Title: Carnival
Author: Daenar (daenarchurill@hotmail.com)
Rating: PG-13
Category: Romance (H/M), Humor
Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, Paramount and 
CBS. No 
copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: Boomerang, Lifeline
Summary: Harm and Mac are sent to Venice on a rather strange 
investigation. 
Besides, it's carnival season...

Author's note: This is my very first fanfic ever. Don't be too harsh 
with 
me. And English is not my mother tongue. So, please, don't be too harsh 
on 
my language skills, either. Regarding the story: My fiancé is an 
Italian 
navy officer from Venice, and I actually witnessed the inauguration of 
the 
"Venice Port Authority Gondola".

Many, many thanks to Kate for the initial encouragement to go on 
writing and 
to Sarah for beta-reading the whole story.

___________________________________________________________________________


Feb. 24th
1407 ZULU
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA



"Good morning, sir. I'm sorry, sir, traffic..." Commander Harmon Rabb, 
Jr. 
let his speech trail off as he noticed the admiral's severe stare. 
Coming to 
attention, he inwardly sighed and hoped this would be over soon.

"Traffic, right?" Admiral AJ Chegwidden fixed his eyes just a moment 
longer 
than was necessary on the commander's face and then cleared his throat. 
He 
didn't have the time today to get into his senior lawyer's lack of 
timing 
once again so for now he would just let it pass. But he still had to 
suppress a grin at seeing how his SEAL-trained killing stare was 
obviously 
intimidating the normally self-confident ex-aviator. He glared at him 
for 
two more seconds before saying: "At ease. Have a seat."

Harm sat down in front of his CO's desk and tried not to make too much 
noise 
as he slowly exhaled, wondering slightly why this time AJ had let him 
off 
the hook this easily, he cast a quick glance sideways to where his 
partner 
was already sitting, punctual as always.

Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie caught his expression, cocked her 
eyebrow 
and tried not to smile too widely. Her 
"I-could-have-bet-you-would-be-late" 
grin could wait for now. She, too, was slightly taken aback that AJ had 
made 
no further comment. He must have something really important to tell 
them.

"Colonel, Commander, I know you just returned from your last assignment 
in 
Turkey, but I fear I have to send you away again ASAP." From the not 
too 
well suppressed frowns that were showing on his officers' faces AJ knew 
that, although he was in the position to order them, he would still owe 
them 
afterwards. They had been away for almost seven weeks on a heavy sexual 
harassment case. This was their first day back at JAG. At least this 
time 
the destination seemed somewhat nicer. "The Secnav called me yesterday 
to 
request your immediate departure to direct a... well... let's say... an 
investigation that could turn out a little tricky on the diplomatic 
level." 
He let his words sink in and watched his officers' expressions change 
from 
frustration to mild curiosity.

"Where are we headed, sir?" If Mac was upset she was careful not to let 
it 
show.

"Venice."

Harm and Mac exchanged a surprised glance. AJ noted it seemed a 
positive 
surprise to them, as he had hoped it would.

"What's the case?" Harm's expression was perfectly neutral.

"Theft. Committed by two American sailors. Add drunk and disorderly."

Mac raised her eyebrows. "Sir," she began carefully, "Why should the 
Secnav 
insist that you
send us to investigate? The Mediterranean office could surely..."

"That's what I thought, Colonel," AJ cut her off. "Maybe you should ask 
what 
they stole."

Harm threw Mac a quick puzzled smile and then turned his attention back 
to 
the admiral.
"So, what exactly did they steal, sir?"

"The Venice Port Authority's gondola."

"The V..." Harm's eyes almost popped out of his head as his words faded 
away. Mac just stared at her CO.

AJ again fought hard not to smile. "Yes, Commander, you heard me right. 
It 
seems that, in 1999, the admiral commanding the Venice Port Authority 
had a 
traditional gondola especially built for official purposes. From what 
the 
Secnav tells me, the Italian navy considers this boat a valuable symbol 
of 
how traditions are kept up in the military and of how the maritime 
traditions of the ancient grand Republic of Venice have become a 
substantial 
basis for the Italian navy itself. Italy is one of our most important 
NATO 
partners in the Mediterranean region. It seems that the... well, let's 
call 
it disappearance of the gondola has caused quite a disruption in 
military 
diplomatic circles right up to the headquarters in Brussels."

"Oops." Harm stated under his breath.

Mac suppressed a giggle. "Who are the suspects, sir?"

AJ put on his spectacles and looked onto the file that lay open on his 
desk. 
"One Petty Officer Second Class Alan Merriner and one Seaman Paul 
Quinn, 
currently serving on board the USS Cole. The Cole is conducting a 
minesweeping operation in the southern Adriatic, still related to the 
Kosovo 
activities. They had come to Venice for a weekend. It seems that when 
the 
navy gondola was missing the Italians initiated a thorough search and 
quickly found it stuck in a narrow canal near Rialto, Merriner and 
Quinn 
snoring peacefully inside."

"The case seems rather clear to me, sir," Harm ventured carefully. 
"They got 
drunk, felt like doing something out of the ordinary, and then..." He 
let 
his voice trail off, insinuating the course of the events.

AJ sighed. "If it were just for the facts, you wouldn't need to go to 
Europe 
again, Harm. The culprits confessed, they are currently waiting to be 
court-martialed. It's the diplomatic dimension that's worrying the guys 
in 
the Pentagon. The Secnav thinks we need to make the Italians see that 
we 
fully understand the importance of their traditions and therefore send 
two 
of our top personnel to prosecute. Besides, you will be expected to 
participate in social activities designed to smooth the seas. Our main 
task 
will be to represent the US Navy in the most decorous way possible in 
military diplomatic circles to demonstrate our respect for the 
seriousness 
of Italian naval traditions."

"Did you say 'our', sir?" Mac asked.

"Yes. I'm accompanying you." AJ smiled. "I thought if the US Navy would 
bother to send their two top lawyers to handle the prosecution and if, 
in 
addition to that, the Judge Advocate General himself would bother to 
join 
the crowd on the diplomatic parquet, the Italians should get some hint 
that 
we do in fact honor their traditions and take this matter seriously. 
Besides, but keep this off-record, please, I do happen to have a 
daughter in 
Italy..."

Harm and Mac exchanged another smile. "Well, sir, see you at the 
airport, I 
guess." Harm began to look forward to their upcoming journey.

AJ stood. His officers hurriedly did the same and came to attention 
again. 
"Go home and pack your things. Fortunately Commanders Turner and 
Mattoni 
don't have too heavy caseloads. They will take what I had planned to 
assign 
to you. Ah, one more detail. The social events I was talking about 
include a 
costume ball. Francesca promised to procure us the suitable costumes. 
It's 
carnival season in Venice. See you at Dulles at..." AJ once again fixed 
his 
glance sharply on Harm, "1900 sharp. You too, Commander, do I make 
myself 
clear?" he thundered.

Harm swallowed and kept his eyes straight in front. "Yes, sir!"

"Dismissed."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm and Mac chorused, turned and left the office.

Outside Harm took a heavy breath. "Boy, that was close," he muttered.

Mac crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Isn't it always?" she 
asked 
with a cocky smile.

Harm frowned and judged it wise to pass over her comment as they went 
to 
their offices.

"Can I pick you up for the airport?" he asked instead.

Mac turned and smiled. "I suppose even you won't be late two times 
within 
twelve hours, right? Expecting you at 1815, Commander. And don't forget 
your 
mask."

"Mask? Didn't the admiral say that Francesca would see to our 
costumes?"

"Sure. But I thought that in the unlikely event of your being late 
again you 
might want to go incognito..." Mac grinned widely. Harm decided she was 
enjoying herself way too much.

"Wait till you're late yourself once, jarhead," he snapped back, half 
joking, half hurt. "I know it might not be for a very long time. But it 
will 
happen. And I swear I'm gonna be there to see it."



2317 ZULU
Mac's apartment
Georgetown, D.C.



"Two minutes and seventeen seconds, squid." Mac raised her eyebrows in 
mocking disapproval. "But you're improving. You had seven minutes and 
thirty-one this morning."

Harm bit back his reply as he slammed the door of his SUV shut and 
walked 
over to where his partner was standing on the sidewalk. He was starting 
to 
get angry about her steady allusions but what was making him angrier 
still, 
was that he knew that she was right. "Got your society outfit 
together?" he 
said, referring to her unusually big suitcase and trying to flash her 
one of 
his famous smiles. It ended up more a strained frown. 'Damn,' he 
thought, 
'Am I about to lose the very last weapon that ever worked on this 
lady?'

Mac sensed that though he knew she was right, Harm was vexed by her 
comment. 
She resolved to spare him any further teasing for the present. Venice 
could 
turn out to be a nice trip, for a change. She was secretly excited at 
the 
prospect of being in the world's most romantic city, at her side the 
one man 
she had ever truly loved in her life. Although she knew that he would 
probably never return her feelings, she sure didn't want to spoil those 
days 
with him. So she smiled at him and replied to his question: "Yes, 
although I 
must admit it was a bit of work to pick out the right things. Besides 
the 
uniform I had to pack something warm, something not so warm - we're 
going to 
Italy, after all, you know - something casual, something for grand 
receptions, something for not so big but yet official occasions, 
something 
for..."

"O.k., I see. Stop it!" Harm was laughing now, his earlier gruffness 
seemingly forgotten. Mac felt more relief than she would let show on 
her 
face.

"Let's say that I won't make you blush for my appearance, sailor," she 
laughed.

He stopped and for a moment silently looked at her. "You would never, 
Mac," 
he said quietly.
Feeling herself blush and unable to bear the intense scrutiny of his 
eyes 
Mac looked down, smiling shyly, and silently got into the car.

Harm loaded her luggage into the rear of the SUV, got in beside her and 
they 
headed for Dulles. "Lots of comfortable shoes, I suppose?" he asked to 
ease 
the slight tension that was palpable between them.

"You bet." She said with a grin and fell silent again. 'A good career, 
a 
nice man and lots of comfortable shoes' - well, certainly two out of 
three 
was a good thing, but she still sighed with the realization that her 
nice 
man was sitting next to her, yet far out of her reach as long as he 
wouldn't 
resolve to finally let his guard down and let go. As he had pointed out 
to 
her on the admiral's front porch on the day of her engagement party, 
losing 
control was lethal for a pilot. And Harm was too much of a pilot in his 
heart to make a difference between his professional and personal 
attitudes.

"What's up?" Harm's voice was concerned. Mac realized she must have 
sighed 
more heavily than she thought.

"Uhm, nothing really," she tried to come up with a plausible excuse. 
"Must 
be the fact that here we are again on our way to the airport. We 
weren't 
even home for 48 hours."

If Harm doubted her excuse he didn't allude to it. "Yeah. Pretty hard. 
Did 
you get to see Jingo?"

"I went to get him yesterday evening from my neighbor. I'm only 
grateful 
that she just loves him and didn't object to taking him again when I 
asked 
her today. Poor old dog. At least he got to sleep on my bed yesterday 
night."

Harm grinned at her comment. But inwardly he was surprised to feel a 
slight 
touch of jealousy towards his four-legged friend. Jingo could do 
whatever he 
wanted and still always ended up on Mac's blanket. After all things 
that he 
himself had screwed up between him and Mac in the course of the last 
three 
years, Harm was sure he would never even get near to holding her in his 
arms 
at night, feeling the softness of her skin, taking in her scent, 
loving... 
'Get a grip, Hammer!' he scolded himself angrily as he had to step on 
the 
brakes to avoid colliding with the car in front of him that had 
suddenly 
slowed down while he had been swept away by his fantasies.

Mac jumped and looked at him with upraised eyebrows. "Should we eject, 
flyboy?"

Harm's glance softened somewhat at her remark. "Sorry." He smiled a 
little 
sheepishly.
They rode on in their awkward silence until they arrived at Dulles, 
both 
trying to focus on anything but their partners.



2358 ZULU
Dulles International Airport
Washington, D.C.



Admiral Chegwidden checked his watch and smiled a barely noticeable 
smile. 
His officers had two minutes to show up - otherwise he would show off a 
little, at least in front of the commander. If they were late AJ knew 
it 
wouldn't be Mac's fault. Detecting a movement at the far end of the 
corridor 
that led to the gate, AJ looked up and grinned broadly. A tall figure, 
clad 
in navy blue, carrying a bag and a suitcase and trying to keep his 
white 
cover tugged under his arm, and a somewhat shorter, slender figure, 
clad in 
Marine green, carrying a couple of bags and a board case, came running 
towards him. From the expression on the colonel's face when they came 
nearer 
AJ could see that he had been right. Mac seemed to be fuming.

"Reporting... as... ordered... sir!" Harm gasped, coming to attention 
as did 
Mac.

"At ease, Colonel, Commander. Rabb, you are on time. Colonel's 
influence?" 
AJ smirked, winking at Mac whose expression softened.

"On the way the commander remembered that he had to get some things 
from the 
drugstore, sir. We had to stop. Beg your pardon, sir," Mac said, 
obviously 
not fully succeeding to calm herself about Harm's lack not only of 
timing, 
but also of organization.

"Overlooked for the moment. As I said, you're still on time. So, what 
do you 
say, 'andiamo, ragazzi?'" the admiral smiled nonchalantly and made a 
wide 
gesture towards the check-in desk.

Mac gave Harm a half-forgiving smile and took the lead to the counter. 
Harm, 
grinning, shook his head at his irritable Marine and followed her. AJ 
silently resolved to be on his guard to save his officers from one 
another's 
temperaments once again.


Finally they were all settled on board their Boeing 777 to Frankfurt, 
Germany. Harm tried to extend his legs best as he could without 
blocking the 
aisle. AJ did the same on the other side. Next to Harm, Mac had already 
cuddled up into what seemed to Harm an impossible position to endure, 
but 
she appeared to be comfortable. Take-off was delayed by only ten 
minutes and 
around 2100 ROMEO - 0300 ALPHA according to their destination - they 
found 
themselves eating their dinner and trying to decide whether to watch a 
movie 
or go to sleep. AJ was the first to doze off.

"Cute, isn't he?" Mac whispered, leaning over to Harm and motioning 
towards 
the admiral who slept with his mouth half open.

Harm grinned back. "Yeah. Don't know why I was ever afraid of SEALS," 
he 
retorted in a low voice.

Mac playfully slapped him on the arm. "Don't get your nose up too high. 
I 
saw you today..."

As Harm only lowered his eyes with a faked guilty look, she chuckled 
happily. "Got you. Big time, squid!" Then she, in vain, tried to stifle 
another yawn.

"Get some sleep, Marine," Harm softly suggested, gently tucking her in 
with 
the airline blanket. Mac closed her eyes and sighed contently. It felt 
so 
good to be taken care of by Harmon Rabb.

"Good night, flyboy," she murmured, already half asleep.

"Good night, Mac," Harm answered. He was trying to find a sleeping 
position 
as well when he started as he felt her stirring, shifting and finally, 
smiling peacefully in her sleep, cuddling up against his side. 
Carefully he 
slid an arm behind her neck and made her head rest against his cheek, 
deciding that there was no better resting position to be found than 
holding 
Sarah Mackenzie close to him. He watched her for some moments, then 
gently 
brushed a strand of hair from her nose and then, on impulse, softly 
kissed 
her on the forehead.

"Sweet dreams, Marine," he whispered, smiling, and closed his eyes.



0847 ZULU
United Airlines Flight 978
Somewhere above the Irish west coast



Admiral Chegwidden stretched his arms and legs and shaded his eyes 
against 
the bright sunlight flooding the cabin. Looking over to his 
subordinates he 
couldn't fight a smile at what he saw. Rabb was holding Mac encircled 
in his 
arms. A blanket covered them up to their waistlines and another was 
spread 
over Mac's upper body. The arm rest between them had been put up so 
that she 
could lean over to him without encountering any obstacles. She was 
resting 
across his broad chest, slightly smiling as if in a sweet dream. Harm's 
chin 
rested on her head, his even breathing making some strands of her dark 
brown 
hair move. AJ decided he would spare them the embarrassment of knowing 
that 
he had seen them like this. True, location didn't change who they were. 
But 
he was also their friend, not only their CO. And as their friend he 
would 
let them stay like they were as long as they liked, while he pretended 
to be 
sleeping himself and thus spared them the need to make excuses for 
conduct 
unbecoming officers.



1356 ZULU
Marco Polo Airport
Venice, Italy



"Admiral Chegwidden, sir?" AJ, Mac and Harm had barely exited the 
terminal 
when they heard the voice. They stopped in their tracks and looked 
around. 
Then Mac spotted a young Italian navy officer approaching and made Harm 
and 
AJ turn in the right direction. The young man, with a shy smile, came 
to 
attention before them.

"Admiral, ma'am, sir, I am Sottotenente di Vascello, uhm, that is, 
Lieutenant j.g. Federico Prumetti, Venice Port Authority liaisons 
officer. I 
am supposed to pick you up and accompany you to the Arsenale."

The three American officers greeted the young lieutenant in return. "At 
ease," AJ motioned. The young man relaxed visibly, never lacking the 
appearance of an officer and gentleman, though.

'He is so cute,' Mac thought, smiling. 'He clearly has high principles 
about 
what an officer should be like, but his shyness obviously threatens to 
get 
in the way, making him a little stiff. He could use some of Harm's 
flyboy 
attitude..."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Just out of curiosity, where did you learn 
English?" 
AJ was really curious to hear that one. Heck, Prumetti sounded as if he 
had 
come straight from the Scottish highlands.

"My mother is from Edinburgh, sir," Prumetti smiled, the slightest 
trace of 
pride shimmering through his formal sentence. "Her maiden name was 
MacKenna," he added with a quick smiling side-glance at Mac.

'O.k., I take it back that he still needs advice on being charming.' 
Mac bit 
her lip not to smile too broadly. 'He just pulls it off the other way 
round. 
If I were a girl in my early twenties...' She acknowledged that even 
physically Harm and Prumetti weren't too far from one another. Harm was 
a 
few inches taller, though, and Prumetti had slightly darker eyes, but 
they 
sure shared the weapon of a lady-killer smile.

"Oh, I see," AJ said. "And I understand you are aware of who my 
officers 
are. Nevertheless," he smiled, "Just to stick to rules of society: meet 
Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie and Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., my 
top 
lawyers with the Judge Advocate General Corps."

"Ma'am, sir..." Prumetti slightly bowed.

Harm grinned. This guy seemed to be just fine, a little stiff maybe, 
but 
sure nice. "Nice to meet you, Lieutenant."

"Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant", Mac echoed, smiling.

Prumetti suddenly seemed to remember what he had come for. "Uh... this 
way, 
if you please, ma'am, sirs," he said, taking Mac's luggage and heading 
straight to a small docking facility. Harm and AJ exchanged a look of 
'here's someone who definitely studied behavior' and followed Mac who 
had 
caught up with the lieutenant. A motorboat was waiting for them. They 
stepped on board and left for the lagoon city.


Foamy waves were splashing high on both sides of their boat as the 
driver, a 
middle-aged enlisted, drove at what they thought must be forbidden 
speed. 
Wooden poles marked the waterway. Harm and Mac were standing in the 
back of 
the boat, enjoying the fresh air and the view of the old city they were 
approaching. The admiral had preferred to stay in the cabin as he was 
trying 
to change the frequency his cell-phone was working on, in order to 
adjust it 
to Italian standard and then call Francesca.

"This is so great," Mac shouted over the sounds of the roaring motor 
and the 
splashing waves.

"Feels like being to some oversized museum," Harm shouted back.

"In former times the Venetians used to take away the wooden poles when 
enemies tried to attack them from the water," Prumetti explained as he 
joined them outside. "So the ships would run ashore on the lagoon mud 
and 
become an easy prey."

Harm raised an eyebrow. "That's mean. But then, didn't the Venetians 
have 
trouble getting their own ships out with the poles gone?"

"No, sir," Prumetti shouted and grinned, "Venetians know the tides and 
the 
hidden waterways. We grow up with them, we don't need markings." The 
pride 
in his voice was palpable.

"I see," Mac smiled. "So you are half Scottish and half Venetian?"

"Yes, ma'am."

They entered a small canal and slowed down. The sun had come out and 
found 
its rays reflected in the windows of the century-old houses that, 
without 
any walkways, emerged from the water on both sides of the canal.

"We are at high-tide, sir," Prumetti said. "If you would please watch 
your 
heads."

Harm had been watching out to the back and, turning, made it right in 
time 
to duck as they were crossing under a small bridge. He silently 
resolved to 
keep looking in front from now on. Suddenly the canal opened and gave 
way to 
a sight that left them breathless. They had reached the inner basin. To 
their right, Prumetti explained to them, they saw the Piazzetta, a 
square 
that led up to St. Mark's place. And in fact, through the gap between 
the 
two huge columns that respectively bore the Lion of Venice and St. 
George 
with the Dragon, they spotted the huge cathedral. Innumerable groups of 
tourists were streaming to and fro, and the embankment with moored 
gondolas 
and souvenir vendors looked as if it were ripped right from a movie 
set. Mac 
and Harm stared in awe. AJ who had already seen this, having once been 
married to an Italian, enjoyed watching his protégés.

They went on parallel to the shore. Prumetti pointed out the Palazzo 
Ducale 
to them, where the rulers of the Venetian republic had resided, and the 
ancient prison, the dreaded Chambers of Lead that lay just on the other 
side 
of the palace separated from it by a small canal.

"You can count those on one hand who ever escaped from under the leaded 
roofs, ma'am, sirs," Prumetti explained. "But if you would like to know 
any 
particulars, just read the memoirs of Casanova. He managed."

Casanova. Mac had slightly different thoughts at the sound of the name. 
'So 
he wrote his memoirs, did he? Now wouldn't that be exactly the kind of 
literature to read on a trip to Venice with a gorgeous man at your 
side,' 
she asked herself, resolving to look for the book and trying to refrain 
from 
smiling.

Prumetti indicated the covered bridge that, at the height of what Harm 
estimated to be the second floor, connected the palace to the prison. 
"It's 
called the Bridge of Sighs," Prumetti went on. "Because people who were 
led 
that way knew they'd probably never see the light again and so they 
sighed." 
Harm shuddered at the thought. 'The concept of jurisprudence in those 
days...' he mused.

"Nowadays the bridge is very popular with the tourists," Prumetti added 
with 
a wink and a smile.

"How's that?" Mac asked, once again wondering about how perverse 
people's 
likings could get.

"Because they say that when two true lovers kiss while they pass under 
it, 
their love will never die and they shall be united in eternity."

Eternity. There was the dreaded word again. Harm felt himself cringing 
inwardly as he always did when this word that he had come to hate 
seemed to 
pop up from nowhere to catch him off-guard and remind him over and over 
again of the biggest mistake he had ever made in his life. And, as he 
realized with growing horror, here again the word was connected to a 
bridge, 
like it had been back in Sydney. And once again he and Mac were on 
another 
continent.

'Location doesn't change who we are,' he heard himself say to her in 
his 
memories. He remembered the look of utmost hurt and vulnerability that 
shone 
in her huge dark eyes. Still, three years and too many experiences 
later, it 
felt like a dagger in his heart. He knew it would haunt him until the 
end of 
his days.

He had pushed her away when she had had the courage to bare her soul to 
him. 
He hadn't wanted to deny his feelings but he had been scared like hell 
of 
being so close to her. Harm had long since given up counting how many 
times 
he had afterwards tried to think of another way how he could have 
reacted. A 
way that would have united him with her like he had longed to be even 
back 
then. A way that wouldn't have pushed her into the arms of Mic Brumby, 
sparing both of them the pain of her yearlong engagement. It all came 
to 
nothing in the end. But he couldn't undo the past.

Subconsciously Harm turned his gaze in Mac's direction and found her 
watching him. Had her thoughts been wandering the same paths as his 
had? 
'Mac, my mind is an open book before you. I can offer no excuses for my 
cowardice. I only hope that some day I will be able to make it up to 
you. 
You may be past your feelings for me but I want you to know that I am 
not. 
And I am still working up the courage to tell you some day.'

Harm didn't think Mac could have got any hint of the meaning he had - 
not 
entirely of his own will - put into his glance. But then he suddenly 
saw 
something in her huge brown eyes. A something that he wasn't quite able 
to 
define. Understanding? Hope? Forgiveness? And for a fraction of a 
second he 
was sure she could see that he had detected it.

Harm averted his stare, unable to maintain the intense eye contact. But 
in 
the back of his mind a thought began to form. A thought that he felt 
might 
ease his pain. 'Maybe,' the little voice was saying, 'Maybe you need 
another 
bridge, another eternity, to undo the wrong and do right this time. 
Maybe 
this is your second chance.' All of a sudden feeling a totally 
unreasonable 
inclination to let his rising tears flow, but fighting it down, Harmon 
Rabb, 
Jr. resolved to seize the opportunity. On one of the following days, he 
would correct his terrible mistake. And he felt like thanking God on 
his 
knees for the realization. He would have, had he been alone.



1538 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice



Mac was getting angry. There was only one receptionist and he had been 
on 
the phone ever since they had arrived at the small hotel where they 
were 
supposed to stay during their investigation. The guy, a short, stout, 
balding middle-aged man with a black moustache, kept shouting into the 
receiver and didn't seem bothered in the slightest to get back to work. 
Every time Prumetti tried to approach him, he waved impatiently and 
threw 
him some kind of remark.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am, sirs," the young lieutenant apologized, 
shrugging, 
"But Sergio has never shown much respect to the military, mainly 
because his 
brother is a colonel in the army. But with the carnival season we were 
lucky 
to even get hotel rooms for you, so Admiral Della Rosa decided we would 
have 
to put up with it." He looked around. "I know it's small and 
Sergio's... 
well... particular, but we didn't want to host you inside the 
Arsenale."

So they continued waiting for Sergio to finish his call. After ten 
minutes, 
his agitated voice was beginning to get on Mac's nerves. She suppressed 
a 
sigh and a frown and went over to the window.

Their hotel - to call it thus was highly exaggerated - was situated in 
a 
small street at the end of which opened the plaza in front of the 
Arsenale. 
Mac had been very much impressed by this intimidating brick complex 
with two 
castle-like towers crowning the bridge near the main entrance. Venice's 
Navy 
headquarters - in former times it had been a huge warehouse, stuffed 
with 
supplies of all kinds for the population of the city. But since Venice 
had 
been part of the Austrian Empire and the Austrians, in the 19th 
century, had 
built the railway bridge that connected the lagoon city with the 
mainland, 
the Arsenale had lost its importance, especially since, in the 1930s, a 
motorway bridge had been constructed as well. Mac wondered what the 
enormous 
building looked like inside. Well, she would soon find out as they were 
supposed to meet the commanding officer later on. At the moment, Mac 
only 
longed for a shower.

Finally the receptionist put the receiver on the cradle and, smiling 
broadly, called out to them.
"Ixxcuse me, signori, 'dis was so importanta I 'ad to feenish 'de 
converationna."

[Author's note: The Italian accent in English tends to pronounce very 
heavily every terminating consonant. That is why people put an 'a' at 
the 
end of the word, to render the tendency when laying down accented 
speech in 
writing. So just read normally and think of an audible ending when you 
find 
an 'a'-word. Excuse me, folks, that's the linguist in me speaking...]

'Sure, tell me about it,' Harm thought, frowning. He lifted himself 
from a 
tiny baroque armchair he had been crouched into and, together with the 
others, went over to the reception desk.

"My name ees Sergio Bartolini," the man introduced himself, still 
smiling - 
especially in Mac's direction, Harm noted and deepened his frown. His 
protective (and possessive?) instincts instantly came to life and he 
put his 
hand on the small of Mac's back, without noticing that he did. Mac 
inwardly 
jumped but maintained her professional composure. Only her smile let 
something of her reaction to Harm's surprising gesture show: it 
deepened 
from 'business style' to 'heartfelt'.

"Letta me welcome you to Venezia," Sergio went on, watching with 
interest 
Harm's little display of jealousy. "Ammiraglio;" he then addressed AJ, 
seemingly recognizing their rank insignia, "I was tolda 'datta you 
would 
needa 'dree rooms, but obviously eet'sa only a single one forr you and 
a 
double one forr your officers. I weell immediately correcta 'de 
mistaka." He 
bent down and opened his reservation book when Harm woke from the shock 
Sergio's little speech had thrown him into. He at once removed his hand 
from 
Mac's back and cleared his throat.

"Uhm, uh, thank you, but that's not necessary. Your information was 
correct." He gave the receptionist a smile that failed to hide his 
embarrassment. Prumetti saved him by stepping forward, giving Sergio 
all the 
names and facts and negotiating the remaining bureaucracy in rapid 
Italian. 
They were then given their keys and, having made an appointment with 
Prumetti in front of the Arsenale at 1800, headed to their rooms. 
Sergio 
watched as they walked up the stairway, wondering why Comandante Rabb, 
who 
would be judged good-looking and charming even by sophisticated Italian 
standards, obviously didn't know how to act on his 'amore' for 
Colonello 
Mackenzie. He would have to teach them some details of 'dolce vita'.



1657 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice



Harm grabbed his coat and cover, left his room, slammed the door shut 
and 
locked it. Taking two steps at a time, he hurried down the stairs and 
reached the small entrance hall. No Mac, no AJ. Damn that jetlag. But 
he had 
felt that he needed a little relaxing after his shower, so he had lain 
down 
for some minutes and then he had fallen asleep. He was thanking God 
again, 
this time for at least letting him wake up before their meeting time, 
not 
after. Slipping into his coat while leaving the hotel in a run, Harm 
prayed 
he would be able to catch up with Mac and AJ before they met Prumetti. 
Sergio watched him leaving in silent amusement.

Harm ran down the lane to the Arsenale at full speed, spotting his 
colleagues walking a little ahead. In his eagerness to reach them Harm 
didn't notice people turning their heads in amazement at the navy 
officer 
that whooshed past them in a very un-officer-like manner. Finally Harm 
had 
caught up with Mac and AJ and slowed down, panting.

"I'm sorry, sir..." he started but AJ interrupted him.

"Traffic, Commander?" He raised his eyebrows. From Mac's direction Harm 
heard something that sounded like a suppressed snort.

"No, sir, jetlag. Let me add that I am fully aware of my conduct not 
being 
appropriate for an officer of the United States Navy and that I am 
willing 
to face the consequences, sir," Harm stated, coming to attention in the 
middle of the street. He sincerely hoped it helped. Mac quickly pulled 
out 
her handkerchief, turned and started to excessively cough and blow her 
nose. 
AJ wished he could do the same but as the situation was, he, with every 
bit 
of effort he could master, maintained his stern countenance.

"Postponed until later. At ease, Commander," he said quickly and added 
in a 
sharp hiss, "And don't pull off any stunts like this again, or do you 
want 
to ridicule us before all Italy?" His glare could have killed.

Harm gulped. "No, sir."

"Good. Let's go to work then. And, Commander, I heard they have many 
clockmakers around here. Go and get yourself an alarm-clock. That's an 
order."

"Yes, sir." Another snort from Mac. 'Someday, Marine, some glorious, 
singular day...' Harm silently swore.


They met with Prumetti who guided them inside the Arsenale. Mac was 
disappointed. From the inside it looked more like some office building, 
not 
like the castle she had imagined. They stopped in front of the CO's 
office. 
'Amm. Div. Salvatore Della Rosa' Harm read at the door. While they 
waited 
for admission Harm summoned Prumetti to step closer. "What's 'Amm. 
Div.', 
please, Lieutenant?" he asked in a low voice.

"Ammiraglio di Divisione, that would be...," Prumetti studied the 
ceiling, 
silently counting and calculating ranks, "Rear Admiral Upper Half, 
sir."

So Della Rosa and AJ didn't outrank one another. This fact could 
facilitate 
matters with their investigation quite a bit, especially as this case 
was 
considered diplomatically tricky. Harm was relieved.

A petty officer bid them come in and in a very court-like manner 
announced 
their names. "L'Ammiraglio di Divisione Alberrta Chegwidddden, Judge 
Avocaita General della Marina degli Stati Uniti," [A.N.: The United 
States 
Navy's JAG] he announced. AJ cringed slightly at the P.O.'s 
pronunciation. 
Harm and Mac exchanged an amused wink. "...il Capitano di Fregata 
'Armon 
Rrubb," the P.O. went on. Mac's mouth twitched. 'Wait till he gets to 
you, 
jarhead,' Harm frowned. "...e il Tenente Colonello Sarah Mackenzie." 
Mac, 
having greeted, gave Harm a quick glance of 'Ha, ha...' that left him 
fuming. There was no justice in the world. Why did Mac, from whatever 
situation, always come out without the slightest spot on her blouse? 
'Some 
glorious day, Marine...' The words kept turning in Harm's mind.

"Admiral Chegwidden, Colonel Mackenzie, Commander Rabb, I am pleased to 
meet 
you," Della Rosa greeted them warmly. He was a distinguished man, 
slightly 
shorter than Mac and a little stout, but he must have been very 
handsome 
some years ago. His uniform fit perfectly, and his manners and way of 
moving 
were of the same school as they had seen with Prumetti, a little 
pompous and 
old-fashioned maybe, but agreeable to deal with and certainly fitting 
the 
known image of an Italian gentleman. His slight accent only added to 
his 
credit.

"Likewise, Admiral," AJ answered.

They shook hands and Della Rosa bade them sit down. "Would you mind if 
Lieutenant Prumetti stayed while we discuss the case?" Della Rosa 
asked. "I 
feel more at ease having a native speaker at my side to negotiate the 
difficult parts," he added, smiling.

"Absolutely no objection, Admiral," AJ retorted, "Although I doubt you 
would 
need help."

"Thank you very much," Della Rosa smiled. "Si accomodi, Tenente," he 
then 
addressed the young lieutenant. [A.N.: Sit down, Lieutenant.]

"Sì, Ammiraglio." Prumetti pulled up a fourth chair and sat down next 
to 
Harm.

Della Rosa's face sobered. "This is a very ugly affair, Admiral," he 
began, 
referring to the theft of the gondola. "It has caused quite a bit of a 
bad 
echo with the media. You have to know that, given the direction in 
which 
Italian society keeps changing, preserving traditions isn't too popular 
any 
more with many people. When we had our gondola built, many were saying 
it 
was just another reactionary and over-conservative act by a reactionary 
and 
old-fashioned navy that was unfit for the challenges of today's world. 
You 
would hear that using a gondola for representative occasions would 
expose 
the military to ridicule. Or people were arguing that this was just 
another 
way of throwing away taxes, firstly by purchasing this rather expensive 
but 
little efficient vehicle and secondly by having to instruct seamen to 
row it 
- that's a very special technique, you know - and then to pay them for 
doing 
nothing but that. So, at first, we faced quite a bit of opposition with 
our 
tradition-keeping. But then, gradually, people began to understand that 
the 
gondola and my using it for official purposes created a very special 
image 
abroad.

What do non-Italians - and many Italians as well - first think of when 
they 
hear of Venice? Mostly gondolas, isn't it? And the gondola itself is 
kind of 
a symbol for the century-long and glorious history of the ancient 
Repubblica 
Serenissima di Venezia. Which, by the way, is what attracts most of 
Venice's 
tourists. So the general image of what we achieved by holding to 
Venice's 
traditions was reported to me like this: People respected and valued 
the way 
we live our history, and the impression we made on such occasions added 
much 
to the esteem the navy always had in our country but seems to lose with 
the 
recent changes in society. In short, public opinion reluctantly changed 
from 
- excuse me if I put it rather drastically - 'What the hell do those 
sailors 
think they're doing?' to 'At least the navy is showing people how to 
honor 
tradition.'" Della Rosa sighed. "Your two young men have managed to 
destroy 
this change of opinion overnight. You can imagine what we went through 
when 
word of it leaked out to the press."

He opened a drawer and handed the JAG officers a folder with some 
newspaper 
articles on the theft. Harm, with his basic knowledge of Spanish, was 
able 
to make out the sense of some of the headlines. 'Drunk Americans open 
navy's 
eyes' he read, or 'Navy, return to your real ships', or 'American 
sailors 
ridicule Venice Port Authority'. This was a highly embarrassing matter 
to 
the U.S. Navy, he felt, and he was glad the Admiral himself had 
insisted on 
going to settle the affair.

"We do see your point, sir," Mac said, "And I am sure I can speak for 
my 
colleagues if I say that we are deeply ashamed of the embarrassing 
conduct 
of two of our personnel and we guarantee that they shall face the 
proper 
consequences." She gave the Italian admiral one of her sincerest 
smiles, 
those reserved for very special occasions. Harm caught himself wishing 
he 
were the one sitting on the other side of the desk. Did she know how 
beautiful she was? 'Focus on the case, Hammer,' he scolded himself 
immediately.

"Where are the suspects now, sir?" he asked, banishing Mac's smile from 
his 
thoughts.

"In custody. The Cole had to leave Venice so the CAG agreed to let them 
be 
kept at the Arsenale, hearing that you were due to arrive a few hours 
later," Della Rosa explained.

"Did they see their lawyers?" AJ asked, knowing the formal question 
could 
sound like an insult. Della Rosa didn't seem in the least offended.

"Of course. The Mediterranean JAG office sent... excuse me," he 
searched his 
file, "Lieutenant Terence Baxter and Lieutenant, j.g. Carrie Johnson. 
They 
returned to the office to report the case and then you were sent over 
here. 
We were informed that the prisoners both made a thorough confession, so 
we 
expect the case to be quick to handle. Lieutenants Baxter and Johnson 
will 
be back to Venice tomorrow evening. And I wanted to thank you in 
person, 
Admiral, Colonel, Commander, that you chose to come. This should be 
enough 
evidence even to the densest of journalists that our NATO partners 
appreciate traditions being kept and valued just as we do."

"It was the least we could do, sir," Harm replied. "Could we talk to 
them?"

"Of course, Commander. The lieutenant will take you to them." Della 
Rosa 
rose, as did the other officers. "I hope I'll see you at tomorrow's 
reception of the diplomatic corps of Venice," he said, extending his 
hand to 
AJ. "We have to offer the press an occasion to get to know you're here, 
don't we?" he added.

AJ shook hands with him and confirmed that they would be there. 'Good 
one, 
this one,' he thought. 'No beating around the bush, no 
over-sensitivities, 
no offense taken but no compromise, either. Would have made a good 
SEAL.'

They took their leave and AJ excused himself from his officers. He had 
to 
get back to the hotel because he was supposed to call Francesca at 
1900.


Prumetti led Mac and Harm to where P.O. Merriner and Seaman Quinn were 
being 
held.
"You can go in, ma'am, sir. I'll see to it that you get permanent 
visitors' 
badges and free access to the prisoners at no matter what time," the 
lieutenant said as they stood in front of the cell door.

"We'd appreciate that very much, Lieutenant," Mac said.

"May I suggest something to you, ma'am, sir?" Prumetti ventured, 
seeming a 
little unsure if to go on or not.

"Go ahead," Harm answered good-naturedly.

"Ma'am, sir, I think I understood you have never been to Venice before 
and I 
was thinking if you, and of course Admiral Chegwidden if he is inclined 
to, 
would like to go to dinner with me and my fiancée tonight. We could 
take you 
to a typical Venetian place, in order to prevent you from ending up in 
one 
of those tourist traps that pull your money out of your pockets and 
serve 
only third-class food." The slight stiffness had returned to Prumetti's 
attitude, clear indication that he was feeling uneasy.

Mac instantly relieved him from his inward tension. "We would love to," 
she 
answered with a huge smile, "Wouldn't we, Harm?"

"Sure," Harm agreed. "Thanks for your offer, Lieutenant. You have to 
know," 
he added, grinning, lowering his voice a little bit, but still keeping 
it 
loud enough for Mac to hear, "Feeding a hungry United States Marine is 
quite 
a mission. I could use any help I can get."

"Jerk!" was the hissed reply he got. It made all three of them laugh.

"I see, sir," Prumetti said. "I suggest we meet at 2000 right in front 
of 
the main entrance to St. Mark's Basilica. Every Venice-freshman is able 
to 
find it."

"You just got yourself an appointment. Till 2000 then," Mac replied, 
still 
chuckling. "And the food better be good, or you and you, too, squid, 
will 
learn not to trifle with a big bad Marine."

"Aye, ma'am," Harm and Prumetti chorused, the lieutenant not intending 
to 
joke, though. At seeing Harm snap to attention as well, Prumetti lost 
his 
guard for a moment and looked from one JAG officer to the other in 
confusion. Then he came to attention again. "I'm sorry, ma'am, sir!"

Mac and Harm laughed sympathetically at the poor young man's 
embarrassment. 
It must be hard to deal with their unorthodox behavior to one another.

"See you at St. Mark's, Lieutenant," Harm said, grinning, and saluted 
back 
as did Mac.

"Aye, ma'am, sir!" Prumetti turned and went away, his shoulders 
relaxing 
when he was a little farther off.

"He must find us scary," Mac said in a low voice. "Let's try to make a 
more 
serious impression tonight, sailor."

"You're on, Mac. Just, please, don't eat strange things tonight or I 
might 
find it hard to play cool."

Mac just rolled her eyes heavenward and opened the door to meet the 
prisoners.


Petty Officer Second Class Alan Merriner and Seaman Paul Quinn were 
playing 
poker when Harm and Mac entered. They instantly dropped their cards and 
came 
to attention.

"At ease," Harm said, "I'm Cmdr. Rabb from the JAG and this is my 
partner 
Col. Mackenzie. We'll handle the prosecution of this case. Sit down, 
please." The foursome gathered around the small table.

"I heard you met the defense counselors?" The young men nodded. "Good. 
Let 
me be straightforward with you," Harm went on, "What the hell were you 
thinking to pull off a stunt like that?" At this he felt Mac's hand 
exercising some gentle pressure on his thigh, as if to say 'Easy, 
sailor.'

"I guess we weren't thinking at all, sir," Merriner admitted with a 
rueful 
grin. "We had met some guys who knew English in a bar near the 
Piazzetta. As 
you may have noticed, sir, it's carnival and people tend to dress up in 
rather funny ways. Well, so were those guys, dressed up with masks and 
dominos, and we started to make comments on their costumes and that we 
would 
like to get some, too, you know, to be real Venetians. They said, being 
Venetian started with having Venetian drinks and that we had to try 
quite a 
lot of stuff. After... I don't know how long, we were pretty much 
clouded in 
our minds, sir. I only remember that they said you couldn't be Venetian 
without knowing the city.

So we took quite a long walk, but I don't remember very well where we 
went. 
After some time they stopped and said that you had to know how to row a 
gondola to be Venetian. And they were boasting how difficult that was 
and 
how no one could learn it by doing. I guess they were pretty much 
drunk, 
too. Anyway, at a certain point I said that I had always learned 
everything 
by doing. It isn't true, sir, of course, but their cool remarks were 
getting 
on my nerves. So I said of course I could row a gondola without their 
help. 
And they told me to prove it. We were in front of a huge building and 
there 
was a gondola on the canal in front of it. Inside seemed to be many 
people 
but outside there were few.

So Paul and I got onto the boat and began to row. Paul took the front 
row 
and I the one in the back. I fell into the canal twice because, being 
drunk, 
I wasn't very good at anticipating the movements. But the water cleared 
my 
head a little and then I managed. We went on the Grand Canal for quite 
a bit 
because we had difficulties to maneuver. Eventually we were getting 
better 
and decided to try one of the smaller canals. But then we 
underestimated the 
size of the boat. Suddenly we were stuck. And the alcohol still made us 
drowsy. So we just lay down in the boat and decided to wait for the 
morning. 
And that's it, sir."

Harm and Mac had listened quietly. "Do you want to add anything, Seaman 
Quinn?" Harm asked.

Quinn shook his head, intimidated by their icy silence. "No, sir."

"Are you two aware that your behavior is embarrassing to the highest 
degree 
and is affecting the reputation not only of the USS Cole but of the 
whole 
U.S. Navy?" Mac asked, deadly calm.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Were you aware before the incident that alcohol can diminish your 
power of 
judgment?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Were you aware of the alcohol you consumed beginning to have a 
negative 
influence on you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you consider stopping to drink, then?"

"Yes, ma'am, we did but we..."

"But what, Petty Officer?" Mac interrupted him shouting. "Would it have 
been... impolite? Old-fashioned? Uncool? A threat to your self-esteem?" 
Mac 
had risen from her chair. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sent 
daggers. 
She was breathing heavily. The young men jumped to their feet, staring 
at 
her.

Until now Harm had been watching in silence but now he knew he had to 
step 
in. The conversation, by turning to the topic of alcohol and its 
negative 
influence on human judgment, was on dangerous territory. Harm knew that 
if 
there was one topic that Mac considered a zero-tolerance issue, it was 
misuse of alcohol and the consequences it could have - from disorderly 
behavior up to abuse of women and children. If he didn't cool the 
situation 
now Mac wouldn't be able to guarantee her actions. He, too, stood up 
and, 
willfully misunderstanding her behavior, in a gruff calmness said to 
his 
partner: "I think you did a good job intimidating them, Colonel. Now 
let's 
see if it worked." With this he casually put his hand on her shoulder, 
like 
she had earlier on his thigh, and hoped she understood that he was only 
trying to save her from herself.

Mac felt the reassuring warmth of Harm's hand on her shoulder and took 
a 
deep breath to calm down. She was embarrassed that she had lost 
control, 
especially before him, but she was also forever grateful that he had 
been 
there for her, helping her stay in line, rescuing her once again from 
the 
effects of her past and even offering her a way to step out of the mess 
that 
she had created by her uncontrolled interrogation. She put on a grim 
smile. 
"You're right, Commander. No need to exaggerate. Let's sit down again, 
all 
of us." With that she let Harm pull up her chair for her. Sitting down 
she 
turned and gave him a quick glance of sincere gratefulness. 'Thank 
you,' she 
mouthed. He acknowledged with only the hint of a grin.

"As the colonel has already pointed out to you," he then addressed the 
two 
young men who had visibly paled at Mac's outburst, "You have to be 
aware 
that your conduct will have consequences on your careers. We will pay 
attention in your favor to the fact that you cooperated with local 
authorities and confessed. All further details will have to be 
regulated 
between your lawyers and us. If you want to reach us for any reason, 
call me 
on my cell-phone." He handed his card to the petty officer. "That would 
be 
all for now."

Harm and Mac rose. The two young men sprung to their feet and came to 
attention. The JAG officers returned the stance and left the room.



1845 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice



Mac surveyed herself critically once again in the mirror. She had 
changed 
into black trousers and a simple white turtleneck and after having 
showered 
she felt much better than she had on the way home. Harm hadn't said a 
word 
about the incident and she was grateful for his understanding. But at 
the 
same time she could have beaten herself unconscious with rage that she 
still 
let her past affect her to such a dimension in simple situations like 
this. 
And that she had let this happen in front of Harm. She had seen nothing 
but 
compassion and understanding in his eyes, but she didn't want him to 
see her 
like that. Not that he hadn't already, but still... Mac sighed, 
corrected 
her lipstick and was putting on her coat when she heard a knock on her 
door.

"Mac, you ready?"

"Yeah, just a second," she called back.

"You're on time, squid," she remarked with a smirk when she opened her 
door. 
"And compliments for your choice of clothes."

Harm was wearing dark blue trousers and light blue shirt under a gray 
pullover. He looked... Italian, she decided.

"Same goes to you. Nice sweater." White became her, he observed.

"Thanks. Now that we've exchanged enough flatteries, can we go?" Mac 
locked 
her door.

"Lead the way, Colonel," Harm replied, zipping up his blue oilskin.

As they crossed the hall, Sergio greeted them. "I weesh you a pleasanta 
evening, Signorina, Comandante."

"Why does he call you Commander and me Miss?" Mac complained when they 
had 
left the hotel. "That's discrimination."

Harm shrugged. "I guess that's the Italian understanding of roles. At 
least 
with elder men."
Mac frowned.

Passing the Arsenale, they went down to the shore and followed it in 
the 
direction of the Piazzetta. Both were rather quiet but enjoyed walking 
side 
by side, watching the many people that were underway in the orange 
light of 
the street lanterns. As P.O. Merriner had observed, people were taking 
their 
evening walks in full costume. They saw dozens of richly ornamented and 
extravagant dominos, figures clad in black with masks shaped like huge 
beaks 
that wore spectacles and black hats, or just people in ordinary 
costumes you 
could find in any country. The atmosphere was light and joyful. Up and 
down 
Mac and Harm climbed the many bridges that they encountered on their 
way to 
St. Mark's, on top of each stopping for a moment to take a look at the 
canal 
that opened itself to their view between the houses.

They had almost reached the Piazzetta when they stopped on top of the 
last 
bridge separating them from St. Mark's. In the darkness they hadn't 
recognized the building they had come across, but looking at the canal 
they 
instantly knew that they were standing between the palace and the 
ancient 
prison. There was the Bridge of Sighs.

Harm immediately thought of the promise he had made to himself the day 
before, but he hadn't expected to be given the opportunity to act so 
soon. 
He looked at Mac who was thoughtfully watching him with her huge, kind 
eyes. 
He took a deep breath... He couldn't do it. Not yet. He didn't know 
how.

'I'm sorry, Mac,' his eyes tried to convey to hers. 'I can't. Not now. 
But 
I'm working on it, I promise.' And as if to stress his thoughts he held 
out 
his hand to her. "I think we'd better go. Shall we?" he asked softly.

Mac's brown eyes gave away the hint of a smile. She wasn't quite sure 
what 
exactly was going on inside her partner, but she sensed his struggle 
and 
wanted nothing more than to help him find a way through the rapids down 
to 
calm waters. And the best way of doing so, she knew, was to take up his 
timing, accept the way he acted and rejoice in the little gestures he 
was 
ready to offer. So she just put her hand in his and enjoyed the warmth, 
her 
smile now fully perceptible. "Yeah, let's go," she said gently, 
maintaining 
the eye contact until she found her own smile reflected on his 
features.

Still hand in hand, they reached the cathedral and found Prumetti 
waiting in 
front of the entrance, his arm around the shoulders of a slender young 
woman. As he saw them coming he started walking in their direction, 
smiling. 
The young woman followed.

"Ma'am, sir, good evening," he greeted. "May I introduce my fiancée to 
you? 
Claire Farnham from London."

"Good evening, ma'am, sir," she greeted, smiling shyly, unsure if to 
offer a 
handshake or not.

"Good evening, Ms. Farnham," Harm greeted politely, "Pleased to meet 
you."

"Call me Claire, please, sir," she replied.

"Okay," Harm said with a genuine flyboy grin. "And that's Harm to you, 
not 
sir. And also to you, Lieutenant, as long as we're off duty."

"Mac," Mac introduced herself to the young couple in the same simple 
way she 
had introduced herself to Harm in the Rose Garden, years ago, holding 
out 
her hand.

Prumetti answered likewise. "Fred," he said simply, shaking her hand.

"Isn't Fred a very un-Italian name?" Harm asked as the four of them 
slowly 
crossed the huge plaza that was crowded with tourists, many of them in 
full 
costume.

"My mother calls me that," Prumetti answered. "My given name is 
Federico, 
that's Italian for Frederick."

"So, Fred, where are you going to take us?" Mac asked, feeling her 
stomach 
growl deeply.

"I told you we were going to get something typical to try for you. So 
we'll 
be doing a tour of the so-called 'bàcari'. A bàcaro is a typical 
Venetian 
bar where you can choose little mouthfuls of typical stuff to eat and 
have a 
drink. When you're finished you go to the next one where they'll be 
offering 
other specialties and so on," Fred explained.

"Sounds like fun," Mac observed.

"It is," Claire replied with a smile, "Although you have to get used to 
some 
of the stuff."

Harm frowned. "Uhm... they do serve vegetables, right?"

Fred gave him an astonished glance but then decided not to ask. "Of 
course, 
sir... er... Harm." With that they entered the first bàcaro that Fred 
and 
Claire had picked out for their tour. It was crowded, but there didn't 
seem 
to be any tourists - and no costumes either.

"Don't Venetians dress up, too, for the carnival?" Mac asked, a little 
confused.

Fred grinned. "Nope. During the carnival we mostly stay inside our 
houses or 
leave the city. Too crowded. The guys in the costumes are tourists who 
tend 
to come every year and dress up in order to pose for other tourists. 
Vanities, you know."

"You're kidding!" Harm laughed.

"It's true," Claire acknowledged. "I went to university here for some 
time. 
And when I asked all my Venetian friends to go out with me in disguise, 
they 
would stare at me and laugh."

"But it's true that you should see the Venetian carnival once in a 
lifetime," Fred admitted. "It's really special, even though it sucks 
living 
with it every year." His dry observation made them all laugh even more.

A waiter approached them at the counter. "We should open the evening 
with a 
real Venetian aperitif. It's called 'spritz' and it's made of Campari, 
white 
whine and soda with a slice of orange," Claire suggested.

Mac smiled apologetically. "I don't drink but don't let that prevent 
you. 
I'll just take a San Pellegrino with a bit of lime or lemon."

Fred nodded, again not asking questions. 'Quite a gentleman,' Harm 
observed. 
He looked at Mac, unsure what to do. He normally didn't drink when she 
was 
around, but on the other hand he didn't want to be impolite towards 
Fred and 
Claire. She relieved him from his uneasiness.
"But I'm sure Harm would like to try that stuff, right?" she smiled 
encouragingly.

Harm grinned back. "Sure."

Fred ordered three spritz' and Mac's water. "What would you like to 
eat?" he 
asked, indicating the platters exhibited on the counter. Harm gave them 
a 
critical survey and decided on some fried zucchini and eggplant.

"If you like veggies you should try those," Claire indicated to Harm 
something he wasn't quite able to identify.

"What's that?" he asked curiously.

"It's Radicchio di Treviso. A little bitter but really nice. Trust me. 
I'm a 
vegetarian as well," she added, grinning.

"Okay then," Harm agreed.

Mac meanwhile had her plate packed with all kinds of seafood Harm chose 
not 
to look at too closely. The barman mixed their drinks, warmed up the 
food 
they had chosen and took it to a small table in a corner where they 
settled 
down. It was a really cozy place, Mac decided. Outside one of the guys 
with 
black hat, beak and spectacles passed their window.

"What kind of costume is this?" Mac wanted to know. "It's kind of odd, 
I 
think."

"That's the traditional medieval pestilence doctor," Fred explained. 
"You 
know, they were dressed in black coat and hat to be immediately spotted 
and 
in the huge beak they put cotton with herbs and perfume because they 
thought 
that the contagion occurred with the stench. The doctor is typical for 
Venetian carnival just like the colombine and harlequin." Harm and Mac 
looked at each other, not knowing what to make of such a strange choice 
of 
costume.

They were chatting happily, Mac and Harm eager to learn more details of 
the 
ongoing festivities that seemed increasingly complex to them. Just then 
Harm's cell-phone rang. "I'm sorry, guys," he said with a helpless 
shrug, 
getting up and leaving the bar to diminish the background noise.

As he spoke he was pacing to and fro in front of the window where Mac 
and 
the others were seated. Mac watched him greeting someone, smiling, then 
suddenly sobering while his face took up an expression of utmost shock 
and 
horror. Harm turned to her and motioned her to quickly join him. By 
now, 
Fred and Claire, too, had understood that something must have happened. 
Fred 
put some Euro bills on the table and they quickly left the bàcaro. When 
they 
got to Harm he was slipping his cell-phone into his pocket.

"I fear the evening has to end here," he said quietly.

"Why? What's up?" Mac asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and feeling 
her 
concern growing when she noticed that her partner was slightly 
trembling.

"That was the admiral," Harm explained. "You know Della Rosa invited 
him to 
dinner. Well, they just got a call from the local police. Near the spot 
where the navy's gondola was stolen they found a body in a hidden 
corner of 
a canal. A young girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, stabbed to death. At 
least twenty stab wounds all over the body."

"Oh my God..." Mac whispered, paling. Fred put his arm around a 
trembling 
Claire, too shocked to speak.

"There's more," Harm went on, his voice strained. "They found the 
murder 
weapon. A pocketknife that has been identified as Seaman Quinn's. And 
it's 
got Merriner's fingerprints on it."

At this Mac just grabbed Harm's hand and he pulled her over to him, 
encircling her in his arms and holding her close.



2243 ZULU
Inside the Arsenale
Castello, Venice



They accompanied Claire back to Fred's parents and then headed straight 
to 
the Arsenale, anxious to learn more from Merriner and Quinn themselves. 
None 
of them could imagine they had killed the girl. They might be 
thoughtless 
and imprudent, but a murder as cruel as this one seemed to be... They 
found 
it highly improbable.

Harm and Mac entered the room where the prisoners were being kept. The 
young 
men at once sprung to their feet and came to attention.

"At ease," Harm said immediately, "Sit down."

They did as he told them. Both were very pale and seemed scared to 
death.

"Sir," Merriner blurted out, "Excuse me, sir, but what exactly is going 
on 
here? Some Italian came in and said something incoherent about a murder 
and 
a knife and... I couldn't make any sense of it, sir, his English was 
miserable." The P.O. had beads of perspiration on his forehead. Quinn 
was 
just staring in front of him as if in shock.

Harm felt compassion for the two young men. "Easy, Petty Officer," he 
tried 
to calm him, careful to use a voice totally different from the one he 
had 
let them hear during their earlier encounter. His eyes searched the 
expressions of the two frightened youngsters but he couldn't detect 
anything 
else than cold fear and desperation for not knowing what was going on.

Mac spoke up now, her voice and attitude totally the opposite, too, of 
what 
they had been earlier. "We received a call from our CO, Admiral 
Chegwidden, 
the JAG, who told us that the police have found the body of a young 
girl in 
a canal near the spot where you stole the navy's gondola. She was 
stabbed to 
death. The murder weapon was identified as your knife, Seaman," she 
addressed Quinn, whose eyes threatened to pop out of his 
horror-stricken 
face.

"No," he whispered, "That's not true..."

"I fear it is, Seaman," Mac continued gently, compassion shining in her 
eyes. Then she swallowed and looked at Merriner. "But the fingerprints 
on 
the knife were yours, Petty Officer."

Merriner sprung to his feet, panting agitatedly, confusedly running his 
hand 
through his very short hair, not knowing where to look. "No, ma'am,", 
he 
shouted, "That... that's impossible! I mean, my fingerprints may be on 
it 
but... I would never.. I... I didn't..."

Harm put a gentle but firm hand on the P.O.'s upper arm and pulled him 
down 
again.
"Try to calm yourself, Petty Officer...," he tried to reach the young 
man's 
sense through the fear that was clouding his judgment.

"No, sir, you have to believe me, sir, I didn't kill her! We'd never do 
a 
thing like that, sir!" Merriner kept shouting.

"Shut up, Merriner!" Harm thundered. The petty officer immediately held 
his 
breath, paling even more, seeming to think that the very last hope he'd 
had 
of getting help had been shattered by his uncontrolled behavior. He bit 
his 
trembling lower lip.

Harm forced his voice down to normal again. "No one in here is saying 
you 
did kill her, Merriner. Or you Quinn." He let his words sink in and 
waited. 
This time it was the seaman who first found his voice.

"Help us, ma'am, sir," he pleaded, barely audible, the fear in his eyes 
underlining every syllable.

Harm and Mac looked at each other. They knew if they asked him to, AJ 
would 
allow them to defend Merriner and Quinn, although in the first place 
they 
had come to perform some kind of a showing-off prosecution. But the 
facts 
had changed. Here were two seemingly innocent young men, imploring them 
for 
help in a case that offered more than enough evidence against them. Mac 
read 
Harm's unspoken question and gave him a barely visible nod. Harm then 
turned 
back to face the accused, his gaze intense and open, thoroughly 
searching 
their expressions.

"Petty Officer, Seaman," he began slowly, his voice urging them to be 
honest, "For the moment I have nothing to consider in your favor, not 
the 
slightest thing that could tell me you are innocent. But I am willing 
to 
take your holy word of honor to be convinced that you are. I'm offering 
you 
my trust and my word of honor as an officer to do anything in my power 
to 
clear you of the accusations if you tell me now that you didn't kill 
the 
girl. But I warn you. If I find that you betrayed my trust and honor - 
as 
well as Col. Mackenzie's for she, too, will stand up for you - I will 
personally see to it that you will face the full consequences of your 
deeds. 
Do you understand me?" He let his gaze wander from one to the other and 
back. The young men nodded.

"Yes, sir," they said in a low voice, deeply impressed by Harm's 
speech.

Harm took a deep breath and asked the decisive question: "Petty Officer 
Merriner and Seaman Quinn, can you, with a clear conscience, give me 
your 
holy word of honor that you didn't kill the young woman that was found 
in 
the canal?"

"I give you my word of honor, sir, that I didn't kill her," Merriner 
answered solemnly.

"And I, too, give you my word of honor that I didn't do it, sir," Quinn 
added, equally solemn.

Mac and Harm stood as did the two young men. "So it's settled," Mac 
said. 
"Given the admiral's permission, we will defend you against any charges 
that 
might be brought up against you. Any charges except stealing the 
gondola, of 
course."

"Of course, ma'am," Merriner quickly acknowledged. "Thank you, ma'am, 
sir," 
he added in a voice that was suddenly loaded with emotion. It conveyed 
the 
overwhelming relief that not only wouldn't he and Quinn have to face 
the 
U.S. Navy's top lawyers' prosecution, but instead they knew them on 
their 
side, doing everything in their power to bring about justice. Quinn 
came to 
attention, looked openly at Mac and saluted. "Semper fidelis," he said, 
pure 
gratefulness shining in his eyes.



The following day
(Sunday, one week and a half before Ash Wednesday)
1146 ZULU
The Venice Questura (police-headquarters)
Near Campo S.Maurizio
San Marco, Venice



A really, really p.o.'d Marine lieutenant colonel was pacing in the 
office 
of Commissario Amedeo De Carlo who was sitting behind his desk in quiet 
amusement, watching the scene. 'I wouldn't want to be that partner of 
hers 
for anything right now,' he thought.

Mac was beside herself with rage. Forty-six minutes and thirty-seven 
seconds, still counting. Where the devil was that arrogant 
pilot-wannabe-lawyer partner of hers??? Harm had been off to the 
Arsenale in 
the morning. After having gotten AJ's permission to defend, he had 
wanted to 
clear some details of the procedure with their clients. He had 
promised, 
p-r-o-m-i-s-e-d, to meet her at 1200 sharp at the Questura, where they 
were 
to encounter the police officer that handled the murder investigation 
from 
the civilian side. Commissario De Carlo had been on time, rather 
un-Italian, 
as he had explained to her with a wink. Well, if he could, why, why on 
earth 
couldn't Harm be on time as well, just this once?

Just then Mac and De Carlo heard someone run up the stairs that led to 
the 
office, and a moment later Harm stumbled into the room, panting, 
sweating, 
covered with something Mac couldn't identify and, just like her, in a 
very 
bad mood. He saw Mac's killing glare and blurted out before she could 
even 
draw her breath: "Save it for once, Mac, I can explain."

"I only see that you are forty-seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds 
late," 
Mac shouted back. She didn't care right now if the commissario heard 
her or 
not. She was long past worrying. "What the hell do you think you're 
doing, 
leaving us waiting like this, Mr. 
I'm-a-pilot-don't-bother-me-with-earthly-regulations?"

At this Harm lost it. "Oh, I see, you already know why I didn't show up 
on 
time! So, Ms. Always-right-know-it-all-don't-need-to-listen Marine, 
would 
you maybe care then to explain to me what the mess I got myself into at 
St. 
Mark's is all about? I, personally, don't understand it, so, please, 
enlighten me! I'm listening!" Fuming, he turned and stopped dead in his 
tracks when he suddenly remembered that they weren't alone. Embarrassed 
and 
cursing himself, he gathered his composure, extending his hand to the 
smirking police officer.

"Cmdr. Harmon Rabb, Jr. I'm so sorry for being late, Commissario... De 
Carlo, isn't it? But I got stuck in an incredible...  something right 
on St. 
Mark's square and I literally wasn't able to move a yard for a full 
twenty 
minutes. Can you imagine, people were so close I wasn't even able to 
get my 
cell-phone out of my pocket to call you. And then suddenly the bells 
were 
tolling, people were cheering and all this stuff came down right on the 
spot 
where I was cramped between one of those pestilence doctors and an 
enormous 
baroque courtier. Please, tell me, what on earth is this all about?" 
Harm 
asked, thoroughly confused, brushing the many pieces of confetti he was 
covered with off his uniform and out of his hair.

Commissario De Carlo could no longer refrain from laughing. He had 
watched 
their heated exchange first with wonder, then with delight and found it 
too 
hard not to laugh at the effect a simple carnival tradition could have 
on 
two highly decorated U.S. military officers, both with combat 
experience. 
"Excuse me, Commander, Colonel, for speaking up 'dus freely, but I 
'tink all 
your quarrels aren't wort' the energy wasted in 'dem," he told them, 
fighting fits of laughter. Mac and Harm just stared at him, totally at 
a 
loss, their differences forgotten for the present.

The tall, gray-haired man with the well cared-for one-week beard 
finally 
managed to calm himself, great amounts of humor and good-natured 
disposition 
showing in his brown eyes.
"What you've come across, Commander, is a century-old Venetian carnival 
tradition. Nowadays 'dere are too many tourists wanting to watch it, so 
practically every Venetian absolutely avoids St. Mark's on 'de Sunday 
'de 
carnival is officially opened. You got stuck in 'de so-called 'Volo 
della 
Colombina', 'de 'Flight of 'de Dove'. You didn't happen to look into 
'de 
sky, did you, Commander?" he asked.

Harm shook his head, curiosity showing on his features. "No, I didn't. 
Only 
when the confetti came down but then I couldn't see anything."

"At noon on 'de opening Sunday," De Carlo explained, " A huge 
pasteboard 
dove is drawn on a rope right from 'de bell tower of St. Mark's, 'de 
Campanile, over to 'de balcony of 'de Palazzo Ducale. And right above 
'de 
square its belly opens and 'de Dove... well... disposes of 'de contents 
of 
its tummy, 'dat would be 'de confetti."

Harm stared at him, half amused, half bewildered. "So what came down on 
me 
was the paper imitation of something myriads of birds drop every day 
when 
they feel nature calling?" He heard Mac snort at his remark. ' Thank 
God,' 
he thought, 'She's on her way back to normal.'

"If you like to put it 'dat way, Commander," De Carlo said, again 
laughing 
heartily at the JAG-officers' expense. But neither of them felt 
insulted - 
De Carlo was one of those personalities you couldn't possibly be angry 
with 
as long as they were not angry themselves. "Before we immerge into 'dat 
sad 
business we're here to investigate," De Carlo's face sobered for a 
moment, 
but then lit up again, "Being much likely 'de eldest of us, I suggest 
we 
drop 'de formalities if 'dat's o.k. wit' you. My name's Amedeo."

"Harm," Harm introduced himself, fully agreeing with De Carlo that 
formalities would only render the investigation more complicated than 
it 
already was.

"Mac," Mac held out her hand.

De Carlo took it and looked at Mac in friendly wonder. "You have such a 
beautiful name, Colonel. Would you mind if I called you Sarah?"

Mac couldn't think of an excuse quickly enough, so she just said: 
"Sure, go 
ahead."

Harm felt a slight blow of jealousy. He could count the few times he 
himself 
had called her Sarah on one hand. Her given name was very special to 
him. It 
felt like a little sacrilege to him to hear her being addressed as 
Sarah by 
someone else. It was in this same moment that De Carlo gave a hint at 
how 
good an investigator he was. He saw the expression of vexation that for 
the 
fraction of a second shadowed the commander's face and he immediately 
came 
to the right conclusions.

"No need for bad feelings, Harm," he said in his frank and 
straightforward 
way. "I have been very happily married 'dese last fifteen years. No 
offense."

"None taken," Harm answered sheepishly, wondering just how obvious he 
must 
have been.
Mac only smiled to herself.

De Carlo sobered. "Let's get to business. 'De report has arrived from 
'de 
coroner." He opened a drawer and motioned for Harm and Mac to approach. 
He 
put a file on his desk and opened it, spreading the contents. There 
were at 
least half a dozen photos of the victim. Mac caught her breath as she 
looked 
at them, Harm felt his stomach tighten. It was a horrible sight. The 
girl 
had deep cuts all over the front of her torso and on each side of her 
neck. 
The blood had been washed away, but there were still crusts and 
remnants 
wherever they looked. But most horrifying of all was a photo of the 
girl's 
face.

From a passport photo that lay beside it Mac and Harm could see that 
Paola 
Rossi - her name according to police records - must have been a beauty. 
But 
on the picture that had been taken where she had been found, 
practically 
every inch of her face had been cut, and in such a symmetrical and 
ritual-like way that the police was sure this had happened while the 
girl 
had still been conscious. Mac closed her eyes, drew a deep breath and 
swallowed. What could possibly kindle such hatred in a human being that 
he 
or she was capable of torturing a young girl to such an incredible 
extent?

"We assume 'dat, at least, she didn't slowly bleed to deat', but 'dat 
she 
died from a direct stab into 'de heart," De Carlo stated quietly, his 
voice 
guarded but still letting show traces of the burden his job brought 
with it 
in situations like these. "At 'de moment 'de body is more 'toroughly 
examined but 'de coroner is convinced 'dat 'dis knife,",he showed them 
a 
photo of a Swiss pocket knife, over and over covered with dried blood, 
"Was 
'de weapon used in 'de killing. Here is 'de report from 'de laboratory 
confirming 'dat it bore fingerprints of Seaman Quinn, but many more and 
more 
recent ones of Petty Officer Merriner. An engraving on 'de knife's 
handle 
shows 'de letters of 'P.Q.', and a phone call to 'de USS Cole confirmed 
'dat 
Quinn owned a Swiss knife wit' an engraving of 'de kind. The murderer 
obviously tried to wipe 'de handle of 'de knife but he didn't do it 
very 
'toroughly. 'De body didn't give us any hints to other persons, no 
hair, no 
traces of skin under 'de victim's fingernails. So," he finished with a 
sigh, 
"'Dese are 'de facts. You have to admit 'dat it will be a hard job for 
you 
to prove 'dat your clients are innocent."

Harm took the police officer's report and tried to figure out some 
ulterior 
information from the testimonies of the victim's relatives and friends 
with 
the help of his Spanish. "So... Paola Rossi was last seen by one of her 
friends at 0100. Did I get that correct?"

De Carlo cast a glance on the report and confirmed by a nod and a 
grunt. A 
thought crossed Harm's mind. If he was right it could turn out a 
perfect 
alibi for their clients, but he had to make sure some other things 
first. So 
he kept his musings to himself and instead said: "Mac, I think I need 
to see 
Merriner and Quinn again. I have some additional questions to ask. 
Amedeo," 
he then turned to De Carlo, "Could I have photocopies of the reports 
and 
photos in your file?"

"Of course. I'll see to it personally. If you wait right here, I will 
have 
'dem for you in a minute." De Carlo immediately rose, grabbed the 
folder and 
exited the office.

"Wow. Full service," Mac murmured. Then she turned to Harm, smiling a 
little 
embarrassed. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I should have 
listened."

Harm flashed her a genuine grin. "And I shouldn't have lost my temper. 
Besides," he admitted, grinning, "I probably would have been late 
anyway. 
Truce?" He held out his hand and cocked an eyebrow.

"Yep." Mac took his hand and gave it a relieved squeeze, smiling.

De Carlo returned with a new folder in his hand which he handed to 
them. "I 
copied every'ting out of my file. If you need any'ting else or if you 
or I 
find out some'ting, we'll ring up each o'der, okay? My cell-phone 
number is 
on top. I still have yours, Harm."

"Sure, thanks for your help, Amedeo," Harm replied.

"Di niente, Comandante." De Carlo showed them to the door, giving them 
a 
little street map on which he had marked a way to the Arsenale that was 
much 
longer, but at least didn't come close to St. Mark's.



1314 ZULU
Inside the Arsenale
Castello, Venice



"Ma'am, sir," Merriner and Quinn echoed as they came to attention, 
seeing 
Harm and Mac enter.

"At ease." Harm motioned them to sit. "Just a few questions. Did anyone 
see 
you while you were rowing, someone who could confirm you were alone?"

Merriner and Quinn shook their heads. "No, sir."

But then Quinn's face suddenly lit up. "On our way someone called out 
to us, 
sir. I think we must have been rather noisy, drunk as we were, fighting 
with 
the unfamiliar vehicle and... Alan," he turned to the petty officer, 
"Where 
was that where this guy kept shouting until we had passed his house?"

Merriner seemed to try hard to remember. Suddenly, he, too, sat up 
straight. 
"It was more or less where this big exhibition place is, you know, 
the... 
Palazzo yadada. I can't remember the name, sir. Anyway that guy shouted 
out 
to us in English, at least he tried very hard to do so, sir, it was 
utter 
gibberish, but we got the meaning anyway, that we should stop making 
such 
noise...Grassi, sir. The palace is called Palazzo Grassi."

Mac looked at Harm, puzzled. She had no idea where his thoughts were 
headed. 
She resolved to ask him on the way home.

"Okay, noted," her partner went on. "So we now have to find the 
witness. 
I'll arrange that you can point out the window to us tomorrow. Another 
thing. Seaman, do you know how your knife got into the murderer's 
hands?"

"I can only assume, sir," Quinn said quietly. "When we decided to take 
the 
challenge of rowing, Alan, uhm, P.O. Merriner suggested we rid our 
pockets 
of all things that could fall into the canal if we went overboard. We 
told 
the guys to keep an eye on them until we'd return the gondola. I was so 
drunk that I had difficulties with my trousers' pockets, so P.O. 
Merriner 
lunged into the one on my right side and took out the knife and put it 
on 
the pavement along with the other stuff. I guess that's how his 
fingerprints 
got on it. After that I don't know what happened to it."

Mac frowned. "So maybe those guys would be able to tell us. You don't 
remember anything about them?"

Merriner shook his head. "Not very much, ma'am," he said, "They were in 
disguise and had masks in front of their faces. One was a harlequin and 
two 
were in those all-black cloaks with  triangular hats and black veils, 
you 
see them quite often. The only thing I noted was that one of the masks 
was 
really particular. It was made as if you could wear it upside down and 
your 
face would change from happy to angry, and it was in some strange deep 
purple color. But apart from that I don't remember anything."

"That doesn't take us very far," Mac said, exasperated.

Harm rose. "Well, thank you for the moment. We'll let you know what we 
find 
out or if we need more from you."

They exchanged greetings and Mac and Harm left the room.

Outside she turned to Harm, curiosity written in bold letters across 
her 
face. "What are you up to now, squid? Care to share?"

Harm gave her a thoughtful smile. "Not yet, Mac. I don't have it all 
straight in my own mind yet. I first have to ask Fred something I think 
he 
can tell us. We'll see him anyway at 2100 at the mayor's reception."

Mac bit back a comment. If Harm chose not to tell her, it wouldn't be 
because he didn't trust her. Maybe he was really still working this out 
for 
himself yet. He would tell her when he had.



2023 ZULU
Municipio (town hall)
Near Rialto Bridge
San Marco, Venice



Harm was getting bored. He and Mac were standing in a corner of a very 
crowded room, clinging to their glasses of San Pellegrino and waiting 
for 
Fred and Claire to show up. AJ was talking to some friends of Admiral 
Della 
Rosa's. That left them with each other and to the pastime of watching. 
Watching everything.

First the room. Harm had to admit it was impressive. Like many 
representative Venetian palaces it had a very high ceiling, about 20 
feet, 
he estimated. It was made of century-old, dark wooden beams with 
paintings 
in-between them. Huge, gold-framed paintings also hung on most of the 
walls 
that were covered with satin tapestries. The floor was made of polished 
stone. Chinese rugs were positioned on the most favorable spots. The 
furniture seemed to be baroque, sort of. He somehow had the impression 
it 
was more recent than it was meant to appear.

Then there were the people. Dressed formal but not letting it affect 
their 
attitudes. The Italian seemed to wear Armani or Gucci as if they had 
been 
born in them. Had they? Harm wondered. People were talking animatedly, 
using 
ample gesturing not only with hands and arms but with their whole 
bodies to 
stress the meaning of their statements. Harm thought he might need a 
little 
training on that kind of talk - maybe it would make an impression on an 
Italian judge they might be confronting.

And then there was Mac. Harm admitted to himself that he was watching 
her 
far more than anything else. She was stunning. For tonight's reception 
and 
the formal dinner that would follow she had chosen a simple dark green 
silk 
dress that fitted her body tightly down to her hips and then fell a 
little 
loose down to the floor. The décolleté left her shoulders bare and was 
cut 
very deep in front. Broad straps held the dress in place just below the 
curve of her shoulders on her upper arms. A broad dark green shawl was 
hanging loose from one elbow across her back to the other elbow. She 
had 
combed her hair off her face and tucked it loosely behind her ears. 
When 
Harm had first seen her, his heart skipped a beat.

Mac was getting quite a few admiring glances, and she enjoyed them, 
mostly 
for the fact that they seemed to make Harm uneasy. He was getting 
protective 
and she loved being taken care of by him. He was in his mess dress, not 
dress whites, as this was an evening invitation. But next to his dress 
whites she found mess dress did not hurt his looks. And she noticed the 
envious glances she got from some of the women... Well, she didn't mind 
if 
they believed she and Harm were an item.

Suddenly she felt Harm tug at her shawl. "Look there are Fred and 
Claire," 
he said, obviously happy to see someone they knew. Prumetti and his 
fiancée 
had seen them, too, and came over to greet them.

"Good evening, ma'am, sir," Fred said with a wink, knowing they had to 
be 
formal as they were in uniform.

"Good evening," Claire echoed, smiling. She was wearing a light blue 
dress 
with spaghetti straps and a light blue shawl similar to Mac's. Must be 
a 
fashion of some sort, Harm decided.

Mac and Harm greeted their friends and finally began to really enjoy 
the 
evening, now that they had someone agreeable to converse with. Shortly 
after, they were asked to sit at the stunningly set dinner table. 
Someone 
had seen to it that Harm and Mac were sitting next to the liaisons 
officer - 
Fred. Not that they complained.

Dinner was delicious and abundant. It opened with a 'peperonata', cold 
steam-cooked and marinated peppers and zucchini, the soup was a 
'minestrone', a fine broth with vegetables in it, (Harm was very 
pleased 
with the mayor's choice of food so far whereas Mac was beginning to 
miss the 
meat), the 'primo' - the first main course - was Milanese risotto. All 
yellow, it was made of rice, parmigiano and saffron. Then, finally, Mac 
got 
her meat, as the 'secondo' - the second main course - revealed itself 
as 
veal medaillons with broccoli and potato gratin.

Harm, in a quick movement, shoved his meat onto her plate and, equally 
quickly, got her broccoli in return. Fred and Claire tried to refrain 
from 
laughing. Then, over their little plates of assorted cheese - "to close 
the 
stomach" as Fred would put it - Harm seized the opportunity of asking 
the 
lieutenant the question that had been on his mind ever since they had 
talked 
to De Carlo.

"Lieutenant," he began, "How long does it take to row a gondola from 
San 
Zaccaria, you know, where the navy's gondola has been stolen, to 
Rialto, or 
to be exact, to the canal it has been found in?"

"About fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, sir, for an experienced 
gondoliere. 
Why?"

"Well, the victim in our case was last seen alive at 0100. Merriner, 
Quinn 
and the gondola were found near Rialto at 0130. We think we have a 
witness 
who can testify that nobody went with them. Would the timing fit?" Harm 
felt 
Mac give him a pat on his thigh. He looked at her and found her eyes 
beaming 
him an 'I'm-impressed-flyboy' smile.

Fred thought only for a second. "No way, sir. If it was their first 
time on 
a gondola and if they were drunk, they'd never make it in 30 minutes. 
An 
hour and a half at the very least."

"How can you be so sure?" Mac asked, her eyebrows up.

"The 'Voga Veneta', ma'am, Venetian style rowing, let alone in a 
gondola, 
the most sophisticated of Venetian boats, takes very long to master," 
Fred 
explained. "I practiced for years to become as quick as I am now. If 
Merriner and Quinn really went alone it's quite a surprise to me that 
they 
got this far."

"Thanks, Lieutenant, that's exactly what I hoped you'd tell me", Harm 
said 
with a grin. "Now we would need you to testify that."

"Of course, sir."

"How come De Carlo didn't think of it?" Mac wondered.

"I know the commissario, ma'am," Fred answered. "He is a very good 
investigator, but he is from Milan and started working in Venice only 
about 
a year ago. So it's natural for him to not think of such a Venetian 
particularity."

"Uh, Mac..." Harm said slowly, unsure how to proceed. What he was about 
to 
suggest was weird at the very least. A bit like firing a bullet into a 
courtroom ceiling, very much his style. Mac looked at him suspiciously 
as if 
she suspected him ready to pull another stunt of the sort. "I would 
like to 
have a practical proof in hand in court," Harm went on, "You know, a 
piece 
of convincing evidence, adding to the lieutenant's testimony."

The pieces were falling into place in Mac's mind. She turned to Harm 
with a 
warning glare. "No, Harm, don't even think of it!"

"Why not?" he asked innocently. "We don't know any more of Venetian 
rowing 
than Merriner and Quinn did. And if the lieutenant could provide us 
with a 
gondola and capture our trip on videotape, we'd have a much stronger 
point."

"I won't let you ridicule us again in court," Mac snapped, but 
half-heartedly. She knew he was right. And somehow she was up for a 
challenge. "Okay, count me in," she eventually sighed.

"I knew you'd say that, jarhead," Harm smirked. "Lieutenant, you don't 
happen to have a gondola you could lend us? And a camcorder?"

Prumetti had instantly understood Harm's idea. Smiling he answered: "I 
do, 
sir, both of them, at my parents'. I'll be expecting you at the Zattere 
at 
0200, sir. You know how to get there?"

"Accademia Bridge," Harm answered. He remembered it from having taken 
Claire 
home the day before. "We'll be there."



0105 ZULU
Prumetti's house
Zattere embankment
Dorsoduro, Venice



'Why did I let him talk me into this crap?' Mac kept asking herself as 
she 
and Harm, in training suits, approached Fred's house. She wasn't 
pleased at 
the prospect of making a fool of herself on a videotape in a courtroom. 
But 
her thoughts were interrupted by Fred calling out to them.

"Harm, Mac, over here," they heard him shout in a guarded voice. As the 
approached, they saw him standing on the edge of the embankment, a 
gondola 
tied to a pole at his side. He was holding a huge oar in each hand. 
Claire 
was standing beside him, preparing the camcorder.

"Here we are," Harm stated gleefully. He was looking forward to their 
little 
trip.

"Well... Claire start filming... for the record," Fred neared his watch 
to 
the camera's lens, "It's February 26th, 0214 ALPHA, I'm Sottotenente di 
Vascello Federico Prumetti, over there we have Commander Harmon Rabb, 
Jr. 
and Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie. Neither of them has ever rowed 
a 
gondola. What we are trying to prove is that it is impossible for 
beginners 
to reach Rialto, starting from San Marco, in half an hour. Responsible 
for 
filming is Ms. Claire Farnham. We won't stop the tape, so there can be 
no 
accusations we omitted or added anything. As military officers Col. 
Mackenzie, Cmdr. Rabb and myself pledge our honor to the truth and 
originality of this recording." Claire let the camera wander to Harm 
and Mac 
who confirmed Fred's words with a nod.

"I'll explain the technique to you, ma'am, sir," Fred began. He put one 
oar 
down and brought the other into the right position, still standing on 
the 
pavement. "You have to push with your wrists flexed in a negative 
angle, 
then pull back with your wrists flexed in a positive angle." He 
demonstrated 
it, the oar resting on one point on the pavement. "To steer, the man at 
the 
oar in the back must push it to the right to go left and pull it more 
to 
himself to go right. That's it - theoretically. Try to anticipate the 
boat's 
movements so you probably won't fall into the canal."

With that he handed a oar to each of them, and Harm and Mac carefully 
stepped onto the wildly rocking gondola. 'This is going to be fun', Mac 
swore silently. Fred and Claire got onto a little motorboat in order to 
follow them.

"Ma'am, you should go to the front and you to the back, sir," Fred 
advised 
them. They balanced to their positions and put the oars into place, Mac 
just 
missed going overboard as a wave caused by a passing motorboat hit the 
gondola. "F...antastic!" she hissed.

Harm meanwhile was beginning to regret his plan. He was fighting hard 
to 
take a firm stand, several feet high above the water. But he was 
determined 
to conquer this. Eventually they had got accustomed to the rocking of 
the 
gondola and were ready to depart. Fred began to count a rowing rhythm 
for 
them and Mac and Harm tried desperately to take it up without falling 
into 
the canal. While Mac's position in the front was merely that of a 
motor, 
Harm had to cope with the maneuvering, too, and he soon found the 
gondola 
going anywhere but where he wanted it to. At least for the present they 
were 
still on the over-large Canale della Giudecca that ran alongside the 
Zattere 
embankment, but they had to get to St. Mark's and from there along the 
Grand 
Canal right up to Rialto. Heaven knew how they would do that, and how 
long 
it would take them!

Mac was beginning to sweat heavily despite the low February temperature 
and 
the sea mist that was soaking everything. With every movement she 
cursed her 
partner. They had been so nicely dressed, sociable and good-humored 
earlier. 
And now this!

Finally, after 20 minutes of hard work, they had managed to reach St. 
Mark's. Harm steered them in a big circle and they headed in their 
final 
direction, into the Grand Canal. Fred let the camera once again see his 
watch. He was taking care not to come too close to Mac and Harm as his 
boat 
was causing waves.

Luckily traffic on the Grand Canal at this time of the night was almost 
non-existent. They stopped to let pass a lonely 'vaporetto', a swimming 
public 'bus', and took up rowing again when its malevolent influence on 
the 
gondola's stability had passed. By now they had somehow worked out a 
mode in 
which they succeeded to gain yard after yard. But Harm still didn't 
have a 
clue how on earth he was to steer this thing. They would drift farther 
and 
farther to one side of the canal until Fred would tell him exactly what 
to 
do to return to their original route. Then the whole thing would start 
all 
over again. At the end they had at least doubled the length of their 
trip by 
zigzagging across the canal.

Time had long expired. Try as they might, they had - partly against 
their 
own pride - proven that for beginners it would be impossible to reach 
Rialto 
in the given amount of time. When they finally arrived, panting, 
dripping 
with sweat and really upset, Fred's watch showed 0355.

"We will stop the recording now as shortly our tape will expire," Fred 
said 
into the camcorder's microphone. "It is 0355 ALPHA and the colonel and 
the 
commander have barely reached Rialto. We consider this the practical 
proof 
of our theory." With that, he told a freezing Claire to switch off the 
camera.

"Okay, Harm, Mac, you've done a great job, really. You can get on the 
motorboat now and I'll take the gondola back home," Fred told them.

Mac laid her oar down inside the gondola and sat down, rubbing her 
aching 
back. This sailor of hers owed her big time, she decided. Harm put his 
oar 
down, too, and sighed, closing his eyes with relief. That was a 
mistake. He 
missed an incoming wave, failed to flex his knees, lost his balance 
and, 
with an "aaah" and a loud splash, ended up in the canal.

He was swearing loudly when Fred brought the motorboat over to rescue 
him. 
Suddenly Mac was beginning to feel that this trip had been fun after 
all. 
Especially when Claire, with a wink, showed her the red "recording" 
light on 
her camera.



END OF PART ONE




The next day
0815 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice



Mac thought she was pretty awake and feeling quite well for having 
rowed a 
gondola for hours in the cold mist of last night. She was crouched 
comfortably in a corner at a small breakfast table down in Bartolini's 
breakfast room, slowly sipping her latte macchiato, feeling the warm 
liquid 
warm her up from inside, closing her eyes and savoring the unique 
flavor of 
fresh Italian coffee.

She looked up when she heard someone clear his throat beside her. Harm 
was 
pulling up a chair to her side, giving her half a grin. Mac could tell 
he 
still hadn't quite overcome his anger that had built up last night when 
she, 
out of her exhaustion, had begun to laugh heartily at his expense. But 
seeing Harm end up in the canal had been a picture for the gods. Even 
now 
Mac could hardly suppress a giggle at the memory. Her mouth twitched 
traitorously and Harm's half-smile immediately turned into a frown. Mac 
thought she better change the subject.

"Fifteen minutes today, squid," she stated, smiling, only to mentally 
slap 
herself milliseconds later as she saw exasperation and new anger flash 
up in 
his eyes. 'Great job, Marine, you should go and be a diplomat.'

"Good morning to you, too," Harm answered, his voice guarded, avoiding 
her 
eyes. 'One singular, glorious day, Marine...' he swore to himself. This 
internal clock of hers and her way of always, always getting back at 
him was 
beginning to very much get on his nerves. Not to mention last night's 
events. With a grunt he ordered a cappuccino and silently stared out of 
the 
window.

Mac's conscience started to stir. Harm sure had been in a pitiful state 
when 
they had finally reached their hotel last night. All wet, exposed to 
the 
freezing night wind, he had been shivering violently at their arrival, 
though always trying not to let it show. Mac began to repent her 
behavior 
towards him. She had been laughing all the time, new fits breaking 
through 
her efforts of containing herself every time he looked up at her. She 
became 
aware that she had totally ignored the fact that he had been freezing 
like 
hell and must have felt horrible. Now Mac realized that she was 
blushing, 
ashamed of herself, and a feeling of warm compassionate tenderness 
towards 
her partner began to well up inside her. If he'd only look in her 
direction. 
Then he would see her smile.

But Harm didn't. He kept staring out of the window, frowning, 
absent-mindedly sipping his cappuccino. Suddenly he put his cup down, 
quickly lunged into his pocket, just in time pulled out a handkerchief 
and 
sneezed. Frowning even more, he blew his nose, put the handkerchief 
away and 
turned his gaze out of the window again. Mac watched him more 
thoroughly. He 
was a little pale, she thought. He wasn't going to be ill, was he? 
Concern 
mixed with her bad conscience and made her feel even more uneasy.

'You love that man and behave like a bitch, Sarah,' she scolded 
herself. 
'Maybe you just don't deserve him.' As this conclusion sank into her 
mind, 
she felt her stomach tighten and suddenly couldn't enjoy her latte any 
more. 
She had screwed it up this time. Without thinking she reached out to 
the man 
sitting beside her, from behind put her arms around his shoulders and 
gently 
hugged him. "I'm sorry, flyboy," was all she said, as she let her head 
rest 
against his hair, feeling him tense at her touch.

Harm all but choked on his cappuccino when he suddenly felt Mac wrap 
her 
arms around him. Unsure how to react, he froze in his position, his 
heart 
doubling its beating rate. This wasn't a hug between friends. Mac's 
touch 
was tender and... loving? Well, maybe not, but there was an emotional 
dimension to her simple gesture that left him breathless. He felt her 
breath 
on the back of his neck as she just held him without moving, waiting 
for him 
to relax, waiting for... what exactly? Maybe just for a sign of his 
forgiveness. 'Never apologize. It's a sign of weakness,' she had said 
to him 
on the admiral's porch. Yet she had just done it. Harm knew, the only 
way to 
react would be to let her know that he forgave her. Deep inside he had 
long 
since, anyway.

He slowly exhaled and forced his pulse down to almost normal. Then he 
put 
his cup down, and, his arms crossed, reached for her hands that were 
resting 
on his chest. He had been angry, yes, but he couldn't be any longer. 
All the 
compassion he would have longed for yesterday night when he had felt so 
cold 
and bad, all the compassion she had denied him then was now flowing 
with 
this simple, sincere embrace. Harm remembered few times his heart had 
felt 
so much at ease.

Mac sensed the change of attitude in her partner. She felt him relax, 
lean 
into her embrace, no longer enduring but returning it. A wave of relief 
washed over her. All of a sudden she realized what a compromising and 
private situation they were sharing in public - and, utterly surprising 
herself, she didn't mind. The only thing that mattered to her was that 
Harm 
still seemed to want her friendship, didn't mind her closeness either. 
So 
Mac just held on to him.

"I was way out of line yesterday. Please forgive me," she whispered, 
not 
trusting her voice.

She didn't see but felt him smile. "Being angry with you feels 
horrible, 
Sarah," he answered in a very low voice. "I couldn't keep it up very 
long 
anyway." With that he pulled her arms tighter around himself, staying 
in 
this position for some never-ending seconds, still not looking at her. 
But 
their eyes weren't needed right now.

From behind his counter a little farther off Sergio was watching them. 
"Datta is 'de influence offa Venezia," he muttered to himself, 
chuckling 
under his breath and shaking his head.


"So, what's today's schedule?" Harm asked, carefully wriggling out of 
the 
embrace and facing a very embarrassed Mac with a genuine smile that 
eased 
the tension.

"Chegwidden was up very early and left the hotel as I came down for 
breakfast," Mac answered, returning to her latte macchiato, a 
reflection of 
her smile still on her face. "He's gone to the airport to pick up 
Francesca. 
Tonight's the night, remember?"

"What night?" Harm searched his brain but couldn't make out what she 
was 
referring to.

"Un ballo in maschera," Mac pompously cited the title of Giuseppe 
Verdi's 
famous opera. "The costume ball."

This time Harm did choke on his cappuccino. He had completely forgotten 
about the ball. To be honest, he didn't feel too comfortable at the 
thought 
of having to dress up strangely and promenade himself in front of other 
oddly-clad people. He coughed, trying desperately to regain an even 
breathing. Damn, he must have caught a cold last night. Hopefully it 
would 
fully develop only in a few days after they were back in Washington.

"Easy, sailor," he felt Mac's hand on his back and looked up, seeing 
concern 
shine in her eyes.

"It's nothing," he managed to get out before coughing again. "Really," 
he 
added, panting, when the need to cough had somewhat lessened.

"I can see that. Practice drinking." Mac's voice was full of doubt but 
she 
let him get away this time.

"So what do we do about our costumes?" Harm finally asked.

"The admiral told me Francesca wants to meet me at a certain shop at 
1130. 
We're to try on something and rent our outfits there. You and the 
admiral 
are to be there at 1300. Francesca said the dress code was..." Mac 
explained 
but Harm interrupted her.

"Dress code? With costumes?" His expression was one of pure 
bewilderment.

Mac had to smile. "Yeah, squid, dress code, like 'black tie' or 'mess 
dress'. As I was saying, the dress code for tonight is 'costumes of a 
certain official grandeur, no masks worn permanently, only to be 
carried on 
sticks.' Fit for ballroom action, you see?"

"I'm getting the picture," Harm said cautiously.

"Francesca seems to have something in mind for us. But she insists on 
me 
trying it on separately. The admiral tells me Francesca says it's more 
fun 
when you don't know your partner's costume until you leave for the 
event," 
Mac explained.

"Okay..." Harm's voice didn't sound too convinced. "Well, while you're 
enjoying yourself, I'm going with Fred and De Carlo and our two heroes 
to 
look for that witness of theirs. If they are right and someone can 
testify 
to having seen them at a favorable time out on the canal the charges 
might 
just be dropped... and in addition to that there's the proof we gave 
them 
with our little videotape," he added, with a frowning smile, looking 
into 
her eyes.

Mac tried. She really did, but eventually the corners of her mouth 
twitched, 
her lips quivered and biting them didn't help. All control was lost 
when she 
saw a grin slowly spread across her partner's face, widening until he, 
too, 
could barely contain himself. They shared one last look into each 
other's 
eyes before they burst out laughing at the same moment, Harm struggling 
as 
fits of coughing mixed into his laughter, but enjoying the situation 
all the 
same.



1056 ZULU
On the Grand Canal
Near Palazzo Grassi
San Marco, Venice



"I'm really amazed that word hasn't leaked out to the press yet," Harm 
said, 
turning to Fred and De Carlo who were standing beside him on the police 
boat. Merriner and Quinn were standing in front of them, skimming the 
houses 
and trying to recognize the window that might belong to their witness.

"When we called Della Rosa about 'de body and 'de fact 'dat we 
suspected 'de 
American sailors, he told us to keep it confidential and only give 'de 
newspapers 'de fact 'dat a girl had drowned in a canal," De Carlo 
explained. 
"You know, it happens too often in carnival time when people drink and 
fall 
in 'de water. So it was quite easy to conceal 'de rest 'dat would 
surely 
have created a scandal, had it leaked out to 'de public. 'De parents, 
too, 
were glad to have a way of not having to deal wit' 'de press."

"I'm sure they were," Harm agreed quietly, "Thank you, Amedeo."

De Carlo smiled. "You're welcome. By 'de way," he added smugly with a 
quick 
side-glance at Fred who was smirking, "'De lieutenant told me of your 
little 
stunt of last night. I'm impressed, Harm. I wouldn't have 'tought of 
'dat 
solution. 'Dough it would be helpful to have some'ting besides 'de 
video and 
'de witness's testimony if we find him."

"It would definitely be nice having other evidence in our people's 
favor," 
Harm admitted, "I had thought of that, too, but for the time being what 
we 
have or might find now might just work. At least I hope so."

"So do I," De Carlo agreed, "Al'dough it would leave me wid'out a clue 
about 
who really killed 'de girl."

"Maybe we should look for those guys Merriner and Quinn met at the bar, 
sir," Fred suggested.

"I had thought about that, too," Harm said, "But they were in full 
costume. 
How could we ever trace them?"

Quinn overheard their exchange. He turned and looked at Harm. "Excuse 
me, 
sir, but maybe that strange mask of one of them might lead us 
somewhere. I 
really didn't see a second one like that."

Harm thought for a moment, then turned to Fred. "Would that be 
possible, 
Lieutenant?"

Prumetti hesitated. "Maybe it would, sir. Depends on the mask. If it 
really 
is unique we might find someone who recognizes it from a description 
and 
maybe even knows its owner. But such masks are very rare." He addressed 
Quinn. "What was it like, Seaman?"

"As I told Cmdr. Rabb, it seemed like you could wear it upside down and 
make 
it change from happy to angry by doing so. And the color was some kind 
of 
deep purple, sir," Quinn answered.

Fred looked at Harm, surprise written all over his face. "Sir, we might 
just 
be more lucky than investigators usually deserve to be," he said and 
then 
turned back to the astonished seaman.  "Maybe the guy with that 
particular 
mask was wearing a black cloak and a triangular hat?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Quinn said slowly.

"But the hat maybe wasn't all black?" Fred went on. Harm and De Carlo 
exchanged a puzzled glance. Harm then felt a hearty sneeze crawl up 
inside 
his nose, turned and grabbed his handkerchief.

"Bless you!" four voices chorused.

"Thanks," came a muffled voice from behind white linen.

Quinn tried hard to remember any details, when Merriner suddenly turned 
to 
Fred. "As you mention it, sir, in fact the hat wasn't all black. I had 
forgotten about that but now I remember. It was black but it had lace 
attached to it, in the same strange color of the mask. And the cloak, 
too, 
around the collar."

"Strike!" Fred exclaimed under his breath, making a fist. "I'm sorry, 
sir," 
he added immediately, remembering where he was and with whom.

Harm suppressed a grin. "Did you find out anything, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir. I know the guy. His name is Antonio Calvi, and he is a capo 
seconda classe, a petty officer second class. He works at the Scuola 
Navale 
Militare Morosini, the Navy High School, that's called collegio here - 
college," Fred explained.

"È sicuro, Tenente?" De Carlo asked with upraised eyebrows. [Are you 
sure, 
Lieutenant?]

"Quite sure," Prumetti reassured him. "That costume of his is a very 
old one 
from Naples. He inherited it from his grandfather, I think, and would 
show 
it to everyone but never lend it to anybody. It's got to be him."

"Well, Amedeo, I guess you just got your hint," Harm smirked and got a 
confident smirk in return.

"Sir" Quinn interrupted him, "That's the window. Up there was the guy 
who 
called out to us." He indicated a rather small window high up under the 
roof 
of one of the Palazzi. De Carlo immediately told the driver to pull to 
the 
shore and let them disembark. They found the entrance that, luckily, 
was not 
locked and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. Harm blew his nose 
that 
slowly started to turn red and then rang the doorbell that they 
estimated 
should be the right one. A short, thin old man opened the door and 
stared at 
the two military officers that were standing before him.

"Ci scusi, Signor... Ferraresi," Fred began, taking a quick look at the 
name 
tag. [Excuse us, Mr.... Ferraresi.] "Sono il Sottotenente di Vascello 
Prumetti e questi sono il Capitano di Fregata Rabb della Marina 
Americana e 
il Commissario De Carlo della Polizia. Potremmo farLe alcune domande, 
per 
favore?" [I'm Lt. j.g. Prumetti and these are Cmdr. Rabb of the U.S. 
Navy 
and Police Agent De Carlo. Could we please ask you a few questions?]

The old man's expression oscillated between frightened and curious. 
"Certo. 
Entrate, per favore." He opened the door and let them in. [Of course. 
Come 
in, please.]

Harm, with a gesture and a wink, made Fred understand that he would let 
him 
do all the talking. If they started to translate every sentence he said 
the 
situation would get confusing. Fred introduced Merriner and Quinn and 
then 
asked Ferraresi if he had seen them on the gondola. He had. When had 
that 
been? Shortly after 2400, because Ferraresi remembered having heard the 
Campanile toll midnight as he lay in his bed. And only minutes after 
having 
turned off the lights, he had heard loud voices out on the canal, 
shouting 
something in a foreign language that could have been English. Ferraresi 
now 
took a close look at the two uncomfortable young men and then nodded.

"Sono loro. Era incredibile che rumore facevano a quell'ora," he 
stated. 
[It's them. It was unbelievable what noise they were making at that 
late 
hour.]

"He definitely identifies them, sir," Fred said to Harm.

"Ask him if he would be ready to testify in court," Harm replied.

Fred translated the question and Ferraresi consented, obviously pleased 
that 
such behavior would be punished properly. The officers didn't feel the 
immediate need to correct his picture of the situation. They thanked 
him and 
left.

Down on the street, Harm looked at his watch and jumped. 1248. He would 
be 
late again. But he couldn't help it, he realized, sighing and again 
quickly 
pulling out his handkerchief to prepare for the next sneeze. Fred had 
described him where he would have to go to find the shop Mac had told 
him 
of. He only hoped he would find it quickly, not losing anymore precious 
time 
to the insane urban geography of Venice.

"So Claire and I will see you at the ball tonight, sir?" Fred asked.

"Count on it, Lieutenant," Harm answered more lightly than he was 
feeling 
towards the event. "What about you, Amedeo?" he asked the commissario.

De Carlo smiled. "I wouldn't miss 'de opportunity to get a good laugh 
at 'de 
Venetian high society's expense," he said enigmatically. Harm didn't 
feel 
this remark succeeded in cheering him up.



1204 ZULU
Venier Abbigliamento Costumi [Venier's Costumes]
Near Frari Church
San Polo, Venice



The woman that looked back at her from the mirror was a real beauty. 
Mac 
watched herself in awe. Francesca stood at her side, grinning, 
obviously 
pleased with her choice for Mac, and she looked stunning as well. They 
would 
make quite a pair of princesses tonight, Mac thought, a dazzling wave 
of 
anticipation running through her veins as she imagined how Harm might 
react 
on seeing them. Seeing her, his partner, turned into a noblewoman...

Mac knew she should have undressed long since. Harm was late but 
Chegwidden 
was already waiting outside and even Harm could happen to arrive any 
minute. 
But she hadn't been able to tear her eyes from her reflection in the 
mirror. 
The change was too amazing. With a deep heartfelt sigh she let her eyes 
once 
again wander over the dress and then turned and stepped into the 
changing 
room, not seeing the knowing glance Francesca and the shop owner were 
exchanging.

When she left the shop, the precious dress carefully wrapped in a huge 
parcel, Harm had arrived and was still panting, trying to blow his 
nose. She 
winked at him and made a movement as if she were checking her watch. 
Harm 
rolled his eyes heavenward but flashed her one of his dashing smiles 
that 
always made her knees weaken. 'Yesterday he wouldn't have stayed so 
calm at 
my teasing,' she mused, 'Maybe this morning something between us 
changed for 
the good.' She had to collect all of her Marine strength to banish the 
thoughts that were trying to invade her mind at the recollection of 
their 
embrace. 'Stay calm, Marine, you can handle this,' she kept telling 
herself.

Harm was curious. His heart had skipped a beat when he had seen Mac 
step out 
of the shop. Her cheeks were flushed as if she were excited about 
something 
and her eyes seemed to have a little extra sparkle. Not to mention the 
smile 
that was lighting up her face from inside. 'She is so beautiful,' he 
thought 
once again, longing to gather her into his arms but resisting the urge. 
He, 
too, remembered vividly the unexpected moment of tenderness they had 
shared 
that morning. The memory made his stomach go crazy.

"Been successful, jarhead?" he asked lightly.

Mac beamed at him and Harm thought he was going to lose himself in 
those 
eyes of hers. "Yep. Just wait and see, squid." She gave him a wink and, 
saluting the admiral, left to walk to their hotel. Harm thought she was 
more 
hovering than walking.

"Commander!" AJ thundered.

Harm jumped, realizing that he must have missed his C.O. addressing him 
more 
than once. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir," he stuttered.

AJ couldn't help smiling. After all, he had been waiting for so many 
years 
now to see his 'children' get together, chain of command or not. If 
only 
Rabb had the guts to tell her!

"You'll see her soon, son," he said to a blushing Harm. "Now let's get 
to 
business." He took the uncomfortable commander by the arm and they 
entered 
the shop.

Francesca greeted Harm warmly. She had been briefed by AJ that her task 
might be more like helping those two officers of his work things out 
between 
them. At first she had felt a slight pang of disappointment, having to 
think 
of Harm only as a friend, but when AJ had told her just what Harm and 
Mac 
had been through since Francesca had last met them, she had decided 
that 
bringing them together was a mission worth partaking in.

"So, daughter, what do you think you'll do to us?" AJ asked, obviously 
not 
being all too enthusiastic, either, at the prospect of having to go out 
in 
costume.

"I thought you might feel more at ease if you went as yourselves, sort 
of," 
Francesca explained. "As Mac and I chose to wear Napoleonic Empire 
style, 
Signor Venier procured the fitting things for you two. You'll be just 
perfect," she said, grinning in anticipation. She opened the curtain of 
one 
of the small dressing rooms and took out two Royal British Navy 
uniforms of 
the 1810's, white knee-long trousers with white silk stockings, navy 
blue 
uniform jackets with golden epaulettes, two for AJ who also had other 
rank 
insignia attached to his jacket, and only one epaulette on the right 
shoulder for Harm, representing his current rank.

Much to Harm and AJ's dismay they would have to wear slippers - 
Francesca 
wouldn't listen to their pleas for boots. Mess dress in those days 
would 
mean slippers, she explained, and there was no way of going to a ball 
with 
riding boots. The black capes and the Napoleonic covers were cute, 
though. 
And they would have real sabers. Harm and AJ exchanged a look, grinned, 
shrugged and went to change.

When they stepped out of the changing rooms they looked at each other, 
shared a hearty laugh, but then scrutinized themselves all over again 
in the 
mirror and suddenly found they didn't look too bad after all. And those 
slippers were surprisingly comfortable. 'A good career and comfortable 
shoes,' Harm thought, smiling to himself. 'Maybe tonight I'll be 
courageous 
enough to talk to my nice girl, too.'

"You look just great, both of you," Francesca stated, admiring the two 
tall 
men. "All the Italian ladies will go wild for you," she added with a 
wink.

Harm didn't care about the Italian ladies. He just looked at the 
reflection 
of the British navy officer that stared back at him from the mirror, 
hoping 
he would make a worthy companion for a certain Marine who would surely 
be 
the most stunning woman of the whole assembly.



1845 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice



Hearing a knock at the door, Mac quickly grabbed her cape and mask and 
deposited them where she wouldn't forget them later. Then she hurried 
to 
open and had to smile as she saw Harm dressed in an early 19th century 
British Royal Navy uniform, the fitting Napoleonic cover in his hand, 
together with a black mask on a stick. A saber hung at his left side.

"Come in, I'm finished in a minute." She closed the door after he had 
stepped in and mockingly looked him over. "Cute, Commander." She 
grinned.

Harm smiled back a little uncomfortably. Then he took a close look at 
Mac 
and stared in awe. He had seen her beautifully dressed on many 
occasions, 
but tonight was far from anything he had ever seen.

"Wow! Mac, this is... this is incredible! This dress just seems to be 
made 
for you!"

Now it was her who was beginning to feel uneasy. She hastily started to 
arrange the many folds of her Empire style dress. It was made of dark 
red 
chanton silk and had pearl white lace applications at the ends of its 
semi-long sleeves and around her deep décolleté. Around her neck Mac 
was 
wearing only a single string of pearls which were the same as were 
attached 
around her body, directly under her bosom, from where the long folds 
were 
hanging down. But what was most amazing of all was her hair. Harm just 
stared at it for some minutes, slowly walking around her to admire it 
from 
all sides. "How on earth did you do this?" he finally managed to ask.

Mac had pinned her hair back from her face as if it were long and had 
covered the upper part of her head, where the strands ended, with a 
broad 
dark red silk ribbon, thus hiding the pins. At the back of her head she 
had 
attached a dark brown false braid, artfully wound up with pearl pins in 
it, 
leaving out only single strands which curled loose down to her 
shoulders. 
The illusion was perfect. She smiled, embarrassed, but also content 
that her 
trick seemed to work.

"Chloe showed me once how to do this with her hair. I just hope the 
fake 
braid won't fall off."

Harm again looked at her and seemed to measure her with his eyes. "You 
are 
so beautiful," he said in a low voice. Their eyes met and held for a 
long 
tense moment until she finally smiled and broke the contact.

"We'd better go, sailor."

"As you wish, my lady, I'm your humble servant." Harm grinned, 
imitating a 
strong oxford accent.

"Kidder!"

They put on their capes. Mac carefully placed her hood on her head, 
trying 
not to destroy her artwork. Harm struggled a moment with his cover 
until he 
had found an angle in which it stayed on top of his head. Then he 
offered 
her his arm and they went downstairs. As they crossed the lobby they 
tried 
to ignore the other guests who openly stared at the couple. Only Sergio 
wouldn't let himself be passed in silence.

"Comandante, signorina, 'dis is sooo beautiful! Pleas' letta me take a 
photo!" He quickly dove under his counter and fetched his Polaroid. 
"You 
know, I keep it ollways reddy forr 'dere are so many tourists 'datta 
'ave 
soo wonderful costumes!"

Harm rolled his eyes upwards but then put on his sweetest flyboy smile 
and 
made Mac stand by his side. Of course, some other guests at once took 
photos 
of their own. After two minutes of grinning and posing, Harm and Mac 
smiled 
their goodbyes and fled to the door.

Outside it was dark and foggy. As they rushed along the narrow streets 
Mac 
felt like she had been transferred into the settings of a movie. All 
seemed 
so unreal. Harm's long steps made his cape flow behind his back and 
made him 
look like a somber pirate rather than her well-known friend. She still 
held 
his hand, glad for her long pearl white silk gloves as it was rather 
chilly, 
but she had to follow behind him for the streets were too narrow to go 
side 
by side. As she looked at his dark backside, Harm seemed like a 
stranger to 
her.

On the broader street that led to the Arsenale he slowed down, turned, 
smiled to her and again offered her his arm. She shyly took it, 
avoiding his 
glance. All this felt so odd. Harm was the perfect image of a 19th 
century 
officer and gentleman, his behavior fit seamlessly with his looks. If 
she 
wouldn't have known him any better she would have gotten the impression 
of 
being courted in a very Jane-Austen-like way. Anyway - it felt just 
great 
and Mac silently determined to savor every moment of the evening.

Harm couldn't help acting the way he did. He had always known Mac as a 
strong and independent woman, feminine, yes, and maybe sometimes even 
fragile, but still way too modern to confront her on any other level as 
equality. But tonight was different. This dress held some kind of magic 
over 
her appearance which, letting her still stay Sarah Mackenzie, the 
friend he 
knew, however gave her an aura of nobility and maidenly shyness, so 
that he 
couldn't help but feel like some sort of knight who had been sent to 
protect 
the one he secretly cherished. Catching himself with these thoughts 
Harm 
could not suppress a slight chuckle.

Mac looked up, surprised. "What's up?"

Still grinning, Harm replied: "I was just realizing how much power this 
old 
city can hold on your imagination. From one moment to the next you find 
yourself completely changed. I mean, I actually feel as if tomorrow I 
am 
going to fight the Spanish armada."

Realizing that his thoughts must have gone in a similar direction as 
hers 
had - which to some respect made her wonder if she had been in them, 
too - 
Mac raised her eyebrows. "Harmon Rabb, don't tell me you are about to 
become 
the romantic sort. I would never believe you!"

"Don't worry, Mac, it will pass." He smiled, but in the tone of his 
voice 
she heard the tiniest bit of something that belied his words. They fell 
silent again and walked up the street to the Arsenale, musing about the 
influence Venice was beginning to exercise on them.


Admiral Chegwidden and Francesca awaited them in front of the entrance. 
"Commander, you are ten minutes late," AJ stated grimly.

"With all due respect, sir," cut in Mac, "It's only eight minutes and 
forty-three seconds."

Chegwidden frowned. "With all due respect, Colonel," he imitated her, 
"Why 
don't you just shut up?" A moment later a wide grin spread across his 
face 
as he realized that Mac actually was at a loss of words to his reply. 
Harm 
hid his smile by studying his mask. 'One glorious day, Marine...'

"Why don't we just go in?" Francesca tried to save the situation.

At that moment movements from behind them made them turn. They saw Fred 
and 
Claire approaching, Fred in full Scottish mess attire, kilt and dinner 
jacket, Claire in a dress of the 1880's, in traditional Scottish style 
with 
a shawl that had the same pattern as Fred's kilt. Harm introduced them 
to 
Francesca and they entered the Arsenale, Fred leading the way to the 
ballroom.

The huge room wasn't actually a real ballroom but decorations made it 
look 
as if it were. They gave their capes to an Italian seaman at the 
entrance. 
As they now entered the ballroom they became aware that they had to 
line up 
in a défilé that seemed to have no end. All of Venice's high society 
had to 
be present this evening, and Mac silently wondered why some people, 
especially women, chose such badly fitting costumes like, for instance, 
the 
oriental outfits that showed too much of not too well trained bodies.

"This feels a bit like Buckingham Palace," Harm said to Mac in a low 
voice, 
slightly amused.

"You ever been there?" she teased.

He frowned at her. Then, taking his nose up and remembering his oxford 
accent, he replied: "Of course, my lady, and I wonder why you have not 
yet 
been presented at court."

Mac shook her head, unbelieving. "Harm, did you ever read 'Pride and 
Prejudice'?"

He grinned, knowing that this was a goal in his favor. "High School. 
Second 
year. English literature. Back then I hated it," he admitted, grinning. 
Realizing the queue had advanced, he took up his accent again. "May I 
suggest we move on, Miss Mackenzie?"

"Shut up!" she hissed, laughing. "This just isn't you, Harm!"

"Okay," he held his hands up and grinned at her. "Sorry. No more 
literature 
tonight, I promise."

They had now reached Admiral Della Rosa who welcomed them aboard the 
Arsenale, hoping they would enjoy the evening. Having signaled to AJ, 
Harm 
and Mac that later on they would have the opportunity to talk in 
private, he 
turned to the next guest in line and the officers walked on. About ten 
minutes later - they had let Fred explain to them some historical 
details 
about the rooms - the live band, dressed in baroque clothes that 
created a 
strange effect together with their modern music equipment, took their 
seats 
and the bandleader announced something in Italian. They turned to 
Prumetti.

"The bandleader has announced the grand round dance which all of us 
must 
join in," Fred explained, "It's a tradition that Della Rosa has brought 
up. 
He is fond of historical dances, you know. It's an old English one that 
opens the evening, but the steps are simple. Just follow the admiral 
and his 
wife who take the lead and do everything they do."

"Uhm, Fred, can't we just stay here and watch the dance?" Harm dreaded 
the 
thought of learning by doing.

"I'm sorry but I fear the admiral would see it as an insult if his 
special 
guests denied him this favor." Fred smiled, compassion showing in his 
eyes. 
As very slowly people began to form a long queue of couples the JAG 
officers 
looked rather helplessly at each other.

"Guess we have to surrender," Harm stated grimly as he saw Della Rosa 
and 
his wife walk up to them. On the other side of the room Harm detected 
De 
Carlo, dressed as a Japanese nobleman with a beautiful woman at his 
side, a 
geisha, obviously his wife. De Carlo winked at them and threw them a 
compassionate glance, withdrawing further into a corner and taking out 
a 
camera. Harm decided he didn't like this whole situation.

Fred turned to the little group. "If they do it like last year, Admiral 
Della Rosa and his wife will do the first stanza all alone in order to 
show 
everyone what they must do."

Della Rosa and his wife had by now joined them. The signora was a 
little bit 
taller than the admiral and surely had once been a beauty, but just now 
her 
hair was a bit too yellow and her décolleté a little too exposed. She 
seemed 
very impressed with the two tall officers at her husband's side for she 
obviously couldn't decide whom she should flirt with more openly. Mac's 
eyes 
met with Harm's and maybe only she was able to distinguish the 
well-hidden 
amusement in his smile. She gave him a quick grin of mutual 
understanding.

"I hope you join us with the dance, Admiral," Della Rosa said 
invitingly to 
AJ.

"We have already been instructed, thank you." AJ smiled and made a 
gesture 
to Prumetti.

"Well then, we have to get in line." Della Rosa took the hand of his 
wife 
who reluctantly tore her eyes off AJ and led her to the first position 
in 
the queue. Turning, he motioned for the JAG officers to follow him. 
Everyone 
was glancing over to the admiral and his special guests.

"Harm, don't look like you're going to your execution," Mac said 
softly, 
smiling, as he took her hand to lead her to their place in the line. 
"Normally, you don't abhor dancing this much, or did I miss something?"

"Yeah, right," he hissed back, "But that's when I'm not so 
conspicuously 
dressed and when I know the steps and when not everybody in this room 
keeps 
staring at us 'cause we are society's main attraction from the other 
side of 
the Atlantic."

"Anyway, sailor, just try your smile, okay? It will make up for any 
wrong 
steps ending on other people's feet." At this remark she felt him prick 
her 
hand. However, when she looked up, there was his flyboy smile again, 
and Mac 
couldn't help but feel like a princess being escorted by the best 
looking 
guy in the whole assembly. She blushed slightly and smiled back. Harm 
saw 
the sparkling in her huge dark eyes and once again thought he had never 
seen 
her this beautiful.

They had reached the end of the room and AJ and Francesca took the 
second 
position, directly behind Della Rosa and his wife. Harm and Mac and 
Fred and 
Claire were to be the couples three and four. Harm frowned as he saw De 
Carlo rushing up to the music stage from where he would surely be able 
to 
take good pictures.

Della Rosa was now given a microphone and he explained in Italian what 
was 
going to happen as he and his wife walked through the steps. Harm tried 
hard 
to memorize his task. All he had to do was walk, four steps to meet 
Mac, 
then four steps back. Then they would have to walk eight steps in a 
small 
circle around each other, always looking into the same direction, 
though, 
passing each other back to back. Then they would repeat all, this time 
taking the circle the other way round.

Then Della Rosa and his wife suddenly took AJ and Francesca's hands. A 
slight expression of panic showed on Chegwidden's face. Della Rosa 
pulled 
them into eight steps on the circle the two couples were forming, until 
everyone had reached their original position again. Then he turned to 
AJ and 
said: "Now you take your partner's hand and go up one place. And for 
the 
next stanza you just stay put." Della Rosa and his wife turned away 
from 
each other and, walking eight steps on semi circles, reached the second 
position while AJ and Francesca were passing to the first position in 
between them.

Della Rosa then explained to everyone that the couples that reached the 
ends 
of the queue had to subsequently wait for one entire stanza while he 
and his 
wife would now proceed with the next two dancers in the queue. Harm 
swallowed quickly as he heard Della Rosa say: "Commander, I think we 
might 
need to do this once again to show people how it works with the music." 
The 
Italian admiral made a sign to the band and then smiled to Mac as he 
signaled them to begin. Harm hated him for this performance in front of 
the 
whole assembly.

'Count your steps,' he kept saying to himself, 'Keep counting to eight 
and 
let Mac show you where to go!' He locked his gaze with hers, relaxing a 
little as he found her giving him barely visible indications where he 
had to 
go. Mac seemed not in the least embarrassed by everybody's glances. She 
went 
through her part in graceful steps, smiling, and even seemed to enjoy 
this 
absurd ceremony. To his astonishment Harm found himself getting angry 
with 
her for this. Well, if she could do it, so could he. He straightened 
up, 
grinned back and finished the rest of the stanza elegantly without any 
further help, still locking eyes with her, though, whenever he could. 
When 
he eventually detected a hint of admiring astonishment in her eyes, he 
actually started to enjoy his show.

Coming out of the circle, ready to take Mac's hand to lead her up to AJ 
and 
Francesca, Harm stepped back self-confidently, not seeing anything but 
his 
gorgeous partner. A suppressed cry of pain from Fred at once brought 
him 
back down to earth. Casting Fred an excusing glance and inwardly 
cursing 
himself for spoiling it all, Harm looked back at Prumetti who tried to 
smile, rubbing his right foot at the back of his left leg. Mac and 
Claire 
had a hard time to refrain from laughing. Biting her lip, Mac saw Harm 
look 
down, frowning, trying to avoid her eyes. She knew this one had to 
prick his 
pride and she felt a sting of compassion.

Luckily their demonstration ended shortly afterwards, the fact being 
clear 
to everyone that now Harm and Mac would go together with Chegwidden and 
Francesca and Della Rosa and his wife with Fred and Claire. The music 
stopped and all took their original positions. Someone actually started 
to 
clap his hands and Mac saw Harm trying hard to swallow his dismay as 
all 
applauded to their little performance. She squeezed his hand a little 
and 
earned a heartfelt smile in return.

"Where did you learn historical dancing, sailor?" she asked. "That was 
great."

"Yeah, especially the hit-the-shoe number." Harm frowned.

"No, really. I'm looking forward to dancing with you." Mac's smile was 
all 
honesty.

Harm replied with a half smile. "I'm just wondering why Della Rosa 
would 
make such a fuss about getting all of his guests into doing this."

Having overheard his words, Claire leaned over and whispered: "Fred 
told me 
that Della Rosa swears it's the best way of getting his guests to know 
each 
other. That's why he insists on doing it."

Mac grinned a little mischievously at her partner. "Okay, I guess I 
should 
take out my note pad and write down two names and a description in 
every 
stanza we're doing."

"Go ahead, Colonel," Harm chuckled. Then they straightened as they 
heard the 
music begin. Everybody around them prepared for the dance.

'Five, six, seven, eight,' Harm counted silently and then exercised a 
perfect bow towards Mac, after that taking her hand and looking down at 
her 
as she was sunk into a graceful courtesy, her eyes lifted in his 
direction. 
And suddenly in the back of his subconscious something just clicked 
into 
place. Letting the majestic rhythm take control of his body, he led Mac 
through the quadrille, her eyes being the one fix point in a room that 
with 
every new step they took started to blur more and more. He began to 
feel a 
lightness that was new to him. His body was floating through the music, 
working entirely by itself, erasing rationality, allowing his emotions 
to 
flow freely. Harm felt he was getting a little scared about the changes 
that 
he witnessed within himself, but at the same time, he wouldn't want to 
miss 
any second of it. He wondered briefly if this was what 'letting go' was 
all 
about.

Mac, on the other hand, had instantly understood what was happening to 
Harm. 
She told herself to try and remember to draw a red cross in her 
calendar: 
for the first time she had ever seen Harm entirely give in to his 
emotions. 
Not that anybody else would see it - his smile and attitude were all 
politeness. But when they were dancing together they were floating 
away, 
hovering five inches above the ground. They, for once, were in perfect 
harmony, at least for this all-too-short dance.

When it was over De Carlo joined them, admiration shining in his eyes. 
"Sarah, Harm, 'dat was marvelous," he said.

"We only did what everyone else was doing," Mac replied with a blush. 
'How 
much exactly could people detect of that kind of trance we were in?' 
she 
wondered. Harm just smiled back, not knowing exactly what to say. De 
Carlo 
could feel the confusion those two were trapped in, so he changed the 
subject.

"Anyone care for dinner?" He indicated to the enormous buffet that had 
been 
opened the minute before.

"Great idea," Mac joined in at once, beaming up at Harm.

"Okay with me if they have Cesar Salad."



0234 ZULU
Inside the Arsenale
Castello, Venice



Time flew past, Mac thought as she checked her internal clock. This 
evening 
was one to add to her heart together with her most cherished memories. 
Except for four or five dances that she had shared with AJ, Della Rosa, 
Amedeo or Fred, Harm had not left her side for a minute. Quite a lot of 
men 
had made an attempt to ask her to dance, but Harm had acted as if he 
were 
her husband and they had backed away. Not that Harm had scared them 
away. He 
had been a perfect gentleman, but he had been so attentive, protective 
and 
caring in his attitude towards her that most men must have felt they 
were an 
item sharing the love of their lives.

In vain Mac had tried to stay alert, repeating to herself that Harm was 
just 
playing a certain role that came with the costume and the situation. 
But the 
temptation had been too hard to resist. Ere long Mac was hopelessly 
captured 
by her partner's charms, allowing herself for once to dream of another 
timeline when Harm and she would be given a chance together. Mac knew 
she 
was on dangerous territory. Waking from those dreams that she kept 
buried 
deep inside was always sad and painful, but tonight she let herself 
enjoy 
the emotions and did not think about the consequences!

Harm, on the other hand, was growing increasingly uneasy. He had made 
his 
decision and he was afraid he would run again if he didn't get to act 
soon. 
Incredible as it was to be near Mac all the time, to hold her, play her 
fiancé, with every passing moment Harm felt his courage falter more. 
And he 
had to keep it up. While they had been dancing their first dance it had 
dawned on Harm that tonight was the right time to speak. To finally 
correct 
his mistake and mend her heart if it was still open to him. To tell his 
Sarah that it was her, and only her, whom he wanted to be the center of 
his 
life. He had to get her away from society, alone. Finally he couldn't 
stand 
the tension any longer.

"Mac," he began lightly, indicating his red nose that he'd had to 
continuously blow during the whole evening, "I think I should get some 
fresh 
air and some sleep."

Reluctant to leave and return to her Harm-less ordinary life, Mac 
nodded and 
sighed. "Yeah. You're right. Let's call it a night."

They took leave from the others and, wrapped in their capes, left the 
Arsenale.


They found themselves in the middle of thick sea mist that immediately 
crept 
through their clothes. "Do you really want to stay outside any longer 
than 
necessary in this weather, squid?" Mac asked shivering.

Harm tried not to let his despair show. He needed to be alone with her 
now, 
outside, on neutral territory. He just hoped she'd agree to stay. "I 
need 
fresh air, Mac. Take a little walk with me? Please do, Mac."

He tried to keep his voice light but Mac knew him too well to be 
fooled. 
Something was troubling him. She didn't know why but he needed her with 
him. 
"Okay," she consented cautiously.

They set out for the shore, following it in the direction of St. 
Mark's, 
silent. Harm saw Mac try to hide that she was shivering from the cold. 
Hesitating only a second, he stepped close to her and put his arm 
around her 
shoulders, wrapping them both in his cape. Mac flashed him a shy, 
grateful 
smile that he returned with a tender, heartfelt one of his own. Holding 
on 
to each other under Harm's cape, they would continue their silent walk, 
two 
wanderers in a misty night full of a yet unknown magic.

Mac didn't realize where they were going until Harm suddenly slowed his 
pace 
and then stopped and turned to face her. They were standing on top of a 
bridge, the last one separating them from St. Mark's. And as she turned 
her 
head to the right, she saw it vanishing in and again reappearing from 
the 
mists: the Bridge of Sighs. And at the same moment she knew what Harm 
was 
about to do. Or trying to do. She felt him tremble slightly. The cold 
or 
something else? She couldn't tell, as her suddenly racing heart 
somewhat 
dazed her senses. So she just looked at him and waited.

Harm took both of her small hands in his and looked down on them, the 
expression on his face strained. He was desperately searching for words 
but 
they were nowhere to be found in his mind. Damn, where was the lawyer 
in him 
when he really needed him? Finally he lifted his gaze and took a deep 
breath 
and... had to quickly pull out his handkerchief to sneeze heartily. 
Thoroughly embarrassed he blew his nose and looked up at Mac again to 
find 
her chuckling softly. The tension at once dissipated and he couldn't 
help 
joining in her laughter.

"I'm sorry," Harm said, still embarrassed. "This conversation was meant 
to 
start a little differently."

Mac gave him an amused smile. "Conversations under bridges on foreign 
continents don't seem to work for us," she observed, her voice guarded.

Harm's expression sobered and he stepped closer to her, not letting go 
of 
her hands. "I wish we'd never started this tradition," he replied, his 
voice 
very low and sad.

"I've been sorry ever since that I did," Mac replied, traces of the old 
hurt 
shining in her eyes.

"That's not what I meant," Harm cut in softly. "I wish I had done it 
right 
the first time. So any other bridges related to 'eternity' in some way 
or 
the other would bring up nothing but beautiful memories..." he paused 
and 
swallowed, then went on in a barely audible voice that was strained 
with 
emotion, "and not cut through the heart every time you think of them."

Mac stepped closer to him now, resting their entwined hands between 
their 
chests. "And I have been wishing ever since I had paid attention to 
your 
words. You didn't say 'no'. You said 'not yet'. And I was too vexed to 
realize that." He didn't reply but just looked at her with an 
unreadable 
expression in his blue-green eyes.  She went on. "But tell me 
something, 
Harm. Given the case that I would have gotten you right, how long would 
it 
have taken you to let go?"

"I don't know, Mac." His voice was little more than a whisper. But then 
he 
cleared his throat and took a deep breath. Now or never. He locked his 
eyes 
with hers. "What if I told you I was ready to let go right now? We're 
not in 
Washington. We're not even on the same continent," he cited the words 
she 
had used three and a half years before.

Her smile was enigmatic. "Location doesn't change who we are," she took 
up 
his exact reply.

"No, it doesn't," he agreed softly, never breaking the eye contact, 
"But 
there's no need to change. It's always Harmon Rabb that loves you, 
Sarah. 
Here, back in Sydney or home in Washington. My feelings won't change, 
so I 
won't either." He paused, holding his breath, silently awaiting her 
reply 
that could mean heaven or hell.

A single tear on her cheek indicated that he would get the first 
option. "I 
won't disagree with you on that one," she whispered, half smiling, half 
crying, still referring to their conversation in Sydney. "I love you, 
too, 
Harm."

Harm didn't trust his voice to any words. As relief threatened to 
overwhelm 
him, he just gathered his Marine into a tight, shaking embrace and 
rested 
his head on top of hers, his eyes closed against the uprising tears. He 
felt 
her sobbing softly against his chest and with a trembling hand, he 
caressed 
the back of her head until she quieted. She then pulled out of his 
embrace 
and with a teary but overwhelming smile looked up to him. He took a 
fresh 
handkerchief out of his pocket and gently dried her tears, smiling.

"I'm so scared, Mac," he admitted sheepishly.

"So am I," was her surprising reply. "Why are you?"

Caressing her cheek with his fingertips, he admitted: "It's the sheer 
dimension of my feelings for you. It's always been, I guess. I felt it 
was 
something that could easily sweep me away completely. It does, every 
time 
I'm near you," he added, smiling, "And I don't have the slightest idea 
how 
to cope with that. And you, what are you afraid of?"

"Not my feelings," she replied, "But my reactions. Every time I had a 
relationship I screwed it up sooner or later. If that happened with 
you, 
I... I don't know what I'd do, Harm." She turned her head, confusion 
preventing her from facing him.

"You know what, jarhead?" Harm put his right index finger under her 
chin and 
gently made her meet his glance. "We've waited so long, a few months 
more or 
less won't matter now. Both of us have heavy emotional baggage. Why 
don't we 
take one tiny step at a time and let it develop naturally? For me the 
most 
important thing is to know I haven't lost your love. And I wanted you 
to 
know that I love you back, Sarah. All the rest will come at the right 
time. 
What do you say? Deal?" He gave her a smile of pure love and caring.

Mac returned the smile in full. "Deal," she said softly. "I'm looking 
forward to every minute of it."

Harm's smile deepened even more at her reply. He made a movement as if 
to 
lean in to kiss her, but then stopped and again had to blow his nose. 
"At 
least I can always say I'm using my handkerchief because of my cold and 
not 
because of my emotions," he chuckled.

"Nope, flyboy," Mac retorted, chuckling as well, "Your watery eyes 
betray 
you."

"Damn," Harm mockingly swore and then turned serious again. "I'm only 
sorry 
I can't seal our deal with a kiss now, but I don't want you to catch a 
cold 
as well."

Mac couldn't help laughing again. This was so typical for her flyboy. 
Only 
concerned about her well-being. She loved him for that. "Nonsense," she 
said. "If I wasn't ill before I'll be now, having been out in these 
temperatures for so long with only this costume on. And I definitely 
insist 
on that kiss."

"Aye, ma'am," Harm whispered just before his lips met hers in the 
sweetest, 
softest kiss Mac had ever received in her life. The kiss lasted what 
seemed 
an eternity to both of them, this first, chaste kiss a promise of so 
much 
more to follow when the time was right.



0553 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice



Mac felt like a fourteen-year-old girl, giggling, dancing, bubbling 
over 
with joy, as she prepared to leave her room for an early breakfast. She 
hadn't slept much, but unlike after an ordinary night of insomnia, she 
didn't mind. She had lain on her back, glanced at the stars outside, 
thinking of Harm. She could still feel his lips on hers, remember his 
scent, 
his embrace, how he had been shaking when he had finally, finally told 
her 
what she had wanted to hear for so many years. 'This feeling of 
complete and 
utter love...' she thought, mentally citing Chris De Burgh. Well, she 
had 
been in a red dress after all...

Then her thoughts would wander on, she would allow herself a glimpse of 
what 
the future might turn out to be. Her, Harm and one, maybe two little 
children, a white house with a front-porch swing big enough for all of 
them. 
Huge Christmas trees and Harm accompanying them on his guitar while 
they 
were singing. 'My God, how mushy can dreams get,' she had scolded 
herself, 
shaking her head and laughing softly. But maybe that was just the kind 
of 
stuff you got along for free when your heart seemed to overflow with 
joy.

Finally she decided that she wanted to see the sun rise, take a walk on 
her 
own to fully understand what had happened the night before between her 
and 
her flyboy. Yes, he was 'her' flyboy now. She smiled at the 
realization. 
There was no need for uneasiness about that kind of thoughts. Not 
anymore.

She grabbed a thick sweater to put on later over her turtleneck, turned 
to 
leave, then thought the better of it and took her shawl and gloves 
along as 
well. It would be chilly outside, and she was feeling the slightest bit 
of 
soreness somewhere down in her throat. As she opened the door, she 
stopped 
in her tracks and knelt down, a wide smile spreading across her face. 
There 
was a plain white envelope lying at her doorstep, that read 'Sarah' in 
Harm's handwriting. Across it lay a single red rose. Carefully Mac 
picked up 
both treasures and descended to the breakfast room.

Outside all was still dark. The small lamps didn't really succeed in 
lighting up the room and there was no one downstairs but her. Mac sat 
down 
in her favorite corner, the very one she and Harm had shared their 
unexpected embrace in yesterday. She looked up, smiling, when she saw 
Sergio 
approach to take her order.

"Good morninga, Signorina," he grinned broadly, "Deeda you sleepa 
well?" His 
smile had a knowing edge.

'Just what does he know?' Mac wondered. Returning a radiant smile she 
answered: "Thank you, never been better."

Sergio's smile was that of a proud grandfather. "I expecteta 'datta 
much," 
he only said. At her somewhat dazzled look he winked. "I wassa making 
an 
inspectionna tour when you and 'de comandante returned."

Mac felt herself blush slightly. She remembered the goodnight kiss that 
she 
and Harm had shared in front of her door. It had been somewhat more 
passionate than their first kiss. She had been very much tempted to 
drag 
Harm into her room and lock the door. But the memory of her disastrous 
history with former relationships had made her consent when Harm had 
reluctantly pulled away with a whispered "Good night, Sarah."

"Letta me justa say one 'ting, Signorina," Sergio ventured smugly, 
noting 
her embarrassment. "Una voce poco fa qui nel cor mi risuonò..." he sang 
lightly, again winking at her. "A voissa a shorta time ago soundeda 
down 
here in my hearta," he translated, smirking. "Rossini, 'De Barber of 
Sevilla. You know, eet was ra'der obvious wid' you two. Latte 
macchiato?"

Mac only nodded, dumbfounded. Sergio exercised a swift turn on one heel 
and 
went over to the coffee maker. Shortly after he returned with a 
steaming 
latte macchiato and left Mac alone seeing she wanted some privacy for 
her 
letter. Mac first took a deep sip of her coffee and then, with slightly 
trembling hands, opened the envelope to find a single white sheet.


My dearest Sarah,

It's 0430 and I've been unable to sleep ever since I kissed you 
goodnight. 
Don't be alarmed - I'm not writing to back off. Far be it from me!! I 
just 
needed some sort of contact with you and, not wanting to disturb you, I 
now 
imagine talking to you while I write these lines. And I imagine how 
your 
eyes will light up - or let's say I hope they will - when you read my 
letter 
in the morning.

Actually I don't have anything new to say to you right now. So all I'll 
do 
is repeat what I didn't dare to tell you for such a long time: I love 
you, 
Sarah Mackenzie, with all my heart. This goes way beyond anything I 
ever 
experienced in any relationship I ever had in my life, even with Diane. 
I'm 
scared beyond recognition, but at the same time I feel that I have 
finally 
reached my true private paradise. The one with you and our family-to-be 
inside. I only ask you to be patient with me. Giving in to feelings has 
always been hard for me. So if at times I may seem distant, it will 
only be 
my battling inside my soul. It will never mean that I love you any less 
than 
I do now and always have. And I promise I'll work on always completely 
opening up in front of you.  At this moment I feel it still somewhat 
exceeds 
my courage.

I can't wait to see you in the morning. In the meantime feel embraced 
tightly, and may God bless your sleep.

Yours always,
Harm

P.S.: Can you imagine it really took me seven years to tell you how I 
felt?? 
Right now I can't get over how easy it was to confess it! LY, H.


At his last comment a slight chuckle escaped Mac's lips. Wiping away a 
tear, 
she murmured: "I could have told you, squid, but I doubt you would've 
listened." She put the letter and the rose into the inside pocket of 
her 
fleece turtleneck. Having finished her latte, she rose, put on her 
sweater, 
gloves and shawl and stepped outside onto the foggy street.

Dawn had just started to creep across the sky. Right now it was of a 
deep 
royal blue, changing into something indefinite near the horizon. Mac 
drew in 
a deep breath, taking in the seawater scent and feeling herself wake up 
even 
more. Unable to hide the happiness that was written all across her 
face, Mac 
set off for the shore, ever accelerating her steps until she was 
literally 
racing up and down the steps of the bridges she encountered. She felt 
she 
had too much energy and had to let it out somehow or she would burst. 
Taking 
a sharp turn around the corner of one building, she bumped into someone 
who 
came running from the opposite direction.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't..." Mac started to excuse herself. Then she 
recognized whom she had run into. "Hi..." she whispered, blushing, her 
voice 
faltering.

"Hi yourself," Harm answered softly. They stood facing each other, 
unsure 
what to do, waiting for the other to make the first move. Three 
seconds, 
four, five, six... His grin was contagious. Finally they burst out 
laughing. 
Harm gathered her into his arms and squeezed her tightly. "Good 
morning, 
Marine," he whispered.

Mac drew back and looked up at him. "Good morning to you, too, sailor. 
And 
thank you for your wonderful surprise."

Harm blushed like a schoolboy. Looking down he said: "Nah... no big 
deal, 
Mac." He looked up again, smiling. "Feels so much better talking to you 
in 
person."

"Why didn't you just drop by? Did you really think I was able to 
sleep?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Not really. But blame it on my cowardice. 
Besides," 
he added with a sly wink, "If I had I think it highly probable I 
wouldn't 
have succeeded in being a good boy with you lying at my side."

She played along. "Maybe I wouldn't have objected..."

That caused a fit of nervous coughing on his side. Mac decided to 
change the 
subject. "How long have you been out? And, by the way, are you out of 
your 
senses to go running in this cold air while developing a major cold, 
Commander?"

"I had to wear myself out. You had me on an adrenaline high all night 
with 
your kiss, Colonel," he told her when he had regained his breath.

"So did you," she admitted softly, causing the color on his cheeks to 
deepen 
even more. "I suggest we return to the hotel and you get a shower and 
put on 
something warm and then we'll decide how to spend the day. Objections?"

"No, your honor," he replied in his best courtroom voice. She playfully 
slapped him on the arm and they headed back to the hotel.

"Do I see a flower missing in that arrangement over there?" she asked 
him, 
grinning, as they ascended the stairs to their rooms.

"I confess," he laughed. "But I didn't know where else you could find 
roses 
in Venice at 0530 in the morning."

"Anyway, I love it. Thank you, Harm."

"Anytime. Mac, would you... would you come in?" he carefully asked her 
when 
they had reached his door. On seeing her startled expression, he 
quickly 
added: "Don't worry, nothing serious. I just want you to be around."

She relaxed and smiled. "Sure."

They entered his room and he immediately headed for the bathroom. "Do 
you 
want a cup of tea?" he asked her.

Mac thought she had heard him wrong. "What did you just say?"

His head emerged around the bathroom doorpost, grinning broadly. "I 
just 
wanted to know if you'd like a cup of tea." He held up a small electric 
kettle.

"You never cease to amaze me," Mac said, raising her eyebrows. "Yes, 
thanks, 
I'd love something to warm me up." 'Or someone,' she added to herself.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll be with you in a minute. Don't run 
away." 
He blew her a kiss and closed the door.

Mac settled down on the bed, having thrown off her shoes, gloves, shawl 
and 
thick sweater. She took a quick look around and found the T-shirt he 
must 
have worn at night crumpled right next to her. Mentally shaking her 
head at 
the silliness of her actions, she couldn't resist taking it and burying 
her 
nose into it. 'Get a grip, Marine,' she scolded herself when she felt 
her 
stomach tighten. 'Since when do you allow your hormones to control 
you?' 
'Only when hormones are brought about by Harmon,' she answered her 
question, 
wondering in the back of her mind if she should think about a new job 
as she 
was obviously losing her sense. Luckily Harm saved her from the 
situation as 
he emerged from the bathroom, his hair still wet, clad in fresh sweats 
and 
carrying two plastic mugs of tea with the bags still inside.

"I'm sorry they aren't fresh tea leaves but teabags are easier to 
bring."

"It'll be just perfect," she said with a smile, taking the mugs while 
he 
climbed onto the bed beside her and they leaned against the wall, both 
enjoying each other's closeness.

Harm took his mug from her hands and placed a quick, feathery kiss on 
her 
lips. "Thanks for your company, my favorite Marine."

"My pleasure."

"What are we doing today?" he asked her between two sips of tea.

She blew on her cup to cool the steaming beverage down a bit. "I guess 
we 
get Fred and make him take us to this... what was his name? The guy 
with the 
strange mask."

"Calvi," he helped.

"Yeah, him. And his friends. And they'll have to tell us a little 
story. 
After that we'll see where the road leads to," she went on.

"Where your road leads I will follow..." Harm softly sang, remembering 
the 
famous Trisha Yearwood/Garth Brooks duet at her choice of words. 
Surprisingly she at once took up the game.

"When your heart bleeds I'll be there for you." She decided her morning 
voice needed some tea.

"When your night grows dark and you can't see your tomorrow," Harm 
tried 
again, failing badly as a new fit of coughing rose in his throat.

"You can follow me," Mac finished the chorus, laughing, as she slightly 
patted him on the back.

"We need to practice on that one," Harm decided, panting and laughing 
as 
well.

"Definitely. Poor Garth and Trisha," Mac agreed.

In companionable silence they finished their tea, still grinning to 
themselves, then put down their empty mugs and snuggled into a close 
embrace. Only seconds later Mac felt Harm tense slightly. In surprise 
she 
looked up to find his face much closer to hers than she had been aware. 
Endless seconds ticked by as they held the eye contact, unsure how to 
go on. 
As if he were moving in slow motion, Harm couldn't resist the urge to 
close 
the distance. He leaned in as she stretched up to him, their lips 
meeting 
halfway in a tentative kiss that almost instantly grew out of hand. 
Passion 
was building up between them as Mac shifted her position to allow Harm 
to 
take her into his arms, never breaking the kiss. He lowered her onto 
her 
back, almost burying her underneath himself.

'You'd better stop it now,' a little voice told Harm from the back of 
his 
mind. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew that in the 
current 
state of their relationship maintaining a little control could be 
vital, but 
he wasn't strong enough to fight seven years of suppressed longing. 
Harm 
couldn't fully believe that it was Mac whom he was kissing. She was 
passionately responding to his actions and things surely would have led 
to 
the inevitable if it hadn't been for the telephone to save them. 
Feeling a 
sharp pang of disappointment, they broke contact at the third ringing, 
confusion filling their minds. And eventually gratitude to the higher 
instance that had prevented them from rushing something they were not 
yet 
ready for in their hearts. Harm got up, cleared his throat and took up 
the 
receiver.

"Rabb," he said, pushing the speaker button for Mac to hear.

"Harm? 'Dis is Amedeo. Could you and Sarah come over to 'de questura? 
We 
have some'ting 'dat might be of interest for you."

"Sure, we'll be right there," Harm answered. "What is it?"

"'De coroner sent his extended report 'dis morning," De Carlo 
explained. "He 
found notches on 'de girl's bones 'dat could only have been caused by a 
knife's point. 'De respective knife would subsequently bear traces of 
'de 
violent contact wid' 'de victim's bones. Normally its point would 
flatten. 
Quinn's knife's point didn't, 'dough.  Which means..."

"That Quinn's knife could never have been the murder weapon," Harm 
finished 
the sentence for him, raising an eyebrow to an astonished Mac. "Thank 
you 
for calling, Amedeo. We'll join you ASAP." With that he put the 
receiver 
down.

"Now this is getting interesting," Mac murmured as she laced up her 
shoes.



0804 ZULU
The Venice Questura
Near Campo S.Maurizio
San Marco, Venice



"You're right," Harm said, his pronunciation demonstrating that the 
mucous 
membranes inside his nose were swollen. "There are do traces whatsoever 
iddicating that the kdife bight have violetly hit sobthing hard, like a 
bode." Sniffing, he drew back from the microscope he had been examining 
Quinn's Swiss knife through. Mac smiled compassionately, handing him a 
fresh 
handkerchief.

"Yet the coroner's pictures clearly show the notches," she added, 
pointing 
them out on the photos to her partner. "Three on the right collar bone, 
two 
on two ribs on the left and... well, many more still."

"I've called Prumetti to join us. He'll be here any minute so we can go 
to 
'de Morosini and find Calvi," De Carlo said, "And we already sent our 
divers 
to search 'de canals near to where 'de body was found. Maybe 'de murder 
weapon is still out 'dere. After 'de questioning we'll drop by and 
inquire 
if 'dey found some'ting."

At this the door was opened and Fred entered the office, panting. He 
had 
obviously been running. "Good morning, ma'am, sir, Commissario," he 
blurted 
out.

"Good bording, Lieutedant," Harm answered, letting a sneeze into Mac's 
handkerchief follow the greeting.

"I'm sorry to see our Grand Canal didn't do you good, sir," Fred 
observed 
compassionately.

"That wouldn't have been too much of a problem if our commander here 
hadn't, 
in his state, gone out running at half past six in the morning," Mac 
stated 
dryly.

"Oh..." made Fred, acknowledging to himself that he would have judged 
Harm 
somewhat smarter.

"Tenente, potrebbe portarci al Collegio Navale, per favore?" De Carlo 
said 
in Fred's direction. "Vorremmo fare qualche domanda al Capo Calvi." 
[Lieutenant, could you please take us to the Naval College? We would 
like to 
ask P.O. Calvi some questions.]

"Certo, Commissario," Fred replied. He turned to Harm and Mac. "Ma'am, 
sir, 
I've already notified Admiral Della Rosa and the C.O. of the Collegio 
Morosini. We are free to proceed."

"Good work, Lieutenant," Mac smiled. 'I like people who think by 
themselves,' she added in her mind. Taking the photos and the coroner's 
report with them, the foursome set off for the Naval College.



0853 ZULU
Collegio Navale Francesco Morosini
Castello, Venice



'Patria e Onore' - Fatherland and Honor - was written above the 
entrance to 
the brick-stone building in impressive gold letters. Apart from that 
Harm 
and Mac could immediately tell that the school had seen better days. 
But 
still the court and the gardens seemed to be kept in neat order. At the 
gate 
they had been met by a lieutenant, j.g. Fred obviously knew very well. 
He 
presented him to them as Giuseppe Riva and told them they had been 
together 
at Livorno, attending Naval Academy. Riva took them to an empty 
schoolroom 
and bid them to wait while he would call Calvi.

A little later the Italian petty officer entered. He was young and 
smug, the 
type that more easily succeeded with women than on the career stairway. 
Mac 
could tell at once that he was uneasy. 'This shouldn't be too hard,' 
she 
contently said to herself.

Calvi came to attention, saluted and was, at Harm's sign, ordered to 
take a 
seat by Fred. Harm had - sniffling - told Mac that he preferred to 
remain 
silent as he probably wouldn't sound too impressive with his by now 
completely closed nose. He delicately bit his lower lip to be able to 
breathe without having to sit with his mouth open.

"Do you understand English, Capo?" Mac opened the interrogation after 
having 
presented herself, Harm and De Carlo.

"Yes, Colonello." Calvi's voice was a little strained.

"We would like to ask you a few questions. Do you, by chance, know 
someone 
who owns a mask similar to this one?" She gave him a photo Fred had 
provided 
her with beforehand.

Calvi blanched slightly. "Yes, Colonello. I myselffa 'ave a maska lika 
'datta."

'At least he doesn't try an escape,' Mac noted. "Do you also own a 
fitting 
cape and hat to go with it?" she went on.

"Yes, Colonello."

"Did you, by any chance, wear those things on the evening of Saturday 
February 18th?"

"I... yes, Colonello."

"Did you go out in costume?"

"Yes, Colonello." By now Calvi was as white as a freshly washed sheet.

"Alone?"

"No, Colonello. Wid' two friends. Capo Corvo and Capo Manin."

"Lieutenant Riva," Mac addressed Fred's friend, "Would you please be so 
kind 
as to look for the two persons Capo Calvi just mentioned?"

"Yes, ma'am." Riva rose and exited the room.

"Where did you go, Capo?" Mac again turned to Calvi.

"To 'de Piazzetta, Colonello. A bar 'datta is called 'Chioggia'."

"What happened there?"

Calvi seemed to sense he'd better not beat around the bush with the 
Marine 
colonel seated in front of him. "We meetta soma Americans and ave... 
conversazione. 'Dey wanta to be Venetians. We tella 'dem 'dey needa to 
try 
Venetian... uhm... alcohol. 'Den we go forr walk. 'Den we tella 'dem 
'dey 
needa to go on gondola. Eet was only joka, Colonello," he eventually 
blurted 
out, unable to stay calm and control his fear.

By that time Riva had stepped back in, bringing with him two seemingly 
equally frightened petty officers. Mac immediately waved them off 
attention 
and motioned them to sit, again presenting the members of the 
investigating 
team.

"Go on, Capo," she then said to Calvi.

"'Datta ees all I know, Colonello", Calvi replied with an unsteady 
voice.

Mac let them see a small amount of a Marine colonel's frown. "Are you 
sure, 
Capo? Nothing that might be of interest after the American sailors took 
off 
in the Navy Gondola? And, by the way, you did know the boat in question 
was 
that of the Venice Port Authority, right?"

"Yes, Colonello," Calvi acknowledged, beaten, in a barely audible 
voice. 
That American female officer knew she had him.

"Excuse me, Col. Mackenzie," Fred cut in. Then he turned to Calvi and 
shouted: "Risponda in modo percettibile, Capo! Dimostri il rispetto 
adeguato 
di fronte ad un ufficiale!" [Answer audibly, Capo! Show the respect 
that is 
due an officer!]

"Sì, Tenente!" Calvi shouted, jumping to his feet and coming to 
attention. 
Fred ordered him to sit down again and exchanged a quick glance of 
mutual 
amusement with Harm and De Carlo.

"Thanks, Lieutenant," Mac said in Fred's direction, believing to have 
understood what he had told Calvi. Then she again turned to Calvi, her 
frown 
slightly deepening. "Let me be straightforward with you, Capo. You 
induced 
someone to steal the Port Authority's gondola. I am sure the Italian 
navy 
has some kind of jurisdiction against that." She looked at Riva.

"You should ask Lt. Prumetti, ma'am," the lieutenant answered. "He's a 
lawyer."

Mac's eyebrows shot two stories high as she exchanged a glance with 
Harm, 
whose astonishment finally allowed him to breathe freely through his 
open 
mouth. De Carlo smirked to himself. Together Harm and Mac turned to 
face a 
very embarrassed Fred who gave them a pleading 'tell-you-later' look 
and 
then matter-of-factly answered: "Uhm... indeed we have, ma'am. As soon 
as 
we'll have concluded the murder investigation, I will inform our legal 
department that we have a case at hand over here." Mac and Harm didn't 
miss 
the glare Fred shot Riva who seemed to wonder what he had done wrong.

"Well, then, Capo", Mac drawled, putting on her best poker face, "As 
actually consenting to your inducement is still entirely the fault of 
the 
two American personnel, I think I could negotiate a lesser punishment 
for 
you with the Italian authorities" - she cast a sly glance at Fred who 
played 
along - "in exchange for detailed information on what happened after 
the 
gondola was gone. There is something you didn't tell us yet, isn't 
there?" 
She let her glance slowly wander to Corvo and Manin who shifted 
uneasily on 
their chairs. Finally Calvi spoke up.

"Yes, Colonello," he said, defeated. "When 'dey are gone wid' 'de 
gondola we 
wanta to taka 'deir 'tings and wanta to go forr coffee until 'dey come 
backa. 'De knife was wid' 'de 'tings. 'Den we hearr woman crying and 
screaming. We 'ide around 'de corner. We leave 'tings." Calvi swallowed 
hard, obviously still digesting the dreadful view that must have opened 
before him and his colleagues. "'Den we see a man in bauta and 'de 
woman."

"In what?"

"Bauta, ma'am," cut in Riva, "A traditional Venetian mask and costume."

'I'm beginning to get sick of masks,' Mac thought. "Thank you, 
Lieutenant. 
What happened next, Capo?"

Calvi's voice was very strained as he went on, a deep frown showing on 
his 
face. "'De man and 'de woman... uhm... discussione, Colonello, 'den 'de 
man 
taka outa 'de knife and firsta cutta face and 'den begin to... uhm... 
uhh..." he looked up helplessly at Riva.

"Cominciava ad accoltellarla, Capo?" the lieutenant asked. [He began to 
stab 
her, Capo?]

"Sì, Tenente."

"It seems 'de man in 'de mask began to stab 'de woman, ma'am," Riva 
addressed Mac.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Next?"

"'De man kill 'de woman, 'den he taka his knife and 'trow in 'de 
canale. He 
see 'de seconda knife 'datta was atta 'de sida of canale. He taka eet 
wid' 
his... uhm... fazzoletto," Calvi indicated the pack of fresh paper 
handkerchiefs that lay before Harm, "And putta blooda of woman on 'de 
knife. 
'Den he pusha woman down 'de steps to 'de canale and leave 'de knife in 
a 
'idden corner so polizia can finda. 'Den he go away. 'De body swim 
wid'...uhm...corrente to olda house entrance 'datta ees no morr used 
and 
filled wid' water. 'De body stay behinda 'alfa open gate, no one see. 
'Datta 
ees all, Colonello." From the fear in his eyes Mac knew this time the 
petty 
officer was being honest.

"Excuse me, Colonel," said De Carlo, anger showing clearly on his face. 
He 
turned to the petty officers. "Perché non siete andati dalla polizia?" 
[Why 
didn't you go to the police?]

"A causa della storia con la gondola, Commissario," Calvi replied. 
"Avevamo 
paura di essere messi al rapporto dal comandante." [Because of the 
story 
with the gondola, Commissario. We were afraid we would be reported to 
the 
C.O.]

"Grande," De Carlo just muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair, 
having translated his question and Calvi's answer to Harm and Mac. 
[Great.]

Mac exchanged looks with her colleagues, then rose and waited until 
everyone 
else had done the same, all except Harm and De Carlo coming to 
attention 
before her. "That will be all for the present. Be prepared to be 
questioned 
again and to be called as a witness in court, Capi. Dismissed."

"Sì, Colonello", the petty officers shouted and were led outside by 
Riva and 
Fred.

"Ah... Lt. Prumetti," Mac called behind him. Fred motioned to Riva to 
go 
ahead and reluctantly turned, knowing what was expecting him.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Why didn't you tell us you were a lawyer?" Mac asked very slowly. Harm 
leaned forward, blowing his nose. He was curious to hear that one.

"Uhm... permission to speak freely, ma'am?"

"Granted." Mac fought to keep her mouth from twitching.

"Well, I..." Fred looked down, smiling sheepishly, "I always keep 
myself 
informed about military law and its respective authorities in other 
countries, ma'am. Through the Internet. Of course I had been familiar 
with 
you, Cmdr. Rabb and Admiral Chegwidden and with your reputation when I 
learnt of your expected arrival. Ma'am, I was so excited about getting 
to 
know the U.S. Navy's JAG and his top team but I was afraid of giving a 
bad 
image myself. You have to know, I only graduated seven months ago and 
currently I'm not even working for the legal department. They needed a 
replacement for the Venice liaisons officer and asked me to transfer 
over 
here. I accepted, of course, because you don't get assignments in your 
hometown very often. So I thought if you and Cmdr. Rabb wouldn't know 
that 
I'm a lawyer you wouldn't ask for advice and I wouldn't be in danger of 
making a beginner's mistakes, ma'am."

Harm felt his laughter threaten and buried his nose in a new 
handkerchief, 
coughing heavily. Mac still fought for her composure at Fred's 
admission. 
Only De Carlo could allow himself a broad grin.

"Well," Mac finally said with a smile and a cocked eyebrow, "Welcome 
aboard 
our little boat made of paragraphs, crossing the sea of crime."

At that, none of them could contain their laughter. Harm and De Carlo 
burst 
out first, Mac followed and finally, seeing that obviously the JAG 
officers 
hadn't taken offence, Fred, still embarrassed, joined in.

"O.k., ragazzi," De Carlo said, when he had calmed himself. "I suggest 
we go 
and see if 'de divers have some'ting to show to us." With that they 
left the 
Naval College and walked over to the crime site.



0941 ZULU
A side canal behind the Danieli hotel
Near Campo S.Zaccaria
San Marco, Venice



A police motorboat was moored at the stairs that led down to the small 
canal. Three divers were sitting on the shore, taking off their 
equipment, 
which meant they had either found what they had been looking for or 
they had 
given up the search. Mac hoped it was the first alternative they would 
encounter on arriving. She was walking ahead with De Carlo while Harm 
and 
Fred were following a little behind.

"'Dere is my friend and right hand, Sergente Andreatta," De Carlo 
indicated 
the policeman that was talking to the motorboat driver. "Whenever he's 
involved I know I get 'torough work when I arrive."

"Glad to hear it, Amedeo," Mac said before quickly lunging into her 
pockets 
and desperately searching for a handkerchief.

Harm had seen her actions, took out his own pack and ran up to her, 
offering 
it just in time for Mac to prepare for a heavy sneeze.

"You know, Harm," she said sniffing, "I do like presents and I do like 
to 
share, but you didn't need to offer me my share of your cold."

Harm immediately took his hands up in defense. "Hey, easy, didja-girl. 
If I 
rebebber well, I offered to stay away frob you. But you idsisted od 
sealing 
our deal with a kiss, right?"

"Yeah, right," Mac reluctantly conceded. "I'm sorry. Well, at least my 
m's 
and n's don't yet turn out b's and d's." She giggled. "I love you, 
Harbod."

"Ha ha..." made Harm, grinning.

They had joined the police team. De Carlo immediately asked Andreatta 
if he 
had any news. He had. De Carlo followed him aboard the motorboat, 
entered 
the cabin and a moment later came out again with a translucent plastic 
bag. 
He triumphantly held it out to Harm and Mac.

"'De murder weapon. 'Dey found it stuck in a heap of mud on 'de side of 
'de 
canal. Apparently our killer just tossed it away wid'out caring to 
check if 
it vanished into 'de water. He must have been in a hurry."

"Did they check it for figgerpridts?" Harm asked.

"'Dey did a quick first check, yes, and it seems 'dat 'dere are still 
enough 
of 'dem left to identify 'de murderer. If you want we can take you on a 
little boat cruise around 'de lagoon now as we ship 'de evidence to 'de 
laboratory. Care to join us, Sarah, Harm?"

"Sure," they answered together and got on the boat. Fred consented to 
come 
half of the way if they'd drop him at the Zattere.


"So I guess we're done here, then," Mac said with a hint of sadness in 
her 
voice as the boat bumped over the waves of the open lagoon. This trip 
had 
been even more wonderful than she'd ever have expected.

"Seebs so," Harm agreed, casting her a quick loving look when he 
thought the 
others wouldn't notice. When his cell-phone started to ring he withdrew 
into 
the cabin.

"When will you go back, ma'am?" Fred asked.

"I still have to call Admiral Chegwidden but I think we're due tomorrow 
morning, so we can take the Frankfurt flight to Washington around 
1300," Mac 
presumed.

"I just got off the phone with Admiral Della Rosa," Fred told her. "He 
would 
like to invite you two and the admiral and his daughter to dinner 
tonight. 
To celebrate," he added, smiling, "And he even included Claire and me 
and 
the commissario and his wife."

"That would be nice," Mac replied. "When and where and how?"

"Claire and I will pick you up at the hotel at 1930. We are to be at 
the 
restaurant 'Do Forni' at 2000. It's a very fine Venetian place, but you 
need 
not dress up too formal. Casual elegance will do," Fred explained.

"That was the adbiral," Harm said as he joined them outside. "He has 
beed 
idforbed by Della Rosa that they dropped burder charges agaidst 
Berrider add 
Quidd. Add they dropped theft, too, because of their help id the 
odgoing 
police ivvestigatiod add also because Calvi add his friedds idduced the 
Abericads to their deed. 'Drukk add disorderly' will do, according to 
Chegwidded. Berrider add Quidd are released add will fly to the U.S. od 
a 
military aircraft toborrow afterdood." He sniffed and, with an excusing 
look, blew his nose. "Chegwidded's giving us the day off, Bac. What'd 
you 
like to do?"

Mac smiled all over her face at the prospect of a day off with Harm, 
even if 
he was on the verge of being ill. "Beach?" she asked. "It's cold, okay, 
but 
it's sunny and I'd really like to see the famous Lido."

"Souds good," Harm agreed, suppressing a sneeze.

"We can drop you off," De Carlo said, having overheard their exchange 
in 
joining them at the back of the boat. "And Harm," he added with a 
smile, 
handing him a small drugstore bag, "If we're to dine wid' Della Rosa 
tonight 
at 'Do Forni', you'd better make your nose return to normal size. I'd 
be a 
shame if you failed to enjoy all 'de formidable food just because you 
fell 
into 'de Grand Canal."

Harm, with a mock frown, looked into the bag and found a little spray 
flacon. 'Respirfree,' he read, and underneath 'Di' al Tuo naso che 
respiri 
quandunque vuoi Tu!' [Tell your nose you breathe whenever you want to!] 
Harm 
succeeded in guessing the sense. He began to laugh heartily and 
immediately 
tried the medicine. Within minutes he was able to breathe with his 
mouth 
shut.

"Thank you, Amedeo," he sighed, "I've been missing my m's and n's!"

"You're welcome." They had arrived at the Lido island that served as a 
natural barrier between the lagoon and the Adriatic. "Now enjoy your 
day 
off. See you tonight!"

Harm and Mac stepped onto the shore and the motorboat roared off.



1453 ZULU
Beach near the Excelsior hotel
Lido, Venice



Harm had dug himself in between two small dunes, thus avoiding the 
wind. Mac 
lay snuggled up to him, both tightly wrapped up in a large and thick 
woolen 
blanket they had bought on their way to the beach. 'It's a pity we 
didn't 
take the time to change out of our uniforms before leaving this 
morning,' 
Harm thought. They would have been much more comfortable now had they 
been 
in civvies.

Given the low temperatures, there were however quite a few people out 
on the 
beach today. But as the sun was shining brilliantly, Harm didn't wonder 
too 
much about it. When they had arrived at the Adriatic shore, they had 
taken 
in the wonderful view of miles of white sand and blue sea. They had 
walked a 
little until they had found the spot they were lying on now. Spooned 
together and wrapped in the blanket they had almost immediately fallen 
asleep, resuming last night's lost recreation. They had been quite a 
sight 
for people passing by - two officers in full uniform cuddled together 
and 
sleeping on the beach.

Harm watched Mac as she slept. 'Bingo,' he said to himself, smiling. 
'What 
on earth did you do to deserve her, Hammer?' Gently caressing her side, 
he 
waited for her to wake up.

"Hey, Mac, it's time to get up," he said softly when he felt her stir.

"No work today..." Her slurring voice trailed away as she again drifted 
off 
to sleep.

"No," Harm agreed. "But dinner with Admiral Della Rosa," he said loud 
enough 
to really wake her. "Hey, did you sleep well?"

Mac smiled at him, then pressed her face to his chest. "Yep. Could get 
used 
to waking up in your arms."

"Same goes for me," Harm replied, gathering her into a tight embrace.

"Isn't it incredible that we're actually doing this?" Mac asked.

"Definitely," Harm said with a chuckle. "By the way, how do we act in 
front 
of the admiral?"

"I'd go for hiding it as long as we are working on it," Mac said, 
thoughtfully placing a kiss on his lips.

"Agreed for the present." He returned her kiss with one of his 
flyboy-grins. 
"And our friends back home?"

"The same, for now, I'd say," she answered.

"Okay, agreed," he consented. Then he kissed her once again. "Come on, 
my 
favorite Marine, let's get back to the hotel and clean up for tonight."

They rose and headed back to catch a vaporetto waterbus to the main 
city.



1837 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice



"Ready to go!" Harm shouted gleefully as he straightened his tie and 
put on 
his jacket. He was wearing a dark gray suit with a fitting waistcoat. 
Mac 
would have conceded that he looked remarkable if it hadn't been for the 
time 
again.

"Oh, ready already?" she asked, frowning. "We're only seven minutes and 
thirty-four seconds late."

Harm decided to bite back his comment. The day had been beautiful and 
he had 
no inclination to ruin it now. He turned to Mac who looked stunning 
once 
again in her simple light green ladies' suit and black body shirt 
underneath 
that was cut dangerously low to her bust.

"The admiral, Francesca, Fred and Claire will be waiting in the hall. 
Let's 
go, mia bella." Harm opened the door for her.

Mac smiled, against her will forgiving him once again for his bad 
timing as 
he very tenderly brushed a kiss to her lips and gave her half a 
flyboy-grin. 
Together they left the room and descended the stairs. They found their 
friends waiting for them as they had expected. AJ shot Harm a warning 
glare, 
indicating his watch, and suppressed a chuckle as he saw the commander 
wince. They set off for 'Do Forni', Harm and Mac trying very hard to 
stay 
alert and not subconsciously let their hands find each other while 
walking. 
It was a trying experience, but it was also fun, they found, knowing 
they 
had a big, beautiful secret to hide and share. They would exchange 
glances, 
smiles and winks whenever the others weren't looking.

They arrived just in time to meet Della Rosa, De Carlo and their wives 
in 
front of the restaurant. They entered and were seated in a corner, the 
non-Venetians wondering why no menus were handed out. Then a waiter 
approached and told them what the restaurant freshly offered that day. 
Fred 
translated the information to the JAG officers. "They don't leave you 
much 
of a choice," he admitted, "But everything is really excellent!"

All of them enjoyed a gorgeous menu of insalata di asparagi verdi 
[green 
asparagus salad], crema di zucca [pumpkin cream soup], tagliatelle al 
salmone [tagliatelle with salmon] and scaloppine ai funghi [cutlets 
with 
mushroom sauce], Harm and Claire donating their meat to Mac and Fred.

"So you leave us tomorrow," Della Rosa stated, as they all shared a 
huge 
platter of assorted cheese.

"I'm afraid we have to," AJ said, "Although I hate parting with my 
daughter, 
it can't be helped. Cmdr. Turner, who during our absence is in charge 
of JAG 
headquarters, informed me this afternoon that the caseloads do get 
heavy 
without us three around."

"Did you have time to get to know Venice a little?" Della Rosa asked.

"Thankfully, yes, sir," Harm replied, sharing a quick smile with Mac.

"That reminds me," cut in Claire, opening her purse and pulling out a 
small 
object, "That I wanted to give you this." She handed Mac the DV 
videotape of 
their gondola ride. "Fred explained to me that the evidence was no 
longer 
necessary, so I thought you might just like to have it."

"What's this?" AJ asked, suspicion rising.

"It's... uhm... that's classified, sir," Mac tried, knowing it wouldn't 
help.

"That's nonsense, Colonel, and you know it," AJ scolded her as he would 
have 
his four-year-old daughter. "Again, what's this?"

"It's the reason for my cold, sir," said Harm, at the same moment 
turning 
and sneezing into his handkerchief.

"Sir, we wanted to prove that Merriner and Quinn wouldn't have been 
able to 
row from the crime scene to Rialto in half an hour as they would have 
had 
to, had they murdered the girl," Mac explained.

"And how did you pull that off?" AJ was getting more and more curious.

"Well, the lieutenant was kind enough to let us row his gondola, sir," 
Harm 
reluctantly pointed out.

"And that's on the tape?" AJ's mouth twitched.

"Yes, sir."

At that, AJ quickly grabbed the small cassette and slid it into his 
pocket. 
"Confiscated," he commented, grinning broadly at the horrified faces of 
his 
officers. The rest of the group tried to stifle their laughter. Harm 
felt 
Mac take his hand under the table and squeeze it in barely contained 
frustration. He gently stroked her palm with his thumb and felt her 
relax a 
little. At that moment De Carlo's cell-phone beeped. He rose. "Excuse 
me, 
please." As he exited the room they heard him say: "Pronto?"

Della Rosa gave them a mocking frown and shrugged. Then he addressed 
Fred. 
"Did you tell your colleagues what happened in the afternoon, 
Lieutenant?"

"Not yet, sir. But since you mentioned it," Fred turned to Harm and 
Mac, 
excitement showing in his eyes. "Calvi, Corvo and Manin want me to 
defend 
them in court. I have no idea why they ask for a beginner but anyway, 
the 
admiral requested for my position to be upgraded. If Rome won't object 
I'll 
be liaisons officer and Venice Port Authority's counsel regarding legal 
affairs, ma'am, sir. Thanks to you."

"That's great!" Mac was happy for their young friend. "But what do Harm 
and 
I have to do with it?"

"Oh, that's quite simple, ma'am." Even though they were off duty, with 
two 
admirals at the table Prumetti stayed formal. "Your presence has been 
inspiring. I've observed how you handle your investigations and I've 
learned 
a lot in these past few days. I no longer doubt I'm up to the 
challenge."

"I'm sure you are, Lieutenant," Harm agreed, patting Fred on the 
shoulder. 
Just then De Carlo stepped back in and took his seat, 'triumph' written 
all 
over his face.

"Che c'è, Commissario?" Della Rosa's wife asked. [What is it, 
Commissario?]

"Sergeant Andreatta called to inform me 'dat 'de police have arrested 
Paola 
Rossi's murderer. Wid' 'de help of 'de fingerprints on 'de knife 'dey 
identified him as her sister's former husband who seems to always have 
'trown an eye on her. He was obsessed, claims his former wife. 'Dey 
found 
him in Paola Rossi's apartment as he was collecting certain personal 
belongings of his victim. He confessed. Case wrapped up." De Carlo 
smiled.

AJ raised his glass of wine. "To truth and justice. May they always 
shine."

The other nine took up their glasses as well. "To truth and justice."



March 1st
0843 ZULU
Marco Polo Airport
Venice



Mac was running like she couldn't remember ever running with high heels 
and 
luggage. Where the devil was the right check-in counter? She tried one 
that 
read 'Frankfurt', only to be sent over to another at the far end of the 
hall. The clerk eyed her suspiciously as she passed over her passport 
and 
military ID. Couldn't that woman make a little haste? Finally, after 
endless 
minutes, Mac received her boarding pass and set off to the departure 
terminal. As she stood in the queue for security check-up, she thought 
she'd 
go insane. Only one checkpoint was open and three guys in the queue had 
to 
have their carry-on checked manually. At last she passed the guards and 
hastened over to where her 'Lufthansa' flight was due to depart. As she 
located her company she felt the strong urge to turn on her heel and 
walk 
away. But it could not be helped - she had to face her destiny.

Harm was sitting in a chair, a newspaper on his lap, a cup of coffee in 
his 
hand and an incredibly wide triumphant and innocent grin across his 
face. 
His eyes were sparkling with mischief. AJ was sitting next to him, 
trying 
hard to hide his smile. As Mac approached, both rose and she came to 
attention in front of AJ.

"Commander," AJ addressed Harm, sensing the younger man desperately 
needed 
to do this, "go ahead."

Harm slowly raised his left arm, glanced at his watch and then locked 
his 
eyes with Mac. "That's twenty-one minutes and thirty-eight seconds, 
Colonel. 
Too bad." He turned, sneezing and hiding his laughter at her defeated 
and 
enraged expression.

AJ took over. "Would you care to explain why you risk missing our 
flight?"

"I'm sorry, sir, no excuse," Mac said, her eyes straight ahead, staring 
right through the admiral.

"Any explanations?"

"I was about to leave the hotel together with Cmdr. Rabb, sir, when I 
noted 
that I had forgotten to pick up my... my false braid that I had, by 
mistake, 
sent back to the costume shop, together with my dress. I told the 
commander 
to go ahead. I would follow taking the airport bus. I went to the 
costume 
shop and got on the bus in time. But traffic on the road was too dense, 
sir..."

"Traffic, right?" AJ stated icily, remembering a similar conversation 
not 
even a week ago.

"Yes, sir." Harm could tell that Mac was mentally slapping and punching 
herself. 'Well, there goes the image of immaculate,' he thought, 
enjoying 
the moment to no end. Although he loved her with every piece of his 
heart, 
somehow he felt that justice had now been done to him and that she had 
- 
just a tiny little bit - deserved this.

"Well, Colonel, don't let that happen again. I expect all of my 
officers to 
take timing deadly serious. Do I make myself clear?" AJ thundered.

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

"Aye, sir." Mac turned, slumped into a chair and dried the sweat on her 
forehead with a handkerchief. As she felt a sneeze rise up, she quickly 
buried her nose into the tissue.

"Commander, I was told only you fell in the canal," AJ ventured 
carefully. 
"How come the colonel seems to be developing a cold as well?"

Harm blanched slightly and desperately searched for an answer. Mac's 
reaction was quite similar, AJ noted. He suppressed a knowing smile. 
After 
all, should they really have come to terms with their feelings, he 
wouldn't 
be the one to spoil their secret happiness. At least not yet.

"I can't spare my top lawyers for long. See to it that you get rid of 
those 
infections ASAP. You, Colonel, and you, Commander, will take the rest 
of the 
week off when we get home. I want you to stay at home and get well. And 
to 
make sure no one neglects my orders, I want you to watch each other's 
sixes. 
24 hours a day. At the commander's place or at the colonel's place, I 
don't 
care. Just see that you do. That's an order." With that AJ grabbed his 
bag 
and marched off in the direction of the gate that had just been opened, 
grinning broadly, now that they couldn't see him.

"Aye, sir..." Harm and Mac stared at his back, open-mouthed. Then they 
turned and stared at each other. They couldn't believe that the admiral 
had 
just all but ordered them to get involved. Mac started to forget her 
anger 
about Harm's triumphant grin at her being late. As she saw laughter 
beginning to brighten the eyes of her friend, she couldn't refrain from 
joining in when it broke through. Laughing, Harm fiercely hugged his 
Marine 
and whirled her around several times. Then he carefully set her down on 
her 
feet and smiled at her.

"I guess that was one of the weirdest investigations we ever handled," 
he 
said, chuckling and shaking his head.

"True," she acknowledged. "But I loved every single minute of it!"

Their lips met in a feathery kiss, lingering for a few endless seconds. 
Then 
Harm broke the contact, gave her a king size flyboy-grin and took their 
luggage. "Come on, jarhead, let's go home and get well."



THE END