Agents of Chaos

By Storm

Commander Lee Crane sat across the desk from the Army intelligence officer and scowled. “Are you telling me that you pulled me off of Seaview and brought me to West Germany just to help you check out some religious fruitcakes?!”

“No, Commander, we pulled you off Seaview to help check out some religious fruitcakes who we believe are being used by East German intelligence.”

The scowl settled, replaced by resignation. “Okay. I can live with that. But why me? Why not somebody in Army Intelligence?”

It was the major’s turn to scowl as he reluctantly admitted, “We think they have a spy on the base. Oh, Hell, let’s be honest - I know they have at least one spy on base, if not more. They certainly seem to know who my people are,” he added glumly. “I’ve not told anyone here about you - I need a face none of them know or would expect.”

Lee sat back in his chair, contemplating the information he’d just been given. If the other side had indeed identified all of Major Seagroatt’s people, then it did sound like a serious enough problem to justify ONI loaning him to the Army. Which wouldn’t really be all that surprising given how close they were to the East German border. The Communists were always trying to create some kind of chaos in the area.

“Okay. I’ll accept that. Just what is it you want me to do?”

“I’d like for you to assume the identity of a GI…”

Crane’s eyebrows rose. Seagroatt wanted a Navy commander to impersonate an army grunt?

The intelligence office correctly read his expression and grimaced. “I know it sounds crazy. But Sommes says you’re the only guy he knows offhand that we can trust that has a hope of pulling it off.”

Alexis Sommes. That explained a lot. And if Sommes had recommended bringing him in, then the problem was very serious. He couldn’t help the small shake of his head.

The major opened his mouth to say more, but at that moment his desk sergeant stuck his head in the door and announced, “Major, there’s something weird going on you ought to know about.”

Weird was not a word people in the intelligence community liked to hear. With a frown, the major beckoned the sergeant in. “What is it?”

“You remember that sergeant and his wife who were mixed up with the Agar bunch, the one that got shipped back stateside about ten months ago? The McRaven kid?”

“Yeah?” The major’s frown deepened into an outright scowl.

“He’s back. With his wife and her brother, who’s a GI, not to mention - get this - his older sister. Not only that, he’s got a reservist ID. All four of them are on base even as we speak.”

Major Seagroatt swore a vile oath. “And looking for his pals, I’ll bet.”

“Yeah, but,” the sergeant hesitated for a second, then added, “there’s something odd about that too.”

Odd was another word that made intelligence operatives cringe.

“Odd in what way?” Crane asked. If he was going to be involved in this situation, then he needed to know every detail about what was going on.

The sergeant blinked and gave him a speculative look, then looked at his CO to see his reaction. When the major merely nodded grimly, the look became more probing.

“Well. Sir, Sergeant McRaven and his wife appear to be looking for a dog.”

“A what?!” The major looked astonished. “What the hell does a dog have to do with anything?”

“That’s what I asked,” replied the sergeant somewhat wryly. “It seems the McRavens had to leave their dog behind - with the Agars - when they rotated back to the States. And now the Agars won’t tell them what they did with it.”

“Huh.” It was Crane’s turn to look speculative. “A falling out perhaps?” he suggested.

“Could be,” admitted the sergeant. “The McRavens showed back up here dressed western - cowboy western, right down to the boots and hats - and you know how the Agar’s feel about women in pants.”

Crane arched an eyebrow in question.

“Fundamentalist sect,” explained the major, “or so they claim. Real authoritarian.”

“They must get a lot of Germans then,” noted Crane. “That sounds like something they’d love.”

Seagroatt shook his head. “That’s the kicker with this bunch. They don’t care to recruit the locals - only American GI’s.”

“Ah.” That would be the sort of thing that would make the intelligence community nervous.

“Oh, but that’s not the best of it, sir.” At the major’s rolled eyes, the sergeant grinned and added, “McRaven’s sister seems to be the one running their side of the encounter.”

“As Alice once said, curiouser and curiouser,” commented Crane. “Does anybody know anything about her?”

“No,” admitted the major. “One of the first things the Agars try to do is cut the GIs off from their families and isolate them socially from the rest of the Army community. As far as I know, none of their families ever came around while they were posted here.”

“But now he’s back with his sister and brother-in-law? Doesn‘t sound like they were all that successful in cutting the sergeant or his wife off from family then,” commented Crane as he leaned back in his chair.

The major’s look began to brighten as he considered the implications. “You may be right. It could very well mean a falling out.” His gaze took on a faraway look . “I wonder if there’s any way to use this?”

Crane cocked his head to one side and gave the matter some thought. “Throw a security alert, shut down the base - but let these four still come and go while you put a tail on them. See what falls out of the woodwork,” he suggested.

A wicked grin spread across the major’s face. “Use them as bird dogs. And if they weren’t at odds with the Agars before, they will be. I like it, Commander. You are a devious man.”

That brought a laugh from Crane, who responded, “So certain of my friends tell me, Major. It’s remotely possible that this will provoke the Agars into doing something that will give you an opportunity to arrest the whole bunch.”

Major Seagroatt immediately shook his head. “Some of the small fry maybe, but not the leaders. They’re pros.”

“Even pros can make mistakes, especially where amateurs are concerned.”

“Amateurs?” asked the major in a puzzled tone.

“The McRavens. A confrontation like this is something a pro would never do. There’s no telling what they will do. Things could get … interesting.”

Interesting was another of those words that made intelligence operatives cringe.

~ooOoo~

Lee Crane sat at a table in the base commissary, dressed in army fatigues, discretely listening to the conversation from a table across the room that was being picked up by a small directional microphone.

It was all he could do to keep a straight face.

The female contingent of the McRavens - or the Hole-In-the-Wall Gang as the sergeant had taken to calling them - was eating lunch in the base commissary, while the two men were gassing up their rented vehicle. Mrs. McRaven was currently in the middle of what could only be called a rant - and it was directed at the Agars. Her sister-in-law was letting her vent, offering only an occasional comment - and keeping a close watch on the people coming and going in the commissary. Every so often her gaze would settle on Crane in suspicion. Crane was positive that McRaven’s sister had made them the first time he and the major had set out to tail the four, though he had yet to convince Major Seagroatt of it. He also suspected that unlike her brother and his wife, the sister was all too aware of the danger lurking in what they were about.

It was probably a good thing she was running their little op instead of one of the others. She’d chosen a common model and color of Mercedes to drive - blending in on the highway - and instead of staying at the usual hotel where the few tourists that came through normally did, the group had managed to vanish into the countryside. He suspected they’d found a German hostel to stay in. As a consequence they were blending in with the local populace well enough that the Agars had yet to find them.

They’d even managed to conceal their hideaway from the major and his sergeant - which was the reason for the nickname that had been bestowed upon them. Oh, Crane had no doubt that a call to the local police could have quickly located them, but one of the curious aspects about this particular kabuki dance was the lengths to which all the participants were going to keep it off the local German authorities’ radar.

It was almost comical.

Motion at the door caught Crane’s attention and he turned an eye to see Sergeant McRaven and his brother-in-law entering. From the expression on his face, something was up. Crane kept his head down, appearing to concentrate on his meal as he concentrated instead on the conversation at the other table.

The dog, it appeared, had been found.

There was immediate motion at the other table. As inexorably as the tide, the four moved purposely towards the door. Crane waited just long enough to let them reach the curb, then rose to follow. They were in their car, pulling out of their parking space as he came out the door. Taking note of the direction they were headed he got in the car he’d been loaned and headed that way as well, hanging far enough back so as to not be too obvious.

The Mercedes headed into the base housing section. Crane nodded to himself. Once he and the major had known what the McRavens were looking for, it had been relatively easy for them to locate the dog. They had been curious to see how serious the McRaven’s had been in their quest.

They’d been serious enough to figuratively turn the base upside down and shake it. Now they were headed straight to where Crane knew the dog was. What would seem to be a frivolous quest to some was very serious to these people. Having read the major’s file on the sergeant, he knew the sergeant and his wife couldn’t have children because of a medical condition Mrs. McRaven suffered from. He also knew that such childless couples often had pets who took the place of children. And unlike the Major, Crane knew from personal experience that such owners would leave no stone unturned in their quest for a lost pet.

The Agars had obviously failed to consider the emotional motivation their spite would generate; it was a common failing with communist agents who had never actually lived in the US. They just never seemed to appreciate the bond between Americans and their animals.

Lee parked and got out of the car to stroll towards the small crowd that was gathering in front of one of the apartments. Another GI and his wife were coming down the steps, the dog in the wife’s arms. It was clear they were uncertain of just what exactly was going on.

What was going on was a joyous reunion between a woman and her dog.

So it was with some astonishment that after a few moments Crane watched Mrs. McRaven hand the dog back to the other woman, tears in her eyes. He leaned forward to catch the conversation; they didn’t have, it turned out, the means to get the dog back to the States. Seaview’s captain could almost feel the bafflement of the Major hovering behind him. They’d come all this way to find a dog and were going to just leave it?

Crane doubted that things were over. In fact, judging from the expression on Mrs. McRaven’s face as she headed back to the car, he knew that at that moment he wouldn’t have wanted to be in any of the Agars’ shoes for all the money in the world. There was a woman who was going to be looking to take her pound of flesh from where it would hurt the worst. The McRaven clan retired to their car and promptly went into an intense conversation. It was hard to make out what they were saying, even with his little toy, but the gist of the discussion seemed to concern the recovery of personal papers and objects that the McRaven’s had also left in the custody of the Agars.

Crane gave Major Seagroatt a look of mingled horror and astonishment. “They left their birth certificates and school records with these people?”

The Major scowled. “Until now, no one was aware of that little detail.”

Crane could only shake his head. It was a miracle that Soviet agents hadn’t already replaced the McRavens - after all, they wouldn’t have to bother with fake papers when they had genuine articles in hand.

The McRaven’s car pulled out, catching Crane and Seagroatt off guard. As it promptly headed for the front gate of the base, the pair fell in discretely behind. Once back on the streets of the town beyond, however, the McRavens proceeded to pull over at the first public pay phone and the sergeant, the others in tow, got out to make a phone call. The two officers shared a look of puzzlement. Now what?

Crane felt his eyes brows climb once it became apparent that the call was to the Agars, to demand their belongings back. The McRavens were nothing if not bold. In these heated exchange that followed, with threats of police being called, it appeared the Agars had finally agreed to surrender the items in question. A meeting time was set for later that afternoon. Crane could only shake his head, thinking the McRavens had made a serious error in giving the Agars time to prepare for a confrontation.

The McRavens got back in their car, determined looks on their faces, and immediately headed on into town.

Crane let a wrinkle of momentary bafflement crease his forehead. The McRavens had just told the Agars they’d be there to get their stuff in three hours, but they were heading off now - and in a hurry. Where could they be going?

Then it hit him. The time given had been a ruse - the McRavens were going after their belongings now, before the Agars had time to either move anything or set up a confrontation with superior numbers. This was going to be interesting.

“We need to follow them with a back-up team,” he told Seagroatt, “They’re going in now.”

“What?!” the major spluttered, “You’re joking!”

“Does that,” Crane indicated the car that was about to vanish into traffic, “look like they are just going for drive?”

Seagroatt gazed unhappily down the street. “No.” He reached for his radio as he admitted, “You’re right - that direction is where the Agars have their property.”

“Then we know where they’re going.”

The major got on his radio and snapped out orders, putting a security team was en route to met them a few blocks from the Agar property.

The drive took only minutes. The major pulled his car into an alley; shrubbery shielded the car from the view of anyone on the Agar church grounds but was thin enough for Crane and his companions to see the events taking place in the Agar parking lot.

What was happening was a one sided confrontation - the four McRavens against two of the Agars - and from the looks of it, two of the lowest ranked members. The pair was clearly outclassed. It was less than a minute after Crane and the major had pulled to a stop that the McRavens had gained entrance to the building and had begun to carry out boxes. They were not, however, simply loading the boxes into the car - and it quickly became obvious as to why.

There were far too many boxes to fit into a passenger car, even one the size of a four door Mercedes.

As Crane watched in fascination, the four McRavens opened all of the boxes and started a rapid sorting process right there in the parking lot. Some articles went into the car, while others were discarded into a large garbage bin setting at the edge of the pavement. He couldn’t help but admire their nerve, taking the time for this right in front of people who were unmistakably unfriendly, knowing that even more people who would be even more antagonistic could appear at any moment.

Thirty minutes later the task was done - and not a moment too soon. The radio crackled to inform Major Seagroatt that the head honcho himself was heading in, with what could only be described as ‘muscle’ to back him up.

The McRavens piled back into their car and as Crane and the others prepared to swoop in. Agar himself had stopped his vehicle on the other side of the building, apparently intending to stage an ambush, but as he and his men came around the corner at a dead run, the McRavens peeled out and their Mercedes bolted for the highway - and away from the Army base where Crane had expected them to run. Was this going to turn into a car chase?

Apparently so. Agar and his cronies stopped short as the Mercedes screeched out onto the road, then wheeled and headed back to their own car.

“Let them pursue,” said Crane to the major. “We want to catch them red-handed in an illegal act.” That wasn’t all - Agar looked like somebody he knew, but wanted to be sure before he mentioned it, because it seemed so highly unlikely.

The major looked startled. “It could be rough on the McRavens,” he warned.

Crane shrugged wryly. “The sergeant and his brother-in-law are military.”

“But the women aren’t.” Seagroatt didn’t look happy at the prospect of involving female civilians in an intelligence op.

“It’s not an ideal situation,” Crane admitted, “But if it wraps up a spy ring….”

His only answer was a sigh.

As Agar’s vehicle squealed tires in pursuit of the McRavens, Crane and Seagroatt made a more sedate exit from their alley hiding place, falling in several blocks behind the chase now in progress.

Except that it didn’t get very far.

Crane and the major watched in astonishment as Agar’s car tried to beat a delivery truck through an intersection and only tied. The car’s occupants were fortunate that the truck hadn’t been speeding, but the narrow streets combined with the discrepancies in mass left the car pinned to the side of a stone wall. The major braked to a halt only a few yards from the wreckage; he and Crane scrambled out to see for themselves the shape of the occupants. They were all still alive, though bruised and shaken.

Agar caught sight of Major Seagroatt and scowled at him. As he started to open his mouth to say something angry to the major he caught sight of Crane - and the color drained from his face. His mouth snapped shut and his shoulders slumped. He could be heard muttering a low oath - in Russian.

“Hello, Nikolai,” said Lee Crane, a bemused smile on his face, “Long time, no see.” He’d thought the man had looked familiar as he’d come around the corner of the building, but he’d also thought he was probably mistaken.

Seagroatt’s head whipped around to stare at Crane. “Nikolai? You know this guy?”

“Nikolai Voroblev. And we’ve met.” Crane arched an eyebrow at Seagroatt. “You never showed me a picture or I could have told you that immediately.”

“Russian? KGB?” Crane simply nodded and a wolfish grin spread across Seagroatt’s face. “Well, well, well.”

Voroblev was giving them both a faintly disgusted look. “The McRavens are yours then.”

Crane shook his head. “No, Nikolai, they are exactly what they seemed - you just didn’t get them separated from their families quite as well as you thought you did.”

“Civilians? They are just civilians?” His tone was incredulous.

“Fraid so. That’s the problem with amateurs - you never know what they might do. If they are agents of anything, it’s usually chaos.”

The Russian looked wry around at the wreckage he was trapped in and sighed. “Da. They are certainly that. Where are they now?”

Crane looked up the street; the McRaven’s Mercedes was nowhere in sight.

“Gone like the wind, Nikolai. I expect they’ll be on the next plane back to the States. And never know what they left in their wake.”

Author’s note: I can blame this one on two things - an actual incident involving a dog in Germany during the waning days of the Cold War and too much World’s Wildest Police Videos.