At 1800 we were at Morton field putting final touches on arrival needs.
The girls had contacted a local private ambulance company and had all 10 of their ambulances coming, and then the county EMS was going to supply 5 county ambulances with medics. Local fire companies were going to supply the last 10, one each for the counties volunteer fire departments and 4 from adjacent counties.
A JLG lift with a platform was waiting to unload the injured. It was easier to put an ambulance stretcher on the platform then raise it to the aircraft door and lower it than to fight the stretcher up and down the stair truck.
The plane was 150 miles out when it contacted the tower; it would be on the ground in 30 minutes. All the ambulance drivers had received instructions on how this was to be done. They were all parked together waiting.
Hanna and Sylvester had ridden the JLG and then sent a report to the station. The report contained video of all the parked ambulances and the preparations to receive the injured.
The 737 landing lights were a couple miles away on final approach when I was tapped on the shoulder. When I turned, Frank and Eric were both standing there.
“We thought you might need a little moral support, everything OK?” Frank asked. “Although it looks like you have everything well covered.”
“We are good here with this part, just going to be a long night and tomorrow. As soon as they get the men headed to the hospital and everyone gone from here, I can use some off the record help if you can wait around,” I replied.
“Namibia is claiming that over 200 people were killed. They want an international investigation,” Frank said.
“The international body needs to investigate where their damn police and military was. They showed up in force after the shooting stopped,” I replied.
“Did Andy learn anything from any prisoner’s,” he asked.
“Very few prisoners; ask me that question in a couple days,” I replied.
The plane was parked and the injured being unloaded. I went to each one of my men and talked to them and their family.
A convoy was formed and off they went to AAGH. The doctor had already made all the arrangements with the hospital for x-rays, MRIs and other treatment. He had spent a lot of time on the phone getting things set up on the way home.
I sent Jenny home to relieve Lisa from baby sitting and the other four girls to the hospital to take care of the paperwork, which I was sure there would be plenty of.
The tarmac was now void of people with the exception of Dad; he was bringing one of the baggage carts behind the Gator as I opened the cargo bay. When the cart was parked close enough, the four of us slid the two coffins onto the cart. I followed the cart with my SUV.
Dad backed the cart into the maintenance building where all the grounds maintenance equipment was stored. There we placed the coffins on the floor and I opened them. With a slight kick I found out both were still alive.
“You made them fly in a body bag in a coffin for 8000 miles. You have a cruel sadistic mind,” Eric said then he added, “I kind of like it, just right for them.”
“It was the only way I could figure to get them out. If you don’t want to find out just how cruel, don’t be around after they are interrogated,” I replied.
“Dad, would you go the restaurant and get two hamburger meals with several bottles of water? I’m sure these two are hungry. Take it back to jail at Camp Smith; we will meet you back there,” I said.
With Dad gone, the three of us took the first one out of the coffin. I opened the body bag and removed his shoes. I was sure he had crapped all over himself in the 12 hours he had been in there.
With a heavy duty pair of vinyl gloves on, I stood him up, stripped off his clothing and wiped him down as best as I could, leaving everything in the body bag to go into the dumpster.
The bay next to us was a wash bay. I found a bucket, a bottle of Dawn soap and a medium/soft bristle scrub brush. With him standing on the concrete floor, I soaped him up and used the pressure washer on low setting to rinse him off. He did not like that at all.
I gave him a towel and told him in Arabic to dry himself off. I also handed Eric my Glock, “If he tries to run, shoot him.”
It was unnecessary; I could tell by the way he was acting that he still could not see. I cleaned the other one the same way. I sent Frank to get the clothes from my SUV. I had brought gym shorts, sweat pants and a sweat shirt for both of them.
With them cuffed with regular cuffs, we loaded them up to meet Dad back at Camp Smith.
Camp Smith had undergone a series of improvements after multiple agencies that contracted to do training there wanted special additions. Parts of the portable buildings had been relocated further from the runway. The camp itself had been expanded to meet the various requests.
One of those was a small concrete block jail; four cells complete with bars and bed springs with a thin mattresses and pillow with a stainless steel crapper in the corner and an interrogation room. It was used quite frequently when there was no training going on in the camp by certain enforcement agencies.
It was the same agencies that used some of our Florida houses as safe houses from time to time.
The agencies found it unnerving and helpful for those waiting interrogation when the authentic mid-eastern African jungle music – complete with chants and screaming – was played on the large speakers.
“Ask no questions and I will tell you no lies,” was the buzz word for anything that happened at the jail.
The other was a medical building. Training in full SWAT gear in 100 degree and extreme cold had caused problems. The medical building had four hospital beds and several cots. It had an exam room with one of those damn cold hard stainless steel tables. It also had basic medical equipment, oxygen, BP equipment, heart shock paddles and a supply of first aid supplies.
The medics who worked the gym were also responsible for the medical building. In fact, most of the contracts now required medically trained people to be in the building when they were training in large groups.
Those two buildings were the only two buildings in Camp Smith that were fully functional with running water, sewage, electric and air conditioning.
I walked each prisoner into the cell, since they could not see. I had to explain the cell to them in Arabic.
“You are in a jail cell 3 meters by 3 meters,” I backed him up to the bars. “Count your steps and walk ahead; stop; to your left is your bed; feel it with your leg,” then I turned him and sat him on the bed.
“Two meters ahead of you is a small table and chair for you to eat from, count the steps to the table,” I said as I walked him over to the table.
“All the way back to the right is the crapper for you to do your functions in,” I said as I walked him to it. “There is paper to wipe your butt with right there,” as I moved his hand to it after I pushed him to sit on the crapper. “You make a mess in the floor and I will see that you eat it,” I said.
“Make your way to the table,” I said as I guided him to it. When he was there I pushed the chain to the back of his legs. “Chair, now you can sit.”
Dad was back with the food; I placed it on the table and un-wrapped the burger, placing his hand on it. “Beef burger on bread, these are fried potatoes,” as I touched his fingers to them.
I took his left hand and touched the water bottle, “The round bottles are water, the square one is sweet tea. Do you want me to open one of them for you?” I asked.
“I don’t need any women to open it for me,” he replied.
“Who gave you the orders to attack the embassy? Who put up the money and weapons?” I asked.
“Go to hell; I will never tell,” he replied.
“Tomorrow you will meet a man you will not like. When he is through with you, you will gladly answer any question I have and more,” I replied.
I did the same thing to the other prisoner.
I wrapped a chain around the cell doors and put a padlock on it that only I and the girls had a key to. I set the thermostat to 72 and dimmed the lights.
On the way out I placed the ‘In use no admittance’ sign on the door and locked the second deadbolt that again, only we girls had a key to.
I drove Frank and Eric back to the terminal to get their cars. We had a gentle conversation with the ride.
That began with “You have you own freaking jail,” Frank said.
“Yeah; won’t the wimpy triplets be impressed,” I laughed. Then I realized the seriousness of his remark and where he was going with it.
“You do know that the New York office of YOUR agency was the one that requested, designed and paid for it,” I added.
“Oh, hell no; damn!” he replied. “Do they use the chipper?”
“No need to; they have the New York harbor,” I replied then added, “But they have been trained on how to use and clean it.”
Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.