'TEAMWORK'



Author: Daenar (www.daenarsjagfanfiction.com)
Rating: PG-13
Category: Romance (H/M), Action, Adventure
Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, CBS and 
Paramount 
Pictures. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: A Libyan weapons dealer forces Mac, Harm and the better part 
of the 
JAG staff into a large-scale undercover mission in the Paris-Dakar 
Rally... 
Stand-alone story.

Author's note: I know this may sound crazy but I love undercover 
scenarios 
and this one holds possibilities to go into humor as well as action. 
Ever 
since the German rally driver Jutta Kleinschmidt in 2001 wrote sports 
history as the first female driver to win the Paris-Dakar, I have been 
wondering how a certain Marine colonel would do in the competition. And 
I 
always wanted to see how a multi-personnel undercover op would work 
out. At 
least I hope it will...

The rally is called Paris-Dakar because normally, the start is in Paris 
or 
at least in France and the final stage ends in Dakar which is the 
capital of 
Senegal in Western Africa. The 2000 Paris-Dakar Rally, though, didn't 
leave 
African soil at all as the association wanted to have a special rally 
for 
Y2K. The route, nearly 10.000 km (6250 miles) long, went in 17 stages 
through six countries (Senegal, Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger, Libya and 
Egypt) 
from Dakar to Cairo (Egyptian capital, Northeast Africa). So, the 
(fictional) year that my story takes place in has the same route 
reversed: 
Cairo-Dakar. For details about the route, check out the official rally 
site 
<http://www.dakar.com/2000/presentationfr/parcours.html>.

This story holds a slightly different sight of why Harm didn't yet get 
together with Mac. Not that this theory is new, in fact, I know of 
several 
writers that dealt with it. But I didn't yet. That's why I mention it.

Many thanks to Heather for beta-reading and to Layla for highly 
appreciated 
contents advice! All remaining mistakes are mine.


Part One:



[Excerpts from Harm's diary]


Nov, 29th

Dear Dad,

Here I am, at 0200, sitting at my dining table and trying to come up 
with a 
few lines that make sense. Well, I guess, given the chaos that's my 
mind 
right now, that's a useless endeavor, but I promised Harriet that I'd 
at 
least try. Turning my insides out to some anonymous blank pages doesn't 
feel 
very appealing, though. That's why I thought I'd write to the one 
person 
whom I could always tell everything. And that's you, Dad. I hope you 
don't 
mind.

So, as I said, I promised Harriet that I'd write down a few thoughts to 
clear my head somehow. That's what she gave me this little journal for. 
To 
sort out why everything keeps going so terribly wrong. First Harriet 
tried 
to talk to me in person. She came into my office today after the 
admiral had 
briefed us about that new mission that this lunatic called Clayton Webb 
concocted. This time he really topped everything that ever came to that 
distorted mind of his - this is never gonna work out! But I guess I 
should 
tell you the story from the start. And that means I'll have to start my 
tale 
with what's left of my private life.

I did mention to you last Christmas that there was a woman in my life, 
didn't I? Okay, not exactly in my life but in my heart and on my mind. 
She's 
been there for seven years now and still I can't bring myself to tell 
her 
how I feel. Can you imagine? I think I know that I mean very much to 
her, 
too. But there are deeper issues in the way, I'll get into that later. 
So I 
just let the occasions slip away and cling to the close friendship that 
connects us - the most wonderful thing in my life. Until two days ago, 
and 
that's when this whole mess really started.

Her name is Sarah Mackenzie - Mac - and she's a lieutenant colonel in 
the 
Marine Corps, my partner at JAG, just in case you don't remember - Dad, 
I 
fell for a jarhead! Mac and I spent last Saturday with little AJ, you 
know, 
our godson, Harriet and Bud's kid. He's going to be five in spring and 
he's 
such a cutie. We took him to a children's exhibition in Georgetown, 
really 
great. They have little experiments and machines to try out for 
children to 
make them see how things work, physics and such. We had so much fun.

There was one thing that especially impressed AJ. On a table that you 
could 
fold in half, there were little bricks waiting to be laid out 
horizontally 
in a certain manner, forming an arch that lay on its side. The single 
brick 
stones couldn't be connected to each other in any way but if you placed 
them 
in the right way and made sure that the arch began and ended exactly 
where 
the table folded, you could get the arch up to vertical, put the table 
half 
down again and the arch would stand. Static. Impressive. AJ had us do 
it 
over and over again.

Dad, watching Mac with our godson always moves me very much. We have a 
deal, 
you know - please, don't laugh - that if, by the time AJ turns five, 
neither 
of us is in a relationship, we'll go halves on a kid. Really, we agreed 
on 
that. Won't be too long now... I get all dizzy whenever I remember that 
day. 
What the hell was I thinking? I should have asked her to marry me 
instead. 
Would have spared us a lot of heartache. But then - our jobs, although 
they're usually far away from the frontlines of armed conflict, have 
proven 
dangerous. I've come too close to losing her far too often. And vice 
versa, 
by the way.

Getting over Diane was an ordeal that took years. Considering the way 
that I 
cared for Diane doesn't even come close to how I feel about Mac... Dad, 
I 
couldn't handle losing her. I would break. I feel I can't take the 
risk. And 
the coincidence that Mac is Diane's physical twin fortunately reminds 
me of 
what is at stake when I'm in danger of losing my head, although I don't 
see 
Diane in Mac. They are different - but the situation isn't. That's why 
I 
manage to retreat every time we threaten to get too close. I know I 
hurt Mac 
badly more than once and I feel ashamed of it. But it's exactly as she 
put 
it once: I just can't let go. I mustn't, at any cost. You don't recover 
twice from losing the love of your life.

So I keep telling myself that allowing Mac to have a child with me is 
just a 
pact between best friends - teamwork, sort of. Just whom are you trying 
to 
kid, Rabb?

Anyway, back to last Saturday. At the exhibition shop, Mac discovered 
that 
you could actually buy little sets of precisely shaped brick stones to 
try 
and repeat the experiment at home. She purchased one for AJ, one for 
herself 
and one for Chloe. And, of course, I never stopped teasing her about 
it. We 
bantered back and forth all the way home, even after we had dropped AJ 
off 
at the Roberts'. When we reached her building, she invited me to come 
up for 
a cup of coffee.

It hasn't been that long since we've finally been back to our easy 
banter, 
Dad. Engagements, girlfriends, plane crashes, minefields... something 
always 
got in the way of taking up where we had left off when I returned to 
active 
flight duty. We both missed our friendship very much and we're both 
incredibly relieved to have it back to the way it was before 
everything. 
'Had' it back, to be correct, until I messed up.

As we were standing in Mac's kitchen while she was preparing the 
coffee, I 
casually asked Mac where she intended to try out the experiment as I 
didn't 
see any folding tables in her apartment. She looked at me with a 
challenging 
smile and said that she was thinking about using me as a folding table. 
She 
would lay out the arch on my chest and then have me sit up and lie down 
again. Surely I would support her scientific efforts? With that, she 
stepped 
close to me, looking up to meet my eyes.

I felt the tension and although warning bells instantly began to toll 
at the 
back of my mind, I couldn't step away. She always does that to me, Dad. 
She's got a power over me that exceeds my understanding. So I just 
stayed 
put and remarked something sly I don't even remember. The memory of 
what 
followed seems to unfold in slow motion, every time I think of it.

Sparks seem to fly, we're leaning in, our lips touch, tentatively at 
first. 
Passion takes over. I gather her to my arms and kiss her as if my life 
depended on it. She ardently returns my kiss. We're lost in each other, 
giving in to a passion that I haven't yet known.

Dad, my feelings outright scared me but I couldn't break off.

The telephone brought me back to my senses. We let the machine get the 
call, 
but the spell was broken and I was glad to be able to draw back. Mac 
met my 
glance - and knew. I will never forget the flow of emotions that I 
inflicted 
and saw mirrored in those beautiful dark eyes of hers: shock, 
disappointment, anger, pain... I knew that look. I caused it too often. 
But 
this time something new followed that knocked me off the track. I saw 
the 
pain prevail, but her anger, instead of rising, suddenly vanished, 
leaving 
behind only an incredibly sad, fatalist acceptance of what I had done. 
It 
seemed that Mac had inwardly drawn a line. She would never go there 
again.

Wasn't that exactly what I wanted? To be safe from any danger of 
reliving 
the torment that Diane had caused me? Theoretically, yes. I tried to 
convince myself that it was better this way but at the same time 
something 
deep inside me broke at seeing her like this. I felt an incredible loss 
of 
something that I couldn't really place.

"Mac..." I began, confused.

She only smiled at me, sadly, beautifully. "It's okay, Harm. Really," 
she 
said in a low, soothing voice that was devoid of any reproach, utterly 
contrary to how she'd normally react. This scared me even more.

She gently pulled me out of the kitchen. "I'm tired, Harm. Would you 
mind 
leaving me alone?" Her voice was still gentle and friendly, intimate, 
actually, as if I were her brother.

"'Course not," I whispered, shaken. I took my jacket and opened the 
door. In 
the doorway I turned to find her watching me leave with that scary sad 
smile.

"Mac, I'm sorry..." I tried once again, not really knowing what I 
wanted to 
tell her.

"I told you, it's okay. I understand." Mac stepped up to me and placed 
her 
hand on my cheek. "Be safe, Harm," she said gently before closing the 
door.

It felt like a definite farewell. I guess I mastered the art of burning 
bridges.


I tried to call her on Sunday but she wouldn't pick up the phone. So I 
kept 
up my hopes for a word with her today at work. But Clayton Webb killed 
the 
opportunity. When I got in I was summoned at once into Chegwidden's 
office. 
To my surprise, besides Mac - who smiled at me melancholically, 
greeting me 
as a friend - there were quite a few other people present: Webb, Gunny, 
Sturgis, Bud, Harriet, even Tiner and a man I didn't know.

Webb then explained to us what the CIA needed us for this time. I can 
only 
tell you, Dad: if we normally have apprehensions whenever Webb shows 
up, 
this time the whole lot of us, including the admiral, were staring 
open-mouthed at that lunatic spook once he had finished explaining!

Dad, he wants to ship us all off to Africa for New Year's! Well, not 
all of 
us, but a whole lot of people, nevertheless. Here's the case:

Seven grenades filled with Anthrax germs recently disappeared from the 
Turkish Air Force Base of Erhac. They had been stocked there for 
several 
years, having been discovered in Iraq by the time the UN inspection 
teams 
were still allowed to go looking around before the four-years break, 
that 
means sometime before 1998. The government kept the existence of the 
grenades classified because the germ cocktail in them seems to be of a 
peculiar nature and they wanted to do some research first. But then 
priorities changed and research plans were postponed indefinitely.

Now, there's a Marine guard, a Corporal Brian Dunfoss, stationed at 
Erhac 
who's with the team that was guarding the grenades. Dunfoss' brother 
Will is 
a rally driver and, with his navigator John Marx, even finished the 
Paris-Dakar of '98 in fourth place. Will Dunfoss seems to be married to 
a 
Libyan and the CIA now suspects that someone from his wife's family - 
outwardly a western oriented, liberal one - has connections to Al Qaeda 
and 
blackmailed or otherwise convinced Dunfoss to get his brother to turn 
over 
the grenades to them.

The Agency thinks that he'll deliver them when this year's Paris-Dakar 
crosses Libya. The rally organizers are planning on doing a reverse of 
the 
2000 course that was Dakar-Cairo. So, starting from Cairo, Dunfoss and 
Marx 
would have several days of Libyan Sahara outback to quietly complete 
the 
transaction. Will has made arrangements with his brother to get his car 
flown to Erhac to have it checked by a local firm that works for the AF 
on 
the base. From there they'll ship it to Alexandria in Egypt. The agents 
guess that's when they'll figure out a way to hide the hazardous 
freight 
safely in the car until it can be unloaded.

The grenades are deadly, but small, so at least, given their size, 
hiding 
them won't be too much of a problem. But Will and Marx are extremely 
lucky 
that Corporal Dunfoss happened to work a lot with artillery weapon 
systems 
on his last duty station - it'll be one hell of a job to secure the 
grenades 
in a way that there won't be a risk of casualties when the car gets the 
living daylights beat out of it by the bumps and jumps of the course. 
Just 
who's foolish enough to consent to doing a rally drive sitting on 
biological 
bombs? I guess only Al Qaeda is capable of 'talking' people into doing 
things of the kind.

You might want to ask why the spooks didn't simply arrest everyone 
involved 
but you know how those people like to waste our taxes: they're counting 
on 
us to track Dunfoss and Marx down to where the exchange is supposed to 
take 
place in order to get to the Al Qaeda cell.

You want to know why we of all people are supposed to pull this off? 
Honestly, I've been wondering about that one myself. Webb's only answer 
was: 
"Brian Dunfoss is a Marine." Yeah, well, semper fi.

He's using us, Dad, once again. And the plan he came up with is just 
plain 
crazy. I just wish I could keep Mac out of the scheme somehow. Dad, 
we're 
supposed to participate in the rally! Yes, you heard me right. Webb and 
Gunny go in as one team, Mac and I as another. And Harriet and Tiner 
(those 
two! in an undercover op!) will cover the team/technicians/TV side. I 
could 
clearly see that Bud didn't like this at all. How come??

Actually, Mac and I are only supposed to act as support for Gunny and 
Webb 
who'll be the main operatives. Gunny will be Felipe Moreno, driver, and 
Webb 
will be Carl Becker, his navigator. This way, he can play around with 
his 
little transmitters and sat-phones and stuff without having to hide too 
much. Mac and I are to draw attention away from them, and you know how? 
Mac 
is supposed to be driving! Get a smart and beautiful woman into a 
position 
such as this and - with a bit of PR - you can be sure you can operate 
quietly in the shadow that the medial attention focused on her will 
create. 
Of course she's not the only woman competing but ever since this 
German, 
Jutta Kleinschmidt, won the 2001 rally, the media is a lot more 
interested 
in female drivers.

I'm going to sit by, navigate us through the desert and communicate 
with 
Webb. Great. I wonder where Webb picked up the names for us, too. Mac 
will 
be Deborah Kellerman, I'll go by the name of Douglas Vandenberg. Well, 
whatever. Deb and Doug, the Double D, will manage somehow. We always 
do. 
We're a team. What I'm really afraid of is the prospect of seventeen 
days 
when I'll see my Mac in constant danger and will be confined to the 
intimate 
atmosphere of a Ford Focus with her alone, nothing but hostile nature 
surrounding us. Okay, ever since Afghanistan I should be sort of 
accustomed 
to scenarios as this. But, you know, Dad, doing it in cammies with rank 
insignia, knowing constantly that you're on duty, makes it easier for 
me to 
keep my necessary distance. I don't know if I can manage once I see her 
in 
one of those hot, clingy drivers' suits... Webb says she must cut her 
hair 
rather short to change her looks a little, in case someone remembers 
her 
from Trial TV or the tribunal. I can't do very much about my own 
exterior. 
I'll just cut my hair to five millimeters I suppose. I'll look horrible 
but 
at least Mac will be very cute, I'm sure of it.

Mac and Gunny are off to Nevada now with that strange guy who was in 
the 
admiral's office, one Andrew Bensen, former rally driver. They've got 
three 
weeks of drivers' training to get through, before we navigators fly 
down as 
well to do the last week together. Secrecy prevents us from flying to 
Cairo 
earlier than on Dec. 30th, so we'll have to cope with jetlag and 
malaria 
prophylaxis, not knowing the country. But Webb tells us Bensen will 
prepare 
us adequately to stay somewhere in the middle of the ranking. I do hope 
so. 
And I really hope that the Gunny will keep a good eye on Mac while 
they're 
down there because I could sense that Bensen was very fast developing a 
"thing" for Mac. My Mac. No, not my Mac. She can't be. But she mustn't 
be 
anyone else's, either. Am I being selfish? Yes, Rabb, you are.

Harriet and Tiner are to go over with a ZBS team. Harriet will be 
secretary 
Carrie Smith who loves (and constantly collects!) gossip and Tiner will 
be 
Albert Brady, ZBS's Good Boy whose helpful and friendly ways will make 
him 
everybody's best friend in no time.

While Harriet and Tiner were ecstatic about, for once, being in on the 
adventure, and while Bud, AJ and I were resentful towards Webb for 
bringing 
all this about, Mac and Gunny took their assignments with their usual 
jarhead coolness. Sturgis just looked a little tired, realizing that he 
and 
Bud will have to fill in for Mac and me without having anyone to 
organize 
the office or help with the research - Harriet, Gunny, Tiner: all gone. 
Good 
luck, buddy, you're gonna need it. As we do, too.

So, Dad, can you at least understand why I'm upset and confused? During 
the 
rally, Mac and I will hardly have the time to talk. So we'll try to 
concentrate on the mission and ignore the tension. But how do you do 
that 
inside an SUV in the middle of nowhere?

But at least, with us partaking in the rally, Mac has an excuse for the 
Secnav who keeps trying to talk her into taking a post in Brussels as a 
NATO 
military law expert in the association talks with Russia. She told me 
that 
she's getting increasingly desperate about how to make the mid-January 
deadline pass without having to decline the offer bluntly. Would have 
made a 
nice impression on our new boss. Now she's out of trouble.

I managed quite well to avoid the 'heart talk', didn't I, Dad? But I 
guess, 
now that you know the facts, I'll have to get into that next time I 
write to 
you. I don't know, yet, when that might be. I'll very likely banish the 
thought of opening up from my mind as soon as I get into rally 
preparations. 
It's easier that way. Please, Dad, don't blame me. Force of habit.

I love you, Dad.
Thanks for listening.
Harm



Middle of nowhere, Nevada, Dec. 20th

Dear Dad,

I told you it would most likely take a while until I got back to you, 
didn't 
I? Well, here I am. And you know what? I'm really grateful that you're 
here 
(sort of) to listen. I just realized that I'm even closer to you this 
year 
than I normally am during Christmastime when I know that I'll meet you 
at 
the Wall on Christmas Eve. Strange, isn't it? I'm beginning to realize 
that 
I might owe Harriet more than I thought I would. Bud sure is a lucky 
man.

Two days ago, Webb and I flew out here - I don't even know where 'here' 
is, 
somewhere in the middle of the desert of Nevada, it wouldn't really 
help if 
I gave you the coordinates - to start our "real-life" scenario 
training. 
During the last three weeks my caseload was incredible. I had to wrap 
up all 
my and Mac's cases as Sturgis and Bud were knee deep in a mishap 
investigation that they absolutely wanted to get rid of before we all 
left. 
Understandable, I'd say. Work was hell, especially without Mac's smile 
to 
cheer me up from time to time, but somehow I handled all our cases and 
lost 
only one out of eight. Tell me you're proud of me, Dad. I am.

So, as I said, two days ago Clay and I joined Mac and Gunny and this 
Bensen 
guy out here. But don't think that we didn't prepare in Washington, 
too. In 
fact, we did, and very thoroughly. I'd never have thought that I'd ever 
say 
this but I do believe that Clay and I have become rather close friends 
during the last three weeks. He came over after work almost every 
evening. I 
taught him whatever I know about navigation, even astronomical route 
calculation in case we run out of electricity. We studied map after map 
of 
the rally route and the whole extended region that we'll be passing 
through. 
He filled me in on everything the Agency currently knows about the 
grenade 
theft and the people they suspect to be in some way connected to it.

Apart from that, we just talked. I mean, really talked, for the first 
time. 
Dad, there's a human being inside Clayton Webb after all! You know, it 
really did me good to be sitting at the kitchen counter with him over a 
variety of china take-out boxes (That guy knows what's good, by the 
way, 
unlike a certain Marine...), discussing God, the world and our (near to 
non-existent) private lives. We have a lot more in common than I 
thought. He 
was very fair whenever I mentioned Mac (what I did rather often), he 
never 
got into this 'Why-don't-you-tell-her-how-you-feel' stuff everyone 
keeps 
constantly throwing at me, openly or not.

But I could see that he's nevertheless wondering about the two of us. 
So, 
the evening before we left, I told him about Diane. I don't even 
remember 
clearly how it came up. Clay just listened quietly until I had ended. 
There 
was an expression of understanding in his glance and all he commented 
on my 
tale was: "It's always hard to live with the ghosts of your past. And 
it's 
even harder for those who're innocently involved."

I thought, of course, that he was referring to Mac. I just nodded and 
took 
another sip of my beer. But suddenly Clay spoke up again, not looking 
at me. 
"I know very well what you mean, Harm. Even if you make your peace with 
the 
events of the past - it's the fear that something of the kind could 
happen 
again that keeps driving you crazy whenever you get close to a point 
where 
you could get back the good things that you lost."

He didn't say anything else for a while although I sensed that he was 
wondering if he should tell me whatever was on his mind. So I took the 
initiative. "Who was she?" I simply asked.

Clay gave me a small, wry smile. At first I thought he wouldn't answer 
but 
eventually he did. "Her name was Shirin. Last name's classified. She 
was one 
of our operatives in Iran because her father was Iranian. Actually, she 
and 
Mac are very much alike, at least physically. Her character was 
different 
though. She was an openly emotional person. This character trait often 
got 
her into dangerous situations. But she had an amazing instinct to do 
what 
was right whenever things got rough. That's why the Agency kept her. 
She 
could get close to people. And it was me, at the time, whom she'd come 
to 
report whatever she had found. That's how we met."

I glanced over at him. He seemed completely lost in his thoughts. "What 
happened?" I asked him.

Sighing, Clay drew himself up on his chair, massaging the back of his 
neck. 
"Sorry, I can't tell you. Let's just say that for once, her instincts 
couldn't save her and she was captured and severely wounded. I managed 
to 
get her out before they killed her but the next day she died in 
hospital."

"I'm sorry, Clay."

When he looked at me I was startled by the pained expression in his 
eyes. 
"Harm, it happened twelve years ago but it still hurts badly. I've only 
told 
this story to a very few people since then, because most people simply 
wouldn't understand how much the affair threw me off track. You do, 
though, 
don't you?"

I nodded, painful memories invading my own mind. "I think I do. Did you 
tell 
her?" I couldn't refrain from asking.

"Yeah, I did. Two days prior to the catastrophe. Worst mistake of my 
life."

"Why?" I asked, at a loss.

He gave me a lopsided grin. "Oh, it's quite simple. The time span from 
my 
confession up to when she disappeared were the most beautiful 
forty-eight 
hours of my entire life." Clay took another sip from his bottle, 
studying 
the postcards on my refrigerator door.

"Oh..."

"I wouldn't want to go through that ordeal again, ever." Clay's voice 
was 
low. After a few seconds he looked at me. "And that's why I understand 
you, 
Harm."

I returned his faint smile, at the same time asking myself how many 
times I 
had misjudged him, just because I didn't know anything about him. 
"Thanks, 
Clay," I simply answered. It felt good to have someone who didn't need 
long 
explanations.

"You're welcome." Clay raised his bottle to me. I returned the gesture.

"Don't take me as an example, though," he said after a minute.

I choked on my beer. "What do you mean?" I asked, once my fit of 
coughing 
was over.

Clay's expression was very open and sincere, he looked totally 
different 
from how I was used to seeing him at work. "I said that I dreaded the 
idea 
of going through that ordeal again. But I've never met another woman 
like 
Shirin. If I do... maybe I'll take the chance."

"Just to break completely if you lose her, too?" I felt I was getting 
angry, 
maybe because I felt that he was right.

"You're shutting life out, Harm. And you're hurting Mac. Just be honest 
for 
once, okay? If something happened to her now, would you suffer any less 
just 
because you kept your distance?"

Dad, that man deserves his reputation as a good observer. I didn't know 
how 
to answer his question and I suddenly understood something else. "You 
care 
for Mac, don't you?"

Looking openly at me, Clay again gave me that small, wry smile of his. 
"Guilty as charged," he answered, "But not the way you think. True, she 
reminds me of Shirin, but surely not as strongly as she must remind you 
of 
Diane. And," his melancholy smile widened a little, "Whenever I might 
feel 
inclined to think about... possibilities, I just have to look at the 
two of 
you and I know that I'd never stand a chance anyway."

"Clay..." I think I was blushing. Embarrassed, I took the empty bottles 
to 
put them away. I heard him chuckle behind my back.

"Oh, come on, Harm, still in denial?"

Sighing deeply, I leaned against my kitchen cupboards, my arms crossed 
in 
front of my chest, defeated. "No, I'm not. You're right, Clay. I don't 
even 
dare to think about what I might feel if something happened to Mac, 
even now 
while I'm still trying to stay out of it. I thought you understood 
that."

"I do," he answered. "But let me just say one thing: unlike me, you've 
been 
offered the same blessing twice. If you throw that chance away just 
because 
you're too afraid, be sure that I'll be there to chew your sorry six 
for the 
rest of your days. For Mac's sake," he added with a small, woebegone 
smile 
that held the slightest edge of guilt. He left shortly after as we'd 
see 
each other anyway at the airport the next day.

I can tell you, Dad: Clay was fully aware that he'd gotten quite a few 
wheels turning inside my head. Damn him. I'm sure that was what he 
wanted to 
achieve from the start of the whole conversation. But I couldn't get 
his 
words out of my mind: 'unlike me, you've been offered the same blessing 
twice...' Strangely enough, imagining that Clay might feel something 
more 
than friendship towards Mac didn't disturb me half as much as I thought 
it 
would. Although I was still mad at him for sending us into yet another 
crazy 
operation, I could be sure now that he cared for her and would never 
willingly make her do something that he felt was too dangerous for her. 
Maybe, it really is my over-protectiveness that always gets me this 
close to 
punching him whenever Mac's involved in one of his missions. He sees 
her 
abilities for what they are. I somehow can't do that. That's all part 
of the 
problem, isn't it?

Okay, let's move on with the story. I didn't get to see Mac until 
yesterday 
morning, when we all met with Bensen for our first navigator/driver 
training 
unit. As soon as I witnessed how they greeted each other with a peck on 
the 
cheek, laughing, I felt the strong urge to grab that guy and beat the 
hell 
out of him. One look at Clay who was watching me with a knowing 
expression... and I only took a deep breath and let it be. Mac deserves 
friends outside the office. But couldn't they just be female, short and 
ugly? Please?

Mac looks smashing. As worn out and used as her driver's suit is - it 
hugs 
and caresses every curve of her body, making me wonder once more if 
I'll 
ever get to see what's beneath the fabric. She got her hair cut very 
short 
(not quite down to stubble length, she can still comb it). It clings to 
her 
head like a dark brown satin cap, making her huge eyes seem larger 
still. I 
finally gave in to the inevitable and had my hair cut to something near 
zero. I avoid looking into any mirror ever since. How can people 
willingly 
wear their hair like this? Naturally bald people like the admiral can 
be 
good-looking, but, come on, me?? Gunny commented on how I looked like 
the 
classic Hollywood action hero but you know what, Dad? I don't care! 
This is 
Douglas Vandenberg, not me. Ugh.

Yesterday was spent with easy tasks for the navigators. Bensen wanted 
us to 
get used to doing our work in the constantly moving, bumping cars that 
went 
at high speed. So he only told Mac and Gunny to take us on a tour 
around the 
training course that they had spent the last three weeks on. Webb and I 
had 
to make out positions of certain landmarks and so on. I already knew a 
little about the course. Mac had sent me a few e-mails to D.C., telling 
me 
about the training. So I was prepared for a really rough ride but I 
surely 
wasn't prepared for her driving. Dad, she made my blood freeze in my 
veins! 
That woman's one hell of a driver. And I sure as hell felt like hell 
once we 
got back. Harmon Rabb, Jr. seasick? Never. Airsick? That's an insult. 
Carsick? Uh oh. I'll have to take a major quantity of Superpep Travel 
Sickness chewing gums with me to Africa if I really want to survive 
this 
trip.

Today's training was an outright catastrophe. We were told to set off 
west, 
far off any existing roads, and then meet again in four to five hours 
at a 
meeting point that Bensen had given us the coordinates of. We started 
twenty 
minutes after Webb and Gunny so that none of us could see the others. 
Mac 
and I hadn't exchanged a single word in private yet, and we knew that 
we 
were both equally uncomfortable in the close confines of the car. So we 
drove in silence, except for the navigation instructions I gave her.

"You looked a little green yesterday," Mac finally stated without 
looking at 
me.

I couldn't help smiling. "You embarrassed my stomach with your driving, 
Marine."

Still, she didn't look at me but I saw the corners of her mouth twitch. 
"Just put your head between your knees once you get out. I heard that 
helps."

"Ha ha..." Normally, I would have wanted to smack her for turning my 
own 
advice back on me but our silent chuckling had considerably lessened 
the 
tension and I was glad for it.

The truce didn't last long, though. We still didn't talk and the 
tension 
again rose all the more, the longer we were silent. I physically felt 
Mac's 
presence close to me and I caught myself looking at her way too often. 
Her 
new look produces a strong effect on me, Dad. She seems more... private 
somehow. I admire her strength and determination, how she handles the 
car, 
and at the same time, with her hair hidden under her helmet, her eyes 
seem 
twice as dark and twice as big, making her look even more vulnerable, a 
woman to just take in your arms and protect from the evil of the world. 
Imagine my state of mind. In addition to that, my stomach started out 
with 
its leaps once again and I tried to will the nausea back in check. And, 
last 
but not least, Webb's words were still spinning through my mind and I 
felt 
that I had to talk to the woman beside me.

In short, I was concentrating on everything but my navigator's duties. 
I had 
kept track of the coordinates - but I hadn't checked on the maps if the 
route that my GPS calculated was functional for our vehicle. Before 
long we 
were stuck in deep sand. I could have slapped myself backward and 
forward. 
Mac's stare was icy as she turned off the motor and got out of the car.

"Come on, squid, let's dig," she only snapped, throwing me a shovel 
from the 
trunk.

"I'm sorry, Mac." It sounded lame.

She straightened and looked at me, leaning on her shovel. "Damn, Harm, 
that 
was your job. I was wondering for quite some time about where we were 
going. 
We're not on a holiday safari here!"

Somehow her anger got to me. "You could have told me if you had doubts, 
Mac!"

From the look in her eyes I could see that now, she was really ticked. 
"I'm 
already doing all the work here! We're supposed to be a team, as in 
T-E-A-M, 
remember? This kind of driving is fatiguing, you know? How do you think 
I'll 
get us through the Sahara if all you do is sit by and take photos? I 
have to 
be able to rely on what you tell me! Okay, I know that in private, this 
team 
stuff never worked out for us, but until now I had the impression that 
at 
least at work it did!" She turned and fiercely dug her shovel in the 
sand 
behind the left front wheel.

"Mac, I'm really sorry, I..."

"Oh, come on, Harm, spare me your excuses, just this once. I've had too 
many 
of them already." Mac didn't even look at me. So, resigned and hurt, I 
quietly dug on until we could get the plates of corrugated iron under 
the 
wheels that serve for freeing the car from situations such as this.

We arrived at our meeting point two hours after Gunny and Webb. Mac 
didn't 
look at me any more than was absolutely necessary.

Your son thoroughly screwed up today, Dad. I feel dreadful. I think I'd 
better just go to bed and try to forget about all this. I can't 
concentrate 
on what I'm writing anyway.

Please, Dad, don't be angry with me, too.
I miss you.
Harm



Dec. 31st
Cairo Hilton

Dad,

It's 2338 on New Year's Eve and all I have to do is sit in my hotel 
room, 
all by myself, and write to you. Pathetic, isn't it?

I'm sorry that I didn't get back to you any earlier, except for our 
'personal' conversation on Christmas Eve - I mean, at least I hope you 
were 
there when I talked to you; after all, it wasn't the Wall, it was 
nothing 
but a starry night out in the desert. But I think I could feel you near 
me. 
You can't imagine how good that felt, Dad.

As I told you then, things haven't been all that great between Mac and 
me. 
After the incident that I referred to in my last letter, Mac and I 
snapped 
into professional mode. We even began to call each other by our 
undercover 
names - to 'get into the role' as we explained to the outside world but 
I 
think she knows as well as I do that it's a lot easier to get on well 
with 
each other if we leave Harmon and Sarah completely out of the scenario. 
Superficially, our team works quite well now. I'm chewing gum like a 
camel 
while she drives but at least I manage to keep my nausea in check. 
Calling 
her 'Deb' after a little while made me (kind of) forget that it's the 
love 
of my life that I was talking to and the tension lessened.

It's also fortunate that I can keep my eyes glued to my instruments and 
instructions. Not seeing her makes it easier. We don't talk much but 
it's 
not too awkward, either. After a few days I got the idea of how to 
navigate 
a rally course and we keep closing up on Gunny and Webb - oh, I'm 
sorry, 
'Felipe' and 'Carl' - although they're still always first in the 
training. 
But at least we stay in the competition. After all, it's them, not us, 
who 
are mainly chasing the criminals.

It's only at night that the whole situation keeps getting to me. Mac 
and I 
are together all day, so I can't stop seeing her at night. Don't ask, 
Dad - 
I'll only tell you that my fantasies are pure bliss, well... fantasies. 
You 
know how that works. During the last ten days, I haven't really slept 
much. 
And now we're in Africa and I'm suffering from terrible jetlag. Great. 
I 
think I'm really fit right now to do the world's most difficult rally. 
I 
still feel like I'd want to strangle Clay if I hadn't gotten to like 
him so 
much recently.

We were on the same plane from Dulles to Cairo as Harriet and Tiner 
with the 
ZBS team. Luckily, we managed to stay unobtrusive or the TV people 
would 
have at once wanted interviews about why we were only traveling now or 
where 
we prepared and so on. But we watched our coworkers a little. 
Especially 
Harriet, she's a real professional. She chats and laughs and makes 
friends 
everywhere. Whenever I look into my mailbox, there's a new report from 
her 
and Tiner, filling us in on the gossip behind the scenes. Until now, it 
was 
only TV talk but I hope that she can keep it up, now that she comes 
near the 
racing teams as well.

The transatlantic flight was pure torture for me. I was sitting next to 
Mac 
and I watched her the whole time she slept. She's just so beautiful, 
Dad. 
Her face is that of an angel, and she looks so fragile because the 
Marine 
façade's all gone once she sleeps. Seeing her like that only makes my 
fear 
grow because it seems just so much more likely that something might 
happen 
to her.

Still, during the long flight, something inside me moved. I can't 
really 
explain how it happened but the nearer we got to our destination, the 
more I 
felt the realization grow in my heart that Clay was right. If I didn't 
take 
the chance it would mean throwing away a gift from heaven. And maybe, 
if I 
open up and Sarah lets me be a part of her life, maybe I can protect 
her 
from any danger. I know, I'm already over-protective. I told you so 
myself, 
but perhaps I needn't be any more, once we're together, because I won't 
have 
to continuously come up with new excuses to cover her back. I'd just be 
there and maybe she wouldn't even notice that I'm protecting her.

Dad, I want her in my life. I really do. And I'll talk to her as soon 
as I 
get the chance. It's just that I still don't know how to cope with my 
fears, 
but for the New Year, I swore to myself that I'd conquer this. I will. 
Maybe 
God lets miracles happen.

New Year is approaching fast. Twelve minutes to go. I'll get back to 
you 
next year, okay? Give me an hour. Bye!


0028 - I'm back. Speaking of miracles: I just got one. I know I didn't 
deserve it. But it happened all the same. My heart is still beating 
fast. 
Give me a minute to chill out and I'll tell you all about it. Life is 
great.

After I interrupted your letter, I got myself a glass of water and went 
out 
on the balcony to toast the New Year by myself. I knew that Mac had 
gone to 
bed hours ago because we have to do the first stage tomorrow. So I was 
rather surprised to find her awake and out on her balcony as well. She 
smiled at me and suddenly I couldn't wait any longer. I signaled to her 
that 
I'd come over and was gone before she could object.

My heart was racing when I knocked at her door. She opened a moment 
later, 
in her bathrobe, a slightly confused look on her face. "Harm? Is 
everything 
okay?"

I smiled a little uneasily. "Yeah, sure. I just... no one should be 
alone on 
New Year's Eve, Mac."

"Okay..." she let her voice trail off, her tone carefully masking 
whatever 
feelings lay beneath the surface. She opened the door a little wider, 
letting me step past her. Together we went out on her balcony. Four 
minutes 
to midnight.

Mac looked at me with her huge dark eyes that I love so much. Being 
scrutinized by her makes me feel like I'm baring my soul without saying 
a 
word. I really wonder why she can't read me through them. It would make 
everything just so much easier.

We quietly let our gazes wander over the roofs and streets of Cairo. 
"There's something on your mind, squid," Mac observed after a rather 
long 
interval of silence, looking at me.

"Yeah," I whispered, gathering my courage and stepping closer. I saw 
her 
draw back at first, fear in her eyes, and it felt dreadful. But then 
she 
took a deep breath and stood her ground, looking up at me.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I..."

Just then, a siren was heard and fireworks started to paint the whole 
sky in 
all colors imaginable. I quickly changed my plan of action and, 
trembling, 
leaned in. Our lips touched without moving, just lingering on each 
other's 
for a long minute. I closed my eyes and only hoped that the world would 
stop 
spinning.

When we parted I encircled her with my free arm and rested my cheek 
against 
hers. "Help me let go, Sarah," I whispered, "Please, help me let go."

"Are you sure?" she only asked, drawing back slightly to watch my 
expression.

I only nodded, too tense to speak.

Mac leaned into my embrace again, resting her face in the crook of my 
neck. 
"I can't help you, Harm," she answered, "Because that's something that 
you 
must come to terms with on your own. But I can show you whenever you're 
on 
the right way. And if you want me to, I'll be there for you when things 
get 
difficult."

I was so overwhelmed that she hadn't turned me down, even though her 
answer 
still held many 'if's'. "Please do," I breathed into her hair.

She drew back slightly. "Are you going to tell me one day why all this 
scares you so much, Harm? Apart from the things I already know?" She 
had 
spoken quietly and I could feel her eyes on me.

"One day, yes, I promise, but please don't press me to do it now," I 
pleaded.

"Hold on a minute, will you?" she asked, quickly disappearing into the 
room 
and stepping out again shortly after, carrying something small. "I'll 
take 
your promise to tell me one day as new foundation of the bridge you 
burnt 
between the two of us," she explained quietly, placing the object in my 
hand.

I looked at it: it was a small wooden brick stone. "What's this for?" I 
asked, at a loss.

"It's one out of seven that you need to build that arch that fascinated 
little AJ so much. I bought three sets of bricks at the museum store, 
remember?"

Again, I nodded, intrigued.

Mac reached up and caressed my cheek with her fingertips. "Whenever I 
give 
you one of these it means that you made a big step in the right 
direction. 
Let's just see how far you come in the following two weeks. Back in 
D.C. 
we'll decide what we make of it, okay?"

I caught her hand with mine, resting it on my cheek. "Okay... Mac?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thank you."

She gave me one of her breathtaking smiles. "Anytime, Harm. Thank you 
for 
trying."

I leaned in once again and kissed her briefly. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Harm."

With that I left her, knowing that we both needed sleep - and knowing 
that 
we'd both sleep well.

I can't believe there's still hope, Dad! I'm all giddy.
I love you.
Harm



Jan 1st
Wadi Rayan, near Al Fayum, Egypt

Dad,

Your son is a racing driver! Officially! Okay, to be more correct, your 
son's the navigator of the sexiest female racing driver on earth but 
still... I can't believe we're actually in this, Mac and I. We're 
officially 
partaking in the 'Dakar' as they call it now. ('Paris' is often omitted 
since it's been a long time since they last started in the French 
capital, 
and - as you see - even starting the race in France isn't a 'must' 
anymore.)

So today was our first stage - boy, was I scared! Of nearly everything. 
Apart from the 'Mac-and-I-in-the-car' problem that I already explained 
to 
you, and apart from my fear for my stomach, I was scared I wouldn't 
find the 
route. I was scared we'd have a breakdown and I'd have to repair our 
high 
tech vehicle on the road. All drivers do that, but they know their cars 
inside out. I don't. I was scared of getting stuck in the sand. And so 
on... 
there's a lot to be scared of when something's totally new to you and 
you 
don't feel prepared. I was sweating even before it got really hot. And 
it 
did, Dad, it did...

Before the start, Mac and Gunny tossed a coin to decide who'd have to 
watch 
out for Dunfoss first and the task fell upon us. She took it stoically, 
knowing she'd have to go at full force on the very first day. I 
subconsciously made sure that I had enough chewing gum with me. Luckily 
I 
did, and it helped (a little). I was sick only twice today and I even 
managed to warn Mac beforehand so she could let me out in time. Maybe 
you 
feel you need to remind me that today's stage was only 145 km long.

[A.N.: The official rally site states all distances in kilometers so I 
take 
it up, being more familiar with it anyway than with miles. Just for the 
record: 1 mile = ~ 1.6 km]

That's true. And you might want to remind me, too, that the special 
track 
was all city traffic.

[A.N.: A stage consists of liaison and special track, the first being 
just 
the means of getting from A to B, the second always offering difficult 
tasks 
for the drivers and navigators.]

That's true as well. Dad, I know very well that I'm facing entire days 
in 
the car, stages of something in-between 700 and 900 km, with hundreds 
of 
kilometers of special track, but I think that, for the premiere and 
given my 
jetlag and lack of sleep and all the adrenaline, being sick only twice 
is 
worth something. I'm determined to conquer this!

We started at a decent hour of the day, at 0830 local, right under the 
pyramids. What a sight they are! They seem so smooth when you're far 
away, 
but once you come near you see all those huge blocks of stone that are 
taller than you are and all you can feel is awe and compassion for the 
tens 
of thousands of people who built them thousands of years ago. I'd have 
said 
that the pyramids alone were worth this adventure, had it not been for 
Mac 
meeting that German rally champion I told you about. She observed how 
we 
stood there, together with Gunny and Webb, admiring the pyramids, and 
approached us, together with her navigator.

"Prepare yourself to see even more breathtaking sights," she said with 
a 
smile. "Hi, I'm Jutta."

Mac answered with an easy grin. "I know, you're a legend, even to 
newcomers. 
I'm Deb. Nice to meet you." Then she motioned to me. "This is Doug, my 
navigator. And," indicating Webb and Gunny, "Carl and Felipe are our 
team 
mates. We're mostly in for the fun of it all, no real interest in the 
ranking."

I acknowledged with a grin, a wave and a nod. Fun. Sure.

"Then I suggest you keep your eyes open. The desert is one of the most 
beautiful places on earth," the German answered. "And should you need 
any 
advice, Deb, don't hesitate to ask me once we're in bivouac. We female 
drivers have to stick together. Good luck." She gave Mac a good-natured 
pat 
on the back, smiled at us and turned to get back to her car.

"To you, too," Mac answered, making her turn and smile once more.

"Might come in handy that she doesn't consider us a threat for the 
ranking," 
Gunny observed. "I feel like I could in fact use some good coaching." 
Mac 
silently frowned consent.

I don't really remember the last minutes before take-off - excuse my 
use of 
pilot talk here, Dad, but the situation somehow reminded my of my last 
tour 
on a carrier. We got in line - no mass start - secured our helmets, 
tested 
our comm-link with Bensen, strapped in, waited for the signal and 
roared 
off. The only thing missing was the catapult.

Mac was very tense at first. She seemed to have difficulties to adjust 
to 
the situation. Somehow it's reassuring to know that you're not the only 
one 
who's scared and trying to hide it. Eventually, though, she relaxed 
behind 
the wheel and let her race training take over. Our speed grew higher, 
the 
bumps heavier, the jumps wider and her smile broader. And my stomach 
feebler, but I already told you that.

One of Webb's people among the resources and supplies bunch managed to 
bug 
Will Dunfoss' car, thus providing us with a GPS reading of his current 
position. Clay and I have to be careful handling the device because the 
use 
of GPS is not allowed for all stages, only for some. But if he manages 
to 
hide biological weapons in his car we should at least get through with 
a GPS 
and a secure comm-link. You know the effect of reading in a moving car, 
don't you, Dad? Let me just say that studying the road book, observing 
the 
GPS readouts of Dunfoss' whereabouts and signing his route on the map 
didn't 
really help me to feel better.

Apart from what I told you, nothing important happened during our first 
ride. Mac and I both kept silent for most of the time. We had no spare 
brain 
cells left for light conversation. Hopefully that will improve once we 
get 
used to the racing routine. Mac gets to see a lot more than I do of 
where 
we're going. Navigating is a poor job. All you do is look at your lap. 
The 
few times that I felt I had the leisure to look up, I got a little 
impression of what's awaiting us out in the desert. Jutta is right - 
it's an 
awesome sight: high, seemingly smooth sand dunes in either sandy yellow 
or 
light orange alternating with sharp, fierce rock formations in all 
natural 
colors imaginable. I'll surely steal a few looks now and then.

Just as the burning sun had successfully turned our car into a Finnish 
sauna, we arrived at our bivouac for tonight. Many drivers consider 
this 
spot one of the most beautiful bivouacs to be had on a rally course. 
We're 
in Wadi Rayan. A wadi is a dry river and there are many of them out 
here in 
the Sahara. They say it's dangerous to follow them because in the 
unlikely 
event of any rain, wadis become torrents in no time. There are 
statistics 
that more people have drowned in the desert than have died of 
dehydration. 
Nevertheless I feel safe here, on this spot situated between two rock 
outcrops. After all, the rally organizers chose it, so one can presume 
it's 
safe, right? Not long ago I got to see the most breathtaking desert 
sunset I 
ever witnessed - and this is just the beginning. Dad, I have to confess 
that 
right now I'm feeling quite adventurous. Is that a bad or a good sign? 
I 
wouldn't know.

Just in case you're wondering - Mac and I are bivouac-ing together. I'd 
never have guessed but many drivers actually sleep in tents out here, 
so 
Bensen equipped us with everything he thought necessary. He's here with 
us 
as our team boss. When it came to setting up the camp I noticed that 
he'd 
have loved to take my place, but luckily Webb helped me prevent that by 
explaining that Mac and I always shared our hotel rooms and that we 
worked 
best as a team when we were together all the time. I was infinitely 
grateful 
for Webb's poker face - one look at Mac and we were done for. We 
simultaneously murmured something about having to seize the last 
sunrays to 
get our tent up and fled, trying to stifle our laughter. The result is 
that 
I find myself unexpectedly on a camping trip with Mac. Anyone think I'm 
complaining?

Mac just came over and asked me what I was doing.

"Diary," I only murmured, not daring to look up. I think I was 
blushing.

Immediately, Mac's laughter warmed my heart. "You keep a diary? You, of 
all 
people?"

"Well, yeah." I looked up and, with an uneasy grin, met her merry gaze. 
Her 
dark eyes were sparkling with barely contained laughter. I felt my 
breath 
catch in my throat.

"I guess it's... uhm... private?" she ventured, trying to stay sober.

"You bet!" I snapped at her, inwardly swearing over the fact that I 
showed 
such uneasiness at the idea that she might read my ramblings. She must 
wonder what secrets I've got to hide.

"Whoa, calm down," she answered, new laughter ringing in her voice. 
"Don't 
worry, flyboy, I won't intrude."

"Mac, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Hey," she said gently, sitting down cross-legged beside me and placing 
a 
hand on my arm. "Everyone has the right to a little privacy, especially 
in a 
place as this." Her eyes shone with understanding. "I was just 
surprised, 
but actually I think knowing that you keep a diary is kind of cute. 
Maybe I 
could read some of it someday?"

"Someday I'll read all of it to you," I answered, earnestly looking at 
her. 
She instantly understood that I had just made her another promise to 
open up 
when I was ready.

"I'm glad," she simply answered, leaning in and brushing her lips to my 
temple. "Good night, Harm."

"Good night," I answered as she got up and crouched into her sleeping 
bag. I 
think I managed a slight smile. I'm glad she's here with me.

Tomorrow things are going to get rough, Dad. We're looking at a total 
of 722 
km, 416 of which are special track. The start is scheduled for 0530. I 
don't 
want to think of it right now.
Wish you were here, too.

Harm



Jan. 2nd
Dakhla, Egypt

Dad,

Please, don't be angry with me for my bad handwriting, but I'm barely 
managing to sit up straight and holding the pen in your hand gets 
really 
difficult if you're as thoroughly exhausted as I am. I think this note 
to 
you will be rather short - nothing really significant happened anyway, 
apart 
from the fact that we began to see where people get the idea that rally 
driving is fun. Good news: I wasn't sick all day! (Although I felt 
close to 
it more than once.) Maybe there's hope.

As I said yesterday, we had to cover a total of 722 km today 416 of 
which 
were special track. Poor Mac is lying flat on her insulated mattress; 
she 
fell asleep the moment she stretched out. She was fabulous, Dad, 
really. My 
respect towards her driving skills is growing steadily.

We're in the middle of the desert now and today's stage gave us a quick 
survey of what driving in the desert can be like. First, we had to get 
down 
from Wadi Rayan. Man, try to do that if you don't have a reliable 
street to 
use! They call it track but - to be honest - I didn't see any 
difference 
once we officially started our first off-track section. Problem was, 
too, 
that we had to do the downhill when dawn had barely set in as departure 
for 
the cars was scheduled at 0530. Anyway, Mac managed the descent 
remarkably 
well and I could tell she was just as relieved as I was, once we'd 
arrived 
at the bottom. She gave me a small smile and I briefly squeezed her 
thigh.

Good thing was that we could limit all our concentration on the course 
as it 
was Webb and Gunny's job to keep an eye on Dunfoss today. Today's 
special 
track was very fast and twisting, really felt like "auto racing" - 
rather 
easy to see where we were supposed to be going, so I could indeed look 
up 
from time to time. The desert is gorgeous - it seems there's no end to 
it 
and all of a sudden, you begin to feel very small and very free. If 
your car 
runs smoothly you can't help really enjoying the ride.

Most of the times that I could detach my eyes from the road book, I 
looked 
at Mac, though. I could see she was sweating from the strain to keep 
going 
at high speed without leaving the track. But once she felt safe ground 
under 
our wheels... Dad, it was as if she'd grown wings. First she smirked. 
Then 
she smiled. Then she grinned widely. And finally she started laughing 
out 
loud as we seemed to fly over the even ground. In every curve she'd let 
out 
a whoop or a shriek and I couldn't help laughing with her.

It's hard to describe what went on deep inside us. You know, we could 
completely let go of every intellectual effort to get near each other. 
The 
feeling of the race made us connect on a level that felt incredibly 
intimate 
because our vegetative reactions were running in synchrony. We just 
understood each other. Everything that normally gets in the way 
suddenly 
seemed so far and unimportant. It was like some state of trance. Mac 
had a 
glow on her face that I've rarely seen so far. Dad, if I wasn't already 
head 
over heels in love with her, I'd have fallen in love with her again 
today. 
Helplessly and incurably.

At the second control point, Bensen contacted us via intercom. "Hey, 
you 
okay? Deb? Doug?"

Mac's voice rang with laughter. "Great! How are you?"

Bensen chuckled a little incredulous. "Deb? That you? Where's your grim 
determination?"

Mac just grinned at me, winking. My heart leapt. "Oh, I thought I might 
just 
leave it in the trunk for today, together with the spare wheels. Is 
there a 
problem?" Grinning, she waited for his answer.

His voice was wary, to say the least, and I couldn't help feeling real 
satisfaction when I thought I'd detected some amount of genuine 
jealousy in 
his words. "Did you and Doug have a drink or what?"

"We don't need that to feel good!" she replied merrily, again winking 
at me. 
My world started spinning slightly and I felt like some lovesick 
teenager in 
high school.

Bensen's frown was audible, his voice slightly annoyed. "Kellerman, 
Vandenberg, you're currently on position 53. Try to keep it up." He 
didn't 
say anything else. 'Gotcha!' I thought, smirking.

To make a long story short (Did I say I wouldn't write much today? I 
guess 
an emotional high can overcome any kind of exhaustion.) - we didn't 
hold 
that position as we had to cross a few dunes and ended up digging 
ourselves 
out on top of the last one. But still, we're on rank 87 now, out of 153 
cars, Gunny and Webb ranking a little further behind. Dunfoss and Marx 
are 
currently on rank 13 but Webb keeps telling us that the distance 
doesn't 
matter that much as long as we don't lose him. So, all in all, we're 
holding 
up great. Not bad for newcomers, right, Dad? And - frankly - I don't 
give a 
damn about our position as long as we fulfill our mission and have such 
fun 
doing it like we did today.

Mac stirred and looked over to me. When she saw that I was busy with my 
diary, she gave me the sweetest indulgent smile and went back to sleep. 
I 
wish you could see her.

Tomorrow we'll be doing a round course that's said to be as spectacular 
as 
the scenery. Well, I guess I won't see too much of it as I'll be on 
Dunfoss-duty again. But at least we can be rather sure that he won't 
pull 
off anything just yet as we're still in Egypt. It's more likely to 
happen 
somewhere on the road in Libya.

The only thing that we're a little afraid of - okay, not a little, a 
lot - 
is a steep descent from a sand-covered cliff that awaits us about 20 km 
from 
the finish. In the road book, they say that, once you're down, it's 
impossible to go up again, and if you chose the wrong track... well, 
let's 
just hope we make a lucky choice!

Good night, Dad. My pen just fell out of my hand. Guess that means I'd 
better curl up and sleep like my Marine does.

Love you.
Harm



Jan. 3rd
Dakhla, Egypt

Dear Dad,

Something wonderful happened today: Mac considered me worthy of the 
second 
little brick stone! Let me just tell you how it came to pass (apart 
from 
that, there's not really much to tell).

We rode 606 km today, 352 were special track of various kinds. And up 
to 
kilometer 580 (more or less), today's ride was paradise. No technical 
problems, always a secure reading of our wannabe-terrorists' 
whereabouts, no 
bad weather conditions, a few clouds that kept the sun in check... And 
personally, yesterday's stage really did shift some weight in the 
relationship between me and my breathtaking driver. For the first time 
we 
were completely at ease with each other from the start. I'd gotten so 
accustomed to the underlying strain that, when it wasn't there, I 
realized 
just how strong it was.

What little I saw of the scenery today will be saved as a long-term 
memory 
worth keeping. Our course twisted and turned in between the giant 
moving 
dunes of western Egypt, some more than 100 yards high, alternating with 
dark, impressive rocky stone massifs. The second part brought us across 
valleys of white marble stone. I won't even attempt to describe the 
view, 
let us just say that it was unlike anything I ever imagined in 
connection 
with the term 'desert'.

At about three quarters of the way, I noticed that Mac was growing 
quiet. A 
small frown had crept on her forehead (as far as I could see under her 
helmet). Encouraged by the new level of intimacy that we'd reached, I 
dared 
to address her about it.

"Hey, Mac, you worried about something?"

She let out an uneasy chuckle. "Not at all. Just that we're in 
considerable 
danger of dropping out of the race today if we don't get that descent 
right 
and can't finish the stage."

I subconsciously put my hand on her thigh again. "Hey, we'll do just 
fine. I 
promise."

Yet, she didn't seem too convinced. "It's easy for you to say that, 
squid, 
it's me who's at the wheel. If I screw it up..." she let her voice 
trail 
off.

"I can screw it up just as well as you if I give you the wrong 
directions," 
I tried to reassure her. My intentions backfired, though.

"Oh, great. I feel a lot better now," she murmured sarcastically. I 
didn't 
feel offended because I knew that she wasn't taking her anger out on 
me. She 
was just nervous.

I didn't reply and I think Mac was grateful for my silence. We limited 
our 
conversation to navigation instructions only. I tried to give her as 
many 
indications about the road as I could possibly dig up and I was glad to 
see 
that, after a while, she stopped thinking them through so much and just 
trusted my judgment.

The track was getting worse all the time. At a certain point, all we 
could 
do was pretend it existed - not really a reassuring fact when you know 
that 
a cliff's edge is nearing and you don't know when and where to expect 
it. I 
began to feel just as uncomfortable as her. You know they say that the 
navigator's always the last to see the edge...

I was giving Mac further instructions every minute by the time she 
suddenly 
cut in. "Harm, this doesn't feel right."

Confused, I looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I think we'd better turn east now, not later."

I was at a loss. "Mac, the cliff's farther north. I can see it on the 
map. 
Why doesn't this feel right to you?"

Frowning, she replied in a rather thoughtful voice. "I don't know... it 
just 
doesn't. Can you double-check your route with that of Dunfoss, please? 
He 
knows where to start that descent."

"I'm sorry, Mac. Today he started half an hour later than we did. He 
hasn't 
reached the cliff yet so I don't know which way he'd choose."

"Damn..." she swore very low, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Once again, I tried to calm her. "What I calculated looks really good, 
Mac. 
You'll see, we'll be back in bivouac in no time."

"Call it a premonition, Harm, but I've got some gut feeling that we 
need to 
go eastward now, not in a few miles."

In other words, she'd had some vision. I knew better than to question 
her 
intuition but I was pretty much convinced that my calculations were 
accurate. "Mac," I tried to reason with her, "Just relax and trust me."

"Heck, Harm, it's not that I don't trust you! It's... man, I can't even 
explain it to myself!"

She was getting agitated but I didn't give up yet. "Back in the States, 
you 
gave me a long speech about the concept of teamwork and about how it 
was my 
job to instruct you," I argued, trying to sound as calm as possible. 
"That's 
all I'm doing here, trying to make it easier for you."

She shot me a quick look and I was startled at seeing the panic in her 
eyes. 
"Harm, please..."

"Mac, my reading says..."

"Harm!" she shouted, apprehension ringing in her voice. "We don't have 
the 
time for discussions now. Please, trust me this once, okay? Just this 
once!"

It was the urgency in her voice that made me comply. Although her 
intuition 
contradicted completely to what I could see on the map, I decided to 
let her 
take the lead. "I'm trusting you, Mac," I said simply. "With my life. 
Go 
east."

And suddenly, she didn't even have the time to react. A small gap in 
the 
plateau that we were crossing came into view on our right side. As if 
on 
autopilot, Mac didn't hesitate a second and steered the car right into 
it, 
following down the rather steep and narrow road that opened before us.

I had no idea where we were going, Dad, and rationally, I knew that we 
might 
just have bought our ticket out of the race. But something deep inside 
made 
me relax in the odd conviction that Mac was doing the right thing. And 
I 
think that my calm demeanor was palpable for her, too, as she seemed to 
relax the farther we rode on. Half an hour later, we reached the 
bivouac and 
quickly passed our knowledge on to Webb and Gunny.

Afterwards we learned that, until a few weeks ago, the course that I'd 
calculated would have been the safer one, but it had recently been 
buried by 
a minor landslide and was right now inaccessible. At least ten cars had 
dropped out of the race today. Mac's intuition had saved us.

I joined her as she was quietly watching yet another breathtaking 
desert 
sunset. At first, she didn't seem to notice my presence.

"That was outstanding, jarhead," I said softly, putting my hand on her 
shoulder.

She turned at me and smiled. "Thank you. And before you start asking: 
no, I 
have no idea what was going on in my brain."

Chuckling, I briefly squeezed her shoulder and then put my hand down. 
"You 
know what, Mac? I don't think I want to know. The important thing is 
that 
we're still in the race. That was your doing, yours alone. I'm very 
proud of 
you, you know..."

She gave me another beautiful smile before her expression turned sober, 
her 
eyes never leaving mine. "I wanted to thank you, too," she said in a 
low 
voice.

"For what?" I asked, confused.

"For trusting me."

I was embarrassed. "Mac, you know I trust you..."

"Today was different," she cut in quietly. "You trusted me not as the 
voice 
of reason or as the skilled lawyer or the combat-experienced Marine. 
You 
trusted me against your instruments and against your better judgment. 
And 
you did it in full. I noticed your calmness. That was very unlike you. 
Thank 
you for this proof of your confidence, Harm. It means very much to me."

While I was still searching for any words, she took my hand and put 
something into it. I looked and my heart skipped a beat: it was the 
little 
brick stone. I think my smile must have gone from ear to ear.

Smiling very warmly in return, Mac reached up and closed the distance. 
Our 
lips met in a very soft kiss that seemed to reflect the very trust we 
had 
been talking about, lingering for a few endless moments.

I'm going to take that kiss with me to dreamland now, Dad. You can't 
possibly imagine how important a little piece of wood can become if 
it's 
accompanied by the feeling of Mac's lips on your own.

Your overwhelmed son
Harm



To be continued...




'Teamwork' - Part Two
Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One



[Excerpts from Harm's diary]



Jan. 4th
Khofra
Libya

Dear Dad,

Over the moon, down in the dumps. That about sums it up for me. Today 
was... 
wait, before I dig up all the swearwords that ever crossed my mind, 
let's 
just say that I paid for yesterday's bliss. Dearly. But unlike all the 
other 
days, it wasn't my fault, not entirely, at least.

We weren't the only team who didn't get it right today. In fact, the 
whole 
classification seems to be upside down after today's stage. Even among 
the 
top teams, only Jutta and her navigator found the right road. They are 
leading the whole ranking now, with more than half an hour ahead of the 
Japanese Masuoka. Mac and I, Gunny and Clay and - luckily - even 
Dunfoss and 
Marx, like about fifty percent of all competitors, had either 
navigation 
problems or technical defects. Or both. And in addition to that, we had 
our 
first encounter with our 'mission'. Actually, that was how, in our 
case, the 
whole mess started out. I'll get into the particulars later.

In short, Mac and I are ranked 131st now but that wouldn't matter to me 
if 
Mac and I hadn't had a fight today that exceeded everything that ever 
came 
up between us, as far as I remember. This time, though, it was her 
fault. We 
haven't made up yet, and I won't if she doesn't come to me first. You 
know I 
can take a lot, Dad, but this time, she hurt me in a way that I didn't 
even 
think her capable of. I'm still completely shaken.

I know it was probably the continuous strain that made her freak out 
like 
that. And I sensed from the start that she was obviously feeling a 
little 
awkward and unsure after coming to a mutual understanding the night 
before. 
The problem was that I couldn't really do anything to set her mind at 
ease 
during today's stage - my eyes were glued to the map more than ever or 
we 
probably wouldn't even have arrived at all. Today's was maybe the most 
difficult of all stages for the navigators. Imagine, even the 
reconnaissance 
team needed a full three days to find all the passes when they tried 
out the 
route!

It was the second longest stage, 859 km with 789 km of special track. 
We had 
to cross all kinds of terrain, fast track, off-road, canyons, dunes, 
ergs 
(you know, the immense sand seas)... Bensen told us to follow the 
road-book 
to the letter to find our way between the dunes that are up to 100 
yards 
high and consist of very soft sand, or in the vast fields of small 
dunes in 
between which we had to search for the remainders of the road. The 
hardest 
task was to discover one particularly well-hidden pass between two 
stone 
massifs that you can't cross at any other point as they are 50-yard 
high 
cliffs.

We started at 0430 in the morning. When Bensen came to wake us up, Mac 
and I 
didn't really have the time to exchange good-morning smiles, let alone 
talk 
about how we felt about last night. All had to be prepared in a big 
hurry. I 
managed to throw her a quick "Good luck, Deb!" when we were already 
strapped 
in our seats. She could barely smile back, then we got our departure 
signal.

I felt the tension, Dad. Mac was unsure about how I was feeling. I 
guess she 
feared that I might be having second thoughts and be about to back out 
once 
more. I longed to relieve her but I didn't get the chance. It was still 
dark 
so I needed every bit of my concentration to figure out the road. We 
still 
took a few wrong turns and even had to get out and dig twice. We knew 
we had 
to do it quickly if we didn't want to lose too much time on Gunny and 
Webb 
who were glued to Dunfoss today. And Dunfoss apparently tried to 
recover as 
much of the time that he had already lost to the leading teams as 
possible, 
in order to stay in the competition. So Mac and I were digging 
fiercely, as 
fast as we could. You can't really talk about your inmost feelings in a 
situation like that.

Once the sun was up I thought we had covered the most difficult part 
but I 
was wrong. About halfway into the stage, we crossed the border into 
Libya. 
Clay had told us that now, action would be imminent on Dunfoss' part 
and 
that we should be prepared for the hunt. I had prayed that he would 
pull 
something off on a day when Mac and I weren't on watchdog duty, and God 
seems to have heard my wish. It just didn't help me very much because 
today 
was the worst possible day for it to happen. Yet it did.

We found out later that it was all a false alarm. Marx isn't immune to 
navigation errors any more than we are but we couldn't possibly know 
that 
the moment it occurred.

I had just relaxed a little and was thinking about how to say something 
encouraging to my Marine when our private comm-link cracked and Clay's 
frantic voice made it's way over to us.

"Doug, do you copy?"

"I read you. What's up? Over."

"Objective goes for it. Over."

I swore under my breath. "You sure? Over."

"Positive. Keep following. Over."

"Roger. Over and out." I instantly pulled out our additional map to 
start 
tracking and marking Dunfoss' whereabouts. "Mac," I addressed her 
without 
looking at her, "Prepare to leave the track."

"Sh..." I heard her swear to herself, instantly becoming Lt. Col. 
Mackenzie 
and focusing on the mission. "Direction?"

I was frantically searching for any indication that there was some kind 
of 
road that Dunfoss was following but from the data at hand, I couldn't 
be 
sure. So I just took the plunge. "276 degrees in about 800 yards."

"Okay." She inhaled audibly and quickly pushed the air out of her lungs 
as 
if to brace herself.

I kept my eyes glued to our, Webb's and Dunfoss' GPS readouts and at 
the 
point that I judged best, shouted: "Now!"

Mac yanked the wheel around and we bumped and jumped off-road, always 
trying 
to stay on what little was left of what must once have been an old 
caravan 
trail. I fired driving instructions at her in a 30-seconds rhythm, she 
reacted as fast as she could, but still our speed reduced with every 
mile 
that we covered. Webb continued asking us every two minutes if we were 
still 
behind them. I kept confirming that we were, yet we could detect no 
sign of 
them. All in all, we both felt we were getting increasingly worried, 
angry 
and frustrated, all on top of the tension that had existed from the 
start.

After about half an hour, the comm-link once again cracked.

"Doug, do you read me?" Webb's voice seemed calmer and... awkward? I 
immediately tried to listen more closely.

"Loud and clear, Carl," I answered warily. "What's the matter? Over."

"Objective was mislead and is now trying to return to previous 
position. No 
action. Over."

I emitted a groan and slammed my hand on the dashboard. "So what now?" 
I 
blurted out, longing to get rid of my energy by punching our favorite 
spook.

"Go back to the track. Objective follows a route of about 045 degrees. 
Try 
to avoid that one. Go as quickly as possible because of tomorrow's 
starting 
position. Over." Clay's voice was all business by now.

"Understood, over and out!" I snapped and violently switched off the 
comm-link. "Mac, turn around. False alarm!" I then shouted in 
frustration.

This time, Mac didn't swear under her breath but spat out a few very 
unladylike expressions before stepping hard on the brakes and trying to 
turn 
our vehicle in the opposite direction. "Route?" she only called.

I didn't answer immediately as I was still searching for a course. I 
knew we 
couldn't go back where we came from as we'd lose too much time trying 
to 
climb a few descents we had made earlier. We needed a new route but I 
didn't 
see any.

"Harm! Route?" Mac shouted again, the urge evident in her voice.

"Damn, give me a minute, will you?" I shouted back, measuring, reading, 
calculating.

"We don't have the time!"

"God, I know that!"

"We can't risk losing too much time on Dunfoss!" Mac's rage was getting 
the 
better of her. I knew that if I didn't come up with something quickly, 
I'd 
meet her wrath. And suddenly, I felt I was getting mad at her because 
she 
was taking her frustration out on me. I knew I was reacting in the 
worst 
possible way but I couldn't bite my tongue quickly enough.

"Just shut up and let me do my job!" I burst out and tried again to 
calculate our next move.

I heard her suck in her breath but she remained quiet. Deadly quiet. 
Then 
suddenly I felt the car shake violently as, out of the blue and in a 
completely unreasonable maneuver, Mac turned left.

My head jerked up, trying to get a clear picture of what she was doing. 
She 
had apparently discovered another ancient caravan trail and had taken 
the 
initiative.

"Mac, are you crazy?" I cried at her, enraged. "You don't have a clue 
where 
the hell this leads!"

"You left me no choice!" she answered fiercely.

"I was just putting something together!" I replied. "You told me that 
was my 
job, remember? My freaking job!"

"Obviously you're incapable of doing it!"

Again, I used the dashboard as my punching ball. "And you obviously 
want to 
get us out for good!"

"Yesterday you told me you trusted me!" Her raging was actually 
underlined 
by a bitter chuckle. "I should have known from the start that it was a 
damned lie!"

Her words stung in my heart like very few things ever did before. I was 
too 
stunned to reply immediately. The next seconds passed like in slow 
motion. I 
was in a daze, helplessly lost to my sudden inward pain. Just what kind 
of 
impression had she gotten of me that she could suspect me of willfully 
deceiving her on such a crucial point of our relationship? Had she, on 
her 
part, ever really trusted me then? Dad, I haven't the slightest idea.

I was so completely out of it that I didn't see it coming. Suddenly, 
Mac 
cried out, the car's nose dropped and with a violent slam we hit the 
ground 
a few yards below our former route's level. A very loud and nasty 
crushing 
sound was heard and suddenly the car stopped, its engine still running 
on 
full power.

With all the force her lungs could muster, Mac shouted the F-word, 
opened 
her door and jumped out. I immediately followed. One look, and I knew 
what 
had happened: our front axle was broken. And I would be the one to 
repair it 
if we wanted so much as a chance to continue on our mission.

Allowing my own rage to well up in full and judging that, this time, I 
was 
entitled to, I forcefully took off my helmet and threw it down, glaring 
at 
my team partner. Team? Yeah. Great team, indeed.

"Congratulations, Mac!" I spat at her. "That was nice work!"

She, too, yanked her helmet off her sweaty hair. "If you hadn't 
distracted 
me that much with your objections this wouldn't have happened!" she 
shouted 
back, probably knowing she was being unreasonable but banishing reason 
from 
her mind entirely right now. And that was only the beginning. Before I 
could 
say another word, she took a few quick strides in my direction and 
locked 
her outraged gaze with mine.

"You should have done your job. You didn't. I took the initiative. And 
all 
you could do was try and dissuade me from saving our mission! Yeah, 
right, 
you really trust me, Harm, I can see that. Just why am I always so 
stupid to 
let you lure me into believing you again? Tell me, Harm, why?"

I only stood there, listening to her tirades, dumbfounded. I was sure 
that 
later on she would see that her words didn't make any sense at all and 
that 
she probably didn't mean them the way they came out. But she had to be 
convinced that there was a grain of truth in her opinion, or where the 
devil 
would all that crap come from that she kept throwing at me? And the 
knowledge that this deeper issue seemed to exist, cut right through my 
heart. This had to be the result of being pushed away once too often, I 
realized with horror.

Meanwhile, Mac was raging on. The plug had been pulled. She wouldn't 
stop 
now until all her doubts, her insecurities, all her hurt would have 
surfaced. I just listened, knowing that replying would have been of no 
use 
anyway.

"It's always been that way, hasn't it?" she rhetorically, cynically 
asked 
me, pacing up and down in front of me like in a cross examination. 
"First 
you convince me that you trust me and then, when it comes to the test, 
you 
don't. Just like our relationship in general, don't you think? First 
you get 
me to believe that I'm somehow special to you and then, wham! You just 
drop 
me like a hot potato!"

At this point, I couldn't help trying to cut her off. "Don't you think 
you're mixing things up here, Mac?" I shouted back but she only let out 
an 
exasperated laugh and shook her head as if in disbelief that I could be 
so 
dense. I shut up, resigned.

"No, I don't," she retorted fiercely. "It's all related and part of the 
same 
problem! Think back, Harm: we were getting pretty close after our first 
adventure with 'Sarah' up in the mountains. You took me back to the 
hospital, you gave me the feeling that you really cared and then you 
got 
hooked up with Neurotic Annie instead. Not a single thought wasted on 
what I 
might be feeling! Then you came to me for help with your murder trial. 
I got 
you out of the mess and only shortly after you let me arrive at a wrong 
conclusion about who killed Diane when I was only trying to help! You 
deliberately lied to me that night to get me out of your car and I had 
to 
figure out for myself who was the real culprit you were after! But did 
I 
learn from that? No.

"When you set off to find your father you didn't include me, you didn't 
even 
tell me what you were planning to do, after all that I'd helped you 
with on 
the USS Hornet. Still, I came after you to save you from yourself! 
After 
Russia I thought we were finally on the right road. But first your 
blond 
shrink turned up and then flying came before everything else. I tried 
to 
tell you what I was feeling when we said goodbye, but you cut me off 
with 
your damned 'I know'! I guess you were actually feeling guilty, weren't 
you? 
Because you knew how difficult it was for me to open up to anyone and 
yet 
you threw it away!

"Then you returned but again pushed me away in Australia. Only to run 
to 
your video princess when you saw that I was considering marrying Mic. 
At my 
engagement party, you all but confessed to me that you loved me and 
still 
didn't act on it! When Mic left, you first told me to come to you and 
when I 
got up my courage and did it you said that right then, we couldn't 
talk! You 
came out all the way to the Guadal. Why? Obviously you were once again 
aiming at my trust. But you didn't even answer my question what you'd 
be 
willing to give up!

"And then, the last time we got close, when we'd been at the exhibition 
with 
little AJ and you again backed away, I just knew it would never work. I 
could handle it quietly then because I thought I'd finally accepted 
that 
your declining was definite. And yet I let you sneak into my trust 
again on 
New Year's Eve and yesterday! The situation we were in last night 
should 
have gotten me suspicious to keep up my guard. I should have known that 
you 
would never trust me against your better judgment. But deep down I 
refused 
to believe that it was all just playacting on your part. Just how do 
you do 
that, Harm? I guess I was right about the bilge switch that I once 
compared 
you with, but obviously, I underestimated its abilities. 'Cause you're 
not 
only able to turn your friendship on and off as you like, but 
apparently 
also your conscience, so it won't get in the way!!!"

With that last violent outburst, Mac fell silent and just kept glaring 
at 
me, panting. In the meantime my heart had turned to stone. Or ice. I 
don't 
know. I can't even explain how I was still able to reply reasonably 
when, 
inside me, every heartbeat hurt and my soul was screaming for justice.

I slowly took a deep breath and tried to steady my voice. "I've known 
all 
day that something was troubling you," I said as quietly and distantly 
as I 
could. "You probably had doubts about what consequences last night's 
conversation would have. I wanted to talk to you about it but you'll 
agree 
that today's events didn't offer me the opportunity. I'm convinced that 
your 
irrational rage was built up easily on that basis by all that happened 
and 
I'm grieved to hear about your true opinion of my character."

She took a breath and prepared to say something but I lifted up my 
hand. 
"Let me just finish, okay?" I said quietly. Oddly enough, she complied. 
I 
went on just as slowly as before, seemingly calm and composed. Making 
it 
sound like unemotional reasoning was my only hope of keeping my 
countenance.

"I'll admit that I didn't always act correctly when it came to us but 
I'd 
like to say one thing: you may not believe me now, and apparently you 
never 
really did, but your trust is dearer to me than my life, and I, on my 
part, 
have always trusted you blindly. You know as well as I do that for 
every 
situation you named, there's an explanation for my behavior. And it 
certainly isn't my wanting to violate your trust. That is all I have to 
say. 
Let's repair the car." Without looking at her any more, I turned and 
retrieved the tools and the spare axle from the trunk and started 
working.

It took me three hours to replace the part. But eventually we made it 
back 
on track and arrived at tonight's bivouac with a delay of three hours. 
We 
were lucky that many others had similar problems, so we weren't 
excluded 
from the race. But Gunny and Webb know that they must step in for us 
tomorrow when it comes to observing our suspect. We're too far behind 
right 
now to be able to get near him, should he try anything.

Dad, this time Mac owes me an apology. Her words hurt badly and I'm 
saddened 
to see that my unlucky choices of behavior, in combination with her 
deeply 
vulnerable disposition, could lead to a history of misunderstandings 
and 
misjudgments as this. I guess I deeply underestimated just how much her 
parents emotionally destroyed her. For Mac, unconditional trust doesn't 
even 
exist.

I'll try to shut off Harm completely now. Doug may be able to continue 
the 
race. Harm isn't.

I wish you could just take me in your arms and tell me that 
everything's 
gonna be okay, like when I was three years old and Jerry Jones from 
next 
door made me cry.

Harm



Jan. 6th
Waw al Kebir
Libya

Dad,

I'm sorry but yesterday I didn't have the nerve to write. There 
wouldn't 
have been much to tell anyway. Yesterday's stage from Khofra to Waha 
went 
well, at least technically. The stage was 647 km long, with special 
track 
sections of 610 km. The first 120 km were a little tough as we had to 
cross 
quite a few dunes and I had to find the passes by using the GPS. But 
then we 
could just roll, roll, roll. Mac went so fast that we closed in on 
Gunny and 
Webb and could actually take over our watch after about two thirds of 
the 
distance.

So far, so good. On the other hand I have to relate that, yesterday, I 
witnessed the desert freeze. Mac and I were icily professional. No 
word, no 
smile, no glances. Focus on the mission. That was what we did. I did 
get the 
impression, though, that somehow her conscience was stirring more than 
she 
would ever admit. She didn't apologize the whole day, and I was 
determined 
not to let her off the hook, but today I found out that I had been 
right in 
my suspicion.

Before I go into detail: yes, we did make up. I'm not quite sure where 
exactly we stand right now, but at least the trust issue seems to be 
out of 
the way. I think she finally understood how much she means to me. But 
isn't 
it scary that, even after we laid the cards on the table during our 
fight, 
it took her two days and more than 1000 km to see it? And more, still, 
because it was a life-threatening situation that finally brought it 
about.

Mac and I unintentionally came to be the center of all attention today. 
By 
'true heroism', as the media immediately put it. By helping somebody, 
as we 
see it for ourselves. Whatever. Here are the facts:

We started at 0545 from the gas station at Waha, knowing that of 
today's 661 
km, all but 4 would be special track. It was a generally fast stage, 
only 
very few dune crossings. Instead, we got smashing views of the "Black 
Mountains", dark stone contrasting sharply with the bright colors of 
the 
dune sand. It was gorgeous, and I actually got to see some of it 
because my 
navigation duties, while never allowing me a dull moment, were still 
far 
easier to handle than on our nightmare stage of two days ago.

The organizers obviously wanted to spoil us with today's route for they 
put 
one of our control points right into the crater of an ancient volcano. 
Up 
there we would be able to get out and admire the sight over the desert 
from 
the oasis that's situated there. It would have been paradise if Mac and 
I 
hadn't encountered hell on the way up.

We still didn't exchange any words except the most necessary ones but 
it's 
amazing just how much you can adapt to a situation if you're required 
to. We 
gave nothing less than our 100 percent. We had caught up with quite a 
lot of 
competing teams when we reached the ascent to the volcano.

The road was getting very difficult to handle, steep and narrow, pieces 
of 
rock breaking away and falling down everywhere we went. I saw the 
strain on 
Mac's face and would have let her see my compassion for what she had to 
go 
through and my admiration for how she was handling it, but still she 
hadn't 
apologized. And I'm still a man of principle. So I kept quiet and tried 
helping her best as I could by supplying her with detailed navigation 
instructions. Suddenly, I heard her suck in her breath and her 
determination 
not to talk to me seemed forgotten.

"Harm! Look!" Not daring to take her hands off the wheel, she motioned 
for 
me to look ahead by decidedly lifting her chin. The shocked tone in her 
voice immediately made me follow her glance. And I froze in horror.

Approximately 300 yards ahead of us, a motorbike lay crushed on the 
path. As 
the road made a concave curve around the mountain just there, we could 
see 
that its rider was hanging from a small rock shelf about 20 yards 
below. The 
mountain face was rising vertically. If the man lost his grip, he'd 
fall at 
least 150 yards.

"Oh God..." I tonelessly croaked out, terrified. Clearing my throat, I 
then 
pushed away my emotions and tried to think. The accident must have 
occurred 
just a moment before as I didn't yet see the rescue helo or any other 
teams 
around. I knew that the control point was located at the far side of 
the 
mountain. It was likely that we didn't have the time to wait for the 
helicopter to arrive. I made a decision.

"Pull over!"

Mac instantly did. I quickly informed the control point and was already 
out 
of the car. I ran to the edge and saw the man hanging below me, looking 
up 
at me with the eyes of someone who knew that he was literally one step 
from 
the grave.

"Au secours!" he shouted, "'Elp!" I recognized the French competitor 
Henri 
Monnet.

"Hang on!" I shouted back. "We'll get you out of this!"

Running back to our car, I started to pull the slim but strong cable 
off the 
winch that's attached at the front of our car in case we need to drag 
ourselves out of some thicket or something like that. Then I again 
rushed 
over to the edge and carefully let the cable slide down to Monnet while 
Mac 
continued to unroll it until it was off the winch in full.

I saw Monnet's eyes grow wide with new horror when we realized that the 
cable wasn't long enough. Approximately three yards were lacking but we 
couldn't risk getting the car nearer to the edge. We reversed the winch 
and 
pulled the cable up again.

"Mac," I yelled, "Go get the spare safety belt from the trunk!"

She did so and threw it to me. I attached it to the snap link, knowing 
that 
it would be strong enough to hold Monnet's weight. Then we again 
unrolled 
the cable... nothing. I saw Mac look at me and shook my head. We knew 
we had 
but one option.

Again we pulled up the cable. Looking at the safety belt in my hands I 
quickly pondered the odds. Just strapping in and getting down wouldn't 
cover 
the distance. I had to do it the hard way. Resigning, I sat down on the 
edge 
and attached the belt around both my ankles. Then I carefully let 
myself 
slide over the edge until I hung upside down.

Mac waited for my call, then started the winch again and slowly hauled 
me 
down until the cable was unrolled. "Can you reach him?" she called, the 
tone 
of her voice telling me that she was dreading the answer.

"Negative!" I shouted back, trying to ignore the abyss I kept staring 
at.

"Hang on!" she replied. When I felt the cable starting to swing 
violently, I 
looked up and saw her slowly slide down to me. The movements of the 
cable 
nearly made me lose my senses. I briefly squeezed my eyes shut and 
tried to 
will down the sudden urge to throw up.

"Mon Dieu!" I heard Monnet scream in panic. Daring to open my eyes 
again, I 
saw that a piece of rock that his left hand had been holding on to, had 
just 
broken off and was tumbling down.

"We'll be right with you!" I shouted, realizing how shallow my words 
sounded.

Shortly after, Mac had joined me and, giving me a quick encouraging 
glance, 
climbed down past my body until I could firmly encircle her thighs with 
my 
arms. Despite the neoprene upholstering, the safety belt began to cut 
cruelly and I began to lose the feel of my feet. Gritting my teeth, I 
held 
on to Mac.

Luckily, she was now hanging upside down face to face with Monnet, 
securing 
one of his wrists with her hand while he reached for her waist. Then 
she 
pulled him up and both wrapped their arms around each other's chest. I 
doubt 
that Monnet was aware that he was actually burying his nose between 
Mac's 
breasts. And I also doubt that she cared right then. All I could think 
of 
were my ankles that hurt like hell with triple human weight tearing at 
the 
belt stronger than ever.

"What now?" came Mac's somewhat muffled voice from below me.

"We wait," I answered simply, desperately fighting the pain that 
threatened 
to overwhelm me. But both Mac and Monnet's lives depended on my staying 
conscious a little longer.

Dad, when I was down in the cold water after my plane crash, the sound 
of 
the chopper that finally located me was like heavenly music to my ears. 
I'd 
always doubted that I'd ever feel that way again. Today I did, believe 
me.

"Hang in there, just a little longer!" Was that really Tiner's voice? I 
felt 
I was getting dizzier all the time but once again forced myself to 
tighten 
my grip at Mac's legs and looked up. My flash of anger at seeing the 
cameraman right beside our rescuers came and passed in an instant. I 
had 
more urgent issues to concentrate on.

Tiner had taken his cover as 'everyone's good boy' very seriously and 
had 
managed to convince the organizers that he'd already worked with 
helicopters 
(although he claimed they were medical ones, not Navy choppers, of 
course). 
So now we could rely on his military training and were amazed to see 
how our 
'lord of the files' got into the rescue device, directed the helo over 
to us 
and pulled both Mac and Monnet in. As soon as they had been pulled up, 
he 
came back for me, sustained my weight so I could finally loosen the 
belt and 
let myself drop down in the basket. At once, the blood painfully 
returned to 
my feet, making me wince, but when I reached the chopper my feet were 
already feeling close to normal again.

Only then did it dawn on me what exactly we'd just done. I looked at 
Mac and 
saw her frighteningly pale but composed features. I gave her an 
exhausted 
smile and immediately her expression relaxed as she returned it, her 
relief 
evident.

Monnet shook himself from his shock and, still visibly shaking, looked 
over 
to where Mac and I were seated. "Thank you," he said, simply but 
sincerely.

"You're welcome," Mac replied quietly, reaching over to shake his hand. 
Monnet continued to look at us uneasily, obviously wanting to add 
something. 
Mac gave him an encouraging nod.

"You are a great team," Monnet said, a hint of admiration tingeing his 
voice. "What's your secret?"

I was clueless how to reply but Mac's answer caught me completely 
off-guard. 
Casting me the slightest of apologetic smiles, one that was barely 
perceptible to anyone else but, to me, shone with pure sincerity and 
the 
honest plea for my forgiveness, she took my hand and squeezed it.

"It's all a matter of trust," she answered Monnet's question. Tiner 
quickly 
tried to hide his surprise.


Theoretically, we'd have been excluded from the race after accepting 
the 
help of the rescue helo. But no one kicks out the heroes of the day. 
So, 
while we were waiting at the control point, Tiner and Bensen went to 
retrieve our car so we'd be able to continue the stage.

We had hoped for a few moments of relaxation to get the adrenaline out 
of 
our systems but, of course, as soon as we got off the helo, half a 
dozen TV 
teams encircled us and wanted the whole story. Mac and I exchanged yet 
another quick squeeze of hands and prepared to face the world.

A zealous young redhead with extremely short pants and hiking boots 
managed 
to address us first. "Miss Kellerman, Mr. Vandenberg! What you did was 
extraordinary! How do you feel?"

A microphone nearly poked me in the eye. I drew back a little, trying 
not to 
let my annoyance show.

"Tired," I said.

"Yeah," Mac agreed.

The redhead obviously wasn't too content with our eloquence but already 
a 
meager young man with thick sunglasses pushed her away and positioned 
his 
mike in front of Mac. 'If, in Mac's eyes, I'm a stickboy, what's he 
then?' I 
thought distractedly.

"Deb," he shouted, not caring that he didn't know Mac at all, "What 
does it 
feel like to be a hero?"

Mac expertly hid her frown. "I'm glad we could help," she replied with 
a 
weary smile.

"Doug," a blonde woman of the Renée-ish type then addressed me, trying 
a 
look that she maybe thought was sexy. "Have you ever saved a person's 
life 
before?"

Drat those journalists. Were they ever trained on interviewing 
decently? I 
resolved to give her something to chew. "Yeah, several, at work," I 
said, 
keeping my features kind of disinterested.

"Wow! What's your job?" Now, the blonde had a decided 
journalist-snooping-for-sensation look on her face. I don't like those 
people at all, Dad, but I fear I don't get a vote.

"I'm a lawyer," I calmly replied. Next to me, Mac was seized by a 
sudden 
attack of coughing.

I could clearly see that the woman had expected anything but that. Her 
expression told me that the paper-shuffling Armani-suit guy didn't fit 
into 
the image that she'd gotten of me so far. Just to say something so that 
no 
one could take over the interview while she was reorganizing her 
thoughts, 
she turned to Mac.

"Oh... well, who'd have guessed? Uhm... Deb, what do you do then?" She 
gave 
a high-pitched, uneasy laugh. "Emergency medic driver? Or a National 
Park 
ranger, maybe?"

"No. I'm a lawyer, like Doug." This time it was me who had to turn away 
and 
sneeze at seeing her poker face.

"Uh... ahm... er... working for the same firm?" The reporter's smile 
had 
turned very strained by now.

I suppressed a chuckle. 'You could say that,' I thought.

"Yup," Mac acknowledged with an all-too-sweet smile.

"Good Lord," the blonde gave another uneasy laugh, "Must be one hell of 
a 
firm then. Uh... what kind of cases are you specialized in?" By now, 
the 
other TV teams were just filming, making no attempt at introducing any 
other 
topics.

Mac and I exchanged a quick look. This was getting into dangerous 
territory. 
We needed to find a way out of this line of questioning, the sooner the 
better. Yet, for now I still had a safe comeback. Giving the woman a 
brilliant smile, I said: "We normally represent greenies or blue people 
in 
whatever matters they turn to us with."

Again there was a sudden violent fit of coughing, this time coming from 
Tiner who, in time, had pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, big 
enough 
to hide all of his face. While the reporters apparently tried to 
understand 
the sense of my answer, help was nearing from an unexpected side.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, excuse me, please." Harriet squeezed herself 
between the 
cameras until she came to stand in front of us. "Miss Kellerman, Mr. 
Vandenberg, may I remind you that you agreed not to give away any 
details 
about your private lives before the exclusive interview that your team 
agreed upon with ZBS?"

The ZBS reporter who happened to stand just beside her, turned his head 
in 
utter surprise and inhaled as if to say something. Harriet, by "pure 
accident", decidedly stepped on his foot and shot him a quick stare 
that 
would have made the admiral proud. The reporter winced and immediately 
shut 
his mouth, taken aback. Harriet can be very perceptive of situations 
that 
need action, Dad. You know it's due to this ability of hers that I came 
by 
this very booklet.

Anyway, we were very grateful to her for showing us a way out. "Of 
course," 
Mac instantly agreed. "Uh..." she ventured, "When's the appointment?"

Harriet didn't even blink. "Tonight, 9.30 p.m. I'll let you know about 
the 
location."

We acknowledged, sensing that Harriet had something in mind. I cast the 
TV 
teams an apologetic smile. "If you'll excuse us..." With that I put my 
hand 
on the small of Mac's back and guided her away from the crowd.

I was determined to seize the day. I knew I had to clarify where we 
stood, 
the tension was killing me. We wandered over to the other side of the 
crater 
and settled down to admire the incredible view that opened before us, 
both 
being silent for quite some time. I was still determined to wait for 
Mac to 
start the conversation. She owed me that much.

Eventually she did. "I meant it," she began.

Start with something neutral and have your vis-à-vis get to the crucial 
points. I know that strategy very well, believe me. But today it 
wouldn't 
work for her.

"What?" I only asked, not looking at her.

"What I said about it being a matter of trust." Her voice was firm but 
I 
could tell that her mind wasn't.

"Should I trust you then?" I quietly replied. "What tells me that you 
don't 
think I'll let you down again whenever it's convenient for me to do 
so?"

"I... I didn't mean it that way." It was obvious that she herself 
didn't 
really know just how she'd meant it. Nevertheless, I wanted her to 
elaborate. We've already had too many miscommunications, we need to get 
the 
words out, right? At least that's the way I feel. And that's what 
scares me 
about the situation. I've never been one of the straightforward kind 
when it 
comes to my feelings. Why now? No idea.

"Then how did you mean it?" I asked.

"I..." she broke off, shrugging helplessly. I turned my head to face 
her, 
meeting her glance. I think she understood that I wanted the truth. The 
whole truth and nothing but the truth. Sighing, she let her eyes wander 
out 
over the desert again.

"Okay," she admitted, "I meant it. God, Harm, don't you see what kind 
of 
impression your behavior makes with those who can't see whatever is 
inside 
that thick head of yours?"

"I have my reasons, Mac, and believe me, it's for the better." Did you 
ever 
give Mom such a lame answer to one of her important questions, Dad? 
Yet, I 
didn't know what else to reply.

"It's for the better to hurt me over and over again by first getting my 
hopes up and then letting me down?" she asked just as quietly as I'd 
answered before.

It hurt having my actions interpreted in such a way. "Would you stop 
putting 
it that way, please, Mac?" I said in a low, pained voice.

She let out another exasperated sigh. "How should I put it then?"

"I wouldn't really know, Mac. I just want you to understand that I'd 
never 
ever do anything to intentionally hurt you. That trust you were 
speaking of 
- I'd like to know that at least it included this point, if you can't 
go as 
far and trust me as unconditionally as I do you."

For a minute she seemed to contemplate what I had said. Then she drew a 
deep 
breath and took the decisive step that's always so difficult for her.

"I'm sorry."

I waited.

"I'm sorry about what I said two days ago. You were doing your job and 
I was 
just acting foolishly. I never doubted your sincerity about trusting 
me. 
It's just... the tension was tearing at my nerves, Harm. I was waiting 
for 
so much as a sign that our conversation from the night before was still 
valid. My frustration about the fact that we couldn't talk about it 
must 
have gotten the better of me."

"It did." I was still reluctant to let her off the hook although I knew 
that 
prolonging the process wasn't exactly beneficial.

"And I was mean to accuse you of willfully deceiving me. Although you 
did 
just that the night you told me about Diane." Her voice had taken up a 
slightly accusing edge.

"All I wanted was to protect you, Mac. I didn't want you to get 
involved in 
the crime that I was about to commit."

"And I wanted to save you from yourself."

"I know. You did."

Again we fell silent. I could almost feel how the wheels in her head 
kept 
turning and turning until she spoke up again.

"Okay, let's leave that night aside," she resolved, as if speaking to 
herself rather than to me. Then she looked up at me. "It was wrong of 
me to 
claim that you hadn't been sincere the night before. I knew it all 
along, 
and yet I did it. I just lost it. I'm really sorry about that. I said a 
few 
very ugly things to you. They were totally uncalled for and I... I 
apologize."

"Apology accepted," I simply stated, giving her a slight smile and 
feeling 
her relax with relief. Then I sobered. "I know you put your life in my 
hands 
earlier without thinking twice, Mac," I said earnestly. "In spite of 
the 
situation, it felt incredibly good to see just to what extent you were 
relying on me. But when it comes to trusting me in personal matters... 
Mac, 
did you ever fully believe me when I said that I'd be there for you, no 
matter what?"

She inhaled deeply and let the air stream out very slowly. "As a 
friend, 
yes. But by now you should have gathered that I'd wish for more than 
that. 
And on this higher level of intimacy - " she faced me with a pained 
expression, "No, Harm. I could never fully trust you with my heart. At 
first 
because it takes me a long time to get to know a person well enough to 
open 
up. When I finally felt I had gotten there, after our unlucky tour with 
'Sarah', you eventually got involved with Annie. Then all the other 
things 
that I mentioned happened. And as much as I wanted to believe you: you 
yourself prove my suspicions right every time I got my courage up to 
overcome them."

Dad, it was terrible to see how she'd perceived my actions, but on the 
other 
hand I'm grateful to finally understand her reactions a little better. 
I 
felt it was my turn now. "I'm so sorry, Mac," I said in a low voice.

"So am I," came her resigned answer.

Pictures of a sunny autumn day came to my mind, with me and Mac 
standing 
under a tree, recovering from the ten-mile run that we'd just 
completed. 
Going back to the beginning had seemed so easy back then. Now I just 
get the 
impression that we're moving in circles.

"So where does that leave us?" I turned the question back to her that 
she'd 
asked me back then.

"At a point where you know exactly where I stand," she replied, looking 
intently at me. "Now it's up to you to decide if you want to let me in 
and 
tell me what's driving you to react the way you do whenever I threaten 
to 
get too close."

I already knew the answer to that one. "I do want you to know why I 
behaved 
the way I did and I'm working on letting you in," I said very low. "I 
can 
accept that, for the time being, the trust issue is a one-way street. 
As 
long as you tell me that you believe me if I say that I trust you 
unconditionally."

For the first time in days, she gave me a real smile. It felt like the 
sun 
breaking through the clouds after a particularly heavy thunderstorm. "I 
believe you," she said simply.

I put my arm around her shoulders and we looked out at the desert 
again. Any 
more words would have been superfluous.


Shortly after, Tiner and Bensen arrived with our car and the official 
permission to continue the race. A doctor quickly looked us over and 
when he 
didn't find any real injuries besides a few cuts and bruises and the 
red 
marks that the belt had left around my ankles, he gave us a "go". Five 
minutes later, Mac and I were on the road again.

When we arrived we were rather exhausted, physically as well as 
emotionally 
but we still had to do the interview that Harriet had arranged. This 
time we 
were prepared as we had thought about a few details of Deb and Doug's 
private lives. The reporter was keen on discovering if we had any kind 
of 
personal relationship going on. Somehow we managed to evade the topic 
until 
he gave up, his frustration evident. As soon as the reporter had left, 
Harriet, Tiner, Gunny and Webb joined us.

How did you react whenever you were out on a mission but didn't get a 
hint 
that anything would happen? I despise this feeling of hanging and 
waiting 
for the other to make the first move. As a pilot, you'll understand me 
when 
I tell you that I'm the one to attack rather than react, Dad. Well, it 
seems 
that in this operation, we won't get that chance.

Tiner managed to befriend Dunfoss' maintenance buddy and was able to 
take a 
closer look at his car. He didn't find the slightest hint as to where 
the 
grenades might be hidden. Webb is slowly losing his mind, I guess. In 
two 
days, we'll be leaving Libya and will drive into the state of Niger. So 
Dunfoss is due to act tomorrow or the day after. If he doesn't, we have 
a 
problem.

Mac just reminded me that we'll be on watch duty tomorrow. So I think 
I'd 
better get going now and get some sleep. Let's just hope, the armistice 
holds this time, Dad. I'm afraid to think in what way I might break it.

Talk to you soon!
Harm

Jan. 7th
Sabha, Libya

Dear Dad,

Another hard day's over and you won't believe it: I had fun. We had 
fun. Big 
time. No, I mean it. And for me, it kind of paid off. Right now, I'm 
lying 
flat on my belly, comfortably wrapped in my sleeping bag, writing to 
you. 
And right before me is a little wooden brick stone. The third one.

I'd just taken my cherished shower in Bensen's camper. (He's got a flow 
heater, you know. I wouldn't have guessed but the evening chill creeps 
up so 
quickly once the sun is gone that you actually need one.) When I joined 
Mac 
in our tent, she smiled, seeing me rummage through my bag for this 
booklet.

"'Dear Diary' time again?" she softly teased.

I just grinned. "Dear Dad," I corrected her.

She cocked her head with the sweetest smile. "Awww..."

I grunted good-naturedly, shaking my head.

Sobering a little, Mac looked at me for a second. "Say hello for me, 
will 
you?" This time, there was no teasing undertone detectible in her 
voice. I 
felt my smile broaden.

"I will."

She quickly leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek. "Good night, 
Harm."

I'm just glad it's rather dark in here 'cause I guess I was blushing. 
"Good 
night, Mac. Sleep tight."

"You too." Casting me another quick smile, she turned to lie on her 
other 
side so my flashlight wouldn't bother her.

It was only then that I noticed the little pack on my pillow. I 
carefully 
removed the handkerchief she had wrapped the brick in and a small sheet 
of 
paper fell out. It read:


Harm,

Today was great. Much better than just finishing each other's 
sentences. To 
me, it felt like we were thinking in phase.

I won't give you this personally because I'm afraid that whatever 
conversation might follow might lead to the same results as the last. 
So, 
right now, I think it's safer this way, although I'll dreadfully miss 
the 
goodnight kiss, but hey... you can't get everything you want, right?

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that today, we gave Gunny and Webb a 
demo 
lesson on teamwork and I'm damned proud of the result. Thank you so 
much, 
Harm. I had a fantastic time.

Good night, sailor!
Mac


Touched, I hesitated only for the briefest moment. "Mac?"

She didn't move but the tone of her voice told me that she was still 
wide-awake. "Yeah?"

"Turn around," I suggested softly.

"Why?" Her voice was a little wary.

"Because," I said with a slight smile.

With a barely audible chuckle, she turned her head in my direction, her 
features serene but her eyes silently begging me to respect her wish 
not to 
talk about it. I complied.

"You can get whatever you want," I just told her in a low voice, still 
smiling. Without waiting for her reaction, I brought my lips to hers 
and let 
them linger for a second or two. When I drew back, she smiled slightly, 
holding my glance.

"Good night again," I whispered, reaching out with my hand and gently 
brushing a little sand out of the hair over her forehead.

Her smile deepened. "Good night," she whispered back before turning her 
head.

It's so wonderful that somehow, we got back to being this easy with one 
another. Maybe we just improved our understanding of how the other's 
mind 
works.

So, I promised Mac that I'd say hello to you for her: Dad, Mac says 
hello. 
(I know you can see me grinning, wherever you are.) Now I bet you want 
details about what happened earlier, right? Okay, I'll tell you.

Actually, Dunfoss started it. Mac and I were his bodyguards today and 
as 
soon as we were off, we noticed from my GPS readouts that he was 
obviously 
going for today's stage victory. We had to cover 469 km with only 146 
km of 
special track. The whole course was extremely twisty and bumpy as we 
were 
passing from dune valley to dune valley. We were mostly going 
off-track, 
crossing the 100 km long Erg de Timsah with its 40-yard dunes. The 
stage was 
incredibly fast and Mac did miracles with her driving. My nausea 
returned a 
little but my chewing-gum stock is still well equipped so I could hold 
it in 
check.

When Mac and I had been driving for about 15 minutes, the comm-link 
cracked.

"Doug, do you copy?" Clay was speaking fast and seemed agitated. 'Not 
again,' I thought.

"Loud and clear, Carl," I answered warily.

"Listen, our target is going so fast today that I'm sure he'll try 
something. You must follow him at any cost, do you understand? Try to 
get as 
close as you can, we'll do the same. Over."

"Got it," I acknowledged, "Over and out." Then I turned to Mac. "Seems 
we 
get lucky today, Mac," I said lightly. "Go as fast as you can."

"You sure?" Mac asked me with an almost mischievous smile. After 
yesterday's 
clearing tempest, she'd been very much at ease all morning. I still 
didn't 
completely trust the situation but I admit that it felt really good for 
a 
change.

"Positive," I answered.

"Okay..." she said with a grin, the slightest nasty edge in her voice. 
Then 
she stepped on the accelerator. Immediately, the sudden acceleration 
pressed 
me into my seat. I gasped.

"Catapult feeling?" she only commented.

"Yeah, kind of..." I murmured, chuckling and again concentrating on my 
readouts.

"Doug?" Clay's voice again.

"Yeah?"

"You know Al Brady, the ZBS boy, right?"

"Sure, he helped to pull us on board the helicopter." Frowning, I 
waited for 
Clay to elaborate why he had brought up Tiner.

"He... uhm..." Clay seemed to think too hard about what he was going to 
say. 
'Okay, let's play 'crack the code',' I silently resolved. 
Theoretically, our 
comm-link was safe but in real life, nothing turns out as it does in 
theory 
as I've painfully noticed a few times. Hence the use of our cover 
names. 
Clay tried again. "I had Al bring your lunch boxes to your car today. 
And I 
told him to pack a second green pepper sandwich." I noticed that Clay 
had 
slightly stressed the last words. Frowning deeper, I listened on. "We 
have a 
second green pepper sandwich, too," Clay explained after a moment. So 
we can 
eat together, sort of. Over and out."

Green pepper sandwich? Green pep... Suddenly I burst out laughing. Mac 
shot 
me a quizzical look. Putting my finger to my lips, I reached for the 
lunch 
box and opened it. In it lay a little black GPS transmitter, already 
processing data. 'Green Pepper Sandwich,' I thought, shaking my head as 
I 
copied the data on the map. I instantly understood that Clay had 
somehow 
managed to provide each of our teams with the means to locate the 
other. I 
showed the device to Mac and she immediately nodded understanding.

Don't think life became any easier for me now, Dad. My tracking 
workload had 
just doubled but it's reassuring to be able to know beforehand where 
our 
reinforcements will arrive from, should we ever need them.

I started plotting their course in one-minute intervals. "Mac," I 
called.

"Yes?"

"They're closing in on us." Somehow the fact bothered me. Mac was doing 
so 
great. Why was the Gunny still faster?

I rather heard than saw her frown. "Just you wait..." she murmured and 
once 
again forcefully stepped on the accelerator.

Ten minutes later, they drove past us, smirking. "Sons of a..." I 
murmured.

After a few moments, Clay spoke up again, his smirk clearly audible. 
"Distance about 500 yards and growing..."

I immediately checked the latest readouts. Dunfoss was speeding as if 
his 
life depended on it. Well, maybe Al Qaeda had reminded him that it 
actually 
did? But strangely, he didn't make the slightest effort to get away 
from the 
track. He seemed determined to win and nothing else. Much as that 
preoccupied us, the situation enabled us to concentrate on the given 
course. 
Which was what we did.

"Damn, they're really fast!" I called in Mac's direction.

"Look for any possible shortcuts in the off-track sections!" I had to 
grin 
at the determination in her voice. 'Okay, we're in for a personal race 
today.'

"Aye, ma'am," I acknowledged. Then I buried myself in my work once 
again.

All of a sudden, I had an idea. "Mac, if we turn to 225 degrees now, 
there 
should be a possibility to avoid at least two minor dune valleys. 
They'd 
only slow us down. The new route is a little longer but we should be 
able to 
move faster."

"Got it!" The moment the words were out, she saw the small opening in 
the 
dunes and steered us right through it. "Details?" she called in my 
direction.

I had tasted blood and felt the adrenaline stir up my system. "In about 
500 
yards turn to 278 degrees," I told her. She looked, calculated, waited 
and 
turned.

"To avoid the too steep descent: back to 260 in 120 yards!"

Mac did just that. I looked at the GPS readouts. Gunny and Webb were 
still 
ahead but the distance had stabilized at about 2000 yards. "Distance 
still 
2000 yards," I told Clay.

"I know. Keep trying." Dad, I honestly didn't like that gloating sound 
in 
his voice.

"Mac," I tried something else that I'd just discovered. "In about 260 
yards 
turn to 310 and go..."

"...already uphill to avoid the steep ascent to the next dune pass." 
She had 
spotted the point that I had discovered on my map and did what I told 
her. I 
measured again.

"Distance approximately 1750 yards and closing in," I told Clay, 
satisfaction ringing in my voice. My next data told me, though, that 
they 
seemed to be following a shortcut, too.

"Distance 1930 yards and increasing." Clay was enjoying himself way too 
much.

I looked at Mac: "Can we go across one of the higher situated valleys?"

Simultaneously, she said: "Let's go across one of the higher situated 
valleys."

We blinked and shared a short laugh, then I sobered. "Isn't the sand 
too 
deep?"

Mac shrugged merrily. "Not if we're lucky."

"Great..."

Dad, I know that what we did was rather foolish because we could easily 
have 
gotten stuck for good up there. But I suddenly realized that for once, 
we 
might be able to get a little payback for all that Webb made us endure, 
and 
be it only by beating him and Gunny today. He has his pride, you 
know... 
Anyway, I decided it was a risk worth taking.

"Mac, turn to 305 degrees in..."

"...about 200 yards. I see the route."

"Good."

We turned and moved up the dune until, about halfway up, a pass opened 
before us.

"Get..." I started.

"...in there!" Mac took up and pulled around the wheel.

"Hey, stop finishing my sentences!" I shot her a grin, knowing well 
that she 
remembered the time when I'd first said this to her.

"You know what I was gonna say," she said instead of replying directly, 
grinning back at me. I again checked the GPS data and a grin spread 
over my 
face.

"Distance about 950 yards and closing in," I announced pompously over 
the 
comm-link, enjoying the low swearing that was my answer.


Dad, the whole stage went on like that. Gunny and Webb managed to 
increase 
the distance a few times, but Mac and I were merciless! Dunfoss kind of 
pushed all of us - we nearly couldn't believe our ears when, at the 
second 
control point, Bensen told us that for today's stage ranking, Mac and I 
were 
currently ranked 21st and Gunny and Webb ranked 20th.

I think I finally figured out how you can pull useful details out of an 
ordinary road map. As soon as one of my ideas had been carried out, the 
next 
one followed. It's really all on the map, you just have to know how to 
read 
between the roads, so to say. I'm glad about my progress. Tomorrow's 
stage 
will once again be hell for the navigators and maybe this time, we'll 
stand 
a chance not to lose our friend, although it's not us who're in for 
watching 
him tomorrow.

After the last control point, racing fever once again got the better of 
us. 
The rest of the stage track was downhill and fast and the rush felt 
great.

Webb and Gunny had taken a wrong turn once and although it hadn't been 
too 
much of a problem to go on, we could sense they were nervous and they 
had 
now ended up following a more difficult route in order to reach the 
bivouac. 
What substantially added to Clay's state of mind was the frustration 
and 
worry that he felt because Dunfoss still hasn't acted on whatever he's 
planning. And tomorrow we'll leave Libya.

We spotted Gunny and Clay when they were just trying to regain full 
speed 
after a particularly tricky descent that they'd had to make in order to 
reach the original route from where they were. Mac and I were still 
rolling 
on high speed.

I waited and counted down... 200 yards, 150, 100, 80, 60, 40, 15... 
then I 
switched on the comm-link. "Distance zero and increasing," I merrily 
called 
over to a very frustrated Clay, just as we roared past them at their 
starboard side.

Mac quickly held up her hand, laughing. I gave her five, joining in her 
laughter. Two minutes later, we passed the finish line, Clay and Gunny 
a 
full 300 yards behind us.

Mac let the car roll until it eventually came to a halt. Letting out a 
deep 
relieved breath, she faced me with a smile. "That was fun!"

I chuckled, suddenly remembering yesterday's interview. "One hell of a 
law 
firm, indeed."

Mac just looked at me. "No," she said quietly. "One hell of a team."

You already know what followed. Dad, I hope I'm not too early in 
declaring 
it but I think this time, Mac and I are finally getting it right. Knock 
on 
wood.

Harm


To be continued...




'Teamwork' - Part Three
Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One



[Excerpts from Harm's diary]


Jan. 8th
Dirkon, Niger

Dad,

I hate sand. Right now I'm covered with it from head to toe. It's in my 
shoes, in my socks, inside my driver's suit, under my t-shirt, in my... 
no, 
I won't go there. It's in my hair, in my ears, in my nostrils, between 
my 
teeth. You have to give me credit - I'm a real gentleman. I let Mac 
take a 
shower first. And since I know that I won't have the energy to take a 
pen in 
my hand once I'll be all cleaned up and relaxed, I'm writing these 
lines now 
while Mac's getting cleaned up herself. Besides, my head hurts quite a 
bit, 
and after my shower, all I want is an aspirin and a good-night's sleep.

I loved reading "The One-Thousand-and-One Nights" (yes, Dad, all of it, 
not 
just the steamy stuff) so I'm familiar with the concept of getting 
caught in 
the middle of a sandstorm in the desert. But, as always, there's a 
major 
difference between imagining and experiencing it. Today was 
insufferable. 
And yet - I'm kind of lighthearted and content because the sandstorm 
gave me 
the opportunity to hold Mac close to me for quite some time as we were 
waiting it out. It wasn't really romantic. You know, romance doesn't 
come 
with the crunching sound of sand between your teeth every time you move 
your 
jaw. Still, it was special somehow and I wouldn't have missed it.

Apart from our personal issues, we're all getting extremely worried 
about 
the mission by now. Today we crossed the border to Niger, and still 
Dunfoss 
doesn't seem to do anything than continue the race. Clay seems to have 
reconsidered his options - apparently Dunfoss' wife's family being 
Libyan 
hadn't had too much influence on his choice of meeting point.

Last night, Clay and I met up with Tiner who took us to Dunfoss' car. 
His 
new buddy, you know, Dunfoss' maintenance clerk, seems to get drunk 
rather 
easily, so Tiner could procure us a little technical information about 
the 
vehicle and get us near it. While he kept his 'friend' occupied, Clay 
and I 
searched the car for any hints of the grenades. Nothing. When I 
carefully 
hinted to Webb that maybe the Agency had been wrong about the whole 
thing, 
he started to contradict me forcefully, claiming that their information 
had 
been very clear and that they had to be around somewhere.

I asked him about the nature of the information, and after trying a few 
'That's-classified!'s', he explained to me that they had sat photos of 
the 
grenades at Erhac, an informant's testimony that he'd seen Dunfoss' 
brother, 
you know, the Marine corporal, at night rummaging around between them, 
that 
the next morning, they'd been gone, that they had tracked them down to 
some 
car repair near the base and that there was evidence that Will Dunfoss 
had 
his car checked out there.

While, as a lawyer, I'd say that this would be absolutely insufficient 
evidence for any kind of conviction, I have to concede that the chain 
of 
'coincidences' is a little too strong not to become suspicious. So the 
Agency came up with our little hide-and-seek scenario. Still, something 
doesn't feel right about all this. Problem is: I can't put my finger on 
what 
it is, neither can Mac. But she seconds my uneasiness. We'll have to 
wait 
and see.

Today's stage would have been difficult enough if the weather had been 
favorable. The whole distance of 707 km counted as special track. It 
was a 
generally fast route, intermixed with twisty sections across rocky sand 
plateaus that were really hard to cross. We did a lot of skidding and 
Mac's 
arms must be all sore by now from yanking the wheel from one side to 
the 
other and back all the time.

The skidding eventually did it for my delicate stomach. Even the 
chewing gum 
didn't help and I had to get out and be sick after about two thirds of 
the 
distance. Luckily we had a thermos with unsweetened peppermint tea with 
us 
that Bensen had supplied us with - maybe he expected something of the 
kind 
would happen on this stage. Anyway, besides the calming effect that the 
tea 
had on my stomach's nerves, I was really grateful to have something 
fresh to 
rinse my mouth with afterwards. Much as I despise that man for his 
attraction to Mac, I owe him now.

Just as I was about to get back into the car, I cast a casual glance at 
the 
sky - and froze. From the southwest, an incredibly dark wall of clouds 
was 
nearing. I quickly turned around and found my dreadful suspicion 
confirmed: 
in the northeast, the sky was of a strangely pale ginger yellow. The 
rest of 
the sky in between the black and the yellow seemed to be covered with a 
peculiar milky-white mist up high in the stratosphere. All senses 
alert, I 
glanced at our surroundings and noticed that all wind had died down. No 
other teams were near. Deep silence reigned around us. Death silence. 
Unconsciously, I swallowed.

"Uh... Mac?"

"Yeah? You alright?"

"Yeah... ah... could you check Gunny and Webb's position, please?"

Mac must have heard the apprehension ringing in my voice because when 
she 
answered, hers was very sober and concerned. She got out and took off 
her 
helmet. "Harm, I'm afraid you made a navigation mistake earlier." Still 
she 
didn't notice the reason for my own preoccupation.

"I had a suspicion," I confirmed. "How far off are we?"

"Not much. I think it's that downhill section that we did that got us 
off-track. The other teams should still be up on the plateau 
somewhere." 
Only then did she see what I was frowningly staring at. She followed 
the 
direction of my eyes and spotted the black cloud layer that was, as I 
noted 
with sudden panic, approaching far too fast for my liking.

"Oh sh..." she swore very low, eyes wide. "Any ideas?"

"None, really... go as fast as we can?" I suggested, feeling helpless.

"Bought." She put on her helmet and quickly climbed inside again. I 
immediately followed and we sped off.

The tense silence subdued both our minds, I guess. This time, though, 
it 
wasn't some kind of silence that hung in between us. It surrounded both 
of 
us, closing in, threatening to choke us, as outside, the sunlight began 
to 
fade away and the first heavy gusts began to shake the car. Yet, odd as 
it 
seems, the knowledge that we were in this together, somehow eased my 
fears.

I noticed that on Mac's head, just under the brim of her helmet, small 
beads 
of perspiration had begun to form. She was pressing her lips shut and 
speeding on, staring in front of her, slightly bowing forward as the 
visibility was more and more reduced by flying sand - as if her change 
of 
posture could procure her any better sight. But that's how the human 
psyche 
works.

I looked down again and kept my eyes glued to the road book and my GPS, 
plotting a course back to the original route. As it turned out, we 
would 
have to go on down where we were for another 40 km roughly before there 
would be any possibility of trying an ascent to the plateau.

When I next lifted my head, visibility was down to almost zero. Our car 
was 
rocking hard from the heavy side winds and the sand and little pebbles 
that 
hit us were making an ever-increasing noise that, together with the 
steady 
howling of the wind and the pale remainders of daylight, created a 
gruesome 
atmosphere.

Mac was still holding up admirably. The sweat was beginning to trickle 
down 
her temples but she didn't wipe it away, keeping the wheel in a death 
grip 
to maintain control over our vehicle while she was trying to get closer 
to 
the mountain face that we were following. I reached for a Kleenex, 
softly 
touched her arm first so as not to startle her and then, seeing her 
smile 
briefly as she understood what I was about to do, gently dabbed the 
beads 
from her forehead.

It was then that a sudden small avalanche of pebbles came down on us 
from 
the cliff above. We gasped, startled, and then... Dad, I don't recall 
exactly what happened but one of the bigger rocks must have broken my 
side 
window and hit me on the forehead, lucky as I am, just where the helmet 
ended. I felt a searing pain and everything went black.

When I eventually regained consciousness, I realized that Mac had 
parked the 
car near the mountain face and was holding my face between her hands, 
having 
removed our helmets, her eyes overflowing with worry. With her left 
hand, 
she was pressing a folded tissue to my right eyebrow. And she was 
obviously 
talking to me in a soothing voice, although I didn't quite get what she 
was 
saying.

I could see her relief once she noticed that I was back - and although 
my 
head was pounding like a jack hammer, I felt great being taken care of 
by 
her.

"Thanks." I had found my voice and even managed a slight smile.

"Anytime," she answered simply, handing me my water bottle. "How do you 
feel?" She had to almost shout as the wind kept howling. I noticed that 
she 
had half wrapped me in our anti-fire blanket to protect me against the 
sand 
that was blown into the car through the destroyed window.

"Not too bad, thanks," I called back, "Just a little sandy."

"There's a small outcrop in the mountain face, just big enough for two 
people to crouch in," she told me. "How about trying to wait it out 
there?"

I looked at her dubiously, shading my eyes against any sand with my 
right 
hand. "You don't know how long this is gonna take."

"Do we have an alternative?" she asked back. "Over there, we can 
protect 
ourselves more efficiently against the gusts and the sand. In the car 
it's 
of no use right now. My window's broken, too, and the wind comes right 
through without mercy."

"I see your point. Let's get out of here." Slowly coming back to my 
senses, 
I took the water bottles and the blanket while Mac retrieved the radio, 
the 
medic case and what was left of our lunch box. Together, we made a 
beeline 
for the small cave and settled down inside, wrapping the blanket around 
us. 
The howling was actually a little lower and we were safe from the 
flying 
sand.

Mac switched on the flashlight and examined my head. "Whoo, that's a 
nasty 
gash that you've got there," she murmured, wetting a gauze bandage with 
a 
little bottled water and gently cleaning my wound. I closed my eyes - 
Dad, 
even though it hurt, her movements felt like caresses. Right then I 
wouldn't 
have wanted her to stop.

When she had applied a bandage to my brow, reassuring me that it was 
small 
and wouldn't get in the way of my helmet, I leaned back against the 
rock 
wall, made her sit in my lap and wrapped the blanket around both of us. 
She 
leaned into my embrace and let her head rest against my shoulder.

After a while, she spoke up somewhat drowsily. "Harm?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind if I dozed off a little?"

I chuckled. "Not at all."

"Thanks. You're the best." She snuggled up a little closer and we fell 
silent. Yet it was again her to eventually break the silence.

"Harm?"

"Hmmm?"

"I'm glad I didn't take the Brussels assignment."

Her choice of topic caught me a little off-guard. I had completely 
forgotten 
about it. "Uh... yeah, me, too. Did you ever consider taking it?"

To my surprise, I heard her acknowledge. "Yeah, I did. When I was out 
in 
Nevada, training for the rally, I had a lot of time to think things 
through. 
You know, doing the Dakar, I would have missed the deadline but the 
Secnav 
was so urgent in offering me the post that I'm sure I could have gotten 
it 
anyway if I'd resolved to go for it."

"Would you have wanted it?" I don't think I really managed to sound as 
uninvolved as I had intended to. The possibility of Mac transferring to 
another continent outright scared me, even though I already knew that 
she 
had decided against it.

"No, I don't think so." Her voice was a little too thoughtful for my 
liking 
but I decided not to allude to that right then. She went on. "I mean, 
it 
sure would have been a great opportunity, Harm. It would have been only 
me, 
practically, to do the main part of the negotiating with the Russian 
officials behind the scenes. And without my legal approval, no deals 
would 
have been cut. I really could have done something to make the world a 
little 
safer."

Dreading the whole topic, I still forced myself to keep up the 
conversation. 
If this was what she wanted to talk to me about, then I'd be her 
sounding 
board. "Then why didn't you take the assignment in the first place?"

I felt her breath caress my throat when she silently chuckled. "Can't 
you 
guess?" was all she answered.

My heart turned a somersault and an incredible warmth began to well up 
inside me. I tightened my embrace, unable to stop smiling in the dark. 
"Thanks, Mac." My voice was suddenly somewhat hoarse and shaky.

"You're welcome."

Once more falling silent, we sat cuddled up for another two hours, 
feeling 
each other's heartbeat. Mac was absentmindedly running her hand up and 
down 
my chest, nearly driving me crazy and making me fight a sudden desire 
to 
lower her on her back and... Taking a deep breath that bore the sweet 
scent 
of her hair, I refrained from acting on my instincts. Having her this 
close 
to me and being allowed to hold her was all I truly needed right then.

Eventually we became aware that the storm had quieted down. Mac checked 
on 
my wound and when she found that I was doing quite well, we quickly 
made our 
way back to our car and covered the remaining distance to bivouac 
without 
substantial problems - apart from the sand that continuously entered 
our 
drivers' cabin through the broken windows.

Bensen, Gunny and Webb were anxiously awaiting us. We certainly weren't 
the 
last team to arrive as many others had encountered problems similar to 
ours. 
But we could still see their relief once we disembarked more or less 
unscathed. Bensen immediately went over to Mac, only to stop short when 
he 
apparently became aware of the somehow more intense aura of easy 
intimacy 
that surrounded Mac and me. He met my eye and knew. I have to give him 
credit for his decency - his glance reassured me that he'd never again 
try 
to win Mac's affection.

Tomorrow, we'll be doing a 'Dakar Classic' as Jutta explained to us 
when we 
met her earlier today. Tomorrow's finish will be at Agades, the ancient 
caravan town where we'll get to spend our day off, which is the day 
after 
tomorrow. If Dunfoss doesn't get us into trouble, tomorrow should be 
fatiguing, yes, but routine driving by now. We'll see. Let's just hope 
our 
techs get our car fixed.

There's Mac, back from the shower. It's my turn now, Dad, finally!
I'll get back to you soon, I promise.
Harm



Jan. 10th
Agades, Niger

Dad!

Two! Deux! Dos! Due! Dwa! Zwei! Yay!!! There's two little brick stones 
in my 
lap as I write to you! Yes, Dad, you heard me right: two!! That 
means... 
(drum roll) ...I'm up to five now!!! T minus two and counting!

Sorry, I think I got a little carried away here but you'll have to 
concede 
that I'm entitled to feel great. Mac and I had a long talk today, "the" 
talk, I guess, it was. And although I'm still not daring to believe 
that we 
sailed all the rapids, I think that today was the closest that we ever 
got 
to starting something serious.

After a totally uneventful yesterday's stage (just for the record: 644 
km, 
637 km of special track, across the Erg of Ténéré in a wide circle 
around 
the impressive Aïr mountains, flat rear tire all-inclusive), we had our 
well-deserved break today at the fairytale-like caravan town of Agades. 
Mac 
and I went sightseeing together and at some point we began to feel like 
being part of the fairytale ourselves.

It already started with seeing Mac when she was ready to leave bivouac. 
She 
was dressed in white, from head to toe. Rules of society being 
conservative 
out here, she wore a wide, white cotton dress with a high collar and 
long 
sleeves. The skirt went down to a mere inch above the ground so no one 
noticed that the Nikes she wore underneath weren't exactly the 
traditional 
shoe wear that the original style would have required. Around her 
shoulders 
and head, she had loosely draped a broad, soft white cotton shawl, 
having 
made sure that she was allowed to leave her face uncovered. (They're 
not 
quite as strict in Niger as they are in Saudi Arabia.) Just below the 
brim 
of her makeshift hood, the slightest bit of her brown hair was visible, 
framing her face. Dad, she looked so lovely. I couldn't take my eyes 
off 
her.

I felt a little out of place in my khaki slacks and long-sleeved white 
cotton shirt but I quickly forgot about my appearance as we were 
walking 
through the old quarters of the town. The houses were pastel-colored, 
the 
styles varying between white, beige, rosé and light blue. In the narrow 
streets there was no traffic besides a few donkey carts and an 
occasional 
camel walking by. And there were refreshingly few tourists to be seen. 
I 
guess, Agades is just too far from any African coast worth visiting. So 
what 
we got was genuine Maghreb, Muslim northern Africa.

After making use of the opportunity to sleep in a little, Mac and I 
first 
visited the ancient mosque and strolled a little across the bazaar, 
always 
being careful to maintain a proper distance between us. Then we found a 
little teahouse where men and women weren't as severely banished to 
different corners as in some others. We settled down cross-legged at a 
low 
shady table in the courtyard and silently enjoyed our sugary tea.

"Hello!" I suddenly heard someone greet us. We looked up and saw two 
young 
men walking over, waving a smiling greeting. I recognized the Turkish 
rally 
driver Erkan Celebi with his navigator, Taifun Kir.

Returning their greetings, Mac and I invited them to join us for a cup 
of 
tea.

"Enjoying your day off?" Celebi asked Mac.

She smiled. "Yes, I am. Very much so," she added with a pathetic sigh 
that 
made us all laugh a little.

Celebi nodded with a knowing grin. "So am I. My arms are still sore 
from two 
days ago."

"Tell me about it," Mac agreed.

"First time in 'de Dakar?" the Turkish driver wanted to know.

"Yeah," I acknowledged. "We wanted to see if we could do it. We're more 
the 
office types back home."

Again, Celebi grinned widely. "I know. 'De wild lawyers from 
Washington. We 
all saw your interview."

Mac and I exchanged a mock frown. "We'll never live that one down, will 
we?" 
she asked with more than just a little irony in her voice.

"No chance," Celebi laughed compassionately.

"So, where are you from?" I was eager to change the subject.

"I grew up near Erhac," he answered.

This time, the look that passed between Mac and me was meaningful but 
went 
unnoticed by our company. "Do you still live there?" I casually 
inquired.

"Yes, I do," Celebi answered in his open, friendly way. "Actually, it 
was 
quite convenient for 'de rally preparations. My bro'der works for a 
maintenance firm near 'de airbase."

"What does he do?" Mac asked in the same tone that she'd have used to 
inquire after the flowers on his balcony.

"More convenient still," Celebi answered, his wide grin audible. "He's 
a car 
mechanic."

"Wow, you're lucky!" Mac exclaimed. "Then you surely got to know quite 
a few 
Dakar stars beforehand, right? That's so great!"

Celebi seemed almost embarrassed. "Yes, I did. Some of 'dose who went 
from 
Turkey to Africa by ship had 'deir vehicles looked at in my bro'der's 
firm. 
I even got an autograph from Henri Monnet, 'de guy you saved."

"Did you get to know Will Dunfoss, too?" Mac asked eagerly, acting like 
a 
fan who asked about her idol.

"Yes, his bro'der works at 'de base. He's in 'de military and my 
bro'der's 
firm cooperates wid' 'dem."

"Wow! Did you get to see his car? I bet he's got quite a few extra 
features 
that we don't know of!" Mac's playacting was hilarious. I had to fight 
to 
keep my expression in check.

"Oh, I don't know about 'dat," Celebi answered with a smile. "You'd 
have to 
ask my bro'der back home. I only drive. Taifun does all 'de technical 
stuff 
on 'de rally course." His navigator acknowledged with a nod and a grin.

Mac didn't even have to feign disappointment. Another lead on the 
grenades 
had just evaporated into nothing. "Pity," she said with an endearing 
pout.

Celebi patted her on the shoulder. "I'll arrange for a meeting if you 
come 
again next year."

"That would be great." Mac gave him a one-billion-watts smile in return 
that 
actually made the young man blush a little.

"You're welcome." The Turkish team had finished their tea and rose. 
"Well, I 
guess, we'll see you around," Celebi greeted us, "Have a nice day."

"You, too."

"Damn," I murmured under my breath when they were gone.

"I second that," Mac sighed. Then she turned to me with a threatening 
grin. 
"But don't you dare let that spoil our day off, do you hear me?"

Chuckling, I made a gesture of surrender. "You're the boss."

"Good to see you understood that." The corners of Mac's mouth were 
twitching.

"Oh, shut up, Marine," I replied in mock exasperation, making her smile 
in 
full.

Mac leaned back against the whitewashed wall, her eyes closed. She was 
savoring the relaxation after the strain and stress of the last days. I 
just 
sat and observed her, wanting nothing more than to preserve everything 
as it 
was right at that moment. I was happy.

After a little while, Mac turned her head and found me looking at her, 
unable to keep the smile off my face.

"What?" she said with a low, slightly embarrassed chuckle.

"Nothing," I replied. "Just looking."

For a moment, she looked down, smiling. Then she again met my eye. "See 
anything fascinating?" she asked in a low, amused voice.

"Yeah," I just said.

"What?" she inquired, curious.

"You."

I could see that I had caught her off-guard. She averted her eyes with 
yet 
another embarrassed smile, choosing not to comment.

Dad, there have been very few moments in my life when I felt so much at 
ease 
as I did right then. Whatever I might have been afraid of just didn't 
seem 
important anymore. The warm breeze was caressing my face, my eyes 
beheld the 
beautiful sight of my very best friend beside me, the spicy tea had 
eased 
the fatigue away... before I even became aware of what I was doing, the 
first words were out.

"Mac?"

"Hmmm?"

"I... guess I still owe you an explanation."

She looked at me, just a little surprised, but I could tell it was 
positive 
surprise that she felt. "You do," she answered quietly, her tone 
encouraging, "But only if you really feel you want to talk about it, 
Harm."

"I do."

Her expression lit up in silent joy and she only reached out and, for a 
moment, squeezed my hand with hers, before she drew back again into the 
customary demeanor of a good Muslim woman.

"I... uh..." I looked down on my hands that were toying with my teacup, 
chuckling a little, "I don't know where to start."

"That bad, huh?" Her voice was pure sympathy.

"I'm afraid so." I met her glance. "All this goes way back, Mac."

"I know. I was at the pier in Norfolk, remember?"

I nodded briefly, sighing. "But it isn't what you think."

"What do I think?" She scrutinized my features challengingly.

"I suppose you think I'm still seeing Diane in you," I answered.

"Aren't you?"

"No. I see you, Mac."

Her brow furrowed slightly, yet her gaze remained compassionate and 
open. 
"Do you?"

"Yeah."

"Then I don't really see the problem. If this isn't about Diane..."

"I didn't say that it had nothing to do with Diane," I cut her off 
gently. 
Her furrow increased.

"I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate, sailor."

Heaving a deep sigh, I straightened a little and gazed into the big 
nothing. 
"I won't deny that I did see Diane in you for quite some time," I 
began, my 
voice distant as memories were surfacing. "Actually, that was what 
brought 
us this close in so little time. Like I told you in Red Rock Mesa: I 
tended 
to forget that I didn't know you. But eventually, that changed."

I could see she was following me. "Norfolk..." she murmured.

Nodding slowly, I went on. "That night was the turning point, Mac. When 
you 
showed up, I saw Diane but..." I swallowed, not sure how to go on.

"I've always been wondering about something," Mac thoughtfully 
addressed me. 
"Harm... can I... can I ask you a personal question?"

I let out a low chuckle. "What is this if not a personal conversation, 
Mac?"

She, too, laughed silently. "True," she sheepishly acknowledged. Then 
her 
expression sobered and I think I even detected the slightest trace of 
dread 
in her eyes. "Whom did you really kiss that night, Harm?" Her voice was 
very 
low.

"You, Mac," I whispered, unable to look at her. "Although I didn't know 
it 
until you made that remark about me kissing Diane. But it was you."

She remained silent. I still didn't dare to face her but I went on. 
"And 
that's where the problems started."

I heard her suck in her breath at my statement and I knew how it must 
have 
hurt her, but I could only hope that my further explanations would set 
the 
picture right. I went on. "Then we were growing closer all the time, 
especially after Russia, and I found that you were the one person that 
I 
loved spending my time with." I finally managed to meet her glance that 
was 
an unreadable mixture between wonder, hurt and fear. "You were about to 
become the center of my life, and what was scaring me most was that, 
most of 
the time, it didn't seem to scare me at all. After Diane there's never 
been 
a woman whom I'd really granted access to my heart. It would have been 
too 
much to take. And I was determined to maintain the same policy with 
you. But 
you somehow managed to sneak your way in and I was very much in danger 
of 
losing myself in you."

Mac's huge eyes had turned incredibly sad. "Would that have been so 
terrible?" she whispered.

I swallowed. "If we had gotten involved it wouldn't have been just a 
casual 
affair, Mac," I tried to explain, "At least not from my side. That's 
why I'm 
grateful that you're so similar to Diane. Although I didn't see her in 
you, 
your likeness always reminded me of what was at stake. Losing Diane all 
but 
killed me. I damn near lost you more than once, too. I felt I just 
couldn't 
live through it. If I'd opened up completely, if I'd let go and then 
lost 
you..." I couldn't complete the thought. Confused, I wiped my face with 
my 
hand, looking everywhere but at her.

"So you saved yourself by drawing back whenever you felt we were about 
to 
leave the safety of our platonic friendship," Mac quietly concluded, 
carefully masking whatever emotion lay behind her words.

I nodded.

"And now? What's different?"

"I don't know, Mac. Nothing, really. I... I just feel I can't go on 
like 
that anymore. I have to get past the fear. Or die trying."

"What tells me that you won't draw back again?" She had asked neutrally 
but 
I knew her too well not to hear the dread behind her calm words.

"All I can promise is to try and fight the demons of my past with all 
my 
might," I told her, locking my gaze with hers. "During the last few 
weeks I 
understood two things: if there's anyone who's worth the fight it's 
you, 
Mac, and if there's anything that'll get me through this, it's the 
strength 
that I find in your affection. And that's what has become the source of 
my 
growing faith that this time, I'll make it. We'll make it."

"I'll take you up on that promise, squid," Mac replied softly, smiling 
ever 
so slightly.

"Good," I stated, mirroring her smile and taking her hand.


After once again losing ourselves in desert sunset cinema, we returned 
to 
bivouac and began to prepare for the night. Just as I had gotten out my 
diary, sitting cross-legged on my sleeping-bag, Mac settled down in 
front of 
me, gently touching my shoulder with her hand. I looked up.

"What's up?" I asked.

Wordlessly she held out her hand, a slightly self-conscious smile on 
her 
face. On her palm lay the two little bricks. I gaped at her. "Two?" My 
heart 
started beating wildly.

"Yeah," she whispered.

"But..."

"You deserve them, Harm." With her free hand, she picked up one brick 
and 
put it in my hand. "This one is for opening up in the first place. I 
didn't 
even think about asking. You did it all by yourself. And this one," she 
placed the second one in my hand, "Is for going through with it and 
promising to try and put your fears behind you. That's just too much to 
equal only one stone."

I had to swallow heavily as I was studying the two little pieces of 
wood on 
my palm. "Thank you." My voice caught slightly in my throat.

"My pleasure," Mac replied, her smile audible. "Do I get my goodnight 
kiss?" 
she added shyly.

I couldn't help grinning widely. "Sure," I whispered before I cupped 
her 
face with both my hands and kissed her just a little more intense than 
the 
other night. She didn't seem to mind. "Good night, Mac."

"Good night." Giving me one last quick smile, she got into her 
sleeping-bag 
and turned away from me, clearly just as unsure as I am feeling right 
now 
but happy nevertheless.

Five stones, Dad, I still can't believe I've made it this far! Right 
now I'm 
convinced I can do anything. Please, God, make it work! Dad, pray for 
me.

I love you, Dad. I just wish you could have met her.

Harm



To be continued...




'Teamwork' - Conclusion
Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One



[Excerpts from Harm's diary]


Jan. 14th
Bobo Dioulasso, Burkina Faso

Dad,

I think I've never done such a crazy mission. I mean, I've done very 
crazy 
missions, being in mortal danger all the time, doing illegal things, 
disobeying orders... don't tell the admiral - black on white like this, 
my 
confession doesn't look nice. Whatever. What I was trying to get at was 
that 
I've done all kinds of crazy stuff in the line of duty but this mission 
is 
unlike anything I've ever done.

We're driving across Africa. We're tracking cars. And we're doing 
nothing at 
all.

Believe me, Dad, during the last four days literally nothing has 
happened 
that would have been worth writing. Mac and I covered about 3000 km, 
are 
currently ranked 78th and are enjoying our vacation, sort of. Ever 
after 
leaving Agades, Mac and I have been happy to be together and we didn't 
need 
anything else. She drives, I navigate, we halfheartedly observe Dunfoss 
who 
even managed to win yesterday's stage, we talk a little, we tease each 
other...

I can clearly tell that all this is driving Clay nuts. More than once I 
saw 
him with his sat phone, gesticulating agitatedly, apparently trying to 
make 
someone back in D.C. understand that our little joyride is a big 
screw-up.

Okay, I wasn't quite sincere when I said that nothing worth relating 
happened since I last wrote to you. Today's stage was just plain crazy, 
but 
first I'll quickly tell you where we are and how we got here - besides 
driving in a Ford Focus.

The day after our wonderful break at Agades, we went south to Zinder 
and 
crossed the invisible border into black Africa. Rudimentary English 
replaced 
rudimentary French as official language and we left the Sahara dunes 
behind 
us once and for all. We had reached the Sahel zone, rolling across wide 
plains of so-called camel grass and we got to see the first trees that 
aren't palms and don't need an oasis to grow. The soil is amazingly red 
around here. Bensen explained to us that this is due to iron compounds 
washed out and rusting along in the earth. These laterite routes are a 
little tricky to follow as the last rainy season, short as it was, 
damaged 
them quite a bit and no one here has the money for any basic repairs. 
But at 
least we won't have to dig anymore.

The next day, proceeding from Zinder - Niger's ex-capital - to Niamey - 
Niger's actual capital - was the longest stage of all. We covered 
almost a 
thousand kilometers, mostly on rather soft ground with deep sandy ruts. 
It 
was a typical transition stage, only 252 km of special track. Having 
departed at 0450 in the morning, we were pretty much done for when, 
some 
time after 1900, we finally arrived. I think I never suffered as severe 
a 
case of highway hypnosis as I did that day.

Yesterday we left Niger and entered Burkina Faso, former Upper Volta, 
and 
reached its capital Ouagadougou. The vegetation keeps getting thicker 
and 
greener. We're in the middle of the savannah regions now and we even 
got to 
see a few zebras and gnus. As I told you - we're on holiday here. 
Although 
we were bound to hurry as Dunfoss made another attempt at winning a 
stage 
and finally succeeded, at one point Mac and I were so merry that we 
actually 
stopped, got out and took a few safari photos with some nearby zebras. 
We 
were laughing to no end.

And today, well... what can I say? I'm feeling like I could embrace the 
whole world. Yeah, I knew you'd have guessed it: Mac gave me the last 
brick 
stone but one. But you know why? This, you'll never guess. Dad, we WON 
THE 
STAGE. Yes, shut your mouth, we did. I still don't know how but here's 
the 
trophy, standing right beside my backpack. So I guess we really did 
win.

The irony of it all is that I accidentally caused our victory. In other 
words, I made yet another navigation mistake. Today's stage from 
Ouagadougou 
to Bobo Dioulasso - a nice city, actually, with broad avenues, a 
moderate 
climate, an all-African flair and an "overpopulation" of bicycles - was 
quite easy compared with what we had to go through during the last two 
weeks. Or maybe it was just the routine that made our task seem easy 
but, be 
it as it may, to both of us, for the better part of the distance, 
today's 
stage seemed like a walk in the park. We went across rainforest-like 
savannahs with luxurious green vegetation and there was next to nothing 
left 
to do on the navigating part. Occasionally we had to avoid a few 
villages 
and we had to look out for road damage.

What made today's race interesting was the weather. After about 500 km, 
we 
came to know a real tropical convection rainstorm and we were literally 
washed off the road and landed in the roadside ditch. When we'd finally 
freed ourselves with the help of our trusty winch (Dad, Mac looks dead 
hot 
when she's soaking wet!), I noticed that our GPS was malfunctioning. We 
still got fairly reasonable readouts about Dunfoss' position (not that 
anyone cared about him anyway), but our own position seemed to be lost 
to 
the sensors. Now try to navigate through the thickets of a rainforest 
without any hints which track goes in which direction whenever you 
reach a 
fork in the road. True, I still had the compass but before long we were 
lost. This was what saved us the bad luck that many teams were facing 
today.

The course we were following led us in a wide curve all around a lower 
area. 
The main road should have gone right through it but as it appears, it 
was 
blocked by water that had left the nearby river-bed because of the 
heavy 
rain. None of the competing teams had passed that point by that time 
and 
once the first cars arrived, they were stuck because the water had by 
then 
made it impossible to re-ascend to the region where the road Mac and I 
were 
following had separated from the main track. Apparently we hadn't been 
the 
only ones to make use of the winch today so many teams were behind 
schedule. 
As it happened, Mac and I got to be the first ones to use the 
alternative 
route. Accidentally, yes, but still...

Mac and I were completely oblivious to what was happening as we were 
only 
trying to get our car safely through the rainstorm. When the weather 
eventually cleared and we finally reached bivouac, the first thing that 
we 
became aware of was the herd of reporters who were closing in on us. I 
could 
see that Mac was just as startled as I was. Warily eyeing everything 
and 
everyone, we got out of the car.

"What the..." Mac didn't get any further.

The TV stickboy from the other day yanked his microphone between us. 
"Congratulations!" he shouted. "Deb, tell us: how are you feeling?"

The glance that Mac cast me clearly included a plea for help. I stepped 
up 
to her as she answered: "Wet. Why?"

"You just won today's stage!" the stickboy went on over-cheerily.

Mac and I stared at each other, open-mouthed. Then I turned to the 
reporter. 
"Excuse me, we did... what?"

The TV guy's eyes went wide and his grin exuberant. He turned back to 
the 
other journalists, shouting: "They don't even know!!" Turning back, he 
pounded me on the back, making me cough. "You're today's winners, guys! 
You 
beat them all!"

"You've got to be kidding..." Aghast, I looked back at Mac, only to 
find her 
smirking.

"Your honor..." she completed under her breath, reminding me of my not 
too 
professional first appearance in front of her bench. As I saw her rise 
her 
hand, I couldn't help ginning myself. I gave her five and embraced her.

"Well done, your honor," I whispered as I squeezed her tightly to me.

"Thanks, counselor," she replied just as low, returning my squeeze.

What followed then, somehow happened in slow motion. Mac and I answered 
a 
few more questions which took up a considerable amount of time as each 
journalist or TV team wanted some exclusive direct quotes. Then Bensen 
joined us, all giddy, and dragged us over to some little podium while 
all 
the cameras and photographers filed up in front. An official-looking 
man in 
a gray suit, representing the rally organization, took a microphone. 
Meanwhile, quite a few fellow drivers had arrived and were cheering us. 
Amazingly fast, a remarkable crowd of spectators had assembled, too. 
The 
noise they made was incredible. I was like in a daze and I could tell 
that 
Mac must have felt very similar.

"Winners of today's stage from Ouagadougou to Bobo Dioulasso: from the 
United States of America, representing Team Ford - Deborah Kellerman 
and her 
navigator, Douglas Vandenberg!"

Someone pushed me in front and I dizzily followed Mac, climbing onto 
the 
little wooden square. The flashes illuminating the dusk were blinding 
me.

We both received a little trophy and a hearty handshake. Switching on 
my 
grin, I put my arm around Mac's shoulders and we posed a little for the 
cameras. Dad, this was great! I mean, look at it this way: you save the 
Russian President's life and no one knows you had a hand in it. You 
drive a 
few hours on some deserted dirt road with the person you love best in 
this 
world - and everyone is cheering you like you just saved the Russian 
President's life!

When I heard a loud 'plop' near my left ear I jumped and turned around, 
just 
in time to have a fountain of a sparkling, slightly sticky something 
splash 
in my face. For a split second I gasped, casting an anxious glance in 
Mac's 
direction, but a knowing wink from her immediately reassured me. I 
managed 
to take a quick look at the label on the oversized champagne bottle and 
relaxed: sparkling cider. Bensen, who was thoroughly showering us, 
whooping 
loudly, obviously knew about her alcoholism. It was then that I 
realized 
something else: he had apparently calculated the possibility of Mac 
winning 
a stage! Why else should he have brought such a special non-alcoholic 
champagne shower all the way? I don't think the organizers kept one 
just in 
case one of their winners were an alcoholic, do you, Dad?

Somehow, this was the final push that I needed to give in to the 
general 
folly. Bensen had known all along that Mac would do fabulously. My Mac! 
She 
made it! The hottest gung-ho semper-fi jarhead-lawyer rally queen of 
all 
times! Laughing loudly, I grabbed the bottle myself and gave Mac a 
shower to 
remember. She squealed, laughing, tackled me from the side and managed 
to 
get rid of the corpus delicti, delightedly taking revenge. A moment 
later, 
Silvio Giannetti, an Italian driver who had surprisingly arrived 
second, 
grabbed the bottle from her and aimed again at both of us until the 
pressure 
in the bottle was too low to continue.

A moment later, Mac turned to me with one of the most radiant smiles 
that 
I'd ever gotten from her, and I just lost it. Cameras or not, I swept 
her up 
in my arms and kissed her passionately, feeling her respond after a 
second 
of shock. The public cheered even louder and quite a few catcalls were 
heard. When we broke the contact, more than just a little 
self-conscious, we 
noticed the happy expressions on all the journalists' faces. Everyone's 
favorite heroes, the wild lawyers from D.C., surprise winners of the 
day and 
obviously in love - what a sensational, heart-warming story!

Once we were released from public attention, Mac very quickly excused 
herself, granting me another quick kiss and claiming that she 
absolutely 
craved a shower. I guess she was more likely longing for a little space 
to 
digest her happiness, just as I was, but I didn't comment. When I got 
back 
to our tent after having finally showered myself, she was already 
sleeping 
peacefully and I didn't feel the necessity to wake her. When I settled 
down, 
though, I found yet another little pack on my sleeping bag. With an 
all-encompassing smile, I set the little brick stone aside and read her 
accompanying note:


Harm,

Thank you for four days of perfect vacation. I guess honeymooning with 
you 
should be fun.

Today's victory is yet another teamwork hallmark moment. Who'd have 
guessed 
we'd get that good at it? Anyway, I'm glad we did.

Love,
Mac


Imagine my actual state of mind, Dad. I'll say no more.

Harm



Jan. 15th
UN peace forces camp
Monrovia, Liberia

Dad.

You're familiar with Murphy's Law, aren't you? The worst that can 
happen 
will happen. Once again, Murphy was right.

Today, I was granted the chance to experience what the worst-case 
scenario 
could be like. My greatest fears all but came true. For a few 
excruciating 
moments, I thought I'd lost everything good in my life. That was just 
what I 
had always, always dreaded most, remember? I'm still shutting all my 
emotions out because the numbness somehow makes it easier to endure. 
I'd go 
insane if I let it affect me in any way right now. I guess, I'll just 
tell 
you what happened and then you can judge for yourself if my behavior is 
acceptable or not.

As you can deduce from the location I mentioned, our vacation is over. 
Mission completed. Successfully, I should add, but somehow I don't care 
about that at all. You just don't celebrate when your team partner 
nearly 
gets killed.

Actually, the day started just like all other racing days before. We 
were to 
enter Mali and finish the stage at its capital, Bamako. Instead, Mac 
and I 
were stranded somewhere in Côte d'Ivoire and were eventually 
med-evac'ed to 
Liberia. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Back to the beginning: I 
should 
start by telling you about something that Mac and I noticed before the 
start, something that we didn't really take to be important.

Walking over to our car, we passed the Turkish team that we'd met the 
other 
day at the Agades teahouse. Celebi and Kir greeted us just as 
good-naturedly 
as we'd known them. Kir was holding a white case with a red cross on 
top, 
apparently intending to put it into their car's trunk.

"Hey, you okay?" I asked, just a little curious.

Celebi acknowledged with a smiling nod.

"What do you need such a big medical case for?" Mac asked, just to make 
a 
little conversation.

"I'm a diabetic," Celebi answered calmly. "I have to take my syringes 
wid' 
me. And for 'dat I need a case as big as 'dis because 'dey need to be 
packed 
safely. I can't risk breaking them."

"Oh, I see. We'll cross our fingers that all goes well." Mac and I 
weren't 
really paying attention as we were due to depart in less than ten 
minutes.

"'Tanks," Celebi answered with one last friendly wave. "How about 
getting 
toge'der for a cup of coffee after 'de stage?" he added.

I turned back. "That'd be nice. We'll see you there!"

Ten minutes later, Mac and I were on the road again, rolling through 
the 
tropical forest like the day before, enjoying our mutual happiness 
without 
speaking.


For about 400 km, nothing happened. Gunny and Clay were observing 
Dunfoss 
and Mac and I were just going on yet another safari, conversing easily.

"... so you say having Jingo sniff at the oregano wasn't a good idea?" 
Mac 
asked me, laughing a little incredulously.

"No, I didn't say that," I replied. "It worked and you proved that the 
man 
was telling the truth. But what if it hadn't worked, Mac? What if he'd 
indicated the real narcotics?"

"But he didn't," she shot back with a gloat.

"No, he didn't," I conceded, "But don't you think it's a bit of a risk, 
basing a defense on an experiment in which you rely on the nose of an 
old 
dog failing his job?"

"Sure, it was risky but..."

"Stop!!!" I suddenly shouted as we turned around a corner and nearly 
skidded 
into three cars that were caught in a heavy collision. I got out for a 
moment and asked if everyone was all right. Apparently, no one was 
seriously 
hurt.

I saw Celebi applying a bandage to Kir's arm. "You sure you don't need 
help?" I offered.

"No," Celebi's smile was as easy as ever, tinged with a slight note of 
compassion for his hurting friend. "'Dis is nasty, but we've seen 
worse, 
haven't we, Taifun?"

Kir nodded a grinning consent. Wishing him a quick recovery, I climbed 
back 
into the car and we headed on, both of us thoughtful for some reason we 
couldn't quite identify.

Suddenly Mac gasped and stepped on the brakes. I gave her a startled 
look.

"The medical case!" she blurted out, eyes wide.

Instantly, the scales fell from my eyes. "The one they used was small! 
That 
means the one in the trunk..."

"...contains something else," she once again finished my sentence, 
frantic. 
"Something that mustn't break at any cost!" Fiercely yanking the wheel 
around, Mac made a u-turn and, with screeching tires, headed back.

Swearing loudly, I reached for the secure comm-link. How could we have 
been 
so stupid not to get suspicious at all? We'd both been completely 
fooled by 
Celebi's open and easy friendliness. Great.

"Carl, do you copy?" I yelled into the mike.

A second later, static was heard and then Clay's voice made its way 
over the 
line. "I do, Doug. What's the matter? Over."

"Change of target!" I panted. "It's Celebi. Deb and I are in his 
tracks. 
Over!"

"Wait. You're telling me we were behind the wrong team? Look, that's 
impossible, they clearly told me..."

Impatient, I interrupted him, not caring anymore if anyone could hear 
us or 
not. "Dammit, Clay, trust me with this! Mac and I are following him, 
get us 
reinforcements, ASAP! We have to rely on seeing him, we don't have his 
GPS 
readouts!"

"Harm, be reasonable, we..."

"Damn, Clay, JUST DO IT!!" I shut off the comm-link in exasperation.

Meanwhile, Mac had spotted Celebi and Kir just as they were leaving the 
main 
road and turning into another, narrower one that led south. We 
immediately 
followed suit.

It took the Turkish only about a minute to guess that they were being 
followed. Celebi stepped on the accelerator with all his might and 
initially 
managed to create a little additional space between his car and ours, 
but he 
had clearly underestimated Mac. Fuming, she took up the chase, 
reminding me 
of a predator that mercilessly went after its prey.

We were following a road alongside the Bani river, trying our best not 
to 
slip off the wet track and end up in the ditch. We gained yard after 
yard, 
closing in on them. Eventually we passed a signpost that told us that 
we'd 
just entered the Republic of Côte d'Ivoire but the soldier at the 
customs 
post didn't even have the time to get up before we whooshed past him at 
full 
speed.

Just before entering the town of Odienné, we had finally closed the 
distance. Starting to overtake them at their port side and then 
willfully 
slamming our car into theirs, Mac managed to push them into the ditch. 
We 
got out immediately, disposed of our helmets and occupied ourselves 
with the 
two men.

I reached Kir as he tried to get hold of a gun that he'd apparently 
kept 
under his seat. Throwing myself at him, I smashed him against the open 
car 
door and, getting a heavy blow on my ribcage as he tried to defend 
himself, 
I managed to take him out with a precisely aimed right hook.

When I looked around for Mac my heart stopped beating. I saw her 
toppling 
down the bank, hitting her head hard on a rock. Unconscious, she rolled 
on 
until I saw her motionless form fall into the river and start to slowly 
float away.

Inside my soul, rage welled up, a rage so fierce and powerful and 
deadly as 
I didn't even know I was capable of feeling. With an earth-shattering 
"NO!!" 
I attacked Celebi from behind, beating him unconscious before he even 
had 
the time to react. Then I half ran, half rolled down the bank, flung 
myself 
into the startlingly cold water and swam on, driven by the force of 
sheer 
despair.

When I had reached her limp body after what seemed to me an endless 
amount 
of time, I needed yet another three minutes to get her back to the 
shore and 
drag her onto firm ground. Mac was frighteningly pale. Blood was 
trickling 
from the gash on her head. She wasn't breathing and I felt no pulse at 
all.

Dad, it was the scene from the Watertown all over again. She was dead 
in my 
arms. Like back then, the panic threatened to overwhelm me - only a 
hundred 
times worse. I had opened my heart to her. I had let her in, had 
allowed 
myself to love her. Now, as I was desperately resuscitating her, tears 
streaming down my face, I was hit full force by the consequences of 
that one 
mistake that I'd once sworn I'd never make. It was just as I'd 
foreseen: it 
was too much to take. Eventually, though, I managed to close my heart 
against the pain as I was frantically going on: 
one-two-three-four-five, 
breathe, wait, breathe, search for pressure point, 
one-two-three-four-five, 
breathe, wait, breathe, search for pressure point, 
one-two-three-four-five...

What seemed like ages later, I heard a helicopter and saw that Clay had 
managed to contact the nearest UN peace forces in Liberia. On board the 
med-evac, they had a defibrillator and finally managed to bring Mac 
back to 
life while the troops on the ground took Celebi and Kir into custody 
and 
secured the cars.

We went directly to the largest hospital in Monrovia where Mac was put 
under 
observation. Three hours later, Clay and Gunny joined me, worried to no 
end, 
but confirming that we'd been right.

Celebi had had the grenades safely stored in his fake medical case that 
was 
secured in the trunk in a highly inventive way so as to dampen the 
blows. 
Being questioned, he turned out to be an Islamic extremist who was 
obsessed 
by the idea of establishing a permanent Al Qaeda cell at Erhac, right 
under 
the nose of the NATO forces, so to say. He had managed to get into 
contact 
with the terror network but apparently they had so far only shown 
interest 
in the weapons that he might be able to procure them from Erhac base.

So, when he had learned of the existence of the Anthrax grenades, 
Celebi had 
offered Al Qaeda a deal: he would safely get them to an inconspicuous 
port 
like Monrovia, knowing that he would be doing the rally anyway, and in 
exchange, the organization would support him in erecting a terrorist 
training camp in Turkey. He hadn't had the slightest idea that we were 
looking for the grenades. When he understood who we really were, Clay 
told 
me that he could clearly see that Celebi was mentally beating himself 
up for 
telling us where he was from.

When I asked how the Turkish team had managed to let their cargo go 
unnoticed for such a long time, Clay gave me a wry smile. "He didn't 
carry 
the grenades in the car before today. They were in his camper. He told 
me he 
slept on them every night."

No wonder we hadn't seen a thing. And he'd come so close to getting 
away 
with them.


I was sitting at Mac's bedside when she finally woke from the sleep 
she'd so 
much needed after today's ordeal. I looked up when I felt her hand move 
in 
mine.

"Hey sailor," she said in a low voice, smiling.

I forced myself to return the smile. "Hey..."

"Where are we?"

"Monrovia."

"And the grenades?"

"All taken care of," I reassured her. "They even managed to arrest the 
Al 
Qaeda contacts."

She sobered a little. "I guess I owe you one, don't I?"

"Yeah." I didn't trust my voice to any more words as I recalled today's 
events.

I watched her gaze turn wary. "Harm, it's over. I'm alright."

"Yeah."

The wariness turned to dread. Her voice started to quiver ever so 
slightly 
as she went on, trying to keep the tone light. "Why don't you come here 
and 
take me in your arms for a few moments, my hero?"

I looked away, swallowing. Then I turned my head back and forced myself 
to 
make eye-contact. "You need some more sleep, Mac," I answered, trying 
to 
sound as gentle as possible, as I softly placed her hand on her stomach 
and 
let go of it.

"Harm..." The word came out very low, together with a sob.

I got up a little too quickly. "I'm sorry, Mac," I whispered, squeezing 
my 
eyes shut against the burning tears, "I can't." Turning around, I 
headed for 
the door when her calm, incredibly sad voice made me stop.

"I know." She took a deep, shaky breath. "You do care, just not 
enough," she 
added in a resigned whisper.

My back still turned towards her, I gulped heavily. "That's not true." 
I had 
to press the words out one by one. "I can't be with you because I care 
too 
much."

She didn't respond immediately but as I reached for the door handle, 
she 
spoke up once more. "Harm?"

"Yeah?" I couldn't turn around.

"Please, don't stay with me. Go back to D.C. with the others." There 
was no 
reproach in her voice.

I tried to object. "But..."

"Please, Harm," she gently cut me off, "I'm gonna be alright."

I finally managed to turn around and face her, only to encounter that 
strange expression in her eyes once again, full of bottomless sadness 
and 
deepest understanding at the same time.

"Okay," I whispered, defeated. Then I grabbed for the door handle and 
fled.


Some time later when I had reached my quarters at the UN camp, a knock 
at 
the door startled me out of my numbness. When I opened I found myself 
eye to 
eye with Andrew Bensen who was shaking with suppressed anger.

"Bensen? What..."

I didn't get any further. Without uttering a syllable, he hit me in the 
jaw 
with a right hook that made me see stars. Gasping, I tried to address 
him 
about his behavior, but he just wordlessly turned on his heel and left.

While I was still leaning against the doorframe, trying to get my 
surroundings into focus again, Clay walked by, stopped and stepped up 
to me.

"Bensen hit me," I explained, the pain evident in my voice.

Clay just glanced at me, cold and hostile. "I know," he replied calmly, 
"He 
won the coin toss."

With that, he left me alone.

Dad, why don't they understand? Clay has been there already, he should 
know 
what this is about! Don't you think I have the right to protect myself 
just 
as much as everyone else? And I'll still always be there for Mac, she 
can't 
doubt that! She's got to know I'd never let her down! But I mustn't let 
my 
guard down, either. Never. I couldn't handle losing her. And today has 
once 
again shown me just how easily that could happen. Please, tell me I'm 
right, 
please, Dad! Tell me that there's one person out there who understands 
me!

Harm



Jan, 26th
Washington, D.C.

Dad,

Things have gotten worse between Mac and me since we've returned from 
Africa. They kept Mac under observation at the hospital for another 
five 
days, just to make sure the lack of oxygen didn't cause any permanent 
damage. Then she flew back and was immediately cleared for duty as long 
as 
it didn't include physical strain. Three days ago, she returned to JAG.

We hardly talk at all. If we do, it never goes beyond anything 
work-related. 
I haven't seen her smile once. She avoids me. I know I hurt her badly 
but 
why can't she see that we're all better off if we just keep going on as 
best 
friends?

When I thought she had drowned in that river back in Côte d'Ivoire, I 
thought I'd explode from the pain I felt inside. I couldn't take it. It 
was 
Diane all over again, only a hundred times worse. That's why I drew 
back. 
Because I care too much, just as I told her. But I'm not sure she 
understands.

How can I make her understand?

Wish you were here, Dad.
Harm



Jan, 28th

Dear Dad,

Once again, it's 0200 and I'm sitting at my dining room table, writing 
to 
you. I must admit, these 'conversations' between you and me have become 
a 
habit, and I'm actually looking forward to them more and more each day, 
especially on a day like today.

I had a roller-coaster ride of feelings today that was worse than 
anything 
that I've told you of during the last weeks. I know that sounds crazy, 
I'm 
laughing at myself incredulously saying it. All I need to do is turn 
back a 
few pages and read what I wrote to you - my confusion always sounded 
like it 
couldn't get worse, didn't it? Funny thing is: I was convinced of what 
I 
wrote.

Right now, I don't know how this letter will end because all I feel 
inside 
is just one big hurricane. I'm utterly and completely unable to get the 
slightest order into my line of thinking. Too much happened today. I'm 
still 
processing all the emotions I went through and I sincerely hope writing 
to 
you will help - normally it does. Okay, I'll start at the beginning.

Today was Friday, and to begin with, things weren't any better between 
Mac 
and myself this morning. We exchanged exactly four words at work today, 
adding up all that we both said. "Good morning, Colonel," I tried, and 
she 
just said "Commander..." without even looking up. Then she had a 
hearing and 
when she got back I had a difficult interview to conduct.

I was done around 1700 and hoped to at least wish her a pleasant 
weekend. 
When I looked up, her office was already dark but the real trouble 
started 
when I walked over to Harriet to ask her at what time Mac had left for 
today.

Harriet looked at me as if she'd seen a ghost. "Sir, you know that her 
flight leaves at 1805 from Dulles."

Flight? What flight? Mac hadn't hinted with one single word that she 
had to 
go out of town. Completely clueless I asked Harriet where Mac was going 
and 
her eyes got even wider if that's possible.

"Don't tell me you don't know..." she trailed off, aghast, horror 
showing in 
her eyes.

Suddenly I felt my stomach going wild. Something was wrong, very wrong. 
I 
remember that my first attempt at speaking failed miserably. Clearing 
my 
throat, I tried again. "What is it that I should know, Harriet?"

She blanched. Dad, I rarely saw Harriet that terrorized. Of course, my 
suspicions rose to no limits in no time. "What, Harriet?" I urged her 
to go 
on.

"She's... she's transferring..." Harriet almost whispered. "She told me 
that 
you knew and approved of it and that it wasn't to be talked about by 
the 
admiral's order. We even had a little goodbye drink last night, all of 
us. 
We were astonished not to see you, sir, but the colonel said that you 
had an 
important appointment and lately, you were very busy catching up on 
your 
cases and the two of you were just so... after the rally... so I 
thought... 
we..."

The world was beginning to spin in front of my eyes. I think I must 
have 
swayed on my feet for the next thing I remember is being sat down by 
Harriet 
on her own chair. "Where?" was the only thing I got out of my throat 
although I feared I already knew. The admiral had been especially cold 
to me 
of late.

"Brussels, NATO headquarters," she confirmed the catastrophe.

The whirlwind that was my mind rose to a full-blown gale. Dad, she 
transferred to Europe without even letting me know! Rage, despair and 
loss 
fought a battle inside my chest. I don't know what you felt when you 
realized you had lost us but I guess what I felt at that moment came 
close. 
I didn't know what to do with my hands, they wouldn't obey me anymore. 
I had 
a million questions on my mind but all were shaded by only one to which 
I 
feared I knew the answer. 'Why? For God's sake, why?' I was aware that 
whoever was still at the office had stopped working and was looking 
over but 
I didn't care. Funny how those details lose all of their importance in 
the 
blink of an eye, isn't it?

"Why didn't anybody tell me?" I only croaked out, more to myself than 
to 
her. Just how much did I hurt her that my actions had the power to 
destroy 
everything that had ever been between us? Just how cruel must I have 
been to 
the one woman I ever truly loved in my life, Dad? Yes, I love her more 
than 
I ever loved Diane. I have known for a long time but at that moment the 
realization was once again crystal clear in my mind. How could I ever 
ignore 
my feelings? I'm completely at a loss.

Harriet placed a shaking hand on my arm. "We thought you knew," she 
whispered, "And Admiral Chegwidden and the colonel herself were so 
serious 
about keeping it quiet..."

I looked up but didn't really see her. My vision was suddenly blurred. 
In 
afterthought I guess this was the first time Harriet Sims-Roberts ever 
saw 
me in tears. Only now do I remember how she sucked in her breath and 
stared 
at me. Back then, I could only think of one thing: Dulles. Without 
another 
word, I jumped to my feet, grabbed my coat and cover and literally ran 
out 
of the office.


I have no idea how I survived D.C. rush hour traffic. Or how I even 
found 
the right road to Dulles, for that matter. The only thing I remember is 
constantly praying: 'God, don't let it be too late. Don't let it be too 
late!' Somehow I made it to the airport. When I parked my car my watch 
read 
1753. I dashed through the swing doors, sped along the never-ending 
corridors, not taking care of who got in my way. There was only one 
flight 
leaving for Brussels at 1805.

When I finally arrived at the gate I thought my chest would explode. I 
was 
panting and coughing but I didn't really pay attention to that, I 
think. 
Boarding had just begun and there she was, quietly standing in line, 
still 
in her uniform. Even though I could only see her back, her attitude 
told me 
exactly how she felt. She was a woman who naturally wore her pride, who 
didn't waver and went on with her life. And yet, an aura of sadness, 
defeat 
and resignation radiated from her. I think no one else but me was able 
to 
detect it but I damned sure did. Clearly. Because I had caused it.

"Mac!" I yelled from the barrier, not caring about the many people that 
looked in astonishment at the naval commander in full uniform who 
didn't 
seem to care one bit about conduct unbecoming an officer. "Mac!"

I saw her tense. She was just about to have her carryon checked. Slowly 
she 
turned and looked at me, her eyes mirroring her shock that I had found 
out 
and at the same time overflowing once again with that silent, 
bottomless 
sadness that was devoid of any reproach.

"Mac, don't go, please!" I yelled, desperate. She only looked at me for 
two 
or three endless seconds. Then I saw her quietly mouth "Be safe, Harm." 
and 
she turned and walked away in the direction of the gangway, never 
looking 
back.

Dad, I have no idea what happened in the following minutes. I stood 
like I 
was petrified. I didn't feel anything, didn't see anything, didn't hear 
anything. Everything just went numb. The noises fused into one 
monotonous 
humming. Mac, my Sarah, had decided against me. Eventually one thing 
made 
its way to my conscious, though. The loudspeaker cracked and announced: 
"Departure United 2938 to Brussels." That was when my world finally 
shattered.

I have lived through many painful situations, Dad. Like when I found 
out how 
you died, for example. Or Diane's death, of course. Or when I thought I 
would die myself, out at sea, and never be able to see Mac again. But, 
I 
swear, nothing ever came close to what I went through just about eight 
hours 
ago. The pain choked me, drowned me, crushed me, everything at the same 
time. I had lost all that I had been living for, even though I hadn't 
realized it that clearly until right then. This time, her goodbyes were 
definite. I could read it in her eyes. I had depended on my credit once 
too 
often. There's only so much Sarah's heart can take.

I somehow made my way to the nearest bistro area, got myself an alibi 
cup of 
tea and slumped down on a seat far at the back. Facing the wall, I 
rested my 
face in my hands and wept.

I don't know how long I sat there, silently crying my eyes out. I 
think, for 
any bystanders who only saw me from behind it must have looked as if I 
were 
sleeping, just another exhausted traveler stealing a few minutes of 
rest 
before going after his business again. Anyway, people left me alone, 
and I 
was grateful for it.

I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and thought I 
must 
be losing my senses. Mac was quietly standing at my side, looking at me 
with 
a neutral expression, silently offering me a handkerchief. I guess I 
stared 
as if she were an alien. Normally, a reaction as this would have caused 
her 
to smile, but she just kept looking at me with those huge dark eyes of 
hers, 
her expression carefully masking whatever she might be feeling at that 
moment.

Understanding that I needed an explanation, she said. "Blizzard coming 
in. 
The flight was canceled when we were already taxiing to the runway. 
They're 
getting us hotel rooms until we can get out."

"But your apartment..." I whispered, not really understanding.

"Already let," she only said. "The guy wanted something furnished."

"Why, Mac?" I wasn't even sure if my words had been audible at all.

She placed the handkerchief in front of me on the table, never 
relieving me 
from that guarded, seemingly void look that hurt me to the bottom of my 
soul, more than any anger of hers ever could have.

"You know the reason," she stated. Strangely, there was no bitterness 
in her 
words. "I thought it would be better to leave quietly to avoid any more 
discussions."

I guess that was when it dawned on me that I had just been given one 
ultimate chance to speak. Dad, I don't think I was ever that scared and 
courageous in my life at the same time. I couldn't think of any other 
thing 
to do. I got up, quickly dried my eyes and took Mac's hands in mine. 
She 
didn't pull away, but still showed no sign of emotion, either. She just 
waited. Well, what could I have expected of her? To let her guard down 
in 
front of me? Dream on, Rabb. Nevertheless, I spoke. I had no chance but 
I 
vowed to myself I would die trying.

"Mac, I... please, you know... the thing is..." Damn. Get a grip, 
Hammer! 
Mac only looked at me, unmoving, unperturbed. Unfeeling?

I knew there was only one thing to say. I heard the words deep inside 
myself. I felt as if I had to push them up inch by inch to my tongue 
but I 
was determined not to back down. It had been too long since I'd ever 
said 
them to a woman. But I realized that they hadn't been buried along with 
her. 
I still had them in me and was suddenly all but dying to finally, 
finally 
get them out.

"I love you, Sarah," I said very low, desperately searching her eyes 
for any 
reaction at all. Nothing. 'Say something, anything,' I silently 
implored 
her. Anything would be better than this neutral silence. "I love you," 
I 
repeated, whispering, "And I finally understood that there is no 
possible 
way of ever caring too much. Forget what I told you at the hospital. I 
alone 
allowed that feeling to grow inside me and I never want to live without 
it 
again. Please, don't go away. Tell me whatever I must do to make you 
stay."

Still she didn't react. I felt fresh tears well up inside myself and 
willed 
them down, swallowing. I understood. I had to figure it out by myself. 
She 
was tired of having to take the lead.

"I need you in my life, Mac, more than anything else," I went on, 
forcing 
myself to continue speaking. "I told you we were a team, didn't I? I 
didn't 
behave like we were, I know. But I can't imagine my life without you 
and me 
being together. You complete me, Sarah. Without you, I am incapable of 
living up to my standards. It's you who makes me reach them. And it's 
the 
two of us, it's our team that opens to me the one street I want my life 
to 
take. I know it took me far too long to figure it out. And it took me 
longer 
still to draw the right conclusions. But here I am, willing to let go 
completely and give up everything just to have you."

When I still saw her standing motionless, denying me the slightest hint 
that 
what I'd said so far had even reached her ear, I felt the sudden urge 
to 
grab and shake her, just to force her to react. I squeezed my eyes shut 
and 
gritted my teeth, drawing a deep, shaky breath. But I wouldn't succumb. 
Once 
more, I lifted my eyes to hers.

"I always thought that having you and losing you would be too much to 
take. 
But that's not true. I know now that nothing is as painful as closing 
my 
heart and not taking the chance of letting you be a part of me. Diane's 
ghost no longer has any hold on my fears, I swear. Please, tell me I'm 
not 
too late." My last words came out almost as a whisper as my emotions 
threatened to choke me. I was in complete agony, awaiting her sentence. 
I 
had let down my guard, utterly and completely. I felt her next words 
could 
easily kill me, but at the same time a strange kind of relief flowed 
through 
my veins. I had at least told her. Finally.

The first sign of reaction that I could detect in her was a slight 
tightening of her hand. Her glance softened ever so slightly. "Why now, 
Harm? Why did I have to leave to make you dare act on your feelings?" 
she 
asked, her voice not entirely even. "And how do you intend to convince 
me 
that this time, you won't draw back? How am I ever going to believe you 
again?"

"I can't offer any excuses, Mac," I answered, pained by her questions. 
"I 
can only offer you my heart and my word of honor that I will never 
again let 
you down. I learned my lesson, Mac. I learned it the painful way, 
believe 
me. And I know now that in my life, I want nothing more than to love 
you if 
I'm allowed to. I'm aware that asking you to trust me now must seem 
ridiculous but, please, Mac, just this once, give me one ultimate 
chance to 
prove that I'm worthy of it. Please," I pleaded with everything that 
was in 
me.

"Even if I wanted to, I..." she swallowed. My heart sank. Too late. I 
had 
known it all along, but the reality still cut too deep. I let go of her 
fingers, looked down in confused pain and wiped my face, not knowing 
what to 
do with my hands.

"I have always loved you, Harm," I then heard her go on in a low voice. 
"I 
couldn't un-love you now, even if I wanted to." Unconsciously holding 
my 
breath, I forced myself to face her - and to my utmost bewilderment, I 
felt 
hope, even before the meaning of what she had just said sank in. I 
gaped at 
her.

"Kiss her, you fool!" someone shouted from the side. I looked around 
and 
became aware that the whole restaurant was silently staring in our 
direction. The spell was broken. Mac blushed deeply, a grin spreading 
over 
her face. I felt my mouth twitch as well, and finally we both burst out 
laughing.

Dad, I'm utterly incapable of telling you in words what I felt. My 
world had 
turned from deepest night to complete bliss in an instant. I don't 
think 
I'll ever be able to describe what went on inside myself. I only 
remember 
that I first embraced Mac tightly, lifting her up and whirling her 
around 
several times, both of us laughing out loud although we were aware that 
we 
had tears in our eyes. Then I carefully set her down and kissed her, 
tenderly and passionately at the same time. I tried to put the whole of 
my 
heart and soul into that single kiss, to make her see what I had tried 
to 
tell her before. My knees threatened to buckle when I felt her respond 
in 
kind.

Someone whooped very loud and the whole restaurant erupted into cheers, 
making us break up and hug tightly, embarrassedly hiding our faces, 
laughing. Eventually Mac pulled back and, sniffling, put her hand into 
the 
pocket of her coat. With a wonderful, radiant, teary smile that made my 
heart race she handed me the last missing stone of the arch.

"Promise me you won't burn the bridge this time," she begged softly.

"I swear I won't," I answered, taking it from her. "Will you help me 
build 
it? Teamwork?" I added.

"With all my heart."

Unable to wipe the goofy smile off my face, I offered her my hand. "How 
about going home, Marine?"

"Home is where you are," she answered simply, placing her hand in mine. 
Together we left the restaurant, sheepishly smiling at the corridor of 
applauding people that formed before us. I guess none of them will ever 
forget the sight of two high-ranking officers in full uniform, giving 
them 
their share of Hollywood that day, now will they?


We made it home to my place just before the blizzard got a firm hold of 
the 
capital. Once I got in, I turned up the heater and shut the windows 
tightly 
as the wind started to howl ever more. Only then did I dare to face Mac 
again. We had been very silent during the ride home. I didn't know what 
to 
say to her. Again, the intimate closeness of the car intimidated me, 
even 
more than it had down in Africa. So I limited myself to casting her a 
smile 
now and then to reassure her that I had meant what I'd told her.

Now she was standing in the doorway, shy, not really knowing what to do 
next.

"Can I take your coat?" I asked. I had to fight the urge to add '...and 
everything else you wear?'

Smiling, she let me have it. I gently pulled her away from the door. 
Then we 
again just stood in front of each other, connected only through the 
intense 
contact of our glances. I tried to tell myself that I was shivering 
from the 
cold but whom did I want to fool, Dad? I was scared of this... "thing" 
- but 
at the same time overwhelmed to have her with me, for once in mutual 
awareness of how we were feeling about each other.

Mac lifted her hand and gently caressed my cheek, sending more shivers 
down 
my spine. That woman can cause me goose bumps only by looking at me. I 
closed my eyes, lost in her touch.

"I was hurting before," she whispered, "But seeing you cry made it so 
much 
worse."

"How did you find me?" I asked just as low, keeping my eyes closed to 
savor 
her caresses.

"I was planning on getting myself a cup of coffee to decide what to do, 
now 
that my flight had been canceled." Her voice was getting lower and 
lower. 
Eyes still shut, I stepped closer to understand what she was saying 
until I 
could feel her body against mine and her breath near my ear. Encircling 
her 
softly in my arms, I listened as she went on. "The moment I saw the 
figure 
at the back of the restaurant, I knew it was you. And I knew you were 
crying. You can't imagine how that sight shook me inside."

"And you can't imagine how that guarded look of yours was torturing 
me," I 
whispered, burying my nose in her hair that faintly smelled like 
apples. "I 
could have taken your wrath, but not this... this... nothing."

"I was too scared to take the mask off," she confessed, making me hurt 
once 
again at the thought that my Marine had been afraid of me.

"I'm so sorry," I murmured, "So sorry."

"Just don't draw back this time, okay? I'm defenseless."

She had tried to say it lightly but I heard the slight shaking in her 
voice. 
"I won't. I swear, Mac, I won't. Please, believe me," I repeated, 
desperately trying to reassure her. Relief swept all over me when I 
felt her 
relax against me.

"You know I still have to go to Europe, right?" Her voice was very low 
and 
full of regrets. "I received my orders yesterday."

"I know. But you can come back in August and we'll see each other as 
much as 
we can, I promise."

Her voice bore traces of her smile. "Yeah.... and we don't even have to 
keep 
it quiet. We're not fraternizing now and we'll work something out 
before I 
come back."

My heart leapt at hearing her paint her picture. "I love you so 
much..." I 
only whispered, stroking her head and her back. Dad, I so badly want 
her to 
see that I'm sticking to my promise. Do you think she'll ever trust me 
again 
in full?


Well, maybe I already got my answer to that one. At least I guess I 
did. Mac 
pulled back a little and shyly brought her lips to mine. Electricity 
flowed 
on contact. How does she do that? It's scary but I fear I'm already 
addicted 
to the thrill. As our kiss grew in intensity, I had to tell myself 
repeatedly to power down. I had no right to claim anything from her. I 
could 
only accept what she was willing to offer.

I wouldn't have dreamed, though, just how much that was.

I started when, with a swift brush of her hands, she shoved my uniform 
jacket off my shoulders, never breaking the kiss. Only when I felt her 
remove my tie and open my shirt, did I dare to busy myself with the 
buttons 
on her green uniform. I proceeded slowly and shyly although I was 
burning 
with desire but, as I said, it was for her to set the pace. I wanted 
her to 
know that sex was of minor importance to me right then.

I don't know, though, if she had the time to realize that.

Again I can't wipe that smile off my face. I had always imagined Sarah 
Mackenzie to be a passionate woman. But the way she seduced me nearly 
knocked me out of my shoes.

I guess I see you smirk at me.

But let's leave the jokes aside for a moment. Dad, I'm not sure if you 
understand what I mean, but making love to Sarah was like a spiritual 
journey to the very essence of love itself. When I held her in my arms, 
being as close to her as I could possibly get, the world around me just 
seemed to fade away. It was just her and me, our hearts beating in 
unison. 
It was unlike anything I ever experienced.

Right now Sarah's peacefully asleep, cuddled tightly into the blanket. 
Before I left the bedroom to write to you, I stood in the doorway for 
several minutes and watched her sleeping. She looks like an angel. Dad, 
I 
know I don't deserve her but I promise that, in time, I'll make it up 
to her 
and prove myself worthy of her. You believe me, don't you?

I just heard something and looked up to see light shine through the 
glass 
brick wall that separates my bedroom from the living room. I'll get 
back to 
you later. Bye!



0627 local

Dear Lt. Rabb,

Okay: Dear Dad. Please, don't blame me, Harm told me to address you 
like 
that. He's looking over my shoulder as I write so I can't do anything 
but 
comply.

From what Harm told me about his letters to you, I guess you already 
have an 
idea about who I am. Anyway, to keep up the customs of society, let me 
present myself: my name is Sarah Mackenzie. I'm a lieutenant colonel in 
the 
Marine Corps, Chief of Staff at JAG Headquarters and Harm's working 
partner 
of several years. And - I hope you won't mind, sir... sorry, I have to 
take 
back the 'sir' because your son won't allow that I use it with you, 
he's 
headstrong, you know - anyway, what I wanted to add was that I am the 
woman 
who right now has on her left hand the ring that you once gave to your 
wife. 
I do hope you consent to your son's choice.

Are you curious to know how Harm managed to pop the question? Actually, 
he 
did it in a very sweet way. I'm sure he told you about the experiment 
with 
the arch and that I gave him the single brick stones to tell him 
whenever he 
was on the right way to rebuild the bridge that he had burnt? I didn't 
give 
him the final piece until last night at the airport. I had intended to 
take 
it with me to Europe, sad souvenir of what might have been, sort of, 
but 
heaven sent a blizzard and your son convinced me to stay.

When I woke, a couple of hours ago, he interrupted his letter to you 
and 
came back to the bedroom with an atlas and the little brick stones, 
including the last one. As we didn't have a folding table, we laid out 
the 
arch on the right-hand page of the map in the middle of the book 
(Russia, 
actually). Then we slowly lifted the back of the atlas until the arch 
stood 
and then put the map down again. The arch held.

This is about teamwork, you know: I steadied the ground while he 
balanced 
the stones. Alone, neither of us could have done it. This may seem a 
little 
sentimental but isn't this a beautiful sign of belonging together?

All right, I'm starting to babble, but you must forgive me: I'm still 
kind 
of overwhelmed by what followed our construction work. With one of 
those 
dazzling smiles I'm sure he inherited from you, Harm put his hand in 
the 
pocket of his bathrobe. "I think I may have the right monument to place 
on 
top of our bridge to eternity," he said and I suddenly felt my breath 
catch 
in my throat.

Harm carefully placed a little object on the topmost stone. When I saw 
the 
dusty little black velvet box I looked at him, unable to utter a 
syllable. I 
mean, you have to understand that, just about ten hours prior, I had 
been 
ready and willing to leave my shattered hopes behind for forever, to 
finally 
move on with my life. And now...

Harm looked at me with that funny expression of his, you know, this 
look 
that is half the cocky pilot and half the frightened little boy that is 
begging his mother not to take his favorite toy away from him.

You must excuse that nasty blotch of ink but your son just slapped me 
on the 
arm for what I said about his glance. Don't worry, he got an elbow to 
his 
chest in return for assaulting a woman. I'm a Marine, after all... 
Anyway, 
back to our bridge: here's what happened.

"Take it, Sarah," Harm said simply, softly, "And with it my heart and 
my 
life."

Careful not to destroy the arch, I removed the little box from the top. 
That 
wasn't too easy, by the way, because my hand was shaking madly. But I 
managed to retrieve it.

The ring is stunning. You have an exquisite taste, Dad. (Still feels 
strange 
calling you that... I'll get accustomed to it, I promise.) And it fits 
perfectly. I can't take my eyes off it. It's so beautiful in its 
simplicity. 
White-gold band, single diamond. I wouldn't have wanted anything else.

I feel immensely honored to be offered to wear it, knowing what it must 
mean 
to your wife. Harm told me that she gave it to him years ago, for 
Diane. 
Thinking that - from what he tells me - since that time he never took 
it out 
or even considered giving it to anyone, makes me prouder still. I 
promise to 
prove myself worthy of it.

Thank you for your wonderful son. I give you my word of honor that I 
will 
always love him. And that I'll make him happy if I can.

Love,
Sarah




THE END