INCARCERATION
by ScoobieD
Rating: R (for one adult situation and one spot of
language)
Spoilers: None really.
Summary: An undercover assignment takes Mac places she
never thought she'd go
A little background: This story idea came to me one
day while I was performing a little hard labor in the
back yard.  As it began to take shape, it didn't seem
to fit into the current JAG state of things, so I
needed to decide at which point in the JAG universe to
insert these events.  I needed Mac to be at a low
point in her life and to be feeling a great need to
redeem herself in the eyes of others.  I thought she
reached that point after Chris Ragle's death and the
punishment she received as a result of her part in all
of that.  So the events in this story take place after
The Black Jet, but before Jaggle Bells.
There are a couple of things I have to ask you to
suspend your disbelief about.  First of all, I know
this is not the type of undercover operation that
would be offered to the good folks at JAG.  However,
if our heroes only did the things that real JAG's do,
we'd be bored out of our skulls watching (and the show
wouldn't have lasted more than one season, tops). 
Like the real writers do, I've taken a little liberty
and sent them somewhere more interesting.  The other
thing is that the time period I've chosen to place
this story in is just before Christmas.  However, try
to pretend its summertime, okay?
Oh, and one more thing.  I was watching Boot the other
night.  I'd seen this episode before, but I don't
really care for Season 1 all that much, so I don't
rewatch those eps as often as I do all the others.  I
was surprised to hear that Meg had gone undercover as
a Private McIntyre.  Mac's undercover name in this
little fic is McIntyre.  I thought about changing it,
but then decided against it for two reasons: (1) I'd
written three-quarters of the fic using the name
McIntyre and was too lazy to go back and change it,
and (2) it works for this character (better than it
did for Meg).  So it stays.
I should probably confess my ignorance as to the
specifics of the US Disciplinary Barracks at
Leavenworth, Kansas.  I was able to obtain a little
information from their web site, and I've used my
imagination to fill in the details.
The last thing is a little warning.  There are a
couple of places in this fic that will need a warning,
one for strong language and one for an "adult
situation".  I'll post a clearer warning when we get
to those parts, but I thought I'd warn you now for
those of you who might choose not to begin at all.
Better do a disclaimer.  I don't claim ownership to
JAG (including its characters or premise) in any way,
shape, or form.  As you all know, they're owned by
Bellisarius, et al.  Some of the characters in this
work are mine, and you'll recognize them when you
don't recognize them (make sense?).  
Ready?  Here we go.
************************************************
     The intercom buzzed on Admiral AJ Chegwidden's
desk.  Without looking up from the file he was
perusing, AJ reached over and pressed the "talk"
button.  "Yes, Tiner?"
     "Commander Rabb and Major Mackenzie are reporting
as ordered, sir."
     "Send them in," AJ ordered.
     "Aye, sir."
     Seconds later, after a polite knock on the door,
Rabb and Mackenzie stood at attention before his desk.
"At ease.  Sit down," the Admiral invited, waving
vaguely at the chairs in front of his desk.
     AJ closed the file on his desk and looked up at
them.  "Three days ago, former Lieutenant Commander
Stephanie Saxon was found dead in her cell at
Leavenworth.  The ensuing official investigation
concluded that she committed suicide by hanging
herself with her bed sheet.  This is the third such
suicide they've had there in the last eight months. 
The other two victims died in a similar manner."
     "You said ‘victims', sir," Mac pointed out.  "Is
there some reason to think these women didn't commit
suicide?"
     AJ was impressed, not for the first time, by the
Major's ability to pick up on a seemingly
inconsequential nuance and go right to the heart of
the matter.  Must be that female intuition thing. 
"The warden has his concerns," AJ confirmed.  "All
three of these women had too many similarities in
their circumstances to be merely coincidence."
     "What sort of similarities, sir?" Mac asked,
intrigued with where this might be heading.
     "We'll get to that in a bit," AJ said, putting
her off.
     "May I ask why JAG is involved in this, sir?"
Harm asked.
     "I was getting to that, too," AJ said.  "The
warden's suspicions center around Navy Lieutenant Tom
Bourgoin, one of the prison guards.  He has nothing
solid on which to base his suspicions, or he'd conduct
an official investigation.  As things stand, he'd like
to do a little snooping around on a very informal
basis and see if there's any evidence to justify his
suspicions.  Since the guard is Navy and all three of
the victims were formerly in the Navy, he's come to
us.  The SecNav has approved our participation in this
investigation, purely on a volunteer basis."
     "What do they want us to do, sir?" Mac asked.
     "They want us to send in an undercover team."
     "A team, sir?" Harm repeated.
     "Yes, Commander.  They want a female officer to
go in as an inmate, and they want a male officer to
impersonate a guard, to tackle the problem from both
ends."
     Harm and Mac sat quietly, digesting what he'd
said and pondering what they were being asked to do.
     Harm's first inclination was to say, "Thanks, but
no thanks."  Sending people to prison was as close as
he ever wanted to get to a penal institution.  He'd
spent only a little bit of time in the brig after
being charged with murder, and that was more than
enough to last him the remainder of his life.  Of
course, he wouldn't be going in as a prisoner, but
being a guard would be bad enough.  He looked at Mac,
wondering what she was thinking.  His decision hinged
on whether or not she agreed.
     Mac was turning the possibilities over in her
mind.  The thought of being in prison was, quite
frankly, scary.  She'd spent a brief period of time in
police custody after Chris had been shot, but she'd
only had a tiny glimpse into the life of an
incarcerated person.  It had been enough.  But if
someone was hurting helpless women, and she could do
something about it, did she have the right to refuse? 
Besides, her own life wasn't all that great at the
moment.  The more she thought about it, the more she
relished becoming someone else, even if just for a
little while.  But there was one problem.
     "Sir," she said.  "My uncle is at Leavenworth. 
So is Clark Palmer.  And it's conceivable that I put
some people in that place.  There's a good possibility
I'd be recognized."
     She's actually thinking about doing this?! Harm
thought, surprised.
     "Already thought of that," the Admiral assured
her.  "Men and women are kept entirely separately. 
They never even see each other.  The guards are
different, too.  We checked the records.  While you
did prosecute seven of the men currently residing at
Leavenworth, none of the women there can blame you for
their present residence.  If you decide to do this,
we'll have you review the files of all of the women
inmates just to be certain no one rings any bells.  I
do want you to take some time to think about this,
though."
     "I don't need to think about it, sir," Mac said. 
"I'd like to do it."
     AJ stared at her.  This was a serious operation,
with much to consider.  She'd agreed far too quickly,
and he wondered about her motivation.  He'd come down
pretty hard on her a week ago at her Admiral's mast. 
He had no doubt she deserved the punishment he'd given
her, or he wouldn't have done what he did.  In fact,
he'd wondered at the time whether he'd been letting
her off too easily.  But he'd watched her face as he'd
handed down his sentence, and he knew how deeply it
had wounded her, though she was too much a Marine to
let it show much.  He wondered if she was using this
operation as a way to get back into his good graces. 
He couldn't tell her she hadn't really fallen all that
far in his good graces without lessening the impact of
the punishment, thereby diminishing the importance of
her crime.  They were JAG, dammit, and if they didn't
take the truth seriously, who would?  But if regaining
his confidence was the motive for an undercover
assignment in the nation's toughest penal institution,
she wasn't using her brain.
     Mac looked at her CO impassively as he studied
her.  She had no idea what he might be thinking, but
something was obviously making the wheels spin in his
head.  She waited until he spoke again.
     "Mac, are you sure?  These women have all been
sentenced to hard labor, and many of them are there
for life."
     "I'm not afraid of a little hard work, sir," she
told him.
     That wasn't what he'd meant, and she knew it.  He
took his glasses off and tossed them on his desk,
rubbing the bridge of his nose.  "Look, I know you
think you want to do this, but I want you to think
about it.  Take some time and give me your answer
later today."
     "But, sir . . ." she started to protest.
     "Major, I said take some time and think about it.
 And I mean really think about it," he said firmly.
     Mac straightened in attention.  "Aye aye, sir,"
she said, looking at a point six inches over his head.
     "You're both dismissed," AJ said.
     "Aye aye, sir," Mac said again.  She stood and
pivoted to leave.
     "Sir," Harm said as he stood up.  Mac stopped in
her tracks.  "Could I speak with you for a moment?"
     Mac studied him, wondering what he was up to. 
Harm kept his eyes to the front, ignoring her
scrutiny.
     "Go ahead," AJ prompted.
     "In private, sir?" Harm requested.
     "All right.  Major, you're dismissed."
     "Aye aye, sir," Mac said again.  Narrowing her
eyes at Harm, she left the room.
     "Problem, Commander?"
     "No, sir.  Maybe, sir.  I'm just wondering about
the Major's state of mind.  I'm not sure she's
considering the implications of this assignment
seriously enough."
     "I'd say you're wrong about that," AJ noted,
causing Harm to raise his eyebrows.
     "But, sir . . ."
     "She's not considering them at all!" AJ
interrupted.  "I have my own concerns about the
Major's motive for participating in this operation,
Commander.  In fact, I had my doubts about offering
the assignment to her at all."
     "Then why did you, sir, if you don't mind my
asking?"
     Though he looked like he did mind, AJ said
simply, "She's the best I've got."
     Harm couldn't argue with that.  "Sir, if she does
decide to go through with this, I won't let her gon in
there alone.  If she goes, I go."
     "I thought you'd probably feel that way.  I'll
talk to you both at the end of the day," AJ said
dismissively.
     "Aye aye, sir.  Thank you."
*************
     "Bud, I need to see you in my office," Mac said
on her way through the bullpen.  "Are you free?"
     "Yes, ma'am.  I'm right behind you."
     Bud followed Mac into her office and sat after
she'd invited him to.  She sat behind her desk. 
"How's your work load?"
     "It's manageable at the moment, ma'am," Bud said
carefully.  He'd learned that when the Major or the
Commander asked him that question, it usually didn't
matter what his answer was.  It also usually meant
that his workload was about to increase dramatically.
     "I'm going to need someone to take over all of my
active files," she told him.
     Bud's eyes widened in surprise, both because of
the thought of taking on that much extra work and with
wonder about why it would be necessary.  "Are you
going somewhere, ma'am?"
     "Temporarily," she said with a nod.  "An
undercover assignment at Leavenworth."
     "As a guard, ma'am?"
     "No, Lieutenant.  As an inmate."
     Bud's eyes got even wider, but he quickly
regained his stolid military demeanor.  "That sounds .
. ." he searched for the right word.  "Dangerous,
ma'am."
     "You're my first choice to take care of things
for me while I'm gone, Bud, but I don't want to
over-burden you."
     "I'll be happy to do what I can, ma'am, but what
about Commander Rabb?"
     "I suspect he's going undercover, too."
     Bud's eyes shot open again.  "As a prisoner?!"
     "No, as a guard.  I'm going to figure out exactly
what I've got going.  Why don't you do the same so
you'll know what you can afford to take on.  We'll
talk again in a bit."
     "Yes, ma'am," Bud said, standing up.  "Let me
know when you're ready."
     "Oh, and Bud.  The fewer people who know where
I'm going, the better."
     "Yes, ma'am."  Bud nodded curtly to Harm on his
way out.'
     "You're supposed to be thinking about it, not
making plans to be gone for an extended period of
time," Harm told her.
     She ignored his statement.  "What did you and the
Admiral talk about?"
     "It was private," he said.  "I think you're
making a mistake.  This is Leavenworth, Mac.  It's not
Club Med."
     "I'm well aware of that.  You don't have to go,"
she pointed out.
     "Neither do you," he rejoined.
     "I've got a lot of loose ends to tie up here.  Do
you mind?" she asked pointedly.
     Harm sighed and shook his head, recognizing that
she'd slipped into stubborn Marine mode.  He left,
knowing that there was nothing he could say that would
change her mind.
**************
     It took Mac an hour to make a list of every case
she had pending, including a brief summary of the
facts of the case and where it stood procedurally. 
She had a couple of minor things she thought she could
get wrapped up before she left, but the majority of
her case load would need to be taken over by someone
in her absence.  She put stars next to the cases she
thought needed the best attention they could get.  If
Harm decided not to go, she'd give what she could to
him.  If he did, and she was pretty sure he would, she
had no qualms about leaving them in Bud's capable
hands.  She'd let the Admiral re-assign whatever was
left over.
**************
     Shortly before the day was to end, the Admiral
summonsed them both back to his office.
     "Commander, I'd like to speak with the Major
alone for a moment," AJ said.  "Would you mind waiting
outside for a moment?"
     Whether he minded or not, Harm said, "Of course
not, sir," and went out of the room, shutting the door
behind him.
     AJ studied Mac briefly before he said, "Sit down,
please, Mac.  Have you made up your mind?"
     Mac sat.  "Yes, sir.  I'd like to do it."
     "The Commander and I both have concerns about the
reasons you're taking on this assignment."
     "The Commander talked to you about me?!"  Even
though she suspected he'd done that very thing, it
still made Mac angry to hear the Admiral say it.
     "He's concerned.  As am I."
     "With all due respect, sir, if you had doubts
about my ability to handle this assignment, why did
you offer it to me?"  Mac asked hotly.
     AJ looked at her coolly.  Never had he known such
a competent officer with such a low opinion of their
own self-worth.  "Major, I have every confidence in
your ability to complete this mission successfully, or
I would not have offered it to you.  My concerns
center around your reasons for taking on the
assignment.  Would you care to explain those to me?"
     Mac look surprised, but she said, "Well, sir, it
seems apparent that something's going on at
Leavenworth.  Women are dying, and if I can do
something about it, I don't see how I can refuse to
try."
     AJ studied her, his gaze steely, knowing there
was more, but not willing to ask again.  She was a big
girl, not to mention a Marine officer.  If she'd
decided to do this, as she apparently had, who was he
to examine her motives under a microscope?  Inwardly,
he sighed.  He had an uneasy feeling about this.  He
pressed the intercom button on his phone.  "Tiner,
send Rabb in."
     "Aye aye, sir," he heard.  Moments later, Harm
re-entered the room.  He felt Mac's angry eyes on him,
but he ignored her and came to attention before the
Admiral's desk.
     "At ease.  Have a seat."
     As they sat, Harm chanced a quick look at Mac. 
The fury he saw in her eyes made him flinch.  Clearly,
the Admiral had told her what they'd discussed.  Just
as clearly, she was not pleased with his interference.
 He turned his attention to the Admiral.  He'd deal
with Mac's anger later.
     "Since you've both apparently agreed to volunteer
for this operation, let's discuss some details. 
Major, we'll send you in first.  Commander, you'll
follow several days later."
     Harm opened his mouth to protest, but AJ stopped
him with a raised hand, knowing his concern before
Harm could voice it.  "It's too risky to send you both
in together.  It'll draw too much attention to both of
you."
     "Then send me in first, sir," Harm suggested,
knowing Mac was only getting angrier with him.
     "It's going to take you longer to get up to
speed, Commander.  You ever done any duty in a
correctional facility?  Other than as an inmate?" the
Admiral added dryly.
     "No, sir," Harm admitted uncomfortably.
     "You're going to need some training.  It may be
just an undercover assignment, but I won't have you
sponsoring a brig break because you're not familiar
with prison protocol.  We've got someone who can give
you a crash course on correctional institutions in
general and Leavenworth in particular.  That'll take
five or six days.  Then you'll go in."  He turned to
Mac.
     "Major, I'd like you to take a couple of days to
study the files of the three victims and the women
you'll be sharing quarters with.  I don't want there
to be any surprises.  We've built a cover for you
already."
     "What'd I do, sir?" she asked.
     "Excuse me?" AJ asked, not understanding her
question.
     "My crime, sir.  What did I do to get myself
sentenced to hard labor at Leavenworth?"
     "Oh," AJ flipped open a file on his desk.  "You
apparently killed your boyfriend in a jealous rage,
stabbing him brutally eighteen times with a bayonet
while he slept.  You then chopped his body up into
pieces.  You were sentenced to life without the
possibility of parole due to your lack of remorse for
the crime."
     "Bastard deserved it, sir," Mac said firmly,
already playing her part, causing both men to arch
their eyebrows in shock.  It took a lot of control not
to smile at the looks on their faces.
     AJ cleared his throat.  "Yes, well – Your name
will be Sarah McIntyre.  People call you Mac.  The
warden will be the only one in the facility that knows
your true identity.  Under normal circumstances,
access by inmates to the warden is very limited. 
Should you find yourself in need of assistance, you'll
have to be creative in your attempts to get around the
normal chain of command."
     "I understand, sir," Mac assured him.
     "I have a box of material ready for your review,
Major," AJ continued.  "I'll have Tiner bring it to
your office.  We'll need to re-assign whatever you're
working on."
     "I've already spoken to Lieutenant Roberts, sir. 
Whatever he can't take, I'll bring to you to
re-assign, if that's all right."
     "That's fine.  Commander, you're in the same
boat.  Try to wrap up what you can while you're in
training, then let me know what you've got left."
     "Yes, sir," Harm said with a sideways look at
Mac, a bit peeved at her for beating him to Bud.  Now
he'd have to hand over most of his cases to Brumby,
which left a really bad taste in his mouth.
     "As with most undercover operations, the fewer
who know the details, the more likely secrecy is to be
maintained.  I'd suggest we limit those who know to
the barest minimum," AJ suggested.
     "I've already told Lieutenant Roberts, sir.  I
also impressed on him the need for secrecy," Mac told
him.
     "I think we can trust the lieutenant to keep his
mouth closed," the Admiral noted.  "But I suggest we
close the loop there.  Tiner knows.  The three of us
and Lieutenant Roberts makes five.  That's probably
two too many, but we'll deal with that.  Do either of
you have any questions?"
     Mac had many, but they weren't questions the
Admiral could answer.  Hopefully, some of the answers
were in the box of material she'd been promised. "No,
sir," she said.  "None that I can think of at this
time."
     "No, sir," Harm parroted.
     "Sir," Mac said, a thought occurring to her. 
"What if someone at Leavenworth has questions about
me?  What if they try to call the court where I was
sentenced or the lawyer who prosecuted me?"
     "That's a good point, Major," the Admiral
admitted.  "And one we hadn't thought of.  We'll have
to widen our loop to include someone from NCIS."
     "They're likely not to be happy about being left
out of this, sir," Harm pointed out.
     "Tough!  This comes from the SecNav.  They don't
have to like.  They just have to do it.  We'll find
someone over there that can be trusted.  Hell, there
can't be that many," the Admiral joked.  "Anything
else?"
     "No, sir," both officers responded.
     "Dismissed, then," AJ said.
     Harm and Mac got to their feet and stood briefly
at attention.  "Aye aye, sir," they said in unison.
     After they'd left his office, Mac turned on Harm.
 "How dare you go to the Admiral behind my back!" she
snapped as they headed across the nearly empty
bullpen.
     "Mac, I was concerned . . . I am concerned about
why you're doing this," he said, trying his best to
sound reasonable.
     "My motives are none of your business!"
     "They are if they put you in unnecessary danger. 
Danger which involves me," he said as they reached her
office.
     "You don't have to go," she said again, walking
around behind her desk.
     Like that was gonna happen.  Harm sighed.  "Look,
Mac, I just want to make sure that you're not doing
this because you feel you have something to atone
for."
     "But I do!" she said.  "I have a lot to atone
for!  Obviously, the Admiral has lost all faith in me.
 Just as obviously, you don't have any more faith in
me than you ever did!"
     "You couldn't be more wrong," Harm said.
     She turned away from him, obviously not believing
him.  "Why I'm doing this is my business, just as why
you're doing this is your business.  I didn't notice
anyone questioning your motives."
                    
     "That's different, Mac."
     "Why is it different, Harm?!  Is it different
because you're a man?!  Is it different because you're
considered different from the rest of us here?!  Why
exactly is it different?!"
     Harm knew this conversation was useless.  "I
can't talk to you when you get this way.  If you want
to talk like a reasonable human being, you know where
to find me."  With that, he left.
     Mac picked up her stapler and raised her arm, but
she stopped herself before she hurled it after him. 
Squared-away Marines did not throw office implements
at annoying squids.  She tossed it back on her desk
and sat down with a heavy sigh.
*************************************************************
That night . . .
     Mac sat in her apartment, sipping a cup of tea,
reading through the files of the women inmates at
Leavenworth.  None of the women had been familiar to
her, and she was reading through their files now to
learn more about the women she would soon be
surrounded by.  They were there for a variety of
crimes: murder, aggravated assault, drug trafficking,
espionage, armed robbery.  They all had one thing in
common: their crimes had been deemed serious enough to
warrant extended stays at Leavenworth, many of them
for life.  Some of them were violent; some were "only"
chronic drug abusers.
     Mac had saved for last the files of the three
inmates who had ended their own lives, at least
according to official reports.  She picked up the
first one, but before she could open it, someone
tapped softly on her door.
     She was not really surprised to find Harm staring
back at her when she checked the peephole.  She opened
the door and looked at him without speaking.
     "I brought a peace offering," he said, holding up
a quart of ice cream.  "Chunky Monkey."
     She moved aside to let him enter, then closed the
door softly after he had.
     Harm looked at the piles of documents in her
living room.  "Looking over your assignment?"
     "Harm, I don't want to talk about this any more,"
she said wearily.
     "That's not why I came," he said.  "I came
because . . . I thought it would be helpful if we
prepared together.  And because I felt like eating
some Chunky Monkey with a friend."
     She smiled gratefully.  "I'll get some spoons."
**********
     While Harm looked over the files of the female
inmates, Mac studied the files of the victims.
     The first was Lydia Carmichael, formerly
Lieutenant (j.g.) Lydia Carmichael.  She'd been
convicted of manslaughter when she'd struck and killed
a pedestrian while driving under the influence.  With
two prior OUI arrests on her record, the members at
her court martial were not inclined to be lenient when
it came to sentencing.  They'd thrown the proverbial
book at her with as much might as they could muster,
sentencing her to twenty years at hard labor,
stripping her of rank and privileges, and discharging
her dishonorably from the Navy.
     She'd served three years of her sentence at the
time of her death.  Her inmate file contained numerous
incident reports detailing Carmichael's frequent
run-ins with authority figures.  The incidents had
come almost daily beginning four weeks prior to her
death.  One week prior to her death, the incidents
ceased.  There were two notes made by members of the
medical staff that Carmichael seemed depressed.  Then,
one morning, she was found by the guard in her cell,
dead.  She'd hanged herself by tying one end of her
bed sheet to the window in the cell door and the other
around her neck.  That had been eight months ago.
     Mac flipped the file closed with a sigh.  What a
depressing story.  And what an awful ending.  She
looked up to find Harm staring at her, questions in
his eyes.  She smiled reassuringly and picked up
another file.
     Petty Officer Betty Bergman, sentenced to five
years for possession of illegally obtained Oxycontin
which she had been selling to her shipmates.  Five
months ago, she, too, had been found hanged in her
cell.  Her file also detailed that she'd been a
discipline problem in the two months she'd been
incarcerated prior to her death.
     And finally, Stephanie Saxon, convicted eight
months ago of espionage after she'd been found guilty
of allowing her boyfriend to have access to sensitive
information to which she was privy through her job at
the Pentagon, knowing that her boyfriend was selling
that information to the Chinese.  Like the other two,
Saxon seemed to have a problem with authority, and
she'd killed herself in a similar manner two months
ago.
     Mac closed the final file and picked up a pen. 
She began to make a list of all of the things these
three women had in common.
               1)   All three were had labor inmates.
               2)   They were all listed as indigent
inmates.
               3)   They all had had multiple run-ins
with authority until the week or so prior to their    
      deaths, when they'd become withdrawn, depressed
even, according to fellow           inmates and jail
staff interviewed after the fact.
               4)   All three had been housed by
themselves at the time of their deaths.  Housing      
    records showed that roommates had either been
transferred out or the victim           herself had
been moved at roughly the same time as the change in
attitude had           been noted.
               5)   Finally, all three had been found
hanged in their cells, the first from the cell door,  
        the second and third from the top bunk.  All
had failed to appear for the morning           wake-up
call.  None of the deaths were suspicious in any way,
and all had been           ruled suicides without much
thought.
     Mac looked at the list, studying it, wondering
what else she might be missing.
     "Whatcha got?" Harm asked.
     Mac jumped at the sound of his voice.  She'd been
so engrossed in what she'd been doing, she'd forgotten
he was there.  She smiled sheepishly and handed him
her list.
     Harm studied the list, not liking what he saw. 
He had a very bad feeling about this operation, and he
wished Mac would change her mind about participating
in it.  He knew better, though, than to try and talk
her out of it again.
     While Harm was looking at the list, Mac began to
review the service records of the personnel guarding
Leavenworth's female population.  Most were male. 
They ranged in age from twenty to thirty-nine.  Some
were fresh out of the naval criminal justice program;
some had nearly twenty years experience in law
enforcement.
     Mac had saved for last the file of Tom Bourgoin,
who had somehow aroused the suspicions of the warden. 
He was average-looking, a lieutenant who had been
transferred to Leavenworth eleven months ago.
     "Can I see that list?" Mac asked.
     Harm handed it back to her.  On the bottom of it,
Mac wrote:
     Eleven months ago - Bourgoin transferred to L
     Eight months ago - Carmichael suicide
     Five months ago - Bergman suicide
     Two months ago - Saxon suicide
     There was a pattern developing.  She handed the
list back to Harm.  "Do you see it?" she asked. 
Without giving him a chance to respond, she continued.
 "Bourgoin transferred there eleven months ago.  The
first death happened three months later, the second
three months after that, and the third three months
after that.  It can't be a coincidence."
     Harm tended to agree.
     "And if the pattern hold true, there will be
another suicide in four weeks.  Unless I stop it."
     "Unless we stop it," Harm corrected.
*******
     A short time later, Harm prepared to leave.  "You
know, it's not too late to back out," he said at the
door.
     "I thought we weren't gonna talk about that any
more." Mac was more determined than ever to go through
with this now.  Someone's life was in danger, and
there was something she could do about it.
     "I know," he said.  "It's just . . . You've sort
of become irreplaceable, you know?  I just don't want
anything to happen to you."
     Mac smiled.  "Aw, that's sweet, Harm.  But I'll
be fine.  You'll be there, watching my six."
     That failed to make Harm feel any better.  It was
the thought of who else might be watching her six that
made him nervous.
*****************************************************
Mac's first day of incarceration . . .
     The day had started out like any other.  Mac had
gotten up, showered, and eaten breakfast.  Then came
the knock on her door that would turn her world upside
down.
     NCIS Agent Mary Holland had been brought into the
loop and would be a contact person if anyone had
questions about a new inmate named McIntyre.  The
inmate file indicated that McIntyre's case had been
handled through JAG HQ in Falls Church; that the case
had been prosecuted by Lt. Commander Harmon Rabb; and
that the defendant had been represented by Lt. Bud
Roberts.  A phony file had been created at JAG, on
paper and in the computer, in the event a question was
inadvertently directed to someone with no knowledge of
the undercover operation.  A picture of Sarah McIntyre
had conveniently been omitted from her file at JAG. 
Her tracks covered at JAG, an NCIS agent was necessary
to transport the "prisoner" to Leavenworth.
     Agent Holland had already asked Mac twice if she
was out of her mind for even considering this
assignment.  Mac had smiled indulgently and ignored
the question.  She was in her bedroom, changing into
her prison garb, when she heard a knock on her door. 
"Could you get that, please?" she called out to Agent
Holland.
     "Hello," Harm said in surprise.  "I'm looking for
Sarah Mackenzie."
     "She's changing.  Come on in."
     "What do you think?" Mac asked, exiting the
bedroom dressed in a bright orange jump suit.
     "It's what all the well-traveled convicts are
wearing this season," Agent Holland noted.
     "Hi, Harm!" Mac said with a pleased smile.  "What
are you doing here?"
     "Just came to see you off."  Only Mac could make
a prison uniform look sexy, he thought.
     "You didn't have to do that," Mac said, happy
that he had.  "This is Agent Holland.  She's my tour
guide.  Lt. Commander Harmon Rabb."
     Agent Holland smiled in acknowledgment at the
introduction.  "I hate to cut your good-bye short, but
we've got a plane catch.  Oh, and I have some bad
news.  Two other prisoners are being transported on
the same flight.  That means you'll have to be in
handcuffs and leg irons during the entire trip.  I had
hoped to avoid that, but we can't have you blowing
your cover before you even get there.  We'll put them
on before we get out of the car at the airport."
     Mac looked uncomfortable with that, but she
smiled bravely.  "Okay.  I'm ready to go.  I could get
used to traveling light," she joked.  No much sense in
packing for a stay at Leavenworth, now was there?
     "You take care of yourself, Marine," Harm said
softly.  "Try to stay out of trouble, at least until I
get there."
     Mac stepped into his embrace, and they hugged
briefly.  "Just hurry with your training.  I'll see
you in a few days."
*********
     Mac had been manacled at the airport and led into
the plane.  People on the plane either looked away
from her in disdain or stared openly at her with
curiosity.  It was the most uncomfortable flight she'd
ever endured, both because of the shackles and because
of the attention she had garnered.
     Upon arrival at Leavenworth, Agent Holland had
turned her over to a guard at the gate, and she'd been
taken to intake.  There she'd filled out numerous
forms; been issued her prison clothing and a box in
which to keep personal items (of which she had none),
and her bedding; and been asked many personal
questions, such as: Is your skin in good condition and
free of vermin?  (To which she answered yes.)  Have
you ever had a venereal disease?  (No.)  Have you ever
been admitted to a hospital for psychiatric or
emotional reasons? (Not yet.)  Have you lost your
spouse or significant other as a result of this
arrest?  (Well, duh!)  Have you ever been treated for
drug or alcohol addiction?  (No.  They hadn't asked if
she needed treatment, just if she'd received it.)  Are
you a homosexual?  (No.)
     After intake, Mac was forced to shower in front
of a female guard, dressed in what would become her
new uniform (dark blue work pants, a light blue
buttoned, short-sleeved shirt with "USDB" stenciled in
large letters on the back, and white tennis shoes). 
She was also issued a pair of boots for working
outside, a pair of gloves, and a baseball cap, also
with "USDB" stenciled on it. 
     She was then taken to medical, where they gave
her a physical (complete with body cavity search,
thank you very much) and put her through a suicide
assessment, just to make sure she wasn't planning on
harming herself before they made her life hell.  Mac
wondered if the suicide assessment was something new
since the recent rash of suicides or if they'd always
done them. She would have been happy to learn that
suicide risk assessments had been done as part of the
intake process at Leavenworth for many years and that
they identified more problems than they let slip by. 
Many people came into this place depressed.  Many more
became that way after a stay of any length.
     Mac was then taken to the commissary.  Because
she had been deemed indigent, she was allowed to take
from the commissary, at no charge, personal essentials
(i.e., toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, etc.). 
She was told these items could be replaced once they
were used up.  She was also given three stamps, three
pieces of paper, and three envelopes, her supplies for
writing letters home.  She would be given the same
amount of writing materials every week.  Inmates with
money in their accounts were allowed to purchase
whatever they needed or wanted from the commissary and
didn't have to rely on the minimums set by the prison.
 But the three women who'd committed suicide had all
been indigent; therefore, Mac was indigent, too.  Her
supplies were placed in the box she'd been given and
were taken to her cell.
     Finally, Mac was taken to the warden's office. 
The shackles had been removed from her feet at intake.
 The handcuffs had been removed prior to her shower
and had been put back on before she was escorted out
of sick bay.  She sat now in the waiting room outside
the warden's office, wondering if he was risking her
cover by having her here or if he normally personally
greeted new arrivals.
     The office door opened and an Army Colonel came
toward them.  The guard at her side snapped to
attention.  It was all Mac could do to quell the
ingrained reflex and not rise to her feet as well. 
Instead, she stayed slouched in her chair, looking at
the warden through half-closed eyes.
     "Ms. McIntyre," the warden said softly.  "I
realize you've been stripped of rank, but we still
like to maintain military discipline here.  It's
customary to rise when an officer enters the room."
     The guard, realizing now that she hadn't stood
with him, grabbed her elbow and hauled her roughly to
her feet.  Mac pulled her arm away abruptly and stood
straight.  "How's this, sir?" she asked insolently.
     "I'm Colonel Lewis Franklin.  Follow me, please,"
the warden ordered.  Mac did so, surprised that the
sergeant who had accompanied her did not.
     "Have a seat," the warden said, indicating a
chair before his desk.  After Mac sat, he said, "I
like to introduce myself to all new prisoners.  How
have you been treated since your arrival here?"
     "Well, it ain't the Ritz," Mac noted loudly
enough for the sergeant in the outer office to hear.
     Franklin smiled thinly.  "I think you'll find
that life will be much smoother if you do what's
expected of you and maintain the proper respect owed
to those around you."  He dropped his voice.  "Is
there anything you need?"
     "No, sir," Mac said softly.
     "I hope you didn't find intake too disturbing."
     "No, sir," Mac repeated, though that was a bit of
a lie.  She'd found the body cavity search more than a
little disturbing.  In point of fact, it wasn't much
more intrusive than a gynecological exam, but the
reason and the setting for it made it seem much more
humiliating.  
"I've never been strip searched before," she noted as
an afterthought.
     "Sorry.  It's common practice to ensure that
inmates about to be released into the general
population aren't carrying contraband."
     "It's all right, sir.  I was warned."  Being
warned about and actually being prepared for something
were two different things, she now realized.
     "If you need me at any time, fill out an inmate
request form.  The guards will try to deal with your
request themselves, but keep insisting you need to
speak with me.  Make up a story if you need to.  Just
don't abuse the privilege."
     "I understand, sir," Mac assured him.
     "Your partner is due to arrive here on Thursday."
 Today was Monday.  "I'm sure it'll be nice to see a
friendly face."
     "Yes, sir."
     Franklin's voice rose slightly.  "Remember, Ms.
McIntyre, treat everyone the way you want to be
treated, and your time here won't be so bad.  You are
dismissed."
     Mac stood up, remembering at the last moment not
to come fully to attention.  "Later," she said and
sauntered out of the office.
***********
     Mac was then brought to her new home away from
home, a cell six feet wide by ten feet long.  One wall
was almost completely taken up by a metal bunk bed.  A
toilet, unscreened from the view of the door, stood in
one corner.  There was no sink.  A dispenser of
"soapless" soap hung on the wall.  The walls were gray
brick, the door gray metal with a 10"x10" window with
bars.  The floor and ceiling were painted gray.  There
were no outside windows.  One 80-watt light bulb was
screwed into a fixture in the ceiling, protected by a
wire mesh cage.  This was it – her new home for the
foreseeable future.  Mac was glad she wasn't
claustrophobic.
     "Yours is top bunk," the guard told her.  "You'll
meet your roomie later when she returns from the work
detail.  You might want to rest up.  You'll be going
out tomorrow."  Mac was pushed gently into the room,
and the door clanged shut behind her.
***********
     Mac had reclined on her bunk, studying the inmate
handbook, paying particular attention to what types of
misbehavior resulted in certain kinds of punishment. 
As far as she could tell, she was the only inmate
inside at the current time.  Her mattress was about
three inches thick and lumpy as badly-mashed potatoes,
and she suspected sleeping on it would not be pleasant
or easy.  She also suspected this would be the last
peace she'd enjoy for a while.
     Finally, at just before 1700, a guard appeared at
her door.  He looked in, but said nothing.  Mac sat
up, wondering what would happen now.  "Stay on your
bunk," she was told.
     Suddenly, a buzzer sounded, shattering the
stillness and making Mac jump.  The buzzer was
immediately followed by her cell door sliding open,
along with, she guessed, the doors of all of the other
cells.  That sound was followed closely by the sound
of several female voices which got louder as they got
closer.  The guard remained outside her door, watching
the women as they began to pass him.  Some of them
looked in at her curiously, but most kept their eyes
in front of them, shoulders bowed wearily.
     A tiny Hispanic-looking woman entered the cell. 
She smiled at Mac when she saw her sitting
cross-legged on the top bunk.  Apparently, this was
her roommate.  Mac estimated her age at twenty-two or
-three.  She couldn't be more than five foot two, and
if she weighed one hundred pounds, she'd have to have
rocks in her pocket.  She had black hair tied back in
a pony tail and beautiful large brown eyes.  The guard
entered the cell behind her.
     "This is your new roommate, Rita," he said. 
"Sarah McIntyre, meet Rita Jiminez."
     "Hi," Rita said, flashing Mac a bright smile.
     "Hi," Mac answered, unable to stop herself from
smiling back.  What on earth could this tiny little
thing have done to get herself put in here?  Mac
searched through the files in her memory bank, trying
to place the name with crime and punishment.  She came
up empty.
     The guard left the room.  "Showers in twenty,
ladies!" he called to the block as he left.  The door
slid shut with a loud metallic clang.
     Mac uncurled her legs and jumped down off the
bunk.
     "Welcome to Leavenworth," Rita said.
     Mac smiled.  "Thanks.  Been here long?"
     "Six months.  What'd you do?"
     "Killed my boyfriend," Mac said, trying for the
right mix of reluctance and pride.  After all, she was
supposed to be unremorseful.  "You?"
     "Drugs," Rita said simply.  "But I'm clean now. 
Have been since I got here.  I'll show you my kids."
     Rita reached under the top bunk and removed a
picture that had been taped to the wall.  She handed
it proudly to Mac.
     Mac looked at three smiling, dark-skinned angels.
 They ranged in age from approximately two to maybe
six.  "They're beautiful," Mac said.
     "Thanks," Rita said, taking the picture back. 
"That's Jimmy, Jr., Claire and Rosalita is the baby. 
You have family?"
     "Not really."
     "That's too bad.  I don't know what I'd do
without my kids.  My sister brings them in to see me
every week.  They're living with her while I'm in
here," Rita said sadly.
     "How much more time have you got to serve?"
     "Nine and a half years."
     Wow.  Her son would be nearly a man before she
was released.  Her daughters would remember nothing of
their mother except that they'd visited her in prison.
 How sad was that?!
     "I'm gonna rest a bit," Rita said, laying on her
bed.  "After we all take showers, we'll go to eat, and
I'll introduce you to the others."
     "I took a shower when I came in," Mac said.
     "Doesn't matter," Rita said, her eyes closed. 
"They'll expect you to shower again.  You'll learn to
do what's expected of you, when it's expected."
     Mac doubted that, but she didn't speak.  Rita
looked like she needed the rest.
************
     As she'd been told, when the guard returned, Mac
was informed that she needed to shower with the
inmates who had been out working all day.  She
protested, though not forcefully, then got into line
with fourteen other females (Mac counted them) and
walked to the shower.  Under the watchful eyes of two
female guards, all of the inmates stripped and
showered in the shower room, which was a large,
rectangular room with four showerheads on each wall. 
Mac tried to tell herself that this was no different
from showering after high school gym class, but it
didn't work.  The girls shower at the high school
she'd attended had had individual shower stalls with
partitions and a curtain, affording as much or as
little privacy as the user desired.  This was more
like the male communal locker room (or so she'd
heard).  She wasn't sure if she only felt it  or if
the other inmates were watching her.  She washed
quickly and toweled off.  When she was dry, she was
handed a clean set of clothes, which she dressed in
quickly and gratefully.
     When they were all clean and dressed, they were
marched to the cafeteria.  The hard labor inmates were
apparently allotted two tables in an isolated corner
of the female mess hall.  After making their way
through the chow line, the women seated themselves at
the two tables, apparently sitting in whatever seat
they chose.  Two guards stood at either end of the
tables, trying to appear as though they were watching
vigilantly.  In the rest of the mess hall, the inmates
who weren't sentenced to hard labor basically had the
run of the room.  Four guards were dispersed around
the room, mostly at the exits.  Security for those
inmates was obviously much more lax.
     Rita insisted that Mac sit beside her.  As soon
as she sat down, Mac picked up her fork and pushed her
food around suspiciously.
     "Not yet," Rita said under her breath.
     "Huh?" Mac asked.
     "Put your fork down," Rita ordered.
     Mac complied, then noticed that no one else had
begun to eat.  As soon as all of the women were
seated, one of the guards announced, "You may eat
now."  The women around her began to eat.
     Rita now introduced her to the other women who
shared their table.  None of them were overly friendly
in their greeting, although they all seemed to like
Rita.  Rita, Mac guessed, was a tough person to
dislike.
     After introductions, Rita pointed out an inmate
at the table next to them.  She was a large woman (Mac
guessed 5'10" or so and 175 pounds) with wide
shoulders and large hands.  "That's Geri," Rita said
in almost a whisper.  "Watch out for her."
     Mac again searched her store of information, and
this time, she came up with a hit.  "Geri" must be
Geraldine Hineman, sentenced to life at hard labor for
the killing of two convenience store clerks during a
robbery attempt.  Hineman's boyfriend, whose name Mac
couldn't remember, had been sentenced to life in a
federal penitentiary for his role in the crime.
     "Why?" Mac asked.
     "She has friends in convenient places," one of
Mac's new friends told her.  "And she likes to remind
the rest of us about it."
     Mac turned her attention to her meal (using the
term generously).  Her tray contained a white
substance that she supposed was mashed potatoes,
though they had the consistency of apple sauce, green
beans which looked (and tasted) like plastic, and some
sort of meat (chicken, maybe?) that was tasteless. 
Mac forced the beans down and drained her milk.
     "You really should eat," Rita scolded.  "You'll
need it to keep your strength up tomorrow."
     "I can't," Mac told her.  It had been a long time
since she'd eaten institutional food.  She hadn't
missed it.
     "Do you mind then?" the woman on her left asked. 
Her name was Beverly Morgan, Mac thought.
     "No, go ahead," Mac said, pushing her tray over. 
"Beverly, right?"
     The young woman smiled.  "Right.  Everyone calls
me Boots," she said as she pulled Mac's tray closer
and began to eat what was left on it.
************
     It was 1900 when the women were returned to their
cells.  Unlike the lower classifications of inmates,
those sentenced to hard labor were not accorded the
freedom of open cell doors, a common room (with a
television and phone access) for everyday use, and the
opportunity to mingle with the general population. 
They were returned to their cells, and the doors
clanged closed.  Mac wondered if she'd ever get used
to that sound.
     Mac paced in her cell for a time, not yet used to
the tight confines.  Rita read for a while, then
invited Mac to play a card game.  Rita knew only kids
games, so they played Crazy 8's until it was time for
lights out.
*************************************
Day 2
     At 0600 the next morning, some inconsiderate jerk
was walking around outside yelling, "Up and at ‘em,
ladies!  It's time to rise and shine!"
     Mac rolled over in her bed and promptly fell the
five feet to the floor from the top bunk. Damn! She'd
forgotten where she was.  "Ow!" she said, sitting on
the floor and rubbing her now sore shoulder.  She
closed her eyes tiredly.  She'd lain awake until 0300
on the thin, lumpy mattress, listening to the sounds
around her.  For a time after lights out, someone had
cried noisily, until someone else had yelled, "Would
you shut up!"  The crying had stopped, but not the
unmistakable sounds of other human beings in close
proximity.  Mac hadn't been in a situation like this
since boot camp, and she'd grown accustomed to being
alone while she slept.  It seemed like she'd been
asleep for three minutes instead of three hours when
she'd been awakened.
     "Are you okay?" Rita asked, concern in her voice.
     "Fine," Mac said grumpily.  "Forgot I was on the
top bunk."
     At Rita's direction, Mac dressed and stood by the
door to the cell.  At 0615, the door slid open, and
they went into the hallway and formed a line.  They
were once again led to the mess hall, where, after
lining up for their food, taking it to their table,
and being given permission to eat, the other inmates
dug into their breakfasts.  Mac poked at the powdered
egg mess on her try and stabbed at the thin, tough
piece of ham(?).  No one could screw up toast, she
concluded, and she ate the two thin slices with little
enjoyment, washing them down with weak, lukewarm
coffee.  Once again, when one of the others asked for
her remaining food, she gladly gave it up.
     At 0700, after the meal, the women were lined up
once again and locked back in their cells.
     "Better use the bathroom," Rita advised.  "You
won't have a chance again until lunch."  She pulled
her pants and underwear down and sat to follow her own
advice.
     Mac turned away in embarrassment.  She doubted
she'd ever get used to the more humiliating aspects of
this place.  She'd used the toilet only twice since
arriving here: once yesterday, when she'd been all
alone, though she'd looked around and wondered if
there were hidden cameras in here, and once in the
middle of the night last night, when it was too dark
for anyone (including herself) to see anything.
     "You gotta go?" Rita asked when she was done.
     "Um, no, thanks," Mac said with a weak smile. 
"I'll wait."  Until what? she wondered.  There would
never be a time when she wasn't being watched.  She
certainly couldn't hold it until the end of this
assignment.
     "Want some advice?" Rita asked.  Before Mac could
answer, she continued.  "Go now.  You can go at lunch,
but we don't come in from the fields.  The guards will
let you go outside, but they're gonna watch you.  And
they're all men."
     Mac immediately saw the wisdom of this advice,
and she sighed.
     "I won't look," Rita promised.  She'd been new
here herself not so long ago, and she remembered what
it was like.
     Mac did what she needed to do as quickly as
possible.
     At 0715, the door once more slid open.  The women
were lined up, marched outside, and loaded onto a bus.
 Mac counted only twelve of them today, and she
wondered where the other three were.
     When they were seated on the bus, two to a seat,
with an armed guard in a caged-in area in the back,
another guard climbed up the stairs and into the bus. 
Mac knew immediately from the photo she'd seen that
this was Tom Bourgoin, the object of her
investigation.
     "Good morning, ladies," he said brightly.  "How
is everyone today?"
     No one answered him.
     "We have a new arrival, I understand," he
continued.  He scanned the faces on the bus until he
found the new one.  "Sarah McIntyre, welcome to our
little family.  Please let me know if I can do
anything to make your stay with us more pleasant."
     Mac felt everyone's eyes on her, and she stared
balefully at Bourgoin.  He seemed amused by her
discomfort.
     "Well, shall we get to work?" he asked
rhetorically.
     The driver, also an armed guard and also enclosed
in a metal mesh cage, started the bus and closed the
door.  Bourgoin took his seat at the front of the bus.
 His seat was positioned behind the driver's, facing
the others on the bus.  He stood the butt of his rifle
on the floor between his feet and leaned the barrel
toward the window.
     Mac studied him as unobtrusively as she could. 
He was good-looking in a plain sort of way.  He had
wavy brown hair cut as long as it could be given
military regulations.  His blue eyes were somewhat
cold and cruel.  His features were square, as though
chiseled from stone.
     "Where are the others?" Mac asked Rita, who sat
beside her.  
     At the same time that Rita and others turned
warning eyes on her, Bourgoin's ears perked up at the
sound of her voice.  He jumped to his feet.
     "McIntyre," he said sternly.  "There is no
talking on the bus.  You're new, so I'll forgive you
this one time."
     It was time to get a little better acquainted
with Mr. Bourgoin.  "Gee, thanks," Mac said
sarcastically.  "I can see how those four little words
could be considered a breach of security."
     Bourgoin eyed her coldly.  "On the floor of the
bus.  Now."
     "What?" Mac asked.
     "I said, on the floor of the bus.  Now!  On your
knees!"  Bourgoin ordered, taking one step closer and
taking a firmer grip on his rifle.
     Bewildered, Mac looked at Rita.  Better do it,
was in her eyes.
     Still not understanding, Mac got to her knees in
the aisle of the bus.  "Face the back of the bus,"
Bourgoin said.  Mac complied.  "On your face!"
Bourgoin ordered.  Mac dropped to a push-up position. 
"Hands behind your back!"
     Mac clasped her hands behind her back, waiting
expectantly.  She felt Bourgoin attach something to
her ankles, then her wrists were similarly bound. 
When she tested it, she found she was in a five-point
restraint and that her wrists and ankles were tied
together.
     Mac was left trussed on the floor for the
remainder of the thirteen-minute journey.  When they
arrived at their destination, Bourgoin evacuated the
bus.  The prisoners who had been sitting behind her
had to step over her to get off.
     When the bus had emptied, Mac heard footsteps
approach her.  She felt someone untying the leather
straps which held her.  "On your feet," he said.
     Mac climbed to her feet slowly, allowing the
circulation to return to her limbs.  She turned to
face Bourgoin and was surprised to find that he was
inches shorter than she was.
     "You will do well to remember just who's in
charge here," he said, his voice low and menacing. 
"In case you're too stupid to figure it out, that's
me.  And there's not a damn thing you can do about it.
 Now get your ass off this bus and get to work."
     Mac started to move by him, but he stopped her. 
"The proper response when given an order is, ‘Aye aye,
sir.'."
     Mac looked down at him.  "Aye aye, sir," she
said, biting off each word.
     Bourgoin smiled, revealing a row of perfect
teeth.  "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?  You can
go."
     This time, he let her pass.
**********
     By the time they returned at the end of the day,
Mac was exhausted.  She'd thought she was in good
shape, but her daily exercise regimen had not prepared
her for what she'd faced today.
     Someone had decided that it would be a good idea
if the prison grounds included a pond.  From this
pond, an irrigation system could be fed to water the
fields.  At present, there was no pond, only a field
that had been partially cleared of trees and brush. 
Two weeks ago, ground had been broken, and a hole
three feet deep and the size of two swimming pools had
been dug.  Plans called for the pond to be nine feet
deep at its center and to cover one acre. Obviously,
this project was going to take some time.  Just as
obviously, the inmates, collectively, had all the time
in the world.  Once the pond was completed, irrigation
ditches would be dug and pipes laid to carry water to
the crops grown and cared for by the non-hard labor
inmates.
     Removal of the dirt was being accomplished solely
by hand.  Inmates broke up the soil with pickaxes and
shoveled it into waiting wheelbarrows, which were then
moved by other inmates to a designated fill area.  The
soil was mostly clay and contained many large rocks. 
Nearly every swing of the pick axe was met by a rock,
which sent a bolt of shock and pain up the arm to the
elbow. 
     As if conditions weren't miserable enough, biting
insects seemed to be swarming.  There were mosquitoes,
black flies, midges, deer flies and a particularly
nasty creature called a stable fly.  It was difficult
to swing an axe and swat at bugs at the same time, and
as a consequence, inmates were bitten repeatedly while
they worked.
     Mac had been handed a pickaxe and told to get to
work.  The job she was doing required no instruction
or training.  Swing the axe down, hoist it up, and
bring it down again.  Then repeat the process.  Over
and over and over again.
     The humidity level had reached oppressive
portions by 1000.  All of Mac's clothing was soaked
with sweat and caked with dirt by lunch time.  Lunch
consist of a ham sandwich and an apple packed by the
kitchen and brought out to the inmates.  Mac ate the
apple, but was too exhausted and hot to eat the
sandwich.  She was beginning to be very popular with
the other inmates, who greedily ate her leavings.  Mac
drank all the water she was allowed and lay down to
rest.
     After a half-hour break in the shade of a nearby
tent erected for that purpose, the inmates were sent
back out to work, which they did until 0430, when they
were loaded in the bus and taken back to the prison.
     Mac stood gratefully under the shower spray, not
caring now who might be watching her.  She let the
water run hot down her back, soothing the bug bites
she couldn't reach to scratch.  She had to be told
twice to turn the water off and dress.
     Mac ate little at supper.  Surprisingly, she
didn't feel hungry, though she'd eaten little in the
last twenty-four hours.
     When she returned to her cell, she wanted only to
sleep, but she had too many questions.  While playing
Crazy 8's with Rita, she plied her for information.
     "There were only twelve of us today.  Where were
the other three?"
     "Oh, Geri don't go out with us," Rita said,
laying down an eight.  "Hearts."
     "Oh?  Why not?" Mac said, playing the only heart
she had.
     "We told you she had friends in high places,"
Rita said simply.
     "Where?" Mac asked.  "I'd like to get me some of
these friends."
     "You've met one already," Rita said.  "Bourgoin
is the wrong guy to piss off."
     Mac raised her eyebrows.  "Are Bourgoin and Geri
. . . involved?"
     Rita nodded.
     "That's gotta be against regulations!"
     The look Rita gave her now asked if she could
actually be that naive.  "You don't really believe
that rules apply to everyone in a place like this, do
you?"
     "Well, that explains Geri," Mac said.  "What
about the other two?"
     "Vera and Jo are Geri's friends.  They stick
together."
     "So what do they do while we're out in the
fields?" Mac asked.
     "Kitchen duty.  Or laundry.  Work supposed to be
done by what we call the soft labor inmates."
     "That's not fair!" Mac protested.  "Why doesn't
anyone complain?"
     Rita looked up at her.  "The last person who
complained got the crap beat out of her one night.  No
one saw a thing.  A week later, she was dead."
     "They killed her?" Mac asked, horrified.
     "The official word is she killed herself."
     "But . . ." Mac prompted.
     "Look, all I know is that Bourgoin started to pay
a lot of attention to her.  That made Geri jealous. 
Betty got beat up.  A few days later, she was dead. 
And it's not the first time that's happened.  Or the
last."
     "What's going on here, Rita?" Mac asked.
     "I don't know.  And I don't want to know.  Just
take my advice and stay as far away from Bourgoin as
you can."
     That sounded like good advice, but Mac knew she
couldn't take it.  "I'm tired," she said.  "Mind if we
call it a night?"  Her shoulder, already sore from her
tumble out of bed this morning, was throbbing from the
work she'd performed today.
     "Get some rest," Rita advised. "You thought today
was bad. Tomorrow will be worse."
*********************************************
Day Three
     Rita had been right.  Day 2 of hard labor was far
worse than Day 1.  Mac had gotten little sleep.  Every
time she moved, another muscle she'd forgotten she had
screamed at her.  She was sore from head to toe, and
she had no idea how she'd be able to swing a pickaxe
when she returned to the field.  She had tossed and
turned all night, but at least she hadn't fallen out
of bed.  She was grateful for that.  The way her body
felt, she probably would have broken into a million
pieces, and they probably would have made Rita sweep
up her shattered remains and throw them in the
garbage.
     She'd breakfasted on toast and coffee again.  Her
dread grew as the bus approached the work site.  She
didn't think she could raise her arms to scratch her
nose, let alone swing a heavy implement.  As it turned
out, Bourgoin provided all the motivation she needed.
     "Little sore today, are we, McIntyre?" he asked
as she stepped gingerly off the bus.
     "Not a bit," Mac lied.
     Bourgoin laughed meanly.  "I should probably warn
you.  If you don't work up to my expectations, I can
have you transferred to latrine duty.  You'll be
cleaning sewers instead of enjoying this beautiful
sunshine."
     "And your sparking personality," Mac noted
sarcastically.
     Bourgoin got in her face.  "I can make life
really miserable for you," he promised.
     "It's already about as miserable as it can get,"
she rejoined.
     "Oh, don't bet on that," Bourgoin warned.  "Now
get to work.  I'll be watching you.  I see you leaning
on your shovel once, I'll transfer your ass to sewer
detail."
     Mac doubted he would do that.  He seemed to enjoy
the challenge of dealing with difficult inmates, and
he seemed to already have taken a special interest in
tormenting her, which was just what she had planned. 
But she couldn't take a chance.
     With a defiant glare at him, she'd picked up her
axe and gone to join the others.  The first few blows
hurt like hell, but she'd be damned if she'd give
Bourgoin the satisfaction of seeing that.  She was
surprised to find that the pain disappeared after a
while, and she was able to work at a steady pace all
day.
     Mac spent most of the bus ride "home" on the
floor of the bus in restraints again after speaking on
the bus.  She knew what to expect now, and she was
experimenting with which of Bourgoin's buttons to
press and how hard.
     While she lay on the floor, she kept reminding
herself, "Harm's coming tomorrow."
********************************************
WARNING: Mac uses some strong words in this chapter. 
I know, I know.  I told her it was inappropriate, but
she was unrepentant and said she chose the words
carefully for their effect.  Anyway, I've masked one
so you'll know what it is without having to read it. 
I can't mask the other, so I apologize if it offends
anyone.
Day Four
     Mac had been hoping that Harm would be the guard
at the back of the bus this morning, but Sergeant
Ernie Hancock sat at his usual post.  She'd come to
know that three guards transported the inmates to the
work site: Bourgoin, Hancock and the driver, Ensign
Joe Phillips.  They were met at the work site by three
others, and the six of them guarded the inmates while
they worked and supervised them while they ate.
     When the bus arrived at the work site (Mac
managed the entire journey in her seat rather than on
the floor) and she saw that the three guards were the
same as usual, she nearly cried.  She hadn't realized
just how much she'd been looking forward to seeing
Harm until he wasn't there.
     While she worked, she wondered.  Had something
gone wrong?  Had he not completed his training?  Was
he coming at all?  That thought terrified her, and she
kept trying to push it away, but it kept returning
like a stray cat, feeding on her fear.  By lunch time,
she was convinced he wasn't coming and that she'd have
to do this alone.  She wasn't sure she could.
     She lay in the shade with her eyes closed, more
than happy to rest instead of eating.  She'd poured
half her allotment of water over her head, then drank
the rest.  She was nearly asleep when the other
inmates began to talk excitedly among themselves.
     "Now would you look at that!" one of them said. 
"Why can't all the guards look that good?!"
     Mac opened her eyes but didn't sit up.  She
turned her head and immediately spotted Harm towering
over Bourgoin.  He was dressed in the uniform of a
Navy Chief Petty officer, and Mac had never been
happier to see an enlisted man in all her life.  She
squeezed her eyes shut to hide the tears that had
sprung there, unbidden.  What's up with that? she
wondered.  I must be more tired than I thought.
     A couple of the women whistled appreciatively as
Bourgoin led Harm to the tent.
     "All right, ladies!  On your feet!"  Bourgoin
ordered.  "Break time's over.  This here's Chief Brad
Hammond.  Today's his first day, so you all take it
easy on him."
     "Easy, hard – I'll take it whichever way he wants
to give it," someone said, just loud enough for
Bourgoin to hear.
     Bourgoin surveyed them angrily.  "Who said
that?!" he demanded.  No on answered him.  "McIntyre! 
Was that you?!"
     Still sitting on the ground, Mac looked up at
him, surprised.  "No."  She felt Harm's eyes on her,
but she carefully avoided looking at him.
     "On your feet!" Bourgoin bellowed.
     Mac wearily got to her feet. 
     "I'll ask you one more time," Bourgoin yelled
into her face.  "Did you just make an inappropriate
comment about Chief Hammond?"
     "No, sir!" Mac said, staring down at him
belligerently.
     "I think you did.  I think you owe the Chief an
apology," Bourgoin said, his tone making it obvious
that the apology was more than a suggestion.
     "F%$* you and the whore you road in on," Mac
said, surprising even herself with the vehemence of
her statement.  This guy was really beginning to get
to her.
     Bourgoin started as though she'd slapped him,
then stepped closer to her.  "You want me to bring out
the leather, McIntyre?" He asked through clenched
teeth.
     "That the best you got to offer?" Mac taunted.
     Harm watched their interplay with growing
concern.  What was she doing?!  Had the stress gotten
to her?  When Mac stepped closer to Bourgoin, putting
them effectively nose to chin, he decided he'd better
do something.
     "Lieutenant, . . ." he began.
     "You stay out of this!" Mac snarled at him.
     Surprised, Harm said, "Maybe you just need to
calm down a little."  He put his hand on her shoulder,
and she promptly knocked it off.
     That was the opening Harm had been waiting for. 
He spun Mac around and grabbed her from behind in a
tight bear hug.  Mac struggled, but he didn't let go.
     "Let me go!" she demanded.
     "Not until you calm down," Harm said.
     Mac gradually got control of herself and stopped
struggling.  "I'm all right," she said.
     Harm let go of her, and when he did, she flung
herself to the ground, making it look for all the
world like Harm had thrown her there.  She stared up
at him from the ground, fire in her eyes.  "You ever
heard of the Eighth Amendment?!"
     "On your feet, McIntyre!" Bourgoin barked.  "You
just earned yourself extra duty!  Get to work!  All of
you!  Before you join McIntyre!"
     The women began to shuffle away, talking
animatedly, worked up by the scene they'd just
witnessed.  Mac followed them without a backward
glance for Harm or Bourgoin.
     "She's trouble, Chief," Bourgoin warned Harm as
they watched her walk away.  "Has been from the moment
I met her.  Know what she did?"  When Harm shook his
head in the negative, Bourgoin said, "She killed her
boyfriend with a bayonet.  Stabbed him like twenty
times! Then she cut him up into little pieces.  You'd
never know that behind that sexy exterior, there beats
the heart of a vicious killer, would you?  Anyway, I
like the way you stepped in.  You can't hesitate to
let them know who the boss is."
     "Thank you, sir," Harm said, disliking this man
intensely already.
*********
     The afternoon finally came to an end.  Tired and
sweating and itching all over, Mac joined the others
as they lined up to return to the prison.
     "Did you forget your extra duty, McIntyre?"
Bourgoin asked with a smile on his face.  "You're not
ready to go just yet."
     Mac stepped back out of line.  She had assumed
she'd be allowed to return to the prison to eat, but
obviously, she'd been wrong.
     "You see that pile of dirt over there?" Bourgoin
asked, pointing at a pile two to three feet high and
covering a six-foot circle.  "I think it would look
much better over there," he said, pointing at a spot
fifteen feet from where the pile stood currently.
     Mac's heart sunk into her boots.  She was so
tired!  How was she ever going to move that pile of
dirt by herself?
     "Don't let her come in until she finishes it,"
Bourgoin said, tossing Harm a set of keys.  "When
she's done, bring her back in the van."
     "What about supper, sir?"  Harm asked.
     "I'll have someone bring you a sandwich."
     " I meant for her," Harm said, gesturing at Mac.
     Bourgoin stared at her, his eyes small and mean. 
"I think this little lesson will sink in better if
she's hungry while she works.  Giver her a drink and
put her back to work!"
     "Yes, sir," Harm said, obviously unhappy.
     Bourgoin misunderstood the source of Harm's
discontent.  "Sorry, Hammond, but the new guy always
gets extra duty."
     "No problem, sir."
     "Just watch her, Chief.  She's a violent one."
     "I'll keep my eyes on her, sir," Harm promised.
     As they watched the bus drive away, Harm asked
jokingly, "What are you in for?"
     "I ripped the tag off my mattress," Mac said.
     "I always wondered what happened to people who
did that."  He watched as the bus drove out of sight. 
"I'm not sure how much longer I can keep calling that
guy sir."
     "Give him a break, Harm.  He's suffering from
LMS."
     Harm turned questioning eyes on her.
     "Little Man Syndrome," she explained.  "I see it
all the time."
     Harm ignored her joke.  "Are you okay?"
     "I'm fine," she said, taking a long drink of
water.
     "You look tired."
     She looked at him but didn't say anything.  His
concern made her suddenly feel like crying again.  She
turned away and picked up the shovel.
     "You want to tell me what that was about?  That
little scene at lunch?"
     "He targets problem inmates.  I was making myself
a problem," she said simply.
     "Not for the first time, I gathered," Harm noted.
 "Are you being careful?"
     "As careful as I can be and still get the job
done," she assured him.
     "How are things . . . on the inside?"
     "Really cozy," Mac said, striving to keep her
tone light.  "They gave me a suite with a hot tub and
twenty-four-hour a day room service."
     "Mac . . ."
     "I really need to get to work if I'm going to
finish this."  A thought struck her.  "Damn!"
     "What's the matter?"
     "I'm going to miss the library cart!"  Rita had
told her that every Thursday night, one of the guards
wheeled a large cart of books from cell to cell.
Inmates were allowed to borrow two books at a time. 
Mac had been looking forward to having something to
read to help pass the time.  She was surprised by just
how disappointed she felt at missing something so
trivial.
     Harm seemed surprised by her depth of feeling,
too.  "Mac, is everything all right?"
     "Fine," she said, attempting to smile.
     "Give me the shovel," he said, holding out his
hand.
     "Why?"
     "Because I'm going to do some of that for you. 
You're exhausted."
     "No, you're not," Mac argued, hugging the shovel
handle to her chest.
     "Give me the shovel, Mac," Harm ordered softly.
     "What are you gonna do?  Shoot me?" she teased.
     "Let me help you!" he pleaded.
     "Harm, you'll compromise your cover.  If they
catch you helping me, you'll be out of here
immediately.  I don't think I could finish this if you
weren't here.  I'll be fine."
     She turned her back on him and walked to the dirt
pile.
     Harm sighed in frustration because he knew she
was right.  He stood and watched her work, feeling
guilty because he couldn't help and because he knew
that she was beyond tired.  He could hear her
muttering something under her breath as she worked,
and he moved closer to where she was.  It took him a
moment to realize that she was singing the Marine
Corps Hymn.  Every time she drove her shovel into the
pile, she grunted with the effort.
     From the halls of Montezuma
     To the shores of Tripoli
     We will fight our country's battles
     From the air, on land and sea.
     He smiled at her source of inspiration.  Only
Mac.
     For her part, Mac worked mindlessly.  If she'd
dwelled on how tired she was, she would've collapsed
onto the ground.  She'd be damned if she'd give
Bourgoin the satisfaction.  So she shoveled dirt into
the wheelbarrow, and when it was full, she pushed it
to the designated spot fifteen feet away, dumped it
out, and repeated the process.  When Harm's supper
arrived via another guard, he waited until the guard
was out of sight, then forced Mac to take a break and
eat the sandwich intended for him.  She took no
enjoyment from the meal and went dully back to work
when she'd finished.
     Finally, two hours and eighteen minutes after
she'd begun, Mac had moved the entire pile.  She
leaned on her shovel – it was her only source of
support.
     "Let's go, Mac," Harm said softly behind her.
     "Give me a minute."  It took a while, but she
gathered her remaining strength and was able to walk
to the van on her own power.
     "Can we talk now?" Harm asked after he got in and
started the van.
     "About what?" Mac asked listlessly.
     "About you.  What's going on?  What have you
found out?"
     "You mean other than that the food sucks?"
     "Mac," Harm admonished.  They didn't have a lot
of time to talk.  It would be helpful if she wasn't
cracking jokes.
     Mac sighed.  "Other than finding out fairly
quickly that Bourgoin is a mean son of a bitch, I
haven't really found anything we can use.  My roommate
seems to think he's connected somehow to the deaths of
those three women and also that he's having an affair
with one of the inmates."
     "What?" Harm asked, dismayed.
     "Yeah."  Mac yawned.  "It's hard to tell in a
place like this what's rumor and what's fact, though. 
There may be nothing to it."
     "Please be careful.  I can't watch your back
inside."  There was no response.  "Mac?"  Still no
response.
     Harm turned around to look in the back seat. 
Through the mesh screen that separated them, he saw
Mac slumped against the door, sound asleep.  Good. 
She looked like she could use it.
     He drove as slowly as possible to allow Mac as
much rest as he could.  When they arrived back at the
gate, he stopped the van.  He wanted to just leave her
there and let her sleep, but a guard was already
unlocking the gate to escort her in.
     "Mac," he said.  "Mac, we're back."
     "Five more minutes, Harm," she mumbled without
opening her eyes.
     "Inmate McIntyre!" Harm said, his voice loud. 
"You will wake up now!"
     Startled, Mac sat bolt upright.  She realized
simultaneously that she'd called him Harm (potentially
risking both their covers) and that he was trying to
make sure she was awake enough not to do it again in
front of the approaching guard.  She smiled briefly at
him in gratitude.
     Harm got out of the van.  Mac tried to do the
same until she realized that there were no inside door
handles in the back.  The approaching guard slid the
van door open, and Mac climbed wearily out as Harm
joined her.  Harm came to attention in front of the
guard and saluted.  "Chief Brad Hammond reporting with
a work detail of one."
     The Lieutenant guard returned the salute.  "At
ease, Chief.  You're new here, aren't you?"
     "Yes, sir.  First day, sir."
     "Then that explains why this prisoner isn't
cuffed.  Check the manual, Chief.  SOP."
     Sorry, sir.  It won't happen again, sir," Harm
promised.
     "See that it doesn't," the Lieutenant admonished.
 "You're dismissed, Chief."
     Harm came to attention again.  "Aye aye, sir."
     "Thanks for dinner and the movie," Mac called. 
"We'll have to do it again some time.  Now I'd better
get inside before Dad turns the porch light on.  I
think it would be better if we skipped the goodnight
kiss."
     Harm smiled at her joke.  "See you tomorrow."  He
watched as the Lieutenant handcuffed Mac and led her
inside the prison gate.
     "Can I take a shower?" Mac asked when they got
inside the cell block.
     "Showers close at nineteen hundred," she was
informed.  "You don't get back before then, you don't
take a shower.  No exceptions."
     "Come on, Lieutenant," Mac wheedled.  "Three
minutes.  I promise."
     "No exceptions," he repeated stubbornly.
     "I could order you to let me take a shower," she
pointed out, wishing that were true.
     The Lieutenant laughed.  "You're a funny one. 
It's good to have a sense of humor in a place like
this."
     "Oh, yeah," Mac agreed.  "On the outside, I'm a
real cut-up."
     The Lieutenant blanched.  Everyone knew what
she'd supposedly done to her boyfriend.
     Mac ignored his reaction.  "It's the sense of
smell I could live without," she said, sniffing
herself delicately.
     The Lieutenant chuckled again.
     "You know, I think I have a constitutional right
to take a shower," she said.
     "Oh, yeah?  And what part of the Constitution
would I find that in?"
     "Oh, it's a little-known part of the Nineteenth
Amendment.  You know, the one that gave women the
right to vote?  It also gives us the right to change
our minds frequently, to own an unlimited number of
shoes, and to shower daily.  Really.  Go look it up. 
I'll wait in the shower while you do."
     The Lieutenant laughed again, seemingly enjoying
her banter.  Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be
changing his mind.
     "You're not nice," she pouted.
     "Look, I'd like to let you take a shower.  But
it's against the rules.  I'd get in trouble."
     "You're sweet.  I wouldn't want that," Mac said,
lying through her teeth.  She'd feed him to the sharks
for five minutes under the hot water.
     "Here you go," the Lieutenant said, stopping to
remove her cuffs.  "Home sweet home."
     "I hope the maid came today," she said airily as
she waited for the guard on the other side of the door
to open it.  "I hate coming home to a messy house
after a busy day at the office."
     "Good night," the Lieutenant said as she was
escorted toward her cell.  Mac turned to wave cheerily
at him as she was pulled down the hall.
     Her new escort checked to make sure Rita was on
her bed, not crouching by the door waiting to pounce
on him, then spoke into the two-way radio pinned to
his shoulder.  "Open A-13."
     The door slid open, and Mac walked in.  She
closed her eyes until the door clanged shut.  God, she
hated that sound!
     "How are you?" Rita asked, concern in her eyes.
     "I'm fine.  I'm tired and dirty.  They wouldn't
let me take a shower."
     "Have you had anything to eat?"
     "No," Mac said, which, of course, was a lied. 
But she wasn't supposed to have eaten Harm's sandwich.
     "I have a chocolate bar in my locker.  You can
have it," Rita said.
     "No.  That's very nice of you, Rita, but I'm
okay," Mac protested.
     "Don't be silly," Rita said, pulling her box out
from under the bed and rummaging through it.  She came
out with a Hershey bar.  "Here," she said, pressing it
into Mac's hand.
     "Thanks," Mac said with a grateful smile.  She
pulled her boots off and undressed to her underwear,
then climbed up onto her bunk.  She ate the chocolate
as she lay staring at the ceiling.  Fatigue felt like
a heavy weight pressing down on her body.
     Rita's head popped up beside her.  "You have to
stop pissing Bourgoin off.  Why do you do that?"
     "There's just something about that guy I don't
like," Mac said, her eyes closed.  "He rubs me the
wrong way."
     "Be nice to him," Rita pleaded.
     "I'll try," Mac promised.
     "The new guard is hot," Rita said.
     Mac opened her eyes and turned her head to look
at Rita.  "You think so?" she asked with a smile.
     "Mm hmm!  Don't you?"
     "A good-looking guy got me into this mess," Mac
said.  "They're a dime a dozen.  What really counts is
what's on the inside."
     "Well, I'd like to check out Chief Hammond's
insides some time," Rita said with a self-conscious
giggle.
     "Rita!" Mac said, shocked by her normally prim
and proper roommate's statement. "You're bad!"
     Rita smiled shyly at her.  "You wanna play some
Crazy Eights?"
     "Nah. I'm too tired tonight.  Sorry."
     "That's okay.  You get some sleep.  I'll just
read for a while."
     "The library cart!"  Mac said, remembering.  "Did
I miss it?"
     "Yeah, but you can read the books I got if you
want."
     "Thanks, Rita.  You're a good friend."
     "Go to sleep, Sarah," Rita said softly.
***********
     Mac did, until 2330, when fire bells began
clanging.  Tonight was apparently the night of the
jail's semi-annual fire drill.  The inmates were
rounded up by many armed guards.  They were not given
time to dress and were led to a far corner of the
exercise yard.  Some of the inmates, who apparently
slept in their birthday suits, had been allowed to
wrap themselves in blankets.  They stood in a group,
in various stages of undress, talking sleepily.  Mac
could see other groups of inmates gathered at multiple
places around the yard, and she assumed that others
had been taken to points on the other side of the
building out of her sight.  After what felt like an
eternity, the inmates were allowed to return to their
cells.  Try as she might, Mac couldn't fall asleep
again, and she lay staring at the ceiling until
wake-up call.
******************************************
Day Six
     Inmates worked in the fields only until noon on
Saturday.  After lunch, they cleaned their cells from
top to bottom.  After the work in the fields, cleaning
seemed like a piece of cake, and Mac almost enjoyed
the easy task of washing the floors and the walls and
cleaning the toilet.  Old bedding was stripped and
left for laundry, and clean bedding was applied. 
While they worked, Mac and Rita chatted, getting to
know each other better.  Mac let Rita do most of the
talking.  She liked her roommate a lot.  She was sweet
and kind and giving, and Mac was amazed that she'd
ended up in a place like this.  Tomorrow was visiting
day, and Rita was looking forward to seeing her
children very much.  She told Mac weekly visits with
her kids were the only thing that kept her sane.
     All in all, it was a rather pleasant day,
comparatively speaking.  Friday had been another long
day.  Mac had been purposely disrespectful to Bourgoin
again (she found this was coming naturally now), and
he'd sentenced her to additional work again.  As
before, Harm was the guard ordered to stay behind with
her.  Though the extra work was difficult, it at least
gave her an opportunity to speak with Harm without
other ears present.  She was wondering what she'd need
to do to accelerate Bourgoin's time table.  She wanted
this over with as quickly as possible.
     Mac slept better that night than she had since
her arrival here.
********************************************
Day Seven
     Sunday was a day of rest, even at Leavenworth. 
After breakfast, religious services of any
denomination were available to inmates.  Mac chose not
to attend and instead spent that time resting on her
bunk.
     After lunch, the inmates waited anxiously for
visitation to begin.  At 1330, the cell doors slid
open, and two guards began moving down the hall,
calling the names of inmates who had visitors.  Rita
stood excitedly by the door and hopped into the
hallway when her name was called.
     "McIntyre, you've got a visitor," the guard said.
     "Who?  Me?" Mac asked.  She hadn't planned on a
visit from anyone, and she was surprised.  "Who is
it?"
     "They don't tell me that," the guard said.  "Just
get in line."
     Mac did as she was told, wondering who she'd find
in the visitation room.  She and Rita and two others
were the only inmates escorted from the pod, and Mac
wondered why they all weren't going.  That question
would be answered for her later.
     "All right, ladies, you know the drill.  You get
to visit for one hour.  Limit your contact during the
visit.  Enjoy your time."
     The women were led into a large room with tables
and chairs lining the sides.  Mac watched as Rita's
children spotted their mother and ran to greet her. 
She smiled at Rita's obvious jot at simply being able
to hug her children.
     "Sarah," she heard a familiar voice say.  She
turned to find Harriet beside her.
     "Hi, sis!"  Harriet said, hugging Mac.
     Mac hugged her back, trying not to look as
surprised as she felt.  "What are you doing here?" she
asked into Harriet's ear.
     "You didn't think I'd come to visit?" Harriet
asked as she pulled away.
     "I . . . I wasn't sure."
     "All right, ladies!" one of the guard intoned. 
"Let's have a seat."
     Everyone found seats.  Mac and Harriet sat as far
away from the others as they could.
     "How are you, ma-"
     Mac stopped her before Harriet could call her
ma'am.  "Harriet," she said warningly.
     Harriet looked at her apologetically.  "How are
you, Sarah?"
     "I'm fine," Mac said.  "What are you doing here?"
     Harriet spoke softly.  "The Admiral thought it
would be helpful for you to have another link to the
outside.  How are they treating you?  What's it like
in here?"
     For some reason she wasn't sure she understood,
Mac didn't want to discuss living conditions at
Leavenworth with Harriet.  "I'm fine.  How are things
at the office.  Is Bud having any trouble with the
cases I left him?"
     Harriet spoke animatedly for a time about office
gossip, Bud's antics in the courtroom, and the
Admiral's moods.  Then she described to Mac how it
felt being pregnant.  Before they even realized it, an
hour had slipped away.
     "Okay, first group.  Your time's up!" a guard
announced.
     "I guess that's me," Mac said sadly.
     "Gosh, I talked the whole time!" Harriet said.
"I'm sorry."
     "Don't be.  I enjoyed our visit."
     "Is there anything you want me to tell the
Admiral?"
     "Just tell him I'm fine and things are going
according to plan."  Whose plan?
     "All right."  Harriet hugged Mac again.  "Are you
losing weight?"
     "Maybe a little," Mac admitted.
     "Let's go, McIntyre!" the both heard.
     "I have to go," Mac said.  "Thanks for coming. 
Will I see you next week?" she asked hopefully.
     "You bet," Harriet said with a bright smile.
     Mac waved and followed the guard and the other
inmates out of the room.  They were led to sick bay,
immediately adjacent to the visitation room.
     "What are we doing here?" Mac asked a little
nervously.
     "Strip search," Rita said matter-of-factly.
     "What?!  Why?!"  Mac asked, edging backward until
she came up against a guard.
     "SOP," he said.  "Any time you have a contact
visit, you get strip searched.  Gotta make sure you
haven't been smuggled in any contraband."
     "How about if I just give you my word?" Mac
proposed.
     The guard chuckled.  "Cubicle three, please."
     Because she didn't have any choice, Mac complied.
 While she suffered through the indignity again, she
figured some things out.  She'd been brought to the
visit in a group of four.  Fifteen minutes after her
group had arrived, another group of four had come into
the room, followed fifteen minutes after that by
another group.  There were four cubicles set up in
sick bay, with two nurses and two female guards
conducting the examination/search.  They were brought
out in groups of four because that's how many they
could strip search at one time.
     She also figured something else out – contact
visits weren't worth this.
     When it had been determined that the women
weren't attempting to smuggle contraband into the
prison anywhere in or on their persons, they were
allowed to return to their cells.  Before the guard
left them, Mac told him she needed to see the warden
as soon as possible.  When the guard asked her why,
she told him that it concerned prison security and
contraband and that she would discuss it only with the
warden.  She was told that the warden wouldn't be in
until the following morning and that her request would
be passed through the usual channels.
     After the inmates had all been returned to the
pod, their doors were left open, and the inmates were
allowed to mingle in their cells and in the common day
room.  A telephone was available for inmate use until
1700, and a line formed immediately after the day room
was opened at 1500.  Inmates were limited to two calls
for a duration of twenty minutes, total.
     Mac was not pleased to see Bourgoin in the day
room. "What's he doing here?" she asked.  The previous
week's newspapers were kept in the day room, and Mac
was catching up on the news she'd missed.
     "They must be short-handed again," Rita said. 
"The outside guards don't usually come inside unless
they're short-handed."
     "Couldn't they have brought Hammond in instead?"
one of the other women asked.  "Now that I don't mind
seeing any time."
     A conversation then ensued about Harm's physical
attributes, a conversation which Mac listened to with
great amusement, but which she didn't participate in.
     By 1625, Rita had worked herself to number two in
the phone line.  Geri dialed a number and settled in
to complete her call.
     At 1650, she still hadn't hung up, and Rita was
fidgeting anxiously.  Mac watched as long as she
could, knowing Rita was too timid to say anything. 
Finally, she approached Geri.  "Excuse me.  Rita would
like to us the phone.  It's almost seventeen hundred."
     Rita nervously tugged at her sleeve.  "It's okay,
Sarah."
     "No, it's not, Rita.  She's been on the phone for
thirty-two minutes.  It's time for her to get off." 
As she spoke, Mac never took her eyes off Geri.
     The room had gone eerily quiet, all eyes turned
to the expected confrontation.  Geri turned away and
continued talking.
     "Excuse me," Mac said loudly.  "Maybe you didn't
hear me.  It's Rita's turn to use the phone."
     "What seems to be the trouble here?" Bourgoin
asked loudly.
     "She's been on the phone for thirty-two minutes,"
Mac explained.  "She won't get off."
     "You want to use the phone do you, McIntyre?"
Bougoin asked.
     "No.  Rita does."
     "You don't have enough trouble of your own?" 
Bourgoin asked.  "You have to take on other people's
problems?"
     Mac sighed.  She'd hoped to make it through this
afternoon without a confrontation with Bourgoin. 
She'd almost made it, but apparently he wasn't going
to let that happen.  "Look, the rule is twenty
minutes.  I thought it applied to everyone."
     Behind them, Geri hung up the phone.  "All done,"
she said brightly, secure in the fact that she enjoyed
Bourgoin's protection.
     "Return to your cell," Bourgoin ordered softly. 
"The rest of you go back to your cells, too."
     "Rita wants to make a call," Mac said stubbornly.
     "It's seventeen hundred," Bourgoin said.
     "No, it's 1659.  If you'd been doing your job,
she would have had fifteen minutes," Mac argued.
     "Sarah, please," Rita begged.
     "No, Rita.  You wanted to call your mother.  You
should be allowed to call your mother."
     "Make your call, Jiminez.  You've got ten
minutes," Bourgoin ordered, his eyes never leaving
Mac's face.  "McIntyre, I'll escort you back to your
cell."
     Mac turned and walked quickly back to her cell,
aware that Bourgoin was right behind her.
     "What is it with you, McIntyre?" Bourgoin asked
conversationally after she'd entered the cell. 
Bourgoin stood at the door.  "You got some sort of a
problem with me?"
     "I don't know what you mean."
     "Come on," Bourgoin wheedled.  "We've done
nothing but butt heads since you got here.  I'm a nice
enough guy, so I figure it must be you."
     "You're probably right.  After all, I'm just a
common criminal, and you're a mighty lieutenant in the
US Navy."
     "You're very sarcastic, you know that?"
     "So I've been told."
     "I think we could be really good friends if you'd
give us a chance," Bourgoin said.
     Mac studied him.  Was he making his move on her? 
Was this how he'd done it with the others?  "Friends,
huh?  I've got enough friends, thanks," she told him.
     "You can never have too many friends, McIntyre. 
The right friends can be very useful.  Remember that."
 With that, he was gone.
*****************************************
Day Eight
     Mac's day had started out on a bad note.  She'd
discovered her work gloves missing from her "locker". 
She knew she'd put them there on Saturday, and it was
pretty difficult to lose something in a room this
size.  That left as the only logical conclusion that
someone had taken them.  It had to have happened
yesterday afternoon, since that was the only time cell
doors were left open, and she'd be willing to bet it
had happened at the time of her run-in with Geri and
Bourgoin.  One of Geri's friends must have taken them
while she was busy defending Rita's rights.  Rita
offered Mac her own pair, but Mac declined.
     As they were lining up to leave the prison after
breakfast, the guard told her.  "You stay, McIntyre. 
The warden wants to see you."  Mac sat down and waited
until someone came to get her a short time later.
************
     Mac waited until the warden had closed his office
door before coming fully to attention.  "Thank you for
seeing me, sir."
     "At ease, Major.  Have a seat.  Is there some
kind of problem?"
     "Not really, sir.  I just wanted to tell you that
I don't want any more visitors."
     That surprised him.  "I'm sorry?  No visitors? 
Why?"
     "It's rather personal, sir.  Frankly, I didn't
even know I had a visitor list or that Lieutenant Sims
was on it."
     "Your Admiral thought it a good idea," Colonel
Franklin explained.  "Are you sure about this?"
     "Yes, sir.  If she, or anyone else for that
matters, comes next week, I'll refuse to see them.  I
thought perhaps you could put in the record that I
reported to you that she tried to slip contraband to
me.  That would keep her out, wouldn't it?"
     "It would," the Colonel confirmed.  He studied
her for a moment.  "Is Admiral Chegwidden going to
have me for lunch over this?"
     Mac smiled.  "I don't think so, sir.  I'll make
sure he knows after that it came from me."
     "All right.  If you're sure that's what you want.
 How is everything going?  Have you found anything
yet?"
     "Nothing solid, sir," Mac reported.  "But I feel
as though I'm getting closer.  As soon as I have
anything definite to report, I'll let you know."
     "All right.  Well, I guess the guard will take
you out to the field now."
     "Yes, sir," Mac said, standing up gingerly.  Her
muscles, though they were getting a little more
forgiving, were still angry with her for what she was
putting them through.
     "Sore, Major?" the Colonel asked, noticing her
wince.
     Mac smiled thinly.  "You could say that, sir."
**********
     Harm hadn't had a chance all day to ask Mac where
she'd been this morning.  He'd been surprised when she
hadn't been on the bus with the others, but all
Sergeant Hancock knew was that she'd been held back
for some reason.  He was quite relieved when she
showed up later, escorted by a lone guard.
     "What did you see the warden about?" Bourgoin
asked her as soon as he could get her alone.
     "He wanted some ideas about how to run the
prison.  I told him the first thing I'd do is can your
ass."
     All pleasantness went out of Bourgoin's eyes. 
"You're never gonna learn, are you, McIntyre?  That
mouth of yours just keeps getting you in trouble.  You
can stay an extra half hour tonight for that."
     "I thought you wanted to be friends?" Mac ask,
coyly batting her eyelashes.
     "Make it an hour," Bourgon said.  "Keep talking,
and I'll double it."
     Mac considered that, decided it wasn't worth it,
and kept her mouth shut.
     Bourgoin laughed meanly.  "Finally.  You're
acting sensibly."
     "Jerk," Mac said, unable to stop what she was
thinking from falling from her lips.
     Again, the humor disappeared from Bourgoin's
eyes.  "Two hours, McIntyre.  One more word out of you
today, and you're on sewer detail tomorrow."
     This time, Mac was able to control herself.
********
     "Why don't you give yourself a day off from extra
duty?" Harm asked as soon as they were left alone.
     "Can't," she said simply.  "Gotta keep the
pressure on."
     "You'll kill yourself in the meantime."  Harm
realized how awful that sounded considering why they
were here.  "Sorry.  Two questions.  First, where are
your gloves?"
     Mac had two blisters on each hand as a result of
her lack of gloves.  They'd all broken and bled at one
point or another during the day.  "Someone took them."
     "Get another pair."
     "Can't," she said.  "They only issue you one
pair.  They come with a stern warning that if you lose
them, you have to buy another.  I have no money in my
account. That's part of my cover."
     "I'll bring you some tomorrow," Harm promised.
     Mac didn't respond.
     "Second question.  Why were you late this
morning?"
     "I slept in.  I've got to get to work now."  She
picked up her pickaxe and walked away.  She was
reluctant to tell him what she'd requested from the
warden because he'd want to know why.  She wasn't sure
she could adequately describe the humiliation of a
strip search, and she knew she didn't want to try. 
He'd probably find out soon enough, and she'd deal
with it then.
     Harm watched her go, frustrated with her. 
Something had changed about her, and he couldn't
figure out what it was.
********************************************
Day Nine
     After breakfast, Mac slid her foot into her boot
while getting ready to go out.  Her foot met icy cold
water.
     "Oh no!" she exclaimed, pulling her foot out. 
She took her boot to the sink and dumped about a cup
of water out of it.  Her other boot contained just as
much water.
     "Who could have done this?" Mac asked,
bewildered.
     "It had to be Geri," Rita said.  "Or Vera or Jo. 
One of them got in here while we were eating.  I knew
you shouldn't have made such a big deal about the
phone!"
     "Don't worry about it, Rita," Mac said, trying to
sound reassuring.  "I'll just wear my shoes."
     The guard, however, noticed she was wearing her
white tennis shoes and made her change into her boots,
not caring that they were soaked and would likely
cause terrible blisters.  Mac sighed.  This was going
to be another bad day.
     Mac was right.  By the end of the day, her feet
were throbbing where three large blisters had formed. 
Without even intending to, she'd earned herself a half
four of extra duty, and by 1630, she couldn't even
remember how.
     After the bus had driven away, Harm skipped right
over the pleasantries.  "Why did you end the visits
with Harriet?"
     Mac sighed and picked up her shovel.  "I really
don't want to talk about this, if you don't mind."
     "I do mind," Harm said stubbornly.  "Harriet said
the visit went well and that you seemed to enjoy it."
     "I did enjoy it."
     "Then why did you tell the warden that you'd
refused to see her if she came back?" Harm demanded,
his hands on his hips.  When she didn't answer, he
said, "Mac, the Admiral wants to know why you canceled
the visits."
     "Tell him it's none of his damn business," she
said.
     Harm snorted, only half amused.  "And should I do
that before or after I hand him my head to save him
the trouble of removing it?"
     Mac sighed.  "You wouldn't understand," she said,
watching the shovel as she aimlessly scraped at the
dirt.
     "Well, I certainly won't understand if you don't
even try to explain," he pointed out.
     "I read through the handbook, and I knew that it
could happen, but I was so happy to see Harriet, I
just forgot all about it."  She couldn't look at him,
and she wasn't sure why she was so embarrassed.  It
wasn't her fault they'd strip searched her.
     "What could happen?" Harm probed.
     "Do you know what they do to inmates after
contact visits?" Mac asked, raising her head.
     Harm shook his head in the negative.
     "They strip search them," she said, forcing
herself to look directly into Harm's eyes.  "Have you
ever been strip searched, Harm?  Have you ever been
forced to strip naked in front of another human being
whose job it is to make sure you're not concealing
contraband in your body cavities?"
     "No," Harm admitted softly, completely
understanding now the reason for her reluctance to be
subjected to that humiliation.
     "Yeah, well, I have.  Twice now.  And it's not
going to happen again if I can help it," she said
firmly.
     "You don't have to say anything else.  I
understand.  Now tell me why you're limping."
     "Someone poured water in my boots this morning. 
I haven't taken them off to look, but I suspect I've
got some really nasty blisters."
     "You've made an enemy," Harm guessed.  "Do you
know who it is?"
     "I don't know for sure, but I've got my
suspicions."
     "Be careful," Harm said.  "Oh, here.  I brought
you some gloves."  He took them out of his pocket and
handed them to her.
     "Thanks," Mac said gratefully, slipping them over
the raw flesh on her hands.  "I don't suppose you've
got a tractor in your pocket?"
     "Sorry."
     "Then I'd better get to work."
*******************************************************
Day Thirteen
     The hard labor inmates were being given a treat
today.  Professionals with chain saws were clearing
more land at their usual work site, so the women on
the hard labor detail couldn't engage in their usual
activities.  Instead, they were to be transported to
the corn field, where they'd be put to working hoeing
corn.  Bourgoin informed them about this change in
their daily routine after he had them all on the bus.
     "And just so that everyone knows who works the
hardest around here, each and every one of you is
going to do the work of two of them.  You have no idea
how embarrassing it would be for me to be shown up out
there.  In order to get you properly motivated, I'm
going to give you a little incentive.  Anyone not
completing their allotted amount of work will not be
able to participate in visitation on Sunday."  He let
this announcement sink in before proceeding.  "This is
a very important detail," Bourgoin continued
pompously.  "Does anyone know what we can use corn
for, other than food?"
     "No," someone said, violating Bus Rule Number 1. 
"But I have a suggestion as to what you can do with
the cob."  To her horror, Mac realized that those
words had just come out of her own mouth.
     Her suggestion was met by amused snorts and some
outright laughter.
     Bourgoin's eyes narrowed until they were tiny
slits.  He started to approach her, and before he'd
taken two steps, Mac was already on the floor, her
hands and feet ready for the restraints she was sure
were coming.
     When the bus arrived and the women stopped
exiting, followed by Bourgoin, Harm was surprised not
to see Mac.  "Missing one, aren't we, sir?" he asked
Bourgoin.
     "Yeah.  McIntyre.  You noticed, huh, Chief?"
     "She sort of stands out, sir."  Harm could tell
that Bourgoin was agitated, and he wondered what Mac
had done now.  "Will she be coming later, sir?"
     "She's on the bus," Bourgoin told him.  "She's
gonna stay there a while."  His tone made clear that
there would be no more conversation on the subject.
     Harm wanted badly to go onto the bus and make
sure Mac was all right, but he knew that Bourgoin
would string him up if he did.  With one last look at
the bus, he followed the women out to the field.
     Bourgoin left Mac on the floor of the bus for an
hour.  When he finally went back onto the bus, he
stood over Mac for a time without speaking.  She
waited, knowing he was there, bracing herself for
whatever he might have in mind.  Finally, he untied
her ankles. "Roll over," he ordered.
     Mac did, the muscles which had fallen asleep
protesting her sudden movement.  Before she could even
try to sit up, Bourgoin had dropped to his knees on
top of her, his legs straddling her hips.  With her
hands tied behind her back, Mac was at his mercy.
     Bourgoin put a hand on either side of her head
and leaned over her until his face was only inches
from hers.  "Why don't you ever learn?" he asked
through clenched teeth.
     Mac felt her body stiffen from Bourgoin's
proximity.  "Let me up," she said.
     "When I'm good and ready," he said.  He gently
stroke her hair back from her face. "You're really
quite pretty.  I haven't given up on being your
friend, you know.  I think you'll come around
eventually.  I can be very persuasive."
     "I'm not interested.  Let me up."
     Bourgoin stared down at her, enjoying her
helplessness.  He suddenly leaned forward and kissed
her, pressing his tongue into her mouth.  With her
head trapped against the floor, Mac could only try to
turn her head sideways, but he cut off that avenue by
holding her head in his hands.  Just as suddenly, he
pulled back and smiled at her, a cruel and wicked
smile, filled with the power he knew he held over her.
 He reached a hand up and fingered the top button of
her shirt.  He was pleased with the fear that leapt
into her eyes.  He grinned down at her smugly and
undid the button.
     Mac knew better than to struggle.  She knew that
Bourgoin was getting off on this power trip, and if
she showed any more fear, he was likely to get
downright nasty.  She also thought (prayed, really)
that he wasn't going to risk raping her here and now.
     "Lieutenant Bourgoin?" She heard Harm's voice
from outside the bus.
     "Damn!" Bourgoin muttered.  "We're not done
here," he promised her.  He got to his feet just
before Harm stepped into the bus.  "Get up!" he hissed
at Mac.
     Harm reached the top step in time to see Mac
getting up off the floor, her hands still bound behind
her.  He looked from one to the other, letting his
imagination fill in the details about what had been
going on here.  He looked outwardly calm, but Mac
could see the fury in his eyes, and she pleaded
silently with him to keep his cool.
     "What is it?" Bourgoin asked, an edge to his
voice.
     "Sergeant Hancock was looking for you, sir," Harm
siad.
     "Get to work, McIntyre," Bourgoin ordered.
     Mac turned around so that Bourgoin could free her
hands.  Buttoning her shirt, she kept her eyes down as
she passed Harm.
**********
     Though she was an hour behind everyone else, Mac
was expected to complete just as much work as the
others.  Each inmate was given three rows of corn to
hoe.  The corn was waist high, and doing the job
properly, they were told, required them to pull dirt
up around the plants while going up one side of the
row and then doing the same while going down the other
side.  The rows were one hundred yards long, but they
seemed twice that long.  Comparatively speaking, the
work was much less physically demanding than the work
they usually did, but it was hot and humid, and the
bugs were biting just as ferociously here.
     Mac knew there was no way she'd complete her rows
in the allotted time, but she really didn't care – she
had no plans to visit with anyone anyway.  She was
concerned, however, about Rita, who seemed to be
lagging behind.  Mac had noticed that Rita always had
a difficult time keeping up with the others.  She was
slightly built and not very strong.  Under normal
working conditions, it wasn't as noticeable, but with
this "competition" Bourgoin had set up, it would be
very apparent if someone didn't complete their work.
     Working quickly, it didn't take long for Mac to
catch up with Rita.  She was in the row next to
Rita's, and once she caught up with her, she began to
do the opposite side of Rita's row as well as her own.
 This basically required Rita to do half as much work
as the others from that point on and Mac to do twice
as much.  Rita smiled gratefully at Mac as soon as she
realized what was going on, and they both kept their
eyes out for the guards, knowing they'd be separated
and probably disciplined if anyone discovered what
they were doing.
     Harm had been keeping his eyes on Mac as much as
he could without drawing attention to himself.  He
realized very early on that she was doing part of
Rita's work, and he also knew that she was risking
Bourgoin's wrath in doing so.  He also kept his eyes
on Bourgoin.  Normally, Bourgoin didn't stray far from
Mac, waiting for her to screw up, but for some reason,
he was leaving her alone today.  When Harm saw
Bourgoin starting to work his way over to Mac's
position, he nonchalantly wandered in that direction.
     Seeing that it was Harm, Mac didn't bother
switching back to her own row.  Harm let her work on
Rita's row as long as he could.
     "McIntyre, get back to your own row," he ordered
quietly.
     Without a word, Mac turned back to her own work
and continued hoeing.
     By noon, everyone but Mac had finished their
work, including Rita.  Considering that she'd started
an hour after everyone and had also been doing someone
else's work, it was pretty amazing that Mac was only
half a row from finishing at quitting time.
     While the others turned in their hoes and treated
themselves to water, Mac continued to work, determined
to finish what she'd started, not because she cared
about visitation (because obviously she didn't), but
because it was a challenge, and overcoming a challenge
was about the only way she had left of feeling any
personal gratification.
     She sensed, rather than saw, Bourgoin walk up
behind her.  She tensed, waiting for the berating that
was about to come.
     "Take five, McIntyre," he said softly.
     Surprised, Mac stopped hoeing and looked at him.
     "You do nice work," he said.
     Stunned, Mac could only say, "I'd like to
finish."
     "You would have finished if you'd let Rita do her
own."
     Uh oh, Mac thought.  Here it comes.  Poor Rita. 
She'll die if she can't see her kids tomorrow.  "I
don't care what you do to me," she said.  "Just don't
take Rita's visit away."
     "You underestimate me, Mac," he said, surprising
her again by using her nickname.  "I wouldn't do that
to Rita. However, having made the statement I did, I
can't very well allow you to have visitation
tomorrow."
     "I can live with that," Mac assured him.
     "There.  You see," Bourgoin said softly.  "It
isn't so hard to be civil.  I told you there were
advantages to being my friend."
     "I'd like to finish this," she said.  "It won't
take me long."
     Bourgoin smiled at her.  When he wanted to, he
could be very pleasant.  "That's my girl.  I like your
spirit."
     Mac tried to keep the revulsion she felt for this
man to herself.  She almost liked it better when he
was yelling at her.
     "Carry on, McIntyre," he ordered.
     "Aye aye, sir," she said, though she wasn't sure
why.  Bourgoin, however, seemed to like it and walked
away with a happy smile on his face.  When he returned
to the waiting inmates, he ordered Rita to start at
the end of the row Mac was working on and help her
finish.
     As she worked, Mac put some of the pieces of the
puzzle into place.  It seemed clear to her now how
Bourgoin operated.  After selecting a target, he wore
her down not only emotionally, by constantly
belittling her in front of the others and reminding
her just how little power she had, but also physically
by assigning her extra work on top of her already
grueling day as punishment for disciplinary
infractions, either real or imagined, many of which
he'd goaded her into committing.  Once he had her at
her most vulnerable, he approached her with an offer
of "friendship".  Mac could only guess that his
definition of friendship included activities of a
sexual nature.  Why else go to all this trouble?
     What she didn't know was what happened next,
either to the women who'd come before her or to
herself.  Had the others accepted Bourgoin's advances,
looking for a way to end the torment?  Once he'd
"conquered" them, had Bourgoin discarded them since he
had no more use for them?  Had they turned him down,
thus making themselves a threat to him?  Had he had
something directly to do with their deaths?  None of
the autopsies had revealed any signs of assault or
rape, although she suspected Bourgoin was too smart to
have sex with these women and then kill them,
effectively leaving evidence that would incriminate
himself.  No, if he'd forced himself upon these women
(and there was no way in Mac's mind that sex between a
guard and an inmate could ever be consensual), it had
been far enough in advance of their deaths for all
physical traces to have disappeared.
     Option number two, one which Mac thought more
likely, was that Bourgoin had led them to a place
where they'd felt the only course left to them was
ending the misery the only way they could, the only
aspect of their lives over which they still had some
control.  Why hadn't any of them filed a complaint? 
Mac thought she knew the answer to that one.  When one
felt utterly powerless, the idea that someone might be
able to help just never occurred.  She supposed that
was why neither she nor her mother had ever appealed
to anyone for help while she was growing up and things
had gotten really bad at home.  What if no one
believed you, and your tormentor found out you'd
squealed?  The one thing she did understand was why
these women had kept quiet.
     By the time she met Rita hoeing toward her, Mac
had come to only one conclusion: she needed to keep
all her options open at this point.  She smiled as
nicely as she could at Bourgoin and said, "Thank you,"
when she'd finished.  He smiled back and allowed her
another two minutes to get a drink before getting on
the bus.
*********
     Mac listlessly cleaned her cell.  Rita sensed
something was wrong and asked Mac if she was all
right.  Mac assured her that she was fine, but she
knew she wasn't.  She was physically almost at the end
of her rope.  Every muscle in her body seemed to ache
at one time or another.  Each new task she was
assigned used a new group of previously-forgotten
muscles, and she hadn't had a day without some sort of
pain since she'd arrived here.  Her feet were still
painfully blistered from the day she'd had to wear wet
boots, and her hands still had slowly-healing blisters
from her two days without gloves.  Her entire body was
covered with bug bites that itched incessantly.  She'd
been sleeping very little and eating less, and it was
all taking its toll on her.
     What troubled Mac more, though, was her emotional
state.  She found herself more and more thinking of
the prisoners as "us" and the guards as "them", though
she knew technically she belonged more to the group of
detainers than detainees.  She knew this meant she was
beginning to identify with her fellow prisoners, and
she wondered how this assignment was affecting her
long-term mental stability, assuming she'd had some to
begin with, which she was beginning to doubt.  Harm
and the Admiral were right.  She never should have
taken this assignment.  At times, she despaired that
she was ever going to be able to successfully complete
this mission, and the thought of having to ask the
Admiral to pull her out before she'd done any good
here filled her with shame.
     She hoped that her current emotional state was
tied very tightly to her physical exhaustion, and that
as soon as she was able to get some rest that she'd be
fine.  She had to believe that because the alternative
was too unsettling.
     If she'd been able to step outside herself and
observe things objectively, she would have realized
that her current state of mind was very nearly
identical to what the victims before her had
experienced in the days prior to their deaths.  She
would have been interested to know that Bourgoin had
also noticed this and thought he had her almost where
he wanted her.
**************************************************
Day Fourteen
     Rita spoke animatedly about her visit with her
children.  After the visit, she and Rita talked for
awhile and were joined from time to time by other
inmates who wandered in to chat.  When the day room
was opened, most of them moved there.  Mac, however,
stayed on her bunk.  She had several reasons for this.
 First, she was tired, and the thought of climbing
down off her bunk seemed like too much work.  Second,
she didn't want to risk a run-in with either Geri or
Bourgoin, if he was there again.  Finally, she didn't
want to allow Geri or her friends access to the cell
and her stuff.  She was getting very protective of her
"stuff", which she recognized for the survival
instinct that it was.  The funny thing about trouble,
however, is that it sometimes comes looking for those
who try the hardest to avoid it.
     Mac had closed her eyes, trying to sleep.  As she
had found to the case a lot of late, though she was
more tired than she could remember ever being, sleep
wouldn't come.
     She became aware that someone was in her room,
and she opened her eyes to find Geri Hineman looking
at her.  She sat up immediately, anticipating trouble.
     "We haven't met yet," Geri said, pleasantly
enough.  "So I though I'd introduce myself.  I'm Geri
Hineman."
     "Sarah McIntyre," Mac said warily.
     "It's nice to meet you.  I've been hearing a lot
about you."
     "Oh?"
     "Yeah.  The girls tell me you take good care of
Rita.  That's good.  I like Rita."
     "So do I," Mac said, waiting.  She suspected that
Geri hadn't come here to talk about Rita.
     "I also hear that you and Tommy have gotten
pretty friendly lately."
     Tommy?  Oh - Bourgoin.  "I wouldn't say that.  I
can't stand him, and he seems to find a lot of joy in
riding me as hard as he can."  In retrospect, Mac
thought, maybe I could have phrased that better.
     Geri either didn't notice or chose to ignore what
she'd said.  "I just thought I'd pass along a little
friend advice."  She stepped closer to Mac.  "He's
mine.  Stay away from him," she said menacingly.
     "I'm not afraid of you," Mac assured her.  "But
you don't have to worry about me.  I've never gone out
of my way to get Tommy to notice me.  He seems to be
doing that on his own.  Maybe you should tell your
boyfriend to stay away from me."  Mac had a flashback
to junior high.  This conversation sounded eerily
familiar to one she'd had with a classmate over a boy
they'd both been interested in.  That boy hadn't been
worth it, either.
     Geri's eyes hardened.  "Listen to me good.  Stay
away from him," she warned.
     May lay back on her bunk.  "Thanks for stopping
by," she said conversationally.  "I've enjoyed our
little chat.  Be sure to stop in again some time. 
Maybe next time, you can bring your little friends." 
She closed her eyes, hoping Geri would just go away. 
"We can have tea or something."
     Whatever Geri was about to say was interrupted by
a polite k nock on the wall outside Mac's cell.  "May
I come in?" Harm asked.  "Or am I interrupting
something?"
     Mac opened her eyes in surprise.  "No.  You can
come in.  We're done here."
     Obviously upset, Geri tried to collect herself
enough to smile pleasantly at Harm.  She left without
a word to either of them.
     "Nice place you've got here," Harm said after
she'd gone.
     "Thanks.  The decorator cost me a fortune.  What
are you doing in here?"
     "They asked for a volunteer.  Why aren't you in
the day room with the rest of the inmates?"
     "Tired," she said, closing her eyes.
     "You okay?" he asked softly.
     Mac nodded.
     "Who was your friend?  I haven't seen her
before."
     "That's Geri."
     "Isn't she a hard labor inmate?"
     "Yes," Mac said.  "She wouldn't be in this pod if
she wasn't."
     "Then why doesn't she work with the rest of you?"
     Mac opened her eyes.  "That's Bourgoin's
girlfriend."
     Harm's eyes widened in surprise.  "You're sure of
that?"
     "She seems pretty sure of that.  She just came in
here to warn me to stay away from him."
     "Is she a threat to you, Mac?" he asked.
     Mac looked at him, unsure how to answer his
question.  How could he understand that this whole
place was a threat to her and every other inmate in
it?  "I can handle her," she said finally.
     Harm didn't like this at all.  He was worried
about Mac.  He'd noticed a change in her over the last
few days.  He'd also noticed Bourgoin's change in
attitude toward her and was concerned about it's
source.  They'd known that Bourgoin would be a threat.
 In fact, Mac had played him in such a way that she'd
made him a threat.  He hadn't expected her to be
threatened from within, however, some place where he
had no control over what happened to her.  "I don't
like this," was all he said.
     "Don't worry about me.  With the exception of a
few hours on Sunday, the cell doors are kept locked,
and we're always guarded.  She can't get to me."
     "Chief Hammond!  What a surprise!"  Rita said
from the doorway.
     "Hello, Rita," Harm said with a smile.  He'd come
to like Rita as much as Mac did.
     "How's your mom?" Mac asked.
     "She's great," Rita said, smiling broadly.  "And
I didn't even need you to help me get the phone away
from Geri!"
     "That's because she was in here," Mac told her.
     Rita's eyes widened in surprise.  She looked at
Harm, unsure what she could say in his presence.
     Harm took the hint.  "Well, I've got to get
going.  You ladies enjoy the rest of your afternoon."
     He left with a warning glance for Mac and a smile
for Rita.
     "What did Geri say?" Rita asked.
     "She warned me to stay away from her boyfriend."
     "Well, that's kind of hard to do," Rita pointed
out.
     "That's what I told her."
     "You be careful," Rita warned.  "Geri can be
mean."
     "I'll be careful," Mac promised.
********************************************************
Day Fifteen
     Mac had decided early in the day that this was
the hardest she'd ever worked in her entire life. 
When the women had arrived at their work site this
morning, they had found fallen trees lying every which
way on the ground.  It was their job, they'd been
told, to pull the trees to an area where they'd be
limbed out and cut up by the same crew that had cut
the trees down.  The trees were twenty to thirty feet
long and had been left where they'd dropped.  The
branches had tangled together, making pulling one tree
out of the pile extremely difficult.  With three or
four inmates pulling on one tree, it was possible to
move the tree very slowly to the area that had been
designated as the yard.
     By noon, most of the women were so tired they
could hardly move.  Mac had made the decision that
today was the day she'd give herself a break from
extra duty.  Unfortunately, she didn't know that
Bourgoin had decided that she needed only a little
push to knock her over the edge into the abyss of
exhaustion.  Physical exhaustion was one of the two
components necessary for him to make his move.  The
other was emotional despair.  Driving someone into the
depths of emotional hell was much easier when their
body was weakened by fatigue.
     Bourgoin had learned that one of the surer ways
to get at Mac was to go after Rita.  After the lunch
break, he began to harp on Rita.  Finally, Mac said
quietly, "Why don't you leave her alone?"
     "Are you speaking to me, McIntyre?" Bourgoin
asked.
     Mac sighed.  Damn!  Maybe if she ignored him,
he'd just go away.
     No such luck. "McIntyre, I'm speaking to you. 
You have something you want to say?"
     "Yeah.  Why don't you pick on someone your own
size?" Mac suggested.  "I think there's a junior high
school somewhere nearby."
     Bourgoin had no sense of humor when it came to
his height.  It wouldn't have mattered, though,
because he'd just been waiting for a reason to jump on
her.  "That mouth of yours has done it again.  We'll
see how much energy you have to back talk after you
get done tonight."
**********
     Mac tiredly watched the bus leave.
     "Why do you do that?" Harm asked.
     "This time it wasn't my fault," Mac protested
weakly. "He was just waiting for me to open my mouth."
     "Then why didn't you keep it closed?" Harm
suggested practically.
     "Because he's learned which buttons to press to
get the reaction he wants," she admitted.
     "Like you know which of his buttons to press?"
     "Yeah," she said with a tired sigh.  "Which
button do I press to get these trees to move?" she
asked, surveying the six trees that still lay on the
ground.  Bourgoin had told Harm not to bring her in
until she'd moved all of them to the yard.
     "Mac, just don't," Harm advised.  "What's he
gonna do to you if you just don't do it?"
     "He could transfer me to the sewer detail."
     "We both know he won't do that," Harm countered. 
"He likes you."
     "Lucky me," Mac noted wryly.
     "Mac, I don't like what this is doing to you." 
Harm was concerned by the dark circles under her eyes
and the fatigue he saw in her eyes.
     "I have a feeling it'll be over soon."
     "What does that mean?"
     "I don't know," Mac confessed.  "I just don't
think this can go on much longer.  But for now, I'm
just gonna worry about these damn trees."
     "Why?
     "Because he doesn't think I can," she said
simply.
***********
     Two hours later, Mac had moved all but one tree. 
She was drenched from head to toe with sweat.  When
she shook her head, beads of sweat flew around her,
temporarily disrupting the swarm of bugs that somehow,
inexplicably, found her odor particularly attractive.
     The largest tree had been on the bottom of the
pile, and it was all that stood between her and her
bed.  She removed her gloves and wiped her forehead. 
She surveyed the tree, wondering how she was ever
going to move it.  It was about a foot in diameter,
and she knew from experience that it weighed much more
than she did.
     "Suck it up, Marine," she told herself.  She put
her gloves back on, wrapped her arms around the trunk,
and heaved.  The tree moved about four inches before
she could pull no more.  She did this again and again
until she'd moved the tree about five feet. 
Exhausted, she dropped to her knees.
     "Let me help," Harm said.  He'd watched her wear
herself into a frazzle, and he'd finally decided, to
hell with it.  If someone saw him helping her, he
could claim he only did it because he wanted to get
back.
     "No!" she snarled at him, surprising them both. 
"I'll do it myself!"
     Mac sat on the ground in front of the tree. 
"Okay, look," she said to the tree.  "You and I need
to have a talk.  I know I don't look like one, but I
am an officer in the United States Marine Corps,
generally acknowledged to be the world's elite
fighting organization."
     Harm thought now was not the time to take issue
with that statement.  She'd probably find the strength
to swing the tree like a baseball bat and smack his
head into the center field bleachers.
     "Now, I won't take the time now to tell you about
Iwo Jima, Bellau Woods, or the Chosin Reservoir,
although I'm sure you'd find those tales fascinating. 
I bring them up simply to illustrate to you that as an
officer in the world's elite fighting force, with the
example of all of the brave men and women who have
come before me to inspire me, I will not be defeated
by an inanimate object, a simple pile of bark and
leaves.  I will drag you to that pile, and you will go
along willingly, or I swear to you as a Major in the
United State Marines Corps that I will laugh with evil
vindication as I roast chestnuts over your flaming
ass.  Do we understand each other?"  Mac stopped, as
though listening for an answer.  "Good.  Then let's do
this."
     Mac stood up, latched onto the tree, and dragged
it six feet until her legs gave out and she found
herself on her knees again.  She dropped her hands to
the ground and stayed there on all fours, panting.
     Suddenly, the tree beside her began to move, as
if on its own.  Mac looked up to find Harm dragging
the tree toward its destination.  It took him two
tries before he got it where it needed to be.
     Mac stayed where she was, unable to move, until
Harm came up behind her.  "Let's go home," he said
quietly.
     Home.  Now didn't that sound like a wonderful
idea!  "I don't think I can," she said to the ground,
too tired to even lift her head.
     She felt Harm's arm around her back, helping her
to stand.  With what little she had left, she helped
as much as she could in the effort to get her upright
again.
     His arm still around her, Harm wrinkled his nose.
 "You could really use a shower," he joked.
     Mac didn't respond, aware that, once again, she'd
missed out on a shower.
     "Sorry," Harm said.
     Leaning heavily on Harm, Mac managed to make it
to the van.  More reluctantly than ever before, Harm
snapped the cuffs on her, then closed the door.
     Mac slumped against the door.  Until now, she
hadn't been aware that a person could be too exhausted
to sleep.  Every bone, every muscle in her body felt
as though it weighed twenty pounds, and if she never
had to move again, it would be too soon.
     When they arrived at the gate, Harm helped Mac
out of the van.  When the gate guard approached him,
Harm snapped off a quick salute to the ensign.
     "Evening, sir.  Chief Hammond reporting with a
detail of one.  My orders from Lieutenant Bourgoin are
to escort the prisoner inside myself."
     Mac hardly raised an eyebrow at his lie, though
she had to wonder what he was doing.
     "By all means, Chief," the ensign said.  "Take
her in."
     "Thank you, sir," Harm said.  He took Mac's arm. 
"Let's go, McIntyre."
     Grateful for his support, Mac accompanied Harm
toward the building.  "What are you doing?" she asked.
     "Which way to the showers?" he asked.
     "Harm, you'll get yourself in trouble," Mac
protested, but not very strongly.  She was close to
the point where she'd kill for a shower.
     "Let me worry about that.  Which way?"
     Mac led him to the showers.  "You've got ten
minutes," he told her as he unlocked her handcuffs. 
"I'll wait right here."
     Mac looked at him gratefully.  "I only need
five."  She didn't want anyone to catch them and get
Harm in trouble.  She didn't know what she'd do if
Harm's cover was blown or if he was suspended as a
disciplinary measure for breaking the rules.
     Mac undressed as quickly as she could.  Her
sweat-soaked clothing clung to her, and removing it
was like peeling a grape.  She stood under the hot
spray, relishing the feel of the dirt and sweat
washing off her body.
     Outside in the hallway, Harm waited for her
anxiously, looking at his watch every few seconds. 
His heart sank into his boots when Bourgoin appeared
out of nowhere.
     "Chief?" Bourgoin asked, surprised to find him
there.  "What are you doing here?  Is McIntyre back
already?"
     "She's . . . uh, she's inside, sir," Harm said,
nodding toward the shower room.  "I'm sorry, sir, but
she really needed a shower badly.  I know it's after
hours, but she practically begged me."
     Bourgoin held his hand up.  "It's all right,
Chief.  No harm done.  Don't make a habit out of being
nice to them, though.  They'll start to expect it. 
Why don't you call it a night, Chief. I'll escort
McIntyre back to her cell."
     "Oh, I don't mind, Lieutenant," Harm protested,
he hoped not too vehemently.  "She'll just be another
minute."
     "That wasn't a suggestion, Chief," Bourgoin said,
with a thin smile.  "You're dismissed."
     Harm immediately stood at attention.  "Aye, sir."
 He didn't really want to leave Mac alone with this
guy.  "The Lieutenant will be happy to know that the
prisoner completed her prescribed task."
     "Well, that's great, Chief.  Good night."
     He was clearly being told to leave.  Though he
didn't like it, he had no choice.  He came to
attention again and left.
     Feeling guilty for taking the seven minutes she
had, Mac turned off the water.  That was the first
shower she'd taken in weeks without someone watching
her.  Or so she'd thought.  She turned around to find
Bourgoin watching her, though she only barely
perceived his presence.  She was too tired to start in
surprise.  She was too tired to protest with
indignation.  She was too tired to care, and she
didn't.  She walked past him and began to towel off,
aware that he was watching her every move.
     Mac noted with surprise the change of clothing
sitting neatly folded on the bench.  She'd known that
with no one on duty here, there would be no clean
clothes to put on after she showered.  She'd been
prepared to put her soiled clothes back on,
foul-smelling as they were, long enough to get back to
her cell, where she could strip down to her underwear
to sleep.  She knew Bourgoin must have put the clean
clothes there, and she thought briefly about leaving
them there in favor of her dirty clothes out of
principle, but decided that would be foolish.  She
dressed slowly, then held her hands out to Bourgoin. 
He put handcuffs on her wrists and led her without a
word to her cell block.
*********************************************************************
WARNING: This is the chapter that gets the warning for
"adult situations".  It happens towards the end of the
chapter.  It may be some consolation to learn that
what appears to be about to happen is not actually
going to happen.  I hope that helps.
Day Sixteen
     "What happened to you last night?" Mac asked
under her breath, somewhat accusingly, the first
chance she had.
     "Bourgoin came by and relieved me.  There wasn't
a lot I could do.  I'm sorry.  Did he . . . do
anything?"
     Mac looked away.  "Not really.  Unless you call
watching ‘doing something'."
     "He watched you shower?" Harm asked
incredulously.
     "Keep your voice down," Mac warned.
     "Mac, I can't just let this go!"
     "You can, and you will," she said simply. 
"Bourgoin's going down.  You can do whatever you want
to him after that.  For now, you've got to let it go. 
It won't be long."
     "You keep saying that.  Why?"
     "I don't know," Mac admitted.  "I just feel it."
**********
     The day had been long and arduous.  Mac had spent
most of it alone, stacking large branches from the
fallen trees.  They'd been told that a chipper was
being brought in tomorrow and that they'd be feeding
the branches they stacked through it.
     Bourgoin surveyed her work just prior to quitting
time.  "That's a really nice pile, McIntyre," he said.
 "Too bad it's in the wrong spot.  Guess you'll have
to stay behind and move it."
     Mac wasn't sure if she felt it or heard it, or
both, but something inside her definitely snapped. 
Before she even knew what was happening, someone was
pulling her off of Bourgoin.  She heard someone
screaming profanities, but only part of her was aware
that it was she herself doing the yelling.  She
struggled against whoever held her, kicking and
clawing, wanting only to be free to get at Bourgoin. 
A very tiny voice deep down in her brain was telling
her to get a grip, but for the first time since she'd
given up alcohol, Mac had completely lost control of
herself.
     Harm held onto Mac for dear life (hers, not his).
 He tried speaking to her, but the effort it was
taking to keep her restrained took his breath away. 
From a distance, he'd seen Mac launch herself at
Bourgoin, and he'd been the first guard to reach her
and pull her off the smaller man.  He'd been holding
onto her ever since.  He felt as though his strength
was deserting him, but Mac's struggles to be free
hadn't lessened one bit.  Some of the epithets she was
hurling at Bourgoin were making him cringe.  Marines
sure knew how to cuss.  He'd have to remember some of
them next time he pounded his thumb with a hammer.  
     "Let her go, Chief," Bourgoin ordered, holding
the back of his hand to a bloody lip.
     "I'm not sure that's a good idea, sir," Harm
managed to get out.
     "I said, let her go, Chief!" Bourgoin repeated.
     All right, Harm decided.  You asked for it, you
bastard.  You deserve everything she's gonna do to
you, too.  Harm released Mac as he'd been ordered to
do.
     As soon as she realized she was free, Mac rushed
at Bourgoin.  Unfortunately for her, he had no
intention of making this a fair fight.  Before she
reached him, he pulled out a can of OCS spray
(otherwise known as mace) and sprayed her full in the
face with it.
     Blinded by rage, Mac didn't immediately realize
she'd been blinded by a foreign substance.  She
continued her rush toward Bourgoin, but she was
brought down from behind by Harm before she reached
him.  Harm hadn't let her get too far from him,
figuring she was better off with him than Bourgoin.
     As she struggled on the ground, trying to free
herself from Harm's grip on her ankles, it began to
filter through to Mac that her eyes were burning like
they were on fire.
     "My eyes!" she cried, rubbing them furiously. 
"You son of a bitch!  You blinded me!"
     "Don't rub them, Mac!" Harm advised, trying now
to pin her arms to keep her from rubbing her eyes. 
"It'll just make it worse!"
     Harm finally got Mac's arms pinned to her body. 
Tears were streaming from her closed eyes, and she
continued to wail, "The son of a bitch blinded me! 
Let me up!  He blinded me!"
     "You're not blind, Mac," Harm tried to reason
with her.
     But Mac was beyond all reason.  Finally, one of
the other guards approached with the leather
restrains.  Mac was quickly trussed and lay on the
ground, cursing and fighting the restraints.  The
other inmates had been watching the struggle and began
to applaud now at Mac's valiant effort.
     "You all right, Chief?" Bourgoin asked.
     Breathing hard, Harm looked at Bourgoin, wanting
very much to pop the younger man just once right now. 
"I'm fine, sir," he said through clenched teeth. 
"You?"
     "Oh, I'll live," Bourgoin assured him.  "All
right, ladies!  Let's get loaded up!"
     Disappointed that the show was over and the
inmate had lost again, the other women began to head
toward the bus.  
     "What about her, sir?" Harm asked, the "sir"
tasting foul in his mouth.
     "She's got a job to finish," Bourgoin said.
     Sergeant Hancock spoke up before Harm had a
chance.  "Sir, procedure requires that we flush her
eyes.  And with all due respect, sir, she's in no
condition to do anything other than be evaluated by
the medical staff."
     Bourgoin looked as though he were about to
disagree, but then changed his mind. "Get her on the
bus then."
     "Sir," Harm said.  "I think we should flush her
eyes here.  We've still got water in the canteens."
     "Whatever," Bourgoin said with a wave of his
hand.  "Just be quick about it."
     With Hancock's help, Harm managed to flush Mac's
eyes as well as he could.  Far from calming her down,
Mac was still highly agitated and nearly bit Harm when
his hand came near her mouth.
     Harm and Sergeant Hancock carried Mac to the bus.
     "You'd better come with us, Chief," Bourgoin
ordered.
     "Aye aye, sir," Harm said.  He'd had no intention
of getting off this bus anyway.
*********
     Mac was taken to medical, where her eyes were
flushed more thoroughly.  Still struggling, Mac showed
no signs of gaining control any time soon, and the
decision was made to leave the restraints on and to
place her in an observation cell for the time being. 
Mac was carried to the cell, placed as gently on the
bed as she would allow, and then her hands were cuffed
to the bed frame.  She struggled against the
restraints, the leather cutting into her wrists. 
Rather than deterring her, the pain seemed to enrage
her more.
     Regulations called for an inmate in restraints to
be checked every fifteen minutes.  The first two
checks came at fifteen-minute intervals, and when Mac
saw Bourgoin standing at the cell door, her struggles
to get free increased.  As the night went by, more and
more time went by between check, until finally it was
nearly thirty minutes before anyone came to look in on
her.
     At 2318, two minutes after a guard she didn't
know had looked into the cell, Mac's cell door slid
open.  Moments later, Geri Hineman entered the cell, a
night stick in her hand, Vera and Jo trailing behind
her.
     Mac watched warily as Geri approached her,
purposefully slapping the night stick in her open
palm.
     "Vera," Geri said.
     Before Mac could react, Vera stepped next to Mac
and stuffed a sock into her mouth.  Mac tried to spit
it out, but Vera stuffed it in so far it nearly went
down Mac's throat.  She fought against the urge to
gag, knowing that vomiting right now would be a really
bad idea.
     "You didn't listen, did you?" Geri asked.  "I
told you to stay away from him, but you didn't listen.
 I tried to warn you.  Didn't I, girls?"
     "You sure did," Geri's puppets parroted.
     "So now I have to teach you a lesson," Geri said,
leaning over so that her face was inches away from
Mac's.  Try as she might, Mac couldn't keep the fear
from her eyes.
     "I didn't want to have to do that," Geri
continued, "but you leave me no choice.  The question
is what do I do to make you understand?  I could just
beat the crap out of you.  But that's not good for two
reasons.  One, it would leave too many bruises.  And
two, it doesn't resolve the bigger problem.  Do you
know what that bigger problem is?"
     Mac closed her eyes, praying silently for someone
to come and rescue her.  She felt Geri grab a handful
of her hair and pull hard.
     "Open your eyes when I'm talking to you!" Geri
ordered.
     Against her wishes, Mac's traitorous eyes opened.
 Tears of pain trickled from their corners.
     Geri let go of her hair, but held Mac's head down
on the bed with a hand on her forehead.  "As I was
saying, I think the bigger issue is that you've been
without a man too long.  That's why you're interested
in my Tommy.  So I thought maybe if you could be
satisfied another way, you'd stay away from him.  She
brought the night stick down forcefully beside Mac's
head, missing her by less than two inches.  "Girls!"
she ordered.
     Mac couldn't see them, but she felt someone
unbutton and unzip her pants.  Rough hands pulled her
pants off, then her underwear.  She struggled and
kicked, even when Geri pulled her hair again, but it
was no use.
     The fact that she was about to become a victim of
lesbian gang rape trickled slowly through Mac's
consciousness, and once it did, she began a struggle
of mighty proportions.
     "Grab her legs," Geri ordered.
     Mac felt someone take hold of both of her ankles
and painfully yank her legs apart.  She managed to get
her right foot free and lashed out with it.  She was
heartened by the sickening crunch when she felt her
foot connect with something semi-solid.  "My nose!" Jo
wailed.
     Mac continued to struggle until Geri pinched her
nose closed.  With the sock in her mouth, Mac could no
longer breathe.  As panic set in, Mac began to thrash
around more.  Eventually, as she began to gray out,
her struggles lessened, then stopped altogether.  When
she lay still, Geri let go of her nose.  From
somewhere far away, Mac heard Geri say, "That's
better.  You'll enjoy this more now that you're
relaxed.  And don't worry.  The girls and I promise
that whenever you need this again, we'll be here."
     From wherever she had retreated deep inside
herself, Mac knew there was nothing she could do to
stop this.  Then, from a place she couldn't identify,
she heard a man's voice say, "All right.  That's
enough."
     "But, Tommy," Geri whined.  "We were just getting
to the good part."
     "I said, that's enough," Bourgoin repeated
softly.  "You all go back to your cells now."
     In seconds, they were alone.  Bourgoin looked at
Mac for a moment, half-naked on the bed, then
approached the head of her bed.
     "It's okay now, Sarah.  They're gone.  You're
safe."
     Oh, God!  He called me Sarah!  Somebody help me!
Mac's mind called out, knowing that no one would come
because Bourgoin was her captor, sanctioned officially
by the United States Government.
     Bourgoin stroked her cheek.  "You really are
beautiful.  I could make your time here so much more
enjoyable if only you'd let me."
     In a sudden burst of lucidity, Mac saw what was
going on here.  She'd been set up.  There was never to
be a rape.  Bourgoin had come to her rescue just in
time to save her from a fate almost worse than death. 
In reality, he'd probably watched the whole thing from
the doorway.  She was supposed to be so pathetically
grateful to him, apparently, that she'd just giver
herself to him.  She wondered if the others had. 
Either way, they'd become a threat to him, and he'd
either convinced themselves to take their own lives,
or he'd helped them to do it.  She wondered if she
could go through with this.  She almost thought she
could if he'd just take the damn sock out of her
mouth.
     When Bourgoin leaned down and breathed, "I want
you, Sarah," into her ear and slid his hand up the
inside of her thigh, all doubt was erased from her
mind.  There was no way she'd willingly let this man
touch her.  She began to struggle again, renewing her
efforts to get the sock out of her mouth to call for
help.
     Realizing that he had his answer and not liking
it, Bourgoin's eyes grew cold.  "You breathe one word
of this, and I'll send Geri after Rita.  Don't think I
won't," he threatened.  With that, he was gone,
leaving the sock still in her mouth and her clothes on
the floor.
     When the cell door had clanged shut, Mac began to
cry, and this time, it had nothing to do with
oleoresin capsicum.
***************************************************
Day Seventeen
     Harm had been awakened in his quarters and told
to report to sick bay.  As he dressed, he couldn't
help but worry about what might have happened to Mac. 
When he'd left her, she'd been shackled to the bed in
the observation cell, struggling still against the
restraints, apparently yet unable to gain control of
herself.  He'd been reluctant to leave her, but he'd
been dismissed, and without a legitimate reason to
stay, he'd had to leave.
     Warden Franklin met him in sick bay.  "Sir,
what's going on?"
     "Come with me, please, Chief," the warden
requested.  He led Harm to an office where they could
speak without being overheard.
     "Major Mackenzie was brought in twenty minutes
ago.  As you may know, she'd been placed in an
observation cell due to her violent outburst and
continued agitated state.  I'm assuming that was all
an act?" he asked.
     Harm wasn't entirely certain whether it was or
not, but he said, as confidently as he could, "Yes,
sir."
     "A very convincing one, apparently.  As per
standard procedure, she was placed on fifteen-minute
checks.  Unfortunately, as often happens, fifteen
minutes became twenty and then thirty."
     Harm wanted to scream at him to get to the point
of all this, but, of course, he couldn't.  Instead, he
waited, trying to appear impassive.
     "At 0120, it was discovered that Inmate McIntyre
– Major Mackenzie – had apparently been assaulted."
     "Assaulted, sir?" Harm repeated.
     "She was found undressed from the waist down, a
sock in her mouth, semi-conscious.  We think she may
have been raped."
     "Raped?  By a guard?  A guard raped her?"  Harm
asked, his anger growing with each word.  It had to be
Bourgoin.  By God, he'd kill that son of a bitch!
     "No, Commander.  And before you ask, Bourgoin had
checked out, though we haven't yet confirmed his
whereabouts.  We think it was another prisoner."
     Harm stopped to think about that.  "But how is
that possible, sir?  The men are kept separately."
     "Not a man," Franklin said gently.  "We think she
was raped by a female prisoner.  Quite possible more
than one."
     Harm's legs seemed suddenly incapable of holding
his weight, and he sat down before he collapsed. 
Franklin saw the look on the younger man's face and
forgave the breach in protocol.
     "How is she, sir?  Can I see her?" Harm
whispered.
     "In a minute," the Colonel promised.  "The Major
won't tell anyone what happened, but  she is denying
she was raped.  Quite frankly, Commander, we don't
believe her.  All evidence points to an assault.  It's
not uncommon for victims of an assault like this to
enter into a state of denial."
     "This happens often?" Harm asked, unable to keep
the sarcasm out of his voice.
     Franklin heard it, but chose not to be offended
by it.  "Not often," he said.  "But, yes, it's
happened before." Now was not the time to go into the
"we do the best we can with what we're provided"
speech.  "Right now, I need your help.  She won't let
the doctor examine her.  For obvious reasons, she's
reluctant to let anyone touch her.  I need you to
convince her.  It's not unusual to request assistance
in situations like this from a guard who's established
a rapport with a particular prisoner.  I can get you
in to see her without compromising your cover or
hers."
     "With all due respect, sir, my cover and Mac's
cover and this whole damn assignment are the least of
my concerns right now."
     "I couldn't agree with you more, Commander,"
Franklin said.  "And if she won't let us examine her,
I will not let her continue with this operation. 
Quite frankly, I have serious doubts about letting her
continue in any event.  Assuming she even wants to
continue.  And I, for one, certainly wouldn't blame
her if she wanted out of here.  But why don't you talk
to her first.  See what you can do."
***************
     Mac was sitting up in bed, staring at the wall
beside her, when Harm entered the cubicle.  She was
unshackled, her eyes were still reddened, and she
looked very small and vulnerable.
     "Hey," he said softly.
     Mac turned to look at him briefly, then looked
away.
     "Are you all right?" he asked.
     "I'm fine," she said flatly.
     "You want to tell me what happened?"
     "No."
     "Mac, you have to tell me what happened.  You
have to let the doctor or the nurse examine you."
     "No," she said again.
     "Look at me," he requested.  "Please," he said
when she didn't comply.
     She looked up at him, and the torment in her eyes
physically knocked him backward a step.  He gathered
himself to try to get through to her.  "Mac, whatever
happened in there, it's not your fault.  Let me help
you."
     "You can't help me.  It's too late," she said
dully.
     "Tell me what happened."
     She looked away again.  "Nothing happened."
     "I don't believe that.  And neither does the
warden."
     "I can't help that.  Nothing happened," she
repeated stubbornly.
     Harm sighed in frustration.  "All right," he
said, beaten.  "If that's the way you want it.  I'm
pulling you out.  Right now."
     "No!" Mac said vehemently, color and life
returning to her cheeks.  She turned fiery eyes on
him.  "I am not leaving now!  Not when I'm so close! 
Then everything I've . . . it would all be for
nothing!  You are not pulling me out!   You don't have
that authority!"
     "No, but the warden does.  And he told me if you
don't let them examine you, he won't let you continue.
 He also said that even if you did, he may not let you
keep doing this.   He has concerns about your
emotional health, Mac, and, quite frankly, so do I."
     "There's nothing wrong with my emotional state,"
Mac said, though she knew it was a lie.
     "Then what was that about out there in the field
today?" he challenged.
     "It was an act, for Bourgoin's benefit."
     "Was it?" he pursued.  "Because it looked to me
like you lost control.  Not just a little, but
completely."
     Mac looked at him for a long time, not speaking. 
Finally, she said, "Get the nurse.  I'll do whatever
they need me to."  She'd worry about convincing the
warden about her fitness later.
     Harm sighed.  Damn, she was stubborn!  "All
right," he said.  "But I think you're making a
mistake."
     Another mistake, you mean, Mac thought.  "Harm,
would you . . ."  She was about to ask him to stay
with her while she was examined.  She wasn't sure how
she was going to lay there quietly while someone poked
around down there, and she thought maybe it would help
to have him by her side.  But then the humiliation and
shame washed over her, and she wasn't sure she could
even stand to have him look at her another minute. 
She'd somehow find it within herself to get through
the next few minutes alone.  "Never mind," she said. 
"Just get the nurse."
     Harm studied her for a moment, wondering what
she'd been about to ask him and why she'd changed her
mind.  As he watched, a veil seemed to drop behind her
eyes as she retreated to a place far away where no one
could touch her.
***************
     While Mac was being examined, Harm again spoke
with the warden.  "She won't tell me what happened,
but she's agreed to be examined.  She wants to
continue."
     The warden looked troubled.  "You know her better
than I do, Commander.  What do I do?"
     Harm was torn.  More than anything, he wanted to
get Mac out of here, take her home, and let her begin
to recover from the wounds she'd already sustained
without incurring any more.  But did he have the right
to make that decision for her?  Though his intentions
were good, he knew she'd resent it for a long time if
he interfered now.  "I think, sir," he said after a
pause, "that you should speak with her and make up
your own mind.  I'm too close.  Whatever decision I
might make would probably be the wrong one, though
made for the right reasons."
     The warden nodded once.  "All right.  Do you have
any idea who might have done this to her?"
     "You're sure Bourgoin wasn't involved, sir?"
     Colonel Franklin rubbed his eyes tiredly.  "I'm
not sure of anything, Commander."
     "If it was another inmate, I do have an idea,
although I'd just be guessing."
     "This isn't a courtroom," the Colonel pointed
out.  "Let's have a name."
     "Geri Hineman," Harm said without hesitation.
     "Is there bad blood between the two?"
     "There's apparently speculation that Hineman and
Bourgoin are involved in some sort of improper
relationship," Harm told him.
     Franklin raised an eyebrow.  "A sexual
relationship?"
     "That seems to be the general consensus, sir,"
Harm confirmed.
     "I'll look into that, Commander," Franklin
promised.
     They were interrupted by a knock on the door.
     "Enter," Colonel Franklin said.
     The doctor opened the door.  "Excuse me, sir, but
you wanted a reported after we examined the inmate."
     "How's she doing, Doc?"
     "There are no signs of a physical attack, sir. 
She's fine, as far as I can tell.  She's denying she
was raped, and I can't find any physical evidence to
disprove her claim."
     "But you have doubts?"
     "Well, as I said sir, she's fine physically, but
emotionally, she shows all the signs of someone who's
been assaulted.  She's withdrawn, she's depressed,
she's afraid of being touched.  I'm comfortable saying
she wasn't raped by a man.  We found no semen in the
vaginal vault.  But something happened to her.  I'd
bet on that."
     "And she won't tell you what?"
     "No, sir.  She says nothing happened.  What would
you have us do with her now, sir?" the doctor
questioned.
     "Keep her where she is for the night.  I'll be in
to speak with her shortly."
     "Yes, sir," the doctor said and withdrew from the
room.
     "All right.  Commander, why don't you go get some
sleep.  I'll make sure she's all right here."
     Unhappily, Harm did as he was told.
*************
     Harm had been unable to sleep, and after tossing
and turning fitfully on the bed for a time, he got up.
 He went for a run to try to relieve some of the
stress that had built up because of the helplessness
he felt.  Finally, he could stay away no longer. 
Instead of going out to the work site, as was his
normal practice, he went directly to the warden's
office.  He was not surprised to find Colonel Franklin
already there.
     "Good morning, sir," Harm said after he'd been
admitted to the inner office.  "Did you get any sleep
at all?"
     "I could ask the same of you," Colonel Franklin
said.
     "How's the Major this morning, sir?"
     "I haven't seen her since early this morning,
Commander.  She managed to convince me that she was
well enough to continue.  She stayed in sick bay for
the remainder of the night, and I told her it was up
to her whether she went out to work this morning. 
I've already checked with the medical staff and was
informed that Inmate McIntyre checked herself out of
sick bay.  My guess is that she's on her way out to
the field as we speak."
     "Then I guess I'd better get out there, too,"
Harm said, disappointed that Mac had chosen to go back
so soon.  He was convinced that something had happened
to her.  He was also convinced that Bourgoin had had
something to do with it. "Did you check on Bourgoin's
whereabouts last night, sir?"
     "Not yet.  I thought it best not to raise his
suspicions, which calling him in here and asking him
to account for himself certainly would have done. 
I'll make some discrete inquiries today.  Oh, and
about Geraldine Hineman.  I pulled her file last night
after we spoke.  For some reason, she hasn't been
doing the work of the other hard labor inmates.  There
was some sort of vague medical excuse in her file.  I
found the same suspect documentation in the files of
two other inmates as well.  That situation has been
corrected, and Hineman and the others will now enjoy
the same conditions as the others."
     "She's in the field today, Colonel?"
     "She is," Franklin confirmed.
     All the more reason for him to get out there
ASAP.  "And what happens to Major Mackenzie tonight,
sir?  Does she got back in with the general
population?"
     "I think it's best if we keep her in
administrative segregation, at least for tonight.  I
can arrange to have her put in a cell which can be
monitored with cameras.  If anyone goes near her,
we'll know."
     "Thank you, sir.  Now if you don't mind, I should
get out there."
     "You're dismissed, Commander."
*************
     Mac had been taken to the mess hall to eat with
those who had become her friends.  She smiled weakly
at Rita as she sat next to her.
     "Are you all right?!" Rita asked.  "I was so
worried!"
     "I'm fine," Mac assured her, sipping her tepid
coffee.
     "What happened to you?" Boots asked.  "You just
totally lost it!"
     "I guess I did," Mac admitted.  "I just couldn't
take that pompous ass in my face another second."
     "Well, if it's any consolation," Boot continued. 
"If he hadn't maced you, you'd have whooped his skinny
ass!  You gonna eat that ham?"
     "No.  Go ahead," Mac offered tiredly.  She was
not looking forward to facing Geri or Bourgoin this
morning.  This had to end, somehow, today.  How was
obviously the question.
     When the inmates were returned to their cells and
then lined up again to walk to the bus, everyone was
surprised to see a very sullen-looking Geri, Vera and
Jo join the line.  Mac shrugged at Rita when Rita
asked her if she knew what was going on.
     Geri caught Mac's eyes after they'd been seated
on the bus.  Geri drew an index finger slowly across
her throat, then pointed at Mac.  Since speaking was
not allowed on the bus, Mac used the universal sign
language symbol to suggest that Geri performed an
anatomically-impossible act, then looked out the
window.  Great, she sighed inwardly.  Now she'd have
to watch her back every second she was in the field,
too.
     Bourgoin stepped onto the bus, and instead of
offering his usual cheerful greeting, which always
made Mac want to ram his teeth down his throat, he
muttered to the driver, "Let's go."
     Mac kept her gaze studiously out the window. If
looks could kill, she thought, I'm getting hit by a
death ray from two directions.  Death might actually
be a comfort.  Mac's eyes widened in horror as soon as
she realized what she'd been thinking.  Had she
finally reached the point where death was a better
alternative than this miserable life?  Is this how the
others had felt – beaten down physically, battered
emotionally, their psyches bruised, their
invulnerability shattered, with no hope of salvation
on the horizon?  Mac sat up straighter, angry with
herself.  She had something those women hadn't had –
Harm.  He was here, he cared what happened to her, he
was her salvation.  Bourgoin and Geri could go
straight to hell if they thought they could beat her
down.  Feeling immensely better, Mac began to hum to
herself.  As far as she knew, there was no rule
against humming on the bus.
     When they arrived at their destination, Mac was
careful to keep her distance from Geri.  She felt the
other woman watching her, and she sat as close to Harm
as she could without attracting attention when they
were instructed to sit on the ground.
     "All right, ladies, settle down," Bourgoin
instructed.  "As you can see, we've got a couple of
wood chippers here today."
     So that's what those are! Mac thought
sarcastically.  Luckily, she was able to keep that
thought to herself.
     "They've been leased at great expense to the
facility," Bourgoin continued.  "Therefore, you will
treat them with great respect.  They are also very
dangerous, since they're capable of taking a nine-inch
tree trunk and chewing it up into little bits.  They
will also do the same with your arms or legs or
whatever other body parts you happen to get careless
with.  Therefore, you will use extreme caution at all
times.
     "You will be broken up into two groups.  One of
you will be assigned the job of feeding the branches
into the chipper.  The rest of you will bring the
branches to the chipper.  We may alternate these
tasks, although some of you cannot be trusted to get
too close to the chipper, for your safety as well as
the safety of others."
     "McIntyre," someone said.
     "Yeah, she'd probably stuff him in the chute,"
someone else said.
     Harm hid a smile.  One of the guards had said
exactly the same thing at the pre-shift meeting. 
Bourgoin hadn't seen any humor in it then, and he saw
less in it now.
     "One more word, and you'll all be cleaning sewers
tomorrow!" he snarled, which silenced the snickers.
     Mac studied the ground, pretending to ignore
everything around her.
     "You," Bourgoin said, indicating one half of the
group with a sweep of his arm, "will work with that
chipper on that half of the field.  The rest of you
will work on the other side."
     Mac looked around at her group.  Damn!  How had
Geri and her cohorts managed to get close enough to
her to be included in her group?!
***********
     The morning wore on with its usual banality. 
Drag the branches to the chipper, drop them, go back
for more.  The threats to her life and general safety
thrown at Mac every once in a while by Geri actually
served to break up the monotony.   Geri obviously
blamed Mac for the fact that she was out here being
forced to perform manual labor, and just as obviously,
she intended to extract retribution of some sort at
the earliest opportunity.  Though Mac kept telling
herself she was not afraid of Geri, it would have been
foolhardy not to keep her guard up.  She was glad that
Harm was hovering (which he appeared to be doing)
close by.
     It was almost lunchtime, and Mac was looking
forward to the break.  She thought Vera and Jo were
looking forward to it more, though.  Even considering
what they'd been a part of last night, Mac couldn't
help but feel sorry for them.  They weren't used to
the heat, the biting insects, and the hard labor, and
their appearance brought to mind her own first days
here.  Besides, Vera and Jo weren't the problem here. 
Geri was.  They were only Geri's puppets, having
latched onto her as a perceived means of protection
from the demons in this place.  Geri, benefitting from
her "friends in high places", had been given the task
of feeding the branches into the chipper, which was
easily the least strenuous job out here.  Despite
Bourgoin's mention of alternating people on this job,
no one else had been allowed to take over this task,
and Geri looked much fresher than any of the rest of
them.
     Mac's internal clock told her she had just enough
time to deliver one more load of branches to the
chipper before the lunch break.  She followed Vera to
the noisy machine and watched as Vera slipped
something to Geri unobtrusively.  Mac couldn't tell
what it was, and she began to get nervous.  Vera
looked at her contemptuously as they passed.
     Mac kept her eyes on Geri, certain that whatever
Vera had slipped her could be used as a weapon.  There
was no one else in their immediate vicinity, and she
had no intention of turning her back on Geri and
making herself an easy target.
     As Geri placed the branches Vera had brought into
the machine, Mac heard the metallic thunk of something
dropping onto the chipper.  Seconds later, the chipper
made a terrible, high-pitched grinding sound as though
something were caught in its powerful jaws.  The
entire machine began to shake, and the pin holding the
chute in place wriggled free and dropped to the
ground.  A split second after that, the chute began to
spin around in a circle, shooting bits of bark, wood,
leaves and something else as it went.  Mac felt little
pieces of something that felt like glass biting into
her body at various places through her clothes.  She
stared down in horror as each one of the cuts began to
bleed.
     Mac was distracted from her own plight by a cry
from Geri.  A large piece of what Mac now knew to be
metal had struck Geri in the throat.  She put both
hands to her neck and fell to her knees, blood gushing
from between her fingers.
     Without a thought for her own safety, Mac moved
to Geri's side, taking her shirt off over her head as
she did so.  Balling her shirt up, she placed it over
the wound on Geri's neck, seeing as she did so that
the metal had nicked Geri's aorta.  Mac knew at the
rate Geri was losing blood, it wouldn't be long before
she bled to death.  She forced Geri to lie down and
pressed the shirt to the wound.  Mac's shirt was
already soaked with Geri's blood.
     Mac felt the metal rain began to hit her again,
and she instinctively bent over to cover Geri's face
with her own body.  She felt the pain as bits of metal
stung her now mostly unprotected back, and she guessed
it was more than sweat she felt trickling down between
her shoulder blades.  From somewhere at the perimeter
of her consciousness, she heard the shouts of others.
     Like some demonic sprinkler, the shower moved
past them again.  Mac jumped to her feet and found the
switch to shut the machine down.  The chute's rate of
revolution slowed, and the motor slowly began to grind
to a halt.
     Mac returned to Geri, lying lifeless on the
ground, her glassy eyes staring unseeingly up at
nothing.  Mac bent over to listen for the sounds of
breathing, and when she heard none, she began CPR,
trying to disregard the blood that had pooled under
Geri and the swarm of insects that had already been
attracted by the scent of fresh blood in the heat. 
She knew it was pointless – no one could live without
the blood Geri had lost – but she had to try.
      "Mac," she heard a familiar voice beside her
say.  She ignored him and continued rhythmically
blowing air into Geri's lungs.
     "Mac," Harm said again, more insistently this
time.
     "Help me!" Mac cried.  "Can't you see she needs
help?!"
     "Mac, it's all right," Harm said gently.  He put
a hand under her elbow and an arm around her shoulders
and pulled her to her feet.
     Mac stared at Geri, horrified.
     "It's okay, Mac," Harm assured her.  "You did
everything you could."
     By now, one of the other guards had reached
Geri's prone form.  He placed two fingers on her neck,
looking for a pulse.  It was obvious he found none
when his shoulders hunched over in defeat.
     "Are you hurt?" he asked her.
     "What?  No," Mac said, unable to take her eyes
away from Geri's still form.
     Harm turned her so she could no longer see Geri. 
"You're bleeding," he said.
     "No.  That's Geri's blood."
     "I don't think so, Mac," Harm contradicted.
     Mac looked down at herself.  She was covered in
blood, most of it Geri's, but she did see numerous
cuts on her arms, all of which were bleeding.  She
could feel the sting in multiple places on her back
where her sweat ran into the cuts there.  Suddenly,
the events of the last few weeks and the last few
minutes caught up with her, and she felt herself
succumbing to the darkness that had been beckoning to
her since she'd arrived at this place.
     Harm caught her before she hit the ground.
**************
     When Mac awoke some time later, her internal
clock told her it was 1643.  It only took her a moment
to figure out that she was back in sick bay, and
another moment later, the reason she was here came
crashing back into her memory.  The horror of Geri's
accident made her feel physically ill, and she took
several deep breaths to keep herself from vomiting.
     Once she had control of herself, Mac took stock
of her condition.  She counted nine bandages on both
her arms.  She was lying on her back, and she could
feel several areas that felt as though they were
bandaged.
     She heard voices behind the curtain which formed
the wall to her cubicle, and an unfamiliar face poked
through the opening.
     "Ah!  You're awake!" he said, fully entering the
cubicle. " How are you feeling?"
     "I feel fine," Mac told him.  She smiled at Harm,
who had entered behind the man.  He smiled warmly back
at her, but she could see the concern in his eyes.
     "Let's just take a look, shall we?  We don't want
to keep you here any longer than necessary," the
stranger said.
     "Do you mind if I ask who you are?" Mac asked
pointedly.  She had no intention of letting a stranger
touch her until she knew he was qualified to do so.
     "This is Doctor Forman, Mac," Harm said.  "He
runs the prison health center."
     "Forgive me for not introducing myself.  I'd
forgotten that when we met earlier, you were not quite
with us."
     Mac had to know.  She thought she knew, but she
had to be sure.  "Geri?" she asked Harm hopefully,
sitting slightly upright.  "Is she . . . all right?"
     Harm and the doctor exchanged a look, which gave
Mac her answer.  "She didn't make it," Harm said
softly.
     "Damn!" Mac said under her breath.  She fell back
against the pillow, putting pressure on the cuts on
her back.  She winced at the sudden ache.
     "Hurt, does it?" Dr. Forman asked
sympathetically.  Harm had stepped to her side with
one stride at the look on her face.
     "Not much," Mac said.
     "Why don't you roll onto your side, and I'll take
a look," the doctor requested.
     Mac carefully rolled onto her side.  Without
asking Harm to step outside or even asking Mac if she
minded if he stayed, Dr. Forman untied her johnny and
opened it to examine her back.  Mac could feel her
face turning red with embarrassment.  Harm noticed
this and had the grace to turn away.  Mac was left to
wonder just how much of her privacy had been preserved
when she'd been cleaned up and dressed.  Maybe it was
better if she didn't dwell on that.
     "They look fine," the doctor pronounced.  He tied
her back up and Mac rolled onto her back gratefully. 
"I want you to stay here until you feel strong enough
to get up.  You lost a good deal of blood.  Let the
nurse know when you're ready."  He smiled and left,
pulling the curtain closed behind him.
     "You okay?" Harm asked.
     Mac smiled with all the confidence she could
muster.  "I'm fine.  I'm sorry about Geri.  I wish I .
. ."
     Harm stopped her.  "You did all you could, Mac. 
Considering what she did to you, maybe more than you
should have."
     Mac looked at him, wondering how he could know
what Geri had done.  She decided there was no way he
could know.  "Did they figure out what happened out
there?"
     Harm sighed.  "A spike went through the chipper. 
They think it must have been in one of the trees."
     Mac knew better.  "I need to talk to Vera."
     "Vera?  Why?"
     "I just need to talk to her.  Can you set it up?"
     Harm looked down at her, trying to figure out her
motive.  He could say no, and he seriously thought
about doing that since she wouldn't tell him the
reason for the request.  However, the bottom line was
that she would simply go around him and get the
meeting set up on her own if he refused to help.  He
might as well make it easier on her.
     "All right," he consented.  "I'll talk to the
warden."
     "This afternoon.  As soon as possible," Mac
pushed.
     "I'll go talk to him now.  Are you sure you're
all right?"
     "I'll be fine," she assured him.  "Just get me
Vera."
*************
     Twenty-two minutes later, Harm escorted Vera into
Mac's cubicle.  Vera's eyes were rimmed with red,
giving away the fact that she'd been crying.
     "Could you take the cuffs off her, please?" Mac
requested.  "And then leave us alone."
     Harm unlocked Vera's handcuffs, then looked at
Mac.
     "Alone," she repeated firmly.
     He shrugged almost imperceptibly and left them. 
Mac listened to see if Harm had actually left or if he
was simply standing on the other side of the curtain,
preparing to eavesdrop.
     "What am I doing here?" Vera asked nervously.
     "I needed to talk to you.  I wanted to ask you
about what happened out there today."
     Vera eyes her warily.  "What makes you think I
know anything?"
     "Vera, I saw you pass something to Geri right
before all hell broke loose.  I have no intention of
telling anyone what I saw."  She paused for a moment. 
"Was it your idea or hers?"
     Vera hung her head.  "Hers," she said so softly
Mac almost didn't hear her.  "She thought if the
machine was broken, they'd send us back inside.  I
told her I'd found the spike half buried in the dirt. 
She thought if she dropped it in the chipper,
something inside would break.  We didn't know it would
chip the spike up."
     "You couldn't have known," Mac said softly.  For
some reason, she wanted to absolve Vera of
responsibility for this accident and take away some of
the pain she'd seen in the other woman's eyes.  She
wasn't sure why.  She had every reason to hate Vera.
     Vera looked at her, surprised by Mac's
compassion.  "What you did out there . . .  You tried
to save Geri.  After what she did to you . . ."
     "After what she did to me?!" Mac asked
incredulously.  Her compassion didn't extend to
pretending that Vera had had no role in last night's
attack.
     Vera had the grace to look guilty. " You're
right.  I'm sorry.  I just wanted to thank you for
trying to save her.  I don't know what I'm gonna do
without her."  Tears began to fall from Vera's eyes.
     "If I offered you a way out of this place, what
would you be willing to do?" Mac asked.
     The wariness was back.  "What do you mean?  How
could you get me out of here?"
     "I can't explain how, not yet anyway.  But if I
was to promise you that I could have you moved to
another facility, with minimum security, what would
you be willing to do for me?"  Mac wasn't entirely
sure she had the authority to do what she was
proposing, but she was quite certain she could get
someone to agree to give Vera a break if she provided
information that was useful.
     "And how do I know you can do that?" Vera asked,
cutting right to the heart of the matter.
     Mac thought furiously, unsure how to proceed.  If
she confessed to Vera who she was, and Vera either
couldn't or wouldn't help, her effectiveness here was
ended, and she'd be no closer to getting Bourgoin out
of here or to making him pay for what he'd done.  Mac
could try to be as noble as she might about her
motives, but the simple fact was that making Bourgoin
pay for what he'd done was now very important because
of what he'd done to her.  Selfish?  Maybe.
     On the other hand, if she didn't tell Vera who
she was, Vera would never agree to cooperate in
something that very possibly incriminated herself.
     In the end, Mac decided to take the risk, both
because she thought the odds were in her favor and
because it meant her assignment here was over.
     "Vera, I'm not who you think I am," she said.  "I
was sent in here as part of an undercover team to
investigate the recent suicides.  My name is Sarah
Mackenzie, and I'm a Marine Major and a lawyer
stationed with JAG.  I think you might know something
about the women who killed themselves, and I'm willing
to trade for that information."
     Very stared at her, trying to decide whether or
not she believed what she'd just been told.  "I don't
believe you," she said weakly, although not very
convincingly.
     "Should I call the warden?" Mac asked.  "I can
tell him what I know about the ‘accident' today.  Or
you and I can keep that between ourselves."
     That offer was very appealing to Vera, but she
wasn't quite ready to give in.  "You said you were
part of a team.  Who else is here?"
     "I think you already know the answer to that."
     Vera nodded.  She'd been surprised when the guard
who escorted her here had taken orders from an inmate
to take off her handcuffs and leave them alone. 
"Chief Hammond.  That's not his real name, is it?"
     "No, it's not.  Vera, I think Bourgoin was behind
the deaths of those women.  I think he used Geri to
help him, and I think you and Jo got caught up and
went along for the ride.  I don't care about that. 
Geri's dead, and whatever she might have done, we
can't touch her now.  I want Bourgoin.  I think you
can help me get him."
     "What about Jo?"
     Mac's opinion of Vera went up just a little at
her concern for her friend.  "If she wants to help us,
we'd welcome her.  If she doesn't, I can't think of
any reason why anyone needs to know she even exists."
     Vera looked at the floor.  "What do you want to
know?"
     Mac smiled.  The first hurdle had been
successfully cleared.  Whether or not she got over the
second one depended on how good Vera's information
was.  "I've got a bunch of questions to ask you.  I'm
going to need help. Oh, Chief Hammond!" she called,
knowing Harm was there and had heard every word they'd
said.
     Sheepishly, Harm poked his head around the
curtain.
     "Vera, meet Lieutenant Commander Harm Rabb, US
Navy."
     Vera smiled thinly.
     "Harm, we need pads of paper and pens, and we
need to be undisturbed here for the foreseeable
future."
     "I'll see to it," Harm promised and disappeared
again.
     "You're doing the right thing Vera," she said
when she was sure Harm was actually gone this time. 
"I'm not going to ask you any questions about last
night.  Let's just forget that ever happened."
**************
     They'd been moved to a conference room, and they
spent the next several hours prying from Vera all of
the information she had.  The story that emerged
pretty much confirmed Mac's suspicions.
     Geri's affair with Bourgoin had begun within days
of his transfer to Leavenworth.  Though they were
careful to keep their relationship from the other
guards, they weren't so circumspect around the other
inmates, and Vera had actually seen them engaging in
carnal activities.
     Bourgoin began to pay closer attention to an
inmate named Lydia Carmichael soon after.  This made
Geri very jealous, according to Vera.  Bourgoin seemed
to enjoy this and began to direct even more of his
attention to Carmichael.  Geri became consumed by
jealousy and began to plot with Vera and Jo a way to
get back at Carmichael, whom Geri perceived to be at
fault.  Though Vera couldn't follow her reasoning, she
did go along with her friend's plan.  Since Geri had
begun her relationship with Bourgoin, Geri, and by
extension Vera and Jo, had attained favored status
among the inmates, being taken off work details, being
allowed extra privileges, etc.  Vera was reluctant to
disturb this new security she'd gotten through her
association with Geri.
     One night, Geri, Vera and Jo visited Carmichael
in the cell she'd been moved to as part of
disciplinary segregation she'd been assigned to after
one of her numerous run-ins with Bourgoin.  Vera
wasn't certain how they'd been able to get out of
their own cells and into Carmichael's.  All she knew
is that Geri woke her up late one night and instructed
Vera to follow her.  Vera did so without question.  It
was only later that Vera suspected that someone on the
staff had to have known what Geri was up to.  The
logical conclusion she came to was that that someone
was Bourgoin.
     Carmichael had been sleeping when they entered
her cell.  Before she even knew what was happening,
Geri had stuffed a sock in her mouth and hit her on
the head with force sufficient enough to daze her, but
not to knock her unconscious.  Then, while Vera and
Joe held her down, Geri raped Carmichael with the
handle of a hair brush.  After threatening Carmichael
with more of the same if she didn't stay away from
Bourgoin, Geri removed the sock and the women left. 
Vera was very surprised to find Bourgoin in the
hallway right outside Carmichael's cell.  At first,
she thought they were going to be in serious trouble,
but Bourgoin kissed Geri and then told them to return
to their cells.  As they were leaving, Vera saw
Bourgoin enter Carmichael's cell, but obviously, she
had no idea what he might have done in there.
     A week later, Carmichael committed suicide.  Vera
adamantly denied that she'd played any direct role in
Carmichael's death and maintained that as far as she
knew, Geri hadn't had anything to do with it either. 
When Mac threatened to pull her offer of a move to a
lower security facility, Vera got upset, crying out
her innocence on this point.  When Mac offered her
immunity from prosecution for whatever she might have
helped to do (another offer she didn't have the
authority to make), Vera continued to maintain her
innocence.  Mac finally believed her.
     Vera thought that Carmichael's death would
improve things between Geri and Bourgoin, but very
soon after, he began to pay close attention to another
inmate.  This time, the object of his "affection" was
Betty Bergman.  Again, Geri became very jealous and
blamed the other woman for coming on to Bourgoin. 
Geri began to orchestrate small "pranks" against
Bergman – stealing her food, watering down her
blanket, filling her shoes with applesauce.  Again,
when Bergman was moved to an isolation cell, Geri,
Vera and Jo paid her a night-time visit.  This time,
however, before the intended rape was realized,
Bourgoin had stepped into the cell and ordered them to
stop and return to their own cells.  They did as they
were told, and again Vera had no idea what Bourgoin
might have done to Bergman after they left.  A few
days later, Betty Bergman was dead.
     Finally, they talked about Stephanie Saxon.  Her
situation was exactly the same as Betty Bergman's. 
She'd killed herself a few days after the night-time
raid by Geri and her friends and the subsequent
"rescue" by Bourgoin.
     Mac's questioning didn't include events after
Bergman's death.  In her own mind, there was no reason
to get into that with Vera.  In Harm's opinion, it was
a deliberate attempt to keep undercover whatever had
happened last night.
     Hours has passed before they were satisfied
they'd extracted every bit of information that Vera
had.  Vera had been brought a tray with supper on it,
but Mac had been too involved to eat.
     "I'm tired," Vera said finally.
     "All right.  I think we're done here.  You wait
here a bit," Mac instructed.  "I'm not going to have
you sent back to the general population.  We'll need
to figure out what to do with you."
     Vera smiled thinly, frankly no longer caring
after the intense grilling she'd just been subjected
to.
     After they stepped outside the room, Harm turned
to Mac.  "So what do you think?"
     Mac sighed.  "I think we don't have anywhere near
enough to tie him to the deaths.  But we've got plenty
to get him the hell out of here.  I don't want her
back out in general population.  Let's have the warden
keep her in segregation until we figure out what to do
with her.  She should be cell fed by someone Colonel
Franklin trusts."
     "Is that for her protection or so she won't blow
your cover?" Harm asked.
     "I have no intention of going back in there," Mac
assured him.
     "Good.  Let's go home," he said, relieved.
     "We can't go yet, and you know it.  We've got to
fill the warden in on what we know about Bourgoin.  I
need to see Rita.  And I want to stay for the memorial
service tomorrow morning."  Vera had told them that
Geri's family had already claimed her body from a
local mortician and that the warden had planned a
brief service for her tomorrow at 1100.
     Harm was surprised by the last.  "After what she
did to you?"
     "I find it hard to blame her.  Everyone finds
their own way to survive in a place like this.  She
thought she had a ticket to Easy Street.  Instead, she
ended up on the road to hell."
     After listening to Vera's detailed descriptions
of their attacks on the other women, Harm now had a
pretty good idea what had happened to Mac the night
she was assaulted.  (Was that really just last night?)
 He was amazed that she had found it in herself to
find some measure of forgiveness for them.  He stared
at her, unable to find the words to express how
impressed her was with her.
     "Let's go talk to the warden," she said softly.
**************
     After they'd filled the warden in on the evidence
they'd gathered, Colonel Franklin immediately sent for
Bourgoin.  He entered the room and stood at attention,
obviously surprised by the presence of Inmate McIntyre
and Chief Hammond.
     "Lieutenant Bourgoin," Colonel Franklin began. 
"As your commanding officer, it's my duty to inform
you that effective immediately, you are hereby
suspended from duty.  An investigation will be
conducted into your actions, after which I feel sure
charges will be proffered against you."
     "Charges, Colonel?" Bourgoin repeated.  "I'm not
sure I understand.  What charges, sir?"
     "Dereliction of duty for starters.  I'm sure the
good folks at JAG can come up with a few others. 
Maybe conduct unbecoming."
     Bourgoin looked at Mac.  "Sir, I don't know what
she's been telling you, but you can't seriously be
accepting the word of an inmate over mine."
     "Normally, Mr. Bourgoin, you might have a point. 
But this isn't your average inmate," Colonel Franklin
said.  He allowed Bourgoin to be confused a moment
longer.  "I'd like you to meet Major Sarah Mackenzie,
JAG Corps."
     Mac smiled thinly at Bourgoin, too tired to even
take any satisfaction at the look in his eyes.
     "And her partner, Lieutenant Commander Harmon
Rabb."
     Bourgoin had the look of a man who knew his world
was crashing down around him.
     Colonel Franklin continued.  "You're to be held
in custody pending the results of the investigation. 
Sergeant!" he called.
     A crew-cutted head poked itself into the room. 
"Yes, sir?"
     "Escort Mr. Bourgoin to a holding cell for the
time being," Franklin ordered.
     The Sergeant was obviously puzzled by this order.
 "Sir?"
     "Lieutenant Bourgoin is being held pending
possible charges. Lock him up, please, Sergeant,"
Franklin said.
     "Aye aye, sir," the Sergeant said.  Obviously
reluctantly, the Sergeant led Bourgoin from the room.
     "Major, you look beat.  Why don't you go get some
rest?  We'll need a full statement from you in the
morning, everything you remember about Bourgoin and
violations of our policies.  It'll be a great help for
the investigators."
     "And in drafting charges, sir.  I'd rather do
that tonight, while everything's fresh."  Like she was
ever going to forget anything that had happened in
this place.  "Commander Rabb can debrief me."
     "Your quarters all right for that, Commander?"
     "That'll be fine, sir.  I may have problems
taking her outside the gate."  She was, after all,
still known to be inmate.
     "I'll take care of that," the warden promised.
***********
     Harm's quarters reminded Mac of the barracks in
Hogan's Heroes: bare wooden walls, wooden bunk bed,
spartan interior.  They sat at the table, and Mac told
Harm everything she could remember about her run-ins
with Bourgoin and the many times which he had violated
prison policies in his use of restraints, the way he'd
kissed and touched her on the bus, when he'd watched
her shower, how he'd maced her and then planned to
leave her in the field without treatment.  The only
thing she left out was his presence in her cell the
night she'd been assaulted.
     Harm put his pen down on the pages of notes he'd
taken and tiredly rubbed his eyes.  "Is there anything
else you want me to know?"
     She knew what he wanted to hear, and she looked
away.  "No.  I think that about covers it."
     "Mac . . ." he began, but she cut him off.
     "It's late," she said.  "You're probably hungry."
 It was 2300 and neither of them had eaten.
     "Kitchen's closed," he noted.
     "I'm sorry.  The warden would probably make an
exception for you."
     "I'm all right.  What about you?"
     "I'm not hungry."
     "What's our plan for tomorrow?" Harm wanted to
get her out of here as early as possible.
     Mac was eager to leave, too, but there were some
things she needed to do first.  "I want to talk to the
warden, and I need to see Rita.  After Geri's service,
we can go."
     "What do you want to see the warden about?"
     "Policy issues," she said vaguely.  "I'm kind of
tired.  I think I'll turn in." She didn't think she'd
sleep, but she didn't want to talk anymore, and sleep
was as good an excuse as any.  The warden had told her
she could stay in Harm's quarters, and she appreciated
very much the fact that she didn't have to go back
inside the prison to a cell.
     "All right," Harm said, giving in to her
reticence.  She really needed to talk to someone about
what had happened to her.  That much he knew for sure.
 He also knew if she didn't, it would fester and eat
away at her soul.  What he didn't know was how to make
her open up and whether he was competent to deal with
it if she did.
********************************************************
Day Eighteen
     Mac had slept fitfully, waking often with a vague
sense of being some place unfamiliar.  She'd chosen
the top bunk, and Harm had lain awake below her,
listening to her toss and turn.  When it started to
get light, Mac gave up on trying to sleep anymore and
rolled out of bed, dropping to the floor quietly
beside Harm.  When she looked to see if she'd awakened
him, she found him staring at her.
     "Morning," he said solemnly.
     "Morning," she replied.  "Did I wake you?"
     "No.  I was just lying here waiting for the sun
to come up."  It was the truth, and she recognized it
as such and not as an attempt at sarcasm.
     "Do you think it would be all right if I went for
a run?" she asked.  That was something she hadn't done
in a long while, and her body missed it.
     "You don't need to ask my permission, Mac.  Hold
on.  I'll go with you."
********
     Harm shortened his stride to match hers, staying
at her side during the entire three-mile jog, part of
which took them just outside the prison fence.  Mac
was not looking forward to going back inside those
walls.
     When they got back to Harm's quarters, Mac was
winded.  She went into the bathroom to shower, the
first time in weeks she'd done so without an audience.
 The solitude was heavenly, and she lingered much
longer than she did normally.  Finally, she emerged
from the bathroom, her hair wet and disheveled from
towel drying.
     "I was beginning to think you'd been washed down
the drain," Harm joked.
     "Sorry.  It felt good."  It had felt good.  The
water was hotter here than it was on the inside, and
it had felt wonderful to let it soothe her
still-aching muscles and alleviate some of the itching
she was still suffering from.
     "It's all right," he assured her.  "The warden
called.  He'll see you in twenty minutes."
     "Great," she said, running the comb she'd found
in the bathroom (Harm's, she hoped) through her hair.
     "Do you want me to go with you?"
     Mac debated with herself briefly.  Finally, she
shrugged.  "It's up to you."
     "Give me ten minutes," he said, then disappeared
into the bathroom.
*************
     "How are you, Major?" Warden Franklin asked after
he'd invited them to sit.
     "I'm fine, sir."
     "Back giving you any trouble?"
     Mac squirmed reflexively in her chair.  The
bandages pulled and itched.  "No, sir," she said.
     Franklin sat back in his chair.  "What can I do
for you, Major?"
     "Well, sir, I wanted to talk to you about a
couple of things.  The first is your policy of strip
searching inmates following contact visits."
     Franklin's eyebrows rose.  "You understand the
need for that surely, Major.  Prison contraband is a
serious problem affecting the health and welfare of
both prison staff and other inmates."
     "I understand that, sir.  But your own policy
states that digital or simple instrument searches can
only be conducted upon approval of the warden and only
if there's a reasonable suspicion that an inmate is
concealing contraband.  From what I've seen, these
types of searches are conducted routinely following
contact visits.
     "Your policy also states that these searches will
only be conducted by qualified health personnel.  My
search wad conducted by a female guard who had no such
qualifications.  You're violating your own policy on a
routine basis, sir.  On behalf of all of the
prisoners, I'd request that you re-evaluate what has
apparently become a de facto policy."
     Mac stopped and waited anxiously for a response. 
She didn't know Colonel Franklin well enough to know
how he would react to what was essentially a criticism
of his command.
     Before making any kind of judgment about what
she'd said, Colonel Franklin said, "Is there more,
Major?"
     Encouraged by the fact that he hadn't thrown her
out of his office yet, she pressed on.  "Yes, sir. 
It's the lack of bathroom facilities when the women
are working in the field.  I'm sure the women would be
willing to dig their own latrines.  If there's concern
about being able to supervise the inmate at all times,
I'd suggest stationing a female guard in the field
with them.  It's a matter of human decency, really." 
Again, Mac stopped, waiting for him to say something. 

     "Is that all?" was what he said.
     "There is one more thing, sir, but it's more of a
personal favor," Mac told him.
     Colonel Franklin looked at her appraisingly.  "I
have a suggestion for you, Major.  We have a committee
here at Leavenworth that's made up of our personnel
and local civilians which oversees policy and
procedure matters.  Given your unique perspective, I
think you'd be invaluable to them. Would you consider
lending your time?  They'd be the likely place to
present the issues you've raised."
     Mac didn't even have to think about it.  "Yes,
sir.  I'd be honored to."
     "Good.  Now you mentioned a favor?"
     "Yes, sir. Actually, two.  I'd like to meet
briefly with of your male prisoners, and I'd also like
to see Rita Jiminez."
     "One of our male prisoners?" the Colonel asked,
puzzled by her request.
     "Yes, sir.  Matthew O'Hara is my uncle.  While
I'm here, I'd like to say hello."
     The warden was clearly surprised.  "Matt is your
uncle?  He's a remarkable man."
     "Yes, sir, he is," Mac agreed.  "I'd only need a
few minutes."
     "I don't think I need to tell you that it would
be wiser if the entire population didn't learn about
what you've been doing here," the Colonel noted.
     "No, sir," Mac assured him. "I'll tell him I've
been under cover.  He'll understand."
     "I'm sure he will.  Now who was the other
prisoner you wished to see?"
     "Rita Jiminez," Mac repeated.
     "Rita Jiminez?  She's one of the hard labor
inmates?"
     "Yes, sir.  She was my roommate.  I'd just like
to say good-bye."
     "The women weren't sent out to the field this
morning, considering what happened.  She should be in
her cell.  I can have her brought to a conference room
in twenty minutes.  Will that give you enough time
with your uncle?"
     Mac smiled.  "Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.  That
would be fine."
     "Quite frankly, Major, it's the least I can do. 
We owe you a large debt.  The personal sacrifices
you've made were certainly not a foreseeable part of
this assignment."
     "I was just doing my job, sir," Mac said
uncomfortably.
     "But we had no right to ask that of you.  Let me
get Jiminez for you.  I'll put you in the same
conference room you used yesterday.  By the way, have
you given any thought to when you'll be leaving us?"
     "I'd like to stay for the service, sir," Mac told
him.  "After that, there's no reason to remain here
any longer."
     "I wish I could find you an appropriate uniform,
Major."
     "Don't worry about that, sir.  This is fine," she
said, indicating the prison uniform she still wore. 
"However, a clean one might be nice."  She'd been
wearing these clothes since yesterday morning (with
the exception of the brief time she'd been jogging
this morning, for which Harm had lent her a t-shirt
and a pair of shorts they'd found in a drawer).  It
wasn't as though she had a large wardrobe to choose
from. 
     "I'll see to it," the warden promised.  "I think
I can get you a hop to Norfolk.  Save you from flying
commercial.  You interested?"
     "Yes, sir," Harm said, speaking for the first
time.  "We'd appreciate that."
     Franklin stood up, and Harm and Mac followed
suit.  "Thanking you for what you two have done here
hardly seems adequate, but thank you."
     Mac could only smile wanly, while Harm said,
"We're happy to have been of service."
************
     Mac first changed her clothes, then was taken to
the male wing of the prison.  Harm waited outside for
her while she was reunited with her very surprised
uncle.  Not only was he surprised to see her, he was
more surprised by her prison outfit.  She explained
the barest minimum about how long she'd been there and
what she'd been doing.  Matt didn't press her for
details, as she'd known he wouldn't.  They spent the
rest of their brief time getting caught up, and Mac
left with a promise to visit more often.  Her new
assignment on the prison's policy committee would
bring her back here regularly, she guessed, making
that promise an easy one to keep.
**************
     Mac and Harm waited in the conference room for
Rita.  "Should I leave you alone for this?" Harm
asked.
     "You can stay.  You may be able to help."
     "Help with what?"
     Before she could answer, the door opened, and
Rita was escorted in by a guard.  When she saw Mac,
her whole face lit up in a huge smile.  "Sarah! 
You're okay!  I was so worried!"  She rushed to Mac
and hugged her tightly.  The guard left them, closing
the door behind him.
     "I'm okay, Rita," Mac assured her.  "Sit down. 
We need to talk."
     Obviously confused, but willing to comply, Rita
sat at the table.  Mac sat opposite her, and Harm
remained standing unobtrusively against the wall.
     "Have you heard any rumors about me?" Mac asked,
wondering how much information had already made its
way through the prison pipeline.
     "Rumors?  Well, everyone's talking about how you
tried to save Geri.  Is that what you mean?"
     Mac shook her head.  She was surprised word about
her true identity hadn't leaked out yet.  "No, that's
not what I mean.  I'm not Sarah McIntyre, Rita.  My
name is Sarah Mackenzie.  I'm a Major in the Marine
Corps.  I'm a lawyer."
     Now Rita was really confused.  "I don't
understand."
     "I was sent here by the Navy's Judge Advocate
General to investigate the deaths of the three female
inmates who committed suicide," Mac explained.
     "You're not a criminal?"
     Mac smiled and shook her head.  "No."
     "You didn't kill your boyfriend?"
     Mac had a harder time with that one.  She had,
after all, very recently killed her husband.  However,
Rita didn't know that.  All she knew was that Sarah
McIntyre had supposedly stabbed her boyfriend to
death.  "No," she finally answered.
     Harm noticed her hesitation and knew exactly what
had gone through her mind.
     "Wow," Rita said.  "This is very hard to
believe."
     Mac smiled her understanding.  "I'm sure it is. 
Chief Hammond here is actually Lieutenant Commander
Harmon Rabb.  He's my partner."
     Rita smiled at Harm, a little overwhelmed by what
she was hearing.  Harm smiled warmly back.
     "You came here to look into the suicides?" Rita
asked.
     "Yes," Mac confirmed.
     "Were they?  Suicides, I mean."
     Mac looked at Harm.  "We're not sure.  The
warden's going to continue with that investigation. 
Lieutenant Bourgoin has been suspended from duty and
will probably face court martial for a variety of
offenses."
     Rita's eyes opened wide in surprise.  "He killed
those women?"
     "We don't know that, Rita," Mac said hastily. 
"But we do know that he's guilty of violating several
of Leavenworth's policies and procedures, and for that
alone, he can be brought up on charges."
     "I hope they send him here," Rita said
malevolently.  "Too bad they can't put him in with the
women."
     "Rita, my job here is done, and I'm going home
today.  I wanted to see you before I left.  I want to
thank you for all you did for me while I was here. 
You made this place a little more bearable.  I also
wanted to offer you my help."
     "With what?"
     "You've told me why you're here, and it became
obvious to me that you're protecting someone.  I think
I've put the pieces together from what you've told me.
 You tell me if I wrong.
     "Several years ago, you met a man.  Somehow or
other, the details don't really matter, he introduced
you to street drugs, and you got hooked.  He
encouraged your dependence as a way to control you. 
You got pregnant and became even more dependent on
him.  Eventually, he saw your access to the base as a
way to open up a new market for his garbage.  He
threatened your kids and he threatened to cut you off
if you didn't keep selling.  Finally, you got caught. 
When you wouldn't turn over your supplier, you were
sentenced to ten years.  You got sent here.  Somewhere
along the line, you got clean, and you realized that
your children are the most important thing in the
world to you.  Is that about right?"
     Tears filling her large brown eyes, Rita nodded.
     Mac reached across the table and took her hand. 
"I want to help you get your life back, Rita.  I want
to send you home to your kids.  They need you as much
as you need them."
     "What do I need to do?" Rita asked, although Mac
thought she already knew the answer to that question.
     "Give him up," Mac said simply.
     Fear and uncertainty pushed the tears from Rita's
eyes, and they trickled down her cheeks.  "I don't
know if I can," she whispered.  "He is the father of
my children."
     "Loyalty is a wonderful thing, Rita, if it's
vested in the right people.  He left you hanging out
to dry.  What does that say about him?  Does he even
visit the kids?"
     Rita shook her head.  "No.  He hasn't seen them
since I was arrested.  I'm not even sure where he is."
     "I promise you, Rita, if you give me his name, I
will find him.  If you help us bring him in and agree
to testify against him, I'll work my ass off to get
your sentence reduced.  Maybe we can even get it
commuted to time served."
     "You mean I could just walk out of here?" Rita
asked hopefully.
     "It's not going to happen today or tomorrow," Mac
cautioned, realizing that, once again, she was making
an awful lot of promises to Rita she didn't know if
she could keep.  "But if all goes well, maybe in a
couple of months.  It depends on what you're willing
to tell me."
     "I'm afraid," Rita confessed.  "Not for me.  But
for my kids and my sister.  James has some friends. 
They always scared me."
     "We can protect them," Mac assured her, making
yet another promise.  "We'll have them moved to some
place safe."
     Across the room, Harm sat silently, also hoping
that she wasn't making more promises than she could
realistically keep and also knowing that he'd do
whatever it took to help her keep them.
     Rita sat quietly for a moment.  "You'll keep them
safe?"
     "You have my word," Mac promised without
hesitation.
     "What do you need to know?" Rita asked, her mind
made up.
     Mac allowed herself a small, encouraging smile
for Rita.  What she really wanted to do was jump up
and shout, "Hallelujah!", but she thought that might
be considered an inappropriate response.  Harm was
already worried about her mental state.  
     She hid behind her professional Marine lawyer
mask.  "His name, including middle initial, and date
of birth are a great start.  His social security
number is very helpful if you know it.  And whatever
else you know about his family, his friends, his
employers, where he likes to hang out – all of that
would be very useful in finding him."
     Rita gave them what she knew.  Mac wanted to
noisily praise God again when Rita told them that her
boyfriend was also in the Navy.  Finding him should be
a piece of cake.
     When they'd extracted every piece of information
Rita's memory could supply them, Mac said, "It's 1038.
Geri's service starts in twenty-two minutes.  We'll be
leaving directly after that, so I probably won't see
you again.  As soon as I get back home, I'll get
started on this.  I'll let you know as soon as I hear
something."  Mac scribbled on her note pad, then
ripped the page off and gave it to Rita.  "Those are
my numbers - office, home and cell.  You call me any
time you need me, day or night."
     Mac and Rita stood up, and Rita moved toward the
door.  She stopped to share a long, tight hug with
Mac.  "Thank you," she whispered in Mac's ear.
     "Thank you," Mac said.  She pulled away from
Rita.  "You take care of yourself and pray we find him
quickly."
     Rita smiled.  "Praying is something I definitely
know how to do."  She turned her smile on Harm.  "Bye,
Chief – I mean, sir."
     Harm smiled in return.  "Take care, Rita.  We'll
be in touch."
     Rita knocked on the door, and the guard came and
escorted her out.
     "Ready?" Harm asked her.
************
     Geri's service was held in the courtyard just
outside the women's wing.  Folding chairs had been set
up for the hard labor inmates and a few lesser
security prisoners who had voiced an interest in
attending.  It was brief, lasting no more than ten
minutes, and when it was over, Mac looked at Harm and
said, "Let's go home."
************
     They were airborn, sitting side by side on an
otherwise empty troop transport bound for Norfolk. 
The warden had obviously arranged this flight just for
them, for which they were both grateful.  Mac had gone
to the base exchange in the time prior to the flight
and had purchased a pair of shorts and a t-shirt,
which she was now wearing.  She'd gladly returned her
prison uniform.  All but the underwear and tennis
shoes.  Those she'd been allowed to keep. 
     "I'm just gonna poke my head in the cockpit,"
Harm said, unbuckling his seat belt.
     Mac smiled indulgently.  "I'm sure the pilots are
more than capable of flying this bird on their own."
     "I know.  I just want to say hello," Harm assured
her.
     "Harm, no emergency landings or engine trouble or
aerial acrobatics today, okay?  I don't think I could
handle that much excitement."
     Harm placed his hand over his heart.  "You have
my word," he said with a boyish grin before
disappearing into the cockpit.
     When Harm returned minutes later, he found Mac
trying to get comfortable in her seat.
     "What?" Mac asked in mock surprise.  "They didn't
ask you to take over the controls?"
     "No," he said after he sat, actually sounding
disappointed.  "They seem to have everything under
control."
     "Imagine that," Mac said dryly.
     "How are you?" Harm asked, suddenly serious.
     "Glad to be away from there," she answered
honestly.  "And tired."
     "Why don't you try to get some sleep," he
suggested.  "I'll be sure to wake you when we land so
you don't make the return flight."
     Mac shuddered in horror, only half joking.  She
squirmed in her seat.  "They didn't make these things
with the troops' comfort in mind, did they?"
     "I thought Marines could sleep on a rock."
     "Oh, we can," she assured him.  "The hardest and
coldest you can find.  I was more worried about your
tender Navy-issued body."
     "What do you know about my tender body?" Harm
challenged.
     Mac was not up to playing flirtatious word games
with him, and she let that remark pass.  "Permission
to use the commander as a pillow?" she asked instead.
     He looked at her in surprise.
     "You remind me of a rock," she said in self
defense.
     Now he looked at her suspiciously.  "I'm going to
assume that by that you meant I'm solid and dependable
and someone you can lean on, and not that you think
I'm hard-headed and immovable."
     "Take it whichever way will get me what I want,"
she said mischievously.
     "Which is what, Major?" he asked, challenging
again.
     "A shoulder.  You got one?"
     "I have two.  Which do you want?"
     "The closest one.  The crew might think it a
little strange if they were to come back here and see
my leaning on the other one."
     Strange, maybe, Harm thought. Interesting,
definitely.  "Suit yourself, " he said and lowered his
shoulder a little bit.
     Mac lowered her head to his shoulder.  It was
hard.  "Yup.  Like I said.  A rock."
     "Try this," he suggested.  He raised his right
arm and brought it down on the other side of her.
     She looked up at him, surprised by his gesture. 
"What will the neighbors think?"
     "Shut up and go to sleep," he ordered.
     Mac obediently put her head down on his chest and
felt him curl his arm protectively around her.
     "Comfy?" he asked, the sound loud and rumbly with
her ear to his chest.
     "Mm hmm," she acknowledged sleepily.  "Know what
I'm gonna do when I get home?  I'm gonna take a bath
in water so hot you could poach an egg in it.  Then
I'm gonna eat.  Prime rib, maybe.  Or lobster.  That
would be good.  And chocolate cake with peanut butter
frosting and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. 
Then I'm gonna sleep for a week."
     "Sounds like a plan," Harm whispered.  "Nighty
night, Marine."
     Mac didn't answer.  She was sleeping, gently
surrounded by his embrace.
**************
     Mac's sleep had been anything but peaceful.  Bits
and fragments of experiences she'd had both at
Leavenworth and throughout her life made a
continuously running montage behind her closed
eyelids.  None of her more pleasurable moments made
their way into this dream, and while Mac never
actually awoke, she was restless and whimpered more
than once during the flight.
     Finally, they landed, and Harm shook her gently
awake.  "Mac, we're here."
     "Home?" she asked, still groggy with unproductive
sleep.
     "Not yet.  Norfolk.  Come on.  We're almost
there."
***************
     As soon as Harm had learned the details of their
travel arrangements, he'd called the Admiral to share
those details.  The Admiral had graciously offered to
have someone drive Harm's vehicle to Norfolk and leave
it there for the last leg of their journey.  While
Harm worried about someone else driving his ‘Vette, he
knew they'd get home faster with it.  They found the
car just where it had been promised to be.  Neither
had any luggage, so they loaded themselves in and took
off.  They hadn't gone ten miles before Mac was
slumped against the passenger door, eyes closed, mouth
open, and asleep.
     Dreams again pervaded her sleep, and she moved
about restlessly in the tight confines of the seat.
     She was sitting like an Indian on the top bunk –
her cell at Leavenworth.  The ceiling was only inches
from her head.  A pile of paperclips was on the
blanket in front of her.  In her hands, she held the
beginnings of a paper clip chain, ten or so links
long.  She worked rapidly on the chain, and soon it
was over two feet long.  She looped one end of it over
her left wrist and linked it closed.  She did the same
to her right wrist, leaving about two inches of chain
between her hands.  She made herself a set of
handcuffs.
     She pulled on them to check their strength, in an
attempt to get free, and when she did, the pliable
paperclips morphed into a solid steel cable, sharp
burrs running along its length.  She continued to
struggle against them, and they began to tighten on
her wrists, cutting into her flesh, causing bright red
blood to drip onto her prison uniform, the blanket and
the floor.
     Suddenly, she noticed that she was bumping her
head on the ceiling, and she realized that the walls
and ceiling were moving, closing her into an
increasingly smaller box.  She bent over and covered
her head with her hands, and the river of blood ran
down her face.  Still the walls pressed closer until
she was sure she'd be crushed.  
     She tried to scream for help, but no words came
out of her mouth.  Somehow, she knew it wouldn't have
matter anyway.  There was no one here to save her. 
She was all alone.  
     She could no longer sit on the bed.  The ceiling
was just too low.  She lay on the bunk, watching the
ceiling come toward her, feeling the walls pressing
in, until she was in a box the size of her bed.  Or
the size of a coffin.
     Harm had just made the turn onto I-95 and knew
they were on the home stretch.  He loved driving this
car – she responded almost to his every thought and
gave him everything he asked for, and more, the moment
he asked for it, without complaint or hesitation. 
He'd just been musing to himself that if only women
could act the same way, life would be good, when Mac's
eyes flew open.  She looked around her, her eyes wide
with fear, her breath coming in ragged gulps.  Harm
guessed that if he placed his fingers on her wrist,
he'd feel her pulse racing.  He was just about to ask
if she was all right when she spoke.
     "Pull over."
     "Huh?" he said, sure he'd misunderstood her.
     The tiny car was close around her – too close. 
The dashboard was almost touching her knees, the door
was less than inches from her right side, the center
console too close to her left, the seat back touching
her, the roof holding her down, the seat belt
confining her in place.  She needed to get out of this
car, and she needed to get out now.  "Pull over," she
repeated.  "I need to get out."
     Concerned that maybe she was going to be sick,
Harm flipped his blinker on and pulled off to the side
of the highway as quickly as he safely could.  Before
they'd come to a complete stop, Mac had flung her
seatbelt off, opened the door, and rocketed out of the
car.  While Harm pulled his baby as far off the road
as he could without scratching her beautiful body, he
watched Mac half run, half stumble through the field
next to the road.  He stopped the engine and got out
of the car, wondering what on earth she was doing. 
Finally, she stopped running and sat abruptly where
she was.
     Harm closed the car door and began to walk slowly
toward her.  Her back was to him and her shoulders
were hunched over, and he wondered if she was crying. 
He felt totally helpless as he approached her. 
Something at Leavenworth had affected her deeply, and
when you piled that on top of extreme mental and
physical exhaustion, Harm guessed a breakdown of some
sort was a definite possibility.  Is that what was
happening now, he wondered as he got closer.  Had the
strain finally gotten to her?  And if it had, what was
he supposed to do?  They were still almost a hundred
miles from home.  What if she refused to get back in
the car?
     Mac sat on the ground, hugging her knees, rocking
back and forth, trying to take great, hopefully
cleansing breaths.  She'd never been claustrophobic,
but that dream had left her with a terrified, panicky
feeling she'd never experienced before and hoped never
to experience again.  This was definitely not
Marine-like behavior, and she was trying desperately
to get herself under control.  She was almost there
when she heard Harm approaching.  He came up behind
her and just stopped, watching her, waiting for her to
make the next move.
     Though she knew he was there, Mac wasn't ready to
face him just yet.  She stayed where she was, gently
rocking herself to a quieter state of mind.
     Harm tried to give her the time and space she
needed, but finally he couldn't take it any more. 
Turning so he could keep an eye on his car, he asked
quietly, "Are you okay?"
     "Yeah," she said, and he could tell by the sound
of her voice that she had not been crying.  "I'm
sorry.  I freaked out a little, that's all."
     "Why?"
     "I had a dream," she said.  "It was nothing." 
That wasn't true.  It had been everything and had
summed up the last three weeks of her life – the
feeling of being locked into a place from which there
was no out, of knowing that it had been of her own
doing, the confines, the feeling of helplessness and
desperation, the blood.  Mac rubbed her left wrist as
it suddenly began to ache with a phantom pain.
     "Do you want to talk about it?"
     She definitely did not want to talk about it, or
think about it, or try to analyze it.  "No.  Just give
me a minute.  I'll be fine."
     "Take all the time you need," Harm offered
graciously, though he wished she would hurry up.  He
was worried about her, and if she was going to crack,
he'd rather have her home than out here in the middle
of nowhere.  Still behind her, Harm settled himself on
the ground, his back to her so he could see his car,
and prepared himself to wait until she was ready to
go.
     Mac was grateful he wasn't looking at her.  She
wanted to pretend that she was the only person in this
large expanse of earth, that it was all hers, and that
no one could tell her when she had to get up and where
she could walk once she did.  In order for this little
fantasy to work, she had to pretend that she didn't
hear cars whizzing by behind her, that this small
field was a "large expanse", and that Harm wasn't
sitting five feet away from her.  She'd always been
pretty imaginative when it came to removing herself
from her present circumstances, a skill she'd honed as
a child, and she had no real trouble now carrying
herself to the place she needed to be.  She stayed
there contentedly for fifteen minutes (which felt like
an hour to Harm) and didn't even notice when it began
to drizzle or when that drizzle turned into a steady,
light rain.  Finally, the fact that she was getting
wet broke through, and because there was no rain in
Mac's special place, it brought her back to reality.
     She tilted her head back, enjoying the sensation
as the clean rain washed over her face.  She felt much
better now, and she was ready to go.
     She stood up.  "You're all wet," she said to
Harm.
     "Yeah, well, that sometimes happens to me when I
sit out in the rain."
     "Only sometimes?" she teased.  "I'm sorry.  Why
didn't you say something?"
     He had said something.  As soon as it had started
to rain, he'd mentioned that very fact, thinking about
what wet clothes would do to his leather seats.  She
hadn't answered him, and he wondered if she'd even
heard him.  "Where did you go?" he asked.
     "What do you mean?  I was right here the whole
time."
     "No, you weren't," he argued.  "You went
somewhere.  It was probably a real nice place, and you
left me here in the rain."
     Mac had to laugh as his "poor little me" act.
"Sorry.  There was only room for one.  Would you like
to go home now?"
     "I'd like that very much."  He got to his feet,
and they walked back to the car.
     "I'm sorry you got all wet," she said again when
they reached the car.
     "It was worth it if you're okay."
     She favored him with a tired smile.  "I'm all
right.  I promise I won't freak out on you again." 
She hesitated only a second before getting back into
the car.
     Harm shook his head.  Had he really been worried
about her cracking up?  He should have known better,
he supposed.  She was one of the toughest people he
knew.  She did, however, have a vulnerable streak
about a mile wide.  The location of that streak was a
closely-guarded secret and was not published on the
Rand McNally map of Sarah Mackenzie.  At some point,
he knew, she was going to have to talk to someone
about her experiences.  No one could keep that bottled
up forever.  Not even a Marine.  Not even this Marine.
 He got back in the car, and they continued their
journey.
************
     Despite her best efforts to stay awake, Mac kept
nodding off to sleep during the remainder of the ride.
 She was finding it increasingly more difficult to
stay awake.  She'd known that eventually the lack of
sleep, the tremendous amount of physical activity
she'd been involved in, the little sustenance she'd
been giving her body, and the incredible emotional
strain she'd been operating under would all catch up
with her once she let her guard down.  She was
beginning to worry that she wasn't even going to make
it back to her apartment before she entered an
advanced state of hibernation.
     By the time they arrived, at just before 1900,
she was semi-comatose.  Harm supported her up the
stairs to her apartment, and she leaned heavily on him
while he opened the door.  He supposed if any of her
neighbors looked out into the hallway right now,
they's assume that she was being escorted home after a
particularly fierce bender.  He got her inside as
quickly as he could, then wondered what to do with
her.  She stood on her feet, eyes closed, swaying
gently.
     "Come on, Mac," he said softly.
     She followed him, unprotesting, into the bedroom.
 He sat her on the edge of the bed and bent down to
remove her shoes.  He pulled the bedclothes back, and
he helped her to climb into the bed.  Before she could
register that she was finally home again, safe in her
own bed, she was so deeply asleep a mortar blast right
outside her window wouldn't have awakened her.  Harm
pulled the covers up to her chin and left the room,
closing the door behind him.
     What should he do now? he wondered.  He was
pretty tired himself, and he supposed he should go
home and go to bed.  He didn't want to do that,
though, and leave Mac alone.  It was pretty obvious to
him that she'd been having nightmares which had been
interrupting her sleep.  He felt as though he should
be here if she had another one, though he didn't know
why.  He supposed it was some kind of over-protective
instinct he was feeling for his best friend.  He
thought he knew exactly what she'd say if she knew
what he was planning to do.  Fortunately for him, she
was asleep and couldn't say anything.
     He sighed tiredly and rubbed his eyes.  He
removed his shoes and stretched out as well as he
could on her couch.  One part of him argued that he
should go home and sleep in his own bed, but the
other, much more stubborn part of him said he was
going nowhere.  She needed to sleep, and he was going
to make damn sure she did.  He got up from the couch
and snapped the lamp on.  He picked up the phone on
the table and found the ringer switch, which he moved
to the off position.  He went quietly into her bedroom
and did the same to the phone by her bed.  Her cell
phone was on the night stand, and he picked that up to
bring back to the living room with him.  
     He stopped for a moment to watch her sleep.  She
really was very beautiful.  He'd never had a problem
admitting that to himself.  The problem arose when he
went beyond that and tried to figure out how he felt
about her.  That he'd never had a better friend went
beyond saying.  But she was so much more than just a
friend.  When he'd heard about and seen for himself
what Bourgoin was doing to her, he'd wanted to kill
the little man with his bare hands.  Was that just
friendship?  When he'd learned about the attack by
Geri and her friends, he'd wanted to wrap her in his
arms and carry her away somewhere safe and soothe her
pain away.  Was that the reaction of someone who was
solely a friend?
     Harm shook himself.  This was silly and
pointless, he told himself.  He left her bedroom again
and closed the door quietly.  One look at her cell
phone told him the battery was dead and would
consequently be no threat to her slumber.  He lay down
again and was soon fast asleep.
****************************************************
 
The Following Day
     Harm was awake by 0500.  He looked in on Mac, and
when he saw her still sound asleep, he decided to risk
a short trip home.  He drove as quickly as he could
and allowed himself a quick shower and dressed in
jeans and a t-shirt.  He decided to call the Admiral
later and let him know they were back.  He grabbed the
stack of accumulated mail which Bud and/or Harriet had
collected daily for him and headed back out.  On his
way back, he stopped at the grocery store to replenish
Mac's food supply.  He suspected that whenever she
woke up, she was going to be hungry.
     All was quiet when he returned to her apartment,
and he peeked into her bedroom just to reassure
himself that she hadn't gone AWOL while he was away. 
She was still sound asleep in the middle of the bed,
her arms outstretched.  If she'd been awakened by
nightmares at any time during the night, he hadn't
been aware of it.  He wasn't sure if that was due to
the untroubled nature of her slumber or to the fact
that he'd been so deeply asleep himself.
     Harm read the newspaper as he ate the bagel and
drank the coffee he'd picked up while he was out. 
When he was finished, he tidied up in the kitchen a
little, then noticed the dust which can accumulate in
a three-week period.  He poked around in the cabinets
until he found her cleaning supplies, then set to work
cleaning her apartment.
     He was dusting the living room when he heard a
knock on the door.  He crossed to it quickly before
whoever it was could knock again.  He was surprised to
find Admiral AJ Chegwidden standing in the hallway.
     Said Admiral was even more surprised to find Lt.
Commander Rabb in Sarah Mackenzie's apartment at 0630,
holding a can of Endust in one hand and a pink feather
duster in the other.  "Moonlighting as a maid,
Commander?" he asked wryly.
     "Oh!  No, sir!" Harm said, embarrassed at being
found here like this.  "I was just cleaning.  To pass
the time."
     AJ raised his eyebrows, asking with his
expression, to pass the time until what?  But he
didn't say it.  "Do you think it would be all right if
I came in?  Or did you just do the floors?"
     "Oh!  Of course, sir!  I'm sorry.  Come in." 
After AJ entered, Harm offered, "I was going to call
you in a little bit, sir."
     "How was the flight back yesterday?" AJ asked,
with an emphasis on the last word, fully aware that
they had returned home yesterday afternoon.
     "It was fine, sir.  No problems at all."
     "Where's the Major?"
     "Sleeping, sir.  She was really exhausted.  Been
out like a light since we got here last night."
     AJ's eyebrows rose again at the implication that
Harm had spent the night here.  Harm wanted to kick
himself.
     "I've been trying to call," AJ pointed out.  "I
also stopped by your place first."
     "I'm sorry, sir.  I turned all the phones off.  I
didn't want her to wake up until she was good and
ready."
     "Is she all right, Commander?" AJ asked, his
concern obvious.
     Harm hesitated, wondering how much he should tell
their CO.  "As I said, sir, she's exhausted.  When
they say hard labor, they're understating what goes on
out there.  I don't think she's been sleeping very
well or eating enough to keep a bird alive.  She fell
asleep on the ride home yesterday and seemed to be
having nightmares, so I thought maybe I should stay. 
In case she needed me."  The excuse, having been said
out loud, sounded really lame now.
     AJ seemed to understand, though, and he nodded. 
"Colonel Franklin told me about some kind of
inmate-on-inmate attack.  I suppose it's not
surprising she'd have nightmares after that."
     Harm had hoped that the Admiral wouldn't know
about that.  It was obvious from the way he spoke that
he not only knew about the attack, but that he knew
what everyone suspected had happened.  
     "Well, Commander.  I'll expect to see you in the
office in the morning.  Tell Mac to take the rest of
the week off," AJ ordered.
     "Aye aye, sir."
     "You can also tell her – Never mind.  I'll do
that myself.  Carry on," he said, eyeing the feather
duster.
     "Aye aye, sir," Harm repeated, shaking his
feathers.
     The Admiral replaced his cover and left.
************
     Harm had finished cleaning her apartment (except
for the vacuuming), he'd sorted through his mail, and
he'd been reading a book he'd found on Mac's
bookshelf.  It was approaching noon, and he was
beginning to wonder just how long she was going to
sleep when he heard her moving around in the bedroom. 
He put the book down and waited for her to come out. 
He heard the toilet flush and moments later, she stood
in the doorway, looking at him.
     Her hair was cutely mussed (AN: why is it Mac
gets to have "cutely mussed" hair, and mine just looks
like I slept hanging upside down?) and her eyes were
still heavy with sleep.  She seemed to take some time
assimilating that she was home and that Harm was in
her living room.  Those two things didn't seem to go
together, and she blinked a couple of times to try to
clear away the confusion.
     He watched her with a small smile on his lips. 
God, he l– liked seeing her like this. "Good morning,
sleepyhead," he finally said.
     "Morning," she mumbled thickly.  She scratched
her head.  "What are you doing here?"
     "Waiting for Sleeping Beauty to awaken from the
sleep of the dead.  Welcome back."
     A small hint of amusement crept into her eyes. 
"I guess that makes you Prince Charming."
     Harm stood and bowed.  "At your service."
     "Where's your noble steed?"
     "I left her in the hangar.  City ordinance.  No
noble steeds within city limits."
     "Sorry, but you can't be Prince Charming without
a noble steed."
     "Cut me some slack!" he protested.  "How many
Prince Charmings do you know who would clean your
apartment while you slept?"
     Mac looked around her, but truthfully, she had no
memory of arriving here last night and no idea what
her apartment had looked like prior to his imitation
of a Merry Maid.  "Only one," she said.  Their little
exchange had done much to chase away the cobwebs. 
"Seriously, Harm, what are you doing here?"
     "Your apartment needed cleaning?"
     She tilted her head to one side, a look that
said, "Come on.  You can do better than that."
     "I was worried about you, Mac.  You were having
nightmares."
     A warm light shone from her eyes, bathing him in
its glow.  "That's very sweet of you," she said
sincerely.  "But I'm fine.  Why don't you go on home."
     "The Admiral stopped by this morning."
     "The Admiral?  What time?" she asked, alarmed.
     "0630 or so."
     "The Admiral was here at 0630?" she repeated. And
he found you here.  What he did think about that? she
wondered.
     "Yes.  He tried calling, but I turned all the
phone off.  He said to tell you that you should take
the rest of the week off."
     She brushed that away.  "What else did he say?'
     Harm hesitated a moment too long before saying,"
Not much."
     "Harm!" she challenged.  "What did he say?"
     He didn't really want to tell her, but he knew
she had every right to know.  "He said that Colonel
Franklin had called him and that he knew about . . .
what happened."
     Mac's first thought was, "Damn!"  Her second
thought was, "Well, nothing happened, so all he could
know is nothing."  "Anything else?" she asked.
     Harm had seen the mask slide into place.  "No. 
That was it.  Hey, you're probably hungry.  I'll fix
you something to eat."
     "You don't have to do that, Harm," she protested,
though her stomach growled in anticipation.
     "I know.  I want to.  Just give me a few
minutes."  Harm disappeared into the kitchen.
     "Can I help?" she called.
     "Nope.  Just relax.  I won't be long."
     Harm brewed a pot of coffee and then built her an
omelette – cheese, then ham, then mushrooms, then
green peppers and onions.
     Mac inhaled the aroma after he placed the plate
in front of her and wondered if this was how Heaven
smelled.  Harm poured her a cup of coffee and sat
opposite her.  She looked at him, waiting for
something.
     "What?" he asked.  "Is something wrong?"
     Suddenly, Mac realized what she was doing, and a
look of horror passed over her face.  She pushed the
plate away, put her head on her arms on the table, and
began to cry.
     Harm stared at her, astonished.  What on earth
had brought that on?  He watched her cry, feeling
helpless.
     "Mac," he finally said.
     She stopped crying, but she didn't lift her head.
     "If you didn't want an omelette, you could have
just said so."
     He heard a snorting sound now that was more like
laughter than crying.  Finally, she lifted her head
and dried her eyes with a napkin.
     "Do you want to tell me what that was all about?"
he asked.
     "You were never in the mess hall when we ate,
were you?"
     He shook his head no, confirming what she already
knew.
     "We'd line up and get our food and take it back
to the table.  We'd all sit there and wait for one of
the guards to tell us to begin eating.  I was waiting
for you to tell me it was okay to eat."  Mac closed
her eyes, wondering when and if she'd ever feel normal
again.
     "Mac, it's okay," Harm said.  "And I don't mean
it's okay to eat.  It's going to be okay."
     She opened her eyes and smiled at him.  "Thanks,"
she said, pulling her plate back toward her.
     "No problem," he assured her.
     "You're not eating?"
     "I'll eat later, while you're in the tub."
     She raised her eyebrows in appreciation, but
didn't speak for a time.  "I was only there three
weeks," she finally said.  "How do they do it?"
     "How does who do what?"
     "The prisoners that get released after serving
their sentences.  If I'm like this after three weeks,
how does someone who's been there for years adjust to
normal life again?  And what is normal anyway?"
     Harm had no answers for her and told her so.
     "Thank you," she said after she'd finished
eating.  "That was wonderful."
     "Thank me after supper."
     "Harm, you don't have to babysit me.  I'm fine."
     "I know.  But you deserve this, so let me do it,
okay?'
     "Okay," she consented.
     "Now, with your permission, I'll go draw madam's
bath."
     "Permission granted," she said regally.
***********
     "You're not going to fall asleep and drown in
there, are you?" Harm asked after he'd filled the tub.
 He'd found some little bead thingies and had dropped
two into the water, making the entire bathroom smell
like lilacs.  
     "I can't promise I won't fall asleep.  But no,
I'm not going to drown," she assured him.
     "Good.  Because I don't think you want me to have
to come in there and rescue you," he joked.
     "Maybe I do," she said coyly and walked into the
bathroom.
     Harm's mouth fell open as he watched her go.
*********
     Mac was in the bathroom long enough for Harm to
begin to wonder if she had, in fact, fallen asleep. 
Finally, he heard her moving around, then he heard the
shower running. Minutes later, the water stopped, and
he heard the sounds of her rummaging around.
     When the rummaging stopped, he heard her call,
"Harm!"
     He walked into her bedroom, where he found her
lying face-down on her bed, wearing shorts and nothing
else.  "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, backing immediately
out of the room.
     Mac giggled.  "Don't be silly!  I asked you to
come in here.  The doctor told me to put antibiotic
cream on my back until the cut have healed.  I didn't
bother to tell him I couldn't reach them myself. 
Would you mind?"
     "Uh, sure," he said, looking everywhere but at
her.  "Where is it?"
     "Right there," she said, pointing at the table
beside her bed.
     Harm looked at his feet as he walked to the
table.  He picked up the tube he found there.  Yup,
antibiotic cream. That's what it said all right. 
Bacitracin, neomycin, polymyxin B.  Yes, sir.  Sure
sounded like an antibiotic cream.
     "Is something wrong?" she asked when he didn't
move.
     "Um, no," he said.  He sat gingerly on the edge
of the bed and turned to look at her back.
     "Oh, man!" he said, curiosity and sympathy
overwhelming his sense of embarrassment.  He counted
seven cuts that had been stitched closed.  The
stitches were still in place, and they made a gruesome
haphazard patchwork pattern on her back.  There were
also several smaller cuts and scratches that hadn't
required stitching.  Scattered among the cuts were
raised red bumps, the remaining bug bites that still
looked angry and irritated.
     "You wanna take a picture?" Mac prodded.
     "Sorry," Harm said, spurred to action.  He
squeezed a small amount of ointment onto his finger
and began to gently rub it into one of the cuts.  "Am
I hurting you?" he asked.
     "No," she said.  "It actually feels good."
     He continued rubbing her back, even when there
was no longer any legitimate reason to do so,
encouraged by Mac's occasional moan of pleasure.
     Mac lay on the bed enjoying the attention.  Any
other time, she would have found his hands on her bare
back very erotic, but right now, she was so damn . . .
     Asleep, Harm concluded.  She's asleep.  Even with
this realization, he continued to gently massage her
skin.  Finally, his hands came to rest on her back. 
He was strangely reluctant to break this contact with
her, but he finally withdrew his hands, covered her
with a blanket, and left the room.
*****************
     Mac slept another three hours.  When she
awakened, she was surprised to find she was not
wearing a shirt, but then she remembered why.  She got
up and threw a USMC t-shirt over her head and went out
into the living room.  She heard noises in her kitchen
and approached the door cautiously.  "Harm, what are
you still doing here?" 
     "I told you.  Making your supper," he said, his
back to her as he worked at the counter.
     She hadn't really expected him to stay.  "You
really didn't have to do that," she said, though she
was pleased that he had.  "Whatcha making?"
     "That's a surprise.  Why don't you go sit down. 
I won't be much longer."
     "I want to help," she said, trying peering over
his shoulder.
     "Tomorrow, you're on your own.  Today, you have
to put up with me."  He turned around to hide her view
of the counter.  "Now get."  He realized immediately
that she was not wearing a bra, and he tried valiantly
to keep his eyes north of her shoulders.
     "All right," Mac said with an exaggerated sigh. 
She recognized his struggle and took herself out of
the room.  Had she known he was still here, she never
would have come out dressed the way she was.  She went
back into her bedroom and dressed appropriately before
returning.
     She waited impatiently in the living room.  The
smells wafting from her kitchen were very enticing,
and she was getting hungrier by the moment.  Finally,
Harm came out and announced that dinner was served.
     Mac couldn't believe the feast he placed before
her – prime rib, twin lobsters with drawn butter, a
green salad, and French bread.  It was everything
she'd said she wanted on the flight home.  "I can't
believe you did all this!" she exclaimed.
     "Well, truthfully, I didn't do all that much. 
The prime rib, I have to confess, was prepared by that
little restaurant on the corner.  The lobsters were
flown here from Maine especially for you, but all I
did was sacrifice them to the boiling water.  The
salad is a salad.  Not much to say about that."
     Mac was not going to let him belittle what he'd
done for her.  "Harm, this is wonderful.  I think this
is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.  There
are times when you amaze me with your thoughtfulness."
     "And the rest of the time?"
     "The rest of the time, you're a jerk," she said,
a teasing twinkle in her eyes.
     "So much for gratitude," Harm said, rolling his
eyes and smiling at her.
     "Do you mind if we stop talking now?" she asked,
eyeing the food on the table with great anticipation.
     "Dig in," he suggested.
     Harm munched his salad while he watched her
devour everything he'd set on the table.  When she'd
finished her main course, he brought out the chocolate
cake with peanut butter frosting and chocolate chip
cookie dough ice cream.  Mac blissfully ate a huge
piece of cake with two scoops of ice cream.  When she
was finished, she groaned, so stuffed she wasn't sure
she could move.
     "Thank you," she said simply and sincerely.
     "You're welcome," he said, pleased with himself
for making her so happy.  "You want anything else?"
     "There's only one more thing you can do for me."
     "Name it."
     "Leave me alone," she said gently.
     "Oh," he said, deflated.
     "I appreciate everything you've done for me. 
More than I could every say.  But I just need to be
alone for a while."
     "But the dishes . . ."
     "I'll get the dishes.  It'll actually feel good
to do chores like dishes again."
     "All right," he said, standing up.  "As long as
you're sure."
     "I'm sure," she assured him, standing up as well.
     She walked him to the door.  "Thank you," she
said.  "For everything."
     "Are you going to be all right?" he asked
seriously.
     "I think so," she said, just as seriously.
     "Call me if you need me," he ordered her softly. 
"I don't care what time of night."  He opened the
door.
     "All right," she agreed far too easily.
     "Promise me," he said sternly, placing his hand
on her shoulder for emphasis, not really believing
that she would.
     She looked up at him.  "I promise," she said
sincerely.
     His hand slipped down her arm.  "I'm glad you're
okay.  If anything had happened to you . . ."  He
couldn't finish the thought, and he squeezed her
elbow, hoping she understood.
     She did, and she smiled at him.  "How could
anything have happened?  My best friend was there
watching out for me."
     He smiled in return, reluctant to leave but
unable to think of a valid reason to stay.  They
stared at each other for uncounted seconds, his hand
still gripping her arm.  Finally, he dropped his hand
to his side.  "Well, good night," he said.
     "Good night, Harm," she said with a smile. 
"Thanks again."
     He traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip,
briefly, solemnly, and then he was gone.
********************************************
The following day . . .
     Mac had gone to the office early, though looking
at her nearly empty desk, she wasn't sure why. 
Everything she'd been working on had been re-assigned,
so she had no current case load.  She looked through
the small stack of phone messages that had
accumulated, then turned her computer on.  After she
got a cup of coffee, she'd sort through the e-mails in
her in-box.  Hopefully by then, the Admiral would be
in and would have some new assignment for her.  She
was eager to get back to work.
     She met said Admiral on the way back to her
office, her coffee cup full of steaming dark brew. 
Now this was coffee!
     "Major!" the Admiral said, a look of surprise on
his face.  "What are you doing here?!  I thought I
told Rabb to tell you to take the rest of the week
off!"
     "Good morning, Admiral.  Yes, sir.  You did, sir.
 The Commander did pass that suggestion along to me. 
I just didn't see the need.  I'm ready to go back to
work."
     "And what makes you think that was a suggestion
and not an order?" he asked, crossing his arms in
front of his chest.
     "Sir?" she asked.
     "Follow me, Major," he ordered and turned toward
his office.
     Mac hastily put her coffee down and followed his
retreating form.
     After they were seated in his office, the Admiral
began to speak.  "First, let me just tell you what a
bang-up job you did at Leavenworth.  Colonel Franklin
has called me twice, singing your praises.  He's told
me that if you ever tire of being a lawyer, he'd be
more than willing to have you on his staff."
     Mac shuddered inwardly at the thought of going to
Leavenworth every day, but she didn't speak.  She
hated being praised.  She'd almost rather he was
yelling at her.  Almost.
     AJ continued.  "I told him that would be over my
dead body!  In any event, I wanted to tell you ‘good
job'.  According to Franklin, you were instrumental in
ridding the prison of someone who clearly didn't
belong there.  The Colonel has also told me that
you've agreed to serve on a committee that oversees
conditions at the prison, and I think that's a
wonderful idea.  If we're going to be responsible for
putting people in there, we should have some
responsibility for making sure it's as humane as
possible."
     Mac shuddered again, this time bothered by the
thought that she could ever again be responsible for
sending anyone to that place.  She had serious doubts
about her ability to perform certain aspects of her
job now, but she wasn't ready yet to share those
doubts with her CO.
     "When last I spoke with the Colonel, they'd only
just begun their investigation into what part Bourgoin
might have played in the suicides of those three
unfortunate women," the Admiral continued.
     Mac wanted to scream.  Unfortunate?!  That was
such an understatement!  They weren't just
unfortunate.  They were tormented, desperate,
hopeless, and friendless.  That was how they'd lived
the last few days of their lives, and that was how
they'd died.  That was so much more than merely
unfortunate.  But she couldn't scream at the Admiral
over his choice of words, so she sat, impassively
staring at a spot on the wall behind the Admiral's
head while her insides churned.
     "The Colonel also told me about the assault," the
Admiral continued hesitantly.  "He was concerned about
you.  As am I.  If you need anything – if you want to
talk to someone –"  He stopped, not sure how much
farther to press.
     "I appreciate the Admiral's concern," Mac said,
her eyes still averted., "but as I told the Colonel
and the Commander, nothing happened."
     If that's true, AJ thought, why won't you look at
me?  "In any event, the offer stands? What offer? he
asked himself. I haven't actually offered her
anything.
     "Thank you sir.  I just want to get back to
work."
     "I'll see what I can do for you at the staff
meeting."
     "Thank you, sir."
     It was obvious they were done.  "You're
dismissed, Major."
     Mac stood at attention.  "Aye aye, sir."  She
made it to the door before he stopped her.
     "Mac."
     "Yes, sir?" she said, really looking at him for
the first time.
     "Well done," he said softly.  "And welcome back."
     She dropped her eyes to the carpet.  "Thank you,
sir," she said, and she left his office.
     The first person she met on her way back across
the bullpen was Harriet.  "Ma'am!  What are you doing
here?!  We didn't expect you back until next week!"
     "I didn't see the point in staying away," Mac
told her.  "Harriet, I wanted to make sure you
understood my decision not to receive visits from my
sister had nothing to do with you."
     "That's okay, ma'am.  It's not a problem.  Are
you all right?"
     "I'm fine, Harriet.  Now if you'll excuse me,
I've got a lot to catch up on." That wasn't true, but
small talk seemed like such a burden.  Mac continued
the trek to her office but didn't get far before she
ran into Bud.
     "Ma'am!  What are you doing here?!"
     "Working, hopefully, Lieutenant," she said,
trying to keep her expression pleasant.  Behind her
mask, she was thinking, if one more person asks me
that, I'm going to hurt someone!
     "Welcome back, ma'am," Bud said, seemingly
genuinely pleased to have her back.
     "Thanks, Bud.  And thanks for pinch hitting for
me.  I really appreciate it."
     "Glad I could help out, ma'am," Bud said
brightly.
     Mac almost made it to her office, but she was
once more interrupted.  "Mac!" Harm said, very
surprised to see her there.  "What are you doing
here?"
     "I wish everyone would stop asking me that!" she
snapped.  "Do I not still work here?!"
     Harm stopped, taken aback.  "Of course you do,
Mac.  I was just surprised to see you.  Sorry."  He
retreated to his office.
     Mac was angry at herself now.  After all he'd
done for her, the last thing he deserved was to be
snapped at.  She followed him to his office and stood
in his doorway until he looked up at her.  "You didn't
deserve that," she said contritely.  " I'm sorry.  You
were the fourth person to ask me what I was doing
here, and I just lost it."
     "At the risk of incurring bodily injury, what are
you doing here?" he asked.  "The Admiral gave you the
rest of the week off.  Why didn't you take it?"
     "I didn't think it was necessary."
     "No, the truth is you just didn't want to stay
home alone and think about what happened," he said.
     Mac felt her anger rising, and she forced it down
with an effort.  She knew he was trying to goad her
into facing what she was trying to desperately to
avoid.  She thought the easiest way to get him to back
off, at least for now, was to agree with him.  "You're
right."
     His surprise was evident.  "I am?"
     "Yes.  Work is an escape.  I admit it."
     "Oh.  Well, good.  That's good.  But eventually,
you're going to have to stop running.  You know that?"
     "Yes, I know.  You're right.  Anyway, I'm sorry."
     He smiled.  "It's all right.  You want to get
some lunch later?"
     "Sure," she said, smiling back. New strategy for
dealing with Harm, she thought on the way back to her
office.  Tell him he's right and smile prettily.
     Mac returned to her office and began to work on
what she'd really come here for – locating James
Emmanuel Garcia, former boyfriend of Rita Jiminez and
father of her children.  Once she began that process,
she began the paperwork that would be necessary to get
Rita released once Garcia was located.  She was
half-way through that when 0900, and staff call,
arrived.
     Mac very happily accepted two new cases from the
Admiral, both of them defense cases, she was pleased
to note.  She returned to her desk and was thrilled to
learn that Petty Officer Third Class James E. Garcia
was currently stationed on the USS Shoup, a destroyer
in the battle group currently with the Thomas
Jefferson in the Indian Ocean.  Mac immediately put a
call through to the JAG aboard the Jefferson and had
to leave a message for a return call.  She returned
her attention to Rita's paperwork, and when she'd
finished that, she started on the two new files she'd
been given this morning.  She felt like she was on a
roll, and she was quite surprised when Harm poked his
head in her office to tell her it was time for lunch.
     Before she could respond, her phone buzzed. 
"Yes?" she said after picking it up.
     "Ma'am, this is Lieutenant Eric Norton.  He's
calling from the Thomas Jefferson.  He says he's
returning your call."
     "Thank you, Harriet."  She hung up.  "I really
need to take this call.  Can you wait?"
     "Sure," he said, leaning in her doorway.
     "It might take a while."
     "Oh," he said, taking the hint.  "Let me know
when you're ready."
     Mac nodded and picked up her phone.  "Lieutenant
Norton, this is Major Sarah Mackenzie.  Thanks for
getting back to me."
     Mac spoke with the lieutenant for nearly twenty
minutes.  She filled him in on Petty Officer Garcia
and what she believed him to be guilty of.  The
lieutenant was very interested in what she had to tell
him.  They had a drug problem in the battle group, but
they'd been unable to find the source of the problem
in order to stop it.  Lieutenant Norton promised to
contact NCIS to begin an investigation into Garcia
right away.  Mac asked that protection be provided for
Rita's family as part of that investigation, and
Lieutenant Norton promised to take care of that.
     Pleased, Mac hung up and went to get Harm for
lunch.
     "So, are you going to tell me why you look like
the cat that ate the canary?" he asked her after
they'd seated themselves outside with their lunches. 
"All you're missing is the little yellow feathers."
     Mac filled him in on what she'd done and learned
this morning.  "As we speak, Garcia's probably being
detained for questioning.  I'm gonna call Rita tonight
and let her know what's going on.  It's looking good
for getting her out of there sooner as opposed to
later."
     "This is a good thing you're doing," Harm told
her.
     "Maybe something good can still come out of all
this."
     "Something good already has, Mac.  You got
Bourgoin out of there."
     Mac didn't speak for a moment.  "I got an e-mail
from Colonel Franklin this morning.  The next meeting
of the policy committee is next week.  I'll have to go
back."
     "You don't have to," Harm pointed out.
     "Actually, yes, I do.  The Admiral thought it was
a wonderful idea.  Besides, maybe I can get some
things changed.  Maybe I can make life a little better
for them."
     "Do you really think they deserve to have life
made easier for them?" Harm asked quietly.
     Mac looked at him briefly, then looked away.  It
was a legitimate question.  "A month ago, I would have
said no way.  But now that I've seen how they live, I
see things so differently.  They have no privacy. 
They're treated like cattle.  They have next to no
rights to protect them from abuses.  I'm not asking
that they not be punished for their crimes.  All I'm
asking for is that they be treated like human beings,
because when you're treated like an animal, you tend
to forget you're not one."  Mac realized she'd gotten
a little carried away, and she decided it was time to
shut up.  She sipped her coffee.
     "Will you be all right going back?"
     "I think so.  I know I can leave," she said with
a smile.  "That's a plus."
     "Do you want me to go with you?"
     "That's very nice, but not necessary.  I'll be
fine."
************
     By the time she'd left for the day, Mac had
learned that Garcia was in custody, but that he hadn't
confessed to anything, and that Rita's family had been
moved to a new location for their own protection while
Garcia and his associates (whoever they might prove to
be) were investigated.  She'd spoken by phone to
Colonel Franklin to confirm her attendance at next
week's meeting.  She'd learned that there
investigation of Bourgoin had uncovered multiple and
chronic abuses of the jail's procedures, but had
failed to turn up any evidence that he'd been
connected in any way, directly or otherwise, with the
deaths of the three inmates.  That had disappointed
her, but she consoled herself with the thought that
Bourgoin would never again be in a position to
threaten helpless female inmates.  She made
arrangements to speak with Rita later that evening and
hung up.
     When she got home that evening, she called Rita. 
She told her everything she'd done to this point and
told Rita she thought she'd be seeing her soon.  NCIS
had told Mac that they'd be sending an investigator
out to the prison within the next few days to take a
detailed statement from Rita, and Mac told her to
cooperate fully with the investigator.  Once Mac got a
copy of Rita's statements, she'd use it as part of her
clemency argument.  Rita was grateful when she learned
that her family had been moved, thought she knew that
meant she wouldn't see them again until she was freed.
 Mac hung up from her call to Rita, feeling pretty
pleased with herself for all she'd done.
     Now if she could only make it through the night
without that dream.
*******************************************************
Four days later . . .
     "Mac, you're being unreasonable," Harm told her.
     "How is it unreasonable to protect the interests
of my client?" she asked.
     "Because you're not protecting the interests of
your client.  He's guilty.  You know it.  I know it. 
He knows it.  And a jury's gonna know it, and they're
gonna give him the maximum sentence.  I'm offering you
a deal that'll cap his prison time at five years.  You
refused that without even talking to him."
     "I knew he wouldn't go for it," she said
stubbornly.  She had talked to her client, and he had
seemed inclined to take the deal being offered him,
but Mac had persuaded him to hang tough.  "And I did
speak with him."
     "And what did you promise him to get him to along
with you?" Harm challenged.  "No time in the brig? 
That's unrealistic, and you know it!  You're
stone-walling me, Mac.  Bud told me you're doing the
same thing to him on the Carruthers case.  I think
you're afraid of the consequences."
     "Okay!" Mac said, standing up.  "This discussion
is over!"  She began to gather her books and papers
together, clearly irritated with him.
     "Mac, you can't let what happened to you
interfere with performing your job.  If a plea
agreement is the best thing for your client, then
you've got to put aside your personal feelings and do
what's right for him.  It's your job."
     "Yes, it is my job!" she fired back.  "And I'd
appreciate it if you'd stop trying to play head games
with me and let me do my job!  My way!"
     "If you can look me in the eye and tell me that
you honestly think you can get Griffin off, despite
the overwhelming evidence supporting his guilt, then
I'll wish you luck and we'll go to trial."
     Mac stood, fighting to keep her temper reigned
in, the fire showing in her eyes.
     "Or," Harm continued, "If you think, like I do,
that he's a good kid who made a stupid mistake, and
that he's ready to accept responsibility for that
mistake, then you'll make a deal that will keep him in
the Navy and keep him from throwing away ten years of
his life, maybe even the rest of his life.  No matter
what you think or feel, you've got to do what's best
for him."
     Mac knew he was right and that she was being, at
best, stubborn, and at worst, stupid.  Her client was
guilty.  He'd admitted that to her.  And there would
be no way to keep that from coming out at trial.  His
best bet was to plead guilty and make a sentencing
deal that would keep his confinement at a minimum. 
Normally, she would have had no problem making that
deal given the circumstances of this particular case. 
But she was no longer normal.  She was an ex-con.  And
as such, she couldn't bear the thought of that nice
young kid being sent to Leavenworth for even a minute,
let alone years.
     She wanted to tell Harm to shove his offer where
the sun didn't shine, and she opened her mouth to do
that.  But she couldn't.  She couldn't sell Griffin
out.  She owed him more than that.  "Let me think
about it," she said, feeling defeated and vindicated
all at once.
     "Offer's good ‘til seventeen hundred," he told
her, keeping his expression neutral, but pleased that
she was coming around.  Not because he thought he was
putting one over on her (although he was certainly not
above trying to do that), but because he really did
think that a deal was the best thing that could happen
to Petty Officer Griffin.
************
     At 1650, she was at his office door.  "Two
years," she said.
     He didn't have to ask what she meant.  "Four," he
counter-offered.
     "Three."
     "Done."  He smiled at her.  "See?  That wasn't so
hard."
     "You're too easy," she teased.
     "Easy?" he asked, affronted.  "Me?!  I'd have
settled for two years if you'd stuck to your guns!"
     "I'd have recommended four," she told him.  She
winked coyly at him before she left.
****************************************************
Two days later . . .
     It was late.  Really late.  She knew that.  She
should be home.  In bed.  Sleeping.  She had to be at
work in less than six hours.  But instead of being at
home, sleeping, Mac was sitting in her car outside
Harm's apartment at 0232.
     "What am I doing here?" she asked herself aloud. 
It was a rhetorical question because she knew the
answer.  She needed someone, and Harm was all she had.
 But it was two-thirty in the morning, and she didn't
feel right about just waking him up.  What would she
tell him? I just got back from Leavenworth, and I was
feeling really awful?  I need someone to talk to, but
I don't want to talk about what's making me feel so
awful?  She couldn't say that because he'd press her
for more.  She knew that.  It was why she had come.
     Still, she couldn't do this.  She couldn't wake
him up out of a sound sleep just because she needed to
be near him.
     "Get over it girl," she muttered to herself.  She
reached for the key, which was still in the ignition,
fully prepared to go home and leave this for later,
maybe never, but she froze when her cell phone rang,
shattering the stillness of the night.  Her heart
racing, she fished her phone out of her purse,
wondering who on earth could be calling her at this
time of night.  "Hello?"
     "You wanna come up?" Harm asked.
     Harm!  But how had he– "No.  I'm sorry to have
bothered you."
     "You didn't bother me," he pointed out, his voice
thick with recent sleep.  "I called you."
     "How did you know?"
     "I got up to use the bathroom.  I looked out the
window.  There you were.  Come on up."
     "It's late," she argued, more with herself that
with him.  She was scared to death now by the thought
of having to face her demons.  Maybe they really could
wait.  "You need your sleep."
     "I'm already awake," he said.  "I probably won't
go back to sleep now."  That was a white lie.  If he
lay back down, he'd be asleep in a minute.  But a
little guilt might be just what she needed to get her
up here.  "You might as well come up."  He flicked the
bedside lamp on, squeezing his eyes shut against the
sudden light.  "See?  Light's on."
     "Okay," she finally relented.  "But just for a
minute."
     Slowly she got out of the car, and reluctantly
she crossed to the door of his building.  Her feet
felt as though they were made of lead, and she chose
to use the elevator, something she'd never done
before, because she didn't think she could drag her
feet up the stairs.  As it began to creak upwards, she
wondered if she'd made a mistake – getting in this
elevator, coming here, going back to Leavenworth,
accepting the assignment to Leavenworth in the first
place, becoming a lawyer, joining the Marines, being
born.  Her burden seemed great as the elevator ground
to a halt.  The doors slid open (AN: Does the elevator
in Harm's apartment have sliding doors?  Hmmmm), but
Mac didn't step out into the hallway.  After a moment,
the doors closed, and she was shut inside again.  She
pushed the "open doors" button and watched them slide
open again.  Still she didn't move, and the doors
closed once again.
     She should go, she knew.  Just press "L", go back
down, get in her car, and go.  But something held her
here.  Long moments passed before she finally hit the
"open doors" button again.  This time, when the doors
opened, Harm stood just on the other side of the metal
gate which closed off the elevator shaft, looking at
her, worried.
     "What are you doing?" he asked, sliding the gate
aside and holding onto the side of the elevator so the
doors couldn't close again.  From inside his
apartment, he'd heard the elevator reach his floor,
and he'd heard the doors open and close twice. 
Wondering what on earth could be holding her up, he'd
gone out to see.
     She shrugged helplessly at him.  She really
didn't know what she was doing.  She wanted to run. 
She wanted to collapse on the floor in a heap.  She
wanted to scream.  She wanted to never talk again. 
She wanted to do none of those things and all of them
at once.
     "Get in here," Harm ordered softly.
     Obediently, Mac did as she was told.  After she'd
exited the elevator, Harm slid the gate closed.  It
latched with a metallic click, a sound very similar to
that of a cell door closing.  Mac froze momentarily at
the memories associated with that sound.
     Harm noticed that she'd stopped in the hallway,
all movement arrested.  A moment later, she began to
move again and walked through the open door of his
apartment.  Harm followed her into his apartment and
closed the door.  She walked to the window and stared
out at the darkness.
     "I've put the water on for tea," he told her. 
"It should be ready in a minute."  She didn't answer. 
"How long have you been down there?"
     She shrugged again.  "Not long."
     "Did you just get back?"
     "Yeah."  She'd left the office in the early
afternoon to go to the airport.  She'd flown
commercially into Kansas City International, where
she'd been picked up by an Army sergeant and driven
the twenty or so miles to Leavenworth, Kansas.  The
meeting had lasted ninety minutes.  She'd been driven
back to the airport, where she'd caught a flight to
Dulles, which had arrived at 0200.  She hadn't brought
any luggage, and she gotten immediately into her car
and come here.  She'd spent almost seven hours
commuting to and from a meeting that had lasted an
hour and a half, a meeting which had been wholly
unproductive, at least in her mind.
     "How did it go?" Harm asked.
     "Okay," she said vaguely, her back to him as she
stared unseeingly into the night.
     Harm rubbed his eyes tiredly, growing quickly
frustrated with her reticence.  He inhaled deeply,
willing himself to be calm and patient.  She'd come
here for his help, of that there was no doubt, but
she'd begin when she was ready, not before.  Pushing
her now would likely drive her out the door.  So what
now?
     The whistling tea kettle gave him an excuse to
postpone coming up with a plan to get her talking. 
While he fixed them both a cup of tea, she continued
to stare out the window.
     "Come sit," he requested.
     She jumped a little at the sound of his voice. 
He'd come up behind her noiselessly, and she hadn't
been aware he was there until he spoke.  She smiled
sheepishly and sat at the kitchen table.  He joined
her and waited while she blew delicately into the
steaming cup, then took a small sip.  She looked up at
him, and their eyes locked.  She seemed about to
speak, then changed her mind and averted her eyes.
     Several seconds later, still looking away, she
said, "Do you know what they were most interested in?"
     "Who?" he asked, with no clue about whom she was
speaking.
     "The people at the meeting.  Once they learned
who I was and what I'd done, all they wanted to talk
about was what it was like to be locked up.  Not one
of them had ever experienced anything even remotely
like it.  So they didn't want to hear my ideas on how
to make life a little better for the inmates, a little
more humane.  I tried, but they just weren't
interested.  They wanted to know if I was frightened
being locked up with dangerous criminals and what
those awful women were like.  One woman called them
‘poor dears'.  Have you ever heard anything more
patronizing?!"  For someone who didn't want to talk,
the words were sure coming out in a torrent now.
     "So you're upset because they didn't listen to
your ideas?  You were new to them, Mac, and I'm sure
your experiences were fascinating to them.  Next time,
the newness will have worn off, and they'll be ready
to listen.  You'll make them listen."
     "I felt like a circus freak!"  She took another
sip of her tea.  "I don't know about a next time,
Harm.  I've always hated committees.  Committees were
invented by people who like to identify problems, but
don't want to actually solve them.  It's just people
sitting around, talking about unrelated issues,
wasting time.  But no one wants to actually do
anything!  No one wants to get off their butts and
roll up their sleeves and get to work to fix the
problem instead of talking it to death."
     "Kind of like what you're doing now?" he asked,
sensing that now was the time to begin.
     "What do you mean?" she asked warily.
     "You know what I mean.  You're talking about how
you were upset by the committee's reaction to you so
that you won't have to deal with your reaction to
being back in that place," he charged.
     She stared at him over the rim of her cup, then
sipped her tea to give herself time to think.  "You're
right, Harm," she said with a slightly dramatic sigh. 
"I'm avoiding.  I've got to stop doing that.  Thanks
for the tea," she said, setting her cup down.  "But
it's really late, and I shouldn't be keeping you up
like this.  You need your beauty sleep.  We can talk
another time."
     "Oh no!" he said.  "That's not gonna work this
time!"
     "What?" she asked innocently.
     "Telling me I'm right just to get me off your
back.  Now's the time to stop running.  You didn't
come here to bitch about the inefficiency of
committees in general.  Let's cut to the chase."
     Mac jumped up so quickly that her chair fell over
backward with a crash.  She looked around her as
though deciding which way to bolt.  Surprised, Harm
jumped up too, prepared to restrain her physically if
need be.  She was going to deal with this – here and
now.  Even if he had to tackle her and hold her down
and force it out of her.
     "Mac . . ." he began, his voice calm and steady.
     "What do you want from me?!" she cried.
     "I want you to stop tormenting yourself.  I want
you to tell me where it hurts so I can try to fix it."
     "You can't fix this!" she said firmly.  And then
the tears started.
     "Tell me!" he begged.  "Let me help!"
     "How can you help, Harm?!  How could you possibly
understand?!  I shouldn't have come here!"   She spun
toward the door, but before she could take a step, he
was next to her, enveloping her in his arms, pulling
her tightly to his chest, holding her head to his
heart.  Mac struggled briefly, but Harm only tightened
his hold.  She let herself go then, sobbing into his
chest while he smoothed her hair and said nothing,
letting her cry out some of the emotion she was
feeling.
     When she'd calmed some and he felt he could let
her go without fear of her flying away, he led her to
the couch and sat both of them down.  He looked at her
tear-stained face, and with his own heart breaking
with the pain she was feeling, he said, "Talk to me."
     She didn't speak for a while, trying to gather
her emotions into a place where she could keep a tight
reign on them.
     "I stood outside the gate today, waiting for
someone to let me in.  Suddenly, it felt as though an
ice cold hand had grabbed my gut and was squeezing it
as tightly as it could," she squeezed her fist as
though in demonstration.  "I couldn't breathe.  I
wanted to run, but I couldn't."  Talking about it now,
that cold knot of despair was returning to the pit of
her stomach, and she stopped for a moment to take a
deep breath and blow it out, much like a woman in the
early stages of labor does to ease the pang of a
contraction.
     "I couldn't run.  I mean, how would that have
looked?!  The lieutenant was unlocking the gate, and
the sergeant who drove me there was standing behind
me.  A Marine doesn't run like a coward, especially in
front of a squid or a grunt.  This uniform is the only
thing that kept me standing there," she said, looking
down at herself, stilling wearing her uniform, still
drawing strength from it.  
     "Why was it so difficult to go back in?" Harm
prodded.
     She looked up at him.  "Because of what . . .
because of everything that happened in there!"
     "Such as?"
     "You know!" she blurted out.  "Just everything! 
The lack of privacy!  The awful food!  The living
conditions!  The never being alone, not even for a
second, forever!"
     "Not the hard work?"
     "No.  The work was the only redeeming part of it
all, at least to me.  There's something satisfying
about working up a sweat and getting dirty doing a job
that's demanding physically.  No.  That was the least
of it."
     "So what was the most of it?  What was the
absolute worst thing?"
     "The absolute worst thing?" she repeated.  "The
absolute worst thing was the loss of control over your
life and the feeling of helplessness."
     "Helplessness against what?"
     "Against everything!  Against anyone who wanted
to hurt you!"
     "Who wanted to hurt you, Mac?" Harm asked.
     Mac hung her head.  "Geri," she whispered.
     "Tell me what they did to you," he requested. 
"It's not going to get any better until you can admit
that it happened."
     She looked at him then, her eyes pleading with
him not to make her do this, to magically take the
pain away.  She wanted so badly to just let the hurt
and the anger go.
     "Trust me," he said softly.  "It's going to be
all right.  I promise."
     Mac looked away.  Her natural reserve wasn't
something that was easily overcome, and it made her
cling now to her feelings, even when she wanted so
badly never to feel again.  She took a deep breath.
     "I was in the isolation cell," she began, though
she knew that he knew that already.  "I was still a
little out of it.  You were right," she said with a
quick glance at him.  "It wasn't an act.  I was out of
control.  It was a scary feeling.  Like I was
somewhere outside myself, looking down, wondering who
that animal was.  Anyway, they took the restraints off
my ankles, but they left them on my wrists.  They put
me on the bed, and then strapped my wrists to the bed
frame."
     So far, she hadn't told him anything he hadn't
already known.
     "Someone would come by and check on me every so
often.  Sometimes, it was Bourgoin, and when I saw
him, I'd just get crazy all over again.  I think I
would have killed him if I'd been able to get my hands
on him," she admitted.  The depth of the rage she'd
felt then still scared her.  She hadn't known she was
capable of an anger so deep and so intense that it
erased all reason.  "They apparently figured I wasn't
ready yet to be unrestrained, so they left me like
that for a long time."
     Harm hadn't known that Bourgoin had still been in
the cell block while Mac was restrained.  Though the
records showed otherwise, and though he'd had his
suspicions, this was his first confirmation that
Bourgoin had been anywhere near her that night.  If
he'd known that then, Bourgoin just might not have
made it out of there physically unscathed.
     "Finally, the door slid open, and I thought,
‘They've come to free me at last!'  But it wasn't a
guard.  It was Geri, with Vera and Jo tagging along
behind her.  Geri was carrying a night stick in her
hand, and she kept slapping it in her palm, obviously
trying to intimidate me.  I didn't know then where
she'd gotten it, but I suspect Bourgoin gave it to
her.  Big bad Marine that I am, I didn't call for help
immediately, figuring I could handle whatever she
intended to do, although why I thought that I have no
idea."
     Harm could feel his blood pressure beginning to
rise, and he fought with himself to keep his emotions
down.  She needed him to be cool and collected.
     "Before I even realized I was going to need help,
Vera stuffed a sock in my mouth.  Of course, then I
knew that they weren't there to bring me a midnight
snack.  Geri told me that since I hadn't heeded to her
warning to stay away from Bourgoin, she needed to
teach me a lesson.  She said that since I hadn't had a
man in a while, maybe she needed to figure out some
way to satisfy me so I wouldn't have to chase after
her boyfriend.  She smashed the night stick down on
the pillow, so close I could feel the breeze on my
ear.  It seemed pretty obvious at that point that she
intended to rape me with the night stick.
     "She told Vera and Jo to take my pants off.  I
struggled, but my hands were tied."  She smiled wryly.
 "Literally.  I kicked someone, I think it was Jo. 
Then Geri pinched my nose closed.  I couldn't breathe,
and I started to pass out.  When I stopped struggling,
she had Vera and Jo hold my ankles."  Mac had been
telling this story almost in a monotone.  While she
talked, Sarah had gone somewhere deep inside to hide.
     Harm thought it was time he brought her back out.
 "Sarah," he said.
     "What?" Mac asked, not even registering surprise
at the use of her given name.
     "Not you, Mac.  I want Sarah.  Mac's a Marine. 
She can handle anything.  It's Sarah I'm worried
about.  It's Sarah I want to talk to."
     When Mac put her head down and started to cry
again, Harm knew Sarah had come back.  Sarah was Mac's
vulnerability, and it was Sarah who needed healing
now.  She couldn't be made whole again if she was
constantly in hiding.
     Harm laid his arm gently around her shoulders,
worried that his touch might be an unwelcome reminder
of that awful night.  Even in her distraught state,
Mac could tell the difference between her friend's
comforting embrace and a psychopath's brutal assault. 
She leaned into his side, grateful for his friendship.
     "Did they rape you, Sarah?" he asked.  They had
to finish this.
     "No.  Just as they were about to, Bourgoin came
into the cell.  He sent them away.  I realized then
that it was all an act, a set-up.  They came in to
intimidate me, and then he rode in to ‘save me' at the
last minute.  I guess that I was supposed to be so
grateful to him that I'd do anything for him.  But I
couldn't do it, and I told him so.  He just left me
there."
     "Did Bourgoin touch you?"
     "He just sort of ran his hand up my leg.  Nothing
else."
     "Have you told me everything?" Harm asked.
     Mac nodded.  She'd held nothing back.
     "Look at me, Sarah," he said.
     She looked up at him, her large brown eyes liquid
pools.
     "None of that stuff was your fault," he said
firmly.  "There's nothing that you could have done to
prevent it.  Do you understand that?"
     "Up here, I do," she said, touching her forehead.
 "But in here," she said, putting her hand over her
heart, "I'm not so sure.  I'm a Marine.  I should have
been able to do something!  In reality, nothing
happened to me, so I don't know why I should feel the
way I do."
     "Don't belittle what you went through, Mac.  You
felt completely helpless, and that's a terrifying
feeling.  And you may beat yourself up, thinking that
you should have been able to control what was
happening to you, to your own body, but the simple
truth is that you can't control some things.  I
couldn't control my night blindness, and you couldn't
control this."
     His message was filtering through, mostly because
she already knew, in the intellectual part of her
being, that he was right.  The emotional part of her
would need some more time to completely heal, but
she'd made a start.  She looked up at him, her eyes
still shining with tears.  "Thank you."
     "You're welcome," he said.  He reached up with
his free hand to gently wipe the tears from her
cheeks.  His touch sent shivers through her body, and
she placed her hand over his own, leaning into the
palm of his hand.
     Their eyes met and locked, and they sat that way
for many seconds, neither speaking, their hands
touching and still resting on her cheek.
     "Have you ever wanted something really badly,
even though you suspected it would hurt you in the
end?" Mac asked, her eyes never leaving his.
     After many moments, Harm cleared his throat. 
"Yeah.  When I was eight, I wanted a skateboard. 
Bugged my mother for weeks to buy me one.  She finally
did.  The second time I used it, I fell off and broke
my arm."
     Again many seconds passed before she spoke. 
"You're my skateboard," she confessed.
     "And I don't want to break your arm," he said
sincerely.
     It seemed as though they'd come to some sort of
understanding with each other, though both would have
been at a loss to put this understanding into words. 
Whatever it was, it felt – comfortable.  
     Harm reluctantly extracted his hand.  "So what
happens now?" he asked, finally breaking eye contact.
     "Now?  Like right this minute?" she joked,
further breaking the tension they'd created around
themselves.
     "No.  I meant a little further down the road."
     "Well, I guess I start doing my job properly
again.  And I keep going to meetings, and I keep
trying to make a difference."
     "You've already made a difference," he assured
her, his words heavy with meaning.
     "Oh!  That reminds me!"  She placed a hand on his
chest and used it to push herself away from him.  "I
have a surprise for you."
     "What is it?"
     "Well, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise,
now would it?" she teased.  "You'll just have to wait.
 You busy at seventeen hundred?"
     He thought about it for a minute, then shook his
head.  "Nope."
     "Good.  Be in my office a few minutes before
that."  She put her head back on his shoulder.
     "Not even a little hint?"
     "Not even a little hint."  She closed her eyes,
tiring quickly after the day's and night's events.  "I
should go now," she said, trying to stifle a yawn.
     "You may as well just stay at this point," he
suggested.  "You can get a couple hours' sleep, then
go home and shower and change."
     "I could do that," she agreed.  "But I really
just don't want to move."
     "Then stay, and you won't have to," he invited.
     "We'll, you'd probably like to go back to your
own bed," she guessed.
     "I'm fine right here," he assured her.  "You get
comfortable."
     Mac swung her legs up onto the couch and settled
herself with her head in his lap.  "Thanks, Harm. 
You're a good friend," she sighed.
     He smoothed the hair back from her forehead. 
"Yeah.  Friend," he repeated.
     It wasn't long before they were both asleep.
******************************************************************
Later that day . . .
     Mac had looked forward to 1700 anxiously all day.
 Harm had conveniently provided her with many
opportunities to share her surprise with him, but
she'd passed on every one.  Finally, at 1649, Harm
reported to her office.  "So what's the big surprise?"
     "It's not quite time yet," she told him.  
     "It's close enough," he said.
     "Impatient, aren't we?" she teased.  
     "No.  What's the surprise?"
     "Come with me," she suggested.  She stood up and
left her office, and he followed her to the conference
room.  Harm looked around expectantly, but the room
empty.
     "I told you it was early.  Just wait.  Shouldn't
be but another minute."
     They waited without speaking.  Finally, the door
opened, and a woman Harm didn't recognize was escorted
into the room by a petty officer from security.  The
petty officer came to attention in front of Mac. 
"Major Mackenzie, this is Lisa Velazquez.  I brought
her here as you requested."
     "Thank you, petty officer.  You're dismissed,"
Mac told him.
     "Aye aye, ma'am.  I'll be right outside."  The
petty officer pivoted and left the room.
     Mac extended her hand to Lisa and smiled
welcomingly.  "Lisa, I'm Major Sarah Mackenzie.  It's
very nice to meet you."  They shook hands, and Mac
turned to Harm.  "This is my partner, Harmon Rabb. 
Harm, this is Lisa Velazquez."  As they shook hands,
Mac asked, "Where are the children?"
     "Agent Holland took them to the bathroom.  Is she
here yet?" Lisa asked.
     "Not yet.  Should be any minute."
     The door opened again, and Agent Mary Holland led
three small children into the room.  They were all
dark-skinned with large brown eyes and black hair. 
They moved to Lisa's side and rather shyly clung to
her legs.
     "You're Jimmy, right?" Mac asked the young boy.
     He nodded, and Mac extended her hand to him. 
Lisa nudged him, and the boy put his small hand into
Mac's and they shook solemnly.  "My name is Sarah. 
This is Harm," she said, nodding in Harm's direction.
     "And this must be Claire.  You're even prettier
than your picture, Claire."  The child Mac was
addressing slid further behind Lisa's leg, peering
shyly out from her hiding place.
     Mac knelt in front of the youngest child.  "And
you must be Rosalita."
     "I got a boo boo," the child said, lifting her
leg to show Mac the scab on her knee.
     "Ooo! That's a bad one!" Mac said
sympathetically.
     "I fell down," Rosalita explained.
     "How would you like your mommy to kiss it and
make it all better?" Mac asked.
     "Mommy's gone away," Rosalita said sadly.
     "Wanna know a secret?" Mac whispered.  "Mommy's
coming home."
     Everyone turned as the door opened once again,
and Rita Jiminez was escorted into the room by another
NCIS agent.  Rita was dressed in jeans and a light
blue sweater, and she was smiling radiantly.  When her
children saw her, they shouted, "Mommy!" and ran to
her.  Rita dropped to her knees and embraced the three
of them, tears streaming from her closed eyes.
     Mac felt tears stinging behind her own eyes, and
she beamed as she watched this little family being put
back together.  Feeling pretty emotional himself, Harm
turned away toward the window.
     "How'd you do that so quickly?" he asked quietly.
     Mac wiped a stray tear from her cheek. 
"Everything just kind of came together.  I couldn't
have planned it any better than this."
     Rita disentangled herself from her children and
came to Mac, intending to thank her for everything. 
Unable to summon the right words, she threw herself
into Mac's arms, sobbing incoherently.  Mac held her
tightly, not even trying to understand Rita's
unintelligible expression of gratitude.  Seeing Rita
reunited with her children was all the thanks she
needed.
     "Ms. Jiminez," the unfamiliar NCIS agent
interrupted.  "We need to get you to the airport.  I'm
sorry, but it's time to go."
     Rita pulled away from Mac and wiped at her eyes. 
"Thank you," she whispered.
     "You take care of those kids, Rita.  And call me
if you need anything."
     Mac waved good-bye as the little family, now
whole again, was escorted from the room.
     "Where are they going?" Harm asked after the door
had closed.
     Mac wiped a final tear from her eye.  "NCIS is
moving them somewhere safe.  The information Rita has
given them should hang her boyfriend.  Knowing that,
he's begun to sing loudly about those higher up the
food chain.  NCIS has rounded up several people they
suspect have been importing, manufacturing and selling
all sorts of drugs.  They think they've got a good
chance of busting up a very productive pipeline. 
Until they're sure it's safe, they'll keep Rita and
the kids and her sister somewhere where they can keep
an eye on them."
     "You've been busy," Harm noted.  "What else
haven't you been telling me?"
     "Colonel Franklin called me today.  He thanked me
for thinning out his female population.  Geri's gone,
and I left.  Vera and Jo have been moved in exchange
for the information they had.  Now Rita's been
released.  He called me a one-Marine liberation
force."
     "And what about Bourgoin?"
     Mac sighed.  "Unfortunately, it looks like
there's just not enough evidence to connect him to the
deaths.  We may never know what really happened.  His
DOD charges will be handled through TSO Lemoore.   I
don't think there's any doubt he'll be convicted."
     "Your testimony alone will ensure that," Harm
predicted.
     "Yeah," she said, obviously not looking forward
to the prospect of testifying.
     "Are you okay now?" he asked softly.
     "That helped," she said, referring to Rita's
reunion with her children.  "Yeah," she said, sounding
as though she meant it.  "I think I'm gonna be okay."
     "What about Sarah?" he asked.
     Mac smiled shyly at him.  "She okay, too.  Thanks
to you."
     "I didn't do anything," he said modestly. 
"You're the one.  You've broken up a drug ring,
removed from the picture someone who was a threat to
every female prisoner at Leavenworth, and taken
someone who didn't belong in there and reunited her
with her family.  If you tell anyone I said this, I'll
have to deny it, but I think you're pretty amazing."
     "Was that a compliment?" she asked, amazed.
     "Couldn't have been," he said with a grin.  "That
wouldn't be like me at all."
     Mac smiled at him, grateful for his friendship. 
"Hey, how about I buy you dinner?" she asked as they
moved to the door.  "I still owe you for that feast
you laid on me."
     "I could go for that," Harm agreed.  "As long as
I get to pick the place."
     Mac paused to open the door and think about that.
 "All right," she said.  "As long as there's meat on
the menu, I'll be happy."  She exited the conference
room, followed closely by Harm.
     "Deal," he said, and the door closed on their
cheerful teasing about each other's diet
THE END
Sorry guys!  I couldn't get them together this time. 
It just wasn't in the cards.