Author’s Notes: This story involves legal depositions to illustrate the moral dilema surrounding the Tampa incident. These are points of law, not ethics, and Harm and Mac have always prosecuted or defended using the point of law, even if they disagreed with the ethic. My personal opinion is not relevant to the story, so don’t bother to flame me if you have strong convictions either way. Australian Naval shore bases are given ship’s names. Thus, HMAS Penguin is a (genuine) shore base, not a ship. 
 

 “Come in, Colonel,” Admiral Chegwidden said without turning. He was standing at his office window, contemplating the falling snow. Contemplating the decisions he’d made in his life, the paths not taken. 

The military demanded much of its people. One could argue that it was too much, but that wasn’t a case he could defend. Many fine officers boasted successful marriages. And not necessarily to partners who subdued their careers to accommodate such a marriage. Hell, he had the definitive case example in his own office: Bud and Harriet Roberts. He turned and smiled, then walked back to his desk. “Sit down, Colonel.”

Colonel Sarah Mackenzie sat with the ramrod bearing that Chegwidden had come to expect from the Marine Corps officer. Yet, unlike many women in the service, especially the Marine Corps, her bearing took nothing from her femininity. He’d allowed that to distract him once. Fortunately, common sense had prevailed before irreparable damage had been done - to either of them. Chegwidden had never considered himself a chauvinist, he had too much respect for women, but he could not intellectualize away his male hormones. Not just the ones that found the colonel a desirable woman, but the ones that wanted to protect her, especially from herself.

The admiral pursed his lips and said, “Mac, the reason your temporary assignment to this office became permanent was because of your outstanding record as both a military officer and as a JAG investigator. In the course of your duties, you’ve been obliged to undertake some thankless tasks, including the investigation and subsequent prosecution of friends and mentors. I’ve watched you mature into someone who is eminently capable of divorcing personal feelings from a case, without losing your compassion or humanity. Of course if you hadn’t, you would have long since shot Rabb.”

Sarah Mackenzie stifled a grin. It had not been easy, those first months after arriving at JAG headquarters. She had nothing to prove to herself - or so she thought until meeting Harmon Rabb. More than anything else, he had taught her to *enjoy* the thrust and parry of a courtroom battle, to not take it personally, but to respect, indeed, look forward to the next challenge from a consummate sparring partner. It took her a long time to understand that Chegwidden’s description of her as cold-blooded was not a slur on her personality, but a compliment on her work ethic.

“I’m not going to insult your professionalism,” Chegwidden continued, “by not giving you this assignment. However, I have already informed SecNav that Commanders Rabb and Turner are better suited.”

Mac frowned and looked at the admiral in confusion. “Sir, I believe that despite the occasional differences of opinion, my working relationship with Commander Rabb -“

“Is not in question, Colonel. You and Rabb work superbly together, even when you don’t see eye to eye - a fact I can readily sympathize with. However, though you were specifically requested, my recommendation is based on professional considerations. Commanders Rabb and Turner are better versed in maritime law.”

Mac’s face reflected confusion. “Sir, may I ask what the assignment is, and why SecNav requested me?”

Chegwidden looked up and replied, “It’s not so much what, but where. And it wasn’t SecNav, but the Indonesian Government.”

********************************

“Good morning, Bud,” Commander Harmon Rabb said as he strode into the bullpen. He smile was brief, having been clipped by his earlier visit to Quantico. Not only did the initial forensics report scuttle his case; he’d had to battle a blizzard on the drive back.

Lieutenant Bud Roberts replied, “Good morning, Sir! How’s it going out there, Sir?” he added with a concerned frown.

Rabb shook his head and shrugged off his overcoat. “It’s getting down to zero zero, Bud. The Admiral in?”

“Yes Sir,” Roberts nodded. “And he said he wanted to see you as soon as you got back. Colonel Mackenzie is with him now.”

“Here, let me take that for you Sir,” Lieutenant Harriet Simms said, grabbing his heavy overcoat. “I’ll make sure it’s dried before you go out again.”

Harm tossed Harriet a full-bodied smile. When he’d made the decision to leave JAG and return to flying, he had missed all of his co-workers, but Harriet held a special place in his memory. Like Bud, she genuinely cared for the welfare of everyone around her. Living with testosterone junkies for six months, he’d missed that. Sure, he depended on a vastly bigger support structure to keep him airborne, but Harriet managed to mother them all without it seeming that way.

As to the other woman he had missed, well, he wasn’t in the mood to go there. He had to work with her and right about now, that’s as much as he could take. He tapped on Chegwidden’s door.

“Enter,” the Admiral replied.

The object of Harm’s ambivalence was, as Bud said, already seated. And her stiffened back warned him this would be an uncomfortable assignment. Well, maybe that was good. It would give them something to get their minds of this...thing between them.

“Commander, how did it go?” Chegwidden asked, looking up.

Harm’s lips thinned and he shook his head as he sat in the chair beside Mac. “No go, Sir. Autopsy shows that Seaman Fielding was dead at least twelve hours before the fire.”

The Admiral lifted his eyebrows. “What was the cause of death?”

“Still working on it, Sir, but the best we can get Petty Officer Harken on is arson and willful destruction of naval property.”

“Subject to the autopsy results.”

“Yes, Sir. He has an alibi for the estimated time of death, but I’m hoping the final results will give us something more to work with.”

Chegwidden nodded and said, “I want you to hand over your files on this case to Commander Turner. The rest of your caseload can be distributed between him and Lieutenant Singer. You can brief them this afternoon.”

“Sir?” Harm’s eyebrows lowered and he sat forward in anticipation. He had studiously avoided looking at Mac - something not lost on the admiral &endash; until now. The bland look on her face remained fixed.

Chegwidden held up a thick, spiral bound file and said, “Irrespective of our government’s desire to separate the issue of terrorism and religion, the fact is, some Moslem countries support, overtly, or covertly, the actions of terrorist organizations. Indonesia is one such nation. And, as the Colonel here will testify after her experiences on Aceh, a volatile disposition. Indonesia’s President Megawati Sukarnoputri has more or less publicly decried our actions in Afghanistan. They’re not too happy with the Australians, either.”

“East Timor,” Rabb replied.

“Yes, Commander. The Indonesians didn’t like losing East Timor and they liked it even less when Australia sent troops in to protect the East Timorese. They’re not going to let the same thing happen with Aceh. Indonesia may play at being a democracy, but freedom of speech, particularly of the press, is not tolerated.”

Chegwidden clasped his hands and leaned forward. “The Australian media has a long history of upsetting Indonesia with scathing editorials and exposÈs. The Indonesian kicked another journalist out a few days ago. Australian politicians haven’t faired much better when it comes to diplomacy.”

“Sounds familiar,” Harm said. He caught Mac’s sudden look and added quickly, “Ours are no better.”

Chegwidden nodded agreeably. “Thing is, the U.S. government needs allies in this war. At the very least, we need to avoid aggravating countries that suspect our war on terrorism will turn into a religious crusade. Indonesia has the largest Moslem population of any country in the world. They may not be strategically vital at the current time, but tactically, well, let’s just say that we’d like to do everything we can to accommodate them.”

Harm nodded. “So what do the Indonesians want &endash; besides the $530 million in economic aid we’ve pledged to them?”

“Aid can come in the form of services, Commander. In August last year, a boat carrying over 400 Afghan refugees fleeing the Taliban regime were en-route from Indonesia to Australia when they sent out a distress call. The vessel carrying them was Indonesian, and their last port of embarkation was Indonesia. “This certainly wasn’t the first time a group of refugees fleeing an oppressive regime had undertaken such a journey.”

“Vietnam,” Harm replied.

“Correct. South Vietnamese fled the country in the thousands, often aboard floating death traps with little food and water, no safety equipment and a ninety percent chance of sinking or being butchered by pirates before reaching freedom: Australia. These boat people as they were known, were generally accepted in Australia as refugees.”

“But not this time,” Rabb observed.

“Australia, like the U.S., accepts thousands of political refugees seeking asylum. However, these latest refugees have paid tens of thousands of dollars to commercial people-smugglers in order to bypass the normal checks, even purchase new identities. There is justification in some of their claims that the UN processing for legal immigration are slow, forcing them to take such action, however it is equally true that hidden amongst them are criminals and terrorists. The Australians have picked up dozens of Taliban members who gained entry into their country in this fashion. Two of them had the detailed plans of the Lucas Heights nuclear power plant near Sydney. So the Australians have every reason to turn back illegal refugees and demand their immigration request go through due process, even if refusing or detaining them is a humanitarian nightmare.

“When an Australian reconnaissance aircraft picked up the distress signal of one such boat, they alerted the Indonesian authorities, and a nearby Norwegian container ship, the *Tampa* responded. The *Tampa* expected 80 passengers, but when they reached the overcrowded fishing boat, which was already sinking, they found over 400. The *Tampa* was bound for Indonesia, but once rescued, the refugees threatened to take matters into their own hands unless she turned about and took them to Australia. When notified of this, the Australian authorities refused the *Tampa* the right to enter Australian waters, but ordered her to continue with its refugees to its nearest destination, which was also its next port of call - Indonesia. The Indonesian government denied they had originated there and insisted they be taken to Australia.”

Harm had followed the case with interest and assumed Chegwidden’s brief was more for Mac than himself.

“With the refugees warning the captain that unless he took them to Australia, there would be a quote, ‘very negative reaction’, the captain compromised and took them to the nearest *landfall* - Christmas Island. Although Christmas Island is Australian territory, it is geographically closer to Indonesia than mainland Australia.

“As you know, Commander,” Chegwidden added, looking at Rabb. “International Maritime law is clear when it comes to rescues at sea. But it became a legal quagmire because by entering Australian waters, the captain of the *Tampa* broke Australian law. He was ordered to leave, but refused to comply. His ship could not legally carry that many passengers and if he departed, he would be breaking international maritime laws. The Australian government dug its heels in and refused to allow the refugees to disembark, so a legal minefield became saturated by ethical and humanitarian issues.”

“Because maritime law doesn’t cover refugees.”

“Correct, Commander, it’s a legal no-man’s land. The situation onboard a container ship designed to carry a crew of thirty deteriorated rapidly. The refugees went on a hunger strike and threatened to jump ship and attempt the two-mile swim to shore &endash; something not recommended in the shark-infested waters. If the *Tampa* attempted to leave, the refugees threatened to overpower the crew &endash; which is not piracy because the threat was made inside the sovereign waters of a nation. To take control of the situation, the Australian SAS troops boarded the *Tampa*, and that, of course, opened another can of legal worms. Although they handled the situation with as much tact as possible under the circumstances, the international outcry was enormous. The UN was screaming, and the *Tampa’s* owners were losing tens of thousands of dollars every day the ship sat idly at anchor. Bear in mind that before making any contact with the Indonesians, the Australian Prime Minister publicly blamed Indonesia for sponsoring people smuggling and insisted they take them back.”

“And we’re accused of being arrogant,” Harm muttered, shaking his head.

Mac shot him a narrow-eyed look, but Chegwidden replied, “Given the recent political upheavals in Indonesia &endash; the new president had only been in power a short time &endash; and given the recent unpleasant history between Australia and Indonesia, it was not the Prime Minister’s most tactful moment.”

“It won him an election,” Harm replied.

“It did indeed. He was set to lose, badly, until then. While Australians were sympathetic to the plight of the refugees - after all, the entire country is made up of immigrants and refugees dating back only two hundred years - most people felt these boat people were trying to circumvent due process by buying their way in. What cinched it, of course, were events just a few days later.”

“9-11”

“Exactly. The Australians did not want three hundred Afghans who had already threatened to ‘take matters into their own hands’, running around the streets of Sydney with the plans of their nuclear reactor in hand. Finally, a navy troop ship took the refugees to Nauru and set up camps for them there. They will now be processed on a case by case basis and either allowed to immigrate to Australia, or be returned home.

“Although the situation in Afghanistan has since altered so that these people can no longer reasonably claim persecution, this has not stopped tens of thousands of other Afghans, Iraqi’s and Pakistanis fleeing their homes, because the ecological and economic catastrophe that define these countries are arguably more hellish than any political regime. Australia knows that in order to stem this hemorrhage of refugees, it’s going to have to have to kiss and make up with the Indonesian Government. It also has to deal with an international tribunal investigating the *Tampa* incident, in addition to the ongoing court cases.”

Chegwidden shook his head. “By offering the Indonesian government legal assistance in drafting up an agreement with the Australians, and advising them during the *Tampa* investigation, we demonstrate both to them and the rest of the world that we’re prepared to defend a Moslem nation against one of our closest allies. The Australians want this just as much as we do; they’re big enough to shoulder the blame if it means establishing a workable protocol for dealing with refugees. And they have an even greater interest in keeping Indonesia happy &endash; they’re potentially hostile neighbors that could over-run Australia in less than 48 hours if they put their minds to it.”

Harm frowned. “They’re not seriously a threat, are they, Sir?”

Chegwidden rocked his head equivocally. “That’s a classified war-game scenario, Commander, one that’s been considered in light of 9-11 and the escalating crisis in the Middle East. Although the Australians will appear publicly adversarial, in fact, you’ll be getting their full, behind the scenes co-operation.

“Commander,” Chegwidden said to Rabb. “SecNav asked for you on the basis of your prior insightful analysis of the disputed Kemor and Matsu islands between China and Taiwan. Hopefully this time you’ll plan your solo sailing trips a little more astutely.”

Harm smiled. “Yes sir.” Despite that painful experience, it had given him insight into himself and the demons that had haunted him from childhood. “May I ask, sir, what Colonel Mackenzie’s role will be? No offence to the Colonel, but Maritime law is not her area of expertise.”

“The Colonel was specifically requested by the Indonesian Government.” Chegwidden smiled knowingly and added, “It seems Mac has a fan club amongst the Indonesian military.”

Harm shot a querulous look at his partner. What else had happened on Aceh?

“Commander, your initial role will be to propose workable solutions to prevent a repeat of this problem, while the Colonel will be taking point for the Indonesians. Once you have completed draft recommendations, as you say, Mac is not as versed in maritime law, therefore I trust you will be able to advise her in a manner that can accommodate Indonesia’s expectations.”

Still staring at Mac, whose eyes were focussed forward, Harm replied, “Of course, when are we leaving for Indonesia, Sir?” He noticed her lip was doing that funny thing.

“Not Indonesia, Commander. The negotiations will take place in Sydney.”

Harm’s eyes shot back to the Admiral’s. “Sydney?”

“That’s right, Commander. The Indonesians were happy for Australia to host the negotiations and hearings. Australia has appointed their own experts in maritime law to act in their interests. And as their principle officer is also familiar with the operations of JAG, they are hoping for relatively smooth sailing around the negotiation’s table.”

Harm’s eyes rounded. “Brumby?” He swiveled to face Mac, but her eyes were still fastened ahead. She hadn’t said a word, or moved a muscle - except for that lip &endash; since he’d sat down.

Chegwidden sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. He glanced at Mac and said to Harm, “I assumed you knew that Commander Brumby returned to the Navy when he went back to Australia.”

“Sir,” Harm’s lips compressed in frustration and he kept glancing back at Mac. “Under the circumstances, do you think it’s wise -“

“What circumstances would those be, Commander?” Mac asked, her eyes never leaving the admiral’s.

Harm’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but Chegwidden lifted his chin and replied, “I have every confidence that my officers will not allow personal issues to cloud their judgement. I’m sending Lieutenants Simms and Roberts out there at the end of the week. If Lieutenant Roberts were to return with a wired jaw, I will not be able to pull your butt out of a sling, because SecNav and the State Department will own it. At best, you will be negotiating food scrap rights with the Polar Bears. Do I make myself clear, Commander?”

Harm’s eyes met the admiral’s and he swallowed and nodded. “Abundantly, Sir.”

Chegwidden swung in his chair to look out the ice-covered window. “Not that I’d mind an excuse to come out there myself.” He stood and handed Mac the thick files on his desk. “Here’s the background material. Dismissed.”

Chegwidden hated to put Mac in this position, and tossing Rabb in the ring with Brumby could get ugly. But Rabb had been warned; he would have to show restraint. This, thought Chegwidden, would be a hell of a lot more interesting than the first round. He just hoped the resulting fallout was something they could all live with.
 
 

Mac went to her office and began to close the door, but Harm grabbed it and walked in. She ignored him and sat down at her desk, then started to separate the files the admiral had given them. “Do you want to start with these?” she asked, handing him a bundle and looking up.

“Mac! Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“I may not be the expert on maritime law but -“

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Why would I get hurt, Commander?” She might be six inches shorter, but she could go toe to toe with him any day, even sitting down. “I’m a Marine colonel - or have you forgotten?”

“Oh, I doubt that’s something I’ll ever forget,” he replied, wondering how he could have fallen into that trap. Sometimes, dealing with Mac was worse than dealing with a hemorrhoidal judge. “I just meant that since Brumby’s...” he stopped himself and grimaced. He was digging himself a deeper hole. “C’mon Mac, you might be a Marine but you’re still human. I know how I’d feel if I were in your position.”

“Would that stop you from doing your job?”

“Of course not, but - “

“Well then why are you questioning my professionalism?”

“Mac!” he replied, exasperated.

“Then this conversation is finished, Commander,” she replied and turned to open her desk drawer.

“Yes, Ma’am!” he replied. Turning on his heel, he left her office, wondering how they had gotten to this point.

“Oh, and Commander,” Chegwidden said, walking from his office. “Regarding your travel arrangements. As you are aware, the Australians recently purchased four F14s to replace their aging F1-11s. Unfortunately, one of their pilots has come down with a bad dose of the ‘flu. His RIO isn’t much better, so I’ve agreed to volunteer your services. Colonel Mackenzie can go back seat.” Chegwidden tossed him a satisfied grin as he continued walking.

Harm didn’t try to hide his smile, but then he closed his eyes. Mac.

“Is anything wrong, Sir?” Harriet Simms asked, her face a mask of worry.

He turned and replied, “Nothing you can do to help, Harriet, not this time.”

“If I may be so bold, what’s the matter sir?”

Harm explained.

“Oh, Sir, do you think that’s a good idea?” Harriet said, biting her lip and glancing at Mac through her glass window.

“You try telling the Colonel that and you’re a braver sailor than I, lieutenant.” Then his voice dropped and he added, “And she hates flying in Tomcats. With me.”

Harriet nodded in understanding and said, “Leave it to me, Sir.”

Harm watched her depart and commented, “Don’t lose her, Bud, she’s one in a million.”

Proudly smiling as he turned and looked at his wife, Lieutenant Roberts replied, “Yes Sir.” 

**********************************

The storm had passed by the time Harmon Rabb finished briefing Turner and Singer on his current cases. Harm was accustomed to leaving town at a moment’s notice, on assignments that could take him away from the JAG office for weeks, even months at a time. Mostly, he looked forward to them, especially when they gave him the opportunity to fly. He glanced outside, then checked the time, 1830. Earlier than he had hoped. Everyone had gone home for the evening except Gunny, who was still chasing files for him, and Mac.

In his rush to escape her office, he’d left the *Tampa* files behind. He packed his attachÈ, pulled down the manuals and discs he’d asked Gunny to get, grabbed his now dry overcoat and left for her office.

“Hey, Mac, better get home and pack...” he was about to say bikini, but changed it to, “summer skivvies.” Even the slightest innuendo would land him in it. But as he swung her door wider, he was surprised to see Gunny at her computer. “Hey Gunny, where’s Mac?”

Gunnery Sergeant Galindez turned and stood as he said, “She went home a couple of hours ago, Sir. I’m just forwarding her files from her hard drive, now. Is there anything more I can get you, Sir?”

Harm frowned and glanced at her desk. “I thought she’d leave me some of the Indonesian files.”

“Sorry, Sir. The colonel said she was taking it all home with her. She did mention that you’d probably be boning up on maritime law, and since those were also the files you asked me to get -“

“That’s fine, Gunny, I’ll catch up with her later.” He tossed the gunnery sergeant a smile and putting his cap on his head, left.

It was still snowing outside, but tomorrow he’d be away from all the crap below, sitting in the front seat of a lover he would never freely abandon, even at the cost of a dozen relationships. Jordan had told him that trying to recapture his youth was a mistake. How odd that she, of all people, could not see it was something he had to do before he could go forward with his life. Though Mac hadn’t much liked it, and the fallout had not been pretty, he knew Mac had understood him, understood that flying was ingrained in his soul, and that returning to active duty was something he had to do. And getting over Mic leaving her, was something that she had to do.

He parked his car outside her apartment. All right councilor, council thyself. She was his partner and friend; they could get past this.

Sarah Mackenzie frowned. Couldn’t he give her one last night to prepare herself? “Harm, what is it?” she said, standing defensively at the door of her apartment.

Harm took his cap off. A few flakes of snow slid from the plastic cover to the floor. “Sorry,” he muttered and looked down. “Better make this fast or you’ll have wet patches.” His lips thinned when he realized what he’d said. Great start, Rabb.

Caught between exasperation, amusement and annoyance, Mac grabbed his arm and said, “Well you better come in and dry out by the fire.”

But he refused to budge. “That’s okay, I just swung by to collect those files; I can’t see even you getting through all of them tonight.”

Mac had already gone inside, presuming he would follow. “I’m making tea, you want some?” Turning, she saw the confusion in his eyes and for a fleeting moment, wanted to grab him and shake him. He really did not get it! Was it something fighter jocks were born with? Mic had understood her moods, and her fears, and he had always been there for her. And she’d pushed him away because...the heart does what the heart does. “Have you had dinner yet?” she added, walking into her kitchen.

Harm took a tentative step inside.

“And close the door, will you? It’s taken me all afternoon to get the apartment warm.”

He had been in this apartment more times than he could count, so why did he feel so uncomfortable tonight? He rolled his hat in his hand, waiting for her to come back. But when she walked in with the tea, he almost relented. Tossing her his best smile he said, “It’s okay Mac, I just want to get the files and go home.”

“Relax, sailor, stop acting like you’re walking on eggshells. I’m not fragile.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about, Marine,” he replied, glancing at her warily.

“You questioned my professionalism,” she said softly. “I think I had a right to get mad.”

“I care enough about you to not want to see you hurt again.”

The look on his face, one of entreaty. She recalled his words at her engagement party. And his kiss, the way he enveloped her, his desire for her burned indelibly into her memory. How easy for him to act on it when he knew her fiancÈ was inside, when he knew he couldn’t follow through, to commit. How quickly she had gone to him when Mic had abandoned her - only to find RenÈe there. It was always something. How long was she supposed to wait? For as long as it took him? What about her? What was he willing to give up for her, to be with her? She shook her head at the memory. She had acted the same way towards Mic, unwilling to give up anything except on her terms, and Mic had the sense to leave her. Except with Mic, she’d at least tried. Harm couldn’t do more than tease.

“Here, drink your tea,” she said, handing him the steaming mug. “And give me that coat before it starts dripping in here, too.”

He shrugged out of his coat and took the mug, then walked to the fire while Mac went back inside. She called from the kitchen, “What about some food?”

“No thanks, I - “ but he stopped when she walked in with an enticing quiche.

“Spinach and fetta,” she said, her eyes glinting.

His eyes met hers and he laughed. “You got me. Hey, Mac,” he said following her into the kitchen, “About the flight tomorrow. We won’t be pulling too many G’s, and it’s straight and level all the way.”

“I wouldn’t want to cramp you’re style, flyboy,” she replied, tossing him a coy grin as she put the quiche in the oven.

“You’ve never cramped me, Mac,” he said softly, his eyes holding hers. “Mac, how did we get to this?”

She shook her head and laughed without humor. “Last time you asked me that, I suggested we should talk about it and you told me that it wasn’t a marriage and you weren’t going there with me.”

“If I remember rightly, the *last* time, you walked away from me,” he replied, putting the mug down.

“Well then, I guess that makes us even.” The stiffness in her voice told him the subject was closed.

He reached for his coat and said, “I better be going, really. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then walked out.

She went to stop him, then shook her head. She really was sick and tired of this stupid, adolescent dance. “Wait a minute, Harm,” she called, following him.

He looked back hopefully, but she reached down to her coffee table and picked up half the files. “You forget what you came for?”

“No,” he replied, taking them and putting his cold, wet cap back on. “But I didn’t get it, either.” He shot her one last look, turned and left without another word.

**************************

“Williamtown Air Force base?” Mac asked as she walked up behind Harm. “I thought we’d be landing on a carrier.”

Harm turned, pleased to see she was already suited up. “Morning, Colonel. No, this bird is for the Air Force.”

She screwed up her face in confusion. “A Tomcat?”

“The Aussies have good taste,” he replied with a cocky grin. His double meaning was not lost on her so she pulled her helmet on to hide her grin.

Too late - he’d caught it. He hoped her good humor meant she wouldn’t bite his head off over what he was about to give her. He waited until the CPO was out of earshot, then handed her a white paper bag, bent close to her ear and said, “Harriet suggested you try this.” He climbed up to the cockpit and got in.

Mac opened it to see a large packet of mints and another of crystallized ginger. She looked up and sent him a thank you smile. He flashed a broad grin in return and for a moment, she forgot her annoyance at him. He was just like a big kid, even if his toys ranked amongst the most expensive in the world.

As he taxied along the runway, Harm said, “Just think, Mac, in a few hours you’ll be soaking out the chill on Manly Beach.”

“And where will you be?”

“Having a beer at the Manly Pub and enjoying the view.”

“Of the beach, or the accessories?” But she stopped when she heard him talking to the control tower. Then she was pushed back into the seat as the acceleration drove them along the runway. The aircraft rotated abruptly, turned west at 1,000ft, then climbed to 9,000ft. When it leveled off, Mac breathed a sigh of relief. No catapult, and Harm was driving like a commercial pilot. “How are you supposed to eat with an oxygen mask over your face?” she asked.

“I’ll hang under 10,000 for a while. Harriet said to eat the ginger first, then suck on the mints later. Apparently she used it to stop morning sickness, but it works equally well for any nausea.”

There were elements about flying in fighters that Mac actually enjoyed, it’s just that her experiences with Harm weren’t among them. Flying in *Sarah*, well, that was another story. There had been other flights that didn’t involve homicidal poachers and buckshot to the leg. Flights she’d never wanted to end. But then along cam Mic and those weekends in the sky vanished. Why did everything have to be so damned complicated?

“How you going back there?” he called.

She swallowed the ginger and replied, “Fine.”

“Okay, we’re gonna climb to 30,000 now.”

Mac popped a mint into her mouth, then attached her mask; then they banked southwest, not as sharply as she expected. Harm was rolling, not rocking. A few minutes later he called, “How many of those files you get through last night?”

“I spent most of the time checking Australian law.”

“Okay, lets run through it. A 60ft fishing scow leaves Indonesia with 450 passengers on board, and the Indonesian authorities know nothing about it.”

“It’s a big country, Harm. Lot of places a fishing boat can stop and collect illegal passengers. Besides, Indonesian maritime regulations are not as strict as ours or Australia’s.”

“Okay, so what then, it sails around in circles for 10 days, looking to bump into Australia. Pretty hard to miss it, don’t you think?”

“With that many people on board, she was slow anyway, then they started having engine problems. The Indonesian government admits that people smuggling rackets, mostly run by Pakistani expatriates, are a major problem. They arrested one of the key players last October. He purchased derelicts knowing that when the Australians caught them, they’d impound, then scuttle or burn the boats. He’s currently on trial, and the evidence is pretty damning, especially when another of these derelicts sank a few weeks after the *Tampa* incident, killing almost 200. However, the Indonesian Government is denying responsibility for the illegal actions of a foreign individual.”

“I’m not disputing that, but didn’t they refuse entry to the *Tampa* on the grounds that the passengers rescued did not originate there?”

“Only after Australia blamed them and demanded they take them back.”

“So a bunch of politicians shuffled four hundred and fifty men, women and children around like unwanted refuse while one man, the captain of the *Tampa* followed his conscious, and the law - both implied and written - of the sea.”

“That’s why we’re going, Harm, to initiate the process that will, in the future, see that such people are legally protected, no matter what their status.”

**********************

The Chief of Operations at Williamtown Royal Australian Air Force base, Air Commodore Shepard, returned Lieutenant Commander Brumby’s salute. “So, Commander, you’re here to meet our incoming guests.”

“Yes, Sir,” Brumby replied as they moved away from the helicopter. “May I ask their ETA, Sir?” But as he spoke, he noticed that half the base personnel seemed to be outside, looking east. He turned to see three fighters inbound.

“We asked the commander to do a fly over so we could see this new machine,” Shepard explained. “The first three were delivered to Canberra and we’ll be getting them next week. That’s why the Air Vice Marshall isn’t here today, he’s in the capital.”

“Red carpets and politicians,” Brumby replied. “That’s right, Commander, so this is the first one many of my people have seen. We sent them an escort three hundred miles out. I believe you’ve worked with the commander,” Shepard added. “Rather unusual, isn’t it, for a navy pilot to be a JAG officer?”

“You know what the Yanks are like, sir. The JAG himself is an ex-SEAL.”

Shepard smiled as he watched the Tomcat skim past the control tower, rattling windows and sending a shock wave of dust into the air. “Is there such a thing as an ex-SEAL? Cuts it to the bone, doesn’t he?” he added nodding to the F-14 as it rolled less then two hundred foot off the deck.

“Yeah,” Brumby replied, glowering as he watched the F14 turn about for another run. “Right to the limits, then some.”

“Which is what I’d expect from a top gun pilot.”

Brumby watched Shepard as a second, ear-splitting scream followed the low flying Tomcat across the tarmac. Avaitors, he thought, they were all the bloody same, especially when showing off to their girls. Brumby clenched his jaw and wondered if Sarah really found that sort of macho bullshit a turn on. What in hell was Chegwidden thinking, sending them out here together?

Brumby followed the Air Vice-Marshall across the tarmac to meet the arriving Tomcat. He should have prepared himself for the inevitable, but inside, he was seething.

Mac descended first. More than a few wolf whistles escaped the surrounding air crew when she took off her helmet. Despite the hours in the cockpit, she looked good enough to eat, thought Brumby.

Shepard sent a warning glance to his men, and Mac’s look of disapproval intensified when she saw Brumby waiting behind Shepard. She saluted, then shook hands with Commodore Shepard, then more stiffly with Brumby. “Commander Brumby,” she said flatly. “Thank you for coming to meet us.”

Behind her, Rabb descended. In Brumby’s mind, as Shepard welcomed Rabb to the base, the signals between him and Sarah were clear. When the introductions were over, he dropped back behind. Most everyone congregated around the aircraft, although a handful walked with the new arrivals to the Air Vice Marshall’s office. He could see Sarah and Rabb’s arms constantly brushing, then Rabb put a hand on her shoulder, dropped it lower and wrapping it around her waist, pulled her close to him. Brumby shook his head and looked away in disgust. Talk about unprofessional conduct!

“Take deep breaths,” Harm whispered to her. “I’m sorry about those last maneuvers, but - “

“It’s okay, Harm, I know.” But her head kept spinning down, while her stomach was still looking for the rest of her body. She was too worried about what would happen when they collided to care who was holding her up.

“Are you all right, Colonel?” Shepard asked, recognizing the symptoms.

“She’s a Marine, Sir,” Harm replied. “She managed to suck it up all the way from DC, including a couple of gas stops along the way.

“Then I should be the one apologizing, Colonel. I asked the Commander to do that low level rollover.”

“We rolled over?” Mac asked, still trying to focus. “I though that was just my stomach.”

The men laughed while in the background, out of earshot, Brumby scowled. What the bloody hell was the vice commodore thinking?
 
 

Although Commander Rabb had acted purely as a ferry pilot, Air Vice Commodore Shepard knew his pilots wanted to spend a few hours with an experienced Tomcat flyer. Like most Australians, they found the American penchant for decorating its military every time they tied their shoelaces straight, a little over the top. But the commander wore two distinguished flying crosses, placing him in an entirely different class. Here was a pilot, thought Shepard, who had used his aircraft for the express purpose it was designed, as the ultimate single combat, fighting machine. When this *Tampa* business was over, perhaps they could borrow him back for a few lectures on tactics.

By the time Mac had showered and changed, she was feeling like her old self, and that included a ravenous hunger. Mac had expected maybe an adjutant and a pilot or two at lunch, but the Aussies were less formal and she found herself crowded by aircrew. Mic Brumby pulled rank and taking her by the arm, seated her a few places from Harm and Shepard, while he stationed himself opposite. 

Mac allowed the joking aircrews to distract her, but she was conscious of Mic’s constant scowl of disapproval. And it annoyed the hell out of her. None of the others present would pick it up, except perhaps Harm, whose own smile faltered as he caught her eye or glanced at Brumby. And that annoyed the hell out of her, too. She didn’t need his solicitous glances any more than she needed Brumby’s hurt little boy looks. The Marine colonel in her was itching to get them both alone and kick their sixes clear across the tarmac. She finally had that opportunity after lunch.

Shepard and his aide, Collins, were walking them to the helicopter that was to take them to Sydney, when a second aide ran up and said, “Excuse me sirs, urgent calls from Canberra and Sydney.”

Shepard nodded and after exchanging salutes with his guests, shook their hands and left with Collins.

When the Australians were out of earshot, Brumby said over the noise of the helicopter, “Interesting little show you two put on. I’m surprised you didn’t disqualify yourself from this assignment, Commander,” he added to Harm.

“And why would I do that, Brumby?” Harm replied as they continued walking.

Brumby’s nose flared as he stopped and turned to face them. “It’s pretty bloody obvious that you two are shacking up together.”

Harm realized the show Brumby was referring to had nothing to do with his flying. But it was Mac who replied stiffly, “You are way out of line, Lieutenant Commander.”

The withering gaze she sent Brumby would have frozen an enlisted man in his tracks. But the intimacy they once shared clouded Brumby’s perception. Not so Harm, who just hoped he could avoid the collateral damage.

“Don’t bullshit me, Sarah, you just couldn’t wait to rub it in.”

“Brumby,” Harm’s eyes narrowed and he took a step closer, “She was airsick.”

But Mac snapped, “Butt out, flyboy,” and stepped up to Brumby until they were almost nose to nose. “One more remark like that, Lieutenant Commander,” she said in a dangerously low voice, “and I’ll have your ass in a sling so fast, you’ll think it’s you up there pulling seven G’s. Do I make myself clear?”

Brumby’s curled lip flattened and his look of contempt faded to uncertainty. He said nothing as Sarah turned and walked to the helicopter. The aircrew inside watched with interest, but with the sound of the machine in their ears, couldn’t tell what it was about.

Harm’s eyebrow lifted and he shook his head in disgust as he met Brumby’s uncertain look. But he said nothing and followed Mac into the waiting machine. Brumby trailed behind, a flat expression on his face.

The seventy mile flight south to Sydney offered spectacular views of the northern beaches and waterways. The warm air and golden sands, and rolling, white capped waves drew a smile from Mac. She had loved it here last time. It didn’t matter that she had spent those long summer days on the beach with Mic, and that right now, she held him in nothing but contempt. He was a different man then, but the beaches were the same.

Harm looked down at the white sails in the harbor. He intended renting a sailboat as soon as he could, to explore the winding waterways of what was arguably the most beautiful harbor in the world.

Brumby occasionally glanced at them. They sat apart from one another, and while both obviously enjoyed the view, they never called to one another to point out landmarks. And he was sure they weren’t putting on a show for him. If anything, there seemed to be a definite chill between them. The doubt he’d felt when Mac snapped at him began to solidify, like lead in his stomach.

The helo landed at H.M.A.S. Penguin, inside the Garden Island dockyards, only a stone’s throw from the center of Sydney. Accommodation had been arranged for the conference delegates at the Sebel Townhouse, a short walk from the naval base. Harm knew from his last visit that his early morning runs could take him along the coves to Opera House in no time. Then he could run back through the famed Botanical Gardens. He breathed in the clean salt smell, still etched with a trace of the recent bushfires that had ravaged the city. He’d seen evidence of their horrendous damage as they’d flown south, but had heard the worst of it was to the west and south of the city. But mostly, like Mac, he just enjoyed being warm again.

The base commander, Captain Wilson, met them as the machine landed.Brumby introduced them, then excused himself to take a phonecall from the attorney general.

“We’ve organized a couple of offices for you here on the base,” Wilson explained. “But we’re still moving furniture in and setting up Internet connections. In the meantime, you might prefer to check into your hotel rooms. Ensign Unsworth will be at your disposal as your driver, Commander Rabb. Colonel, I understand the Indonesian ambassador will be organizing a car for you tomorrow. In the meantime, you know about the cocktail party and dinner at the hotel this evening?”

Both Mac and Harm replied, “Yes sir.”

“Good. I know you could probably do with some sleep after your flight, but if there’s anything you want, anytime, just let me know.”

As Ensign Unsworth drove them to the hotel. The banter that normally defined their working relationship was absent and in its place, a stiff formality. On the upside, if Brumby had taken his insinuations of impropriety to anyone else, they would fall flat. But the strained conversation bothered Harm. He had come to depend on the dynamics of their relationship to keep him sharp. This flat formality was no way to run a successful investigation. He glanced out the window. Well, this wasn’t exactly an investigation, but he still depended on her sharp mind to bounce ideas back and forth. Right now, he felt isolated, constrained. The only thing that gave him any satisfaction was the way Mac had dealt with Brumby: like a Marine colonel, not a jilted lover. Mac was starting to find her old self again. He hoped that in that process, he might also find the friendship they once had.

As they entered the elevator, Harm shook his discomfort off. He was just here to advise on maritime law, not prosecute, nor defend a client, except insofar as his client was both the rule and the intent of the law to protect the rights of people. It wasn’t Mac’s job to help him on that.

He followed the porter past Mac’s room to his own suite. Large by D.C. standards, the suite included a separate living room and bedroom. Harm noticed another door and the porter explained that it connected to Mac’s rooms. The entire wall could be folded back, allowing the two rooms to open into a small, private conference room. The hotel primarily catered to the convention and conference market, with visiting military personnel and businessmen making up the remainder. Adjoining suites, cable Internet connections in each room and 24-hour full secretarial services completed the facilities. Harm nodded and thanked the porter, tipping him as he left.

The man smiled. Yanks always tipped too much.

**************************************

“So good of you to come, Colonel. I’ve been looking forward to this,” Captain Jerot said, bending low and kissing the back of Mac’s hand.

She smiled, somewhat embarrassed and replied, “Captain. I’m flattered that your government - you - requested me to act on your behalf. Although I’m still not sure how you fit into this.”

“Ah,” he replied smiling up at her and taking her arm as they walked inside the cocktail lounge. “You saw me only as the local police chief when my role in Aceh was much broader. My brother is the equivalent to your Chief of Naval Operations and I was sent to Aceh in order to maintain the peace as diplomatically as possible. Despite condemnation by the Australians - and you Americans - for our actions in East Timor, you must understand that our people are easily incited to violence. An American marine rapes a woman, and releasing him into your custody resulted in the destruction and evacuation of your embassy. You would have been wiser to take my advice, yes?” He reached for two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.

Mac smiled and declining the champagne, took the orange juice.

Jerot continued, “Despite the tragic events in New York and the perception by some that all Moslems are anti-American, in fact on Aceh, a similar outcome would have resulted if it had been a Frenchman, or an Indonesian from another province who had raped that girl. You Americans are a much larger target, you see. I was obliged to act with more restraint than I would have liked, but I trust you now see that our government has not always acted the villains the Australian media paint us.”

Mac smiled and looked down. It was a peculiarly naive comment to make to a JAG investigator accustomed to dealing with multiple legal perspectives, but she replied politely. “Yes Captain, I see your point. And you will be pleased to know that Corporal Lassiter was convicted of a number of offences, including rape.”

“As a result of your rigorous prosecution,” Jerot added. “Which is why I suggested you act on our behalf. You have an uncommon loyalty, Colonel. Not just to your corps, but to a broader ethic. You will assiduously defend something, even if you do not agree with it, because that is your job.”

“Are you suggesting I might not believe in Indonesia’s interests?” Mac asked lightly, but Jerot could hear the edge in her voice.

“Australia is your ally, but I meant it as a compliment to *you*, Colonel,” he lightly chided her. Jerot noticed the two naval commanders watching him from a distance. Interesting. One was a member of the Australian legal team and the other, Colonel Mackenzie’s compatriot. When the Australian began making his way towards them, the American did likewise. Excellent timing, he thought and reached into his pocket.

“Then I thank you, Captain,” Mac replied. As she brought the juice to her lips and sipped, she noticed Mic edging towards her. Time to adopt her role as council for the opposing team. But then she almost gagged when Jerot pulled out a tiny jewel box.

“You knew Corporal Lassiter was guilty,” he continued. “Yet you were prepared to exchange this,” he said, opening the box and displaying her engagement ring, “to secure his safety.”

Both Mic and Harm reached her just in time to hear Jerot’s words. Mic’s eyes widened in shock and his jaw clenched. Harm’s eyebrows just lifted and he stared at her. Ah ha, thought Jerot, watching the reaction of each man. This would make the negotiations so much more interesting. “Of course I return your...ah...bond to you now that Corporal Lassiter has been brought to justice.”

A dozen emotions vied for Mac’s attention. But the primary one was that she had grossly misjudged the Indonesian captain, who pocketed the box and held out the ring. She accepted it and licking her lips replied, “Ah, Commander Harmon Rabb, this is Captain Jerot, and,” turning to see Mic’s dyspeptic look, added, “Lieutenant Commander Michael Brumby.”

Jerot bowed slightly, an almost comic gesture as he barely reached either mans’ chests. Jerot didn’t mind, he knew who was holding the upper hand. “Yes, Commander Brumby and I know each other. How are you this evening?”

Brumby’s nose twitched, but he managed to utter, “Fine, thank you Captain.”

Mac swallowed hard and smiled nervously at Jerot, wondering where the hell she was supposed to put the ring. She was wearing a summer cocktail dress and had left her purse upstairs. Harm smiled widely and looking over Jerot’s head, said, “I’m sorry, Captain, would you excuse us a moment? The American ambassador is signaling us.” He took Mac by the elbow and steered her away.

Brumby’s eyes followed while Jerot said, “A remarkable woman. You have met before, then?”

“Yeah, we’ve met,” he replied, his eyes following her.

“A pity she is taken.”

Mic’s eyes swiveled to Jerot’s as he said, “Their relationship is purely professional.”

“Of course,” Jerot smiled knowingly as Brumby’s eyes returned to Mac.
 
 

“You want me to look after that?” Harm asked her softly. She sucked at her lips, but she really had no choice and slipped it in his pocket in a deft maneuver that no one, except Brumby, noticed. “You don’t have to hover, Harm. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not *hovering*,” he replied lightly. “But since the Marines don’t provide informal cocktail attire for their female officers, I thought the Navy could provide temporary storage facilities.”

The rest of the evening was an uneventful round of meeting the Indonesian, Australian and Norwegian consulates and legal teams. The superficial smiles and handshakes, Harm knew, would be short-lived come morning. By the time dinner was over, it was late. Both Mac and Harm excused themselves as soon as possible and retired for the evening. Neither remembered the ring in Harm’s dress-coat pocket.

********************

Mac had been assigned an office that, while not as modern as her one at home, offered unparalleled views of Sydney Harbor. The sails of the opera house only partially obscured the famous coat hanger - the bridge on which they’d written *Eternity*. The place where things had derailed so badly. No, she corrected herself, the place she had allowed herself to be derailed. The place she’d read Harm’s obtuse way of saying he was scared and needed more time as an outright rejection. The place she had decided that taking control of her own destiny meant accepting the attentions of another man whom she hoped she could love.

She had just sat down to sort statements and testimonials from Norwegian *Tampa* crewmen, Afghan and Pakistan refugees, Indonesian officials and Australian defense force personnel when someone knocked on her door. She looked up to see that other man, a wary looking Mic Brumby. 

“Colonel Mackenzie, may I come in?”

Mac sat back and breathed deeply. She knew this moment would come, but that didn’t stop the adrenaline from pounding through her veins. Adrenaline, the fight or flight hormone. She normally thrived on it, but today, she wasn’t so sure. She was tempted to snap at him that it was customary to stand at attention when entering the office of a superior, and simple courtesy when that superior was from an allied defense force, but she rolled her lips together and asked, “What can I do for you, Lieutenant Commander?”

“I wanted to see you before the circus begins.”

“About?” she replied, keeping her face and voice as neutral as possible.

Brumby looked nervous, chagrined. “To apologize for the remarks I made yesterday.”

Her face softened. Mic didn’t have the same grace and charm as Harm. But he had loved her. More, he had adored her and never shirked from an apology - something Harm seemed genetically incapable of. But then again, so did she. She stood and asked, “Would you like some coffee?”

“Love some.” He lifted his briefcase onto the desk and followed her to the side table where a pot slowly bubbled. “Anyway, I was out of line. I just assumed -“

“That’s the problem, isn’t it Mic? You assumed things, then acted on them.”

His mouth thinned and he replied, “You gave me no reason to believe otherwise.”

She turned and handing him the coffee, asked, “Tell me something, Mic. If Harm had been a woman, would you assume I was lesbian?”

Mic went to reply, but stopped, a flash of confusion passing his face. “It’s a little different, Sarah.”

“Is it?” she replied, returning to her chair. She refused to remain standing; she didn’t wish to appear argumentative, just inarguably correct.

“How would you feel if I’d acted like that towards another woman?” he replied.

“If it was a woman you’d known and worked with for years before I’d even met you, I might have felt a little intimidated at first. But I would have seen it as no different to the close, intimate - not sexually intimate,” she clarified, “relationship a pilot has with his or her RIO, or any investigative team has with their partner. Harm and I have been through a lot of scrapes together, learned to trust one another in order to stay alive. That forms a unique bond, whether it’s between the same, or opposite sexes.”

“Do you love him?”

“Of course! And I love Bud and Harriet and the Admiral and Gunny and Tiner. They’re my friends and my family. I wanted you to be part of that family, too, but you wanted me all to yourself.”

“I gave up my career and my country for you.”

“You had no trouble getting both back. Mic,” she said, leaning forward. “I never asked you to give anything up for me, you gave it freely, and I was flattered, and I loved you for it. But a relationship isn’t about whom gave up more for whom. Harm was, is, my partner and my best friend *apart* from you. You didn’t have the right to ask me to give up my freinds. Nobody does. You couldn’t accept me as I was; you wanted to change me. I couldn’t, I won’t, so you left me.”

Mic looked confused, but still belligerent. “You’re missing the point, Sarah. There’s something between you two, whether you admit it or not. I wasn’t about to try and compete with that.” 

But there was uncertainty in his voice. He had not been entirely able to abandon her. The first thing he did when he returned to the navy was to check up on her whereabouts. It had shocked him to discover she’d been stationed aboard the *Guadalcanal* almost from the time he’d left. Then she’d gotten herself caught up in Aceh, while Rabb had remained in D.C. He’d also heard from RenÈe that she’d become engaged - and not to Rabb.

“Love and marriage isn’t about possession and forcing each other to give things up, Mic! But then, look how selfish I was!” she laughed humorlessly. “Someone I cared for deeply was lost at sea, possibly dead and oh, well, too bad, let’s get married and go on our honeymoon and forget all about it. I might be cold-blooded in the courtroom, Mic, but I was hurting and I thought you understood that. I was wrong.” Mic was looking even more uncertain. “You weren’t wrong, Sarah, but you would have used any excuse to postpone our marriage. And the moment I left, you went to him.”

“Because he was my friend!” she cried in exasperation. “Who else was I supposed to go to? You never even told me where you were, so I couldn’t go to you!”

“And what did your *friend* advise you to do?”

Mac felt trapped. She wouldn’t lie to Mic, but she could dissemble. Come to me, he’d said, in words full of promise and love. And she had gone. And once more, she was left alone in the cold and dark and rain. “Renee’s father had just died, Harm was taking care of her. Mic, you’re the one who’s missing the point. I was hurt, terribly hurt and since I didn’t have you to turn to, I turned to my friends. I wanted it to be you, but you weren’t there - you left me. With the help of my *friends*, I’m getting past it. Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do.”

Mic slowly stood, a shocked look on his face. “One more thing, Sarah. Last one, last time, I promise.” She looked up and he wanted to crush her in his arms at the sadness on her face. God, had he been such a fool?

“What is it, Mic?” she asked tiredly.

“Did you two ever...I mean, after I left, did you ever...?”

She held his eyes and replied, “Never.” Then she looked down and went back to work.

With a tortured face, Mic picked up his briefcase and left.
 
 

Harmon Rabb examined the wall map showing the northern waters off Australia. He turned as somebody knocked on his door. “Come in.”

“Commander,” Brumby said as he stood to attention.

“Lieutenant Commander,” Rabb replied, pointedly establishing his seniority. “What can I do for you?”

Brumby breathed deeply and tucked his chin in. “Accept my apologies?”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to, but Colonel Mackenzie.”

“Already done so, sir,” Mic replied.

Harm stared at the other man and saw that for once, there wasn’t the faintest trace of belligerence in his bearing. No self-satisfied smile, not even a hint of smugness. But Harm wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “You were so far out of line, it bordered on defamatory. Colonel Mackenzie and I are here to do a job and I had hoped in the time you spent at JAG, you would have come to respect our professionalism, even if you couldn’t respect our working relationship.” His eyes glowered at Brumby.

Brumby knew this had little to do with his remark about shacking up together, and everything to do with the pain he had caused Mac. When he’d been given this assignment, he knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he’d never shirked from a challenge. What he hadn’t banked on was feeling liked an asshole. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Permission den...” but Harm stopped himself. He couldn’t be adversarial in this. Bad enough that Mac was riding his six, he was here as an advisor, not prosecutor. He sighed and walked around to the back of his new desk. “Sit down, Commander.” It took him a few moments to adjust his chair to accommodate his height. “I only just arrived a few minutes ago,” he explained.

“Yes, Sir,” Mic replied, sitting at attention.

“All right, what’s on your mind.”

“Sir, we’re going to be working closely together these next few weeks. As you’re Mac’s closest friend, you probably think I’m a real bastard for leaving her like that. But at the time, I believed she gave me no choice. I’d just like to put it past us and work together as professionals.”

Harm looked at Mic suspiciously. Why was Brumby being so deferential? Harm knew he no longer qualified as Mac’s closest friend. Even an acquaintanceship was less acrimonious. Partners, compatriots, but not...friends. The pain of that loss suddenly lanced him and his expression changed to a more sympathetic one. What was worse, he thought? To have loved and been shut out, or to have loved and never had her, *then* been shut out?

“I doubt I qualify as Mac’s closest friend, Brumby. Our relationship is strictly professional, but I take your point, like any Marine, Mac can be a little...hardheaded.”

Brumby was surprised at the revelation about their friendship, but he smiled and said, “Aren’t all women?”

Harm almost smiled back. “You got that right.”

“Okay, well, I reckon that’s all I wanted to say, except that I should never have implied any impropriety between you to. I realize now what a mistake I made.”

Harm said nothing as he watched the Australian. Mac had obviously set him straight. “Interesting situation you have here,” he said evetntually, motioning to the map showing the northwestern coast of Australia.

Brumby breathed a little easier. But then, he’d expected professionalism from Rabb. “It’s a bloody mess, that’s what it is. Maritime law just doesn’t cover this. And with the number of refugees pouring out of Asia and the Middle East, it’s going to get a bloody side worse.”

“Will the Australian government press charges against the refugees that threatened the captain?”

“The problem is, Captain Arne Rinnan claims they *implied* drastic measures unless they were taken to Australia. They claim they begged him, but never threatened. Rinnan is not calling it attempted piracy, and neither are the refugees.” He stood and added, “can I take it then, Sir, that you’ll be going over all the depositions?”

Harm also stood. “As soon as I get squared away here. I’m surprised they gave me such a large office.”

“Gotta keep everyone happy,” Brumby replied as he opened the door.

“That’s what this one is about, isn’t it Brumby?” “Think we’re going to be able to do that, Sir?”

“Depends how accommodating you Aussies can be.

Mic grinned and put his cap on. “Fair enough,” he replied, and left.

Harm wasn’t sure how long Brumby’s attitude would last; the guy still bugged him, but at least it seemed he’d made some sort of peace with Mac, and that couldn’t be a bad thing, for all of them.

****************************

Commander Harmon Rabb, dressed in open necked naval whites, considered the eighteen people seated around the conference table. Twelve suites, six uniforms. Eighteen lawyers, legal officers and politicians locked in a room together to work out how to prevent a repeat of the events of August 2001. No doubt scapegoats would be named and tossed into career obscurity, but right now, what concerned Rabb was that procedure be followed and the facts be laid out in a clear and cohesive chain of events.

“Everyone’s fear, of course is that as a result of the *Tampa* incident, ships’ masters will be deterred from going to the assistance of ships in distress,” he said.

“If he had followed our orders, those subsequent events would not have taken place,” Brumby replied.

“The *Tampa’s* captain was in international waters, he was master of his own ship and bound to international maritime law,” Harm countered, “not Australian.”

“He was ordered not to enter Australian waters and by doing so, violated our laws.”

“What I find interesting, Commander,” Mac said to Brumby. “Is that the Australian Rescue Co-ordination Centre informed the Norwegian government that if Captain Rinnan ignored their warning, SAS troops would board his ship. Why involve the Norwegian government? The Captain of the *Tampa* not the Norwegian government, was, as Commander Rabb pointed out, master of his ship.”

Brumby was about to reply, but Harm said, “Slow down, councillors, this is not a court proceeding, or even a hearing, it’s just a preliminary discussion.” He shot Mic and Mac warning looks. “The maritime tradition that vessels go to the nearest port in an emergency is enshrined in the International Maritime Organisation’s (IMO) Safety of Life at Sea convention (Solas). The United Nations conventions concur with maritime traditions. While I respect Norway’s Foreign Minister Thorbjoern Jagland’s conviction,” he added, nodding to the Norwegian ambassadorial aide, “that the 1951 international convention regarding rescue *traditions* particularly applies to refugees, tradition is not law. The simple fact is; there are gaps in the international regime of refugee protection. Although on the one hand the ship’s master has a duty to rescue anyone in distress - including a refugee - there is no international rule governing how they should be treated thereafter. That is what we are here to address.

“All right, we’ve established that the fishing boat began taking water and the pumps weren’t operating. A surveillance aircraft picked up their distress call and notified the Indonesians and all vessels in the vicinity. The Norwegian cargo ship *Tampa* received this call at 1103 local time, Sunday 26th August, 2001. They were only four hours from the distressed vessel, so they made for it. But when they arrived, they discovered not 80 people plus as advised to them in the rescue call, but 438 people, 22 of them women, one of whom was heavily pregnant, and 43 children.”

The U.N. representative, Anke Reinhardt said incredulously, “On an eighteen metre long vessel?”

“That’s correct, Sir.” Harm replied. “The vessel was in such poor condition that it literally fell apart when, after it was evacuated, the *Tampa* tried to take it aboard using their cargo cranes, normally a straightforward procedure in the relatively calm sea conditions. When everything was stowed away, Captain Rinnan set sail for his next port of call via the Sunda Strait in Indonesia.”

Brumby interjected. “Which is in compliance with international maritime law. He was obliged to transport them to the nearest *port of call*, not the nearest *land fall*.” He looked at Mac, who said nothing as she took notes.

Harm, looking at his own notes said, “That’s correct. However, a delegation of five men from the recovered refugees came to the bridge. They acted, in Captain Rinnan’s words, ‘aggressively, and told us they would not go back to Indonesia. They made us worried for everybody’s safety; they told us they had nothing to lose.’ Captain Rinnan’s statement then goes on to say, ‘We contacted RCC Australia and explained the situation. They told us it was up to the captain of the ship to decide what to do next, so I decided to go to the Australian controlled Christmas Island, in the Indian Ocean, off the Indonesian Island of Java.

“‘We were then told the Australian authorities would not allow the *Tampa* to enter Australian territorial waters. I am disappointed with this. We behaved as good seamen and rescued people in an emergency. Now we are lumbered with this problem.’

“Captain Rinnan’s statement goes on, describing as Colonel Mackenzie said, how the Australian authorities informed him that after first telling him as master of his own ship, the decision was his, they then informing him he would not be allowed into Australian waters with the illegal refugees on board. They advised the Captain to continue on to his next destination, Indonesia.”

Brumby looked up and said, “The Australian authorities expected the *Tampa* would comply with maritime conventions and continue to its next port of call. By attempting to turn back and enter Australian waters, it would, in effect, have been continuing with the intent of the refugees, which was to enter Australia illegally.”

“But by then you knew they were coming. Captain Rinnan was not attempting to smuggle them, he was doing it openly,” a Norwegian lawyer, Hans Shevre, interjected. He held up his hand to stay Brumby’s anticipated objection by adding, “I, too have done my homework Commander Brumby. I am aware that under the UN’s Convention on the Law of the Sea, (Unclos) Australia has either sovereignty or sovereign rights over some 11 million square kilometres of ocean, and a further 5.1 million of continental shelf. Now, Australia’s territorial waters extend for 12 nautical miles or 22 kilometres out to sea. Within this distance, authorities may impose comprehensive controls - but government regulations stipulate that officials ‘must respect the innocent passage of foreign vessels’.”

“The *Tampa* was not attempting innocent passage. It intended to transport a group of illegal aliens to Australia. In other words, it was not intending passage, but final destination.”

“Well what would you have them do?” And Italian adviser asked. “Refuse to rescue these people after the Australians directed them there in the first place? Toss them overboard?”

Mic’s lips thinned in frustration. “Of course not. However, in June, the IMO addressed the growing problem of illegal migrants being transported, *knowingly or otherwise*, on board cargo ships. A committee of the organisation approved amendments aimed at fighting what it described as ‘unsafe practices associated with the trafficking or transport of illegal migrants by sea’. The amendments also warn that ‘carrying a large number of migrants on board a cargo ship... operating international voyages’, violates the Solas convention.”

Brumby looked down to check his notes and added, “Thus, transporting them to Australia violated Solas. Under such circumstances, the IMO ruled that given these concerns, ‘It is *not contrary* to request a flag state to authorise a warship of another state to visit a vessel.’

“By warship it implied military forces - including our SAS. The committee, many of whose members are here in this room, or arriving over the following days, also invited member governments to sign and ratify the United Nations’ Protocol Against the Smuggling of Migrants by Land, Sea and Air at the earliest opportunity.”

“Hang on a minute, Commander, we’re getting ahead of ourselves here,” Harm said. “What actually occurred was that the *Tampa*, under duress or implied threat, entered Australian Territorial waters around Christmas Island, then dropped anchor two miles offshore. The Australian authorities ordered the *Tampa* to leave and continue on to Indonesia, which was both the *Tampa’s* next port of call, and the claimed origin of the refugees. But Captain Rinnan had a dual problem. His vessel was not equipped to handle 438 passengers, regardless of how they had gotten there; he was duty bound to offload them. He was already suffering overcrowding and sanitation problems, and many of the refugees were coming down with dysentery. If he had attempted to leave, he would have been violating a couple of dozen laws regarding the safety of his ship and passengers. Secondly, he said, and I quote, ‘If we move, they say they will ‘go crazy’, and threaten with jumping ship. There have been no threats of violence, but the tone has been aggressive, so for the safety of everybody I stay put.’ But the Australian authorities refused to let the refugees to disembark on the basis that they were attempting to enter Australia illegally.”

“Why not let them disembark and be processed or returned to their port of origin?” the Norwegian asked.

“Because once they set foot on Australian soil, they were then protected under the international convention for dealing with refugees. Thing is,” explained Brumby, “We’re up to our eyeballs in illegal refugees. It’s all very well for you blokes to say you accept many more refugees than we do,” he looked pointedly at the French aide and German lawyer. “The fact is, this may be a bloody big country, but it’s 99% desert with a total population less than Mexico City. We just don’t have the facilities and infrastructure to deal with a flood tide of illegal immigrants. And we believe that we, like most of you, have the sovereign right to decide who can come and live here and who can’t. It’s not like we’ve closed our doors to all refugees. Compared to our total population, we accept proportionately more refugees than many other countries. But it’s an established *population and infrastructure* that supports refugees, not the sheer physical landmass of a country. We had to draw the line somewhere, and we drew it here, as a clear message to people smugglers, and their cargo, that they were not welcome to enter Australia through illegal methods.”

“Meanwhile,” said Harm, “the Australians insisted the *Tampa* return the refugees to their point of origin, Indonesia. But Indonesia declined them entry on the basis that they did not originate there.”

“Which they didn’t,” Colonel Jerot spoke for the first time. “They originated in Afghanistan, Iraq and Pakistan. That they came via Indonesia is not in dispute, however the Australian government phrased the demand in such a way that it implied we colluded with people smuggling.”

“That is simply not true,” the assistant secretary to the Australian Minister for Immigration replied. “We just insisted they be returned to their last port of embarkation, which was Indonesia. After all, the *Tampa* was on its way there.”

“Would you like me to read you the transcripts and the exact statement made by your Prime Minister, Sir?” Mac held the assistant secretary’s eyes until he looked away in embarrassment.

“That won’t be necessary,” he replied. “We all know the Indonesian government and police turn a blind eye at best, or accept bribes to facilitate these smuggling operations.”

Mic closed his eyes. Harm could almost hear Brumby’s mental groan, and empathised with him. He knew plenty of morons like that in Washington.

The Indonesian delegation bridled and Captain Jerot said, “And we all know that Prime Minister Howard deliberately released to the media false photos of refugees throwing children overboard, and deliberately fostered a fear of all Moslems following the attack on the World Trade Centre. He used this incident to incite fear into the Australian public, and thereby won an election he was doomed to lose.”

Mac sat back in her chair and caught Harm’s eye in a knowing look. They exchanged glances with Brumby as the meeting devolved into heated arguments from all sides. Despite their personal differences and professional roles, for a rare moment, all three were united in their understanding that the smooth round table discussions the press would report, had to run the course of acrimonious mud-slinging before anything productive could be achieved.

*********************

Four days later, they had hardly progressed. What made matters worse from Harm’s point of view, was that every meeting he had with Mac, the eggshells got thinner. He was hoping to avoid a direct confrontation with her because Bud and Harriet had arrived the night before. By taking on the Indonesian’s case, it was natural she would spar with Brumby, but Harm, as an adviser, had to remain apolitical. Brumby at least, appreciated that and used his expertise as it was intended, a resource.

“C’mon Mac, we’re not in a court of law. We’re not even litigating.”

“Aren’t we? You know the outcome of these meetings will be used by the Norwegian government to press their case for financial compensation, and a public apology.”

“I dunno what you’re worried about, luv, it’s more likely our nuts in the fire on this one,” Brumby said, sitting forward. They were the only three there, but they brought the entire burden of the almost one 163 representatives now running around town making statements to the sensation hungry media.

“So you admit liability?”

Mic looked at Harm, who was staring at Mac in disbelief. “What’s gotten into you Mac?”

“Have you read the reports of what conditions are like for these refugees in Nauru and New Guinea, not to mention the current facilities in the Woomera Detention Center in South Australia. I’ve been to the one in Sydney; it’s hardly more than a holding pen. And some of the people have been there for years.”

“What’s that got to do with this case?” Harm asked.

“It indicates the length the Australian government will go to -“

“Reduce the flow of refugees so that we don’t have to have places like Woomera!” Mic replied, exasperated. “Nobody wants them locked up like that! But the conditions they’re now living in are ten times better than where they came from!”

“And that makes it all right,” she snapped.

“No. It encourages them to leave home, come here, get free medical treatment, hot showers, three decent meals every day, clean water to drink, clothing, a roof, often air conditioned, over their head, free schooling and the right to complain about not having satellite t.v. in every room, all at taxpayers expense!”

“The conditions at Woomera are somewhat different to that.”

“And so are your lock-ups on the Mexican border. And as for Indonesia, have you seen what their refugee camps are like?”

“They don’t have any.”

“Exactly. At least we treat them as humanely as possible, including processing them as fast as possible. We allow them to come in uncontrolled and we may as well chuck our hands up in the air and walk out now, because an unprovisioned mob of refugees flooding into this country would destroy our economy, not to mention our democracy, in five minutes. But more importantly, do you know how many Taliban members we’ve got here? Last September, two detainees boasted to guards about ‘something big’ happening. The next day, at 2300 our time, we all knew what it was when that second airliner hit the twin towers. Your way, we’d be letting these same people out on the street!”

“Look, can we get back to the *Tampa* a minute?” Harm asked. “If you two want to sit here and slog it out, be my guest, but I’m presenting my initial report to the steering committee at 1700 this afternoon.”

He stood to leave but Mac said, “Commander, Australia is a signatory to the 1951 UN Convention

on Refugees and the 1967 Protocol. As such, this country was duty bound to accept as refugees any who arrive here fearing persecution in their home country, regardless of whether they arrive without a passport or other documents. Regardless of how they got there, the people on the *Tampa* should have been allowed to disembark and be processed as political refugees. Keeping them on board the ship was untenable, both to the refugees and the owners of the ship. Once the SAS boarded that vessel and took control, your government was liable for compensation claims by the *Tampa’s* owners. They overstepped the mark.”

“That’s your *opinion*, Colonel, that’s not Australian law. We did not prevent the *Tampa* from leaving; the Indonesian government refused it entry.”

“They couldn’t leave. The refugees were threatening ‘drastic measures’ unless you took them ashore. They had already gone on a hunger strike.”

“So a bunch of people, who had already hinted at violence and coerced a ship to deviate from its set course, decided that unless they got their way, they’d hold their collective breaths until they turned blue. Listen, they threatened violence against the crew and the SAS went in to make sure the situation didn’t turn ugly. And these are the same people you want us to let waltz in without due process!” he replied incredulously. “If we’d let them in, we’d have sent a message to the rest of the world that we’re a soft touch for anybody threatening violence, to get their own way. Your government refuses to deal with people like that, and so does ours. That’s not the sort of people we want living here!”

Both of them looked to Harm, seeking support. He raised his eyebrows and crossing his arms, said, “The established international practice is that persons rescued at sea should be disembarked at the *next port of call* which in this case, should have been Indonesia. We’ve established why that didn’t happen, but the fact is, when they arrived a Christmas Island, regardless of how they got here, they should have been admitted, at least on a temporary basis, pending resettlement. Australia is one such flag state that guarantees resettlement for persons rescued at sea, but their parliament is looking to rescind that &emdash; retroactively.

“Two areas of law are relevant: the domestic and the international. On the international level, legality depends upon Australia’s treaty obligations and commitment to international law. On a domestic level, the legality of detention and subsequent expulsion of the *Tampa* refugees to Nauru hinges on constitutional and policy questions.” Harm looked at Mic, and asked, “You want to elaborate on that?”

Mic nodded and said, “On a domestic level, the Executive, which in this country is the Prime Minister and Cabinet, has prerogative powers that emanate from ancient doctrines of the British Crown. The Constitution retains this, enabling the executive to protect the realm from invasions. Parliament need not authorize such acts - the Executive has an inherent power to do so.”

Mac sat forward and said, “Yes, but this was not an *invasion*. Detaining and expelling the *Tampa* refugees involved the Executive exercising powers in defiance of an existing statute - the Migration Act. The Executive should not have intervened when an existing regime, created by Parliament, was already in place to define and determine *refugee* cases. “Mr. Justice French of the Full Court,” Mac continued, looking at her notes. “In the case of Ruddock v Vadarlis, (author’s note: the Australian Immigration Minister v. the council representing the *Tampa* refugees) while correct in asserting Australia’s sovereign right to ‘prevent people not part of the Australian community, from so entering,’ ignored the question of who could exert that power. The inherent powers of the Crown are not unlimited. The power of the Crown has been reduced, as Chief Justice Black noted in dissent from Justices French and Beaumont. Parliament chose to regulate the field of migration and bound the Executive.

“The act of classifying the *Tampa* refugees as illegal and duly transferring them to Nauru independently of the Migration Act, was Parliament’s role. It gave no supporting legislation allowing the Executive to commit these acts. The supporting legislation only came *after the fact*. Strong policy arguments exist against retrospective statutes: what was illegal then should not be made legal now.”

“That’s your opinion, councilor, but not the opinion of the majority of Parliament,” Mic retorted.

“Even assuming that the domestic actions of the Executive were legal, it may not have been in line with international law principles,” Harm replied. “The closure of the territorial sea around Christmas Island to the *Tampa* was a discriminatory act ‘in form or fact’ against a specific foreign ship under section 25(3) of the Law of the Sea. Australia would have to show that it was essential to its security to stop this one ship, and the lack of innocence in its passage. If not shown, the use of special servicemen to board the ship could be considered excessive.”

“September eleven undermined that argument, Commander,” Mic replied.

“But that was after the fact,” Mac said.

“On the contrary; it demonstrated the *fact* that the Australian government’s suspicion that some refugees are an unacceptable security risk to this country, is justified. The SAS boarded that ship because it was essential in principle to our security. We have every right to take necessary precautionary measures to prevent some mad bastard from blowing the Lucas Heights nuclear reactor, or hitting is with some bioweapon. Don’t forget where that bunch of overfunded fuck-ups, the Aum Sect, that hit that Japanese subway with Sarin gas in 1995, developed and tested their weapons - here in Australia. We’re bending over backward trying to stem the flow of these bastards and we’re not going to apologize for that.”

“Mic, I understand what you’re saying, but from a purely legal point of view, the *Tampa* has several defenses to Australian claims that it illegally entered its waters. Under the current Law of the Sea, it was a ship in distress. It had a carrying capacity of fifty personnel and undertook to carry almost 450. Sanitary conditions on board were horrendous, and some passengers showed signs of grave illness. From a purely legal standpoint, Australia would have to show that the *Tampa* was not in distress when it violated orders not to enter its territorial sea. The Prime Minister, John Howard, Reith and Phillip Ruddock impliedly did this through claims that any serious illness on board had been ‘feigned’. Evidence of bad sanitation, pregnancies and overcrowding suggest otherwise. Subsidiary arguments of coercion and duress might also be made under the same Convention. Captain Rinnan had mentioned that some refugees had threatened to jump off the vessel if not taken to Australia. Under duress, he entered Australia’s territorial sea. So in effect, the refugees coerced, by ‘form or fact’ the *Tampa* to enter Australian waters.”

“Are you saying that the refugees should be held entirely accountable for this?” Mac asked, frowning.

“They threatened the captain with violence unless they were taken to their desired destination. Following the conventions of maritime law following a rescue, the Captain should have proceeded to his next port of call, Indonesia, who acted identically to Australia in refusing them entry. In fact, under duress, he was forced to go to Australia. Although the law is muddier, it’s no different to boarding a plane and demanding the pilot take you where you tell him, by implying threats if you don’t. Any way you look at it, it’s a form of piracy. And Mac, you should know that from the Alexander Mackenzie case you lectured on last year. If Phillip Spencer could be hung for considering an act of piracy, then actually threatening action and demanding a ship deviate from a given course, is in fact piracy, no matter what Rinnan or the refugees claim.”

Mac sat thoughtful for a minute while Mic deliberately let slip, “I assume you checked the excision of parcels of territory such as Christmas Island?” She looked up; then her eyes darted to Harm’s. He was watching her through lowered brows. How could she have made a mistake like that? Because he, not her, was the expert on international maritime law.

Harm glanced at his watch and stood. “I have to go,” he said. Over the last few days, he had slowly come to admire Brumby’s tactic; he’d used the same tactics himself when defending someone he knew was guilty. It wasn’t Mac’s fault that she hadn’t picked it up. Even with Bud and Harriet’s assistance, it might have been days before she realized. This way, Mic was saving her time - and face - over what was public if not common knowledge. His respect for Brumby multiplied. The Australian might be an abrasive and cocky son of a bitch, but as Bud had acquired a habit of saying, his ethics were true blue.

****************************

At 2200, Harmon Rabb emerged from the closed meeting and walked out through parking lot. He’d given his driver, Ensign Unsworth the weekend off, and intended to walk back to the hotel. A car pulled up beside him and he turned to see Brumby’s white Landrover.

“You’re finished early,” Mic said.

“It was just a preliminary discussion, all I had to do was answer their questions.”

“Most of which were probably covered in the appendixes, right?”

Harm smiled but did not reply. Brumby knew their deliberations were secret.

“Feel like a beer?” Mic added. “I promise I won’t try to get you drunk and reveal all.”

Harm laughed. A week ago, the last thing he would have considered was having a drink with Bugme. But all the times they had worked together, or opposite one another, his perception of Brumby had been filtered through the knowledge that the Australian had Mac. Harm could recall the night RenÈe and Mac had set up a double date to listen to some band that never showed. Watching them, the way they were together, the social fabric tempering his masculine ego had been stretched pretty thin that night. But Mac had been happy with him, which is more than he, Harmon Rabb Jnr., had made her.

“I’d take you up on that offer, Mic, but I’m going sailing early tomorrow.”

“Hop in anyway and I’ll give you a ride to the hotel. There’s a mob of reporters at the gate. If you take off you cap, maybe they won’t recognize you.”

Harm considered for half a second, then walked around to the passenger side and got on. “Thanks. The last thing I need is a bunch of them dogging me to the hotel.”

“Bloody parasites,” muttered Mic as they approached the gates. “Can’t say I blame Indonesia sometimes.” As they passed through, one of the reporters recognized Mic, and ran to his car to follow. But Brumby evaded them by turning along a one-way street, then doubling back. “So, where are you sailing?”

“Out of Manly, just for the weekend.”

“All alone or...ah hell, I’m sorry, mate, it’s none of my business.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m going alone.”

Mic glanced at him and grinned. “Well, when you get back, come up to the bar and I’ll shout you a beer.”

Harm shot him a questioning look.

“I’m taking my sister to the beach,” Mic added. “Then we’ve got tickets for the Manly Yacht club prawn barbecue - I’m a member. We’ll be at the bar from about six. In fact, you might as well stay for dinner. We’ve got three tickets but my brother-in-law cancelled.”

Harm looked up at the clear night sky and remembered the lunch of shrimp - prawns the Aussies called them - overlooking the beach. He turned to face Mic and surprised himself by saying, “You know, I might just take you up on that.” Mic’s face split into a grin. “Done deal.”
 
 

Early the following morning, Harm went for a long run. On the way back through the Botanical Gardens, he saw Mac jogging ahead of him. “C’mon Marine, get the lead out!” he ordered in a loud, gruff voice, startling a couple of nearby joggers. He laughed when he saw Mac’s back stiffen and her pace momentarily increase.

She turned and shot him a wry grin. “What’s the matter, Squid, can’t keep up?” she yelled over her shoulder.

His eyes widened at the challenge and he broke into a full run. Realizing the chase was on; Mac cut along a different path, trying for a short-cut back to the hotel. However her detour ended in a chained off section of the gardens, so she doubled back around the corner - but too late, she ran headlong into Harm. He grabbed at her arm, pulling her with him until they both ended in a tangled mess in the shrubs.

“Hey, sailor,” she cried, laughing, “is this the only way you can pick up girls, running them down and tossing them into the bushes?”

“You jumped *my* bones,” he said, as she straddled him. But then his grin froze as he met her eyes. He could feel the weight of her across his hips and legs, the pressure of her hands on his chest. She smelled of Mac, warm, womanish, soaked in a healthy sweat from running in the early morning heat. God she was beautiful. His body suddenly reminded him that it had been a while since he’d been with a woman. If Mac didn’t get off him soon, she’d know it too - something he didn’t think would go down too well. He abruptly sat, reaching around with his hands to lift her off him as he went.

But not before she became aware of his shape beneath her. She stood to brush the leaves and twigs off herself. It wasn’t the first time she’d wrestled with a guy; she was Marine, trained in hand to hand combat fighting. She had never found the extra baggage between a man’s legs offensive, even when he was using those same legs to headlock her. But that had been with relative strangers in the normal course of training, not with someone she was in love with. “So, what’ve you got planned for the weekend?” Harm asked as they began dogtrotting back.

“I’m reviewing Australian law on its protectorates and offshore islands.”

“Brumby gave you that one,” he replied in a low voice. Mac said nothing, but he could see the acknowledgement on her face.

“I thought you’d be working over the weekend,” she said.

“Hey, I’m advisor, we work forty hour weeks. Maybe you should take a break, too. I’m going sailing,” he added in a teasing voice.” He saw the momentary look of longing on her face, and pounced. “It’d help clear your head.”

She compressed her lips in regret as they left the gardens and began running along the road to the hotel. “I can’t, I’ve got too much to get through. Besides,” she laughed, “I’d probably get seasick.”

“A Marine getting seasick? Then how ‘bout a barbecue at the Manly yacht club tomorrow night?”

“Isn’t that a private club?”

“Mic invited me.”

“And you’re going?” she asked incredulously, turning to stare at him.

“Why not?” he replied casually. “Give me a chance to meet the locals.”

“I didn’t think you could stand Mic.”

“I can stand him, what I couldn’t stand was seeing him...ah, forget it.”

“You couldn’t stand seeing him with me. You were jealous.”

“I was not jealous, I just didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Oh, so we’re back to that again,” she said in an aggravated voice. He sighed and said, “Mac, you’re being overly sensitive.”

“And your being a jerk,” she replied as they rounded the last corner to the hotel.

“Because I’m having a beer with the guy who dumped you?” He grimaced the moment the words left his mouth. “Hell Mac, I didn’t - “

“No, because he left me *because* of you,” she snapped, then ran up the stairs into the hotel, leaving him to stare at her departing back. With that sort of convoluted thinking, he thought, she’d make a good lawyer.

Harm went upstairs to shower. He thought about having it out with Mac once and for all, but as usual, their timing was all screwed up. Maybe once this was over he could get her away for a few days, but right now, he just wanted to go sailing. Alone. An hour later he caught a water taxi to Circular Quay, then a hydrofoil to Manly. The wind was already picking up and the summer skies were deep blue. He smiled; he was looking forward to this.
 

Continue to Part II