The Spider and the Fly XXI
For the many people involved with "Operation Middie," Wednesday started well before dawn. The name "Operation Middie" had been coined the night before. It referred to the domestic terrorist threat aimed at the Blue Angels' air show at the Naval Academy during Commissioning Week. Analysts, operatives and more from the FBI, NCIS, the Coast Guard and Homeland Security had been quickly coordinated to deal with the impending menace. The CIA and the National Security Agency stood in the background, ready to be tapped for intelligence support. The speedy organization of this operation was an impressive feat.
Mac tried to unobtrusively stretch her muscles. She was no stranger to long hours and demanding work but she couldn't help but feel a little tired. She dropped Harm off at his apartment just before eleven the night before. Gibbs called early this morning to give her details of her day's assignment. Early? It was more than just early. Oh four hundred was the middle of the night. Even for Mac.
It was only mid morning but already she felt like she had put in a workday. The last two hours with Gibbs' team going over communication protocols and surveillance guidelines for "Operation Middie," had been tedious to say the least.
She was now standing on the weathered boards of the pier at the Naval Station with Gibbs. The sky was clear and the sun danced off the blue water. The panorama of Annapolis Harbor was in front of her. She could see the wood dome of the State Capitol Building perched on a hill behind the Academy.
Thirty yards offshore and moving slowly towards them in a boat, was Harm and Webb. Their boat was one of several selected for 'Operation Middie. Mac didn't know much about boats, but this one was fast. Chosen to beat Saddiq's speedboat in a race at full throttle.
She studied Harm has he concentrated on piloting the large boat toward the dock. He was perched high on a white leather and chrome seat, one hand draped over the wheel and the other on the throttle. Bareheaded, he had a pair of red Oakley 'Scar' sunglasses hiding his eyes. A white T-shirt accentuated his long, tanned arms. Partially concealed by the dash, she caught a glimpse of yellow board shorts hugging his slim hips. Mac grinned to herself. Where was the Naval Academy graduate? This was more like an ex-Californian out for some fun in the sun.
Clay, on the other hand, looked like he was ready for early lunch at the Annapolis Yacht Club. Lounging on the passenger seat, he was wearing a collared golf shirt also in white, navy blue mid length shorts and a pair of deck shoes. No socks were his only concession to the informality of the setting.
She looked up and saw Gibbs was grinning at the men in the boat too. The carefree atmosphere to this summer day in Annapolis was infectious. If she weren't careful, it would be easy to forget the reason they were here.
Gibbs reached over and grabbed the line from the bow of the boat as it gently kissed the pier. He held fast as Harm cut the engines.
Harm leaned against the seat back and looked up at them. "Now what?" he asked Gibbs.
"We are headed to the public dock," he said simply. He was a man of few words. The Annapolis City Dock was across the bay next to the Academy.
Gibbs jumped down into the boat and reached out his hand to help Mac in. He was in khaki shorts, running shoes and a worn baseball hat. Understated was the word that came to mind when it came to Gibbs. She let her gaze run over him as she stepped over the sideboard. Tall, strong, good looking. Wow, she thought. Gibbs' eyes are almost as blue as Harm's. For a brief second, she felt a little weak kneed under his stare.
If only Chloe could see her now. This muscle boat had more horsepower than her Corvette. And riding around with these three men wasn't hard to take either. Chloe would be squealing. Mac tried hard to keep her face expressionless. She ran her hands down her low-cut shorts smoothing out the fabric. Thank goodness she took a few extra minutes to shave her legs this morning.
She sat down on the rear seat and when she glanced up toward the front, Harm turned to look at her. Making eye contact, he shook his head slightly and rolled his eyes. He had caught her ogling Gibbs. She suppressed a smile.
Maybe it would be best to divert Harm toward a different line of thought.
"How's your leg?" she asked. This was the first time she had seen him today.
He paused, hand poised on the key to turn on the engines. "I don't know. I thought maybe I'd ask you. You seem to be the one checking out legs here," he said, smirking. He twisted his hand and the boat jumped to life. They started to pull away from the dock.
She felt heat creep across her face. "Nice shorts," she countered, shouting over the noise of the motors. He glanced down at the yellow shorts and slipped off the seat to give her a better view, switching hands on the wheel as he turned slightly. His cocky, aviator attitude was out in full force today. She tried to drum up her usual indignation at his manner and failed. His attitude was catching.
"You like 'em?" he shouted back.
"I like them so much I think you should wear them to Chegwidden's next party."
"Maybe I will," he said.
Instead of replying, she just waved him off and he returned his attention to the boat. They picked up speed. She shook her hair in the wind. Feeling the warmth of the sun, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She hoped the trip across the harbor didn't end too soon.
#
Webb stood and watched as Gibbs helped Harm onto the crowded city dock from the boat. Mac handed him a cane. The crutches from the hospital had been ditched for the walking stick Webb remembered from Harm's crash two years earlier. Mac hovered next to his elbow, ready to give a hand if needed.
Webb felt a little impatient at the lack of information from laconic Gibbs. He didn't want to start playing twenty questions with the man. But at least he could fill them in on what was happening next.
As if he could read Webb's thoughts, Gibbs started to speak, "That's the Annapolis Harbor Master's office," he said pointing to a three-storied building in the middle of the busy quay. "The top floor offers a 360 degree view of the harbor. It's an ideal place to monitor boat traffic coming in and out of the many marinas at Eastport and Spa Creek. It's a prime location for our purposes."
"You're putting a team there," said Mac.
"Yes," he said.
"Hope you briefed the team well," said Webb. "Saddiq has a long 'known associates' list."
"No need to brief them," said Gibbs. "The people I have in mind already have past personal experience with Saddiq and his people in Paraguay."
Webb turned to Gibbs in surprise. "Who is that? No one knew much about him before I landed in Paraguay six months ago."
Instead of replying, Gibbs just looked at Webb. Suddenly, understanding came him. "You want me up there?" Webb said, gesturing toward the building.
"Yup," said Gibbs monosyllabically.
Harm chimed in. "Clay, it's a good idea. It will keep you out of trouble, considering your, ahh, circumstances,"
Rabb was all for ditching him. "It's a good place for Mac, too," he heard Harm continue. The man was trying to protect Mac again. Well, if he were going to be stuck there, Webb knew he would enjoy Mac as a partner.
Gibbs shook his head. "Not Mac. You," he said pointing to Harm.
Harm looked incredulous. "Me?"
"Yup. That leg is a handicap. And I can use Mac's language skills. She knows Saddiq too. I want her out on the water," said Gibbs.
The look of consternation on Harm's face was comical. Webb almost laughed. But when he thought about a long afternoon watching boats through binoculars cooped up with Rabb, his smile faded. Not his idea of exciting participation in "Operation Middie." And from the look on Rabb's face, he felt the same.
Gibbs continued. "The top room is equipped with radio headsets, telescopes, binoculars and intelligence reports. Everything you need." Gibbs took the boat keys from Harm. "Good luck."
"Gee thanks, Gibbs," said Webb.
#
"Jeezus, Rabb, quit pacing," said Webb. Harm's limping hop step was starting to be annoying. He put down his binoculars on the counter and glared at him. "You're driving me crazy." They were well into hour three of their watch. From the activity on their headsets, Operation Middie had turned up nothing. It was disheartening.
"The air show is almost over, Webb. That's the last stunt. And what do we have to show for it? Nothing," said Harm, showing his frustration.
"Nothing is going to happen today. Saddiq's hiding. He's targeting the flyby on Friday and he's laying low today. He's not stupid," said Webb, resuming his scrutiny of the boat traffic. He gave a low whistle. "Just look at this one," pointing to an outbound cabin cruiser.
Harm snatched up his binoculars quickly and stared out the window. Webb smiled when he heard him say, "Quit watching the blondes in the thongs, Webb."
"These binoculars are so good I can think I can read the writing on her tattoo," Webb continued, squinting as he looked through the lenses.
Harm ignored him. He went back to pacing.
"Lighten up, Rabb." Harm had always been a stiff. He sighed. He wondered how much longer till they could abandon this post.
Webb continued to scan the boats. He methodically moved from boat to boat. He focused on every occupant, pausing to identify. He mentally flipped through the faces of Saddiq's associates in his mind. Nothing.
"Clay?" He heard Harm's voice off to one side.
"Yeah?" he said, not pausing to take his eyes off small sailboat entering his view.
"Why is Hardy here? I didn't think the Company trusted him."
"Hardy? Can't be. He's still in Paraguay as far as I know," said Webb, coming out from behind the binoculars to look at Harm. "Why?"
"Hardy's here, walking down the board walk," said Harm pointing. Webb didn't need binoculars to see the CIA's Paraguayan operative striding purposefully only 30 yards away. Harm paused then spoke again, "Webb, you don't know everything. Maybe they brought him in on this."
Webb knew that Harm was wrong. "Never. He is under suspicion for treason. This is the last thing they want him involved with."
They continued to watch him in silence. Harm started again. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"That means then..." Harm was hesitant to say it.
"... he's here with Saddiq," spat out Webb. "Bastard." His mind lurched forward as it changed gears. "We have to follow him."
Webb looked at Harm. He took in the cane and the white-bandaged leg. Without saying a word, he whirled around and ran for the stair well. Rabb would have to fend for himself. He couldn't wait for him.
Hardy! Webb couldn't believe that he was here in Annapolis. Hardy had often been a focus of his thoughts since he woke in his hospital bed in Baltimore. Downtime was useful in that way. It gave you hour upon hour to rehash details about old ops. Helped to build some perspective. In this case, the more he thought about Hardy, the more he was convinced the man had a hand in the series of tragic events that engulfed Sarah and himself. The events that had nearly killed him.
Was Hardy working for Saddiq? Oh yeah, thought Webb. He thought about his abuse of drugs and alcohol. And every time Hardy drank, the conversation eventually turned to the Company. How they had screwed him. What they had done to him.
But even if he was working for Saddiq - what was he doing here? Webb's mind whirled around for a while, seeking answers to that question. What use would Hardy be to the terrorist in the US?
Hardy's main advantage to Saddiq was his in-depth knowledge of the CIA and how it worked. What it did.
In fact, the reverse was also true. Under normal circumstances, Hardy's knowledge of this terrorist's organization would be invaluable to the Company. They would most certainly utilize him in "Operation Middie." He would be an asset.
Hardy would be an asset all right, thought Webb as he burst out the front door of the Harbor Master's building. Saddiq would find the details of "Operation Middie" to be of great assistance.
Webb squinted in the bright sun light. Where had Hardy gone? He scanned the crowd. At the far end of the pier, he saw him. He was about to cross from the pier onto Main Street. Webb could see his slight figure at intermittent intervals through the throng of people. He started to memorize his clothing, mentally filing away details for future reference.
Had the Company brought Hardy to Annapolis? No. Webb was certain of that. In debriefing with the DDCI, Webb had fully disclosed his doubts about Hardy. The DDCI was in agreement. He was dangerous.
For security purposes, that information had gone no further than the DDCI's office. This meant it would be easy for Hardy to blend into "Operation Middie." He was known in the intelligence community. Knew the protocols. How to act. The only one who would suspect that he was a traitor would be Webb. And he was half dead in Johns Hopkins, right?
Wrong, thought Webb. He was starting to breathe heavily as he ran along the boardwalk toward Main Street. Shit. He could feel the weeks of inactivity catch up to him. Not what his doctor had in mind when he said to take it easy.
He started to slow his pace. He had almost caught up to Hardy and he needed to keep a discrete distance. It was a simple task to blend into the background of this busy commercial street. Sidewalks teamed with tourists meandering along, looking in store windows. Main Street climbed a hill up from the waterfront to the area known as State Circle. In the center of State Circle was Maryland's historic State House where Washington resigned his commission from the Continental Army. Hardy continued his deliberate pace up the hill towards State Circle.
Webb stopped suddenly and slipped into an alcove provided by a storefront. Hardy had also stopped and was looking to cross the street, scanning up and down. Webb saw him cross then walk into an alley. The sign at the entry of the alley said 'Municipal Parkade'.
Shit, thought Webb. He is going for his car. Now what? He stepped out toward the street, ready to follow him. At least I can get the make, model and tags, he thought.
As he was half across the Main Street when he heard a voice behind him. "Need a lift?"
It was Harm. In a dark blue sedan marked Annapolis Harbor Master.
"About time you showed up," said Webb as he climbed into the passenger seat. "Nice car."
Harm ignored him. "Where to?"
Webb pointed to the alley with the Parkade. "Hardy just went in there. Going for his car. We can pick him up as he comes out."
TBC
7
For the many people involved with "Operation Middie," Wednesday started well before dawn. The name "Operation Middie" had been coined the night before. It referred to the domestic terrorist threat aimed at the Blue Angels' air show at the Naval Academy during Commissioning Week. Analysts, operatives and more from the FBI, NCIS, the Coast Guard and Homeland Security had been quickly coordinated to deal with the impending menace. The CIA and the National Security Agency stood in the background, ready to be tapped for intelligence support. The speedy organization of this operation was an impressive feat.
Mac tried to unobtrusively stretch her muscles. She was no stranger to long hours and demanding work but she couldn't help but feel a little tired. She dropped Harm off at his apartment just before eleven the night before. Gibbs called early this morning to give her details of her day's assignment. Early? It was more than just early. Oh four hundred was the middle of the night. Even for Mac.
It was only mid morning but already she felt like she had put in a workday. The last two hours with Gibbs' team going over communication protocols and surveillance guidelines for "Operation Middie," had been tedious to say the least.
She was now standing on the weathered boards of the pier at the Naval Station with Gibbs. The sky was clear and the sun danced off the blue water. The panorama of Annapolis Harbor was in front of her. She could see the wood dome of the State Capitol Building perched on a hill behind the Academy.
Thirty yards offshore and moving slowly towards them in a boat, was Harm and Webb. Their boat was one of several selected for 'Operation Middie. Mac didn't know much about boats, but this one was fast. Chosen to beat Saddiq's speedboat in a race at full throttle.
She studied Harm has he concentrated on piloting the large boat toward the dock. He was perched high on a white leather and chrome seat, one hand draped over the wheel and the other on the throttle. Bareheaded, he had a pair of red Oakley 'Scar' sunglasses hiding his eyes. A white T-shirt accentuated his long, tanned arms. Partially concealed by the dash, she caught a glimpse of yellow board shorts hugging his slim hips. Mac grinned to herself. Where was the Naval Academy graduate? This was more like an ex-Californian out for some fun in the sun.
Clay, on the other hand, looked like he was ready for early lunch at the Annapolis Yacht Club. Lounging on the passenger seat, he was wearing a collared golf shirt also in white, navy blue mid length shorts and a pair of deck shoes. No socks were his only concession to the informality of the setting.
She looked up and saw Gibbs was grinning at the men in the boat too. The carefree atmosphere to this summer day in Annapolis was infectious. If she weren't careful, it would be easy to forget the reason they were here.
Gibbs reached over and grabbed the line from the bow of the boat as it gently kissed the pier. He held fast as Harm cut the engines.
Harm leaned against the seat back and looked up at them. "Now what?" he asked Gibbs.
"We are headed to the public dock," he said simply. He was a man of few words. The Annapolis City Dock was across the bay next to the Academy.
Gibbs jumped down into the boat and reached out his hand to help Mac in. He was in khaki shorts, running shoes and a worn baseball hat. Understated was the word that came to mind when it came to Gibbs. She let her gaze run over him as she stepped over the sideboard. Tall, strong, good looking. Wow, she thought. Gibbs' eyes are almost as blue as Harm's. For a brief second, she felt a little weak kneed under his stare.
If only Chloe could see her now. This muscle boat had more horsepower than her Corvette. And riding around with these three men wasn't hard to take either. Chloe would be squealing. Mac tried hard to keep her face expressionless. She ran her hands down her low-cut shorts smoothing out the fabric. Thank goodness she took a few extra minutes to shave her legs this morning.
She sat down on the rear seat and when she glanced up toward the front, Harm turned to look at her. Making eye contact, he shook his head slightly and rolled his eyes. He had caught her ogling Gibbs. She suppressed a smile.
Maybe it would be best to divert Harm toward a different line of thought.
"How's your leg?" she asked. This was the first time she had seen him today.
He paused, hand poised on the key to turn on the engines. "I don't know. I thought maybe I'd ask you. You seem to be the one checking out legs here," he said, smirking. He twisted his hand and the boat jumped to life. They started to pull away from the dock.
She felt heat creep across her face. "Nice shorts," she countered, shouting over the noise of the motors. He glanced down at the yellow shorts and slipped off the seat to give her a better view, switching hands on the wheel as he turned slightly. His cocky, aviator attitude was out in full force today. She tried to drum up her usual indignation at his manner and failed. His attitude was catching.
"You like 'em?" he shouted back.
"I like them so much I think you should wear them to Chegwidden's next party."
"Maybe I will," he said.
Instead of replying, she just waved him off and he returned his attention to the boat. They picked up speed. She shook her hair in the wind. Feeling the warmth of the sun, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She hoped the trip across the harbor didn't end too soon.
#
Webb stood and watched as Gibbs helped Harm onto the crowded city dock from the boat. Mac handed him a cane. The crutches from the hospital had been ditched for the walking stick Webb remembered from Harm's crash two years earlier. Mac hovered next to his elbow, ready to give a hand if needed.
Webb felt a little impatient at the lack of information from laconic Gibbs. He didn't want to start playing twenty questions with the man. But at least he could fill them in on what was happening next.
As if he could read Webb's thoughts, Gibbs started to speak, "That's the Annapolis Harbor Master's office," he said pointing to a three-storied building in the middle of the busy quay. "The top floor offers a 360 degree view of the harbor. It's an ideal place to monitor boat traffic coming in and out of the many marinas at Eastport and Spa Creek. It's a prime location for our purposes."
"You're putting a team there," said Mac.
"Yes," he said.
"Hope you briefed the team well," said Webb. "Saddiq has a long 'known associates' list."
"No need to brief them," said Gibbs. "The people I have in mind already have past personal experience with Saddiq and his people in Paraguay."
Webb turned to Gibbs in surprise. "Who is that? No one knew much about him before I landed in Paraguay six months ago."
Instead of replying, Gibbs just looked at Webb. Suddenly, understanding came him. "You want me up there?" Webb said, gesturing toward the building.
"Yup," said Gibbs monosyllabically.
Harm chimed in. "Clay, it's a good idea. It will keep you out of trouble, considering your, ahh, circumstances,"
Rabb was all for ditching him. "It's a good place for Mac, too," he heard Harm continue. The man was trying to protect Mac again. Well, if he were going to be stuck there, Webb knew he would enjoy Mac as a partner.
Gibbs shook his head. "Not Mac. You," he said pointing to Harm.
Harm looked incredulous. "Me?"
"Yup. That leg is a handicap. And I can use Mac's language skills. She knows Saddiq too. I want her out on the water," said Gibbs.
The look of consternation on Harm's face was comical. Webb almost laughed. But when he thought about a long afternoon watching boats through binoculars cooped up with Rabb, his smile faded. Not his idea of exciting participation in "Operation Middie." And from the look on Rabb's face, he felt the same.
Gibbs continued. "The top room is equipped with radio headsets, telescopes, binoculars and intelligence reports. Everything you need." Gibbs took the boat keys from Harm. "Good luck."
"Gee thanks, Gibbs," said Webb.
#
"Jeezus, Rabb, quit pacing," said Webb. Harm's limping hop step was starting to be annoying. He put down his binoculars on the counter and glared at him. "You're driving me crazy." They were well into hour three of their watch. From the activity on their headsets, Operation Middie had turned up nothing. It was disheartening.
"The air show is almost over, Webb. That's the last stunt. And what do we have to show for it? Nothing," said Harm, showing his frustration.
"Nothing is going to happen today. Saddiq's hiding. He's targeting the flyby on Friday and he's laying low today. He's not stupid," said Webb, resuming his scrutiny of the boat traffic. He gave a low whistle. "Just look at this one," pointing to an outbound cabin cruiser.
Harm snatched up his binoculars quickly and stared out the window. Webb smiled when he heard him say, "Quit watching the blondes in the thongs, Webb."
"These binoculars are so good I can think I can read the writing on her tattoo," Webb continued, squinting as he looked through the lenses.
Harm ignored him. He went back to pacing.
"Lighten up, Rabb." Harm had always been a stiff. He sighed. He wondered how much longer till they could abandon this post.
Webb continued to scan the boats. He methodically moved from boat to boat. He focused on every occupant, pausing to identify. He mentally flipped through the faces of Saddiq's associates in his mind. Nothing.
"Clay?" He heard Harm's voice off to one side.
"Yeah?" he said, not pausing to take his eyes off small sailboat entering his view.
"Why is Hardy here? I didn't think the Company trusted him."
"Hardy? Can't be. He's still in Paraguay as far as I know," said Webb, coming out from behind the binoculars to look at Harm. "Why?"
"Hardy's here, walking down the board walk," said Harm pointing. Webb didn't need binoculars to see the CIA's Paraguayan operative striding purposefully only 30 yards away. Harm paused then spoke again, "Webb, you don't know everything. Maybe they brought him in on this."
Webb knew that Harm was wrong. "Never. He is under suspicion for treason. This is the last thing they want him involved with."
They continued to watch him in silence. Harm started again. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"That means then..." Harm was hesitant to say it.
"... he's here with Saddiq," spat out Webb. "Bastard." His mind lurched forward as it changed gears. "We have to follow him."
Webb looked at Harm. He took in the cane and the white-bandaged leg. Without saying a word, he whirled around and ran for the stair well. Rabb would have to fend for himself. He couldn't wait for him.
Hardy! Webb couldn't believe that he was here in Annapolis. Hardy had often been a focus of his thoughts since he woke in his hospital bed in Baltimore. Downtime was useful in that way. It gave you hour upon hour to rehash details about old ops. Helped to build some perspective. In this case, the more he thought about Hardy, the more he was convinced the man had a hand in the series of tragic events that engulfed Sarah and himself. The events that had nearly killed him.
Was Hardy working for Saddiq? Oh yeah, thought Webb. He thought about his abuse of drugs and alcohol. And every time Hardy drank, the conversation eventually turned to the Company. How they had screwed him. What they had done to him.
But even if he was working for Saddiq - what was he doing here? Webb's mind whirled around for a while, seeking answers to that question. What use would Hardy be to the terrorist in the US?
Hardy's main advantage to Saddiq was his in-depth knowledge of the CIA and how it worked. What it did.
In fact, the reverse was also true. Under normal circumstances, Hardy's knowledge of this terrorist's organization would be invaluable to the Company. They would most certainly utilize him in "Operation Middie." He would be an asset.
Hardy would be an asset all right, thought Webb as he burst out the front door of the Harbor Master's building. Saddiq would find the details of "Operation Middie" to be of great assistance.
Webb squinted in the bright sun light. Where had Hardy gone? He scanned the crowd. At the far end of the pier, he saw him. He was about to cross from the pier onto Main Street. Webb could see his slight figure at intermittent intervals through the throng of people. He started to memorize his clothing, mentally filing away details for future reference.
Had the Company brought Hardy to Annapolis? No. Webb was certain of that. In debriefing with the DDCI, Webb had fully disclosed his doubts about Hardy. The DDCI was in agreement. He was dangerous.
For security purposes, that information had gone no further than the DDCI's office. This meant it would be easy for Hardy to blend into "Operation Middie." He was known in the intelligence community. Knew the protocols. How to act. The only one who would suspect that he was a traitor would be Webb. And he was half dead in Johns Hopkins, right?
Wrong, thought Webb. He was starting to breathe heavily as he ran along the boardwalk toward Main Street. Shit. He could feel the weeks of inactivity catch up to him. Not what his doctor had in mind when he said to take it easy.
He started to slow his pace. He had almost caught up to Hardy and he needed to keep a discrete distance. It was a simple task to blend into the background of this busy commercial street. Sidewalks teamed with tourists meandering along, looking in store windows. Main Street climbed a hill up from the waterfront to the area known as State Circle. In the center of State Circle was Maryland's historic State House where Washington resigned his commission from the Continental Army. Hardy continued his deliberate pace up the hill towards State Circle.
Webb stopped suddenly and slipped into an alcove provided by a storefront. Hardy had also stopped and was looking to cross the street, scanning up and down. Webb saw him cross then walk into an alley. The sign at the entry of the alley said 'Municipal Parkade'.
Shit, thought Webb. He is going for his car. Now what? He stepped out toward the street, ready to follow him. At least I can get the make, model and tags, he thought.
As he was half across the Main Street when he heard a voice behind him. "Need a lift?"
It was Harm. In a dark blue sedan marked Annapolis Harbor Master.
"About time you showed up," said Webb as he climbed into the passenger seat. "Nice car."
Harm ignored him. "Where to?"
Webb pointed to the alley with the Parkade. "Hardy just went in there. Going for his car. We can pick him up as he comes out."
TBC
7