Title: Superspy Author: L.K. Camar e-mail: lkcamar@juno.com Category: S Rating: PG Spoilers: Vanished, Washington Holiday Summary: Mac, Harm, and Webb travel to Argentina to rescue an American dignitary kidnapped by an anti-American espionage group. Near Buenos Aires, Argentina "Sr. Wallace, dígame por qué está en la Argentina?" The unseen voice growled harsh commands in colloquial Spanish. Wallace's head snapped back as a dark figure beside him struck the side of his face. "I am an ambassador for the United States of-" Wallace was cut off by another blow. "No! Mentiras! Do not lie to me, señor. I know you are an American spy. The Central Intelligence Agency. Inteligencia, que chiste! Hardly intelligent, señor. What is the CIA's interest in la Argentina?" "I am an ambassador for-" The henchman hit Wallace again, and his head lolled in unconsciousness. The owner of the demanding voice stepped into the light, revealing an elegant blonde. Her ice-blue eyes narrowed as she withdrew a filled syringe from her bag. "There is no such thing as an ex-CIA agent." 1405 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA Lt. (j.g.) Bud Roberts held a freshly poured cup of coffee in his hands. It smelled so good . . . maybe someone snuck some gourmet into the pot this morning. "Morning, Bud. Have you seen Mac around?" "Good morning, sir. I think she's in her office." "For me? You shouldn't have," Lt. Cmdr. Harmon Rabb replied, taking the steaming cup of coffee as he went to find Mac. "I didn't," Bud muttered as he poured himself another cup. Harm barged into Mac's office with only a perfunctory knock. What were partners for? As the door swung open, he glimpsed Major Sarah MacKenzie, looking impeccably turned out and beautiful although a concerned expression marred her features. The door moved a little further to reveal one of Harm's less favorite people- Clayton Webb. Webb always looked like he'd skulked out of some '30s detective movie, trench coat and all. Maybe trench coats were standard issue in the CIA. "Thanks for stopping by, Harm. You might want to hear this, too." The sarcasm was really more for fun than any sort of reprimand. "Well, good morning yourself, major. Who invited the spook?" Webb took exception to the term. "I was briefing Mac on our mission. The CIA invited me." Harm did a double take. "What do you mean 'our' mission? You and Mac?" He'd seen some strange things in his naval career, but Mac with the CIA? "As delightful as I find the major's company, I'm afraid you're coming along too." Delightful, huh? Rabb scowled. "Coming along where?" Mac hummed the first two bars of "Don't Cry For Me Argentina." Harm was in full wishful thinking mode. "Please tell me we're going to visit Andrew Lloyd Webber." Webb was almost eager to burst his bubble. "Buenos Aires. We will be meeting a lieutenant there who will serve as translator and aide." He looked at his watch. "You've got 85 minutes. I suggest you pack." "Now wait a minute. Is this even authorized?" Mac's nod confirmed it even before Webb spoke. "You can ask Admiral Chegwidden. This was handed down from upper echelon government. Strictly need-to- know." "Well, I need to know what we're doing." "Actually, Commander, you don't. Not yet." He looked at his watch again, but Mac beat him to it. "Eighty-four minutes and fifteen seconds. Approximately." "How does she do that?" 0345 ZULU American Embassy Buenos Aires, Argentina "Do we need to know yet, Clay?" Mac groaned. How many times had she heard Harm ask that over the last twelve hours? It hadn't gotten them anything except a headache or two. At least they were finally on the ground. She didn't get airsick (well, except in fighters pulling upwards of five Gs) but it didn't mean she didn't appreciate terra firma, especially if that terra technically was property of the U.S.A. The American Embassy was lavish. Your tax dollars at work, Mac thought wryly. Light, airy, high-ceilinged, and over air-conditioned, the complex resembled a Hollywood mansion. Who were they trying to impress? "Pretty classy," Harm muttered to her. Webb, a few paces ahead, shot them a stern glance. He opened a set of heavy wooden doors and barged into what appeared to be a large office. A young woman in Navy dress blues sat behind a desk much larger than her. She stood up to her full height of five-feet-two and came to attention. "Agent Webb. Major MacKenzie, Commander Rabb, nice to see you again, ma'am, sir." Webb looked from the woman to the JAG officers. How did they know each other? And more importantly, why didn't he know? "Ensign Morelio," Rabb greeted. She smiled, but cleared her throat purposefully. Mac also noticed his gaffe and gave a knowing smile. Harm noticed the bars on her uniform collar. "My apologies, Lieutenant Morelio. Congratulations on your promotion." "Thank you, sir." "If you're all finished exchanging pleasantries," Webb drawled, "we have business to attend to." Taking their cue from Webb, the assembled group took seats around the darkly furnished office. "Commander Rabb, in answer to your questions over the last twelve hours: now you need to know." Lt. Morelio handed him a file from her desk. "Three days ago, an American dignitary, Jack Wallace, disappeared from this Embassy. Twenty hours ago we received word from a minor anti-American espionage organization, Unidos. They want all trade and communications between the U.S. and Argentina to cease for them to release Wallace. We are here to infiltrate Unidos and rescue Wallace." "Oh is that all," Harm griped. "Somehow I don't think this was part of the job description." "Why is the CIA going through the effort to get him out if he's just a minor dignitary?" Mac asked. It held the unvoiced question, why are we here? "Wallace is being held as a spy. He was privy to important information because he also used to be upper-echelon CIA." "And there's no such thing as an ex-CIA agent," Mac finished. "So you're afraid Unidos will interrogate Wallace." "'Interrogate' puts it mildly, major." Webb didn't have to say it for the others to know he meant torture. Harm leaned forward in his chair. "And exactly how are we supposed to get him out?" Webb was silent. He knew Rabb wasn't going to be very happy with what he had to say. "Mac's going to turn you in." That was it; be vague-very fitting for the CIA. Mac tried not to laugh, but Harm was nearly livid. "Excuse me?!" "The Unidos leaders seem to have a bit of a feminist bent, therefore Major MacKenzie will pose as a former member of the Hamas in search of a new group for allegiance. She will turn Commander Rabb over to Unidos as proof of her loyalty. Call him a gift to Unidos." "Now hold on a minute, I'm not a gift to anybody!" Mac leaned towards Diana Morelio. "At least he knows he's not God's gift to women." They started giggling uncontrollably. "But sir," Morelio recovered a straight face first, "won't we still have to rescue Commander Rabb, as well?" "Mr. Rabb, I'm sure that if you cooperate with the phony information we supply you, Unidos will find you very useful. They are quite civilized." Harm shook his head in disbelief. "Great, so we're dealing with high-society terrorists." "Lieutenant Morelio, you will be Mac's contact outside Unidos. You are an Unidos sympathizer, and I want you to get as much information on them as possible." Webb handed manila envelopes to each of the three officers. "Enclosed are your new identities and the information you will need to complete the mission. Memorize and destroy the contents as soon as possible. Dismissed." "I never want him in charge of a mission again. Ever!" Harm grumbled as he, Mac, and Morelio walked up the faux-marble staircase to their rooms. "Don't like being the helpless one, Harm?" Mac grinned. "More like useless. I'm a decoy, Mac!" "Don't worry." Mac put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll make sure they don't hurt you." "I thought you said friends aren't supposed to sandbag friends." "This isn't sandbagging. If it were up to me, I'd hand them Webb." "I bet the Admiral will break his nose again once he hears about this." 0450 ZULU American Embassy Room 202 Buenos Aires, Argentina "What's yours, major?" "Call me Mac, remember?" Sarah MacKenzie sat cross-legged on her bed with files strewn in front of her. She scooped them up into a pile before addressing Morelio, who was sprawled on the floor in some sort of gymnastics contortion. "Reza Jahan, age 32. Iranian-born, Canadian educated. Why Canadian, I have no idea." Diana thought for a moment. "It explains your accent without making you American. I'm sure they can't tell an American accent from a Canadian one. In fact, as long as you don't say eh or aboot, I probably can't tell." "Former member of Hamas who left because it was too violent. I've never heard of a terrorist group that wasn't violent. I also didn't think there were any living ex- Hamas." "Unidos is supposed to be against harming civilians when possible. They're more into espionage than a grenade in your face." Mac leaned back on the bed. "Civilized terrorists. What is the world coming to, eh?" She grinned. "What about you, Diana?" "Diana Beatriz Miranda y Navarro. Twenty-eight years old; husband and two year-old son killed last year by American soldiers in a training accident." "That would make you sympathize with Unidos." Mac tossed her file in the softly glowing fire at one end of the room. "But how are you supposed to pass as a native?" Morelio did something resembling a back walkover and stood up. "Facilmente. My grandparents were Argentinian natives. I speak fluent Spanish with an Argentine accent, and I've brushed up a bit on my lunfardo." Although Mac was competent with foreign languages, she hadn't heard that word before. "What?" "Lunfardo is Argentine slang. Essential for passing as a native. It's equivalent to colloquial American English." "Will you teach me some?" "Sure. I hear you're good at languages." At Mac's look she added, "Mr. Webb practically has me as a spook in training. Let's see, I assume you know the basics of Spanish: Buenos días, me llamo, como está, et cetera." Mac nodded. "Hmm. Some of the words will sound a bit like Italian. We are in la colimba, the military service. Morfe is food. Yanqui is an American. The omnibus is the inter-city bus. El pago is the town you're from. Porro is marijuana and falopa is drugs-who knows when terrorists add a little drug trafficking into the mix. Oh, and chau is good-bye." "Like ciao. What else?" "Well . . ." A knock on their door interrupted the language lesson. Diana jumped up and opened the door to reveal Harm, who had changed out of uniform. After all, it was after midnight back on the East Coast. "¡Qué churro!" Morelio giggled. "Diana, who is it?" Mac called from around the corner. "Commander Rabb," Morelio yelled back. They sounded like a couple of college coeds. "Did I miss something?" "No, sir. I was just teaching Mac some Spanish." "So it's Mac and Diana now, hmm? When did this mission become a slumber party?" Mac smiled mischievously. "Well, Harm, if you'd brought your pajamas, you could've joined us." "Anything would be better than having Webb as a roommate." "Come on, Harm. I'll walk you back to your room." Mac jumped up off the bed and led him to the door as Diana watched with a speculative gaze until Mac firmly shut the door behind her. Out from under the watchful eyes of Morelio and Webb, Mac felt free to comment on her partner's uneasiness. "Harm, what's bothering you?" "What do you think? I'm not ecstatic about playing a sitting duck." He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned his tall frame against the wall. Mac sighed. Trying to reason with and reassure him was not going to be easy. "You're not going to be a sitting duck. I know this is not what you want to do, but from the inside, we can get Wallace out. I'll be there with you, and Diana and Webb will be just outside. Now, I know you don't particularly like him, but we've come this far without him getting us killed." Oops. Maybe that wasn't quite the thing to say. She slumped against the wall beside him. "So Mac," he segued into an obvious subject change. "What villainous threat to civilization are you?" "If you're referring to my cover story, I'm an ex-Hamas agent, Reza Jahan." She turned her head towards him. "However, if you're referring to the danger quotient of Sarah MacKenzie, I don't think the members have reached a decision yet." "Hmm. 'Danger' MacKenzie. Doesn't sound half-bad." He stood up and faced her with that I'm-a-fighter-pilot-who-are-you look. "For a pushy, tattooed jarhead. Speaking of which . . ." He placed a hand on the wall beside Mac and leaned in. "I should never have mentioned that." "That dress you wore to the NATO Ball showed a bit of skin, but I didn't see anything." He gave her a wolfish grin. "I *will* figure it out." "In your dreams," Mac laughed. "Now, on that note, come on and go to bed." "Aww, mom, do I have to?" Harm stifled a yawn as Mac ushered him towards his door. He paused in front of it with his hand on the doorknob. "Good night, Harm." Before she quite realized what she was doing, Mac went up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. Harm, being somewhat oblivious, shuffled into his room without a second thought, leaving Mac standing in the hallway wondering what in the world had possessed her to do that? 1410 ZULU American Embassy Room 202 Buenos Aires, Argentina "So, Mac, is there a black hole out there in the hallway?" Diana Morelio asked the next morning as she sat at the hairpin-strewn dresser, twisting her hair up into some complicated coiffure. Unconsciously, Mac ran a hand through her own shortly-cropped hair. "How do you go through that every day? You won't even be in uniform today, why don't you leave it down." Morelio dropped her hair, which ribboned out into an ebony cascade that fell several inches past her waist. No wonder she went through so much trouble putting it up every day. "You're being evasive, counselor. Answer the question. Why did it take you half an hour to walk Commander Rabb across the hall to his room?" Yes, Mac, why? Her conscience taunted. "Just discussing the mission, lieutenant." Emphasis on the latter meant the subject was closed. Morelio would have to satisfy her curiosity later. Mac checked her appearance in the mirror quickly before heading out the door. She looked a bit different in a black-trimmed sable-colored pantsuit. It was certainly a change from her standard khaki and olive uniform, although she hadn't quite determined where the clothes came from. Morelio had also insisted on changing her makeup and was a little heavy-handed with the eyeliner, lending her a slightly more exotic look. She certainly felt different from Mac, the Marine major. Diana, wielding a hairbrush, was close behind her as they went downstairs. If Mac had originally thought her appearance had transformed, the others wouldn't even recognize Morelio. Canvas espadrilles increased her height to a whopping five-feet-five, and between a long, loosely flowing print dress and the even longer free-flowing hair, no one would recognize her as a junior grade navy lieutenant. They found Harm and Webb in the same office where they'd met the night before. Even in daylight the room was oppressive. Only that it seemed to be free-dress day for all helped to lighten the tone of the room. Webb had even lost that awful trenchcoat. If life wasn't exactly good, at least it looked good. "Don't it turn my brown eyes blue, it's Crystal Gayle," Harm quipped when the two women entered. "Your eyes are blue, Commander," Morelio returned. Webb's obvious look of annoyance was the first bright spot of Mac's day. "I'm supposed to meet with Unidos in one hour and forty-six minutes. I'd like to know what I'm doing before then." "Point taken, Major. You are to meet Unidos leader Laura Gallegos in the lobby of the Zafiro Hotel. It's a neutral public place that should be safe for both of you. Before then, Lieutenant Morelio will get you situated in the hotel, which is where you've been staying for the past week." "If Wallace was only abducted a few days ago, then how did you . . . nevermind. CIA," Harm muttered. "State Department," Webb corrected. "Just keep telling yourself that, Clay." Webb chose to ignore Harm's comment and moved on. "Use the commander as your bargaining chip with Unidos. It's imperative that you get inside the organization. Morelio will be your only outside contact. And people, remember whom you're supposed to be--that goes especially for Rabb and MacKenzie." 1606 ZULU Zafiro Hotel Covert ops is not my profession of choice, Mac thought as she sat in a surprisingly comfortable chair in the lobby. Supposedly this meeting was perfectly safe, with Webb and Morelio hiding out somewhere. Rabb couldn't risk being seen . . . yet. Mac ran through the information from the dossier in her mind. The meeting had to go perfectly, otherwise the entire mission was blown. So far, the Unidos leader was late. "Señorita Jahan." The voice came from a rather nondescript brunette in conservative business attire standing before her. Why was the espionage world always so well-dressed? Mac stood to greet her; it was a subconscious assertion of equality. "Ms. Gallegos." "Please, sit. If you wish to conduct business in English, that is fine. I think my Farsi is very poor." For her lame attempt at comforting humor, Laura Gallegos did not smile. Mac was just relieved that the rudimentary Spanish she'd picked up from Diana would not be necessary. Gallegos' eyes narrowed through thin, wire-rimmed glasses. "You told my people you have information about the United States Navy." Mac gave a noncommittal nod. "Why do you wish to share this information?" "Common enemy, common goal," Mac replied smoothly. Short, sweet, and to the point. "And what do you want in exchange?" "I'd like to join your organization." "You think we will simply let you join?" Mac leaned towards the other woman with a self-assured half smile. "You will when you find out what my information is." "Señorita Jahan, you must tell me more before I can make a choice." "I have an American Naval Intelligence officer." Gallegos' eyes brightened, but she quickly schooled her features into a composed mask. "An officer. What good news. But how do you have an American officer . . . ¿cómo se dice? . . . just laying around?" Mac's devious expression bordered on the diabolical. "I don't. But I can deliver him gift-wrapped to your door whenever you want." "Very confident." She handed Mac a plain business card with an address scrawled on the back. "Bring this gift tomorrow afternoon at three. Ask for Laura." She pronounced it in a way that didn't exist in English phonetics. "We will talk then." Upstairs in her hotel room, Mac reached for the telephone and dialed the number for Diana Morelio's cover apartment. She answered on the third ring. "Ma-uh, Reza." Diana had already almost slipped up. Rule number one was leak as little information as absolutely possible. This was followed by rule two: always assume you are being monitored and/or followed. "Diana, 1500 tomorrow, 248 Calle Roble." "Check." "What about Harm?" "Exactly what you read." "I mean--" "No," Diana cut her off forcefully. "You know the story. Tonight, 2000, the restaurant in the Zafiro. Put on a show." "But, Diana--" "Sorry, time's up. I'll send your love to Clay." "Great," Mac sighed as she heard the receiver on the other end click. Now what was she supposed to do? 2259 ZULU El Tigre Blanco Restaurante Zafiro Hotel Mac pulled her light shawl closer around her shoulders as she sat by herself at a table set for two. She hated being punctual only because she always had to end up waiting for the other person. In this case, the person in question was Harmon Rabb, Jr. No, excuse me, make that Commander Jarod Weiss. Mac decided it would be easier just to refer to him as hey you. At 2007 he sauntered in wearing dress whites, gold wings conspicuously absent. On second glance, she noticed the uniform had received an upgrade to full Commander. If he wasn't noticeable, nothing was, and that was the whole point of this evening's charade. Rising to her feet to greet him, she displayed her pale, sleeveless dress with a hemline several inches shorter than her usual uniform. Harm gave her a grin that bordered on being malicious as he threw an arm around her waist and brusquely kissed her. Mac's first instinct was to elbow him in the gut. It didn't matter whether she'd liked it or not; it was a matter of principle. "Reza." He politely held her chair for her, but that one word had brought her back to immediate reality. Damn him, he was actually following the preposterous fiction outlined in their files. Reza ensnares Weiss with her charm (it sounded so much more polite than "seduces"), then hands the would-be beau to the spies. Mac thought it bore a striking resemblance to the case of Corporal Jason Magida, mess that it was, last year. Except that Malka Dayan was a double agent with the CIA . . . oh, wait, so was she, in a roundabout way. Well, now she knew where the Agency got its inspiration-if a plan works once, use it again, and again, and again. "Nice dress." "Watch it flyb--maybe not. I guess you're a permanently grounded intel nerd." Harm shrugged. "Just following orders." Mac thought back to the "order" Diana had given her. Put on a show. Oh, yeah, Mac could put on a really good show. "So, darling, how was your day?" She gave him her most sweet, innocent, and loving smile, complete with batted eyelashes. The syrupy sweetness even caught Harm off guard for a moment. "You know, the usual: spies, lies, and videotape. You?" "Just a business meeting, although the client did seem very interested." She paused a moment to make sure he understood her meaning. "I'm making a delivery tomorrow afternoon." The essential information exchanged, they passed through much of dinner in silence. It was hard to make small talk when you couldn't be yourself. They didn't know what they could safely talk about. Mac had even gone so far as to basically recount her day. "I saw part of this telenovela today," she said between bites of genuine Argentine beef. "A what?" "Soap opera. I thought I might pick up some Spanish while I was working." "Foreign language through osmosis. Now there's a concept." She set down her silverware. "Cute, Jarod." Mac forced herself to try and use his cover identity. "From what I could make out, it was about these two people who worked for some corporation. It was rather pathetic, really. It was so obvious that these two were in love with each other, but neither seemed aware of the other's feelings. There's no way two people could be so oblivious in real life." Mac laughed, but she thought it sounded a little forced. "Stuff like that keeps shows on the air. Remember what happened to 'Moonlighting'?" "You watched that?" Harm shrugged. "Finished?" "Yes. Let's get out of here." "Reza?" "Hmm?" Oh yeah, that was her. She looked at Harm and noticed his proffered arm, which she took. They left the restaurant arm in arm, walking through the lobby and out the front door of the hotel. Mac leaned in towards him and whispered, "Where are we going?" "We're supposed to be visible, so we're visibly walking out in public where Unidos agents abound." "When did this become spy versus spy?" "I'd trace it back to the fateful day we met Webb." "Wasn't that the same fateful day I met--" Mac suddenly stopped in her tracks. "I think a subject change is in order, Jarod." She said his pseudonym forcefully as a reminder that they could be monitored at any time. "I believe you're right, Reza." "Well that's a nice change," Mac muttered. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Forget it." Harm was about to pursue the topic when he saw Mac visibly tense up. "Reza, what a surprise." Harm had no idea who the brunette was or how she knew who Mac was supposed to be. Another agent perhaps? Had Webb actually provided backup? "Laura." Mac was trying very hard to act naturally. "And who is your charming companion?" Laura asked smoothly. The woman was cool and collected--a model spy. So which side did she work for? Harm was starting to lean towards Unidos. "Commander Jarod Weiss, United States Navy, ma'am," he replied equally calmly, placing an arm around Mac's waist. They had to keep up appearances in front of the spies. "Quite a catch, as I think your colloquial phrase goes. Reza, I do hope to see you again, soon. You, too, Commander. Chau." She confidently walked off, and they waited until she was much farther up the block before speaking. "That's the client." "So I gathered. Very self-assured, isn't she." "I guess the question of how closely we're being watched just got answered." "Yeah, too close." Speaking of too close, he realized that there were only inches separating him and Mac. He removed his arm from her waist and stepped back. "What's the plan for tomorrow?" "Lunch, my hotel room, around 1300." She motioned for him to come closer so they wouldn't risk being overheard. "We have to assume we are always being monitored. Webb gave me a mild sedative to slip in your food. Then we'll head to the meeting point." Harm wasn't crazy about the plan. "I don't have to actually be drugged." "I'm afraid you do. Who knows what they might do; they don't exactly trust me. We can't risk our cover being blown this early. You'll just have to trust me." "I do trust you." After all this time, did she even have to ask? He trusted Mac implicitly; it was Unidos that worried him. 1550 ZULU Zafiro Hotel Mac hated waiting. She'd been sitting in her hotel room for hours, waiting when she'd much rather be doing something. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do at the moment but wait. To pass the time, she was reading a Spanish textbook Diana had given her. The television provided quiet background noise. A knock on the door caused her to jump. No, she wasn't nervous, not at all. She closed the book and hopped off the bed, smoothing out her dress. She had to admit, Morelio had supplied her some nice clothes. "Who is it?" A male voice came through the door. "Lucy, I'm ho-ome!" he said in a horrible attempt at a Spanish accent. Oh great. It was Harm, and he was even early. She straightened her dress again before opening the door to reveal him in a less conspicuous khaki uniform brandishing a bouquet of roses. "For me?" Mac was surprised by his . . . um, attention to detail. He held out the flowers like a peace offering and pushed past her into the room. "No, I'm meeting my other girlfriend at 1400." "Well, I suspected you had to be up to at least a girl per continent by now." "Nah, just two, but they sure travel a lot." While Mac was left to ponder what he meant by two, or any other number for that matter, Harm guided her over to the pre-set table. He was mildly surprised to find that lunch was already set amid the white linen and silverware, but he was more than mildly confused by the sight of filled wineglasses at both settings. Resigning to the fact that Mac was in charge of the show, he let it pass. It was no surprise that throughout lunch, Mac never touched her glass. She had considered substituting grape juice, but it was just more effort than it was worth. She continued to refill Harm's glass, although he really wasn't paying attention to it. They chatted amiably, although things were mildly strained, considering Harm was aware that somewhere along the line he was going to be drugged and delivered to what amounted to enemy spies. Sure it was a melodramatic way of putting it, but Harm felt he was almost justified. Strangely, after awhile he stopped minding so much. He was starting to focus on Mac. Not what she was saying . . . no, he was mindlessly thinking about how good she looked in that dress and how infrequently they spent much time together between Dalton and whomever else. When Mac started to notice his wandering attention, she decided it was time to go. Between the wine and the sedative, it was just about naptime for Harm. She stood, grabbed her jacket and shoulderbag out of the closet, and helped Harm to his feet. Hopefully, any bystanders would just think he was a little tipsy. She got him downstairs and out to her rental car without much difficulty, and she figured he'd probably nod off on the drive. Better to get the worst of it over now, before he was in the hands of Unidos. As Mac drove in silence, the argument in her head grew louder. Her sense of duty confronted her loyalty. She didn't particularly like what she was doing, but duty outwitted loyalty by rationalizing that she wasn't really betraying Harm. However, the more realistic it seemed to him, the better. 1743 ZULU Calle Roble Buenos Aires, Argentina Mac found the address easily-Diana supplied very thorough directions. Harm was awake, although very drowsy; he hadn't quite registered where they were. Scanning the area to make sure the coast was clear, she removed a length of thin rope from her bag. She placed a hand on Harm's shoulder. "I'm going to have to tie you up now." Harm's eyes opened a little wider. "Kinky, Major." Mac smiled. "Yellow light, Commander." He assisted by putting his hands behind his back while Mac tied the rope securely around his wrists. "All right, this is where the real acting begins. I can't be nice to you any more, Harm, so don't take it personally." He nodded vaguely. "Good. Now, who am I?" He looked at her questioningly. "You're Ma-no, Reza. Reza Jahan. And I'm Commander Weiss, Naval Intelligence." He continued by rattling off his serial number. Well, at least he remembered to use the fake one rather than his own. Mac got out of the car, nearly slamming the driver's side door. She opened Harm's door and yanked him out, marching him up to the rather plain, square structure marked 248. When she knocked, a small window slid open. It was like something out of a '30s mob movie. "¿Qué quiere?" a breathy, masculine voice demanded. Wasn't that what the annoying Taco Bell dog said? Something like that. "I'm here to see Laura," she replied slowly, emphasizing the name. "Laura. Un momento." Within a couple minutes (that felt like hours to Mac), Laura Gallegos appeared. She seemed as forbiddingly cool as ever, but at the sight of Harm, a small smile appeared on her face. "Señorita Jahan, Commander Weiss, so lovely to see you again. Please, enter." Mac was hesitant, but she stepped in, with Harm in tow. A second later, the door slammed shut and two men grabbed Harm, who struggled weakly. "Reza!" Mac steeled herself to not flinch or show any emotion in response to his plaintive cry of betrayal. One of the men moved to strike him, but Laura froze him with a brisk command in Spanish. The disobedient man bowed his head, and the two of them pulled Rabb into the next room. "Very impressive, Señorita Jahan. He should be a good source of information. You have proven your usefulness to us. Please, come." Following Laura, Mac took careful surveillance of their surroundings. The complex consisted of many interconnected rooms, sparsely furnished and highly utilitarian. They passed a number of small office-like rooms and a larger common room when a tall, raven-haired man blocked their path. Mac could almost see Laura bristle. "Move, Carlos." The man regarded Mac with suspicion in his granite-gray eyes. Mac returned his stare, but he broke away first. "But Isabe--" "¡Cállate! I told you to move. Do not be rude to our, guest." He grudgingly obeyed. "Reza Jahan, this is Juancarlos Alarcón." Mac nodded in greeting, but the hostility was palpable. "He specializes in electronic information. Carlos, perhaps you would like to be present for the debriefing of Commander Weiss." He nodded and quickly took his leave. Mac already disliked him; not that she really liked any of them. "Would you also like to observe?" Laura asked her. Mac had to think for a second. A spy brings in someone with info on the enemy. Would she want to witness the results of her work? Of course. Did Mac want to? No way. "Don't you think my presence might have the wrong effect on him?" Laura gave her that disturbingly cold smile again. "Do not worry. We have a separate room for those who wish to observe and not be seen." Seeing Harm bound to a chair flanked by a guard, Alarcón, and an unknown blonde woman made Mac want to personally murder Webb for getting them in this situation. Marines, like SEALS, weren't supposed to leave their men behind, and although Mac was still around, she'd given her man to the enemy. At least it seemed that Unidos refrained from violent persuasion methods, so far. Harm was a model captive . . . from the Navy's point of view. He gave no more information than his name, rank, and serial number. Despite his by-the-book behavior, Mac wished he'd just give in and spill the false information Webb provided. She was afraid of what they might do to him. After an hour of badgering, Harm didn't make a peep, but Mac was struggling to keep her nerves under control. It was probably just as well that he couldn't see her. Laura decided they had done enough for the time being, and the group broke up. As she and Mac left the observation room, Harm caught sight of them and called out meekly. Laura looked at Mac, who kept walking as if she hadn't heard anything. All the while she was thinking how she really had the tougher task. It was her duty to keep Rabb safe while gleaning the necessary information from Unidos, reporting to Diana, and dealing with immense feelings of guilt. All Harm had to do was stick to his story and hope Mac got him out ASAP. By 1800, Laura was kicking Mac out of Unidos. No, she hadn't blown her cover, but Laura insisted that she go home for the day. Harm, or Commander Weiss, rather, would be kept under guard until another questioning attempt tomorrow. Mac had the sinking suspicion that she was being followed, which was understandable given her position. She considered taking evasive maneuvers, but she didn't want the Unidos agents to be suspicious of her. It was time to show another card in her hand, so instead of returning to the hotel, Mac drove to Diana's apartment. 2136 ZULU Diana Navarro's Apartment Buenos Aires, Argentina "Diana, how are you?" Mac enthusiastically greeted the surprised-looking lieutenant. As she leaned in to hug her, she whispered, "The delivery's been made, but I've been followed here." Mac took a seat on the sofa while Diana turned up the volume on her small television in case Unidos decided to eavesdrop. They sat side by side on the couch, facing away from the solitary window and keeping their voices low. "The players?" "Laura Gallegos and Juancarlos Alarcón." "Unidos leader. No one's been able to officially connect her to the organization. Somehow she manages to stay clean. The other one is unfamiliar. We'll run a check tomorrow. How's the commander?" "As well as possible given the circumstances. Interrogation resumes tomorrow morning." "I'm sorry, ma'am." Diana got up and went into the tiny kitchen, which was really part of the same room. "My professional advice is that you stay here for dinner. One, it allays suspicion; two, there's safety in numbers, and three, I have to make sure you don't starve." 2350 ZULU Unidos Complex Buenos Aires, Argentina "What do you have to tell me, Carlos," the icy blonde demanded from behind her desk. She tapped long, meticulously polished nails on the wood surface. "She went to the apartment of a Diana Navarro for dinner before returning to the Zafiro Hotel." "That name sounds familiar." Juancarlos laid a printout on the desk. "She's provided us information on occasion. Señora de Navarro is a leak in the United States Embassy, and she also arranged the meeting with Jahan." "It is good to see that Señorita Jahan has the right friends." She picked up the papers and scanned through it. "Any news of the American commander?" "He has said nothing yet. He was assigned to a project called Pyrite; I have yet to crack the records of the project. He has top-level security clearance." "Then Señorita Jahan has truly brought us a gem. Has Laura contacted the embassy?" "She said they were not willing to negotiate." "I do not wish to negotiate, Carlos. Do you?" "No. They will probably want to confirm that Commander Weiss is missing." "He should hope so. We will progress to more . . . persuasive methods tomorrow." 0548 ZULU Unidos Complex Buenos Aires, Argentina Cold. Dark. Hungry. Headache. Harm wasn't quite coherent enough yet to have any complex thoughts. Whatever Mac had given him took a long time to completely wear off. From what he could see, he determined he was in a small cell with a cot and little else. He figured if Mac were there, he'd at least know what time it was. No, scratch that, he just wished Mac were there. Or maybe not. He wished Webb was there and he and Mac were back in Virginia. "¿Quién es?" a voice asked somewhere nearby in the darkness. The Spanish carried an obvious American accent. "Wallace?" "Yeah. You an American?" Wallace sounded both shocked and dismayed. "The agency?" "No, Navy. Commander Jarod Weiss." Harm didn't want to risk Unidos overhearing him, so he stuck to his cover story at all times. Wallace gave a harsh, bitter chuckle. "How'd they get you?" "My girlfriend's a spy." "I'm serious." When Harm didn't answer he continued, "Oh. You can't trust those damn foreign women. Look at the bunch running this organization. At least they're smart enough to realize we're worth more to them alive than dead. Sneaky bunch, I tell you. I've been moved around so much over the last week we could be in Canada and I wouldn't know it." "Buenos Aires." "Huh?" "Two four eight calle Roble, Buenos Aires, Argentina." "Oh damn. Well, Commander, I'm sure the State Department is working to get us out of here." Why was it that all CIA agents he met claimed to be with the State Department? "I'm sure they are, Wallace. I'm sure they are." 1100 ZULU American Embassy Buenos Aires, Argentina "Good morning, Mr. Webb," Diana said politely as she entered his office in the embassy. She was finally starting to get used to spending her days out of uniform. Oh, the civilian life again . . . sort of. She carefully shut the door and set a steaming mug of coffee on Webb's desk. "I have news from Major MacKenzie, sir." "It's about time she reported in. Well, what's going on?" "They have Commander Rabb. He hasn't told them anything, but the interrogation continues today." "Any word of Wallace?" "No, sir. I ran a search for a Unidos agent named Juancarlos Alarcón; Mac thinks he's a hacker. If he is, he was smart enough to erase any evidence of his existence other than a birth certificate. Sir, that's not easy to do. Is there an Argentine equivalent of the CIA?" Webb gave her a look that sent her scurrying out of the office. Nevertheless, he decided to run Alarcón by some people at State, but they weren't going to be happy with their lack of progress so far. 1413 ZULU Unidos Complex Buenos Aires, Argentina If something didn't happen soon, Mac swore she was going to kill someone. At least then maybe somebody would do something. Unidos wasn't forthcoming with information, and neither was Harm, for that matter. He had yet to move beyond the name, rank, and serial number bit. Laura was getting annoyed, which worried Mac, for Harm's sake. She also needed to talk to him . . . that gave her an idea. Mac tracked down Laura Gallegos quickly. "I have a way to make Weiss talk. If I go in alone, maybe I can convince him that it's in his best interest to cooperate." "And you think he would speak to you, his betrayer?" Mac had to admit she had a point there. Or she would if Weiss were a real person. "Face it, your methods haven't produced results yet. What could it hurt to let me try?" Laura sighed. "I suppose. You get fifteen minutes." Darkness made it hard for Mac to see much in the cold cement basement. She was certain Harm could hardly see a thing. The girl leading Mac through the dim room couldn't have been more than seventeen. She pulled a cord hanging from the ceiling and a bare lightbulb flared to life. The harsh glow did little for the room, but she could see Harm in what basically amounted to a large cage. "Jarod." Mac resisted the urge to run to him and make sure he was all right. He rose to his feet, and Mac walked calmly towards him. "This the girl that put you here?" Mac whirled towards the unfamiliar voice. The man was dirty, his suit beyond wrinkled, but the accent was undeniably American. No need to ask if Harm had found Wallace. "You especially can't trust the beautiful foreign women," he added cynically. "Reza." Had anyone ever told Harm he'd make a great actor? He put more emotion into that one word than some of those overpaid movie stars put into an entire film. "Jarod, you have to talk to them, please. Give them the information and they'll let you go. Please, do it. I don't want them to hurt you." Mac did her best to sound desperate--it wasn't hard. "Why? Why should I trust you, or them? Why did you do this to me?" "Please, Jarod, listen to me for once. Just talk to them. I can't help you anymore." Her final plea hit home. It wasn't Reza, the character, speaking but Mac herself. That was his cue to spill the "top-secret" project pyrite. Harm reached a hand out between the bars towards Mac, who started towards him. When her outstretched hand was only inches from his, she changed her mind, dropping her arm and turning away. Once she had left, Wallace let out a sigh. "Why is it that all the beautiful, intelligent women are on the wrong side? Commander, you have to forget about her. When we get out of here . . . but she still might be useful to us. She's not completely heartless; she can't be. I think she really does feel something for you. Maybe we can use that to our advantage." 1643 ZULU Diana Navarro's Apartment Buenos Aires, Argentina Diana was running around like a maniac trying to get a million things done before returning to the Embassy. Webb treated her like she had the resources of two people, which was giving her a splitting headache. She was on the phone to the states when there was a knock at her front door. "Just a minute," she called, not realizing she'd spoken in English. Shoot. "Un momento." Diana brought the call to a close and jumped up to get the door. The man standing outside towered over her by about eight inches. Not as imposing as the commander but still somewhat intimidating. His gray eyes were unsual, and she had a sinking suspicion that this was the Unidos agent that Mac had her look up. "Señora de Navarro." "Sí." The man briefly flashed a badge, but she didn't have a chance to read it. "You are being charged with espionage and consorting with known terrorists." "¿Cómo?" Her eyes were saucer-round. She had no idea what he was talking about, and it wasn't that she hadn't understood his Spanish. "You know Reza Jahan? You were seen with her yesterday. She belongs to Unidos. You are known to have supplied information to Unidos from the United States Embassy." He took a step forward into the apartment, causing Diana to leap back in a defensive stance. "Who are you?" she demanded. "Detective Alarcón, Policía Federal Argentina." He was getting impatient. "Are you going to come peacefully?" "I don't believe you." She took another step back. "You're part of Unidos." He tried to grab her arm, but she pulled away quickly, delivering a barefooted kick to his knee. "Let me go!" she shouted in English. Alarcón rubbed his knee gingerly. "You're American," he replied in lightly accented English. "I work for the Embassy." "No. Who are you? Who is Diana Beatriz Miranda y Navarro? I found a birth certificate and marriage record. What about your son?" Diana was confused and momentarily went blank. Her cover was ingrained enough that the answer came without her realizing it. "He's dead. The American soldiers killed him and my husband." Alarcón was getting too close to her again. "You seem very young to be a widow with a dead son. Especially since there is no record of your son's birth. Nor your husband's. Just their deaths." He glared down at her. "Where are you from? Florida, Nueva York?" "Get out of my home!" "I can help you. I know Unidos has two American hostages." "How do I know you're really with the police?" He showed her his ID again, but she shook her head. "I want better proof than that." She stood on tiptoe to return his stony glare. "Because as far as I can tell, Juancarlos Alarcón doesn't exist." Unidos Complex Buenos Aires, Argentina "Commander Weiss, your beloved Reza tells us that you have decided to speak with us. I have always believed in the female power of persuasion." In that moment, Harm had a desire to hit the smug Laura Gallegos. Even though he generally avoided hitting women, he was ready to make an exception. "Tell them about Pyrite, Jarod." Mac was in the room to make sure none of the Unidos agents became too zealous in their interrogation. Harm hesitated, looking from Mac to Laura to the tall blonde standing behind her. He'd seen the woman before, although he had no clue as to who or what she was. "A shipment of prototypes of armaments and surveillance equipment is due in two days. The Navy plans to test them here, away from the eyes of the American media. Included is a new radar system that can detect low-flying aircraft and other previously undetectable items." Laura gave him a hint of a smile. At last, he was cooperating. "And how is this equipment being transported?" "On the USS McInerney, FFG-eight." "That is a guided missile frigate, not a transport ship," the mystery woman finally spoke. Harm was impressed with her knowledge, although a little ignorance would have made fooling them easier overall. "The cargo is well-protected." "But never well enough." Laura's sensibly low-heeled shoes clicked on the cold cement floor as she moved closer to Harm. "Muchas gracias por your cooperation, Commander Weiss. Reza, if you will please join us." With a final glance back, she briskly ordered the two silent guards to return the American to his cell. In what Mac had assumed to be Laura's office, the three women sat regarding each other silently for a moment. When the blonde woman, who assumed the seat of authority behind the inexpensive metal desk, nodded, Laura made the introductions. "Reza, you have proven yourself valuable to our organization. I must tell you that we have not been completely truthful, but I am sure you expected no less. Please meet our esteemed leader, Isabela." Those few, slightly stilted sentences set Mac's mind reeling. Webb's information was a bit off. If the CIA was wrong about Isabela, what else had they missed?