We were up early, the hotel restaurant was packed. The Paris air show was one of the three biggest in Europe. There were several types of planes we wanted to see. Lorrie wanted to look at all of them.
JBG Aviation was growing; some of our planes were gone for a week at a time and sometimes longer. The economy was good, big business was doing better. There were a few business executives willing to run out and buy sixty million dollar jets for themselves and even a couple willing to go to the one hundred million level.
When the executives or the wealthy chartered a G5 to go on a vacation, most now wanted the plane to be at the airport in case there was a need to leave right away and were willing to pay substantial standby rates. It was also a talking ego point in their social circles, “My plane is waiting at the airport.”
Those talking points created more demand for our planes. It was one reason we were splitting up. The plane needed to be somewhere else next week.
But more were being far more cautious since the auto company executives had been burned by flying to Washington in separate eighty million dollar jets during the auto crisis.
They had been buying blocks of time on our executive jets. Buying a block of time meant that with a five hour notice, a G5 or equivalent would be at the nearest airport stocked with food, drink and a flight attendant to carry them to their destination anywhere in the world.
Now they were wanting more luxurious and larger jets and were willing to pay. Boeing had a division that specialized in converting the 700 series into very luxurious personal and business jets. The sales division was to have several on display.
Another plane we were looking for was something to patrol the South African property. I knew that getting anything like that from government surplus was not going to happen, period.
I had a bad gut feeling Iran was not going to go away peacefully. They were tied in with ISIS, Boko Haram, Al Qaeda, Ansar al-Sharia, Al Shabab and several more. All of those groups were strong and growing in Africa. I just knew Iran would have them cause trouble by raiding the mines and town sooner than later.
Really, there was nothing to stop them in their eyes. Previous policies by our own and other governments had done nothing to their quest to dominate the Middle East, Africa and become a nuclear power. Just about every conflict in the area could be traced back to Iran; especially the ones JBG had been involved in through the embassy contracts.
Russia had been openly supporting them and now with China trying to move into the picture, bad things were coming faster. I wondered if China may have had eyes on a base of some sort in the area.
The first place we stopped was the Boeing display section to look at a new 737 BBJ ‘Boeing Business Jet’; there were three there. Boeing builds the plane with no interior and then they are sent to different companies to install the interior to the customer’s specifications. It usually adds two to three years onto the delivery time and up to thirty million or more to the price.
The three there had been finished out by different companies with different custom interior plans. They were a class of luxury beyond imagination. Two of them even had full sized showers and king size bed.
We liked all three of them but all three were special orders waiting on the customer to pick them up. Or the customer had agreed to allow them to be displayed for one reason or another; usually a fee was discounted. At least we could look and place an order, if Lorrie wanted to wait for five years to get the finished product.
We spent two hours looking at the three planes with the same Boeing salesman that had sold us the 737 200 a couple years ago. Gregory Simms turned out to be helpful.
“There were four 737 BBJ used for sale, one in the Middle East, Dubai to be exact. It was older, a 1998 with a lot of hours. There were two in Europe, one was a 2013 model but not in service until 2015 with low hours,” he said.
A 2016 had just been put in service several months ago and ran off the end of a runway in Sweden, causing considerable damage to the landing gear. There was no way we were interested in that one.
The other was also an older 1999 with lots of hours located in Canada. Gregory was going to gather information for Lorrie next week after the air show was over.
The next planes we looked at were for the South Africa mine airport. There were two that had possibilities; the Air Tractor AT802U looked the most promising. It was US made; in fact, we already owned six as crop dusters. They were tough as nails both in flying and durability.
To add to that Robbie’s mechanics knew how to work on them and we had some parts in the stock room.
Air tractor had a border patrol, light attack, surveillance aircraft version. It was short runway and dirt strip proven with a variety of light weapons mounts for Stinger missiles, Hellfire missiles, Hydra 70 rockets, and mounts for both the mini gun and 50 cal, all of which we could get from our Israel connection.
They could carry hard ordnance of up to 500 pounders, something I would never consider because it crossed all the lines.
The defense version had armor installed around critical areas including the cockpit; some of it was titanium.
We had just finished negotiations to buy six; two to be in the air, two for backup if needed and two for spares. I noticed a delegation a little over a hundred yards away. General Kadar had stayed true to his calendar. His delegation of officials and other IRG officers were by the Euro-fighter plane displays.
I pulled the letter I had worked on – off and on – for the last few weeks. The shrinks had read and suggested changes. Ziva and Sofia had suggested changes as they wrote it in Persian. The letter was ready. It was addressed to the General.
I gave the letter to Ziva to take to the General.
“Make sure on your way back you stay out of the line of sight and get back here quickly, I said.
The letter went like this:
“Hello: General goat humper. I hear you have plenty of experience. Has this experience caused your performance to falter in other areas such as your attempts to complete terror attacks in my country and caused you to lose so many terrorists to me?
General Kadar BJ the Lioness
Albert Koons Morocco killed 1
Phil Adams Morocco killed 1
Milles Pike Morocco killed 1
Ahad Byair Iranian sponsored, dead 1
Faaiz Faeq Fahad dead 1
Haamid Muhammad dead 1
Iranian spies at Windhoek dead 2
Iranian IRG spies Kampala dead 2
Dagar Daharr dead 1
Diya Daharr dead 1
Randolf Reichmann jail 1
Saif Alawai al-Jawfi dead 1
Abdulraouf and Sultan al-Zahab dead 2
Crown Prince Sultan al-Zahab dead 1
Prince Abdulraouf al-Zahab dead 1
Abu Barazan dead 1
Rafi Quastri dead 1
Careem Al Daharr dead 1
Faaz Em Daharr dead 1
Tamerl El-Hassan dead 1
Tamim Bashara dead 1
JBG security Israel dead 9
Guardian Colonel Faaz Fayeez Mohammad dead 1
General Fayeez Mohammad dead 1
Colonel Abdullah Kassis dead 1
Iranians sent to rescue General Fayeez dead 10
Jaed Al Mohamed dead 1
Twenty four unnamed dead terrorists 24
In Harrisburg barn dead
Eight of Jaed’s helpers in jail 8
This is horrible results for an experienced General goat inseminator like you. Any girl could do better than this.
Meet me halfway ALONE and we will settle this.
Ambassador Jones – the Lioness.
I watched as he read the letter. I could almost see him turning red from where I was standing with my group. I gave him a little girl wave to piss him off even more. He ripped the letter to shreds and threw them into the air.
Then he was pushing his way past his group. I heard him yell at his men, “STAY HERE.”
I did the same but added, “All of you stay here,” as I walked towards the oncoming General.
The closer he came it was easier to see how mad he was – he was red as a beet. We were twenty feet away and I could hear snorting like a mad bull. I had not realized how big he was from his file. He was six three and two forty five pounds at least but the muscle was giving way to gut from a desk job.
At ten feet he almost ran and then lunged at me as he swung. I barely reacted in time but I did move enough that he just clipped the end of my nose. Blood was running down my lips. The blood gave him confidence.
His next action was a jab that I barely escaped real harm from as it caught me just off the cheek bone – I would have a bruise. That was all the evidence that was needed to say I was defending myself.
I retaliated in force; there was no time for a drawn out fight, I had to go for the soft spots. My right fist to his throat then the left as his brain registered the pain. He started to drop his hands but raised them up again. He wasn’t fast enough; a karate chop to the bridge of the nose to fill his nostrils with blood. Then I gave him a vicious kick to the groin.
It didn’t seem to faze him so I used the other foot. He went to his knees and when he did I could see his men coming to help him. I didn’t have much time. I stepped behind him. My right hand I placed over his head – his Generals cap long ago on the ground. I curled my fingers in his eye sockets and yanked his head back as hard and as far as I could.
With my left hand under his head I turned his head clockwise until there was great resistance then with all the power I could muster I kept turning, feeling the bones and tendons in his neck snapping and breaking.
If his brain could interpret what his eyes were seeing he was looking down at his ass and at the back of his knees. I could hear his men, they were almost on me. The girls and my men were almost to me. I pushed his head and body forward. There was no resistance – no body reaction – no tension in the muscles to save himself from the fall as he fell forward, his hands hanging uselessly by his side. His head hit the concrete like a watermelon and it sounded like it.
I had just killed the man that the Iraq villagers had named the Angel of Death for the death and destruction on the hundreds of villages; his men eliminated even down to the newborn. Now for the fallout.
I stepped over him just as a hand tried to grab me from behind but it slipped off my shoulder. My girls and men were having none of it, ready to fight. Andy and his men herded us further away from the screaming Iranians. They were screaming for medical attention.
A first aid kit appeared from somewhere. The girls wanted to clean me up, but I stopped them, “Pictures – take pictures of me first,” I said. For some crazy reason ‘another high priced outfit ruined’ popped into my head.
The Iranians had by now figured out their commanding general was dead and were now yelling for the police. Then six of them charged my group to get at me. Andy and the group were having none of that and quickly dispatched them, a few bleeding and needing help as they retreated.
The French National police arrived in force, many in riot gear. They divided into two groups. A couple of officers questioned me for a few minutes. Then they questioned the Iranian group that was growing. They were picking up friends.
The police were in a powwow and on the radio. A police sergeant came over and took my gun, knife and phones. He then placed me in handcuffs and started questioning me some more.
I reminded them I was a diplomat and had immunity, and that seizing my phones was a violation of international law without international court process. Then I added that as leader of the JBG Pact security organization I was authorized to carry weapons. “You need to call a supervisor,” I said.
A higher ranking officer removed the cuffs and returned my tools. It was time to move away from the body. We made our way back to the Air Tractor booth.
Jenny and Marcy had cleaned the blood from my face and chin but was nothing they could do about blood stained jacket and blouse. I tried to hold an ice pack to my nose. I was afraid it would cause my nose to start bleeding again so I gave up on that. I did hold it on the side of my face for a bit.
My phones started ringing, the three of them. Jenny, Marcy and Lorrie each took one, “BJ is not available to talk on the phone. I will give her the message to call you,” I heard each of them say. They kept my phones.
A television reporter tried to force his way into the booth to me shouting questions and then insults as another one followed. The French had different ideas about reporting.
They quickly found out they made a mistake as they were roughly handled and shown out.
The commander of the National Police – whom I had met with this morning – appeared. “You need to come with me,” he said.
Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.