After our meeting, Ching Lee insisted she wanted to participate in the interrogation. I warned against it but she insisted.
Vicky and I walked Gamal Ameen over to the medical building in a double arm lock. He was resisting as if he knew what was coming.
Ching Lee was picking the Doc’s brain asking all kinds of questions about his equipment and the drugs. I think he liked the attention because he was more talkative than he usually was, almost giddy.
Strapped down and hooked up, the questions began. When we finished, there was very little new information. The only piece we had gained was Rafi Quastri’s choice to replace him if something happened. The first one was Saif Alawai al-Jawfi – who was now dead.
Rafi’s second choice was Tamerl El-Hassan who had spent 4 years at Camp Delta Guantanamo Bay. According to both, he was giving training at the Marion NY site and living in the apartment complex across from the college.
We were done in two hours; I let the Doc off him and then Ching Lee, Vicky and I helped load him into the furnace and watch the flames engulf the body. Frank, Eric and Ben left for Washington.
I was glad this part of the mess was over; there was going to be serious consideration before bringing any more terrorists to any JBG site.
Tomorrow I was going to have a conversation with Robert on all the things he had found on all the computers we had gained out of this. It was time for all the computers to be turned over to the FBI or DHS – whoever wanted them. I was sure Robert had cloned every piece of information on them.
I wondered why the government guys seemed to be so far out of the tech loop compared to Robert’s group. The good thing – and I was damn happy – Marcy was billing the FBI for all ten of Robert’s people at a very high rate; we seemed to be doing all the real work.
I wanted Robert to ease many of the questions I had that I did not feel comfortable asking my task force members. I still felt at times they were playing department favoritism and being selective.
Thursday morning good news was coming from all over. All the officers who had been on the critical list had finally been moved over to the serious column. Dozens of those that had been admitted for lesser injuries had been released.
Today was the last day of the services for the officers killed in the raids. I would be glad when they were finished; it was tough enough without the continuous reminders on the news loop.
Mexico had agreed to assault the training camp at Monclova at the same time we hit the ones in NY and West Virginia. Mexico was not going to play nice. They were sending a crack army team to raid the camp with choppers and armored vehicles. The agreed upon time for the raids were 1100.
We planned the raids differently this time; there would only be federal agents involved and the list had been double checked against the Raif’s payoff list.
DHS, FBI, ATF and the INS SWAT teams were going to handle it. I was going to the West Virginia site and Eric to the New York site as observers.
The FBI and DHS had been through the list and tomorrow at 1100 – the same time as the raids – all 200 names on it were going to be arrested, if they could be found.
The White House and federal agencies were going for another blow-out media weekend. They would finish it off with a big media event on Monday at the FBI facilities, displaying all the captured items from all the raids.
They had decided part of that media blast was to be me. The President and Troy came to me shortly after the first round of coffee.
“ZNN Sunday Morning Washington is having an extended program on terrorism and they have made a special request that you appear. I would like you to appear as a representative of the administration. You are the head of the task force and the most qualified on the latest developments,” the President said.
“I would rather have the time with my family, but I can make that work. We can have lunch at the Steak House and do some shopping afterwards,” I replied.
Troy dialed the number and then handed me the phone, “Arthur Kennedy.”
“Hello Arthur; BJ Jones. I hear you would like to have me on your show Sunday,” I said.
“BJ, good to hear from you. Yes, I am looking forward to having you on the show. Is this a confirmation call?” Arthur asked.
“Same arrangement as before; 5 front row seats,” I replied.
“I don’t know if we can do that,” he said.
“It’s your call; I have plenty of other things I can do,” I replied. Then I added, “Call Troy back when you make up your mind.”
“The producer is shaking his head that we can do that. Same time as before; here by 0930 for makeup and to get wired up,” Arthur said.
I finished out the day planning for tomorrow. The SWAT teams were dividing up and some spending the night in Petersburg, others in Moorefield.
I left on time and made good time going home. It was the first full evening with my mates and the boys since Saturday. We made the best of it; first came a nice quiet supper. Then time in the hot tub and when the boys were asleep and in the crib, we spent two hours in bonding time filled with intimacy. Touching and feeling all the right places, making sure all of us were satisfied. I wished I could have spent the night with all of them. But I was with Marcy tonight and there was no talk of business or Washington.
Over breakfast I explained Sunday’s plans. The question was to take the boys or let Mindy babysit them? First Jenny was going to call the parents to see if they wanted to go be in the audience. If they didn’t, then they would be asked to babysit.
Friday morning I went over to Vicky’s storage in the basement. She had taken two of the rooms for all the new equipment she was ordering for the security division and us.
I picked out three universal vests that could be worn over clothing; I was wearing mine under my blouse. I included 4 SWAT style universal helmets.
At Section 12 I gathered up Ben, Lisa Smack (the FBI liaison assigned to the task force), Armie Ratcliff, (the DHS assistant director assigned to the task force) and Wayne Platt of the ATF.
I drove 495 to 66 and was running almost 80; traffic on 495 had made us a little late. On 66 just before Front Royal, I met a Virginia State Police officer going the opposite direction. It was a four lane road with a medium strip with a guard rail. Just as I met him he flipped the lights.
“He has got you,” Ben laughed.
I kept watching the mirror. I didn’t remember seeing a break in the guard rail for an emergency vehicle turn around but there must have been one. Just as the lights started out of sight I saw them make the turn and cross the highway into the west bound lanes.
“Going to be interesting to see you talk your way out of this one,” Ben said.
I turned on the light package and checked the mirror again. The police car was still coming slowly closing the distance.
I used the State Department phone and called 911. I knew it would either come up as US Government or blocked on their phone display.
“Warren County 911 call center – what is your emergency?” the operator replied.
“This is Ambassador Jones of the terrorist task force, I am on a high speed run to participate in a raid over the state line; I am 3 miles from Front Royal, one of your cars made a u-turn in the road. I believe he is coming after me. I really don’t have time for this; I’m late as it is. Can you call him off or do I need to call the Governor?”
“Front Royal; that has to be Buzz. Let me try to call him. Car 29 dispatch; car 29 this is dispatch please respond. Buzz, answer the damn radio.”
“Let me try his cell phone; no answer on that either,” the dispatcher said.
“You will just have to pull over for him if you’re the one he is after. Tell him to call Duke at dispatch. I will keep trying,” the dispatcher said.
I never backed off the throttle. In fact, I dogged it to see what the GMC Duramax diesel actually had now that the shop had added a power chip in the computer. Just maybe it would it would overcome the drag that the 6000 pound armor upgrade did to the performance.
A couple more miles and the lights went off on the police car; he faded away as the distance opened up.
The place we were going to raid was just about halfway between Moorefield and Petersburg. At 1030 I pulled into the Moorefield police station where this part of the SWAT teams was assembling.
The teams were already behind the station checking out their gear, getting ready to go.
“Damn! The bosses from Washington came; this must be important,” someone said.
“I’m Patrick Pine of the Charleston DHS office. I’m really pleased to meet you Ambassador Jones. I understand you are going to follow the teams in,” he replied.
“That’s correct, we will be right behind you – the last vehicle in,” I said.
“We are going to drive an MRAP through the gate and pile in. The unit from Petersburg has already left. Let’s go; we need to be there in 15 minutes,” Patrick replied.
Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.