Sarah III -The Farrow Years

                     by Katherine English,

Disclaimer: JAG and its characters are the property of Donald Bellisario, Paramount and CBS. All other characters are mine and fictional.

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Fall 1987
Futenma Marine Air Station
Okinawa, Japan


She was a lean, mean fighting machine.

Private First Class Sarah "Mac" MacKenzie slowly disembarked the transport at Futenma Marine Air Station, and scanned the tarmac for her ride to Camp Butler.

To say that she was excited would have been a gross understatement. Fresh from "boot camp" at Parris Island, the thought of her first Marine posting filled the stalwart 19-year-old with the promise of things to come...a new life... a chance to start over again. Camp Butler would give her the opportunity to reinvent the Sarah MacKenzie whose youthful lack of judgement had almost cost her everything. It was a new beginning.

Mac turned to her companion and fellow "leatherneck". "Hey PC... see the sign over there?" Mac pointed to the logo, posted prominently above the terminal door. It read simply: "DIE FIRST THEN QUIT - SEMPER FIDELIS"

Slinging his duffel over his shoulder, Mark "PC" Wilberts let out a low chuckle. "Yeah, I guess we're not in Kansas anymore, 'ToTo'. Think that might be our "Limo" over there?"

Mac looked beyond the chain-link fencing and saw a blue and gold bus pulled up at the curb. "That's as good a guess as any, I suppose. Let's get security clearance out of the way, and we'll find out."

Okinawa was hot...not the dry heat that Mac was used to in Arizona, but an oppressively humid heat that felt like stepping into a subtropical sauna. PC however, a native of South Florida, thrived on this type of climate and appeared to feel right at home.

As she and her lanky friend boarded the bus for Camp Butler, Mac couldn't help but notice how different the area was from Parris Island.

Briefly, the young female Marine scanned the sea of red-tiled roofs, stretching out as far as the eye could see, some sporting shisas... local rooftop gargoyles. Here and there, she spotted rice paddies and pineapple fields adding to the colorful patchwork that spread before her, and giving her new home a flavor all its own.

While there was a decidedly oriental atmosphere, it was apparent that this was also a city which catered to the many American military bases in the area. MacDonald's and Taco Bell-type franchises abounded as the bus traveled along the wide thoroughfare known as "Gate 2 Street." It was a bustling community, a juxtaposition of cultures...she liked it immediately.

By comparison, the locale around Parris Island, South Carolina had been sedate and tourist-attractive, illustrating the mellow essence of the South. Its balmy climate and sandy beaches would have been a dream come true, if not for the thirteen rigorous weeks of "Hell" they'd gone through in basic training.

But they'd survived it, and it was with no small degree of satisfaction that Mac now found herself one of "The Few"... truly able to call herself a United States Marine

As Mac looked past PC at the gently rolling hills of Camp Butler, she couldn't help but remember the first time she'd seen him.

They'd actually been on a bus similar to this one, traveling for the first time to their respective barracks at "basic". A computer addict, PC had carefully placed his "portable" computer in the overhead storage for the ride across the base, and taken the seat next to her. The look he'd given her was a familiar one...one that Mac had gotten from men since the beginning of puberty.

"Back off, recruit!" she'd growled, menacingly.

He's looked at her, smiling hesitantly. "Mark Wilberts." he said, offering her his hand. "They call me 'PC' back home, 'cause that's where I always am...on my personal computer".

"Sarah MacKenzie," she'd replied, shaking his hand, realizing the young man hadn't meant anything out of line. "Sorry for jumping on you just then. It's just..."

"Just that you don't need a 'fan' at the moment?" he offered tactfully.

"Yeah...something like that." she replied, the edge leaving her voice.

"Well, then..." he continued, "If I promise to behave myself, could you use a new friend? I know I could."

Sarah Smiled. "I think we could work something out...maybe, one of these days, you could even show me around that pile of circuitry you've got up there," she said, hesitantly.

"Done and done." he'd agreed, and from that moment on they'd been firm and fast pals.

Although PC still called her "Sarah", somewhere along the line her unit at Parris Island had come to call her "Mac". At first it had been disconcerting, but as the days wore on, it seemed to suit her new "kick-ass" image, and she'd decided to keep it. And so...thirteen weeks after her arrival, "Mac" had left South Carolina a new woman...self-confident, capable and "Marine green" to the core.

0800 HOURS - The next day
Legal Services Office
Headquarters and Service Battalion Building
Camp Butler, Okinawa


The H&S Building was an L-shaped, single-storied affair, embracing a central parking area, and lined with an almost uncountable row of flags fluttering before it in the early morning breeze. It gave the impression, and rightly so, of both military might and unwavering efficiency. In short, it was totally intimidating.

Suck it up, Marine, Sarah thought as she donned her "Mac" facade. Today you carve your niche in the "real" world.

It was going to be a long day...

1200 HOURS
H&S Cafeteria
Camp Butler


Following her arrival at Legal Services, Mac had been shown to a desk in what appeared to be a clerical pool, and had been introduced to some of her coworkers.

The commanding officer of her unit was a tall, aggressive Judge Advocate named Major Chaffee. Chaffee had introduced himself, and offered to shake her hand...an innocent enough gesture. But the blatant look of impropriety in his eyes was anything but innocent.

He was easy to "read". It was the kind of look one got at the end of a hot date, when the issue of a late-night cup of "coffee" was at hand. It made her uneasy. HE made her uneasy. Given his rank and their relationship in the chain of command, she hoped that Chaffee wasn't going to be a problem.

The morning had been filled with office protocol. Her initial trainer, Lance Corporal Sam Wayne, had been both professional and efficient, and by lunchtime, Mac felt that at least her filing duties would soon be under control.

She was starving. Grateful for the break, Mac queued through the cafeteria line, choosing a burger and chef salad, then searched for a free table at which to rest her whirling consciousness. To her dismay, the cafeteria was full, and most lunch goers were now asking for their meals "to go" and leaving the premises.

Suddenly a familiar voice pierced the din. "Hey, Mac...over here."

She turned, and was relieved to find that the voice belonged to none other than her new trainer, Corporal Wayne.

"Need a place to sit?" he offered. "Here, take this table...I'm almost through, if you don't mind a little company for a few minutes."

Mac was more than glad to comply. Until she knew the ropes her options were limited, and she was too hungry to "pass" on a meal at this point.

"Yes, Sir." she replied. "I'd like that, Sir."

"Listen," the young lance corporal replied, "unless we're in a situation where the form of address would be an issue, why don't you just call me Sam. Everyone else does."

"Do they, Sam? I thought I heard some of the staff calling you 'Duke' this morning."

"Oh. That. It's a nickname...sort of a joke, I guess. You know...Wayne...Duke... Some people are just desperate for a laugh."

Mac looked at her lunch companion. The nickname wasn't due solely to the resemblance of his surname to the famous actor, there was actually somewhat of physical resemblance as well. His easy smile and comfortable manner only made the similarity all the more apparent. Mac knew they were going to get along nicely.

"So where do you hail from, Mac?"

"Arizona, for the most part, Sam. How about you?"

"Actually, I'm sort of a local. I suppose. My dad was a thirty-year man with the Corps, and he spent most of his time stationed here. For all extents and purposes, Okinawa is the only home I've ever known. When my dad retired, we moved stateside, but I couldn't wait to get back...so here I am."

"You sound like a man who'd know his way around this place. Mind if I pick your brain every now and then?"

Sam smiled. "Anytime, lovely lady...anytime."

1900 HOURS
One Week Later
Globe and Anchor Club
Camp Butler


Friday night had come none too soon to suit Mac. It had been a hectic week, and she badly needed to unwind. In seven short days, she had learned, if not mastered most of her duties at Legal Services; signed up for a full load of "distance delivered" undergraduate courses at the Camp Butler Education Center; and gotten her SOFA driver's license.

Her new roommate, Private First Class Tricia Montrose, had proven to be a real "gem". It had been her idea to have a "ladies night out" at the Globe and Anchor, the local enlisted men's club, and Mac had heartily concurred.

Tricia was a willowy, twenty-year-old blond from the great state of Alaska. She had requested an assignment in Okinawa in order to "thaw out", and meet men without beards and flannel shirts. According to her tall tales and girlish gossip, she had not only thawed out, but was currently melting most of the male population at her current duty station, the base infirmary.

Life, to Tricia, was light and uncomplicated. She loved everyone, and they seemed to love her back. It was rare for Mac to find her "roomie" at home before taps was sounded, and it seemed like notes were constantly being slid under the door with messages directed to the smiling blond from the frozen North.

Mac envied her roommate the open and easy way in which she handled her romantic liaisons. In Tricia's world it seemed like everyone came out a winner, and none, including Tricia, were the worse for wear.

Mac thought of Chris Ragle, the husband she had deliberately omitted on her enlistment papers, and her own angst-ridden life.

Life with Chris had been trying, at best. At seventeen, Chris had been her first lover, and had tapped the wellspring of her youthful sensuality one night under the Arizona sky, bathed by the light of the unseeing moon. He was exciting...ruggedly handsome...hungry for life.

It was his "Bad Boy" image that had drawn her to him, and the realties of his life that had driven them apart. If only they could have lived life in the confines of each other's arms, they might have made a success of their marriage. But life... real life...required a certain degree of compromise with the conventional world, and Chris was either unable, or unwilling, to cope.

She could still remember their last night together. Chris had pulled his aging, black Harley Softail up to the front of their rented trailer on the outskirts of Yuma, and taken her for a ride beneath the full, Arizona moon. Together they had flown mindlessly across the barren desert landscape, the Softail rumbling sensuously between her thighs, until finally, Chris had pulled up under an ancient cottonwood and dropped, catlike, to the sand.

She wondered at first why Chris had stopped there, the engine running, far beyond the edges of civilization. But the fire in his eyes, and the bulge in his jeans, left little doubt.

Smiling, Sarah had begun to dismount and join him, but placing his hand on the bare expanse of thigh which was exposed by her cut-offs, he'd held her in place.

"No." he'd said simply. "Stay there."

She'd been confused, a little nervous, but she'd stayed.

Chris reached beneath her and opened his black leather saddlebag, removing an engorged bota bag and aiming a warm stream of wine between his open lips.

"Don't you want to turn off the engine?" she'd questioned, tentatively, but he hadn't replied. Instead, Chris had remounted, facing her this time, guiding her body backwards against the rumbling leather seat, his throbbing erection pressed tightly against the juncture of her thighs.

He reached for her, his lips claiming hers, his tongue probing urgently as his hands fumbled with the buttons of her blouse.

Silently, Chris peeled the covering from her body and dropped it to the sand at her feet. Then, drawing her to him, he unclasped her bra and added it to the pile.

Sarah leaned back and closed her eyes, arching her neck, losing herself in the wild sensations he evoked. Voraciously, Chris trailed his tongue down the length of her throat, touching, tasting, claiming first one nipple then the other.

She heard a gentle pop. and felt a sudden release as Chris opened the top of her jeans and slowly lowered the zipper. She shivered in anticipation as his fingers slide sensuously across the firm plane of her abdomen, and came to rest in the downy softness between her legs, advancing, receding then advancing again.

The incessant rumbling of the engine invaded her body as Chris once more dropped to the sand beside his machine. Gently, he raised her hips, tugging her jeans and panties down the length of her supple legs, his eyes feasting hungrily on her naked flesh.

Then, quickly shedding his own clothing, he mounted once more, and again raised the bota bag to his mouth. Sarah watched as he sucked greedily at the aperture, his Adam's apple rising and falling in the dim light, his engorged manhood pressing insistently between them.

Chris aimed the spout between her lips, and she opened her mouth to accept his offering. The warm, fragrant wine rolled headily down the length of her throat, throwing caution to the wind, lighting a fire deep within her. She brought her legs up behind him, capturing him between her thighs, seeking to draw him deep inside the desperate, rumbling heat of her body. But, once again he pressed her back against the leather seat, and raised the bota bag.

This time, to her surprise, Chris began to dribble minute streams of tepid wine between her breasts and over her nipples. She shivered as the warm liquid ran sensuously down her abdomen, encouraged by the vibration of the engine, and became mixed with the heated juices which flowed uncontrollably between her legs.

She gasped as Chris lowered his head, brusquely lapping the wine from her bare breasts, sucking greedily at her nipples as though to quench an insatiable thirst as old as time.

Maddeningly, she thrust her hips against him, and felt the hardness of him nudge the opening between her thighs, but still he refrained from consummating their union. A low rumble escaped her throat, in perfect pitch with the harmony of the engine. Now...she thought...now!

Slowly, Chris licked the rivulets that had escaped down her body until he came to the moist, quivering triangle between her legs, Then pushing himself backwards on the seat, he buried his face between her pulsing thighs.

Demandingly, his tongue probed her inner core, devouring the heady mixture pooled heatedly within her, sucking gently on the sensitive nub of her desire. Suddenly, inescapably, she felt the fragile remnants of her composure shatter around her, her voice rending the night air, rising over the low rumble of the engine and piercing the darkness of the night as passion overcame her and shook her very being.

Chris sat erect, and closing his hands around her quivering thighs, he pulled her writhing body forward, straddling his hips, and thrusting the hardened length of him deep into her molten depths.

Firmly he grasped her buttocks, pulling her against him, plunging over and over again into her heated core, driving her beyond sensation to a place filled only by the joining of their bodies.

Finally, with one last powerful thrust, he buried himself deeply within her, bringing the world tumbling around them, leaving them naked and trembling beneath the inquisitive stars...and the Harley rumbled on.

Chris had been an excellent lover. That, she readily admitted. The problem with Chris, however, was indeed complicated. She didn't know why she hadn't listed him as her spouse in her initial paperwork. Maybe it was because she'd deeply needed to sever herself from his catastrophic influence at the time, maybe not. At any rate, Chris was now serving a 3-5 year sentence for armed robbery at the Florence State Prison in Arizona. To admit her deliberate deception to the Corps at this point, might precipitate a dishonorable discharge, a fate she desperately wanted to avoid. Somewhere, sometime, she'd quietly file for a divorce, but here and now might bring about more repercussions than she was able to handle. And so, she buried her secret in a dark hole within her, making sure that it never saw the light of day.

A country/western band began to warm up, filling the lively meeting place with the rhythmic twang of western-style guitars. It made Mac smile...this was one of the few aspects of "home" that she actually missed.

"Sarah!" a voice called from across the empty dance floor. "Hey, Sarah! Is that you? I almost didn't recognize you out of uniform." It was PC, and he'd apparently been sampling the local beer for a while.

"PC!" she greeted. "Sit down here, and take a load off. Have I introduced you to my new roommate, Tricia Montrose?"

PC sank into a nearby chair. "Tricia...Tricia...Trish..." he babbled inanely, his eyes never leaving her face. "A sweet, sweet name, for a sweet, sweet lady!"

Mac couldn't help but smile. She'd never seen PC drunk before...it seemed to bring out the idiot in him.

"PC, just how many of those brews have you chugged tonight?" she questioned.

"Too few to hurt me, and too many to care." he said, laughing at his own cleverness. "Hey! I think they're gonna open up the dance floor in a minute, Tricia -Tricia. Can I interest you in a few spins around the room?"

Tricia glanced over at Mac, looking for her reaction to PC's inebriated pick-up line.

Mac responded by rolling her eyes, sending her roommate a message that read: "Suit yourself...we're just friends."

With an elaborate bow, and the wave of a nonexistent cowboy hat, PC escorted Tricia to the dance floor and began to twirl his partner in ways that no country dancer had ever seen.

Mac sat alone, sipping her root beer, watching her two friends laughing and "carrying on" from one end of the dance floor to the other. She was just beginning to feel the slightest bit sorry for herself, when she felt someone approach her from the rear.

"Mac! Well I see you've found the local watering hole. Are you here all by yourself?" It was Sam Wayne, looking lethal in tight, black jeans and a Force Recon t-shirt.

Mac was glad to see a friendly face. "Not quite...Do you see the guy doing the Tango to the Two-step music? Well, he's a friend, and the blond he's dipping is my roommate. We're having a 'Ladies Night Out'. Can't you tell?"

"Looks to me like you're at least one lady short, Ma'am. Would you object to company from someone of the opposite gender?"

Mac glanced at her friends. It didn't look like they were returning any time soon.

"Sure. Why not, Sam. Pull up a chair."

"What's that you're drinking?" he asked. " It doesn't look like anything I recognize."

"Root beer." she replied. "I don't drink. It doesn't agree with me."

"Well," he offered gallantly, "Can I buy you another root beer?"

"No thanks." she answered, wanting to beep the relationship on an even keel. "I'm fine...but you go ahead and order."

Sam ordered a local draft, then settled down to enjoy her companionship.

"So...I hear Chaffee's been giving you problems at the office." he stated without preamble.

Mac was taken aback. How did he know? Was her life already the latest tendril on the "grapevine?".

"Nothing I can't handle." she answered evasively. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh...body language, I guess. That, and the scuttlebutt that his last clerk transferred out to get away from him. Also, I've been around him for a while. He's pretty arrogant...not the type to take 'no' easily."

"Well, he's going to have to take it this time! I have no intention of becoming involved with my commanding officer, or anyone else for that matter."

Sam gave Mac a questioning look. Was that last comment directed at him?

"Well, if it gets too 'hairy'...you know that you can go to Colonel Farrow, the CO of the Headquarters and Service Battalion. He's an 'alright' guy. You don't have to put up with sexual harassment in the Corps anymore."

"I know, Sam. But I'm sure I can handle it. I hate to 'make waves'...but, thanks for being a friend. I can use all of the friends I can get."

Sam got the message. "Friend" seemed to be the operative word here. But...sometimes friendships developed into something more...didn't they? He looked at the alluring woman sitting beside him. One could only hope.

A few moments later Tricia and PC returned to the table. Mac made introductions all around, then noticed that PC was looking a little green around the gills. "PC? Are you okay? You look like you need to head back to the barracks."

PC's "ship" was definitely heading toward the bottom.

"Listen," Sam offered, taking in the young man's distress. "Why don't I give your friend a ride back to his barracks in my Jeep? It's easier to clean up if he...you know. Then, one of you can follow behind and drop off his car. Afterwards I can give her a lift back to the women's barracks." Sam looked hopefully at Mac.

Mac was attracted to Sam, but her resolve to remain "dateless" was unshakable. She was just starting to get her life together, and initiating a new romance would just complicate things. Besides, even though she and Chris were separated and headed for divorce, she was still a married woman.

"Tricia, " Mac stared at her roommate pointedly, "If you could do me a favor and drive PC's car back, then I'll drive yours to the women's barracks. I'm really tired...I think I need to hit the sack."

Tricia shifted her gaze discreetly between her roommate and the handsome corporal. "Are you sure about that?" she questioned. "I don't mind, but are you sure that's what you want?"

"Positively, Tricia. I'd be really grateful."

The look in Mac's eyes said the rest. A little puzzled, Tricia nodded her head and began to steer PC toward the parking lot.

Sam stayed behind for a moment longer. What he had to say was apparently difficult for him. "I hope you don't think I'm another Chaffee," he said softly. "I'm not, you know. I think you've figured out that I like you...but I CAN take 'no' for an answer. Trust me..." Then, turning, he made a beeline for the door.

Mac waited for a few minutes, then, she too made her way toward the parking area. Pensively, she leaned back in the driver's seat, acclimating herself to its right-side positioning, and breathed a cleansing sigh. Why did life have to be so complicated?

Silently, she turned the key, and aimed the aging Chevy toward home.

Mac had only gone a few miles, when Tricia's auto began to overheat. Smoke (or steam?) began to pour out from under the hood, causing her to pull onto the shoulder and "cut" the engine.

Now What?

Mac knew a little about motorbikes, but cars were a mystery to her. Stressed, Mac popped the hood and stuck her head underneath, hoping that something really obvious would "speak" to her. But in the dark, and without a flashlight, the task was totally futile.

It was then that a Jeep pulled up behind her, and a tall, athletically-built man in his late 30's, dressed in civilian clothing, stepped out and headed in her direction.

"Is there a problem here, Miss?" he asked, projecting a beam of light under the hood.

"Absolutely." she replied. "Thanks for stopping. I have no idea where to begin here." Mac described the problem, and the handsome stranger began to nod.

"Smoke, you say?" He began to smile, and what looked like a condescending grin began to play across his firm, strong features.

"Mind if I check something out?" he asked, reaching for the dipstick.

Mac felt foolish. Oil. That was it. Tricia hadn't been keeping track of her oil levels, and now the reservoir was all but dry.

"You know, Miss, if you're going to drive a car, you ought to learn how to care for it. It's not safe, even here on base, for a pretty girl to be standing out on the road alone at night."

Mac didn't like his tone. "It's not my car." she stated defensively. "It's my roommate's...and people DO make mistakes, you know."

"Yes Ma'am." he smiled. "That they do." The stranger looked at Mac in the soft shimmer of the moonlight, her eyes dark and luminous, and thought he had never seen anyone quite so beautiful.

"I've got some oil in the Jeep. I can lend you a few quarts if you like."

Mac breathed a sigh of relief. "That would be great. I really appreciate it. Are you sure you can spare it?"

"And if I said 'no', what would you do then?"

Mac didn't like the way this conversation was going. "It's only 1137 HOURS", she responded without looking at her watch. "If you can't help me, then I'll just start walking!"

The stranger looked at his watch. She was accurate to the minute. "How did you do that?"

"Some of us have it...some of us don't." she shot tartly. "Now, are you going to help me...or do I start walking?"

The stranger took the hint, and returned to his vehicle to retrieve the oil. Soon, her oil reserves were marginally acceptable, and she was ready to be on her way.

Mac reached for her purse and began to offer her "Good Samaritan" a twenty for his oil, and his time.

Wiping his hands on a rag from his Jeep, the stranger looked at the bill with disdain. "You know...In some parts of the world, people just say 'thank you".

Then, turning his back, he silently returned to his Jeep, and drove off into the darkness.

0600 HOURS
The Next Morning
Female Enlisted Barracks
Camp Butler


Tricia wasn't in her bed the next morning.

Mac paced the floor anxiously. Her roommate had never stayed out all night before, and Mac was beside herself with worry. What could have happened to her? Had she and Sam "hit it off" and gone AWOL for a night? It was an unlikely scenario at best. Could something unimaginable have happened to her...something terrible? Should she call base security, and risk placing her friend in line for a reprimand if the absence was benign? Mac had to know more.

Quickly, Mac looked up the base personnel listings and copied down Sam Wayne's number. Then, sighing deeply, she began to dial.

Sam wasn't at the barracks when she called. Instead, his roommate picked up the phone, and informed her that Sam was out running on one of the many trails that crisscrossed the base, a daily routine that he rarely missed.

Frustrated, Mac left a message for him to return her call, then started to get ready for work. By 0730 Mac had gotten ready for work, checked the base infirmary to see if Tricia had spent the night there, and stared at the phone for 30 minutes. The only other alternative now, was to call base security.

Slowly she began to dial the extension, then changed her mind and placed the receiver back in its cradle. In exactly 27 minutes, she would be seeing Sam at work. His input could mean all the difference. She decided to wait.

0800 HOURS
Legal Services Office
H&S Building /Camp Butler


Something was wrong.

All eyes turned to her, as she entered the office at Legal Services...some questioning...some pitying...all of them stunned.

Mac stopped in her tracks. What was happening? What had she done?

Finally, Major Chaffee's personal secretary approached the young private and took her aside.

"Mac...Sarah," she began, her voice conciliatory... soothing. "Something terrible's happened, Sarah. It's your roommate. She was found this morning near the base perimeter. I'm sorry...but she's dead."

Mac sank heavily into her chair. Dead? Tricia was dead? It couldn't be possible! What was happening?

But there was more. "Dear," the older woman began again, "Major Chaffee is in with Colonel Farrow at the moment, discussing this terrible tragedy. They want you to join them, ASAP."

Mac was in shock. She felt numb and drained of life.

"They want to talk to me?"

"Yes, Sarah. Come on...I'll walk you there." the secretary offered, unsure from the devastation in her eyes, that Mac could make it on her own.

The Colonel's office was a brief two-minute walk down the north corridor, and soon Mac was progressing, woodenly, through his open doorway.

Once inside, she found, Major Chaffee, a look of consternation on his face, and a middle-aged Asian man in civilian clothing, sitting in front of the large heavy laden desk. But the one who caught her full attention sat behind the desk. There, in full uniform, sat her Good Samaritan!

Mac snapped to attention.

"Private MacKenzie," the Colonel began, his demeanor giving no hint of recognition, "this is Sgt. Asaki from the homicide division of the Okinawa City Police Department. Have a seat, Private, this may take a while."

Sgt. Asaki now took the floor. "Private, we believe that your roommate was the victim of a serial killer that has been working, sporadically, in the area for the past 5 years. In each case, the victims were Caucasian females, young, attractive, and the bodies was found here on the base."

"Forgive me for interrupting, Sir," Mac interjected, "but how would the murder of a Marine Private, on the base, come under civilian jurisdiction?"

It was a good question, Col. Farrow shifted his gaze as though reassessing the young Private's intelligence and mettle.

"I'm glad you asked, Miss MacKenzie. You see, the first victim was a civilian from Okinawa City who had been visiting on base. That was five years ago. I was assigned to the case at that time. Since then, any subsequent victims of this serial killer have been referred to me."

"Please forgive my ignorance, Sergeant, but how do you know this serial killer was responsible for Tricia's...death?

The sergeant paused, assessing the vulnerability of the woman before him. "Miss MacKenzie...I'm not sure you want to hear this...it's pretty gruesome."

"Please, go on, Sir. Tricia and I had only known each other for a week, but I considered her a good friend...I'd like to know."

"Very well then...if you insist. All of the victims were murdered in the same way, using a large-bladed knife. Then, portions of their hair were cut off, and apparently saved or removed from the scene by the killer. The M.O. was identical in your friend's case. There is little doubt that we're looking for the same person."

Mac sat, pale and stone-face, digesting the information. How could this have happened?

"Now, Private MacKenzie," Asaki continued, remembering finally to address her by rank, "we need to know anything you can tell us about Private Montrose's activities, her friends, her dates, her agenda last night...anything that might help in our investigation."

Mac, her eyes glazed and troubled, stared past Col. Farrow, through the window at the blue, uncaring sky, and began to recall her memories of last night's visit to the "Globe and Anchor". When she got to the part about Tricia following Sam to the barracks, Col. Farrow reached for the intercom and ordered someone on his staff to retrieve Corporal Sam Wayne, ASAP.

Minutes later, just as Mac was finishing her recollection of the evening's events, Sam appeared at the door.

"Come in, Corporal." the colonel ordered. "Take a seat. I assume you've been told what this is all about?"

"Yes, Sir." Sam replied, the look on his face strained and shaken.

It was Asaki who continued. "Corporal, it is our understanding that Private Montrose followed you back to the enlisted men's barracks, and that you were to then give her a ride back to her own quarters. Is this true?"

"Yes, Sir. That was the plan, Sir, but that wasn't how it actually played out."

The sergeant's eyes scrutinized the corporal's reaction, apparently searching for signs of guilt. "And how is that, Corporal? What happened then?"

"Well, Sir, after we dropped off Private Wilberts, I started to take Private Montrose home, but she said she wasn't ready to go just yet."

The hush in the room was nearly tangible.

Sam continued. "Actually, there's not much more I can tell you. She wanted to be taken back to the "Globe and Anchor". She said she'd get a ride home from someone else. I...I just did what she asked." Now the guilt in his voice became evident. "...if I'd thought...I should have known...I should have insisted on taking her home last night. If I had, she'd still be alive."

Mac reached out and gently touched his hand. He was devastated with guilt. The colonel, accurately assessing the situation, attempted to mitigate the young man's distress.

"Take it easy on yourself, Corporal. You had no way of knowing. The guilt lies with the killer, not with you, or you either, Private." This last was directed at Mac, who had been voicing similar sentiments. "Not everything is within your control. You need to accept that...cut yourself some slack."

The sergeant and the major rose to leave, Chaffee placing a hand familiarly on Mac's shoulder as he passed. Mac stiffened, and the colonel glanced questioningly at the major.

Colonel Farrow spoke: "That will be all, Corporal...Private. Why don't the two of you take the rest of the day off, I think you could use it." Then, as an afterthought, the colonel once more directed his attention toward Mac.

"Oh, and Private...you still owe me three quarts of oil."

0600 HOURS
One Month Later
On A Running Path
Camp Butler


So far, Tricia's murder had gone unsolved, and it was feared that this would be another 'open case' to add to the serial killer's file.

While the 'buzz' over the tragedy had begun to die down, the additional security which patrolled the area at night was more than evident.

Over the past month, Mac had tried, unsuccessfully, to bury her feelings under the heavy academic, and professional burdens she was carrying. Finally, drawn to another troubled soul, she had gravitated toward Sam Wayne for comfort.

He'd proven to be good therapy, and true to his word, he did indeed know how to take "no" for an answer. After a few weeks, she'd even taken to sharing his morning run around the base, an activity that had never occurred to her before. She was finding that it cleared her head, and helped her, both physically and emotionally, to prepare for the day to come. There were even times when Mac chose solace over companionship, and ventured the trails alone. It was on one of those solitary runs, that she once again encountered the colonel.

Mac was running through a heavily wooded area in a remote section of the base, when she heard rapid footfalls closing in on her from behind. Always the Marine, she took stock of her surroundings, just in case, then glanced behind her. It was Colonel Farrow!

"Have you given up on cars already, Private?" the colonel joked as he pulled abreast. "At least you won't run out of oil."

"No, Sir!" Mac said as she snapped to attention.

Farrow smiled at her "gung ho" devotion to protocol. "As you were, Private. You can't just stop in the middle of a run..." he said, keeping time beside her.

"Sir. No, Sir." Mac replied, once again picking up the pace.

Mac had hoped that the colonel would rush on by, attending to his own agenda, but instead he matched his stride to hers and followed along behind her on the narrow path.

"Do you often come running alone, Private?" he questioned.

"Sir. No, Sir. The private was just out for some time alone. Sir." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she'd made a mistake.

Farrow smiled behind her back. "So I'm butting into your 'alone time', am I Private?" he joked.

Mac didn't see the humor. He made her nervous. "Sir. Yes, Sir...I mean NO Sir!"

"Relax, Private. You're the first person I've ever seen who could run at attention! I was only asking because these trails aren't patrolled by security, and you of all people should know that it isn't safe for a woman to be this far out alone right now."

Farrow noticed the slump in her shoulders at his reference to Tricia's murder. He was sorry to have brought it up, but for her own safety, she had to understand.

The trail now emptied out into the parking area where their two vehicles sat, waiting patiently for their owners to arrive. As they finished up their run with a few stretches, the colonel commented on her car.

"Isn't that the same car you were driving when I first met you?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir. It is." Mac replied, as "relaxed" as she could get. I bought it off of Private Montrose's parents after..."

"I understand." Farrow responded quickly, not wanting to cause her any more discomfort than necessary. "Have you gotten the oil problem fixed yet?"

"No, Sir. But I keep a close eye on the oil gauge, and I carry a six-pack of oil in the trunk, just in case."

"Well, whatever works, I guess, but you really should have it looked after at some time, if you plan on running it for much longer." He could have fixed it for her. He WANTED to fix it for her...but the offer could be easily misconstrued, and that was simply not acceptable. Sometimes it was tough being a C.O..

"Yes, Sir. I'll do that, but repairs are going to have to wait until my financial status catches up my with current bills. Until then...I have the situation under control."

"And about this trail, Private. If you must run alone, try one of the more populated trails. Understood? Or do I have to make that an order?" he smiled.

"Understood, Sir. I'll do that." He was a pretty nice guy...for a colonel, she thought.

Farrow began to climb into his Jeep, still worried that the brash, young private would venture into unsafe territory alone, then paused. Should he offer, he wondered. Would she misunderstand if he did?

He decided to make the gesture. "Private?" he called over to her as he slipped his Jeep into gear. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way...but if this particular trail is in your blood...I run here every day at this time. You're welcome to run along and protect me, if you want." he grinned.

Not waiting for an answer, John Farrow pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Mac speechless for the first time in ages.

Fall, 1988 - One Year Later
Kishaba Towers Apartments
Camp Butler, Okinawa


Lance Corporal Sarah MacKenzie looked around her new apartment. It was nice to finally be getting out of the barracks, and moving into her own space.

Her first year at Camp Butler had been a busy one. Mac had finished her freshman year at the University of Maryland via distance delivered courses at the base Educational Center. Then, at Colonel Farrow's suggestion, Mac had applied for, and been accepted to Officer's Candidate School. The young Marine had just returned from her first 6-week stint in the O.C.S. Platoon Leader Course at Quantico. She had come back to find not only a promotion waiting for her, but an apartment in base housing as well. Life was good.

But, as Mac looked around her new apartment, thoughts of Tricia Montrose once again began to creep into her mind. Her old roommate's murderer had never been caught, and her death had been added to the growing list of unsolved cases attributed to the base serial killer.

Mac had never taken Colonel Farrow up on his offer to have her "protect him" on the trail, but their exchange had made her more comfortable around him. She now found his infrequent presence a pleasure, and actually looked forward to interacting with him at H&S.

Major Chaffee, however, had become more and more of a problem. Both Sam and PC had urged her to file charges with Colonel Farrow and put an end to the major's escalating harassment, but Mac repeatedly rejected the idea and insisted that she could handle the matter herself. As the year wore on, however, she slowly began to doubt the wisdom of her decision.

Chaffee's inappropriate behavior toward her had begun in a variety of ambiguous ways. The major would "accidentally" brush against her chest as he took stacks of files from her; lean against her as he reached for objects that were positioned behind her; and watch her as she bent to file material in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet.

It had been irritating, to say the least, but nothing that she couldn't deal with.

Then, during her second year under his command, he became emboldened...perhaps by the fact that she hadn't yet filed a complaint documenting his previous behavior.

His physical contact with her now became more overt, removing any question of his intentions. He began to compliment her on the shade of her stockings, and make private jokes about what might be holding them up. His "accidental" brushes, now became more pronounced and lingering, forcing Mac to retreat from his reach on occasion. He had even cornered her in his office with the door closed, and told her that she was too tense...and that he had just the cure.

As her sophomore year drew to a close, even Colonel Farrow was beginning to notice the stress between the two, and speculate about the cause.

Then, two days before she left for her second, and final, 6-week summer session at O.C.S., Chaffee called her into his office. He told her that there were piles of paperwork that had to be expedited before she could leave, and insisted that she work late. Mac was wary of his motives, but powerless to refuse the assignment, and it was with great relief that she saw the major leave, on time, with the rest of the staff.

Evening grew into night, leaving Mac buried in reams of busywork. Shadows began to fill the empty office, replacing the overhead lights that had been turned off long ago. Mac had barely made a dent in the enormous pile of paperwork before her, when she heard the office door open. Startled, she turned, and found Major Chaffee watching her from across the dimly lit room.

"Still working, Corporal? he leered, his eyes scanning her body suggestively. "I thought you might be hungry, so I brought back a little something for us to share." he said, displaying a small bag of "take-out". " I knew what you wanted, Corporal, I've always known what you wanted."

As the major advanced toward her, Mac began to retreat, positioning a desk between them.

"Don't be like that, Corporal. I can make things happen for you around here, you know. Just be a little nice to me...is that too much to ask?"

"I need to leave now, Sir." Mac stated, circling around the desk toward the doorway. "I can finish up in the morning."

Mac made a lunge toward the entrance, but Chaffee was quick... deceptively so. Just when she thought she was "home free", Chaffee's ham-like fist closed around her upper arm, drawing her back into the room.

"Come on, Corporal. I'm your superior officer. You're under my command, remember." he spat angrily.

Terrified, Mac slammed her heel down on Chaffee's instep, then, as he bent to tend his throbbing foot, she followed with a knee to his face.

Howling in pain, Chaffee released his grip and Mac raced for the door. She had almost made it to the lobby, when he caught up to her again.

I'm going to make you sorry, you little..."

"Is everything alright here, Corporal?" Colonel Farrow stepped out of the shadows, and Chaffee froze in place.

"Yes, Sir. Were you working late, Sir?" Mac replied gratefully, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Yes, I was, but I heard the commotion and decided to check it out," he said, still addressing the corporal.

Farrow's eyes narrowed coldly at Chaffee. Mac could see how he'd earned his reputation in combat. He looked invincible.

"Corporal, it's getting late. I think you'd better call it a night. And take tomorrow off to pack. I'm sure that's what the major wanted to tell you, isn't it Major?"

"Yes, Sir. That was it, Sir." the major grunted, glaring at Mac.

"Then it's settled. You may leave now, Corporal. We'll see you after you get back from Quantico."

"Yes, Sir." Mac replied, the relief evident in her voice.

Mac hurried out to her car, with Farrow keeping a close watch until she was safely inside and on her way home.

He then closed in on Chaffee, toe to toe, his jaw set and his eyes like ice. Only the restrictions of rank prevented Farrow from physically dismantling the "lowlife" that stood before him.

"Major, I feel you may have outlived your usefulness to the Corps," Farrow growled. "I expect to see your request for terminal leave on my desk by the end of the week."

Farrow paused, his demeanor daring Chaffee to take him on, wishing the major would give him an excuse to "defend" himself. But it never happened.

"Yes, Sir." Chaffee croaked weakly. "I'll take care of it, Sir," Then, holding his hand over his throbbing nose, the major retreated back to his office.

Fall 1989 - Six Weeks Later
Kishaba Towers Apartments
Camp Butler


There had been another murder.

Sam and PC had both been at the Futenma terminal to welcome newly promoted Second Lieutenant Sarah MacKenzie back to Camp Butler.

"Corporals Wilberts and Wayne, reporting for duty," they'd saluted as she disembarked the transport, her gold bars gleaming in the tropical sun.

"Oh you two," she'd laughed, taking a jab at PC's shoulder. "You sound like a comedy team. You know that my OCS promotion could never come between us!"

Laughing, Sam grabbed her extra bags and the three headed for Sam's car. It was then that PC's attitude became somber. "Sarah, " he began softly, "We wanted to tell you ourselves, before you heard it from someone else. There's been another murder on base while you were gone. It happened the night after you left..."

Mac was shaken. Visions of Tricia flooded through her mind, filling her once again with an unconquerable sense of guilt.

"Who...who was it this time?" Mac asked, dreading the reply.

"Diana James," Sam offered reluctantly, "Farrow's administrative assistant. Apparently she had a date that Friday night, and never returned home. It was actually the Colonel himself who found her, out by one of the running trails on the edge of the base."

Mac thought of the perky redhead who'd always been so kind to her, and of the caring man who had been Diana's C.O.. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. Would this killer never be caught?

As they neared the Kishaba Towers, Mac tried to shake off the depression that consumed her. "Hey! Why don't you two bring over a couple of six-packs tonight... mineral water for me...and I'll throw on a few steaks for dinner? You can fill me in on all the scuttlebutt before I go in to work tomorrow.

"Oh man, I'd love to, Sarah," PC began, "but I've got duty tonight. We have to upgrade the mainframe at the Requisitions Office, and we have to do it at night when the computer system's not in use. Sorry...can't make it."

"I'm free." Sam grinned, doing his best W.C. Fields imitation. "What time should I be there?"

"How about 1800?" Mac calculated. "That'll give me time to unpack and have a long, hot bath before you arrive. That sound okay?"

"It's a date, beautiful." Sam joked semiseriously. "I'll be there."

Quickly, they helped Mac up to her apartment with her luggage, then headed out for parts unknown. Once alone, Mac dug a couple of T-bones out of her freezer, and placed them on the kitchen counter to defrost. Then, filling her tub with an aromatic mixture of hot water and bath oil, she settled down for a relaxing soak.

Sam arrived at precisely 1800 HOURS. With him he carried a small grocery sack, and a bouquet of colorful, tropical lily's.

Mac looked at the flowers with mixed feelings. "Sam. You really shouldn't have..." It was a trite phrase, but an apt one. Mac knew that Sam still harbored romantic feelings for her after all this time, but she had done everything she could to let him know that their relationship had to remain on a platonic basis.

"I know...I know. I just wanted to do something special to congratulate you on your promotion. Maybe I'll apply for O.C.S. one of these days. I can't let you outrank me now, can I?"

You've got a college degree, Sam. It wouldn't take much for you to complete O.C.S., just a 10-week summer session in the Officer's Candidate course, and you'd be done. I had to spread it out because I was an undergrad, but you wouldn't have to wait that long.

Sam shrugged, only mildly interested. "Maybe, maybe not. Now that I have my paralegal training in tow, I'm pretty satisfied with my lot in life. You're the one with the silver stars in her eyes, not me."

"Right now I'm more concerned with gold oak leaves. I'm worried about handling Chaffee tomorrow... after that run-in we had before I left. You know, I hate to make waves, but I may actually have to resort to official channels after all."

Sam grinned. "Not necessary." he offered gladly. "Chaffee's gone. He left the Wednesday after you did. He actually resigned his commission! It took weeks for the gossip to die down!"

"Really..." Mac questioned hesitantly. "What were they saying?"

"Well, the gist of it was that Farrow gave him a choice, either tender his resignation, or he'd be court martialed. No one in Farrow's office would say why, but I think everyone sort of guessed."

It was easy for Mac to guess as well. Chaffee had received his "walking papers" because of her. She needed to talk to Colonel Farrow.

Oh, Sam. Do you really think so? That makes me awfully uncomfortable...everyone talking about Chaffee and me...it's humiliating. I hope they don't think I encouraged him!"

"Naw, not a chance. They'd been around the old lecher too long not to know better. You weren't the only one he'd ever 'hit on' you know, just the latest."

Mac was relieved, but she still felt that a trip to Farrow's office was appropriate. Well, she'd deal with that tomorrow.

Sam's conversation was animated as they ate their dinner and chatted about the things she'd missed over the past six weeks. It didn't take long for Mac to be up to speed on all of the latest grapevine material.

After supper, Mac and Sam settled on the sofa for coffee and companionship. It felt good to be home and near her friends once again, but, from the looks he'd been giving her all evening, she feared that Sam might be taking their platonic get-together a little too seriously.

She tried to make light of the situation, hoping to preserve the friendship she had come to treasure so highly, but she had to make sure Sam understood that their relationship could never be more. It was when Sam leaned over and gently pressed his lips to hers that the situation came to a head.

"Sam...please...I can't."

"Mac...Sarah...why not? We're good together. We spend all of our free time with each other...we confide in each other...would one more step be so disastrous? I know you'd feel differently, if you'd just give us a chance."

Pleadingly, his hand caressed her face, hoping for the answer that would put him out of his misery. But, with tears in her eyes, Sarah knew their friendship was over.

"I can't, Sam. There are things you just don't understand. I can't get involved with you, or anyone else for that matter. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. You know how much I care for you.... only not in the same way.

The pain in his eyes was palpable. Sarah knew she'd hurt him deeply, but the situation was beyond her control.

Silently, Sam rose from the sofa and walked to the door, his face a mask of tortured resignation. Turning, he said simply, "Good-bye, Sarah." and closed the door softly behind him.

0800 HOURS / The next morning
Legal Services Offices
H&S Building
Camp Butler


With the removal of Major Chaffee, the office was a totally different place to work. For once, Mac could dig in and get the job done without having to be constantly on guard.

Uneasily, Mac noticed that Sam had taken a personal day, and hadn't come in to work that morning. She didn't know how she'd face him when he did. How could they continue to work together with last night's revelation standing between them?

Desperate to distract herself from the problem, Mac cleared away the most immediate of her back mail, then decided it was time to get the visit to the colonel's office behind her.

The first thing she noticed upon entering the H&S office suite, was the absence of the colonel's administrative assistant. Diane James would be sorely missed by everyone, she thought. The serial killer of Camp Butler needed to be caught, and soon!

"Lieutenant! Come on it!" a cheery voice called. "I heard you were back. Congratulations on your promotion. You worked hard for your gold bars...you earned them."

Mac snapped to attention. "Thank you. Sir. It's good to be back."

"As you were, Lieutenant. Relax...have a seat. So how was your stay at Quantico?"

"Long, Sir. I guess I've sort of adopted Okinawa as my home. I missed it here."

"I enjoy it here myself." he agreed. "But every once in a while, something happens that puts a pall on things..."

Mac knew what he was talking about. "I'm sorry to hear about Lieutenant James' death, Sir. I'm sure it came as a great blow to everyone."

"Diane was a very special person. She'll be hard to replace, personally and professionally. Which brings me to the next topic of conversation."

The colonel leaned back in his seat. "If you hadn't come in this morning, I was going to send for you. I'm in need of a new administrative assistant. Your rank and experience would make you a perfect candidate. Are you interested?"

Mac was overwhelmed. It was a dream assignment. She'd be crazy to turn it down.

"Yes, Sir! I'd like that very much! Thank you for thinking of me, Sir."

"You were an obvious choice, Lieutenant. A 'short list' of one. Why don't you tie up any loose ends you might have over at Legal Services, before you get involved with any new projects, then start work here tomorrow. I've needed someone for...a while now."

"Yes, Sir...can do, Sir." Mac rose to take her leave, then remembered why she'd come to the colonel's office. "Sir?" she said, settling back into her seat. "I almost forgot. There's something I need to talk to you about, Sir."

"And what's that, Lieutenant?" he said, anticipating her next words.

"Sir, about Major Chaffee. Word has it that I was the cause of his being forced to take terminal leave. Is that accurate, Sir?"

"No...not accurate at all. The major, himself, was the cause of his removal. I just gave him the option of doing so under his own steam. Except for the fact that you obviously didn't want to pursue the matter along official lines, I wouldn't have given him that choice."

"I...I don't know what to say, Sir. I hope you know that I never encouraged the major..."

"That thought never entered my mind, Lieutenant. Men like Chaffee don't need encouragement. They have no place in the Marines, or anywhere else. If I'd left him in place, he would have just continued to harass either you or someone else. There are some men who just don't 'get it'. Unfortunately, even the Marines have a few. Well, the fewer the better. This wasn't your fault...it was his. Put it behind you."

"Yes, Sir." Mac responded, the relief evident in her voice. "Thank you, Sir. I'll be reporting for duty tomorrow morning, Sir."

"Dismissed, Lieutenant. Oh, and by the way...we're going to be around each other at least eight hours a day. If you insist on saluting me every time you see me, you're going to end up in rehab.. I think we can relax the protocol between us a little without bringing down the Corps., don't you think?"

Mac smiled. She was going to like her new assignment. "Yes, Sir. I'll work on it, Sir." And with a final salute, she turned and headed back to Legal Services.

0600 HOURS
Summer, 1990 - One Year Later
A Remote Running Path
Camp Butler




It had been a great year.

For Mac, her new job was a dream come true. Being the colonel's administrative assistant was both interesting, and challenging. She had access to almost every aspect of Marine life on Camp Butler, and found her privileged status stimulating.

She and Sam had eventually reached an understanding, and while the friendship they'd once had was now a thing of the past, they could at least find a cordial word to share when they bumped into each other in the halls. According to the grapevine, Sam was now seeing a local girl from Okinawa City, and the relationship looked serious. Mac was truly happy for him.

With the loss of her daily running companion, however, and the Camp Butler Killer still at large, Mac had finally taken the colonel up on his long-ago offer to share in his daily run. She now met him each morning at 0600 at his favorite trailhead, and they were fast becoming close friends, opting during off-duty moments to calling each other by their first names.

Mac smiled. John Farrow was becoming a very dear part of her life. Too bad their relationship had gone as far as it could go.

1100 HOURS
June 4, 1991
H&S Building


Mac was delighted. After four long, hard years, she had finally completed her pre-law studies and was the proud holder of a B.S. degree from the University of Maryland.

John, wonder that he was, had secretly arranged a party at the office to celebrate her achievement. Mac was overwhelmed!

In his zeal, John had phoned caterers from the local community to bring a variety of both local and American delicacies. Pizza, submarine sandwiches, cake and andagi (Okinawan donuts) abounded. He'd even broken the rules and ordered enough Champagne for everyone to share a toast (for Mac a non-alcoholic variety).

It was then that Colonel Farrow had produced her new rank insignias and announced to everyone that Mac was now FIRST Lieutenant Sarah MacKenzie. Could life get any better?

The high point of the party arrived when John took her aside and told her that he had recommended the Marines fund her way through law school next year. It was a dream come true.

Still glowing from her good fortune, Mac arrived at work the next morning in high spirits. What awaited her, however, would have crushed even the brightest of moments.

The next victim had been found in the brush behind the Headquarters and Service Battalion Building. It was the body of an attractive young private, new to Okinawa and Camp Butler. She had been assigned to the building's maintenance staff only two weeks ago, and had been working the day shift, as had all female staff, pending the capture of the Camp Butler serial killer. Apparently, she had traded shifts last night, and had somehow become his latest target.

Mac could tell that John was taking her death personally. He had spent the morning in his office with the door closed, ruminating over mundane tasks that normally would have taken him minutes.

Earlier that day, Colonel Farrow had received another visit from Sargeant Asaki, O.C.P.D.. During the visit, Farrow had stressed the importance of escalating the investigation into the killings, and pledged an unlimited amount of manpower and resources to realize that end. He had been told by Asaki, however, that everything possible was already being done. Patience would win out in the end.

Patience, at this point, was something the colonel had in short supply. Too much time, and too many lives had already fallen victim to the sergeant's policy of passivity. Farrow was a man of action...and it was time to bring the situation to an end.

It was early that afternoon when PC poked his head around the corner of her office door.

"Hi there pretty lady. You busy tonight?"

"PC! What are you doing here. Aren't you suppose to be working on a computer somewhere-or-other right now?"

"Yup. Right here, right now. Your colonel called in a few favors and got his request moved to the top of the list."

"MY colonel? The system here is working just fine. I'm glad to see you...but I really don't need you, if you know what I mean."

"Ouch!" PC grabbed his chest as though in pain. "I'm wounded. You've broken my heart!" Forever the comic, PC was in his final death throes when Farrow opened his door and spoiled the finale.

"If 'Hamlet' will get off the floor, Lieutenant. I need to see him in my office."

PC leaped to his feet and snapped to attention. "At ease, corporal. Do you have what I requested?"

"Sir. Yes Sir." PC answered emphatically. "It's on a cart in the entryway, Sir"

"Well then, corporal, I think you'd better bring it in, don't you?"

"Sir. Yes Sir!"

PC hurried to the doorway, and began transporting a computer terminal, printer, and a flat bed scanner into the colonel's office. An hour went by with PC busier than Mac had ever seen him. Finally, after making sure the terminal was properly connected to the mainframe, and all systems were functional, PC said his farewells and vanished from the office.

Mac was overcome with curiosity. As far as she knew, John had no idea how to run a computer. Why would he want a terminal?

Mac walked through the open doorway to his office. "So, you finally decided to join the 20th century, I see." she teased, hoping he'd fill her in on the mystery.

"Only minimally, Lieutenant. I think it's time the Corps took matters into its own hands where this maniac is concerned. I have some data coming in soon, and I want to be able to process it as efficiently and privately as possible. This is the best way to do it."

Mac looked skeptically at the shiny new terminal, still sitting on its portable cart, waiting for his touch.

"And you know how to do this?" she asked innocently.

"How hard could it be? I see kids around here doing it all the time. It may take me a few hours to master the thing, but it shouldn't be too difficult."

Mac smiled. It was going to be a long afternoon.

1700 HOURS came, and people began to file out toward the parking lot. The door to Farrow's office had remained shut for the past four hours, and Mac was beginning to worry.

Finally, overcome by curiosity, she tapped softly on his door, and waited for a reply.

"ENTER!" he fairly shouted. "This had better be important!" he said bruskly, his voice laden with frustration.

"Mastered it yet, Colonel?" Mac said sweetly.

"This is not a time for levity, Lieutenant. I have material coming soon that has to be returned ASAP, and this spawn from Hell WILL NOT COOPERATE!" he shouted, kicking the cart with his booted foot.

"Colonel! Trust me, brute force won't prevail in the computer arena. Maybe I can help. What is it you want to do?"

Well, okay. I guess I'll have to tell you all the sordid details. I've called in about a million favors today, and a friend of a friend is going to 'borrow' Asaki's files for me tonight so I can scan them into this piece of junk." He cocked his foot for another swipe, but Mac quickly placed herself between him and the computer cart.

Briefly, Farrow outlined the project he had in mind. It was huge...far beyond his current capabilities.

"Well, I'm not sure if I can teach you all you need to know in a few hours, but I can stay and help. I wouldn't mind."

She could tell that the colonel didn't want to get her involved, but he was a pragmatic man, and realized that he had no other option.

"All right, Lieutenant...Mac, but you should know, if we get caught with these 'borrowed' files, there's going to be Hell to pay. I don't know if either one of us would come out of it with our careers intact."

"I think it's worth the risk, John. But I'm not sure we have the right programs for what you need."

"Programs? What do you mean, programs? You just type the info. in, and the computer does the rest, right?"

Mac hoped he was joking, but the look on his face said that he was dead serious.

"John, let me call PC, the corporal that was here this afternoon. Maybe he can help us out. I promise, he'll be discreet."

Mac called PC on the office phone, and gave him the parameters of the project. Her friend told her that what she needed was difficult to get, but that he could have it in a couple of hours. He promised to deliver it to the office as soon as it arrived.

It was well past suppertime, and given the situation, John suggested that they order in. "Well, never let it be said that I don't feed my prisoners the best. What do you like on your pizza, Ma'am?" John asked as he dialed the number for Anthony's Pizza in Okinawa City.

"Everything," she replied, "including anchovies. Deep dish...with extra cheese."

"Yes Ma'am. But I refuse to put fish on a perfectly good pizza. You'll have to live without that anchovies.

Time passed quickly. Soon most of the pizza was history, and PC was tapping gently at the office door.

Mac answered swiftly, and motioned for PC to enter the colonel's office.

"Well, I got it." he smiled, as though he'd just broken into Fort Knox. "It's in the hard drive on my portable. Just give me a few minutes, and it's all yours."

"PC," Mac asked, "this isn't the computer you brought to Okinawa, is it?"

"Nope. That one was a dinosaur ten minutes after we got off the plane. This one's my own design. Small enough to be REALLY portable, but with all the bells and whistles of the full sized machines. It's got a modem and hard drive that make..."

"Can you get on with this?" Mac interrupted. "We're going to need it up and running in less than an hour. Can you make it?"

"Not a problem." PC replied. "This is what I live for."

PC finished in less than thirty minutes, then, grabbing a congealed slab of pizza, he happily trotted on home to resume his affair with the real love of his life...his personal computer.

The operation was completed none too soon. Barely ten minutes later the phone rang. "We're downstairs in the parking lot." a voice said. "If you want this stuff, you better get down here quick."

It was 0300 HOURS when they finished scanning Asaki's files into PC's database. Exhausted, they reloaded the file boxes and hauled them down to the parking lot, where their transportation anxiously awaited their arrival.

"Well. I am really tired, boss. Any chance I can sleep in a little later tomorrow?"

"I won't look for you until noon, Mac. But, right now, I'm going to tail you home and see you safely to your door."

Mac began to protest, but then she remembered some of the case material she'd just scanned, and realized that this was no time to play macho.

"Okay," she conceded. "Whatever you say, John. "But let's go...I'm exhausted!"

Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in the parking lot at Kishaba Towers. Against her objections, John insisted on walking Mac to her door.

"I won't take 'no' for an answer." He insisted. "I'm not kidding around. I mean it!"

As they approached her door, she suddenly felt awkward and unsure of herself. Should she ask him in for coffee? Would he consider an invitation into her apartment too familiar? She decided to let it go for now.

John was feeling the same degree of discomfort. It had been many years since he'd walked a woman to her door without intending to stay the night. What would Mac think if she knew what was going on inside of his head?

Mac inserted the key into the lock. and the door swung inward, silently welcoming her home.

"Well, I'm here. Thanks for walking me up. It was..." Mac couldn't finish. Somehow his nearness, here, in her apartment door, was evocative beyond words. She wanted more than ever to invite him inside, but knew that her reaction was the very reason why she shouldn't.

Silently, the two stood in the doorway, each unsure of the next move, each struggling with their own reasons why he should leave. Mac looked into his eyes, and saw a reflection of her own need. It would be so easy to just...

She shook the idea out of her mind. No, this was wrong. They needed to retain some semblance of professionality, she was in his chain of command... and, she was still a married woman...

December 23, 1991
H&S Building
Camp Butler


Christmas was right around the corner.

It had been a frustrating six months. John and Mac had slaved over the data in the computer, but no matter how they looked at it, a clear suspect never seemed to arise. It was becoming apparent that the material before them was inadequate, and that more information was needed desperately. But what?

It was at the staff Christmas party that Mac thought of another angle on the case.

A hour later, John scanned the sea of faces at the party and found hers missing. Concerned, he began to search the complex for his administrative assistant, and found her hard at work on the computer in his office.

"Mac! What are you doing here? Let it go for one day and join the party!"

"John! I just thought of something, and I wanted to try it out. Listen...we've been excluding anyone who's left handed because of the direction of the slash wounds, but what if the killer attacked from behind?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like this..." Mac stood and circled around her commanding officer, pressing her body tightly to his back.

"What if the killer was left handed, but approached his victim from behind? He would have brought his left arm around her throat...like this..." Mac demonstrated, " and brought the knife across her body from the right to the left, giving the ILLUSION of someone who was right handed."

The nearness of her body, pressed tightly against him, left John Farrow speechless. Her theory was brilliant, but the significance of it was lost on him as he struggled to control the visceral reaction he experienced to her touch.

As though of one mind, Mac became suddenly silent. This felt so good, so right. How could it be so wrong?

Silently John turned, and looking deeply into her eyes, read the message that neither could put into words.

As though fighting for control of his emotions, John placed his hands on her shoulders, intending to create a physical space between them. But his actions had just the opposite effect. Gently, tenderly, his lips descended upon hers, tasting her sweet essence, sharing the very breath which kept her alive.

"Sarah...Mac...I'm sorry." he said, attempting to distance himself from her. "I know this is wrong. I..."

"Shhhh" she whispered, her fingers tracing a delicate pattern across his lower lip. "There must be some mistletoe somewhere..."

Lost in the moment, John pulled her close to him...his lips once again exploring her own, his arms circling tightly around her waist, drawing her against his firm, unyielding body.

Mac's senses reeled as she inhaled the warm, masculine scent of him, her noble resolutions vanishing on a tide of emotion.

Gently, as though guiding her across the dance floor to a tune that only they could hear, John closed the distance between the terminal and his heavy oaken desk. Mac felt its rigid edge pressed firmly against her buttocks as John deepened his kiss, insinuating his tongue between her teeth and exploring the soft recesses of her mouth.

She could feel the hardened contours of his manhood pressing intimately against her as he gazed into her eyes, searching for a sign that her need was mutual.

She wanted to remain wrapped in the arms of this wonderful man forever, but as quickly as it began...it was over. The voices of party revelers floated gaily through the outer office, and John hastily released his grip on her trembling body. Their moment was gone.

Their relationship, over the next few days, was awkward at best. But before long, as though by tacit agreement, John and Mac put their mutual attraction far away in distant corners of their hearts, and got on with the business at hand.

Mac's revelation had indeed reaped a harvest of possibilities. A new suspect list had materialized, and they painstakingly went about checking the locations and activities of each and every one.

Months went by, and the list began to dwindle. Soon, only a few names remained...one of which was Sam Wayne.

"It can't be him." Mac protested. "We can eliminate him right now. I know him too well...it wouldn't be possible."

"Are you sure, Mac? Look at his profile. He was the last person to see Tricia alive...he knew Diana from here at the office, and he had access to the building at night when the last victim was working. Plus, he's been a resident in the area most of his life...he was here during the other murders. We can't just exclude him on a hunch, no matter how well you know him. Even Manson had a mother who... loved him!"

"I didn't say I loved him." she said softly, seeing the pain in his eyes. "He was a friend...a close friend. We just drifted apart after a while. But I never loved him."

John was silent. Words seemed to elude him. The thought of Sarah with another man left an ache deep within him.

"Mac...Sarah, maybe we should talk about this finally. It's been hanging there between us long enough. It might be better if we got it out in the open."

"Maybe..." Mac replied, uncertainly. "Are you sure? Some things are better left unsaid."

John hated being indecisive about anything, but her words left him confused and unsure. It was already late March... Sarah was now in the process of rotating out, on her way to Duke University and law school. Life's experiences had taught him that the taste of regret was bitter and lasting, he didn't want this to be another hard lesson to accept.

"I think we should, Sarah. We...I need to talk. What about tonight? Maybe I can drop by your place...we'll order a pizza, and..."

"Pizza! That's it! Why didn't I think of this sooner! The list of suspects...we've always just assumed that the killer was someone from the base because of the security checkpoints. But what about civilians who have business here...you know, deliveries and such. It could be someone totally unconnected to the military."

Her enthusiasm was contagious. It would be easy enough to check. John called the security office, and requested that copies of civilian admissions to the base for the specified dates be delivered to him within the hour.

Then, turning to Mac he said: "I think you may have just hit on something. All we have to do is scan the material into the computer, correlate a list of all civilians actually on base during ALL of the killings, then check their alibis. How many could there be?

Forty-five minutes later the information was hand-delivered from the security office. It took another hour to scan the material into the computer before they could begin, but at last they began to see results.

The computer had narrowed the list down to only two names: one, a pizza delivery man from Okinawa City; and the other...they stared at the name...was Sargeant Asaki.

1300 HOURS
Gate 2 Street
Okinawa City


In no time at all John and Mac were driving along the main thoroughfare to the base, heading for Arturo's Pizza Palace.

"Why don't we split up and get this done in half the time?" Mac suggested.

John thought it was a terrible idea. Send Mac to interview a killer alone? Not a chance! But trying to talk the youthful Lieutenant out of something once she'd made up her mind, was next to impossible.

Instead, he suggested that she take Sargeant Asaki, and leave the delivery person to him. He already knew the sergeant, and found it incomprehensible that the gentle man could be the killer. Besides, Mac would be in the middle of a police station. What could be safer?

John nodded in agreement, and divided the work according to plan. Then, dropping Mac off at the police station, he continued on to Arturo's.

Mac entered the bustling station and approached the information desk.

"Haisai (Hello). I'd like to see Sergeant Asaki, please. Tell him Lieutenant MacKenzie is here. I need to talk to him about the murders at Camp Butler."

Moments later, Mac was escorted down the green tiled hallway, and into the sergeant's office.

"May I come in?" she asked, in keeping with local protocol.

Sir, I need to talk to you about an aspect of the killings that only recently came to light. Do you have a minute?"

Asaki looked uneasy. "Yes, yes, of course. Sit. Make yourself comfortable and tell me what has happened."

I was just checking to see if any locals were on the base at the time of each of the killings. Sir...I hate to ask you this, but your name was on the list. Why were you on base during those periods?"

"Lieutenant, I am frequently on base. I investigated those killings, remember. Wouldn't it be logical that I would have to enter the base to do so?" He paused. "Have you spoken with anyone else about this? A man's reputation is his most prized possession here on Okinawa. I would hate to see mine sullied merely on speculation, Lieutenant."

"No, Sir. Of course not, I have been extremely discreet. You have nothing to worry about."

His alibi was an obvious one. Mac felt foolish for not having thought of it herself. She began to apologize, when Asakai continued.

"Lieutenant. I keep a detailed journal of my activities at home. If you would like, you may accompany me there now, and read it for yourself."

"Oh...that's not necessary, Sergeant. I've made a terrible mistake. Please, forgive me."

"Not necessary, Lieutenant? I believe it is necessary. Please, you must allow me to clear my name to my own satisfaction. This is most upsetting...I believe I deserve this much. Don't you? It will only take half of an hour or so. My car is waiting just outside the door. Will you humor me, Lieutenant?"

She couldn't say "no". Asakai had already been insulted enough. In the interest of community relations, she had to accept.

Asakai could have driven a taxi in New York City. His expertise at the wheel quickly circumvented even the most stubborn of traffic tangles, and soon Mac found herself at the entrance to his home on the outskirts of Okinawa City.

His, was a very traditional looking home, with a carefully tended garden and shisas glancing benignly down from the red-tiled rooftop.

Slipping off her outdoor shoes, as is the custom, Mac entered his home and followed him to an office at the back of the structure.

She glanced appreciatively around the room. Delicate sumi paintings decorated one wall, countered by a display of ancient masks and samuri swords on the next. "You have a beautiful home, Sergeant. Is there a Mrs, Asaki?"

The sergeant was silent. Mac turned and looked at him questioningly. "Am I being too personal, Sir? I didn't mean to be."

It was then the truth of the situation assaulted her. Asakai hadn't been on the base merely AFTER each murder...according to the security information, he had been on the base BEFORE each murder as well!

"No." the sergeant replied, his voice taking on a guttural quality. "There is no 'Mrs. Asakai', and there never will be. Not as long as there are Americans on Okinawa! You people... you think you can just take anything you want!"

"The last 'Mrs. Asakai' was my ayaa (mother)." he continued, his voice rising, his hand snatching an ornamental samuri sword from the wall. "On May 21, 1945, your Marines landed on what you call Sugarloaf Hill. They were ruthless, murderers...all of them. They saw my mother ... an innocent young girl all alone in her home, and they abused her. I was the result of their abuse. My mother was shamed. She...killed herself shortly after my birth."

"You're the one." Mac gasped. "It was you all the time..."

John's visit to Arturo's proved to be a study in misdirection. It turned out that the delivery truck had a set of identification papers in the glove compartment that had been used uniformly by all of the drivers delivering on the base. It was an expedient measure for Arturo's, but it thereby gave the false impression that the same person had been present during each instance.

Well, it had been a good thought, he reflected as he entered the police station to locate Mac. They'd just have to keep trying.

Farrow checked in with the desk sergeant in the lobby. "I'd like to speak with Sergeant Asakai, please. Tell him Colonel Farrow is here to see him."

"No can do, colonel. The sarge just left with a pretty lieutenant in tow. Do you want to leave a message?"

Farrow's instincts were immediately on red alert. "Did the lieutenant leave any message for me?"

"Let me check." He looked under a blotter on his desk. "Nope. Not a word. I can't help you."

"Well, can you tell me where they were heading?"

"He didn't say, colonel." He turned and called to a younger man who apparently clerked in the building. Hey, Jushi! Did you hear Asaki say where he was going?"

"Yeah, I think so. I think I heard him tell that Marine Lady he was heading for home."

"I need his home address...NOW!" Farrow demanded.

"Hey listen. We don't..."

"I said quick! Now give me the address or I'll rip you AND your files apart and get it myself!"

"Okay, okay...Don't get nervous. I suppose it doesn't matter. It's right in the phone book anyway."

John Farrow grabbed the slip of paper from the sergeant's hand and raced for the door, leaving a stunned and angry police station in his wake.

The phone began to ring, temporarily distracting Asakai from his objective.

"People know where I went today, Asakai. You can't get away with this." Mac asserted bravely.

"Only God knows the term of one's life. Knowing where you are will only help them find your body, I'm afraid. I can't let you go...you know too much. I can't take the risk that you'll tell someone else."

"But others DO know, Asakai, many others. My death won't keep you safe. It will only add one more meaningless death to your guilt. The men who raped your mother...not all Marines are like that. Most aren't...the people you killed were innocent victims, like your mother. How can you live with their deaths on your soul? Is this what your mother would want, Asakai?"

"I don't believe you." Asakai hesitated, just enough for Mac to grab a small tea table to use as a shield.

Asakai swung the blade, embedding the edge deeply into the wooden table.

Angrily, he braced one foot against the table and attempted to wrench the sword free. It was then that Mac gave a tremendous shove, toppling Asakai to his knees.

The sergeant wrenched the blade free from the table once more. Age may have been on Mac's side, but the sword evened the playing field. Quickly, Mac lunged for the door, throwing it open, and rushing headlong... into the arms of John Farrow.

Realizing that all was lost, Asakai ran from the immediate area, and locked himself in what appeared to be a bathroom. By the time the colonel had kicked the door free, it was all over. Asakai was dead, the final victim of his own insanity.

2200 HOURS
Kishaba Tower Apartments
Camp Butler


The worst was over.

After an endless police interrogation, Mac and John had finally been allowed to leave. It was with profound gratitude that Mac finally sank exhaustedly into her overstuffed sofa and kicked off her shoes.

"If you were a drinking woman, I'd make you a stiff one right about now, Sarah."

Sarah just smiled, and leaned her head back against the arm of the sofa. "This is all the intoxication I need, John. And after today, I don't think I'll need any extra stimulation for a long, long while."

"That's too bad." he smiled. "I was just going to massage your feet...but if you'd rather I..."

"No...no, go right ahead! Please!" she laughed. "A girl can never get too many foot rubs! Indulge me!"

John came to rest on the sofa beside her, her legs laying limply across his firm thighs. His stroke was gentle, hypnotic, and Sarah felt the stress of the day melt within his hands.

She tilted her head back, her eyes closed, lost in the nearness of him, the touch of his firm hands upon her skin, the erotic timbre of his voice. She could give it all up for this man, she thought...everything...the Corps...law school...all of it.

"Sarah...I love you." he whispered so softly that she was afraid she'd imagined it.

Could it be true? She opened her eyes and gazed in wonderment at the emotion radiating from his very soul.

"I love you, Sarah." he repeated again, the silken promise of his words filling the silence of the room.

"John..."

"I know...it's wrong. It won't work, but right now I don't care. I love you, and I want to be with you. If I'm off base...then tell me so. You won't have to worry about me ever again. But if you feel the way I do...the way I'm hoping you do, then let me stay tonight. Let me love you..."

Sarah was breathless. Tentatively, she reached out her hand and stroked the firm line of his jaw, her hand circling behind his neck, ever so gently drawing him down to her, losing herself in his eyes.

Greedily, his lips claimed hers, obliterating the world and all it contained. His scent, his touch, the firm planes of his body were more intoxicating that she could have ever imagined.

Easily, John Farrow lifted her in his arms, and carried her into the bedroom, laying her gently upon the pale candlewick bedspread. Silently, he gazed at her as though trying to decide where to begin, then slowly removed his shirt and lay down beside her.

He had a muscular body, the kind that a life of hard living gives naturally to those who live it. Sarah ran her hands over the hard, rolling contours of his arms as his fingers peeled away the shell of her clothing, covering her heated flesh with his lips.

"Tell me what you like, Sarah." he whispered in the darkness. "Show me what you want, and it's yours"

Sarah blushed, unseen in the night, unsure of her next move. What should she say? What should she do? No one had ever asked her a question like that before. To her, intimacy had always been a passive issue, dictated by the needs of her lover.

John pressed his lips to the pulse point at the base of her throat, his hands gently kneading her breasts, stroking her nipples to rigid attention.

"Tell me, Sarah..." he whispered again. "Show me..."

Slowly, Sarah ran her palms down the firm lines of his body, stopping at the belt to his trousers. "Take off your clothes," she instructed, amazed at the sound of her own voice. "I want to see you."

Silently, Sarah reached over in the darkness and switched on a nightlight. John's penetrating gaze sent delicious shivers down her spine as he undid his pants and dropped them in the pile with his shirt.

He was magnificent! She'd seen men in their natural state before, but never one so...so heavily... she flushed again.

Gently, John lowered himself between her knees. "Tell me..." he whispered a third time, his massive erection pressing firmly between her trembling thighs.

"Lay on your back," she directed, her voice a husky rasp in the stillness of the room "I want to touch you."

John looked at her for a moment, a heartbeat of uncertainty passing across his firm features, then silently rolled onto his back, his hand softly stoking her inner thigh. "Like this?" he questioned. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." she replied, positioning herself between the rock-hard perimeters of his thighs. Gently, tentatively, she reached out her fingers and touched his throbbing organ, standing erect in the dim light, feeling it pulse beneath her touch.

It was beautiful, she thought, her hand gently stroking the silken smoothness of its engorged tip. John groaned, struggling to maintain control. "Sarah...I can't..." he paused, panting shallowly. "I didn't think you'd want..."

Softly, Sarah lowered her head and took the tip into her mouth, tasting the salty essence of him, feeling the smooth texture slide between her lips, as she ran her tongue across its silken surface.

"Oh, God, Sarah! You've got to stop!" John ordered frantically. "You don't know what you're doing to me!"

Reaching down between his legs, he placed his hands under Sarah's arms and lifted her astride his chest.

"You're incredible," he rasped. "but you have to stop, or this will all be over in no time. Now let me do something for you..."

Firmly, he placed his hands beneath her rounded buttocks, and urged her forward until her thighs rested on either side of his head, his breath playing heatedly among her moist, downy curls. His hands stroked the tender flesh on the insides of her quivering thighs, and she grabbed the headboard for support.

Then, using his thumbs, he hungrily parted the final barrier which shielded her from his questing tongue, probing deeply into her intimate recesses, stroking her straining nub with the tips of his fingers.

Wordlessly, her voice pierced the stillness of the room. Her body began to shake uncontrollably, her knees refusing to support her weight. She felt a mad rush of fluid between her trembling thighs, and knew that she wanted him deep inside of her.

Quickly, desperately, she straddled his hips, plunging his enormous length far into her core. She gasped. He was immense! She paused momentarily to accommodate her body to the extraordinary size of his presence, then quickly adopted a frantic rhythm dictated by a million years of experience.

John, driven beyond the brink, began to arch his hips, driving his member still deeper into her narrow passage, causing her to cry out for more, climax building upon climax.

Finally, with nothing left but adrenaline, John rolled her over on her back, and thrust mindlessly between her thighs, deep into her belly. Then, his chest heaving, he threw his head back, filling her with his essence, carrying her with him on a voyage of no return.

Later, tucked into the warmth of his arms, Sarah lay in the afterglow of their lovemaking. The smile on her lips spoke of contentment...complete fulfillment.

"Sarah," John whispered, the concern in his voice evident. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" he asked, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, stroking the fullness of her breast. "I've never lost control like that before..."

"Shhh," she said, seeking to allay his fears, "we were a perfect fit...like a hand in a glove. You make love like an angel...and a demon. I wouldn't have it any other way, my love."

Then, tired and sated, she fell into a deep, restful slumber...safe and secure in his sheltering embrace.

John studied the sleeping features of the woman in his arms, feeling the warmth of her breath on his chest, and whispered the words he found so difficult to say in the light of day.

"I love you Sarah MacKenzie...more than any woman I've ever known. I'll love you until the day I die. How can I ever let you go..."

Then, gently, he touched his lips to her closed eyelids, like a feather in a dream, and joined her in a land far away.

0600 HOURS
Kishaba Tower Apartments
Camp Butler, Okinawa


It was the most glorious morning Sarah had ever seen.

Behind her, his arm draped gently around her waist, John's even breathing played like a song to her ears. She flushed at the memory of last night, all they'd said...all they'd shared. She felt her body begin to grow warmer, and wished she could live it all over again... a thousand days and a thousand nights in John Farrow's embrace.

John began to stir, his arms tightening around her body, his lips tracing warm, erotic pathways down the side of her throat. "Did you get enough sleep last night?" he asked lazily.

"You should know." she whispered, huskily. "Or have you forgotten already?"

Gently, he rolled her over onto her back, and looked deeply into her eyes. "I could never forget." he said, seriously. "But, you still look drained. Yesterday was a rough one. I want you to take the day off. Stay home. Stay in bed. Rest."

"John. Just because I'm sleeping with the boss, doesn't mean I'm going to ask for special privileges. I have a job to do. I need to get to work!"

John propped himself up on one elbow, and gazed lustily down at her exhausted features.

"First of all...'sleeping with the boss' sounds like something nasty...it doesn't apply. I love you. We were 'making love." he said, his thumb gently stroking her dusky nipple.

"Secondly, you just solved a ten-year-old murder case, and almost got yourself killed in the process. Even if I'd never met you, I'd vote to give you AT LEAST a day off to pull yourself together."

"Then, last of all...I'm only your boss on a technicality. You're rotating out. Actually, you're between assignments, you just haven't gotten on the plane yet."

"Which brings me to a forth point...Sarah, you've got two weeks before you have to report to college. Let's spend them together. I have enough personal days left to take at least ten years off...okay, well maybe not quite that much, but a lot. We could head up to the northern end of the island, up along the coast near Hedo. We could make like tourists, snap a few pictures, sleep 'til noon...make love all night until the sun comes up. What do you think?"

"But, what if someone sees us, John. It could mean trouble. I don't want to hurt you in any way."

"Hado is a long ways away from here. There's a northern training area up there, but it's only for maneuvers...the troops stay right on the base, then go back 'home'. We have nothing to worry about."

"You know, Sarah...except for it costing you so much, I wouldn't care if someone saw us. I've got my time in. I can take my pension and experience anywhere and name my price. But you've got your whole life ahead of you, and I love you too much risk taking it away from you."

"But John, I..."

"No, don't say it. I know what's in your mind right now. But this is one of those 'been there-done that' type of things. You'd resent me later, Sarah, maybe even come to hate me. I couldn't live with that."

As though to dull the hurt he knew his words had brought her, he smiled, and whispered in her ear: "So, stay home, darling Sarah, rest up, and I'll bring take-out back with me tonight after work. Maybe we can find a new use for chop sticks." he laughed, making her blush. Think about the trip to Hado, Sarah, will you? Let me know tonight, okay?"

0530 HOURS
Two weeks later
Cape Hado, Okinawa


Their time together had been glorious. John had secured the use of a traditional Japanese cottage, on a cliff high above the pounding surf of the East China Sea. There, they had passed fourteen idyllic days, wrapped in each other's arms, dreading the moment when it would be time to say good-bye.

It was their last morning together.

John and Sarah watched the sun rise out of the eastern sea, a ball of crimson, setting the world afire. Below them, on the rocky shore of Cape Hado, the tide surged restlessly against the shore, whispering that it was time to go.

Their two weeks in the cottage atop the cliff had been magical, the stuff dreams were made of, but now, like a dream, it had come to an end. It was time for Sarah to return to the real world, and the life she'd left behind.

They had spent their final night savoring each minute, knowing that it would be their last. There, on the windswept cliff with only the stars to bear mute witness, they had made love to the rhythm of the timeless sea, memorizing each heartbeat as a hedge against the cold days to come, preserving them to last until the end of forever.

Now, with the harsh glare of morning, they knew it was time to go. Silently, wordlessly, John drove her to the airport, neither of them daring to share a glance, a smile, lest the world fall to pieces around their feet.

The pain in his eyes was unbearable, and it was only after a brief clasp of hands on the runway, a final salute, that Sarah boarded the plane and let the tears flow unheeded down her cheeks. It was then, she remembered the poem that had been mounted on the wall of their cottage in Hado. Translated, it read:

Even after we part,
Should fate have it so,
We will be like flowers
Linked together, never to
be torn apart.

"Good-bye, my love," she whispered, "until we meet again."


THE END