Before we knew it the weekend was over. The Sunday talk shows were filled with pundits who had all kinds of theories from mild to wild.
The wild was that the prince had gone undercover to Morocco to inspect and buy virgin sex slaves from the Libyan branch of ISIS and had been double crossed.
Centuries of tales of harems and private sex slaves were still rumored to be happening in the backrooms of the closed society that were made of the Kings and Princes. The modern internet only fueled the speculation with some of the postings from within the kingdom.
Sunday night I met the RRT at the airport welcoming them back. They were staying in the motel for the night then Monday night all 30 were going in five man teams to six different embassies in South America. When they returned next Saturday they would be here for two weeks setting up the security for the debates.
Monday I was glad to spend the day at KCC. I was even happy to see Bob Jackson and Mr. Nobles and play cat and mouse with their questions and my answers.
“Well, I see you missed some action in one of your hot spots,” Bob said.
“Yeah looks like it, you win some and loose some,” I replied. They did not know that I had spent a couple of days in Morocco.
Retraining the thirty from the six embassies moved faster this time. We were either getting better or all the informational e-mails were having an effect, or maybe both.
HR had everything they needed done in one day, including the physicals and DNA collection for our permanent records. The Morocco incident proved that we needed to add that to the file.
Tuesday and Wednesday they were split up between the shooting range and gym. The change over to the S&W 40 caliber went smooth. Jamie collected all the 9mm and issued them the new ones. By Thursday the work in the gym was done. These guys had kept themselves in shape or else the word was getting around about what we were going put them through and they went to great lengths to get in shape.
Tuesday night the international news ran a story that the ISIS Libyan branch had claimed responsibility for killing the Prince in retaliation for allowing the US to use bases there to bomb them in Iraq and Syria.
“No matter how hard you try, you cannot fix stupid,” I thought and to claim responsibility for that was as stupid as one can get.
On Wednesday the Saudi Air Force flew 500 bombing runs against ISIS and promised even more on Thursday.
Wednesday Jamie sent me a text wanting me to stop by the armory on the way home from KCC. I helped her carry in the 9mm pistols and all the collected ammunition. UPS had delivered two thousand clips to make belts today. It was her cover story to grill me about the drones.
We had a long conversation about them and that one day I would demonstrate them for her and Kevin at the same time. I also informed her that I had items in one of the gun safes and that I had changed the combination.
I was just leaving when Marcy called to tell me that I had VIP visitors waiting for me in the refreshment lounge.
I was not surprised to see Frank, Eric and Marty but I was surprised to see Smith, Phillips and Roberts – the wimpy triplets, as I thought of them – from NSA.
I grabbed a bottle of water and was pleasantly surprised to see Paula Craft – one of the homeless girls – working behind the counter as I paid for it.
“What brings you gentlemen to my little part of the world?” I asked.
“We need to discuss that in the privacy of your office,” Frank said.
“Are we going to leave them here? They are fixated on the shapely ladies on the tread mills,” I asked. I was referring to the wimpy triplets.
“They are the ones who wanted to come along. They wanted to see your operation, but are afraid to ask you,” Frank said.
I snapped my fingers to bring them out of their fixation. “Let’s go to my office,” I said.
Behind the closed doors of my office, “OK guys, you did not come all this way to stare at the lovelies, so what’s up?” I asked.
“The NSA thinks you held back some information. According to FAA records, one of your jets sprinted away in the wee hours of Wednesday morning to Morocco and while it is there, a massacre happens, killing a prince with some unusual ritual and then it sprints back just as fast a few hours later,” then Frank continued.
“Then we have a virus that wipes out all servers storing satellite and intelligence data for the African continent for the same period of time, and all our intelligence people say they are now in the dark about everything in the area for a two day period,” Frank said.
“All circumstantial I think, just a lot of coincidences, our jets fly all over. There was a round robin to Morocco Sunday, nothing happened while it was there. Then there were six different countries in South America and nothing happened, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” I replied.
“The prince was on your list as the paymaster and you want us to believe it is a coincidence that he was killed when your plane made a rush trip there?” Smith asked.
“Stranger things have happened. What makes you think I have any information that you don’t?” I asked.
“Well, we’ve got nothing; so anything you have would be a help. We know that your people on the ground do a lot more than look over the embassy wall; they have already proven that. Then there is your intel group, so we know you must have something,” Frank replied.
`“Just for a topic of conversation, suppose I do have something – what is in it for me?” I asked.
“Well, we would be beholding I guess,” Frank replied.
“Is that anything like a Presidential Pardon for high crimes and misdemeanors that I can put in my safe?” I asked.
“Something like that,” Frank replied.
“Well, we have worked together so often and so well, let me go see if there is something that will fill the gap,” I replied.
“What’s discussed in this office stays in this office. Do we have an agreement on that?” I asked.
The six of them agreed.
I removed all of the satellite images and left them in Marcy’s safe. I had the stills I had taken with the phone and the four DVD’s from the two gun drones and the one drone that they had left on station – as they called it – and one that was all thermals from the other drone.
I played the left side gun drone first, shutting down the video when it left to reload. I did the same with the right side gun drone.
Frank, Eric and Marty were into the video; back it up, play that part again; what is that? What kind of drone is that? Is it one of ours that you have got your hands on, Chinese, Israeli? How many do you have, three for sure, maybe four?
The triplets were just stunned, mouths open.
Then I ran the high panoramic view of the gun drones doing their thing and the explosion, stopping it where we were getting ready to investigate the Prince’s vehicles. It was 500 feet high and they had zoomed in the camera to a panoramic view to capture all the action.
Then I handed out the still pictures I had taken of the dead terrorists and the Prince with their IDs with my phone.
“Does that answer all your questions, give you something to wrap your head around?” I asked.
I handed Frank the pictures I had taken of the dead leaders with their IDs. “Put your research teams to work on these,” I replied.
“Your team could not find anything on them?” Frank asked.
“They’re working on it; I am waiting on the report,” I replied then I added “When that gets finished, we can compare notes if you like.”
I did not tell them I actually had given Robert and Burt every piece of paper, laptop and thumb drive we had taken out of all the vehicles and off their bodies and bagged them accordingly.
“Is there anything else that we need to cover?” I said.
“There is still the question of the Prince,” Frank said.
I placed my trash can in front of the wimpy triplets. I took the box off the bookshelf that held the Mason jar and then inserted the thumb in the slot and hit play, then walked around my desk to stand next to Frank as I held the box.
The video clip ended immediately after the two shots. The triplets were beside themselves; there was no doubt that that it was me in the video. Frank, Eric and Marty were staring at the now blank screen. I tapped Frank on the shoulder and handed him the Mason jar.
The color drained from his face and he quickly handed Eric the jar. Eric eyes were as big as saucers and he quickly passed the jar to Marty. Marty stared at the jar for a moment and started to hand the jar to the triplets, but there was no need; two of them were fighting over the trash can and then decided to share it just as they started to heave profusely into it.
I put the jar back into the box and back on the shelf, “Are you two done or is this just intermission?” I asked of the trash can holders.
“Cruel, just plain cruel to do that while he was still alive, it only reinforces what Eric said the other day,” Marty said.
“What was that,” Smith asked, he was the one that held his stomach.
“You never ever want to piss BJ off; you will not like the consequences,” Eric replied.
“I can believe that,” Smith replied.
I put everything back into the envelope and resealed it with security tape.
“I think that covers everything, what is said in this office stays in this office; that is the agreement,” I said.
“Do you three want to look at the jar now that you have gotten yourselves together?” I asked of the two wimpy triplets who were sitting back in their chairs.
“No, that will not be necessary. They got the message,” Smith replied.
“That will only make you a target,” Smith said.
“You seem to forget; JBG was already a target,” I replied.
We talked for another fifteen minutes before they left. We agreed to keep closer ties and a more robust line of communication on intelligence matters.
After we had left my office Frank asked if he could speak privately to me, so we stepped back in.
“Would you mind if I took a picture of the jar? I have some old friends in the intelligence community who are debating the issue of the Prince,” he asked.
“As long as you do not connect it to me or JBG in any way,” I replied. “Do you want me to take them out of the jar for you?” I asked with a laugh.
“No,” he quickly replied.
I helped him set the jar up in the right light and made a cardboard shield to hide anything else in my office.
When we went downstairs, sure enough the triplets were back at the refreshment lounge, eyes glued to the treadmills again. Eric and Marty had a mug of sweet tea and were standing at the counter talking with Paula Craft.
I stood there with them listening to the conversation. Paula surprised me with her level of intellect and professional poise. I really needed to have the homeless girls investigated in detail.
Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.