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Title: Tapes From Beyond: Clayton Webb Author: Ali Cherry Summary: Disclaimer: Tapes From Beyond: Clayton WebbClayton Webb sat down on his couch. His body tired and aging, he looked at the calendar. A year ago, he had sat in the back of the church, while Little AJ, Clay chuckled, well not so little AJ had played that tape at Harm's funeral. It had taken a little finagling but everyone had gotten to hear the tapes while Harm was alive. Except mine. Clay looked at the tape sitting on his coffee table. Clayton Webb was scrawled on the label, the adhesive yellowed and mangled by the years. I know what mine says, Clay thought to himself. There was an unspoken promise between the two men. If Harm ever died, Clay was to take care of those left behind. Help them anyway he could. Three weeks ago, Webb had pulled every string to get Mac an hour in the White House Gardens without anyone around. To say goodbye, she had said. Clay knew it was to tell Harm; she still loved him, that nothing could diminish their partnership. What Mac didn't know was that Clay had watched her discreetly. "I miss you, Harm." The words died in the stale air of his spacious town house. Maybe it was time to listen, to hear what that Harm from long ago, had had to stay to the Clay of even longer ago. The tape player creaked and groaned opened. Who used these silly things anymore? Those new fangled CD writers were the thing. Digital info. There was a tell tale click to remind Clay that the tape had been turned on. "Hey Webb. Guess what? You probably got your wish; I'm dead or, at the least, MIA. As I told Mac, I'm not afraid, because I have loved and been loved, I have an eternity of memories to keep me warm. I don't regret any of my actions. "I know I don't have to tell you to take care of Mac, the Admiral and the Roberts. And you had better watch out for little AJ if something happens to me. I mean no more CIA stuff, kay? Don't drag them into that stuff, please Clay." Webb snorted; He himself was too old to do that stuff anymore. "That's not what this tape is about though. Thought you had it easy didn't you?" Harm chuckled. "I want you to understand Clayton Webb, that though I may have disagreed with the secrets. I was proud to call you a friend. "Don't laugh, you pig headed idiot. You serve this country the same as I do. I know that. You may piss me off, and push all my buttons, but I understand your drive. Is that why you chose me? Because you knew me as easily as I knew you? "I can tell your scoffing. I'm dead Webb, there's no one to deny to anymore. You missed your dad as much as I did. You may know how he died, but you have this need to prove yourself to his ghost. Does everyone at the Agency remember him; compare you to him? Do you feel inadequate to his memory? "I always have. Everyone called me righteous, perfect. But when it came down to it, I never was anyone other than Junior. My father's son. The person that was neither a lawyer, nor a pilot. No one knew what to do with me, and I guess that's why I push myself. I want to fit one mold. I want to be known as Lt. Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. Lawyer and Pilot. Not flying lawyer, or lawyer who flies his desk like a tomcat. "So this is what it boils down too. I didn't know your father, but I know you Clay. I have seen the worst your operations could get, and I know that the good ones, I'll never know about. You are Clayton Webb, a man that earned my respect and friendship on the second meeting. You just annoyed me the first time. So good luck, don't die. And try not to kill any of my friends. Harm." Webb smiled to himself. The damn man can surprise me after 25 some odd years of association. Friendship. "Honey? I'm home." Webb looked up to see his wife enter the town home. "Hey Sweet stuff." He watched her eyes travel to the dusty old tape player. "I was wondering when you were going to listen to that." Webb wouldn't meet her eyes. "Too busy after the funeral that's all." "Liar." She kissed his cheek, hitting the stereo to a particular tune on her way to the bedroom. The soft silky sound of Sting floated over the room, as Clay drifted off to his catnap. After all, being an Undersecretary of State was a busy job. I haven't heard him in a long time. Clay fell asleep, a picture of Harmon Rabb in full uniform coming to his rescue in the dark hold of ship. Catching him when he would have fallen. His brownish gray eyes full of understanding. I watch the western sky The sun is sinking The geese are flying south It sets me thinking I did not miss you much I did not suffer What did not kill me Just made me tougher I feel the winter come His icy sinews Now in the firelight The case continues Another bight in court The same old trial The same old questions asked The same denial The shadows close me round Like jury members I look for answers in The fire's embers Why was I missing then That whole December? I give my usual line, I don't remember Another winter comes His icy fingers creep Into these bones of mine These memories never sleep And all these differences A cloak I burrowed We kept our distances Why should it follow that I must have loved you? What is the force that binds the stars? I wore this mask to hide my scars What is the power that pulls the tide? Never could find a place to hide What moves the earth around the sun? What could I do but run and run and run? Afraid to love, afraid to fail A mast without a sail The moon's a fingernail A slowly sinking Another day begins And now I'm thinking That this indifference Was my invention When everything I did Sought your attention You were my compass star You were my measure You were a pirate's map Of buried treasure If this was all correct The last thing I'd expect The prosecution rests It's time that I confessed I must have loved you I must have loved you. |