Getting his hands dirty

by Gail

(gem225@hotmail.com)

JAG

Rating: PG

The first meeting of Clayton Webb and Clark Palmer.

Disclaimer: I don't own these two characters (I made the others up), I'm not making any money off of this, and I intend no insult or infringement. I love the show enough to write this, and I offer it up in homage to the two fine actors who play these characters, Steven Culp and Peter Murnik.

Thanks go to Mareen for betaing this story, and to her and Alex for both seeing slash in this story. :-) I didn't writing it, but then I'm a mystery to myself. *g*

This is a Webb and Palmer before the timeline of JAG.

I have no idea if this makes sense as a mission for Palmer and Webb, but it was in my head, so I wrote it. The DSD is never really explored on the show, so who knows how they behave? The only DSD agent we have seen yet is Clark Palmer, and that leaves a lot of room for speculation.

ECLIPSE PRELUDE: GETTING HIS HANDS DIRTY

By Gail

*****

dialogue from the episode The Imposter:

Rabb: Who you working for this time? DSD, or the CIA? Does Webb know about this?
Palmer: Webb? No. (little knowing smile) Mr. Webb is *very* careful not to get his hands dirty.

It's pretty clear they have some kind of history...and pretty clear to me that Palmer's gotten the better of Mr. Webb in some way or another...

*****

(June 18, 1995, afternoon, Washington, D.C.)

Clayton Webb kept his breathing steady as he waited for the Defense Security Division people to come. He wondered one more time why he'd been chosen for this task, whatever it was. And why he was stuck in this room by himself. Some kind of game because he was with the other agency, he thought. Had to be. But they were going to have to deal with him. He hadn't been told anything much, but he was sure that he'd be getting the briefing on the case here. Funny that DSD wanted the help of the Company, but maybe they were in over their heads, and were smart enough to know that for once.

He checked his watch and frowned. Too much time on this already. He had work to do back at State, and if that wasn't enough, he had a lot of work to do for the Company.

Just then a man stepped into the office. He gave Clayton a quick look out of the corner of his eyes, then away. Clayton scanned him with a practiced eye. Clearly a junior agent. Not his first assignment, but definitely his second or third, possibly his fourth. He sighed to himself. Great. Now he was playing nursemaid for the DSD. But maybe this man was here for another reason, although that wasn't really likely.

All right, time to start work. He made himself smile at the other man. No need to take this frustration out on him, especially if they were going to be working together. And it wouldn't hurt to establish his primacy.

"I'm Clayton Webb." He held out his hand when the other man turned.

The other man took it, giving a firm handshake. "Clark Palmer. Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you, and it's all been good."

Before Clayton could try and deal with the fact that this man knew more about him than he did about the man, the door opened and two men entered. The taller of the two spoke.

"Clayton, good to see you." He simply nodded at Clark Palmer, who bent his head. "We've got a problem, and since it concerns your agency, Kent thought you'd be the best one to help us."

"Thank you. It's good to see you, too, Mr. Delgado." It was hard to know what to say to the head of the Defense Security Division. He'd worked with the previous head, but not this one, and rumor had it he didn't blink at bending the rules. Clayton bent the rules himself, but he liked to think he did it for good reason. Well, if Kent Monroe, the head of the Company, and his boss, wanted him to work with the DSD, of course he would. It would have been good to have him there, for support, since he was outnumbered, but Clayton would manage.

The other man, a shorter, intense-looking man, with a fierce moustache and an attitude that said 'don't mess with me,' took over the conversation. "Webb, this is Clark Palmer. He's one of our best young agents." Clayton had met him before at D.C. parties, and knew he was John Springer, Delgado's second-in-command of the DSD.

"Thank you," Palmer murmured. He gave Clayton a 'this is embarrassing, don't pay any attention to him,' and Clayton found himself warming to the man. Most guys in the business, especially the new ones, took praise like a quick shot of scotch on an empty stomach. Nice to know this one was level-headed. That was a good quality in a partner, especially a temporary one.

Springer handed Clayton a folder as they all sat. "There's not a lot of time, so we need you to read this, hear the plan, and go."

Clayton nodded and started scanning the papers. It didn't take him long to get through them. When he looked up, his face was tight, but controlled.

"What's the plan? I assume you want us to bring him back."

"We have a pretty good idea where Stoner is, Mr. Webb." It was John Springer talking again. Clayton wondered for a moment if he was the one who actually ran the DSD. But then it wasn't that unusual for a top official to delegate, or let his subordinate take the lead and whatever heat might come up. He was from another agency, after all, and they had every right to expect he'd be trouble. Which he didn't intend to be. Not yet. "All you and Clark have to do is go there, see what you can find out about his current condition. You'll make the determination."

There was a flash of looks between Springer and Palmer that Clayton noted. All right, there was something more going on here.

"David Stoner was one of our best agents before he was kidnaped by a terrorist group, managed to escape, and then went to cover." Webb kept his voice even, even while he remembered how David had been one of the first to accept him as a true CIA man. It had been one of the worst blows of his career when he found out about the kidnaping, and even worst when he learned his colleague had vanished. "We don't know why. We've been trying to locate him ever since. How does the DSD come into this?"

"We know all that, Clayton," Delgado interjected while Springer gave him an angry look. "And why we're involved is because we want to help you people."

"And because there's reason to believe Stoner is unstable," Springer said harshly.

"David needs help, and that's what we want to get him," Delgado took back the conversation. "Information has recently come to us that the group tortured him, both mentally and physically. They're a bunch of crusaders who think the world would be better without any kind of agents like us."

"A bunch of imbecilic amateurs."

The first words in a while from Palmer surprised Webb, but not enough that he gave any kind of reaction. He never would have made that kind of comment in front of his superiors, not when he was at the level Clark Palmer clearly was. The DSD was beginning to look like a very loose organization these days, and that could be good news for his agency. A small smile crossed his lips, then vanished. There was a job to be done, and it was one he'd been wanting to do for a long time.

"Clark's done a lot of work tracking these people down," Springer explained. "For a while," more glances, "he was one of the agents who infiltrated the group."

"Absolute amateurs," Palmer muttered.

"And that's the way we want them, Clark." Delgado's voice was mild, but Webb heard the reprove in it. Had Clark Palmer gone so far into his cover that he'd actually thought about training them? Now that was something that couldn't be tolerated. "Even though it offends your sense of order, amateurs do exist. And we have to deal with them."

Well. Maybe this was about Palmer thinking spy games should only be for professionals, Webb's own opinion. He found himself warming to the guy.

"Clark has all the travel information, Clayton, and we're working very closely with the Company on this. They'll cover for you, make sure no one knows you're gone. And both of you," Delgado's eyes swept over first Clayton, then Palmer, "be careful. We don't know how far Stoner's gone. He might try to kill you both. The last report we got on him indicated he thought the Company was the enemy. I don't want to lose you." His eyes rested on Palmer, then flickered away, but not quickly enough that Clayton didn't catch it.

Of course, the DSD would much rather, if one of them bit it, it was the one who wasn't theirs. Only natural. No reason to take it personally. "I'm sure Mr. Palmer and I will be just fine." He made sure to put a serious expression on his face to show that he wasn't taking the remark personally.

"I'm sure you will." Springer was the one who answered. "Clark, you know how to check in. Make sure Mr. Webb knows as well. And Clark?"

"Yes, sir." The younger man had an intent look on his face, Clayton noted.

"You are the junior agent on this case. Is that clear? Mr. Webb calls the shots."

"Yes, sir." Palmer didn't even blink. "I understand. I am the junior agent. I will do as Mr. Webb says."

"Good. We are assisting them on this matter. Remember that."

Clayton was gratified, but at the same time a little uneasy. If this had happened to him, he'd be feeling like he'd just been slapped down. Was this how the DSD kept its agents under control, by treating them this arbitrarily? He felt a little sorry for Clark Palmer and hazarded a quick look at him. The other man's face was as calm and attentive as if nothing had happened. Of course there was always the chance this was being done solely for the benefit of the outsider in the room, Clayton Webb. And he wouldn't bet against that being the true reason Palmer was so unaffected. One more possibility came to him. What if Palmer was that good an agent? He resolved to find out which of these was the true reason. At some point, the Defense Security Division and his own Central Intelligence Agency were going to butt heads. It was inevitable. And if he could find out more about the DSD, he'd be helping his side, when it came to blows.

Springer was talking again, so Clayton pulled his attention back to this room. "There's a car ready to take both of you." A faint smile crossed his face. "I'll let Mr. Webb decide if he wishes to drive," a pause, "or be driven."

"Good luck, Clayton, Clark."

Mr. Delgado shook each of their hands and gave them hearty smiles. Springer's handshake, at least to Clayton, was much less enthusiastic. Clayton sighed to himself. You can't win them all, he thought. At least he was the agent in charge. That meant a lot, especially when working with another agency. It gave him the edge, and he might need that.

"Mr. Webb?" Clark Palmer was speaking. "Mr. Webb, the plane we're scheduled to catch leaves in an hour. Would it please you to leave now?"

"We've got bags packed?"

"Yes, sir. They're in the car, I'm sure."

Clayton sighed again. Eager, willing, and probably still wet enough behind the ever-so-prominent ears that he'd have to be guided through the whole process. But nice enough, so far, even for a DSD guy. "You do have a license?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then you drive." Clayton gave him a smile. "And please. 'Sir' is my father. I'm Clayton."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

"O.K., Clayton." The manner changed, becoming more relaxed, but still with a touch of deference. "This way."

Clayton followed him to the hidden elevator, even though he knew where it was. No use letting the DSD know what the CIA knew about them. He knew some people would question him letting Palmer drive, but this was something his father had taught him. One good way to get to know a person was to observe them behind the wheel. And he'd get a chance to relax.

*****

He ended up not relaxing at all. Clark Palmer's driving had nothing to do with it; his driving was flawless, something Clayton was grateful for. He needed all his attention. As soon as they cleared the garage, his cell phone started beeping, and he spent the drive explaining, delegating, and finally barking orders. Finally he was done.

"You have a lot on your plate, Clayton." Palmer's voice had a hint of uncertainty, as though he shouldn't be saying anything. But Clayton didn't mind. They had to be a team now. The minute after they were done, it wouldn't give him a moment's worry if Clark Palmer got run over by a truck, but that was then.

"Had," he corrected the other man. "It's somebody else's headache now. All I've got is this assignment. What about you?" He had to get to know the guy sometime.

Clark kept his eyes on the road. "All I had to do to get ready was pack. I've been on this since we picked it up."

We. Clayton nodded. He talked the same way about the Company. Your agency became your home, your family, your life if you weren't careful. And the young ones ended up learning the hard way. You couldn't tell them any different until they'd been in long enough to realize they needed more than code words and secret smiles, and even then some never learned. He hoped this one would.

Just about then they were at the airfield. When they were safely on the plane, their bags stowed and seatbelts buckled, Palmer turned to the steward. "Water for me, and Mr. Webb will have a scotch." The air of authority vanished as he turned to Clayton. "That's what you like, right?"

"Yes, but not now." Clayton smiled to blunt the rejection. "Water for me, too."

"Sorry. Just wanted to help."

"Not a problem. So there's a file on me at DSD." Clayton said that casually, hoping the other man wouldn't take it for the probe it was.

"Well, sure." Palmer's eyes were wide. "You're somebody to pay attention to, you know?"

He had to nip this, was it hero worship?, in the bud. "Clark, I'm just a guy. Yes, I'm senior on this job, but don't get any kind of ideas like I've got a direct line to the president. I work at State. I don't run it." Not yet, he thought. But I will get there. "If you're going to keep treating me like I'm some kind of idol, it's going to make our mission fail."

Clark gave him a half-smile and shrugged. "It's just not every day a guy like me gets to work with a guy like you. You don't know what they say about you in the corridors."

"I've always wondered," Clayton said dryly. "And I've always imagined that a lot of four-letter words got used."

"No, sir!" The man looked shocked. "That kind of behavior would not be tolerated at the DSD. No way."

"Bad joke, then," Clayton said mildly and made a mental note not to try humor again. Clark didn't seem to have any kind of sense of it. "But I'm serious, Clark. We're partners. You have to make your contribution to this, or we're not going to get David Stoner back."

"That's good to hear." Clark settled back in his seat as the steward handed each of them a small cup of water. "Then how about we start getting our plan together?"

Clayton nodded. "Might as well."

"Now, this is going to depend on the latest information, but the thought was that we'd confirm his current location, then take him in for debriefing."

Clayton listened in growing disbelief. This was the plan? This wasn't going to work. "This is an experienced agent we're talking about, no matter what he's been though, Clark. You try to take in David Stoner, and you're going to be sorry. We, sorry, I, need to talk with him. Something's gone wrong, but he'll listen to me."

Clark listened attentively and waited until he was finished to speak. "That's certainly the reason you're here, but Clayton, he's been out there six months now. Why do you think that is?"

Clayton closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't want to think about that. "He's confused. They brainwashed him. He needs help."

"And we're here to get him to it. But we have to consider the possibility he's not going to want to listen to anyone connected to the Company. And there's no reason he'd want to talk to me. I'm DSD."

"This is David Stoner," Clayton insisted. "If I can get word to him that I'm alone, that I want to help him, he'll talk to me."

Clark's expression showed he didn't believe him, but he didn't argue. "You're the boss."

The words, and even more the controlled tone, stung Clayton. He'd made such a damned point about them being partners, and now he knew Palmer thought he was pulling rank. But Clark didn't know David, and he did. This was the right way to handle it.

Clark was looking at him with a wariness that Clayton just didn't know how to deal with. Well, the other man was an agent. He was supposed to be able to handle this kind of thing. "I'm going to get some sleep. It's already been a long day."

"A good idea. It's a long flight." Palmer's face was a little more calm now, Clayton noted with relief. Good, he was a professional.

"I think it'll be best if we get this done quickly."

"I agree." Clayton was very glad to hear the other man talk as though his opinion mattered. Palmer finished his water and gave Clayton a bright smile. "I'll try to get some rest, too." He settled his head against the rest, closed his eyes, and looked as though he was asleep immediately.

Clayton smiled, a little wistfully. Ah, to be young enough to throw all your cares away. Or not to have any. He settled back, too, but not to sleep, despite his words to Palmer. Instead he pulled out every memory he could stand of David Stoner, going over them and noting anything that might help him reach his friend. He had a feeling it wasn't going to be easy.

*****

They were at the hotel in the small town in England before they talked about the case again. Palmer, who had taken both bags and gotten into the elevator with them before Clayton could stop him, put Clayton's into his room, then awkwardly stood there.

"Is there something you want to say?" Clayton kept his eyes on Clark's closed face.

"No." He shifted in place, the picture of a nervous young agent. "What now?"

"I need to see the file again. You have it?"

"Right here." Clark fished it out of his bag.

"Thanks. Now go put that in your room. You don't have to come back right away. Take a shower or something."

Clark didn't move. "So you can go off on your own. No, Clayton. I can't let you do that."

"I'm not going anywhere." Clayton's exasperation showed. "I just need some time to put together what I'm going to say to David. Is there someone here we can contact, to be sure he's in the same place?"

"I've got a number." He stopped before picking up the phone. "Did you want to make the call?"

"Is it one of yours?" Clayton saw Clark's nod. "Then you'd better do it."

Clark flashed him a smile and punched out some numbers. "Palmer here." Clayton was bent over the file, but something about Clark's voice made him stop reading and listen, though while pretending to read. It was cool, direct, controlled: the voice of an agent who'd been around and knew just what he was doing. Not the voice of a new guy. Had he been had? Or was Palmer putting on a show for the new senior agent? That was probably it. "I need the status of Stoner. The same? Good. No, don't change anything. We'll be coming over in a while. No, I don't know when. The senior agent will determine that." Clayton felt, not saw the quick glance Palmer gave him. "That's right. I'm not that person. If he says to inform you, I will. Don't be an idiot." The tone now was sharp enough to chip ice. "And don't question me again." He hung up the phone with a bang.

"Problem?" Clayton knew it was stupid to pretend he hadn't heard at least some of that.

Clark shrugged, then gave him a half-smile. "They're used to me being in on calling the shots," he explained. "I guess nobody told them things change."

Clayton nodded. It was more than that, but he didn't have the time to find out. He'd make time later, he promised himself. Clark Palmer was becoming a very interesting subject. "What's the current arrangement for surveillance?"

"We've got a guy watching, others close enough for backup." Clark's eyes shuttered. "They're ready to take him, Clayton. It's what they think is best." He saw the flash in Clayton's eyes and surrendered. "But they're not in charge. When did you want to talk with him?"

"Soon. Can you get me a number?"

"No phone. You'll have to go there to have any kind of communication."

"All right. I'll get going."

Before he could get to the door, Clark was there, blocking it.

"What are you doing?" Clayton was amazed. Was this guy going to try to stop him?

"I have to go with you, Clayton. I can't let you go by yourself."

"I'll be fine, Clark. And I don't think it's smart to take you with me. He doesn't know you."

"I've got my orders, and they don't involve staying behind. Listen, Clayton, I'm a good shot. You need some backup, just in case. I know you trust this guy, but this is my job. Tell Stoner I'm your partner. He doesn't have to know I'm DSD."

"He might buy that. But Clark, I don't need backup. Leave the gun here."

"Clayton, we don't work that way at the DSD. I won't use it, unless you're in danger."

"What about you?"

"I won't be in any."

Overconfident, Clayton thought. But he nodded. He'd see that there wasn't any kind of reason for Palmer to use his weapon, even if he had to take him down himself. "You'll have to keep quiet. This is between David and me."

"If he'll talk to you."

"If he won't, we'll have to do it your way." The thought of taking down David like he was some kind of suspect stung, and he suspected Palmer knew that. "Let's go."

"It's not far." Clark led the way to the elevator.

*****

It was only a few minutes walk. Clayton walked with his head down, but scanning everything. Clark walked with him, looking like a man on his way home from the office, blending in perfectly.

"Here," Clark said quietly, gesturing with his head to a rundown building. He nodded to a man standing in the shadows, who nodded back. "Down those stairs. He's home."

"Tell him to get out of here." Clayton knew his voice was harsh, but he didn't care. To finally be able to talk to David, find out what had happened to him...he wasn't going to let anything screw it up.

Clark gave him a startled look, then nodded. "Wait for me." He drifted over to the man. The conversation got heated, although low, but finally the man slipped away. Clark returned. "I hope you know what you're doing, Clayton."

"I do. Come on. And be quiet."

Clayton strode toward the stairs and was knocking on the door before Clark caught up with him. There was a name posted on the mailbox, but Clayton didn't even bother to look at it. It would be false. David was in hiding; he wouldn't use his own name or even any of his covers, unless he wanted to be found. At that thought, his eyes slipped over to check. No. Then he didn't want to be found. This was going to be difficult.

Just then, the door cracked open. "What is it? I don't want any." The voice was thin and feeble.

"David, it's me. Clayton Webb." He got his foot in before it closed.

"Go away. I don't know anybody by that name."

"I'm not going until I know what's going on." It was David. He could hear it. And he wasn't going anywhere. Thank god Clark stayed still behind him. He couldn't even hear his partner breathing. Good control. He'd remember that for the inevitable report. "Let me in."

"You're here for the Company." To Clayton's relief, there wasn't any anger in his voice. So David had gotten over some of the brainwashing. "And who's your friend?"

"My partner." Clayton kept his voice calm. "And I'm not here for the Company, David. I'm here for you. I just want to talk. Nobody's going to do anything you don't agree to. I swear."

There was a long pause, then the door opened. "Your word was always good, Clayton. You vouch for your partner?"

"I vouch for him." Clayton snapped a look at Clark, who had his head down. All right. "He's one of us." Damn, he hated saying that. But if David knew he was working with the DSD, he'd think something was really wrong. Clayton himself still had his doubts about their motives, but he was in charge, so he knew nothing bad was going to happen.

"Does he have a name?" David's voice was a little lighter now, more relaxed. "Or just a number?"

"I'm Clark Palmer, sir. It's an honor to meet you."

Clayton thought for a moment David was going to slam the door shut, but he didn't. "An honor it's not, Mr. Palmer. Come in." Finally he opened the door enough so that they could. "But don't get any stupid ideas about taking me in, Clayton. I'm happy right here."

Clayton almost cried out when he saw how gaunt and pale his friend was, but he kept it in. "If you're happy, I'm happy," he said carefully. Clark glanced at Clayton, who motioned him over to the far corner.

David smiled as he opened a folding chair, then another. "You're a senior agent now, I see. I always knew you'd end up bossing other people around. You hated taking orders."

"I work for State."

"Good cover." They both sat. "And you want to know what happened to me."

"You don't call, you never write..." Clayton's joke trailed off. "I've been worried, David."

"I'm no good for what I used to do any more, Clay. And I don't want to do it." His eyes were haunted by memories Clayton didn't want to think about. "People die because of our work. We think it's all clean, all justifiable, but I know better."

"Nobody's going to make you take cases if you don't want to, but David, you don't have to stay here."

"I won't be able to now, that's for sure. You've found me. I'll have to go somewhere else."

"I don't want you to vanish again, David. I want you to get help."

"So that I can keep betraying people? Clay, I can't live like that. I can barely live with what I've already done."

"Did those people tell you that you were an evil person?"

"They didn't have to. I knew that. The time with them..." David shrugged. "It just brought things out where I had to look at them."

"Then come with me. Get some help so that you can live with yourself."

David was never going to be any good as an agent again, that was clear. But he couldn't be left to rot in this hole. There had to be something to make him feel better. Clayton was beginning to think that his friend might have been ready for a breakdown when he was captured. He remembered signs from that time that had worried him, but he hadn't put them all together. He should have. Then David could have gotten the help he needed then. But he had to make sure David got that help now.

"Please, David."

"Clay, I go back, they want to know everything." There was a long pause while Clayton struggled to keep quiet. "I won't betray those people. They helped me."

"They tortured you!"

"No, Clay. They helped me see the truth. I didn't give them any information, you don't have to worry about that. They're still helping me now. Money, food, even this place is one of their hideouts. I'm trusting you, Clay."

"The Company won't hear it from me. Or Clark."

"You don't have to worry about them, either. They're a bunch of amateurs." David's voice was tired now. "I still can't believe they got me. I got careless, I guess. And I think I've convinced them that they won't do any good concentrating on individual agents."

"You're advising them?" The question came from Clark in the corner.

David didn't seem to mind. "Yes."

Clayton shot Clark a cold look, and Clark immediately bowed his head again. "David, what did they do to you?"

"It doesn't matter, Clay. What matters is what I do with my life now. I'd never betray the Company. You have to know that. There's a place for what it does, but a place that needs to be defined and limited. I'm trying to get the group to work toward that. It's a worthy goal."

"I'm sure it is, but David, you used to give me advice. I'd take it, even when I didn't want to. Why won't you listen to me now?"

"You're a good friend, Clay, but I can't. I know what I'm doing is right." A sound made them both turn to where Clark was standing. "Your partner seems to find this conversation very upsetting." David's voice was dry. "Is it because he's so gung-ho for the spy games that he can't see beyond them?"

"He's new." Clayton gave Clark an even colder look. "He'll learn."

"I doubt it. He doesn't seem the type."

"Mr. Webb believes in me," Clark put in, his voice calm. "And so do my superiors. Whatever I'm lacking now, I will learn. I will become better, Mr. Stoner. You can depend on that."

"Things certainly have changed since I've been gone." David's tone was thoughtful. "New agents with so much confidence, and speaking up without any kind of permission. He's very different from how you were, Clay."

"Things do change, David." Clayton kept his tone calm. Damn Clark, anyway. Couldn't he just do what he was told?

"Believe me, I know that. Well, Clay, it's been nice seeing you again. Shall I expect a grab?"

"David!" Clayton was honestly shocked. "I'm here to talk with you."

"And persuade me to come back. That has to be the reason. I'd appreciate the truth."

Clayton was still struggling with that when Clark spoke. "Mr. Stoner, Mr. Webb is here to help you. You'd be wise to listen to him. Come back with us."

David didn't answer for a few minutes, then he sighed and shook his head. "Clayton, tell them I'd never hurt the Company. Convince them to let me be. I don't need their help, and I don't want it. And Mr. Palmer, I'm glad I'm not in the business any longer. Working with someone as self- centered and impulsive as you are would be the death of me." Clark didn't say anything to that, and David laughed. "Lucky for you Clayton's smarter than I ever was. Clay, thank you for coming."

"I'm not leaving until you come, too, David. I'll be back tomorrow."

"No need. It won't do any good." David hesitated, then reached out his hand. Clayton grasped it. "You're a fine agent, Clayton. I'm glad I got to see you again."

They shook. "I'll see you tomorrow." Clayton wasn't going to give up that easily.

The ghost of a smile. "You always were a stubborn bastard. All right, Clayton, tomorrow. I'll listen. But I've got some people coming, and I doubt they'd be happy to have you here."

Clayton gathered Clark with his eyes. "Be careful, David. I've read the file on these people."

"They won't hurt me. I'm their expert." David's voice was wry. "And their big success." He opened the door. "Now go. I don't want you to know anything more about this."

Clayton and Clark went out and up the stairs. No one was around as they headed back to the hotel.

"You made some real progress, Clayton," Clark offered after a few blocks.

"You didn't exactly help," Clayton snapped. "I told you to be quiet. Is that how you follow orders?"

"I'm sorry, Clayton. I didn't mean to make any trouble." His face fell. "I'll be quiet tomorrow."

"You won't be there tomorrow. David isn't a danger to me, and so you're not needed."

"What if his 'friends' show up? You want to get grabbed?"

"David wouldn't let that happen."

"He might not have a choice. You think he's a free agent, but I don't agree."

Clayton glared at Clark, and he subsided. They went a few more blocks before Clark spoke again.

"I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Want to stop somewhere and get something?"

Clayton shook his head. "I'll just get something from room service."

"I know a good place. How about I go there and get us something? It'll be better than room service, I guarantee."

Clayton smiled at the offer. "Good food?"

"Great food." Clark's voice was fervent. "I'll just be a few minutes. You go up and have a drink or something."

"Don't you need to know what I want?" Clayton called after him.

"It's a surprise!" Clark yelled back, and Clayton found his smile broadening. It was too bad Clark Palmer was DSD. He was a good guy. Maybe there was hope for the DSD after all.

*****

The food was as good as Clark's claims, and the wine he brought to go with it was a good match. "I'm glad you like it," Clark said with a smile when Clayton complimented him. "I've been studying wines. If I do any work in Europe, I'm told I'll need to know more."

"You were told right." Clayton was beginning to relax.

"So this goes with the grilled fish?"

"And the grilled plantains. Right. Not much goes with salad, though." Clayton picked up his water to prove his point. "So don't worry about that. No one's going to expect you to perform miracles."

"But if I keep looking, I might find something." Clark's voice was serious, surprising Clayton. They were just talking about matching food and wine.

"They make new ones every year." He changed the subject. "This place takes a while, though I can taste why."

Clark's eyes shuttered. "They're thorough."

Now why was that a touchy subject? "They're great. Thanks for getting it."

Clark's smile returned. "You're welcome, Clayton. You did a great job today. I hope it's all right to tell you that."

"Not that great a job. David's still there. I have to do better." He was barely aware he was talking. "I have to get him home."

"If anyone can, you can." Clayton was brought back by Clark's assurance. "Listen, why don't you just get some sleep? We don't have to check in if we don't want to. They'll just assume we haven't found him yet, or that you've decided to wait. See what tomorrow brings." He reached over to touch Clayton's shoulder with an awkwardness that reminded Clayton he was still young. "Everything's going to be all right."

"Thanks." Clayton found he was taking comfort from the other man. God, was he that upset? Yes, the answer came right away. A man who'd been his mentor had turned against the very thing he'd dedicated his life to, and against him, it felt like. Hearing that someone believed in him was just what he needed. He tried a smile. "That took a lot out of me. I think I will go to sleep."

Clark picked up the Styrofoam containers and stacked them one on top of the other. "You'll be O.K.? I mean, I'll stay if you don't want to be alone."

Clayton tensed. God, Palmer must think he was in even worse shape than he was. "Thanks, Clark. You go to bed. I'll be fine."

"If you're sure." Palmer didn't argue. "Things will look better in the morning, Clayton. I promise."

"I'm glad you think so." Clayton's answer was wry. He couldn't imagine anything getting better, unless David showed up with his coffee and a packed bag. But he knew David Stoner. He didn't change his mind easily. It was going to take time to get him to see sense, if he would at all.

*****

To his surprise, he slept well and deeply. When the knock came, he was dressed and ready to go. "Come in," he called.

Clark entered, bringing what smelled like a cup of coffee. "Here." He wasn't looking at Clayton. "It's how you like it."

Clayton decided to ignore Clark's mood as he took the cup from the other man. When he'd woken up, he'd thought of a few more arguments that would sway David, and he was ready to use them.

"Thanks." He took a long gulp of the coffee. Just what he needed. "I need to know if David's place is safe. Why don't you give your contact a call? And then spend the day connecting with your people here? I'm sure you could find out some things that would help."

He really wanted to talk to David alone. It was possible that Clark's presence had inhibited David, made him less willing to be open, and he wanted David to listen. But he didn't want Clark to feel as though he was trying to shut him out. The younger man hadn't done anything to deserve that.

"Clayton." Clark reached out to touch his shoulder again, and the awkwardness of his look made Clayton drop the coffee. The container bounced, spilling the dark liquid all over the carpet. "David Stoner is dead."

Clayton sat, not caring if there was anything under him or not. Luckily, the bed was. "What happened?"

"They're all dead." Clark's face was a mask now, and Clayton was sure that he was doing that to hide his own feelings of grief and failure. "The whole group, Clayton."

"What happened?" He had to know.

Clark hesitated. "The guy I talked to thought there was some kind of argument, maybe Stoner changed his position on them. It probably started with one of them going over the edge and pulling a gun. You know how these things go, Clayton."

"Or maybe someone saw us leave and decided he was a traitor." He could be the reason his friend was dead. He'd come to help him, and ended up getting him killed.

"Nobody saw us leave." Clark's voice was definite enough to cut through Clayton's anguish. "Come on. Let's get some food."

"Why?"

"Because we're alive. Come on."

The look of concern on Clark's face finally got Clayton to stand. It wasn't just his problem. He was the senior agent, and he had to act like it. He couldn't do anything for David, but Clark was here, and he had to make sure he didn't get killed, too.

"We need to get out of here." Clayton knew his tone was abrupt, but he didn't care. "Who do we call?"

"The report already went in, Clayton. One of the agents stacking out the place heard the shooting and found the bodies. There was a call for you about fifteen minutes ago, but you weren't picking up, so I took it. The arrangements have all been made. Come on. We've got just enough time before we have to get the plane." Clark was packing Clayton's things as he talked, moving around the room with an assurance Clayton envied. He closed the bag and glanced at Clayton. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but you will feel better."

Clayton nodded. Palmer was right. He needed to eat, and he needed to go on. "They're all dead?"

"Everyone we've tagged as being in the group. A clean sweep." An expression of pleasure showed on Clark's face, then vanished. Clayton barely took it in. "One problem solved."

*****

It was that phrase that Clayton Webb hung on to as they flew back to Washington. "'One problem solved,'" he muttered as Clark read a magazine.

It was all too pat. But why would the DSD bring him in on it, if all they wanted to do was wipe out the group? That didn't make sense. Clark had worked with this group, and they knew him. All he had was the connection to David. But if they'd wanted David dead, they didn't need him to do that. Maybe it was what it seemed. He couldn't think straight.

Clark glanced over at him. "What was that? Can I get you anything?"

Clayton wanted a scotch, but he shook his head. "I'm fine."

"We'll be landing soon, Clayton. I have to go report, but you're cleared to go home. Your prerogative as senior agent."

"No." He wasn't a quitter. "I'll report, too."

The pause was just long enough to be noticeable. "As you say. There'll be a car waiting for us."

Clayton nodded. "Good."

Clark looked as though he was going to say something more, but mercifully he kept quiet.

*****

Clayton kept trying to figure the incident out through the rest of the trip. When they got to Defense Security Division headquarters, he still didn't have an answer, and his self-imposed calm was beginning to break. David Stoner was dead. And it might be that Clayton's actions had caused that to happen.

"Clayton," Clark's voice came quietly, "we're here. Are you sure you want to go through with this?" He was the picture of concern, leaning over to peer into Clayton's face.

But something about him didn't seem right suddenly to Clayton. He sensed glee in the other man, a glee that shouldn't be there. Their mission had failed. Or had it? At that same moment, he knew. He'd been had. The DSD had set him up, set the CIA up, and set David up. The only thing was, he still didn't understand why.

"I need to talk to Delgado and Springer. No, Springer." He knew his voice was curt, but he didn't care.

Clark's look was startled. "Clayton?"

"I am the senior agent on this case, and I will give my report to the men who originally gave me this case. Of course, if they're too busy to see me, I will go to my boss and report instead." He meant that as a threat, and from the look of wariness in Clark's eyes, it had been taken as such.

"I'm sure Mr. Springer will be free to see us."

"Good."

Clayton turned away from Clark. What was this man, anyway? He'd seemed so nice, so helpful, so trustworthy, but now Clayton was getting a much darker reading on him. Clark Palmer was someone he was going to remember, and keep an eye on. Oh, yes.

*****

"It's a shame, gentlemen." John Springer showed them into his office and got them coffee with his own hands. Clayton would have found the personal service amusing, and gratifying, any other time. "Clayton, Clark says you're blaming yourself for this. Don't. Any small group can reach the blow-up point at any time. You just happened to be there when this one did. I'm sorry about Stoner."

Clayton was glad his hands were steady as he sipped the coffee. Clark was looking from one to the other, as though he was waiting for something to happen. Intelligent man. Well, now was the time. He set the cup down on Springer's desk.

"No, you're not."

"I beg your pardon!" Springer was angry. A definite mistake.

"You won't get it." This was for David, who'd been his friend. Who'd helped train him. Who had died because Clayton Webb was too stupid to see through a DSD trick. He pushed that last thought away. It wouldn't help to blame himself now. "Let me tell you what I think about this assignment."

"Clayton, maybe you'd..." Clark's voice died off as Clayton turned his angry eyes on him. "Or maybe not. John," he spoke to his superior like an equal, and Clayton realized that was probably what he was, "let him talk. He can't prove a damned thing."

"He can make life difficult for us."

"He's a smart man. He won't want to, but he'll understand the reasons." Clark smiled at Clayton, and Clayton was chilled by the amusement he saw. "Go ahead, Clayton. Tell us the whole story."

"You never intended to get David help. You just wanted to find out what he knew, what he'd told the group, before taking them all out." He couldn't say the words. "You used me to get to David. You knew he wouldn't talk to any of you."

Springer glanced at Clark Palmer, who was still smiling. "When the hell did he find this out? And how?"

"He figured it out. I was perfect. As usual."

Clayton wanted to smash his fist into Palmer's face, but restrained himself. Enemy territory, he reminded himself. No advantage, and certainly no element of surprise. "You were that." He hated to admit it, but it was true. "You played the part perfectly. I really thought you were a new agent."

"Why, thank you, Clayton." Clark sketched a bow from his chair. "I thought you'd like having a pupil around, and you did teach me quite a lot."

"I wish you'd died with David."

"You wish *you'd* died with him, you mean. But I couldn't let that happen. No matter what you think of me now, I was there to make sure you stayed safe."

"I was never in charge of this. It was you all along. That's why the people there were so surprised when you claimed to be the junior. They knew better."

"I shouldn't have made that call in front of you. But it seemed like an acceptable risk at the time."

Springer, who'd been watching intently, broke in. "Webb, you break this story, and you're ruined. Understand?"

"John, we don't have to threaten Clayton." Clark's voice was almost caressing. He was enjoying this, Clayton realized with a shudder. This man had problems.

"You deal with him," Springer said abruptly and stood. "Make sure he sees sense."

"He will. Clayton won't fight us."

"He'd better not." Springer shot Clayton an angry look and left. Clark came over to sit on the desk in front of Clayton.

"Come on, Clayton. Don't do this to yourself."

"You don't give a damn about me!"

"Sure I do. Your friend was over the edge."

"Leave David out of this!"

"For the record, I thought you were going to get him to come with us. That would have been the best thing, you know. I was rooting for you. But he'd lost it, Clayton." Clark's voice was compelling as he stared into Clayton's eyes. "He wasn't one of us any longer. All he had to do was walk out that door with you, and he'd be alive today."

"Trying to make me feel guilty again?"

"No, Clayton. Trying to get you to see the truth. Sorry about the threats," Clayton saw he was serious, "but that's the kind of thing Springer understands. He doesn't understand what you're going through."

What was it about this guy? A minute ago, Clayton had been ready to give him broken bones, and now it was as though Clark Palmer had a window on his mind. "Like you do."

"I do. David Stoner betrayed you, Clay." His eyes held Clayton's. "He turned against you. You begged him to come in, showed him your heart, and what did he do? Chose a group of idiots over you. That had to hurt. Don't try and tell me it didn't."

Clayton drew a long, shuddering breath. The pain Clark was probing at was enough to drown him, and he couldn't fight it. "He didn't have to die," he whispered.

"It's only justice he did." Clark's voice dropped. "He betrayed you, Clayton. He turned against you and betrayed everything you stood for. He's paid now. You can forget all about this and remember him when he was himself." He touched Clayton's shoulder, let his hand stay there in a gesture of comfort. Clayton found himself welcoming it. "You don't have any proof to back up your story, Clay. Please, don't go back to the CIA and try and tell them this. You'll only hurt yourself. I don't want that."

"Tell me what really happened, then." Clayton was holding back the tears as best he could, but his voice was full of them. "Give me that much."

"Does it really matter?"

"It does to me."

Clark sat back, his mouth in a frown. Then he nodded. "All right. But first you call your boss and give him the story. Check in, tell him everything's fine but you're still upset over your friend's death, and get off the line. Then I'll tell you everything I know."

Clayton knew he shouldn't agree, but Clark's words had hit something very deep in him. David *had* turned away from him, betrayed him, shut him out, and there was no reason to think he would have changed his mind. "Give me the phone."

"You'll tell him it was a internal matter."

"Yes."

Clayton knew he could never tell his agency the truth. Tell them he'd gotten suckered by the DSD? He might as well resign and go breed horses for the rest of his life. He was grateful Springer or Clark hadn't brought that up.

Clark handed him the phone. "Good luck."

Clayton made the call. His boss didn't ask him anything, to his surprise.

"You take some time off, Clayton. We're all very sorry about this. It's too damned bad you didn't even get to talk to him."

So that was the story. "Yes, sir."

"The DSD guys got the report to me right away. Of course I want to hear what you have to say," Clayton smiled grimly at that, "but there's no rush. It's closed."

"Yes, sir. It is that."

His boss hung up, and Clayton looked up at Clark, who was calmly putting the phone back on the desk. "You knew he wouldn't believe me."

"He did believe you. You told him the truth, as you know it."

"Now you tell *me* the truth."

"You're not going to like it," Clark warned. At the sight of Clayton's hardening eyes, he shrugged. "Your call. Up to the point where Stoner kicked us out, the plan was to see if you could get him to come back in. If you had, Stoner would have gone right on a plane to treatment, and you and I probably would have gone with him. No problem."

"And the group?"

"Oh, they were toast. No question about that."

The casual dismissal of a group of people would have thrown most people, but not Clayton Webb. That part he understood.

"It had to be a plant, then. Someone who could get into the group."

"Yes." Clark's eyes were hidden.

"You." Clayton's tone was flat. It all made sense now. Clark Palmer had gone over, probably while the food was being prepared, explaining his sensitivity about how long it took, and pulled a gun on people who thought he was one of them. And David hadn't recognized him, so Clark must have had a convincing disguise. Or he had left the group before David was taken. Either was possible. "You killed them all."

"Not all of them. They had guns, too. If it's any comfort," Clark's voice was soft, "your friend killed himself."

"It's no comfort."

The thought of David deciding that he had no choice but to die was horrifying. Had he recognized Palmer by some chance and believed that Clayton had turned against him, too? He squeezed his eyes shut. That thought he couldn't bear.

"I know. And Clayton, he didn't recognize me when I went back to the meeting. I made sure of that."

Clayton opened his eyes at that. He hoped Clark wasn't lying to him, because that was something he really needed to hear. "Really?"

Clark nodded. "Really." He waited until Clayton sighed, then spoke again. "He really wasn't one of us, Clayton. You're right to hate him now. He wasn't worthy, and he paid for it."

Clark's words were just noise to Clayton, but soothing noise. He let them wash over him until he felt a little calmer. Then he blew out a long breath. "Were any of them armed? Or did you just kill them all?"

Clark's smile was wry. "Oh, yes. Luckily, they were rotten shots, or I would have had a hell of a time getting you to believe that I could get a wound from just walking around town by myself."

"Yes," Clayton murmured.

"Come on, Clay. Let me get you home. You've had a hell of a day."

Clayton let Clark pull him to his feet. "This could all be a lie."

"It could. But it isn't." Clark stayed standing in front of him. "Clayton," was that uncertainty in his voice again?, "you do know it was the right thing, don't you?"

Clayton nodded. "Yes, Clark. I know."

But he still hated it. And being used was not something he was going to let happen again, he vowed as he and Palmer went out into the hallway. He was going to make sure he kept a very close eye on Clark Palmer. This man was trouble, and the worst of it was, he was a damned fine agent.

"I'll have that scotch now," he said abruptly.

"Sure thing." Clark was the perfect junior again. "There's a bar in the limo. We're almost there."

He'd raise a glass to David, the bastard. His mentor, his teacher, his friend. And he'd find a way to make this known. Just not now. He got into the car and let his eyes close. Now, he wanted to forget.

"That's it, Clay. You rest. I'll make sure you get home safe and sound." Clark sounded relieved. "The traffic shouldn't be too bad yet."

"It doesn't matter. I want that drink."

"Right away."

Clayton heard the sound of ice cubes clinking into a glass, a bottle opening, then the glug of liquid being poured. He took the glass without opening his eyes and drank it straight down. It burned his throat, but he didn't care. David was dead. And he'd helped to kill him. That was the only truth he could know right now. And he had to learn to live with it.

The End

JAG