A/N: Yeah, I apologize that this took forever to update, but my computer was having problems with the page that allowed me to add chapters, as such, I couldn't do it.
There were days when AJ Chegwidden wished he could use Clayton Webb for target practice…for his throwing knives. Today, was just another one of those days. No sooner had AJ finished staff call, than Clayton Webb showed up in his office demanding two of his officers and requesting another for an op in Ramstein, Germany. The Admiral was just about to protest that JAG Headquarters was not a front for CIA recruitment when Clayton Webb showed the Admiral orders from the SECNAV, demanding the two required officers.
The Admiral told Tiner to summon Rabb, MacKenzie and Grant to his office for this meeting. Harm was the first to arrive at the Admiral's door, Mac and Jim were a few steps behind him. Harm opened the door and found Webb standing opposite the Admiral, in the large office. "Oh Christ! Webb's here!" Harm shouted back at Mac and Jim.
"You've got to be kidding me! How many times does the Admiral have to break his nose this year?" Jim stated caustically as he and Mac caught up with Harm.
"At least one more, I think." Mac chuckled as the three of them walked into the officer. "What is it this time, Clayton? Terrorist Keebler elves turning your briefs into tea biscuits?" Mac's comment was enough to garner laughs from her JAG colleagues.
"Good one, ninja-girl." Harm whispered.
"Thanks, flyboy." Mac whispered back.
"Alright, that's enough making fun of Agent Webb, there'll be plenty of time for that later. He has an assignment for you, well two of you, Commander Rabb, your participation in this operation is completely optional but the Colonel and the Major are necessary for its success." The Admiral informed them.
"I'm going." Harm stated plainly.
"Put your hand up if you didn't see that coming?" Jim looked around the room.
"That'll be enough, Colonel." The Admiral sounded corrective.
"Yes, sir. So, what's up, Webb?" Jim had what the office had dubbed his 'big, stupid, Irish grin' working on his features.
"American Marines are suspected in a weapons trafficking ring out of Ramstein. The Colonel's fluency in German, French and Spanish will be a great asset on this mission because we don't know who the Marines are trafficking to. We've narrowed it down to Spanish Basques, French Algerians who likely have contacts to Mujahadeen or Islamic Jihad or Iranians working for the Ayatollah and the government of Iran, itself. If that is the case, the Major's Farsi comes in handy.
The problem arises with the Black Marketeers. We have two Russians and a German, running the middle man service on this one. Günter Lackenbauer, this guy has a better relationship with the Interpol Most Wanted charts than the Beatles and the Billboard charts. Drugs, guns, sex, people, if you can sell it, he can find you a buyer. Then we have two Russian brothers; Yuri and Vladimir Korsikov, the front for their operations is a caviar conglomerate that just happens to have a branch plant outside of Ramstein." Clayton Webb finished the back-story of his op.
"Alright, so aside from our language qualifications, why are we handling this? Why not the Company or someone from Marine counter-Intel?" Harm inquired.
"No one from the Company is able to get close enough to this thing without setting off alarms and Marine Intelligence has there nose so far into African and Arab bio-terrorism right now that anti-personnel explosives and submachine guns aren't exactly at the top of their priority list." Webb explained. "Here's the sell. Harm and Jim are going to pose as former Marines who are now big time American arms dealers. Your covers require the two of you to be brothers, so keep that in mind when you address each other, these two are going to be sniffing around for rats and if their doubt creeps above thirty-five percent, the two of you will be lucky to get out of this one in one piece. As for Mac, she'll be playing Harm's wife and basically, she's there for the purposes of being a Russian and Farsi translator and because I would like a sheriff for you two cowboys." Clay remarked with a sarcastic grin. "Here are your covers." Webb handed them the folios.
"Paul Bishop, Forty-one. Last rank: First Sergeant. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas." Jim read the basic information for his personality aloud.
"Evan Bishop, Thirty-four. Last rank: Staff Sergeant. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas." Harm read his basic info aloud as well.
"Zara Bishop, Thirty. Born in Tehran, Iran. Moved to America at age three, raised in Los Angeles. Met Evan while he and Paul were stationed at Camp Pendleton." Mac closed her profile.
"You three are going to have to fly commercial into Frankfurt. The Company has spread the word around Ramstein that big American arms dealers will be in town, so if you're seen flying into Ramstein on a military transport or just seen flying into Ramstein at all, it would send up too many red flags. You two have to look and sound like professional arms dealers. Harm and Jim, the two of you are going to have to undergo a little costuming to alter your appearances slightly. First, we're going to need facial hair, so quit shaving, second the two of you are going to have to change your hair colours and we're going to have to sync up your eye colour, the two of you have to look as familial as possible." Webb hadn't so much as blinked during his explanation, that's how focused he was.
"Alright, but that still leaves out one question, Webb. How are we going to get our hands on the weapons that these guys want? I know NATO has the stockpiles at Ramstein, but it's not like we can just walk in there and take it without raising some suspicions." Harm stated, he was sick of agreeing to Webb's little tangents only to find one base not covered.
"We have a man on the inside, we borrowed him from Naval Intelligence, actually." Webb had this look of smug satisfaction on his face.
"Sense of impending doom." Jim stated in an ominous voice.
"You're undercover contact at Ramstein will be Commander Lucas Horton but you all would probably know him best as Jack Keeter." Webb supplied.
"Keeter knows about this? Why do I get the feeling that one of us is going to get shot?" Mac sounded surprised by Clayton's recruitment.
"I've already been shot on one of your ops this year, Webb, you think you can spare us this time?" Jim whined.
"Are you three quite finished?" Webb inquired.
"I think so." Harm replied glibly.
"Alright, Keeter will be your contact; he'll be able to get his hands on whatever they're looking for. The Marines that we suspect are involved with Lackenbauer and the Korsikovs should make contact with you either because they see you as competition and they'll try to eliminate you or because they want to work with you. Remember, you're supposed to be the big guys on the block, so you're being outfitted with the best of everything. BMWs when you land, first class plane tickets, Armani suits, Rayban sunglasses, from head to toe; you will look the part of experienced and well connected arms dealers. These guys will not want to mess with you, so the chances are that they will contact you, to work with you and get you into the stockpiles that they've been using." Webb looked at the three officers.
"The same goes for Mac, the best of everything will be thrown on the three of you for this trip. The Company believes that if we can bring in Lackenbauer and the Korsikovs, we can cut out the middle men for the biggest arms purchases funnelling into the Middle East and western Africa, in the last decade. Alright, now when was the last time that either of you shaved?" Webb asked, already working on their disguises.
"A few days ago." It was evident, there was a light beard covering Jim's face, shaving had never been one of his priorities, something which consistently brought him into conflict with Marine Corps regulations.
"This morning." Harm replied, that too was obvious, Harm always looked clean shaven.
"Alright, Rabb, you can't shave until the mission is over. As it is, I have to take the two of you down to Langley now and put our costuming experts to work on you. You two cannot look like yourselves because it would take nothing to get photo recognition of yourselves as you are." Webb proceeded to escort the two gentlemen out of the room.
"Sounds like we're going in deep again, sir." Mac stated as she noted that AJ Chegwidden was staring out the window behind his desk.
"Nothing you haven't handled before, Major. Terrorists, thugs, renegade Marines and spies. Hell, that's a standard week around here, isn't it?" The Admiral joshed as he turned back toward her.
"Normally, sir, we're not dealing with some of Interpol's biggest enemies though. Small timers are nothing to dispose of, but we're sending two Marines and two aviators up against a very well developed crime syndicate with contacts from Baghdad to Berlin. I know Jim and Harm, sir, when they feel like David fighting Goliath, they start getting punchy." Mac tried to sound foreboding.
"Punchy, Major?" The Admiral inquired.
"Like trapped animals, sir. When they're backed into corners, they lash out and not always in the most logical fashions. That's why they took on a compound full of terrorists with only four other men and nothing but pistols and submachine guns." Mac referred to the incident earlier in the year in Syria.
"As I recall, Major. Those two were able to get you out relatively unscathed and kill pretty much every terrorist in that compound." The Admiral countered.
"Yes, sir. And I don't doubt that if they were just being soldiers on this, that whatever forces they encountered would be hard pressed, but they have to act parts here, sir. I'm not sure that either of them is enough of a spook to pull it off." Mac tried to explain.
"Major, the man you love and a dear friend of yours are, along with you, about to try and force the hands of three of the world's most powerful black marketers. If I did not have every confidence that they could pull this off, I would have counselled them to resign their commissions rather than risk their lives foolishly." The Admiral sounded fatherly. "They'll make it Mac, God doesn't have it in him to kill those two yet, they're his favourite source of entertainment."
The two of them shared a laugh and Mac slowly turned and left the Admiral's office. At Langley, that day, Harm and Jim had to sit through several hours of what Clayton Webb termed 'costuming'. First off, Harm had to have his hair died jet black. The stylists then had to craft a wig for Jim. A Marine style crew-cut would be rouse suspicions. The stylists than moved on to the eye colour, they had to pick contact lenses with a colour that was different from either of their original eye colours. In that spirit, a deep brown was selected. They then had to have extensive measurements taken so that their suits would fit to perfection.
"Webb, just tell me that they aren't going to buy our suits wherever they buy yours." Harm stated as the tailor was measuring his inseam.
"Where do they buy his suits, Harm?" Jim inquired as his tailor was taking the measurement of his waist.
"The Wal-Mart children's department." Harm quipped and the two men laughed.
"You two are a regular Abbot and Costello. Now can you quit with the snide remarks and realize that you're here because we need you." Webb tried to bring down the levity.
"Nyet!" Jim stated emphatically.
"That's Russian, you're supposed to be our German speaker, remember?" Harm smiled and watched nod in affirmation.
"Richtig, Nein!" Jim looked back over at Harm.
"That's better." Harm nodded his approval.
"What are the two of you, six?" Webb questioned. "Can you stop acting like kids and serious up, this is a very important job. You've got more high-ranking eyes watching your progress on this than there were waiting on the success of the D-Day landings!" Webb informed them with an intense urgency.
"Webb, do the people at Marine counter-Intel know about the details of this mission?" Jim inquired as his tailor had finished with his measurements and had set off to find the appropriate apparel.
"A briefing crossed Colonel Gauthier's desk about an hour ago. I'm sure his senior staff will be made aware. Why is that important?" Webb inquired, his eyebrows perked.
"You know, Webb, for a spy, you have a lousy knack of not getting the complete picture when you charge into something." Harm moved toward Clay. "If you had looked into it, you'd realize that until the Colonel gets back from Germany, you're going to have one very emotional pregnant Marine, calling you daily."
"Shit, I hadn't even thought about Captain Harris. She could always call Harriet, right?" Webb panicked, it was one thing to deal with regular Marines but highly-decorated, pregnant Force Recon Marines were a different story.
"Harriet's not going to be able to give her any information, Webb. I'd really hate to be you for the next little while, especially if you so much as utter the words 'need-to-know'." Jim was struggling to repress laughter. "She's been pretty good lately, so your chances of dying are small. But she's been crying a lot and even I don't know how to handle that. Have fun, Clayton." Jim gave him a pat on the back.
"You have to deal with angry Russians and Germans; I have to deal with a hormonal pregnant Marine, how did I get the worst of this deal?" Clayton joked, finally falling into the rhythm that the other two men were good at establishing.
"Just, take good care of her, Clayton. I know that the Admiral, Harriet, Bud and Sturgis will do all they can but you can never have too many helping hands." Jim smiled and shook Clay's hand. "You know, you can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but you're a damn decent guy more times than not."
"Thanks, Colonel, I always thought that you kind of…well, hated me I guess." Webb started to sprout a smile.
"After Syria? Hell, Clayton, you're a brother in arms. You had mine and Harm's back on that trip and I'd find it hard as hell to have anything but respect for you after that." Jim walked passed him toward the door. "We're done here, today, right?" He asked before joining Harm in the parking lot.
After their drive on the beltway they were able to pull the jeep up to the building North of Union Station. "When I went through law school, I thought my days of chasing down international arms dealers were over." Jim quipped.
"In the Marines? You were dreaming in Technicolor. Something about this doesn't smell right, buddy. I don't know, I mean, I've gone off into the sky to chase down MiGs and I haven't felt the kind of nerve-rattling apprehension that I feel right now." Harm just couldn't put his finger on it; there was something about this op that made him jittery, that was unsettling his normally stalwart bearing.
"Square up, Navy. We're the Duke Boys, remember? Doc Halladay and Wyatt Earp, ain't no one or nothing alive that can stop us when we kick up a stampede." Jim sounded like the homespun southerner he was when he tried to inspire confidence.
"We also take uncalculated risks when we're backed into corners and have a tendency to do things which border on damn foolish, no matter how heroic they may turn out to be." Harm countered.
"True, but no one ever expects you to do something completely stupid and off the wall, that's why our plans usually work. Element of surprise, my boy." Jim slipped into his best Sherlock Holmes impression.
"You mean like bursting through the front door of a terrorist training camp?" Harm insinuated as they walked into the building.
"Precisely, most people would've expected a 30-30 insertion or something. We had to act more like a SWAT team than military men on a mission. We'll all get through this, Mac's going to keep us in line, she always does, right?" Jim joked, but the seriousness was creeping up on him as well.
"Yeah, right." Harm joked. "I have to ask, I think because of what's going on in my own life. How do you do it?" Harm looked up at his friend.
"How do I do what?" Jim responded.
"Raise kids, have a family and balance being the family man with the side of you that is all duty and thrills for the hunt." Harm inquired.
"I never had parents, not in the traditional sense. I was raised my Uncle Peter and my aunt Mary along with my grandfather. With both of my parents gone, it was easy for me to resolve to be a father that my father never could be. The problem was that my grandfather and my uncle Peter would tell me all these stories about my uncles, the famous Marines and I was weaned on the adventures and legends of the Marines in World War Two and Korea. So you see, the two parts of me that you think I balance, I've been balancing for most of my life." Jim saw the elevator doors open. "It's not easy, and you'll torture yourself at times, but if you're strong, you can do it too."
"Alright, let's get in there." Harm smiled as he opened the door to the apartment to find Mac, Angie, David and Sturgis waiting for them.
"Dad, dad, look what Uncle Sturgis taught me!" David came rushing over to his father and when he stopped at Jim's feet, he stuck out his tongue and pulled upward on his eyelids. Jim chuckled a little and then looked up Sturgis.
"You had to teach that to my son?" Jim asked trying to sound serious.
"You're just lucky that he didn't teach him out to burp the phonetic alphabet." Harm quipped and Sturgis tried to look offended.
"Hey! I haven't done that since the Academy!" Sturgis protested. "Besides, you two should be nice to me, I was the one who had to hang out with three Marines after work."
"Is there a problem with that, Mr. Turner?" Jim asked as he sat next to Angie on the couch.
"When one is eight, one is pregnant and the other is engaged, it's a little like being the T-Bone in the lion's cage." Sturgis joked.
"We don't need a babysitter, we're not going to break." Mac protested.
"Alright, you're right, and I know you're a Marine and you're perfectly capable of handling yourself, that's why you're going with us to Ramstein." Harm supplied as he gathered Mac up in his arms.
"Ramstein?" Angie questioned in an emotion that Jim couldn't identify. He'd been cautious about labelling any of her emotions since she'd become pregnant.
"American Marines involved in trafficking, shouldn't take too long." Jim replied almost stoically.
"That was too ambiguous, what are you hiding, soldier-boy?" She asked with a warning tone. "Why do I have a feeling that Webb is involved in this?" Jim expression betrayed him. "I knew it! Why does he keep turning to JAG, if Marines are involved shouldn't people under my command be handling this?"
"Marine Intel had their chance, Webb said that Gauthier had his head too far up his ass about this bio-terrorism trail. So, Mac, Harm and I are going in to this thing." Jim explained to her.
"Don't forget Keeter!" Harm called over from the kitchen.
"See, I've got plenty of people watching my back. I'll be fine." He kissed her forehead.
"Alright, you and your screwed up sense of duty, why do I put up with you?" She smiled cutely.
"You like the way I look in cammies?" Jim pulled her close to his side as David attached himself to his father's leg.
"That must be it. I'm guessing that I can plan on seeing more of Sturgis and the Admiral in the time you're away. I don't know why you think I need a babysitter." Angie's tone had shifted like eight times while she was talking.
"Let's see, you're over four months pregnant and you're trying to take care of an eight year-old boy, baby girl, you're going to need help. That's why the Admiral, Sturgis and Webb have all kindly volunteered to help." Jim smiled.
"That's right." Sturgis affirmed as he brought Jim a beer from the fridge.
"Webb? He won't help; he'll just drive me into a mad homicidal rage." Angie responded.
"You're lucky that you're pregnant, a jury will let you off no problem for killing Webb in your condition." Harm joked with a wide smile. "So, how do we look?" Harm inquired as he and Jim stood next to each other.
"Enough alike to pass for brothers but not enough alike to fool those who know you best." Mac stated plainly. "You two might actually pull this off."
1000 ZULU
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
"Alright, you have your wardrobes and all your necessary information. We managed to pull off one detail last night that I think you'll be pleased with. Instead of flying commercial to Frankfurt, you'll be flying chartered; we've got a Leer for you. It's waiting on the tarmac at Dulles." Webb informed them as they handed them their luggage. "I'll be in Ramstein a few days after you establish contact. Good luck."
"Darf ein Franzose in dem Milch spucken." Jim replied with a wide smile.
"What the hell does that mean?" Webb looked at Mac.
"May a Frenchman spit in your milk." Jim stated as he fixed the CIA issue Rolex watch around his wrist.
"Is that some kind of good luck proverb in Germany?" Webb inquired.
"Since when has anything about the French, been good luck in Germany?" Harm remarked as they headed away from Webb toward their car. The drive from Langley to Dulles was short and silent. Everyone knew what this was heading into it but no one was willing to talk about it. True to his word, Clayton Webb had a Leer jet sitting on the tarmac for them.
There is no telling exactly how much expense the CIA went to, in order outfit Harm and Jim's respective wardrobes for this trip. There was nothing, casual or formal, in their wardrobes that wasn't made by some high-end designer. The same went for their cars when they would be landing in Germany. Harm and Mac, playing the family, were given the more family suitable BMW while Jim, playing the single man, was given the Porsche.
"I still can't believe that they're going to give you the Porsche, how is that fair?" Harm protested. "I've seen you drive, you're going to get yourself killed before you ever make it to Ramstein."
"I object to that statement, I'm a fine driver." Jim protested as they stepped on to the private jet.
"In a humvee, maybe." Harm countered. From this point out, there was no Harm, Jim or Mac. They referred to each other by the names provided to them in their covers, they were Paul, Evan and Zara. If the occasion called for it, Harm or Jim would refer to each other as 'brother' or any other fraternal nicknames, mature or otherwise. Harm would refer to Mac by terms of endearment which really was no change and Jim would refer to her by name or by 'sis'.
Soon the jet was taxing down the runway and carrying them off, over the Atlantic to Germany and an encounter with some rogue Marines and three of the world's most dangerous men. Jim opted to catch some sleep on the flight while Harm and Mac just spent the time talking.
"So, Zara," Harm was trying to get into character, "We've never done the Mile High Club thing." He made no effort to hide his grin.
"Now is not the time to think with that part of your anatomy, Evan." Mac replied with her own coy smile.
"I can't help it around you, Zara." Harm replied with a perked eyebrow.
"You do tend to get like this when we go on trips. First, there was Naples…" She started but he cut her off.
"I was without you for weeks before that; surely you can't count that one." He fired back.
"Even so, then there was Moscow." She replied.
"Also not my fault, Russia's cold and you wore a slinky white nightgown. I'm only human and male, therefore, I'm bound to have certain weaknesses." He stated in a very proper way.
"Since when does your cover call for you to sound so aristocratic, Mr. Bishop. I thought your brother was the educated one." Mac took on her best high-class mannerisms.
"Sometimes it rubs off on me. I'm just supposed to be the brawn of the operation, remember. Nothing compared to the genius of the operation, the great Paul Bishop." Harm pointed across the plane at Jim who had his head lulled back and his mouth open, snoring in his sleep.
"Well, they say Einstein had troubles finding his way home when he walked to the post office. I guess it's acceptable for a genius to snore." Mac quipped.
"I don't snore do I?" Harm asked her with an innocent expression.
"Only when you're sexually frustrated." Mac tried to repress a laugh when she saw an expression on his face that told her that he was less than amused. "Kidding, you need to learn how to take a joke, Evan."
"You shouldn't do that to my ego, Zara." Harm was really getting into the playful spirit of this undercover thing.
"I promise to be a good little wife, from here on out." Mac raised two fingers in a Boy Scout pledge.
"Just don't lose that feisty woman I fell in love with." Harm quickly nipped her lower lip.
"Get a room!" The two of them could hear the Marine Colonel mutter in his sleep.
"Always the Marine, even giving orders in his sleep." Harm took on his best 'Proud Papa' voice.
1700 LOCAL
RAMSTEIN AIR BASE
RAMSTEIN, GERMANY
"I've decided, Evan." Mac stated as Harm pulled the car into the base.
"What's that, Zara?" Harm was doing his best to play up his character.
"Driving through the country, I've made a decision. I want our ceremony to be held in a nice meadow or field or something, maybe with a few goats." Mac chuckled at the concept. "We can keep the reception as a big party but let's keep the ceremony private."
"You are the sentimental one." Harm smiled. "But I already told you that I would do anything in my power to make you happy."
"You spoil me." She smiled seductively.
"You've earned it." He replied. The two of them watched as Jim pulled up next to them in the Porsche with Keeter riding in the shotgun seat.
"Zara, Evan, you know Commander Horton." Jim motioned as he hopped out of the car.
"Of course, how are you, Commander?" Harm pulled Keeter into a bear hug.
"Heard about the engagement, congrats, buddy." Keeter whispered quickly.
"Thanks, I need a best man, though." Harm replied with equal speed.
"You got it." Keeter stated as he pulled out of the hug. "Alright, let's go back to your hotel and I'll update you on the situation." Keeter hopped into the Porsche and took the driver's seat.
"You're letting Horton drive?" Harm remarked.
"Yeah, he should get a cheap thrill from it. After all the thrills he gets from the women here may be worth it, but they're not cheap." Jim commented as the Porsche pulled away. Harm and Mac followed in the BMW and after a few minutes on the local streets they were pulled into the parking lot of what was a very nice, very classy and surely, very expensive hotel. After checking in with the desk clerk, the party of four made their way up to the suites that were located on a few of the uppermost floors.
Harm and Mac walked into a suite that was bigger than both of their apartments…put together. Most of the books and the TV did them no good because neither of them could understand a word of German. Jim was getting set up in the suite next door and then he was coming over with Keeter to talk about what this op was going to entail. After a few minutes of turning their hotel suite into a livable space, Harm and Mac settled and Keeter came through the door with Jim in tow.
"Alright, the biggest rumour running through the underground grapevine this week has been all about you two." Keeter pointed to indicate Harm and Jim. "Your arrival here and the information that was leaked as you two pinned as the biggest arms dealers west of Israel. Lackenbauer and the Korsikovs arrived in town last night just under the speculation that you two would show up today."
"Well, it's good to be noticed." Harm quipped.
"Two junior officers are running the operation that we're looking into. Lieutenant Hughes and Captain Moritz, they're not the best of Marines but there's nothing on their sheets that would lead anyone to suspect anything. Scuttlebutt today said that they were itching to meet the two of you." Keeter quirked an odd grin.
"We've got to get them and the middle-men together at the same time. How do we get the buyers to meet us? I know that they're going to want to keep the paper trail as long as humanly possible to avoid getting nabbed." Jim stated as if he'd hit the Achilles heel of the argument.
"The scuttlebutt was pretty powerful, rumours are that Paul Bishop only deals with people face to face. Some of the local children have heard that you can eat souls." Keeter joked. "They'll be here."
"Alright, standard codes for the merchandise?" Jim inquired.
"King Antonios, Mister Innsbrucks and Happy G-men." Keeter replied with fixed expression.
"Would anyone care to elaborate on this code?" Mac asked quietly.
"King Antonios are AK-47s, Mister Innsbrucks would be the M16 and Happy G-men would be Hand Grenades. Alan Parson's Modifiers would be…" Harm interrupted Jim's explanations.
"Anti-Personnel Mines, got it." Harm nodded his head.
"Congratulations, you just passed Arms Trafficking 101; we'll survive the next few days as long as we remember a few things. We trust no one who isn't in this room, right now. Your names as they know you are your names as you will call each other; from what I've heard, you've been pretty good with it so far. Lastly, check your baggage at the door, this mission isn't supposed to be for the faint of heart. We clear?" Keeter looked around and saw four nodding heads. "Good, contact should be expected inside the next twenty four hours, I suggest you all grab some sack time."