second-hand store and found a pair of shoes that fit. The woman strongly suggested that he buy a decent shirt. He looked down at the front of his splotched shirt and shrugged in agreement. The woman had been nice and mentioned a hotel two blocks down. It was barely a dump, and when he tried to pay for it with the credit card, the old geezer behind the counter laughed his ass off. "Yeah, like I’m messin’ with that shit. Cash money, bubby."
He wanted to argue, but paid the $20 bucks and flopped down on the disgusting mattress to think.
Thinking hurt. It gave him a headache that made him shake with an almost consuming panic. But that first day he knew he had to make some decisions. That night when he had gone out to grab some food, a guy tried to mug him in the hallway. That incident had shown him that while he was vulnerable, he also had some skills. He beat the man, who was several inches taller than Clark's 5’10" and about thirty pounds heavier, to a pulp. He had to leave the flophouse. But that was okay. He had decided that he needed a better neighborhood anyway.
The Viscount was $700 a week and just a street south of being officially in Harlem. He realized early on that he didn’t have a clue to his pin number. So while he could charge his lodging and even most of his needs, he had no way of getting any more cash. The uncertainty was making him nuts, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask anyone for help. Plus the dreams at night were too frightening for words.
For four days and nights he walked around the neighborhood trying to get a feel for just who-the-hell he was. He had been barefoot when he woke up in the alley so he figured he had to live around here somewhere. He had gone into countless bars hoping someone would yell out, "Clark Palmer! You son-of-a-bitch! Where the devil have you been?" Of course, from what he had been hearing, he really didn’t expect that kind of greeting. He was just hoping he wouldn’t hear something along the lines of "Hey muthafucka, where’s my money?"
It had been almost a week ago since he entered the Lucky Chance Nightclub. He wasn’t sure what made this dive a nightclub. Wasn’t even really sure why he knew it was a dive, instead of a nightclub. All he knew was that the booze was cheap, yet potent, and kept his thinking deep thoughts under control. As he sat at the bar sipping on his cheap, raw scotch, trying hard not to think about why he knew he was used to better, a fight had broken out at the piano.
"I don’t need your shit, Ada. I’m out of here."
"Joey," the tall, skinny, black woman whined as she followed the fleeing man.
When neither returned after several minutes, he walked to the piano and sat down at the rickety bench. Whoever Joey was, he had left several sheets of music behind in his flight. Clark found he could read music fairly well, but he ignored the standards and began to play Chopin’s Waltz in C minor from memory. He tried not to think about that, though he could feel the anxiety growing. However, as he got into the music he felt a calm wash over him that he hadn’t felt since waking up in the alley.
"Don’t suppose you play decent music?" Ada had asked him when she returned just in time to hear the end of the piece. He ran through several ballads and the rest, as they say, was history. He suspected Ada was using him until Joey came back, but that was okay. Ada had been good to him. Got him decent clothes – using his credit card of course. The stuff she brought him three days ago was the best, though. Everything was fine now. He didn’t have to worry about anything. And if he managed the occasional dream instead of the horrible nightmares, he didn’t dwell long on the pretty auburn haired beauty he knew instinctively was called Sarah.
Chapter 1
9 August
JAG Ops
1130 HoursMac stood staring out her office window. The thunderstorm was at its height and it looked like 2000 hours instead of a little before noon. She hadn’t bothered to turn on her lights when she closed the door. The light hurt her eyes. She could just make out her reflection in the window but she didn’t need any more proof how bad she looked. She looked like shit. No amount of artfully dabbed concealer could hide the dark circles under her eyes. "Where the fuck are you, you bastard?" she whispered fearfully.
He had been gone before. He’d even left without telling her. It was one of the true sticking points keeping their relationship from flowering to that next level. But he had never been gone for so long without a word, without at least a quick whispered phone call. She was worried sick. The dreams had haunted her at first. She knew he was in trouble, but there was nothing she could do about it. The new director at the CIA knew nothing of her relationship with the Assistant Director for Operations of Southwest Asia. What could she say? 'Excuse me, I’m Mr. Webb’s girlfriend and I can’t tell you how I know, but he’s in pain.' No, definitely not somewhere she thought she could go.
The timid knock on the door made her sigh. Everyone was getting a little sick of her moods. Mac was sure the next time that Clay showed up at headquarters Harriet Sims would give him a piece of her mind; if he ever showed up again. "It's open," she muttered.
"Ma’am?" Jason Tiner stood in the doorway, the light from the bullpen creating a halo around him.
"Of course, Tiner. What is it?" «Poor Jason» He had been the brunt of her anger to the point that even Singer had snapped. ‘Leave the poor guy alone, for Christ’s sake.’
"Admiral wants to see you right away, ma’am," Tiner sniffed. He was completely out of the loop. Nobody told him anything. He had no clue why the Colonel was in such a foul mood. And to top it off the Admiral and his girlfriend, that FBI agent, were feuding again. Today had been the first time in a week since he had seen or even took a phone message from Special Agent Ryan. And, from the look on her face, the meeting wasn’t going to be a pleasant one.
He turned in time to see, across the bullpen, Commander Rabb greet a man who looked vaguely familiar. Before he could get to his desk, the Commander was ushering the man into the Admiral’s office. «Damn! I will never know what’s going on.» He stood at his desk chewing on his upper lip when the Colonel sailed right by him, robbing him of yet another opportunity.
Sarah pushed open the door and stood stock-still. All the blood drained from her face. Cassandra Ryan of the FBI stood at the near side of the Admiral’s desk looking at her. Rabb sat in his usual seat, wearing a confused ‘Don’t look at me’ stare. But the man who claimed her attention was a tall good-looking politician standing on the other side of the desk with his arms crossed. He intently studied a file lying open in front of the Admiral. The look that her CO shot her spoke volumes.
"Come in, Colonel MacKenzie, and close the door." Before she could comply, he yelled out, "Tiner, absolutely no phone calls unless it’s the president himself, got it!"
They barely heard the muffled squeak of agreement as Mac firmly closed the door and forced herself to calmly walk to her chair. "Y-you wanted to see me, s-sir." She cursed her stammer but tried desperately to remain calm.
"Sit down, Mac." His voice turned tired and concerned, and she had to clamp her jaw shut to keep the tears at bay. She had always known it was a possibility. She knew what they were going to tell her. Some part of her had known he was dead for weeks.
Nodding, she took her seat.
"Colonel MacKenzie." The politician was smooth, all business except for a note of anger that he couldn’t quite keep from his voice. "Do you know who I am?"
"Director of Central Intelligence, Mr. Anspach," she breathed.
"You know Special Agent Ryan?"
Mac nodded, vaguely wondering why the Admiral just didn’t come out and tell her. Get it over with. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Now answer me one question then I’ll just let Agent Ryan handle the rest of the meeting." He didn’t like it, Mac could tell. At her nod he snapped. "When was the last time you spoke, or communicated in any way with Clayton Webb?"
Mac took a shuddering breath. "Six weeks, one day, seven hours and three minutes, sir."
Before Anspach could ask the obvious, AJ spoke up. "Any communication, Mac? No letters? No emails?"
Mac just met his gaze and shook her head. "Where is he, sir?" she whispered. They had to at least know where the body was.
A soft lilt intruded. "Mac, he’s alive." Mac jerked around and met Cassie’s gaze. There was sorrow and concern there, but she repeated, "He’s alive, Mac. I swear it."
She felt the room swim around her. She tried hard to keep the tears at bay, but gratefully accepted the soft white handkerchief that Rabb pushed into her hands. "Easy, Jarhead," he murmured softly.
She took a deep breath. "Thank you for that. Now, what the hell is going on?"
Cassie Ryan kept her eyes firmly on Sarah MacKenzie. Cassie refused to let the problems plaguing her and AJ to intrude on their working relationship. They would be handled off-hours, if they could ever find the time to actually talk. "Yesterday morning NCIC got a request for a finger print ID on a murder suspect in New York City. The suspect’s name was given as one Clark Palmer."
"What!" Rabb was out of chair in an instant. "Clark Palmer! Is he out? How the hell did he get out?"
"Sit down, Commander," the Admiral snapped. He forced himself to calmly look up at Cassie and nod for her to continue.
"When we got the information, they called me," she started to continue, but AJ’s soft question stopped her again.
"Why you, Cassie?"
He didn’t know. There was no reason why he should. They hadn’t talked for over a week. Not since the last blow up over her mother. "The fingerprints came back with security classifications all over them. It’s part of my new job, AJ." She looked at him briefly but returned her attention to Mac. "When we saw whose fingerprints they were, we notified Mr. Anspach."
"What does that have to with me?" Mac’s voice was barely above a whisper. "Why do I care if Clark Palmer has been arrested for murder?"
A file was thrust into her hands and she looked up into the angry face of the Director of the CIA. "Because even though they said the man’s name was Palmer, these are the fingerprints they requested we verify."
"Oh, God." Her hand went to her lips. The fingerprints were Clay’s. The mug shot in the folder was Clay. A very thin, tired looking Clay with a two-day growth of beard and a slash across his forehead. "What the hell happened?"
"Mac, we don’t know. Mr. Anspach swears that Webb was on vacation for the first two weeks, then just dropped out of sight." Cassie said.
"The hell he was!" Mac stood up and confronted her lover’s boss. "No, sir. Are you telling me he hasn’t been on assignment for the past six weeks?" The anger and fear that had been her constant companion ever since the first dream exploded. "Are you telling me that you never checked with anyone? What the hell is wrong with you people?"
"Colonel MacKenzie!" AJ’s bark was the only thing that could get her under control. She stood at attention and waited. "For God's sake, Mac, please. Just sit back down. Let’s get through this."
Anspach needlessly straightened his tie. "Colonel, of course we searched for him. My assistant checked with his mother and was advised by Porter Webb that he was weighing his options."
"No she didn’t. Why are you lying?" Mac snapped. Her earlier loss of control was past. Now she reverted to the only skills she knew. She enumerated each point. "Mrs. Webb and I have spoken several times during the past six weeks. She kept assuring me that he had to be on assignment. She likes me, Mr. Anspach. SHE wouldn’t lie to me." Mac struggled to stand up. "Where is this assistant, sir? I want to talk to him."
Anspach blushed. "You can’t."
"Why not?" four voices asked in unison.
"Because he died in a automobile accident two days later."
"Yeah, okay," Mac snarled sullenly. "Look, what is going on? He spoke to me the night before his meeting with you. He wasn’t particularly worried about the so-called shake up at the Agency. You’re telling me he didn’t go undercover."
"No, I’m saying he wasn’t sanctioned if he did," Anspach said.
"What does that mean?"
"Excuse me," Cassie sighed. "Could we do this the way we planned please?"
Mac turned her rage on Cassie Ryan. "Excuse me, Agent Ryan. Planned? What have you planned?"
Cassie came and stood before the taller woman. "Mac, please sit down. Thank you." She rested against the front of AJ’s desk. "Look. It’s a monumental cock up, okay. Royal and damn near complete." She ignored Anspach’s huff. "You haven’t seen him. His mother hasn’t seen him. The CIA thought he was on vacation and then went rogue." She placed her hand on the angry Marine’s shoulder. "Don’t Mac, please. I don’t know all the details, but it looks like Mr. Anspach as been compromised. We are doing some serious checking on his assistant."
Anspach interrupted yet again. "An assistant who came highly recommended, if I may be permitted to point out."
Everyone ignored him.
"What the hell do we know, ma’am?" Mac snarled, but Harm’s hand on hers made her take a deep breath. "Okay. Sorry. Please." She flopped back and tried to focus on what was being said. «He's alive.» Everything else was secondary to that glorious fact.
Cassie blew out a long steadying puff of air. "We got the request routed through us. It’s new, but part of the whole Homeland Security thing. I personally contacted Anspach. I called an old friend in New York and quietly poked around for the details. He looked into it for me. It seems that Mr. Palmer was arrested early yesterday morning, 3:00 a.m. to be exact, for murder."
"Who's the victim?" Rabb asked.
"A drug dealer by the name of Bobby Carter."
Harm immediately went into his defense attorney mode. "What did this Carter do? Attack Webb? Surely it's self-defense?"
Cassie sighed and looked back at AJ, who nodded that he would take it from here. "There’s a problem with that. First of all, this Carter was supposedly…" Mac watched her boss carefully. She couldn’t remember a time when he was at a loss for words. AJ met her eye and continued, "Sorry, Mac. Carter was identified as Webb’s – or Palmer’s – dealer. They found two ‘nickel’ bags on Webb. Plus the busboy who found them swears Webb was standing over the man with the gun in his hand."
Mac wanted to scream and rant, but a cold calm took her. Clay needed her to be calm. Ranting and raving would come later. She waited.
AJ spared a gentle smile for his Chief of Staff. She had been hell on wheels these past weeks. He had spoken to her sharply once about it and she had tried to maintain her professionalism. "Only Webb’s prints are on the gun. And Mac…" He sighed and looked at Cassie, but it was Anspach who finished.
"Colonel MacKenzie, we sent in an agent this afternoon. His cover was that of public defender. Webb -- or Palmer -- wasn’t in any condition to talk to him."
"Why not?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Because he appears to be in the middle of intense withdrawal," Anspach finished quietly.
"Oh God. What have they done to him?"
"Tell her the rest," AJ said.
"It could have just been a symptom of the withdrawal," Anspach insisted.
"But it probably wasn’t." Cassie backed AJ up.
"What, damn it? Just tell me." Mac glared at them all.
"We didn’t…I didn’t know about you, Colonel MacKenzie. Not until Mrs. Webb told me on the phone." Anspach sighed.
"Phone? You didn’t tell her in person? She’s in town."
"No, Colonel, she’s in New York. When Agent Ryan confirmed the fingerprints, we sent in a young agent who suggested that someone who actually knew Webb go with him. Like I said, we didn’t know about you. I personally went and picked up Mrs. Webb at her home and escorted her to the airport. I asked her to tell no one. She went in as his public defender trainer. He’s a very young-looking agent. We didn’t want to lay our cards on the table just yet."
"Okay, so what happened? What don’t you want me know?"
Anspach expelled a great sigh. "Understand. Tom Rice and Mrs. Webb found him in the prison ward at Bellevue. When they found him tied to the bed in the middle of a particularly bad spasm, Mrs. Webb rushed to him and tried to calm him down. She succeeded for a moment. However, as she explained, when he saw her clearly he went berserk. He started to scream in pain that she swears had nothing to do with his addiction. He was terrified of her."
"What evidence supports that his name was Palmer?" Rabb asked while Mac was trying to digest this latest piece of information.
Cassie shrugged. "That’s the name he gave. He had a credit card, which by the way is pretty much maxed out. We’re checking on that now. Also a social security card."
"But no picture ID?"
"No, Commander, no picture ID."
"Look." Mac stood up and began to pace. "Mr. Anspach, can’t you just go and tell them that something must have happened? He’s a damned Assistant Director! Can’t you make it a National Security thing? You don’t know him. We do. He would never go undercover without being sanctioned as you call it. Not even to catch Clark Palmer – AND WHY THE HELL IS PALMER OUT AGAIN! It has to be him." Mac fought for control. "Sorry. Why can’t you get him released to you?"
Anspach came and stood in front of her. "You’re wrong, Colonel MacKenzie. While I was only his boss for two days before he disappeared I talked to him for long periods of time both days. When he just up and took vacation, I suspected it was a prelude to giving me his resignation. When he didn’t show up after that, I started asking around. He is extremely respected within the agency and…elsewhere. If I could, I would do as you suggested."
"Why can’t you?"
He sighed and took her by the shoulders. His look was kind and filled with pain. "Because Colonel, the man he is accused of killing was an undercover cop. No way are they letting him go. Not even if we tell them who he really is."
"Oh, shit. Tell me you’re not going to leave him hanging out to dry. Do you honestly think I will allow that?" Mac’s calm was now complete. Even if she had to do this on her own, she wouldn’t accept that.
"Mac, no way are they going to do that." Harmon Rabb took her hand and squeezed it tightly. "Are they, sir?" He looked at Chegwidden only a little fearfully.
"No, Commander. WE aren’t going to let him hang out to dry." Cassie snapped. "Now if you will allow me, I will outline OUR plan. It’s hastily put together, obviously, so please feel free to add anything pertinent. Okay?" Her look said she expected everyone, including Mac, to treat this as a case and not to let emotions get in the way. Mac pulled her hand of Harm’s grasp and straightened in her chair, indicating she was ready to begin. Anspach sat down. "Thank you. I’ve just been able to skim over the records and the history of Mr. Clark Palmer. And yes, you are right, he has somehow disappeared from his last prison cell – he’s evidently been missing for seven weeks. The boss has assigned one of our best to ream butts on that one. The next time he will be put in chains at the Maximum Security Prison in Colorado. I don’t think even Clark Palmer can claw his way out of a mountain."
"Don’t be so sure of that," Rabb muttered.
"It seems to me that this Palmer has the ability and the contacts to kidnap Webb and do serious psychological damage. Mr. Rice was able to obtain several blood samples taken from Webb. They are being tested for drug signatures. Though, from what we understand, Webb has been working in Harlem for the past three weeks. So we are unsure what we will find, if anything. The CIA and the FBI are running concurrent, but independent testing. Hopefully we will find something and be able to come up with an antidote."
Anspach cleared his throat. "I’ve been talking to some of our best people on this, and they all say that Webb had been indoctrinated against a great many known tortures. Something else has left him in this fugue state. Drugs may have made it easier for someone to have this kind of effect on him in such a short time. It is unlikely that whatever they were able to do to him in the span of three weeks, and that is assuming that they began the day they captured him, would be permanent."
Mac waited patiently, unsure if she should comment. AJ spoke up. "So we are going under the assumption that this is a complete setup?"
Cassie continued. "It is one of the assumptions that we have to consider. There are others. One of our best profilers scanned the case and is interested in continuing on it. He came up with four other scenarios that could be equally plausible. However, until we can actually assess Webb’s condition, it is pointless to speculate except on one point. That is Webb's reaction to his mother." Cassie met Mac’s gaze. "Bob Moriki suggests that deep isolation immersion interspersed with pain and torture associated with people he is close to might produce such a reaction. We don’t know for sure if that’s true and frankly, given the time we have, there is only one way to test it." Cassie turned her gaze to Harm. "Commander, I read the report of your involvement with Assistant Director Webb during the time that Webb went nose to nose with Palmer. I also understand that Palmer holds a grudge against you."
"You might say that," Rabb met her steady gaze.
Cassie pulled her upper lip between her teeth. "You think that Palmer might have indoctrinated Mr. Webb against your help?"
"It would make sense, ma’am."
"We also know that he can’t stand to be in the same room with uniformed policemen, but had…uhm…less trouble when the detectives questioned him." Cassie reached for the file in front of AJ, sparing him a tired smile. "The preliminary report states, ‘suspect shows extreme agitation whenever a uniformed policeman is in his sight. The closer the policeman approaches, the more nervous he gets. However, in the interrogation room where no uniforms were present, he is calm and under an almost icy control.’" Cassie flipped through the report and sighed. "It seems that Webb came close to killing one of the arresting officers."
"God, did they hurt him?" Mac whispered before pulling herself back together. A thought occurred to her. "So, what about me? If it is Palmer and not someone jerking our chains, then you think he’s turned Clay against his mother and anyone else that might be close to him, including ‘the girlfriend’?"
"Wait a minute, Mac." Harm stood up to stretch his legs. He hated to sit still for any period of time. "Agent Ryan, you said you know for a fact that Palmer escaped seven weeks ago, correct." Cassie nodded. "Well, after the last time, didn’t they curtail his prison visits to just his lawyer?" Again Cassie nodded. Harm looked down at his partner. He had decided over a year ago that he was cool with her relationship with Clayton Webb. He had carefully kept to himself his concerns that she would end up getting hurt in just this way for the simple reason that he knew Webb loved her more than he, Rabb, could ever understand. A blind person could see how she felt about Webb. "Mac, when was the last time you and Webb went to a public function?"
"Never." She wrinkled her nose. "Ever since 9-11 he has been so busy. I’ve been so busy. What little time we have together, we spend together, alone." She blushed as she remembered those times. Clayton Webb had awakened in her every sexual need she had heretofore kept under tight control. The few weekends or even fewer week nights they managed to be together were usually spent naked, in bed, on the kitchen table, over the back of the sofa, in… She shook herself out of those particular memories, but when she glanced up, she found Cassie Ryan smiling at her knowingly. "Though we usually try and dine out at least once a week with his mother, if at all possible," she added quickly.
Harm blushed a deep red but managed to continue. "So would you say that your relationship is the talk of DC?"
Mac glanced at Anspach. "Obviously, my relationship isn’t the talk of the CIA. Though, several people here at JAG know about it."
Harm and AJ shared a silent look. Anspach spoke up. "It’s worth a try. But…" He looked back at Cassie who grimaced.
"Look, guys. I don’t like this, but my boss agrees with Anspach and the Homeland Security Head. Until we get some kind of handle on this, until I can present the New York DA with some kind of concrete answers, we aren’t going to admit who Webb is." She took a deep breath and met Mac’s shocked look. "As we speak, NCIC is sending a negative report back to New York City. As far as NCIC is concerned, the owner of the fingerprints has no known record on the national data base."
"So what do we do?" Mac whispered.
"Well, I’m going to New York to check out the local field office. Wink, wink." Cassie smiled. I’ll look into this as closely as I can. The CIA still can’t do anything directly. Because of the mandate, as relaxed as it has become, this is still an out and out investigation. Palmer has no ties to any terrorist organizations that we know of, so we are approaching this as a personal vendetta until proved otherwise."
"Where does that leave…" Mac looked from her boss to her friend, "…us." Both men nodded at that.
Cassie smiled. "Well, you are all three lawyers. This is how I want to play it."