Soaring Free
Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16
1935 Local Harm scanned the baggage claim area for his parents. The area teemed with arriving passengers and their friends and families. He glanced at his watch, and then at the video screen that listed the status of arriving flights. According to the monitors, their flight had landed twenty minutes ago. They should be down here by now. "There," Mac touched his arm and pointed to a baggage carousel at the other end of the room. I bet that's theirs." "It'll probably be the easiest place to find them, too. Come on." Harm caught her hand, and they started in the direction Mac had indicated. They navigated the human/luggage obstacle course with an ease born of long practice, arriving at the baggage carousel a few seconds later. They slowed to a stop, and Harm looked around. "You know," Mac said teasingly, "If you'd ever actually introduced me to your parents I might even be able to help you with this." "Hey. You've seen pictures. You're a professional. Deal with it." He grinned at her, and she shook her head at him in mock disgust, glancing around the room as she did. "Wait," she said, "Is that them over there?" Harm craned his neck to look, and then winked at her. "See that? And all you had were a few pictures." She rolled her eyes at him, but didn't resist when he tugged her along behind him. "Mom! Frank!" Harm called as they approached. "There you are. We've been wandering around this place like a pair of mice in a cathouse. Didn't think we'd ever find you." "Harm!" Trish hurried toward them, arms outstretched. She enveloped Harm in a swift hug, and then released him and turned to Mac. "You must be Mac," she said with a warm smile and a quick hug. "Nine years Harm's worked with you, and I'm only just now getting to meet you. It's a disgrace." "I agree, ma'am." Mac smiled at the older woman, liking her instantly. "Please. Call me Trish." Trish turned back to her son, who had just finished shaking hands with Frank. "Gentlemen, my soon-to-be daughter-in-law and I are going to have a little get acquainted chat. Why don't you two grab the luggage and catch up to us outside?" Harm and Frank exchanged amused glances, but moved obediently away to wait for the luggage while Trish pulled Mac toward the exit. They searched out a quiet corner away from the busy foot traffic, coming to a stop near a colorful display of daffodils in a large clay pot. "Much better," Trish said with a happy sigh. "I hate traveling, and I hate crowds. Let the men fight with all that." "Was it a bad flight?" Mac asked, concerned. "No worse than usual. It's just that I can think of a hundred other things I'd rather be doing than being cooped up in a jet for hours on end." "I think your son would disagree with that assessment." Trish laughed. "I'm sure he would. He's just like his father was." "From the little I know of Harm's father, they're alike in a lot of ways." "Yes," Trish said, as a trace of sadness flashed in her eyes. "He is." "I'm sorry," Mac said, instantly contrite. "I didn't mean to upset you." Trish laid a hand on Mac's arm. "You didn't. Besides, who could be sad at a time like this?" The women exchanged a smile. "Are there any last minute wedding details to take care of?" Trish asked. "Anything I can help with?" "I appreciate the offer, but I think we've got things pretty much under control. I did most of the final running around last weekend while Harm was TAD on an assignment." "You mean you're going to make me sit around Washington D.C. for three days, just twiddling my thumbs?" Trish sounded appalled, and Mac laughed. "I've only just met you, but I can already tell that you aren't likely to sit around anywhere for three minutes, much less three days.” "Well," Trish looked thoughtful. "I could do some shopping, and Washington has some lovely art galleries…." "I wish I could join you," Mac said, "but we're rushing to finish up an investigation before the end of the week. I'm afraid you and Frank will be pretty much left to your own devices." "Oh, don't worry, dear. We'll be fine." They saw the men coming through the doors and hurried to meet them. An hour later, registration taken care of and suitcases unpacked, they descended to the hotel's club for a round of drinks before Harm and Mac headed home for the evening. The two couples settled themselves at a quiet table close to the dance floor, and Mac smiled over at Harm. They'd been here before for dinner and dancing, and had always loved the live band, a feature that fewer and fewer clubs offered in these days of electronic gadgetry. Sure enough, as soon as everybody had placed their drink orders, Harm stood up and bowed slightly in Mac's direction, his expression comically genteel. "Care to dance?" Mac looked a question at Frank and Trish who nodded at her. "Go," Frank said. "Enjoy yourselves. We old people will sit here and watch." "Oh no we won't," said Trish, rising from her own seat. "We're going to dance, too. Come on." She pulled Frank out of his chair and over to the dance floor, ignoring his halfhearted protests. Harm and Mac grinned and followed. Out on the dance floor, Harm spun Mac into his arms with a flourish, and she laughed at him. "Feeling feisty tonight, Sailor?" "With you?" he murmured, his breath teasing the hair above her ear. "Every night." They settled easily into the rhythm, precisely tuned to each other and to the slow rolling beat of the melody that flowed over them. As they moved across the dance floor, Harm lost himself in the music and in the feel of the woman he held in his arms. In a few short days she would belong to him completely. At the thought, he tightened his hold on her, and she looked up at him curiously. "Everything okay?" she asked. He smiled in answer. "Everything's better than okay." He bent and kissed her softly, their bodies still swaying gently to the music. When he pulled back, her eyes were luminous in the low light. "I love you, you know," she said softly. "I love you, too." "No," she said in a low voice. "I don't think you quite understand." She cupped his cheek with her hand, her eyes serious. "I've thought I was in love before, but I'd never in my life seen what real love could be like – until you." She shrugged a shoulder slightly, smoothing her hand across his chest. "I just wanted you to know that I would never deliberately do anything to hurt you." He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it, and nestled it against his shoulder, pulling her slim form close in the process. "Nor I you," he murmured against the silk of her hair. They began to dance again, oblivious to the indulgent smiles Trish and Frank were casting their way. The four of them spent the next two hours discussing wedding plans. Harm and Mac had made the rather unconventional decision to hold their reception before the wedding so that they could spend time with all of their friends without making it a late night for everybody. They'd leave immediately after the ceremony for a night at the airport hotel before catching an early morning flight to Nassau. Frank had offered them the use of the cottage for two weeks, and they were both looking forward to the time away. "It's been a long day," Trish said at last, stifling a yawn. "It's time for me to get my beauty rest." She smiled at Mac. "It's wonderful to finally get to meet you, Mac." "Same here," Mac said. "I'm glad to finally be able to thank you for Harm." "I can tell he's made a good choice," Trish said as she and Frank stood up. "I just wish it hadn't taken him so long." She winked at Harm, who rolled his eyes at her. "Will we see you two tomorrow?" Frank asked. "Maybe after work," Harm answered. "We're trying to wrap up a couple of cases before the weekend." "Mac mentioned something about that." Trish sighed good-naturedly. "I guess I'll just have to suffer through a day of wandering through the art galleries." Frank groaned, and everybody laughed. Later, Harm and Mac walked out to the car arm in arm. Harm held Mac's door for her, and then walked around to the driver's side, buckling his seatbelt before starting the engine. "So?" he asked, as he shifted the car into gear.
"What do you think of Mom and "They're wonderful," Mac answered. "I'm glad I finally got to meet them." Harm grinned. "I'm fond of them. After all, they put up with me…" Mac laughed. "I agree. They deserve a medal." "Hey!" He swatted her leg, but Mac only grinned. He sighed theatrically. "I get no respect." "If you're looking for respect, you've got the wrong girl," Mac teased. "No," Harm said seriously. "I've finally got the right girl." He reached over and curled his fingers around hers where they rested on her thigh. Mac turned her hand over and squeezed his, and they rode the rest of the way to her apartment in contented silence. When they'd pulled into a parking spot, Harm turned off the engine and leaned over to kiss her. "You know," he said. "I can't wait until Sunday." "Why Sunday?" she asked, puzzled. "We're going to spend most of the day on an airplane." "Sunday," he repeated. "Our first full day as an old married couple." Mac laughed. "Speak for yourself, Flyboy. I've decided I'm never going to get old." "Then let's just say I'm looking forward to never getting old…together," he said. "I like the sound of that." Mac smiled softly at him. "So do I." She sighed. "I'd better get going. I still have some files to review tonight." "Tonight? Mac, it's late." "I know, but I want to make sure I finish these before Friday." "All right, then. I'll just take my lonely self back to my lonely apartment." Mac snorted. "I think you'll live." "Maybe, but only because I know it's just for a couple more nights." Mac kissed him quickly and climbed out of the car. She was halfway up the walkway to her building when Harm caught up to her. "Hey," he said "Not so fast." She looked up at him just in time to meet his lips as they descended on her own. His kiss was so achingly tender that it brought tears to her eyes. He lifted his head, saw the tears, and wiped them gently away. "Goodnight, Mac." "Goodnight." He released her, but she felt his eyes follow her into the building and knew that sleep wouldn't come easily. 1400 Local Harm and Mac climbed out of the car and looked around. Nothing had changed since their last visit here except for the fact that now there was a sparkling white Long EZ sitting in the middle of the runway. Nobody appeared to be near the aircraft. Indeed, to all appearances, the place was deserted. Harm looked at Mac, shrugged, and started toward the main office. He could only assume that Jack was once again elbow deep in aircraft parts and pieces. He pulled open the door and waved Mac inside. A familiar scene greeted them. The same rickety desk piled high with paper and empty soda cans, the same host of single engine aircraft in various stages of completion, and the same echoing silence. The rusty silver bell still perched precariously on the edge of the desk, and Harm tapped it sharply. A feeling of déjà vu washed over him when the ringing of the bell resulted in the clang of steel on concrete and a muffled curse. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Jack Stone limped around the corner. When he recognized his visitors, he glanced down at his watch. A puzzled expression came over his face as he shook his wrist, and then held the watch up to his ear. "I know," Harm said. "We're a little early." "Thirty minutes too early by my watch," the older man said irascibly. "Aren't you a pair of eager beavers." Harm smiled. "We were hoping to get a chance to look over the plane before everybody else got here." "Don't you trust me to get the changes right?" Jack was vaguely defensive. "That's not it at all. I just wanted the opportunity to familiarize myself with the layout. I've never been in a Long EZ before." "I see. You want to play." Jack looked over at Mac. "Typical pilot, huh?" Mac grinned. "To the core," she answered. Jack waved in the general direction of the airstrip. "Knock yourself out. Just don't take off or I'll have to shoot you down myself." Harm raised his hands in surrender. "I won't go anywhere. You have my word." "Heh." Jack looked at Mac again. "You keep an eye on him for me." "I'll do that, sir." "Sir." Jack shook his head. "How quick the young forget. It's Jack. Just Jack. Not Sir. Not Mister Stone. Just… Jack. Got that?" "Got it." "Now go away. I've got work to do. Come and get me when the rest of the crew arrives." Jack headed back to wherever he'd come from. He was mumbling something about upstart legal eagles when he rounded the back of a plane and disappeared from sight. "Come on, Mac. Let's have a look at her." "Right behind you." A few minutes later, they were staring into the miniscule cockpit of the modified Long EZ. Harm raised a skeptical eyebrow at Mac. "A human being's supposed to sit in there?" He asked doubtfully. "So I'm told." "I'd feel like a pretzel." Mac grinned. "It can't be any worse than the cockpit of an F-14." "Actually, a Tomcat's a yacht compared to this thing. I think this was designed for Barbie Dolls." He scrutinized the interior closely, but didn't get in. The gauges didn't appear to be unusual, and he recognized all of the vital ones without difficulty. Pulling back, he walked slowly around the outside of the plane. The Long EZ was all about form and grace, a delicate bird with lean lines and graceful features, and she perched on the pavement like a restless dove anxious for flight. Harm looked her over carefully, taking careful note of the fuel tanks and the selector switch. By some miracle, and probably an entire night spent in the hangar, Jack had managed a quick retrofit of the plane, moving the switch from its previous position on the forward panel to the same spot where it had been on Captain Clark's plane. Harm was checking the fuel tanks when they heard approaching footsteps. Gunnar and Edward approached, and Harm instinctively glanced toward Mac. She met his gaze calmly, but without making a move toward the approaching men. Harm could only assume she was waiting to see his reaction to Gunnar. He stepped forward, taking each man's hand in a firm grip and shaking it in welcome. "Glad you could make it," he said to them, somehow aware of Mac's relief even though she stood behind him. "Been here long?" Gunnar asked. "About a half hour," Mac answered, coming up beside them. "Harm wanted to look over the plane." "Will Mrs. Clark be joining us?" Edward asked. "I'm here, gentlemen." Mrs. Clark approached, her expression pained as she took in the plane. "You didn't really explain why you needed me, though. What's going on?" "We think we may have an idea about your husband's crash," said Harm. "Oh?" She looked from face to face. "You aren't still thinking suicide, are you?" "That sort of depends on you," Maybourne said. "Excuse me?" "Ma'am, we need to ask you a couple of questions about your husband's preflight routine." "Okay…" She looked doubtful, but willing. "Can you tell us exactly what steps your husband took to check his fuel levels that day?" Harm asked. She looked puzzled. "Same way he always does. He checked the gauges and he did a dip test." "Did he add any fuel at all?" "No…he said he'd only be up for an hour or so and that according to the gauges and the rod, he had plenty of fuel already." Harm and Gunnar exchanged glances. "Why do you ask?" Paige cast puzzled looks at the two men. "Let me show you." Harm moved back over to the Long EZ. "See this?" He indicated the fuel port on one side of the plane. "Yes…" "Okay. Do you also see the way the plane rests in a slightly nose down position on the tarmac?" "Of course. But what does that have to do with anything?" "The angle of the plane and the position of the fill ports makes it virtually impossible to get an accurate reading of the amount of fuel in the tanks until she's airborne and level," Harm explained. "It took some digging, but there's a place in the documentation where the designer noted that fuel should always be added to the tanks prior to takeoff." "But Terry said he'd been told not to fill them up." "That's right," Jack said, who'd approached unnoticed. "I told him that. There's no reason to fly with more fuel than you need, especially for a short flight like this was supposed to be. It adds weight, and it's a fire hazard." Harm nodded. "You're right, Jack. It's just that the unusual design of the Long EZ forces the pilot to modify standard procedures. Neither the gauges nor the rod test give an accurate measure of the true fuel status in the tanks." "So you're saying that my husband died because he ran out of gas?" Paige asked, disbelieving. "Not entirely," said Gunnar. "Remember how you said the plane tilted to one side and then dropped into an uncontrolled spin?" Paige looked at him. "If I live to be two hundred years old I'll never forget it." There was a brief uncomfortable silence before Edward Maybourne took over the discussion. "Ma'am, are you familiar with the fuel tank selector switch?" She turned to look at him. "Of course I am. The Long EZ has two tanks. The selector switch allowed Terry to switch from one to the other." "Exactly. Normally the switch is placed on the front instrument panel." "I know that," Paige said. "Terry and I discussed it. He said it bothered him because if there was ever a fire in the cockpit the fuel lines could burn. He said something about moving it to a safer place, but I don't remember much about it beyond that." Jack spoke up. "We talked about that modification for weeks before we tried it. We agreed that moving the switch lessened the danger of fire - especially on the passenger side of the plane." "And it did," Gunnar agreed, "but it also created a bit of a problem for the pilot." He turned to Harm. "Care to demonstrate?" "You're kidding, right? You want me to climb in there?" Gunnar smiled slightly. "If you don't mind." Harm sighed and folded himself into the tiny cockpit. By the time he was in, he was more than half convinced that his knees and chin had both taken up permanent residence in his rib cage. "Okay," he grunted finally. "I'm in." Gunnar turned to Paige. "I know your husband wasn't as tall as Commander Rabb is, ma'am, but the principle's the same. Commander?" He turned back to Harm. "Care to take a shot at flipping that switch?" Harm twisted in the pilot's seat. With his right hand, he reached across his chest and over his left shoulder to the fuel switch. "There," Gunnar said, "Look at the commander's right foot." Everybody looked while Gunnar explained the significance of what they were seeing. "In order to reach the switch, the commander's bracing himself with his right foot. Notice how close his foot is to the rudder." He paused while everybody craned their neck to see. "If we assume that the sound Mrs. Clark heard was indeed an engine stall due to fuel exhaustion, Captain Clark must have attempted to switch tanks." He looked around the assembled group. "During the investigation, we learned that the plane tilted to one side before dropping into the terminal dive. This description of events is consistent with our belief that in attempting to reach the fuel tank selector switch, Captain Clark's foot accidentally hit the rudder pedal, causing him to lose control of the craft." Harm looked sympathetically at Paige. "If your husband had reached flight altitude before running out of gas, he would've had time to correct the mistake. As it was…" "There wasn't time." Paige answered in a low voice. She stared out across the airstrip toward the hills beyond, her eyes sad. Gunnar turned to his partner. "We can't file this as suicide, Ed. I think it was a combination of a faulty interface and pilot error." Paige turned back, directing her gaze toward Gunnar. "I knew it," she said. "I knew he didn't kill himself, no matter what the state of his health. Thank you for not giving up." Jack shook his head. "We were so sure that moving that selector switch was a smart idea." "It wasn't a bad idea," Harm said. "It kept you from having to run fuel lines through the passenger side of the plane. Unfortunately, it's just too difficult to operate safely this way." Jack nodded. "Mrs. Clark. I owe you my apologies. We should've tested the modification more carefully before making the change." Paige turned to Jack. "I don't blame you, Jack. You and Terry had the best intentions. I know that." Jack wasn't mollified. "Good intentions are no excuse for getting a man killed." Paige shook her head. "Don't beat yourself up over it, Jack. Terry was your friend. You'd never deliberately put him in danger, nor would you ever build a plane you didn't think was safe. It was an honest mistake, and if other lives can be saved by this discovery –" she waved a hand in the direction of the plane. "Then I'm okay with it. Terry would have been, too. You know that." "Yeah," Jack said reluctantly. "He would have. But that doesn't change the fact that a good man is gone because of it." "No," said Paige. "It doesn't." She put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll miss him for the rest of my life, Jack, but agonizing over the whys and wherefores and if onlys won't bring him back." Jack surveyed the assembled group. "If you'll excuse me," he said. "I have work to do." He didn't wait for them to answer, but turned and trudged back inside the main building. Paige started to follow him, but Mac stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Let him go, ma'am." Paige nodded regretfully. "You're right. I know." She turned to the others, glancing at her watch as she did so. "I need to get back to my daughter. Thank you again for putting the extra effort into this case. It means everything to me to finally know what really happened to my husband." She nodded to the assembled group and turned away, her strides purposeful as she moved toward her car. Harm unfolded himself from the plane and rubbed the back of his neck, working out a kink. He grinned ruefully. "Remind me never to get one of those things," he said to Mac. "Somehow I doubt you'll need reminding," she said. "We'll be leaving now," said Gunnar. "You should have our final report within the week." "Not suicide?" asked Mac. "Not suicide," Maybourne confirmed. "Pilot error." Mac shook her head. "It seems a shame to call it pilot error when it's basically a flaw in the design of the aircraft." "Nevertheless…" "I understand. It's the way it works." Gunnar and his partner left, and Harm and Mac followed, still talking about the report they had to write to close the case. When they arrived at the car, Mac settled into her seat with a sigh. "I'm glad that's over," she said. "Me too," Harm agreed as he buckled his seatbelt. "Poor Audrey, though." "She'll be okay. It won't be easy, but I think she and her mother are going to make it." "I think so too." Harm started the engine, and they left Ashburn Aviation behind for the last time. It had taken a good part of the afternoon to resolve the case, longer than Harm had thought it would take. He glanced over at Mac, pleased to see that she had leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. He eased the car onto the highway, and wondered how far he'd be able to get before she figured out that something unusual was going on. 1715 Local "Harm?" Mac looked around the small airport in
bafflement. "What are we doing He answered her question with one of his own. "Do you trust me?" "You know I do, but we're expected back at JAG." "Actually, we aren't." "We aren't?" "Nope." He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, ducking back in to give her a mysterious smile. "You coming?" Mac unbuckled her seat belt. Whatever he was up to, she wasn't going to sit here and miss it. Harm led her over to Sarah. "Wait here for a few minutes," he said, kissing her lightly. "I need to preflight." Mac watched him perform the routine checks on the cheerful little biplane. She kept quiet while he worked, preferring to suffer the pangs of curiosity rather than distract his attention from the vital safety precautions. She grinned when she saw him take extra care with the fuel lines, remembering when an undiscovered weakness in the lines had nearly cost them both their lives. A few seconds later he finished the checks, and nodded at her. "Climb in," he said. "Harm…" She tried again. "Please, Mac." "Are you going to tell me where we're going?" "Nope." He grinned, and she knew he wasn't going to budge. She sighed in defeat and did as he asked, putting on the goggles and jacket he handed her and buckling her safety belt. A few minutes later, they were airborne. They didn't talk during the flight to…wherever they were going. Instead, Mac spent the time trying to guess what Harm was up to. When they finally landed more than an hour later, the sun was just starting to set, and she was no closer to figuring out where they were or why. She took off the goggles and shook out her hair, looking around at the apparently deserted mountain meadow. Harm climbed out of the plane and held out a hand to her. "Coming?" She gave him her hand and allowed him to help her down. When they were both on solid ground again, she turned to him, jaw set, and hands on hips. "All right," she said. "I'm not taking one more step until you tell me what's going on." Harm sighed. "You're a stubborn woman, Mac." She was about to respond, when the sound of approaching footsteps drew her attention. "Commander Rabb? Is that you?" The older man had seemed to materialize out of nowhere. "Yes, Sir. It's me." Harm's casual acceptance of the stranger's presence only served to pique her curiosity even further. "You're a little later than I thought you'd be." The man didn't sound angry or annoyed, just concerned. "I hope there weren't any problems?" "No. I'm sorry we kept you waiting. Our meeting took longer than expected." "Don't worry about it. It's been a beautiful afternoon. I didn't mind the wait." "I appreciate your patience, Chaplain." "Wait a minute," Mac said, deciding abruptly that it was time for the social chit chat to come to an end. "Chaplain?" "I'm guessing this is your lovely bride to be?" The chaplain's words were directed to Harm, but he was smiling at Mac. Harm's voice held tender pride as he made the introductions. "Chaplain Fredericks, I'd like you to meet Sarah MacKenzie, my fiancée." "Harm?" Mac's voice had taken on a dangerous overtone. "Are you going to tell me what's going on here? Or am I going to have to get back in that plane and fly it home myself?" Harm gave the chaplain a rueful look. "I'm afraid I've not talked to Mac about this yet, Chaplain. Can you give us a few minutes?" "Absolutely. I'll be waiting in the chapel. Come and find me whenever you're ready." "Will do. Thank you." Chaplain Fredericks headed off down the meadow, and Harm turned to Mac. "First of all, don't kill me." She folded her arms across her chest. "No promises." Harm took a couple of steps away from her, and then turned back. Mac tried to wait patiently for his explanation, but she suspected her tapping foot and folded arms gave her away. "Do you remember," he asked, "that doomed double date we had a few years ago? You were with Brumby, and I was with Renee?" Mac thought back. "I remember it, but I don't see how it's relevant to this middle of nowhere, top secret …whatever it is." "It's a wedding, Mac." Her jaw dropped. "Harm...we're getting married on Saturday, remember? Naval Academy Chapel? Dress whites? Arch of Swords?" She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his forehead to check for signs of fever. He caught her hand, twining his fingers with hers before bringing it back down to her side. He rested his other hand along her cheek, staring at her intently. "Mac, I know you don't really want a fancy military wedding. I've always known it. It isn't what I want, either." She started to say something, but he put a finger to her lips. "Wait. Please. Hear me out." He waited until she nodded before dropping his hand. "The wedding on Saturday – it isn't about us. It's about our friends and family. They want to see us married with all the pomp and circumstance – the white lace, the satin, the flowers and music – and I'm okay with that. I'm willing to get dressed up and play my part in order to make all those people happy." He turned her so that she looked out across the meadow toward the sunset, and then wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her back against his chest. She relaxed into him, and for a moment, they listened to the early evening bird song and the first faint stirrings of crickets. He spoke softly to her, his lips close to her ear, but his words, for all their quiet delivery, rang with certainty. "But I don't need – or want – any of that stuff. All I want is to promise myself to you for the rest of our lives." He moved back around to face her and took her hands in his. "Chaplain Fredericks is an old friend of Chaplain Turner's. He's part of the local Army Reserve. He agreed to meet us here on the off chance that you would agree to this impromptu elopement." "But Harm, we're in the middle of nowhere!" This had to be one of the most harebrained ideas he'd ever had – and he'd had a few in his time. He nodded. "As close to it as I could manage, yes. There's an access road not too far from here, but the closest town is about 20 minutes away by car." Mac tilted her head to one side, looking at him carefully. Could he really be serious? "What?" he asked. "I just… This is so …" Harm grinned. "Sarah MacKenzie is speechless. I never thought I'd see the day." "Harm!" She swatted him on the arm. "Be serious." His response was instantaneous. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life, Mac. I want this for you – for us." He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. "But Mac… If I've totally misjudged you, and this really isn't what you want, all you have to do is say so and we'll get right back in Sarah and go home." She stared at him, struggling to assimilate what was happening. First, he'd remembered that long ago conversation, a thought that was stunning enough on its own. That what he'd learned that night had resulted in this carefully orchestrated kidnapping positively stunned her. The silence evidently lasted long enough to make Harm nervous. "Umm…Mac?" he said. "I meant what I said, you know." She walked over to him, unable to hide her smile any longer. "I know you meant it, Harm. I'm sorry if I scared you. It's just… I'm stunned that you thought of this." She glanced down the meadow in the direction the chaplain had gone, and then back at Harm, meeting his eyes even though her own had filled with unexpected tears. "It's what I've wanted since I was a little girl – just me, the man I love, and a perfect spring day." She reached down to pick a delicate purple flower, its fragile stem dwarfed in her gentle fingers. She held it to her nose, inhaling deeply of its subtle fragrance before looking back up at Harm. "I'd decided it wasn't possible; that because of all the people we know who care about us and want to wish us well, we didn't really have much of a choice. But this…" she waved a hand that took in the meadow, the plane, and both of them, "this is perfect. They still get their fancy wedding, and I still get my dream." He pulled her forward and into his arms, cradling her head in his palms as he bent to kiss her. She put everything she had into the kiss, desperately trying to tell him by action what knew she'd never be able communicate with words. The kiss lasted a long time, until gradually they both became aware of the fading daylight. Harm ended with a butterfly kiss on her temple, but he didn't release her, and she didn't try to pull away. Right now, perfection was this moment, in this man's arms, and she had no wish to do anything to bring an end to it. She finally reached down to twine her fingers with his. "Now," she said with a slightly tremulous smile. "Lead me to your chaplain." Harm grinned at her choice of words, an obvious play on the old 'take me to your leader' line. They walked the length of the meadow in silence born of both reverence and happiness. Along the way, they picked a variety of early blooming wildflowers for Mac to use as her wedding bouquet, and when they reached the edge of the forest, Harm led her into a small grove of trees – their improvised chapel. In the center of a circle of trees a large stump held a single tall white candle, its flame flickering brightly in the deepening twilight. A small noise at the back of the clearing caught Mac's attention, and she turned her head to find its source. She stared hard, trying to figure out what it was. All at once, she burst into delighted laughter. "You remembered the goats?" Harm grinned sheepishly. "I actually wondered if you would." "I remember - I just can't believe you did." "I rarely forget the important stuff, Mac. Besides, I thought they could be our witnesses." "Actually," interrupted the chaplain, appearing almost magically from the shadows, "you don't need witnesses in the state of Virginia." "Even better," Harm grinned, "since I doubt many states will accept hoof prints as valid signatures on a wedding license." Mac laughed, and the chaplain looked at his watch. "If you folks don't mind, we should get on with this. My wife's going to wonder what's taking me so long. She already thinks I'm a little crazy for bringing goats to a wedding, and if I don't get home pretty soon, she's liable to think the three of us are wandering around lost somewhere." Harm took Mac's hand and they moved to stand in front of the makeshift altar. "Commander? Did you bring the marriage license?" Harm pulled a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and handed it over. The chaplain scanned it quickly, nodded, and set it on the altar beside him. "Everybody ready?" They nodded, and Mac felt Harm squeeze her hand three times. The action made her smile. Three squeezes meant 'I love you.' It was a signal they'd worked out months ago and it often came in handy in the office. She squeezed back - four times. "All right then. Let's get this show on the road." The chaplain smiled at each of them, and began the simple service. "Harmon Rabb Junior, and Sarah MacKenzie, life is given to each of us as individuals, and yet we must learn to live together. Love is given to us by our family and by our friends. We learn to love by being loved. Learning to love and live together is one of the greatest challenges of life – and is the shared goal of a married life." He turned to Harm. "Harmon Rabb, do you take Sarah MacKenzie as your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only unto her?" "I do." "Sarah MacKenzie, do you take Harmon Rabb Junior as your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him?" "I do." Chaplain Fredricks pulled two simple gold bands out of his pocket. Mac's eyes widened slightly, and she glanced at Harm, but she didn't say anything. "Wedding rings," the chaplain said, "are an outward and visible sign of an inward spiritual grace, and the unbroken circle of love, signifying to all the union of this man, and this woman, in marriage." Chaplain Fredericks handed Mac's ring to Harm, who lifted her hand in his own and slid the ring onto her finger. He looked deeply into her eyes as he repeated his vows, and Mac felt his sincerity to the depth of her soul. She blinked away tears, and saw Harm's tender smile. "I, Harmon Rabb," he said, taking his cue from the chaplain, "take you, Sarah MacKenzie, to be my wife - to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for as long as we both shall live." Mac took a deep breath to slow her racing heart, and then took the larger golden circlet from the chaplain's outstretched palm. She eased it over Harm's finger and repeated her own simple vows. "I, Sarah MacKenzie, take you, Harmon Rabb Junior, to be my husband – to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for as long as we both shall live." Her voice trembled slightly on the last few words. The chaplain spoke the final words as the sun's last rays bathed the little clearing in a golden haze. "Harmon Rabb Junior, and Sarah MacKenzie, as the two of you come into this marriage uniting you as husband and wife, and as you this day affirm your faith and love for one another, I would ask that you always remember to cherish each other as special and unique individuals, and that you respect the thoughts, ideas, and suggestions of one another. Be able to forgive, do not hold grudges, and live each day that you may share it together – as from this day forward you shall be each other's home, comfort, and refuge, your marriage strengthened by your love and respect for each other." He smiled at the couple. "You may kiss the bride," he said to Harm. Harm didn't wait for a second invitation. He wrapped her in his arms and settled his lips on hers in a sweetly tantalizing kiss that spoke of promises, and love, and possibility. They lost themselves in it, and when Harm finally eased away from her chaplain Fredericks and his goats had disappeared. The only proof that he'd ever existed was the signed marriage license that fluttered gently on the simple altar. Harm smiled down at her, and Mac knew that at last, everything in her life was exactly as it should be. "Come on Mrs. Rabb," he said. "Let's go home." They walked slowly back through the meadow, both a little reluctant to return to civilization just yet. Mac felt the warmth of her wedding band pressing against their joined hands and smiled to herself. She had no clue how he'd pulled it off, but she could think of no gift that he could have given her that would have made her as happy. They came to a stop beside the plane, and Mac turned into his arms, laying her head against his chest. He held her close, and for long moments, neither said a word. "How'd you do it?" she finally asked. "State secret, Marine." She felt him smile against her hair as he said it, and his arms tightened around her. "Don't we need the marriage license for Saturday?" "Actually, we didn't even use that one. It's for Maryland, and we're in Virginia." "Then how…?" He chuckled. "Sometimes it helps to know people in high places." She twisted in his arms, turning to look up at him, and he took the opportunity to steal another kiss. "Not Webb…" she said, when she could speak again. Her heart thudded dully with the thought. It had been months since she'd heard from Webb, and she didn't really want to think about his being involved in making this particular dream come true. He shook his head. "No. Not Webb." "Then who?" "Does it matter?" he asked quietly. She looked at him, considering that. He was right, actually. There was no particular reason why she needed to know the details. She sighed happily and nestled her head against his chest again. "No," she said. "It doesn't matter at all." Then another thought occurred to her, and she lifted her head again, only to catch Harm grinning at her in amusement. She couldn't help it. Her mind was trained in detail work. "What about Chaplain Turner on Saturday?" she asked. "Shouldn't we tell him we're already married?" "He knows. In fact, he helped me set it up. Turner will still do the ceremony on Saturday, and nobody will ever know our true anniversary date except them and us." "How'd you get the wedding bands?" "I picked them up from the jeweler last week.” "And the candle? Chaplain Fredericks again?" "The candle and the goats were courtesy of Chaplain Fredericks. There are benefits to being a country chaplain." His eyes twinkled with laughter. "Anything else you want to know, Counselor?" "No, I think that pretty much does it for now, but there is one thing I want to tell you." "And what might that be?" "Thank you." "You're welcome," he said, and kissed her again in the flower filled meadow just as the first rays of a full moon peeked through the trees. 9:17 Local The phone rang loudly, echoing through the cavernous hangar, and Jack glared at it. He was convinced that all telephones should have strict hours of service starting no earlier than 10:00 in the morning, and ending no later than 4:00 in the afternoon. He pulled his feet off the desk and set down his morning mug of coffee before reaching for the handset. "Ashburn," he said gruffly. "Jack? It's Paige Clark." Oh, God. He definitely wasn't ready to talk to her. Yesterday's events still cluttered his mind, and he'd spent most of last night trying to drown his guilt in a six pack of beer. He definitely wasn't in the mood for social chit chat. His silence evidently lasted too long, because she spoke again. "Jack? Are you there?" "I'm here." He didn't try to disguise his lack of enthusiasm. "I need to ask you a favor." "Oh?" Tension straightened his spine. "What kind of favor?" "I, um…" She hesitated, and Jack waited. It wasn't his style to try to ease anybody's way. "After the autopsy, I had them cremate Terry's remains." "Uh huh…" He wondered vaguely where she was going with this, but somehow he knew he wasn't going to be pleased. "There's a memorial service for him tomorrow afternoon. I wanted to ask you to come." He knew it. He knew he wasn't going to like this. He hated funerals – everybody oozing sympathy and wondering when the will would be read. He shuddered. "I don't think so, Paige." She sighed, "Terry would have wanted you there." "Can't do it, Paige." He didn't elaborate. There were a few moments of silence before Paige spoke again. "I understand. I won't pressure you. There's something else, though." Something else? He braced himself. "What is it?" "Do you still have that old pietenpol two seater?" "Yes…" he said warily. Something told him he knew where she was going with this. "Terry always said that when he died, he wanted his ashes spread over the mountains from an open cockpit." Her voice broke. "I guess he wanted one last ride." Jack hesitated. Part of him wanted to run as far and as fast in the opposite direction as his old legs could carry him. Another, stronger part, whispered that maybe, in some small way, doing this for Paige would relieve him of a tiny portion of the crushing guilt he bore over Terry's death. He sighed heavily. "When?" he asked. "Saturday night? Jack loved flying at night." "Come at 7:30. I'll see what I can do." "I'll be there. And Jack?" "Yeah?" "Thanks." "You're welcome." He hung up the phone. For several long minutes he glared balefully at it as though it was personally to blame for his foul mood. Then, with a muffled curse, he stood up. Best thing for what ailed him was work. ***** End Part Six *****
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