| Subject: 'Dissonance' - Part Eight |
Author:
Daenar
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Date Posted: 15:16:02 07/24/02 Wed
In reply to:
Daenar
's message, "'Dissonance' - Part Seven" on 15:12:21 07/24/02 Wed
'Dissonance' - Part Eight
Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One
Thu, June 11th
2007 ZULU
Music auditorium
Dwayne Myers Naval College
Long Island, N.Y.
The band was assembled and anxiously awaiting their newest addition. Harm had moved the rehearsals to the music auditorium where the cadets were sitting in orchestral formation as they would on stage.
“The Italian seems to be a good friend of Cmdr. Rabb,” Dorothy giggled, “Already late for his first rehearsal.”
“If he’s half as cute as Rabb I won’t mind,” Cassandra retorted.
Mac suppressed a fit of laughter.
“Here they come!” Gary shouted. Everyone tried to get a glimpse of the Italian lieutenant.
“My God, he could be Rabb’s little brother!” Dorothy exclaimed, trying to keep her voice low.
At her comment, Mac instantly thought of Sergei and compared him to Prumetti. ‘Nah,’ she thought, grinning.
An “Attention on deck!” from Danny made them all snap to attention.
Smiling, Harm and Fred approached the group. “At ease,” Harm said with a smile. “Good afternoon, Cadets. As you see, our ticket to Carnegie Hall has arrived this morning from D.C.”
He ventured a rather nervous Fred to step forward, noticing the lieutenant was holding on to his clarinet as if it would keep him from falling. “Cadets, I present to you my friend and – as long as the Italian navy can spare him – fellow JAG lawyer Lieutenant, j.g. Federico Prumetti.”
Fred cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Cadets. I’m pleased to meet you and I hope I’ll be able to help you out with your concert.” Once again he earned astonished glances at his Scottish accent.
“Good afternoon, sir!” the cadets replied. Fred involuntarily jumped. ‘I’m not used to being that much of a senior officer,’ he thought, fighting an embarrassed grin.
Harm kept his smile in check as he rushed to help his friend. “Cadets, we don’t have much time and one hell of a schedule to follow to make it to Carnegie Hall. Let’s go to work. Lt. Prumetti,” he indicated a free chair and music stand between Jeannine and Pablo, “That would be your place when we play in orchestral formation. For your solo pieces I’ll take your place and you’ll stand right here, leading the band.”
As he saw Fred pale, he added: “According to Cmdr. Laird, it’s the best guarantee the accompaniment does what you want them to do. And as to my part, I slightly changed Cmdr. Laird’s arrangements, with his knowledge, of course, and inserted a guitar part into the pieces with the solo clarinet. The sound comes closer to the original. In order to get to know each other, I think we should actually start with a solo piece. Lieutenant?” Harm cast Fred an encouraging smile as he himself sat down next to Jeannine who handed him his guitar.
The musicians tuned their instruments and then expectantly looked at Fred who desperately tried to dry his sweating hands on his uniform trousers. ‘Damn,’ he thought, ‘I played at the La Fenice opera house. Why am I so nervous?’
‘Because you never thought you’d be a soloist on the stage of Carnegie Hall with only ten days to practice,’ his subconscious answered, ‘And you don’t want to look bad in front of Harm.’
‘Well, I already did once,’ he reminded his inner voice, ‘In Venice, when I didn’t tell him I was a lawyer because I was intimidated by his fame. Like I am now, although I know that this time I’m the professional.’
‘Then why not show him this time what you’re capable of?’ his subconscious suggested, ‘Harm had four days to prepare for the charity concert, you have ten to prepare for Carnegie Hall. Come on, Tenente, you can do that!’
‘Yes, I can.’ Fred lifted his chin, put on a charming smile and faced the waiting group. “I’d like to start with ‘Stardust’, Commander, Cadets, if you don’t mind.”
“You got it, Lieutenant,” Harm answered, unaware of the inward struggle his junior officer had just fought. “Take the lead. We’ll follow.”
After a general rustle of music sheets, Fred put his instrument to his lips and, with a nod, cued in the band.
Soft blues rhythms and serenade tunes instantly filled the auditorium. Mac, like half of the band, had no part in the solo pieces as sections of the band played in reduced numbers so they wouldn’t cover Fred’s melody. Closing her eyes, Mac leant back on her chair, her hand idly resting on the drum next to her to prevent the membrane from vibrating along with the bass notes. She felt hugged and caressed by the gorgeous harmonies and then suddenly electrified as, for the first time, she heard the solo clarinet. The sound seemed to swell from nowhere, coming forth on the right beat but not giving away when it had originated.
Fred played as if he were singing, his tone velvety just like Nat King Cole’s voice in the remade ‘Stardust’ version they had used for the ‘Sleepless in Seattle’ soundtrack. Jeannine, with an incredibly tender expression, played the counterpoint that would have belonged to a violin. From the rest of the band no single part was distinguishable, as all musicians were carried away by the melody and unselfishly inserted themselves into the general accompaniment.
When the piece was over, Mac saw Cassandra quickly wipe away a tear from her cheek.
Silence.
“Wow.” That was Dorothy, who succeeded in easing the tension with her remark. Cheers went up for the young lieutenant who had just proven himself fit to save the concert.
Fred, feeling extremely relieved, sought Harm’s eye and earned himself a radiant grin, together with an acknowledging nod. He knew he had finally overcome his shyness regarding the commander. ‘Well, now I’m really looking forward to working with you, sir,’ he quietly stated to himself, grinning back.
Thur, June 18th
1432 ZULU
Harm’s apartment
Dwayne Myers Naval College
Long Island, N.Y.
Harm’s first notion at hearing his alarm clock was to knock it off the nightstand to silence it for good. But even slightly turning his head made him immediately regret the movement. God, he hadn’t had a hangover for ages. ‘I’m no longer used to it. Mac’s influence,’ he thought with a frown that at once made his head throb even harder. But he had to stop the noise somehow. Carefully, gritting his teeth, he reached over and switched off the dream-shattering device. And such a nice dream it had been, about a certain Marine without her uniform. Without any clothes in fact.
’Mac!’ The thought of her immediately made him get up and groggily walk over to his computer, switching it on. He’d gone out with Maribel and her cousins right after the rehearsal. Fred had stayed back, saying he wanted to practice. Poor guy. According to Chegwidden he’d practiced for four days before even coming up to New York. But hadn’t Harm requested his assistance, starting right on Monday 8th? Well, counting the days Fred had taken for exercising, he’d in fact been helping him since Monday, even though he had arrived only yesterday. As a new wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him, Harm became aware that yesterday night he would have needed Fred badly for maintaining a little control. ‘Whoa,’ he thought, settling at his desk in slow motion. ‘Did I ever tell anyone I liked Tequila? That’s a damn lie!’
Maribel still seemed distant and a little hostile, but she was obviously trying not to let it show. Her cousins had lured him into drinking more than he’d wanted to. There had been no way of escape. Harm only hoped that he hadn’t spilled any secrets. He wouldn’t, couldn’t swear to it, though. When they had finally taken him home, he’d just collapsed on the bed. Half an hour later he had at least managed to pull himself up to undress and wash before settling down again. But he hadn’t been able to read Mac’s Wednesday mail yet. Harm shook his head at himself in disgust. He had been too drunk to open his mailbox.
Shading his eyes against the all-too-clear screen, he found her mail and printed it for hangover-friendly reading. Making himself a cup of strong coffee on the return to the bedroom, he settled down on his bed and read, feeling better with every line.
To: Sarahssailor@freemail.com
From: Sarah Mackenzie (Harmsmarine@freemail.com)
Subject: Good luck – you’re gonna need it... (Just kidding!)
My dearest Maestro,
I just wanted to tell you I’m crossing all fingers available in my reach (mine and other people’s... I can always order them!) for you for the concert. T minus four days and counting... How are you feeling?
Well, I’m feeling rather sh...shameful. I know I’m only part of the band, seated in the last row but one and playing an instrument of minor importance. But: Sarah Mackenzie in concert at Carnegie Hall – this is all so weird. Jeannine does all she can to cheer me up. That girl’s a miracle. She seems totally immune to stage fright although she’s got major responsibility for the concert’s success. But she actually seems to revel the adrenaline. I don’t get it. But I’m a Marine, I’ll handle it.
I think rehearsals have gone extremely well so far. Even I can tell that by now and Janni confirms it. You’re doing great, squid, and Fred’s just marvelous. I get shivers down my spine when I hear him play. If we get all the pieces through without major problems, we should be able to present a good show on Sunday. I can’t wait to see you in your dress whites!
Rehearsing every day keeps wearing me out more than I’d thought possible. I can hardly get up in the morning, my limbs feel heavy and every now and then I even get a little dizzy. Don’t worry, sailor, I’m okay. I think it’s the aftermath of your blow on my head... oops, wrong choice of words. Don’t feel guilty, Commander, that’s an order. It’s the aftermath of my plan, I wanted to say. The gash has healed off completely, and the blue on my forehead has turned to greenish yellow by now. I’ll try your make-up techniques for the concert night.
The Pablo problem still exists although he seems to notice that I’ve become a little distant of late. I think he suspects it’s because of the stunt he pulled off sneaking into my room. But he tries to make up for it. So I have to imagine that all the flowers are coming from you or I might find myself throwing them out of the window.
Seeing you with Maribel still hurts. I can see you’re not as easy with each other as you used to be before... well, before the most beautiful experience in my entire life, let’s put it that way, but I guess I’m rather jealous all the same. Don’t tell the Corps.
By the way, Jeannine keeps getting those sick letters. I still don’t have the slightest clue about whom they could come from. Luckily she seems to get used to receiving them. And I think after the first shock of finding out who I am, she’s glad she’s got a Marine to watch her six. We’re getting still closer. I really like her. I hope we can stay in touch when this is over.
I’m very excited about the general rehearsal tomorrow afternoon. Trying out the Carnegie Hall stage. Wow. I hope I won’t leave anything essential at home... Did I say ‘home’? My God, what’s become of me! This isn’t home. Home is where you are, Harm. Wherever that is.
I’m hugging you tightly and telling you not to worry about the concert. Can you feel my arms and hear my words? Anyway, I’ve got enormous faith in your abilities. You’ll do just fine. And if you need an anchor on stage just look into my eyes. I’ll be there for you. Always.
I miss you so much. Hope it won’t be long anymore.
Sarah
‘God knows I miss you, too, my Sarah,’ Harm thought, slowly relaxing at her warm words in combination with the effect the coffee had on his body. Sighing, he put the letter in a hidden drawer at the back of his nightstand and got up to take a shower.
Thu, June 18th
2308 ZULU
Carnegie Hall
New York City, N.Y.
Even the chatting was quieter than it normally used to be. Every single member of the Dwayne Myers marching band was in awe at the realization that they were in fact seated on the stage of one of the world’s most famous concert halls. They were still occupied with shifting and re-shifting the position of their music stands and chairs in order to get the most efficient and esthetically best formation. When they finally all agreed that they’d found it, they tuned their instruments and waited for Harm to start the rehearsal.
Harm was as nervous as if this were the actual concert. Very slowly he crossed the stage to get to his conductor’s stand, taking in the vast, dark auditorium that seemed a cathedral while it was void of the public. ‘You don’t belong here. Run!’ something deep inside him started to scream. Remembering Mac’s email, he sought out her glance and found her giving him a barely noticeable smile of encouragement. ‘I love you!’ he thought as he felt himself relax.
Fred was as pale as Harm, Mac noticed. He was desperately searching his bag for something and only upon hearing Harm clear his throat in his direction, he’d look up.
“Any problems, Lieutenant?”
“Actually, yes, sir,” Fred stated in a slightly strained voice. “I can’t find my ‘Stardust’ copy.”
‘Don’t do this to me, Prumetti,’ Harm silently threatened his friend. “Did anyone take the lieutenant’s score by accident?” he asked the band. A rustle of bags being searched was the answer, followed by everyone shaking their heads ‘no’.
‘Damn.’ “We’ll leave it out for the moment, then,” Harm decided, taking up his baton for the program’s first song.
They rehearsed the rest of the show without further damage to anyone’s nerves, actually rejoicing in the enormous sound they created in the huge hall. Harm was beginning to relax. ‘Laird told me something has to go wrong at the general rehearsal or the concert won’t work,’ he remembered. ‘Maybe that’s it.’
“Sir,” Jeannine suddenly spoke up as they had finished the last piece but ‘Stardust’. “I just found a handwritten copy of Meryl’s soloist part from ‘Stardust’ in my music bag. I’m totally at a loss about how it got there, but it’s written well and maybe Lt. Prumetti could take it until he finds the original. I even think Meryl copied it herself.” She held out several sheets of paper to the lieutenant who, with a grateful smile, took them and placed them on his stand.
“Ready, sir.”
“Thank you, Cadet Stiller,” Harm said, then turning to Fred. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.”
Fred confidently put the clarinet to his lips and they began to play. Mac, as always with this favorite song of hers, leant back to listen. She jumped when she suddenly heard several notes that seemed completely out of tune. Fred was frowning while he played on, intently studying his copy. Just as everything seemed to have come back to normal Fred again inserted a couple of terribly out-of-tune notes. Harm turned at him.
“What’s the matter, Lieutenant?” he hissed.
Fred played on with an excusing and embarrassed expression, seeming at a loss. When the phenomenon occurred for the third time, Harm interrupted the music.
“Heck, Lieutenant, what’s the problem? Can’t read your copy?”
Fred’s voice sounded miserable. “I can read it clearly, sir, and I swear I play whatever’s written on the pentagrams. Cadet Waters must have erred tremendously in copying the score.”
“I doubt that, sir, if you’ll excuse me,” Jeannine cut in, worriedly. “Meryl may have had some discipline problems, but if she had one decisive trait in her character, it was her accuracy. She’d never copy mistakes or make them herself while copying.”
“Very well, Cadet,” Harm replied, just a little annoyed, “But how do you explain this if it wasn’t her?”
“I don’t know, sir. Maybe for a moment she thought she was writing something different...” Jeannine let her voice trail off, suddenly paling visibly.
Mac noticed the change, worried. And she started to worry even more as she became aware of Harm’s reaction. He succeeded to mask his expression in front of everyone. But not in front of her anymore. Mac could see Harm was puzzled to no end. Obviously his thoughts were heading in a similar direction as were Jeannine’s.
“Uhm, Lieutenant, may I see the score, please?” he said casually, his voice just a little hoarse.
“Sure, sir.” Fred handed it to him.
Harm compared the pentagrams to the ones in his general partition and found his suspicion confirmed. ‘Why, Stiller and Waters were good friends. They may have talked about the concept of hiding a message in a piece of music. If I’m right they both did just that, independently from one another. They just used different codes. Maybe if I can figure this out I can supply Webb with the missing link...”
Getting all excited but trying not to let it show, Harm called off the rehearsal, saying they’d done enough for now and that they could do ‘Stardust’ when he’d corrected the score or when Fred had found the original.
They headed home in the college bus, Harm nervously keeping the copy in his hands. This could turn out to be key evidence. Better not lose it.
Upon arrival Harm immediately withdrew to his apartment and settled down to decode the message – if there turned out to be any, that was.
Fri, June 19th
0617 ZULU
Harm’s apartment
Dwayne Myers Naval College
Long Island, N.Y.
Sighing in frustration, Harm ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. He had been studying the copy for the umpteenth time, trying rhythm, number and position of wrong notes, distance of wrong notes from one another, intervals between the notes and the following ones, between the wrong notes and the right ones in the original score, regrouping the wrong notes... nothing. The copy just seemed transcribed wrong and nothing else. But Harm couldn’t fight the feeling that he’d stumbled over something that was right under his nose and that he just didn’t see it for some reason.
Getting up to pour himself a glass of water, he tried a different approach. Why would Waters leave a message in a copy of her own instrument’s part? Probably to remember something important. But she had obviously been too afraid to write it down properly for whatever reason. If she had wanted to communicate something to somebody she’d have left a trace for that someone to find her message. If it had indeed been intended for somebody else, that someone had to be musical...
‘Hammer, you have been sleeping,’ he scolded himself. ‘Of course Waters intended the message for someone else. Stiller found the copy in her bag! Waters must have written it to her...’ “My God!” Harm choked on his water, set the glass down with a ‘clank’ on the kitchen counter and rushed back to his desk.
‘Written to! Hammer, you mega-idiot! She has w-r-i-t-t-e-n to her! You thought of everything but the first thing that would have come to anyone else’s mind! Try the wrong notes’ names!’ Eagerly Harm bent over the copy and wrote down the names of the notes that differed from the original score.
“b-flat, e, a, c, b, c, a, f, e, b-flat, a, c, g-double-sharp, b-flat, c-double-sharp, e-flat, b, e, e-flat, c, a, e-flat, e,” he read, frustration again getting the better of him. Nothing! But then something near the beginning of the line sprang to his eyes: letters six to ten spelled ‘cafe’. It could be a coincidence, but he decided to clutch at the straws and try to figure out the rest.
‘Why all those flats and double-sharps,’ he thought with a frown. He was sure it wouldn’t make sense just omitting them and using the letters they were connected to. Waters must have put them in for some reason. Then the last four letters caught his attention and an idea began to form in his mind.
“C-a-something-e,” he read aloud, thinking hard. And suddenly he knew what to look for. When he had been fourteen years old, his mother and Frank had taken him to Los Angeles one evening for a guest performance of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. Harm remembered that, seeing the program booklet, he’d found it odd that Mozart’s symphony number 38 in e-flat major had been written in German as ‘Symphonie Nr. 38 in Es-Dur’. ‘E-flat’ according to the German system was called ‘Es’, pronounced like ‘S’. Here was an additional letter for him to use, and it made the last word spell ‘case’!
Thinking of the other letters he might find, Harm grabbed his flashlight, the copy, the score and his legal pad and pen and headed for the college library. ‘If you have a question about music, go to the library and ask your friend New Grove,’ his guitar teacher had always told him. Harm had never yet found himself in a situation to follow his advice, but now it might provide the clue he was searching.
Thankful that he didn’t have to pick the lock, but could use the general key he had been given, Harm stepped into the dark, quiet room. Shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation – having to go to the library at 0130 in the morning without getting caught – Harm switched on his flashlight and started looking for the world’s amplest music dictionary. He just hoped they even had it...
He soon found that one of the advantages of the fact that Dwayne Myers was a wealthy institute was that they had a large number of volumes in their library that the college didn’t really need but considered ‘hip’ to own. Among them figured the twenty-plus volumes of the New Grove Dictionary of Music.
Holding the flashlight between his teeth and the papers he’d brought between his knees, Harm tried several entries until he found a list of note names according to the German system. He laid the book on the floor and knelt down, quickly copying the necessary information. ‘B’ was ‘h’ and ‘b-flat’ was just ‘b’, he found. The double-sharps being called ‘gis’ and ‘cis’ still didn’t help him for his purpose, but as the message contained only two of them, he might figure out the sense without knowing what they meant. Harm got up, put the volume back on the shelf, quietly left the library and returned to his apartment.
With trembling fingers he rewrote the message: ‘beachcafebacxbxshescase’. Staring at the line, he contemplated about it only one or two minutes. Then, deciding to take the double-sharps as wild cards, he understood that he had to go and look for a case somewhere near the bushes at the back of one of the cafés on the beach. Swallowing heavily, Harm put on his shoes and a dark sweater.
Harm had seen Mac at her window once. Now, slowly circling around House Mistral, he tried to remember which one it had been. It wasn’t that he really needed her to recover the object, but it would definitely be easier with two, one holding the light and watching out and the other digging or whatever was necessary. And figuring out something with the capacity of two brains instead of one could also mean it would be done quicker. And, he silently admitted to himself, he desperately needed to see her alone.
Having completed three circles around the house, Harm was now sure enough about which one was Mac’s window to try and contact her. Cell-phone was out of the question and her front door would mean Jeannine would wake as well. So he had to apply stone-age methods. He picked up a small pebble, aimed carefully and gently threw it against her windowpane. He jumped at the ‘clink’ that seemed very loud to him, but obviously no one but him had noticed it. Not even Mac, it seemed, as she didn’t show up or give any sign of activity.
Harm was about to give it another try when he suddenly detected a movement inside her dark room. He couldn’t suppress a grin when he saw the top of her head become visible just barely above the windowsill, next to her something that could be the butt of a gun. ‘My Marine, always in combat mode,’ he thought lovingly. Stepping out of the shadows, he signaled her to come down and indicated his dark clothing, making her eyes grow wide. After a moment of astonishment she nodded and vanished from the window. Three minutes later he saw her coming around the corner of the house.
He waved to her to join him in the shadows and silently encircled her in his arms. She let him hold her and buried her face on his chest, holding on to him. Only after some minutes she drew back slightly and looked at him with a questioning smile.
“What’s this about, Sherlock?” she asked in a low voice.
“Is this the proper way to welcome your lover?” he replied with a raised eyebrow, grinning.
“I’ll welcome you properly when you tell me what this is about,” she stated stubbornly.
“Kiss me first, Watson,” he suggested smugly.
“Okay,” she complied with a smile and a sigh, stepping close again and bringing her lips to his in a passionate kiss that lasted another thirty seconds. When they finally parted, panting, she again looked up at him, tilting her head to one side.
“This is about the ‘Stardust’ copy, right?” she guessed.
Harm gave her an appreciating grin. “Good thinking, Cadet O’Hara.” Then he sobered and told her what he’d just found out.
“I’m impressed, Commander,” she said, her voice devoid of any teasing. “There could indeed be something to it. Let’s go find out. And spend some time together on a moonlit beach,” she added with a contagious grin.
“Good thinking again, Cadet,” he remarked and, taking her hand and carefully sticking to the shadows, guided her to a gate in the campus wall opposite the main entrance that only the professors had a key to. He quickly let the two of them out and locked the gate behind them. They still kept to the shadows of trees and houses until they had put a comfortable distance between themselves and the college.
Feeling secure, they slowed down their pace and walked down to the beach, strolling along the shore hand in hand.
“Now, Mac, do you know how many cafés there are on the beach?” he asked her.
“Too many,” she replied, frowning, “But I suggest we start with the ‘Driftwood’. It’s about half a mile from here and I happen to know it was some kind of a hangout for Jeannine, Meryl, Dorothy and Cassandra. Janni took me there once. If I were Meryl I’d choose that place to leave something for Jeannine.”
“I see your point,” Harm agreed. “This direction?”
“Yup.” They silently wandered on, Mac leaning to Harm’s shoulder, both enjoying the warmth and closeness of the other.
“Awfully romantic, isn’t it?” Harm chuckled after a while as the moon came out behind a cloud.
“I’m beginning to rather like this investigation,” Mac retorted with a grin. “Pity we can’t stay here all night. I can think about a lot of nice things to do on a moonlit beach in a warm summer night. But I don’t want to leave Jeannine alone too long.”
“Yeah...” he murmured consent, his stomach tightening as he imagined what he’d like to do to her on a moonlit beach.
“Here we are,” she woke him from his reverie, indicating a small house on the beach. On the waterside it had a huge wooden porch stretching out across the sand. The back of the café was surrounded by small trees and bushes. Making sure no one was in sight, they walked over to the house.
“Could you hold that, please?” Harm handed Mac his flashlight and knelt down to study the terrain. For about ten minutes he scrutinized every inch of his surroundings, swearing low when he didn’t find any indication that might point to some hidden object. Mac was about to suggest they try out another café when he suddenly locked his gaze on a small piece of ground between two bushes where significantly less herbs were growing. He pulled up his sleeves and carefully began to dig. Mac watched in silence.
“Bingo,” he finally stated in a low voice, pulling a small object out of the hole he’d dug. Mac switched off the light and, in silent agreement that Mac had to get back to Jeannine, they headed back to the college.
Once again inside the campus walls, Harm drew Mac into the shadows of the library and once more tightly embraced her, claiming her lips with his. Mac responded ardently. They hadn’t been able to exchange even a handshake for two weeks now after their hallmark weekend. Longing and passion soon threatened to overwhelm them. Reluctantly breaking the kiss after a few endless moments, Harm rested his forehead against Mac’s.
“God knows, I’d like to take you up to my apartment, Sarah, and make love to you all night long. But given the situation...”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I miss you so much, Harm.”
“You know what,” he suggested, “When this is over we’ll take a couple of days off and go someplace nice. Just you and me. We’ll take ‘Sarah’ and fly up in the mountains, for example. We could go and see my Grandma Sarah. What d’ya say?”
“I’d love to,” she sighed, “Can’t wait.”
Harm smiled and softly kissed her one more time. “I’ll examine this... thing and let you know what’s inside via email. Off you go now, Cadet. It’s past your bedtime, you know.”
“Aye, sir,” Mac whispered, kissing him back. “Sweet dreams, flyboy.”
“To you, too.” He watched her carefully and quickly run over to House Mistral and then returned to his own apartment.
Upstairs, Harm once again sat down at his desk and examined the object they had retrieved from its secret hiding place. It was a rusty metal case secured with what seemed meters of cord to keep it shut. It took him a full fifteen minutes to get rid of the cord but finally he had completed the task. Subconsciously holding his breath, Harm opened the case and inside found a notebook. Opening it on page one, he read: ‘Cruise diary, 04-20 – 04-30, Meryl Christine Waters, Cadet Second Year, Dwayne Myers Naval College’.
“This is getting more interesting all the time,” he muttered to himself as he stretched out on the couch and began to read.
To be continued...
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