Bjjonesmylife. Book 2

Friday turned into a very busy day that I ended up mostly watching go by.

The C5 was loaded with 200 thousand pounds of relief supplies for the refugee camp. The crew and my men assigned to Kampala were going to unload the food and clothing in the hangar at Entebbe Airport.

Hanna Page and her channel 34 news team had another exclusive TV report. Elmo Cartwright was there for the local paper. It was only right for Elmo to be there since his paper was donating half the ad space to help with donations. Lorrie, Marcy and Jenny had the honors of giving the interview about the relief flight. I watched the boys while they were gone.

Channel 34 owner Carleton Page had resisted efforts to be taken over by the big communications giants in Washington and New York for years.

They now knew there was a direct link to JBG through Hanna and the pressure was on to sell again. Hanna Page was his only grandchild; her dream was to run her granddad’s station.

Carleton Page knew he would be out of a job and the station closed if he sold out; the last locally owned station gone. He did work out contracts to sell news stories to the major networks.

Hanna did manage to work in questions on my health; she had caught on quickly to the ways of the White House media teams from the few short times she had been there.

A one minute cut of Hanna’s story was carried by the major networks. Hanna even gave the paper a little bump by questioning Elmo about ads and his papers support.

Hanna asked the girls after the filming stopped if they thought I or all of my mates would be interested on being on the channel 34 Sunday local news show that ran from 1100 to 1230. Their guest had canceled at the last minute this morning.

Marcy suggested that she call me about this week’s show and when Vicky and Ching Lee returned, we would do the show as a group.

Ambassadors Fauntroy, Morrison and Brenardi would handle moving the goods from the hangar to the camp.

The C5 was going from there to Windhoek to bring back Bob, Andy and all the crew with their equipment. Lorrie was combining flights to save money; besides, the State Department was paying for part of the flight anyhow.
A State Department plane was carrying Ambassador Eaton and his family back.

Ambassador Schmitt and the entourage arrived from Kampala early Friday morning. Rachael was sending me loads of pictures of the greeting. Apparently Bob Jackson, his wife and Frederica hit it off OK and were at least smiling in the pictures. It seemed I was worried about that meeting for nothing.

Friday I had guests; Ben-David and Israeli Ambassador Ableman came around 1000. Ben had brought the latest update to the system he had given us. It was just a cover to see me; usually a courier just dropped them off.
We talked for an hour before Ben wanted to see Robert and explain some new things with the update.
“I will have to take you to him; they have moved to larger offices,” I replied.

Ben David was impressed with Roberts’s new offices; Ambassador Ableman and I left the tech geeks to do their thing.
Ambassador Ableman and I ended up in the command center after getting coffee. The executive chairs in there were well padded, reclined and had descent foot rest and an arm rest with a cup holder; I needed all of those today.

We had only been talking a few minutes when the controller announced I had a page from Korea.
Ambassador Ableman started to get up but I told him he could stay, that I was expecting a family call.

“Good evening Vicky and Jake. I think it is close to midnight there,” I said.

“Yes and we are boarding the plane in a few minutes to Japan,” Vicky replied.

“It has been a busy day but we think everything has been done. The building has been purchased, permits acquired, plans drawn up and a contractor hired who is going to start Monday,” Jake said.

“Our senior man from the security detail William Croft is going to take pictures and send them to Jake daily to monitor the progress and construction quality. William worked four years building condos and as a supervisor before the Army Special Forces so he knows what should be done and how,” Vicky said.

“That should have everything covered. Have a safe flight. By the way, how is Ching Lee doing?” I asked.

“Buying lots of traditional clothes and souvenirs; she may need a bigger closet. She is having a good time; we all are. The current crew were not happy about leaving but have warmed up to the idea,” Vicky replied as she said bye and closed the screen.

“Can you use this to communicate anywhere?” Ambassador Ableman asked.

“As long as we have the access numbers I am told. I communicate with my team at the US embassy in Tel Aviv quite often,” I replied.

“So if I thought my building was being monitored I could come here and communicate with my people in Israel for critical issues?” he asked.

“I don’t think there will be a problem doing that if you need to,” I replied.

“Speaking of communicating; Ambassador Dansky is at the Kampala embassy. I think I just saw him enter the building,” I said.

“Hambone, bring the Kampala lobby camera to the big screen and back it up a couple minutes,” I instructed. I never asked how Hamilton Burger got that nickname, but I bet there was a story connected with it.

Sure enough Ambassador Dansky was there with Ambassador Brenardi.

“Hambone page Kampala please,” I directed.

When the screen went live, “Hello boss, you gave us quite a scare there for a while. I bet I could beat you on the mats right now,” the controller said.

“Oh but when I get well, payback might be hell,” I replied.

“That’s why you are there and I’m staying here,” he replied as he was laughing.

“I will page the Ambassador for you,” he said.

“I want to speak to Ambassador Dansky at the same time,” I said.

The conversation lasted an hour before Ben-David came looking for his boss and then the conversation went for another thirty minutes. It was an open conversation between friends and allies.

As Ben was leaving, “When you find the people you are looking for, let me know. We may be able to help.”

“I will keep that in mind. It may happen in the next month or so, maybe sooner,” I replied.

I spent two hours on MTAC with Ben Smith, arrest warrants had been issued for all 10 of the people the Prince had phoned with his satellite phone. Four were in the Washington area and two in New York City and four on the west coast. The scope and reach of the task force just kept growing.

Saturday morning I started back working out in the gym with light workout. It was tough and painful but afterwards I felt better. A lot of the men from my security detail were in the gym and giving the hot tub a workout. Then most of them were visiting Amy Crossman – the masseur – for a body massage to help with the soreness.

At 1000 Hanna called to ask if I would consider being the guest for their Delmarva Sunday Report for her station. She would bring the makeup, sound and cameraman and would record the interview wherever I wanted. They could come this afternoon. Marcy had already filled me in on the conversation they had yesterday so the call was no surprise.

I agreed to the interview and the time. I wasn’t going anywhere, not for a couple more days at least; I and my family considered Hanna a close friend.

While I had time I looked at Google Earth using the State Department’s fancy big sized version at Polokwane South Africa. Twenty four hours later there was still no change in activity at the airports.

The Prince would certainly land at the bigger airport and stay or carry out his business at the better hotel.

I wondered how Dad, Jason and Jake with some of my men would take to an elephant and rhino safari, even if it was with camera. I doubted there was time to get any kind of permits to kill either, not that I wanted any killed but saying so would make for good cover. But then I was sure that there were poachers who could arrange it.

At 1330 Hanna, Sylvester and Megan Keith (the makeup girl) stepped off the elevator. Then the search began for a suitable location with the right light and sound reflection qualities. Every place we tried has some kind of problem; echoes, tones, feedback from office equipment and noise from gym.

It was funny how over the years we had gotten used to it and didn’t bother us, yet the TV equipment picked up on it.

There was only one place left that had none of that noise and static and also plenty of lighting, and that was the command center.

We went down to check it out after I gave them specific instructions, “You cannot film any of the equipment or take photographs of the monitors,” I told them.

It worked out great with the camera man filming towards the seats. With the swivel seats and Hanna on one side of the isle and me on the other, we could angle and face one another and still both be in the camera.

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

I called Troy to put the plan in motion; he needed to change parts of his planned 0900 news conference. I sent him the three modesty pictures Jenny had taken. Troy was going to rush the tech department to set up an MTEC screen and camera in the press room.

Marcy, Jenny and Lorrie joined me as we waited for and then watched as Troy and Harry walked to the podium to begin.

“Good morning, a lot of things have happened in the last twenty-four hours so let’s start at the beginning. Yesterday at 1510 the terrorists attacked Ambassador Jones’ convoy as she was heading home,” Troy stated.

“Four dump trucks driven by terrorists slammed into the Ambassador’s convoy, shoving the convoy into the guardrail and shearing the bodies from their frames. The Suburban bodies ended up in westbound traffic, some of them were hit by cars in the mess that followed,” Troy said.

“At that point in the attack, one of the trucks was a suicide truck bomb and exploded, causing further damage to the Suburban’s and their occupants and damaging over 70 cars that were stopped on the highway in the process,” Troy said.

“There were four cars with four terrorists each that then open fire on the Suburban’s and the stopped cars. A JBG armed helicopter providing support for Ambassador Jones’ convoy eliminated that threat,” Troy said.

“Twenty-four terrorists died in the attack. Over a hundred citizens were injured from the initial accident, explosion or when the terrorists changed to soft targets. Unfortunately, 23 people died in the automobiles,” Harry said.

“Six of the Ambassador’s JBG body guards were injured in the Suburban’s, two seriously. The FBI, DHS, CIA, Secret Service MSP, Maryland Transportation Authority and of course the Task Force are investigating the attack” Harry added.

“On a further note, NSA Director Ben Smith has been named temporary chair person of the task force,” Troy added.

“We will take a few questions. Melinda, we will start with you,” Harry said.

“What information do you have on the funeral services for Ambassador Jones? You have said nothing about that,” she asked.

“Funeral services? Ambassador Jones was injured, not deceased. The President and I talked to her immediately after attack and again this morning. In fact, she has sent us some pictures and gave us permission to show them to you,” Troy said.

“Put the first picture on the screen,” Troy instructed the video person. As he was talking, the President walked in and to the side.

“Now the second and then the third,” he directed.

“As you can see, BJ took quite a beating in the attack. She said it is from the seat belt and shoulder harness,” Troy said.

“Scott.”

“Why the elaborate ruse and silence about the Ambassador?” he asked.

“I can’t answer that, her security team was in control and orchestrated her removal from the area. You can ask her that question. Ambassador Jones has said she would do a short video conference call,” Troy said.

“Has BJ paged in?” Troy asked the controller.

A click of the button and the four of us were on the screen behind Troy.

“Good morning Mr. President, Troy, Harry; how is everyone this morning?” I asked.

“BJ, we are fine, how are you? You said you were hurting and it is easy to understand why after looking at the pictures,” the President asked.

“It hurts to breathe and to talk so this is going to be short,” I replied.

“Scott, to answer your question my security team felt it was best to get me out of the area the fastest way possible. Lying on the stretcher was the safest way. I did not want to be a distraction for the rescue teams that had so many injured to deal with. It was best if I was gone quickly and quietly,” I said.

“Marley” Troy acknowledged.

“BJ, are you under a doctor’s care and how soon will you be back to work?” Marley asked.

“I am scheduled to get an MRI today and will not be back until I can wear the heavy vest. I will just have to go day by day. I am going to work from the command center here at JBG headquarters until I can,” I replied.

“How do you feel about Director Smith taking your place on the committee?” Scott asked.

“Ben is an excellent choice, we have worked together on multiple projects, we have learned a lot from each other and think alike in many areas,” I said.

“By the way Malinda, I’m still breathing so no one gets to collect the bounty yet,” I said.

“Harley,”

“Ambassador Jones; given yesterday’s events do you still feel we are making gains in the war on terrorism?” he asked.

“Yes; it is blatantly clear now that we are seriously hurting their cause, by going after our leaders that are fighting terrorism. Before they were going after large group kills for shock effect. Now they are devoting huge amounts of resources for just one person.”

“They have failed to realize the same as we did in the killing of Osama that there was a chain of command ready to take his place.”

“We have a bigger pool of determined leaders capable of stepping in and taking the fight forward. They had a few hundred capable; we have thousands. Yesterday’s attack only showed their desperation,” I said.

“The biggest gains in stopping terrorism are going to be stopping the funding, recruitment, training sites and communications. We have to keep them running, making mistakes as well as killing them,” I said.

“That’s about all I can stand for now. I will try to do this again in a couple days. Mr. President, Troy I will call you after I rest,” I said as I signaled to close the broadcast.

The news cast continued for another hour.

I had been right, Robert’s screen filled up again while I was on the video call. Ben was soon going to get lists to work with.

We needed to go to my office and speak with my people; I had kept them in the dark the last few hours. I spent the rest of the morning at my desk and with small groups of employees. I was in pain but it was bearable with OTC pain meds.

One thing I remembered from boot camp; the gunny was always yelling, “Suck it up soldier! Keep going, don’t stop because hurts,” and keep going I did and I will now.

Doc Burns’ medical group had seen all the members of my security team by noon and they all had MRIs. I had mine after lunch. No further treatment was required, just time and then time in the gym. I had ten days to heal enough to go to the Ambassadors Ball.

Four of those injured had been released. The other two were going to be in the hospital a week. The insurance company wanted them out in 3 days; Jenny put an end to that.

Ed and Bill were already working on rebuilding the security team. The older gas Suburban’s had fared better in attack than the newer diesel model because they were larger and heavier. The new convoy setup would have eight of the rehabbed Suburban’s instead of four new diesels.

After the MRI, I had just settled into my office chair when Andy and Bob paged on VCATS.

“We are done; everything had been repaired. What is the inspection and acceptance process required?” Bob asked.

“I don’t know, call Vicky and inform her, then Victor and Amy; they can determine the process. Once that is done get with Lorrie to schedule the C5; I want the man lifts and the Hummers brought back and of course all your tools and equipment. Also bring back any worthwhile leftover materials. The hangar has to be cleaned out as well before you leave,“ I replied.

“Bob, there is a very slight chance I may need you to go to Korea for a project there. I will know in a couple of days,” I said.

I spent the rest of the afternoon between my office and the EIT office. Robert was making progress in the hunt for the Prince and his two cohorts; enough progress that I could see the noose forming in my mind.

I would be glad to have Andy and the full OPS team back. They would need a couple weeks on the shooting range and at Camp Smith before the next mission. Andy had not met all the new members of his teams because of his time in Windhoek.

Ed and Bill wanted changes done to Camp Smith; Andy would make the final decision on that.

On the way to the house I stopped by Robert’s office one last time for the night.

“I sent a copy of the data from the ten phone numbers called by the Prince’s satellite phone to Ben on the g-mail site. I did not send the data or the recording of the conversation the three had at 2100 Riyadh time. I thought you might like to hear and evaluate it with the OPS team first,” Robert said.

Robert played the recordings of the call and was right, the three were planning a trip to South Africa with diamonds, gold, dollars and ivory to arrange payment for advanced weapons of Chinese manufacture. The trip was planned to happen in four weeks in the town of Polokwane in the northern providence of South Africa.

Polokwane was less than a day’s ride from supposedly closed gold and diamond mines and several huge elephant and rhino game preserves.

That told me that the gold, diamonds and ivory were local black market the Prince had paid South African terrorist groups to secure. There was no end to the black market support for crime and terrorism.

Polokwane had two separate airports that were within ten miles of each other, one with a single 6000 foot runway, built by the owner of the now defunct diamond and gold mines. There was one cluster of buildings for security. It was used for all kinds of illegal activities but beginning to deteriorate. There was one twin engine plane on the runway.

The other airport was run by the government for the big game hunters to hunt the preserves and tourism. There were two large hotels near that airport. It had two runways and looked to be in good shape and had multiple hangars and a terminal building.

There was one sizable plane that looked like it was being dismantled or had been damaged on landing; the tail and a section of the fuselage was several hundred feet away from the main section. There were also a couple smaller planes on the tarmac.

From the layout, this was at one time a booming airport. The closing of the gold and diamond mines had sealed the fate of this area. The jobs and supporting infrastructure died with the mines, making the area ripe and ready for the terrorists who promised them everything and left nothing but poverty and death.

The Prince was negotiating for small drones capable of carrying two small missiles comparable to the Hellfire. Elephant Ivory and complete Rhino horns were a cherished item in China – worth hundred thousands of dollars – were to pay from them along with the diamonds and gold.

The drones were being delivered to Central America and to Alejandro Hernandez; he was the arms dealer who had supplied the heavy machine guns to the terrorists for the college attack.

I spent time in the hot tub before supper and then rested in the recliner. Two little boys decided I was their playmate tonight and climbed the chair to be in my lap. The first bounce on my abdomen and I almost crapped my pants, if I had been wearing any. I read them a picture book to calm them down.
Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

Frank, Eric and Ben followed Marcy – who had met them at the elevator – and stopped in front of me.

“We came to offer condolences and help to the girls; we never expected this. Does the President know? I just talked to him a few minutes ago, he didn’t say anything,” Frank asked.

“Only two people know in the leaky bucket known as the White House and only a very few here. I thought that we could turn this into a positive to collect information. So far it looks really good; they have thrown caution to the wind rejoicing over my demise,” I said.

“Ben, tomorrow you will be emailed names and numbers for the task force to work on from a G-mail account with a sender of ‘one-pissed-off-bitch’. Oh, by the way; you will also be named temporary chairperson just in case the information keeps coming and I need to lie low for a couple days or am so sore I cannot wear a vest before I have a miraculous recovery” I said.

“You know all the networks are saying you are dead,” Eric said.

“My team did a great job getting me out of there, leaving the images we wanted the media to broadcast. That gives them something to talk about; we just need to make sure no one official confirms I’m dead. Troy already has a statement to read tomorrow morning that he and I worked out a few minutes ago,” I replied.

“Just WHEN was this plan put together?” Eric asked.

“While I was hanging upside down in the seat belt. Just before the truck bomb exploded and rolled the body upright,” I replied.

“You didn’t get a scratch?” Ben asked.

“I’m black and blue and sore all over, Doc Burns is coming to check me out in a few minutes,” I replied.

“You are not really going to let that guy work on you, are you? You trust him that much after what he has helped you do?” Ben asked.

“Ben, you do not know even one percent of what he does for us,” I replied.

“That is one more thing I do not want to know anything about,” he said.

“You could write a book on what you do know and I could write an encyclopedia on what you do not know,” I replied.

We talked a while longer while the EIT team was working the intelligence. The screens were full of phone numbers and data. The terrorist had indeed thrown their normal caution out of the window. Some calls were 15 minutes long, giving Robert’s team time to fix locations and record the calls.

A VCATS call came in from South Korea, Ching Lee and Vicky were checking in on me again. It was a full room with Jake and Jason.

“We think we have found a building to convert into a dormitory for the men. It is a well built industrial building – three stories with a flat roof – that can be made into an outdoor recreation area. There are ten foot ceilings and is large enough that all forty men can have large accommodations; two rooms with a bath, if you want to spend that kind of money,” Vicky said.

“I have drawn a sketch and will meet with prospective contractors and the governing regulators tomorrow. The way I have it drawn up there will be a buffer of 10 feet on the inside to meet your security requirements. It will be a building inside a building,” Jake said.

“How are you feeling? ZNN has been playing the attack in every cycle; they now have the traffic camera footage, the truck bomb explosion was horrendous. Your Suburban was pushed and rolled twice by the blast,” Jake said.

“The Doc is on his way down. I will know in a few minutes, I’m sore all over, but everything works OK,” I replied.

“While I have everyone here, what is your opinion about promoting Cindy to a Vice President position reporting to Vicky, with all the embassy security administrators reporting Cindy? That will free up Vicky’s time to start visiting embassies and devote more time to special OPS,” I asked.

“I am thinking you have some special plans for the OPS team,” Jenny said.

“You think and I know it,” I replied.

The Doc arrived; Cindy was told to bring him down. No one upstairs knew that I was alive, including Cindy.
After the shock, Marcy offered Cindy the new Vice President position. Mark would be offered a VP position reporting to Ching Lee for the college administrators.

The group followed the Doc and me to the meeting room so he could check me out. As I striped, I started to realize just how sore I was.

“Oh my God,” Jenny said not so softly and then she took a picture of me. I had her take some modesty pictures with my arm across my breast and hand covering my crotch, getting one picture each of my left and right side.
I was horribly black and blue across my abdomen where the lap belt had held me. There was another bruise that went from my pelvis across my breast and over my shoulder from the shoulder belt. Then there was a huge ball sized ugly bruise on my right thigh. The only thing it could have come from was the seat belt latch.

My sides were blue and I wondered what from, then I realized that most accidents are frontal hits that the belt holds. The Suburban had been slid sideways into the guardrail along the guardrail then rolled over several times. Then the violent force of the explosion slamming the body sideways into the seat belts and the roll.

All of this and I was wearing the heavy body armor. What did my men look like who were wearing standard body armor?
“Marcy; I want all the men sent to the Doc’s office tomorrow for complete checkups,” I instructed.

“Complete body MRI’s for all of them and you too,” Doc Burns added.

“Mine is going to have to wait a day or two,” I replied.

It was a long troubled night. I went to bed early after watching ZNN’s continuous coverage and latest speculation. The White House issued a short statement that only fueled the talking heads, “There will be a news conference at 9 AM to update today’s events.”

They were furious! No one would confirm anything for them and the leaky bucket went dry.

Alexandria Williams – our public relations specialist under Ching Lee – made a similar statement to the reporters that had crowed the lobby at 7PM.

“At this time JBG will make no statement on today’s events. Several of BJ’s immediate family are abroad on assignments and are returning home to participate in the crucial decision making processes that are required. We ask that you respect the family privacy.”

I could not get comfortable no matter how much I tried. Over the counter meds did nothing; I finally took some prescription meds. Doc Burns had written out a prescription in Jenny’s name so I would have something for me to take; I hate those kinds of meds.

I was up early – 6AM – and took a long hot shower. Jenny made breakfast for us while I was showering. Today I watched ZNN morning coverage as I was eating. Nothing had changed overnight.

There were interviews with the MSP and Transit Authority who spent their time explaining video in slow motion and discussing the number of dead terrorists and innocent people killed in the accidents and truck bomb. It was laughable when all they were asked was about me.

They could only answer with, “We have no confirmation that Ambassador Jones is deceased, all indicators lead us to believe she is.”

I went over to Robert’s office and listened to the data and calls that had been recorded yesterday afternoon and last night.

One call from the Prince’s satellite phone to the arms supplier was him bragging that he was not going to have to pay out the million dollars because the person had died in the one of the car assault teams.

The calls had dwindled down to a trickle near midnight and ceased all together by 0100. I was tired of hearing individuals patting themselves on the back for the attack on the convoy. The surprise was soon going to be on them.

It was now 1300 in Riyadh, home of the Prince. I was surprised he was not active on his satellite phone. Robert came in and had the same thoughts, even though he had dozens of files with names and numbers for the task force to check out today.

After a brief discussion and planning, we came up with a way to start the calls again.
It was time to light the fire, even if it was sooner than I wanted.

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

Wednesday morning Ed met me in the garage to put me in the heavy vest and walk me to the Suburban.

“Ed, the hair on the back of my neck feels like it is standing on end, not a good sign,” I said.

“I have an itch where I don’t normally have an itch and I haven’t had that since I left the sand box,” he replied.

“Bill said he feels like he was being watched a couple times in the last few days,” Ed said.

“We decided that both Blackhawks are going to make the trip starting today. Both will be flying high,” Ed added.

“When you get back this morning, check in with Robert to see if they have made any progress with the new coding the Prince is using,” I replied.

The trip to 1600 was uneventful and the day so busy I did not think any more about our conversation.

Ed carried the vest inside the White House for me to put on, “Robert said, they are randomly varying the codes in the same transmission; checking with his contacts he thinks it is of Iranian origin and sequencing.”

“That would not be surprising with all the IED’s they had that were Iranian,” I replied.

“That also means that an supposedly trustworthy ally in the Middle East may be on the verge of being flipped, on the verge of civil war or maybe Iran has an arrangement with the Prince,” I said as we were walking out.

The ride home was uneventful until the 301 North intersected route 50; that intersection and ramp was a hi-speed merge into six lanes gradually dropping to three lanes.

The convoy was made up of two Maryland State police cars in the lead, then the four Suburbans, and then two Transit Authority cars bringing up the rear. The convoy was in the hi-speed lane.

From the 301 south ramp four dump trucks merged onto US 50 in the outside slow lanes doing anything but slow. When the convoy started to pass the slower trucks, the trucks steered hard to the left crossing four lanes of traffic. Each truck had taken a Suburban to plow into the side.

Even before the impact the Blackhawk with the mini guns saw what was happening. The pilot started screaming into the radios.

“The convoy is being attacked! We need backup up now at the Bowie 301/ 50 merge.”

What I did not know was that with the three of us being uncomfortable this morning, Ed had changed protocol today. When the convoy was traveling this afternoon, the other two Blackhawks and two Bell 407s were to be in the air over the shore, fully manned with heavily armed security personnel.

They were flying a controlled approach practice to the small Bay Bridge airport where we first started our business as cover for being in the air a couple miles from the Bay Bridge.

The dump trucks hit the Suburbans so hard that it shoved them into the guard rail separating the highway.
With all the armor in the body and the high dump truck bumper, when the chassis came hard against the guard rail, the weight of the dump trucks and momentum sheared the body off and it went over the guard rail into the other west-bound lane of traffic.

The body rolled at least once – possibly more – into the oncoming traffic that I could hear crashing into other cars and Suburban. I was hanging upside down by the seat belts, so was everyone else in the truck. It is impossible to release the seat belt latch with your body weight hanging on it.

Rescue crews have a tool to cut the seat belt but they usually have someone in there to help you get oriented feet down; to have your body weight drive your head and neck into what is now the floor with all the other junk that was now resting on it is not a good thing. It kills you or you run the risk of being a quad.

I was going to grab the seat in front of me with one hand and cut the belt with the other to let me fall on my side.

Just as I was reaching for my knife there was a tremendous explosion that rolled the body one more time and buckled the side. The armor plate on the inside of the side and rear windows had saved me from the one inch thick pieces of flying glass.

I was now back upright in the seat and ready to get out and fight back.

One of the dump trucks had been a truck bomb. They had to know that in a four vehicle convoy, the VIP would be in one of the center two vehicles.

The hand-held aviation company radio was still working and screaming, “Stay in the trucks, stay in the trucks.”

I could hear bullets hitting the Suburban’s body; we were being shot at with semiautomatic rifles. The armor in the body was still intact even after being sheared off the chassis and being rolled at least twice.

Moments later there was a definite change in the gunfire and then all of it stopped. The change had been the Blackhawk with the mini gun. There had been four cars following the dump trucks with fighters to pick off survivors. That was what the first shots were.

The gunner in the Blackhawk had opened fire on the shooters with the mini gun. A few quick burst ended that problem. Traffic was now completely stopped on a major highway in both directions with debris filling the roads.

Ed had been in the front passenger seat, “Is everyone in here OK?” he asked.

“I think my arm is broken,” came from the back, everyone else answered, “OK.”

“BJ stay in here, we will check things outside. Other helicopters from Morton are on their way and should be here in a few minutes. As soon as they get here I will get you in one and get you away from here,” Ed said.

My mind was racing, trying to think how to turn this fiasco into an advantage.

“Ed, if they think I am dead it may lead to a bonanza in communications to our advantage. Work this as if I am dead but make no official statement to that effect,” I said.

I waited while things were checked out. I could hear the helicopters coming in the distance.
I could hear the Blackhawk pilot talking to a news helicopter over the hand held aviation radio lying on the floor on the general frequency, ordering him out of the immediate area. The media helicopter refused.

“You have 10 seconds to clear out of the area or I will order my gunner to shoot off ten inches of your main rotor blades. Your call; ten, nine, eight, seven, six,” the pilot stopped counting so I assumed the news helicopter withdrew a distance.

Ed was directing the JBG helicopters where to land and where the men were to set up security. A Blackhawk and a 407 were directed to land in the highway in front of the stopped traffic in each direction.

Ed , with several of my men assisting, forced open the door enough to crawl in and talk to me. “I have six men hurt.”

“Do they need to be life star or can they go in one of our helicopters?” I asked.

“Two are going to need life star and they are on the way,” Ed replied.

“Put the other four in one of the 407s and send Bill to be the company representative until I get an administrator there,” I instructed.

The news helicopter had pulled back but was still sending video of the aftermath and it was being broadcast. The media also had been listening to 911 call center radio traffic and quickly figured out that it was my convoy that had been attacked.

They were broadcasting what they knew with exaggerations and speculation. What was once one news helicopter was now six. Looking at the carnage and Suburbans, they were speculating I was seriously injured.

Ed and I decided on a plan to get me out of the area with as little risk as possible. No one had any idea if more terrorists were waiting in cars in the traffic jam. A person lying is a lot harder to hit than one walking – for the average shooter – and it would work just fine with the planning.

Ambulances were now filling any space they could get into. Ed sent several men to borrow a striker stretcher from them and a hospital blanket. It was rolled to the door that had now been pried open. Ed quietly informed only the men necessary of the plan.

Then with those men assisting or standing to block as much view as possible, I was pulled out like a rag doll, placed on the stretcher and covered completely with a blanket including my head, playing dead for the media.

Then they openly rolled the stretcher to one of the Blackhawks. I lay on the stretcher completely covered while a couple seats were removed. Then the men slid me off the stretcher onto the floor. As soon as the door closed I was on the phone – the phone to the office. My portable office was placed in with me and three men.

“Jenny, don’t say anything until everyone is out of your office, close the door and then connect me on a conference call with Lorrie and Marcy,”

“BJ, they are saying you are dead on ZNN,” Jenny said.

“That’s the way I want it to stay until tomorrow morning,” I replied.

I filled them in on the plans.

“There are six JBG personnel hurt on the way to AAGH. I will call Vicky and I will be at Morton very soon; I will get out of the helicopter in the hangar and into your Suburban,” I said.

“We don’t know how tight the surveillance is that they are doing. Get a hold of Doc Burns to meet the helicopter; that will make it look like he is there to write a death certificate.”

“Have the Doc call the funeral home he is connected with to send a hearse. We need to make it as real as possible and you know the media will be watching closely.”

I called Vicky and Ching Lee in Korea and filled them in. Then I called the President’s phone that someone else always answers first.

“Troy, get the President somewhere private; do not announce who is on the phone! I need to talk to both of you,” I said.

I talked to the President and then to the security team to plan out tomorrow or the day after, if intelligence gathering was still productive.

All four helicopters took off at the same time. The gunship had stayed airborne; one to AAGH and three to Morton. I left a skeleton crew at the wreck site to account for all the weapons, JBG equipment and the remains of Suburbans that were going to be delivered to the junk pile at Camp Smith.

Ed also tasked the men with taking as many pictures of the terrorists and as many IDs as they could before the police ran them away.

After the change to Marcy’s Suburban in the hangar, she drove into the garage, closed the big door and turned the power to it off.

When we walked into the command center to meet with Robert, ZNN was still broadcasting from the wreck site, only now with land crew and a helicopter, and they were still speculating I was dead. Speculation that was helped by the MSP marking out an outline of my Suburban in the paint to indicate a fatality. MSP did not know I was alive, Ed had told them to make no statements that I was dead. He also told them there was an official blackout on any news or statements about JBG.

I had been right; one of the news helicopters had followed us back to Morton. They had landed and broadcast footage of the Doc and the hearse. They even followed the hearse to the funeral home.

Jenny, Marcy, Lorrie and I stayed in the command center. We were doing a VCATS with Vicky and the rest of my family that was in Korea.

All fifteen members of Robert’s team were busy. The Prince’s phone and dozens more from the group went active. The Prince even made a conference call to a dozen phones in the US that we did not know about until now.
Marcy answered a call from the lobby attendant, “Send them down, we are in the command center,” she replied.
Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

Happy New Year.

I was going to have one busy week when I returned to Washington; Tuesday was the first of the many Senate hearings that I needed to testify to. The email had an attachment with prospective questions. That was something I had never been sent before testifying.

That was only one of the three Congressional hearings for the week where I needed to appear and testify. There were three more the following week.

Balthazar Khamini was still among the missing but the noose was closing. There had been several more sightings in the area. He had been back to the Gas and Go twice more, like it was a normal stop in his travels. He had paid cash each time. The email stated that the FBI had installed all new high quality cameras and they were being closely watched.

Vicky scheduled the new staff for the South Korean embassy. Ching Lee, Jason and Jake were going to make trip with her. The first swap was going to keep the staffing at current levels, while additional housing was acquired for the planned expansion of the security group there.

The employees there were not going to be told they were coming back to the main office for a month until after Vicky was there. According to their personnel records there were no wives, concubines or other women in Korea with them as spouses.

They were going to be interviewed in depth, go through the weapons training and given updates on all the new procedures. Then they would get a couple weeks off before shipping back with the additional men, if the housing problem had been corrected.

Jake and Jason were going to help deal with location and the fiasco that was called the Korean real estate system. On the return trip they were going to stop over in Tokyo; Ching Lee and Vicky wanted to do some sightseeing and Jake needed to meet with officials there to finalize the final payments on the nuclear power plant meltdown cleanup.

Another email that was sent to both Vicky and me from Frank and Victor detailed the woes of Baines. Hammond Baines had been brought back to Washington in handcuffs. The things he had been printing off before his forays into the Seoul night life were highly classified.

Of course he was given a lawyer immediately. The agencies would be ten years and still not know everything he had given away to our potential enemies or who his contact people were. Over the last few months alone he had printed out thousands of pages. It was unknown how much more was loaded on thumb drives.

Every comment he made would be in exchange for a better sentencing deal. Then there would be the point at which he started lying to gain a better deal. One thing was for sure, he would not be making any trips to Camp Smith.

Clayton Albright had lost all of his clearances, and upon his release from the hospital was going to answer a lot of questions. Someone with real rank was going to decide if he was going to be able to quietly retire with benefits or go to jail with none of the above.

Another meeting that was flagged as important and mandatory was with the NIA (National Intelligence Agency) at the White House on Monday morning. The big dogs were wanting to know what I knew about Korea; the how and when.

They were already headhunting to find a scapegoat to cover high level asses for the Hammond Baines affair. It sounded almost like a possible movie title to me.

By the time I had finished looking at just the important things, we were in the landing pattern at Morton Field. It was back to the heavy security again. There had been another threat called in while we were gone; it came in from another burn phone.

“If you think all that heavy security will save you from Allah’s fury you are mistaken. Your days of living are numbered, bend over and kiss your ass goodbye. It’s coming sooner than you think.”

The context was different and there was none of the factual information that was contained in the other group of messages. The tower pings indicated that the call came from one of the big liberal California universities with thousands of international students. It was generally considered to be a hoax copycat call.

I departed the G5 to step into the heavy vest, even though federal officials considered the call a hoax; Ed and Bill were taking no chances. In public I would be wearing the heavy vest if JBG was supplying the security.

The good thing was it was freaking cold on the tarmac at Morton after four days in the mid eighties in Florida and that wraparound vest was warm.

We spent the rest of Friday in our offices, and finished out the day with our extended business meeting. Saturday we would spend the day getting ready for the first Ball at the German embassy.

At our meeting I found out that Cindy and Susie Q had contacted Julie Harris – the hair dresser we normally used – to come to the house to eliminate the security fiasco that would have happened if we had gone to her shop.

They had gone to her shop and made a list of every single item she needed and either purchased it from her or ordered all of the remainder on Monday.

One of the upstairs spare rooms was now our private hair salon. It made me angry to have to do things this way, but in the end it was the best way. With the Horsey House hotel and the crash pad hotel at Morton, we no longer used the rooms except for house guests.

Crash was still in one room when he was not over to Marlene’s. Crash still loved to fly and did often, if there was an empty seat. He spent a lot of time at Morton in the shops and the restaurant telling war stories about the bombing raids over Europe and Japan with the pilots and drinking coffee.

Crash had lost everything in the house fire when his nephews tried to kill him. The exception was all his memorabilia from the war. It had been in his falling down hangar including several large photo albums from his years as a pilot in the Army Air Corp. Crash had chosen dozens of pictures from those albums, they were copied and hung on the wall beside his crop duster on display.

We had intended to have an air show at Morton but things did not work out with all the things we were involved in; time just got away from us and the summer was gone.

It was going to happen next summer. Lorrie and Robbie were already working quietly on putting it together. We were going to have a reunion of the survivors of his bomber groups and fly in of some of the aircraft of the war. While they were scarce, there were still a few in flying condition.

I spent an hour with Robert and the EIT team. They had been working a week on tracking Crown Prince Sultan al-Zahab, Prince Abdulraouf al-Zahab and Abu Barazan.

“We have been working with all the emails off all the captured computers you brought to us. It has been slow but we are making progress.”

Saturday afternoon was spent getting ready for the ball. The ball was a blast; it was one time that all six of us girls were dressed to the nines and had elegant dancing partners, even if we were paying them to guard over us. We danced to everything the band played.

And then there was Rachael at fifteen; she put all of us to shame in the beauty department. She could have easily passed for eighteen or twenty-one and she had been practicing her dancing as well.

This New Years ball was a family affair that included teens. There were several young men who took every chance to dance, especially with Rachael, and any dance that required any physical contact. She was hit on for every slow dance.

The embassy photographers were everywhere, and as usual the participant received a thumb drive of the pictures and the German embassy would publish many of them on their web page as a major social event.

Rachael would have plenty to contribute to her foreign studies class on Tuesday.

Monday started the Washington merry-go-round again; heavy security, heavy vest and hours in the hot seat, first at the NIS meeting and then testifying before the congressional committees.

Vicky, Ching Lee, Jason and Jake plus 20 new members of the security team left for Korea.
Monday night, Robert wanted to see me before he left for the day.

“They started today using new communications methods and phone numbers. They have changed their encryption and it is going to take us a few days to break it. There is a lot of traffic using it in the Washington area,” he said.
“Do the best you can do and keep me informed,” was the best reply I could give.

Tuesday was no different; more time on the hill and more meetings, just more of everything. I was going to be glad when my six months was up on this jig. There were too many politicians, too much double talk and too much media demand for access.

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

Harry Jacobson was at the cars watching people coming and going. He sent a text that a group of six teenagers was coming, headed our way. We had ear wicks for all of us. I motioned for the girls to put the wicks in.

I could hear them coming over the dune, all mouthy with a Mid-Eastern accent. I guessed they were arrivals to the area from one of the many relocation programs that had been in effect.

All the terrorism raids had put a cold shoulder on those programs for the time being. People were beginning to have second thoughts about open unrestricted immigration. It was too little too late; the terrorists were here – and from everything we had learned – some had been here prior to 9-11.

They stood on the dune line for a few minutes before walking towards us and the beach. They walked to the water then turned around and walked back to the dune and to the cars.

At the car they unloaded several cameras and tripods and started up the dunes with the equipment. Gordon had alerted us to what was going on. At the top of the dune they set the cameras up recording us.

As soon as they started our way, “Gordon; disable or destroy the cameras, strip the memory cards out of them,” I instructed.

The group came to where we were and sat down, “Hey, you want to party with us?”

“No! Get lost,” I replied.

“Don’t you like young Arab men, we can treat you right,” one of them said.

“This is a private beach by invitation only, and I know you have no invitation. It is also a nude beach and you are dressed. I know Arab men are ashamed and never expose their bodies to be ridiculed. So again, get lost,” I replied.

“We don’t take orders from anyone and certainly not women. You American women need to learn respect and your place,” he said.

The four guards were on the way. The teenager closest reached to grab me by the boob but I was faster. I grabbed the fingers on his hand and quickly broke several with a twist. At the same time a fist to the side of his neck near his Adams apple left him stunned and gasping.

Vicky was applying similar treatment to one of the other teens. He was on the sand screaming like a banshee.

Their buddies decided they needed help only to be grabbed by Gordon and our other three guards. Our guards walked them back to their car on their tiptoes, screaming the whole way. They would have sore elbows for several weeks.

“Don’t ever come back here!” they were told; “This is your one and only warning,” Gordon said and they were shoved into the car.

Everything returned to normal; sand, water and suntan lotion that had now become playful fun as it was applied.

Running around naked, the boys also learned they could pee on the grass and anything else and how to aim. Progress? Maybe, but we would have to see if the potted flowers in the house paid the price.

It was 1600 when Gordon spoke into the ear wick, “You have company coming; four of the teens are back with two men whom I suspect are their fathers, along with a police officer.”

“Cover up girls. Men, come in and join the party,” I instructed as I was pulling on both the light body armor and a pair of shorts.

The hand was wrapped in bandages and the fingers in splints; three other young men each had an arm in a sling.

An older man who was walking with the boy with the broken hand spoke in an Arab dialect that I recognized as from North East Africa, most likely Tunisia or Libya.

“Which one of these despicable women broke your hand for no good reason?” one of the men asked the boy in his native tongue.

“She did,” he replied as he pointed at me with his good hand.

The adult with him started yelling and screaming in a mix of English and Arabic at the policeman, thinking no one could understand him. He was raging about how innocent and pure his boy was and how a decadent immoral woman was corrupting his children. He was trying to get the officer flustered.

“Ma-am, I need to see your ID; these teens have alleged that you assaulted them,” the officer said as he was looking at my men holding their MP5s.

“Who are these men?” the officer asked.

I handed him my Federal ID and badge and said, “They are my bodyguards; you need to call your dispatcher on the telephone and have them send your Chief and the Mayor here pronto. Do not broadcast who we are.”

He looked several times at the ID, then me and my guards, “Dispatch Officer 39; I need to have the Police Chief and the Mayor come to the west shore cove as quickly as possible.”

“Chief to Officer Thirty-nine; what is the problem?” came over the radio.

“You need to come here and settle this; it’s way above my pay grade. I don’t think you want this problem in your office later,” the officer replied.

“Ma-am, I’m really sorry to bother you with this kind of mess from these people; you’re not the first they have harassed. But it looks like you are the first to do something about it,” the officer said.

All I had on was the white vest and shorts. I reached into my bag, put on my holster and Glock and then a blouse that I left unbuttoned. The girls did the same thing. The troublemakers became very quiet.

With my smarter than smart phone, I took pictures of the four boys and two men and then sent them to the INS director in my office at Section 12. “Run these and get back to me immediately with the results,” was the text I sent with them.

“What did you take their pictures for?” the officer asked.

“I sent them to the INS to see if everything is up to date on them,” I replied.

“That will take several days at least,” he replied.

We waited for twenty minutes for the Chief to show up. The Chief and the Mayor came in the same Crown Vic.
While we were waiting, the group of six became more agitated; there was a lot of muffled talk among the six. They had come to the conclusion that I was someone important and that they may be in deep camel crap.

I started a conversation with the girls and my men in Russian. I also warned my men to be ready for the group to cut and run and ordered one of them to move behind the men.

They were really getting fidgety and quickly became more so at the Russian conversation. They had lost the ability to follow the conversation and still play dumb.

The Chief and the Mayor came over the dune and stopped at their officer. I handed the Chief my ID.

The Chief handed it back without opening it up, “I recognize you, I don’t need that. What should we do with them?” he asked.

My phone dinged that I had a message. Both of the older men were on expired visas, including their families who had been processed on the same day. The visas were expired over a year ago.

“Chief, what is your phone number? I will send the info to you. There is a number for you to call; just arrest them and the INS will handle the rest,” I said.

“The first time they were here they set up video cameras on the dune to record what they were going to do. When you search the houses, look for computers, memory sticks, cards or other storage media that may have evidence of the other harassments,” I added.

I had the name of the older man and in his native language told him, “You should have accepted all those certified letters you refused to sign for and just maybe you could have avoided the grief that is coming your way. That and had someone teach your boys what is acceptable conduct in America between men and women, especially on the beach and in public.”

“You came here for a better life and then brought all the bad customs and culture that destroyed the country that you left. Now you are going to be sent back there; good riddance. We want immigrants who want be part of the American dream and join our society and contribute, not change or destroy our dream,” I added.

Friday morning we boarded the G5 and headed home. Over all, we had had a restful 4 day vacation. Tomorrow night was the first Embassy Ball to finish out the week.

All of us were ready to go back to work and we did from the G5 during the flight. There were so many things to catch up on.
Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

“Merry Christmas,” to my faithful readers and their families .” Thank you for reading the story.
Jack

The first call was from the President, “Merry Christmas to you and your family BJ. I trust you have had a quiet day with no excitement, other than the holiday spirit.”

“Merry Christmas to you and your family as well. Yes, it has been quiet so far,” I replied. The conversation lasted ten minutes.

The calls went on for an hour from Troy, Ben and members of the task force. Then the visitors started showing up; Victor, Joni and Allie with Alica tagging along. Joni was beginning to show; she was three months ahead of Lorrie and Ching Lee.

The four – including Jenny and Marcy and the other ladies – retreated to another room for a more in private conversation about pregnancy and its daily symptoms and cravings, leaving Vicky and me to entertain the men – which was fine.

We were having a candid conversation with Victor when Eric and Frank along with their wives knocked on the door. I knew they were coming before they got to the door; there was a monitor in the living room in the corner. It was one of the things East Coast had done the day of and a day after the threats.

A gate was installed forty feet down our driveway, with a guard shack to keep the person from the RRT who assigned there warm and out of the wind. Everyone who came to our driveway was challenged. From sun up to sun down, two men were in the shack and one at night. Cameras and sensors watched the complete property and everything was monitored in the command center as part of the EIT duty.

After pleasantries, I suggested the wives add their experiences to the conversation in the other room that was loud with laughter at times.

“I know it is a holiday and work is supposed to be off limits, but I have a couple questions that I need answered. Am I out of bounds if I ask them today?” I asked.

“Any questions you have, we ought to listen to,” Frank replied.

I stuck my head in the room, “Vicky, the men and I are going over to the command center for a few minutes.”
“Play the recording you made this morning,” I instructed the duty man who was just getting ready to change shifts.

Vicky and I were part of a very candid conversation between three agency directors.
“My people there have work to do. The Lone Ranger is going to meet Tonto Monday after we find out what files Baines was looking at and printing. That won’t take very long,” Frank said.

“Frank, it’s been going on eighteen months! If your people there haven’t stumbled on to it and reported it, are they in on it? I would send someone from Washington to the embassy and a different team to look at your office there. At least if it was me,” I said.

“I second that opinion,” Eric and Victor chimed in.

“I will give you a week then I am sending a team to handle the housing problem and whatever. BJ said the Secretary of State approved twenty-five more JBG personnel yesterday and they are not hot sheeting bunks,” Vicky said.

The embassy security was in Vicky’s wheelhouse now as was the SOPS team. I had a burst of pride that she was asserting her authority. The successful trip to Mexico and control of the team at New Jersey were definitely confidence builders.

“Lone Ranger and Tonto; really? You have been watching too many British spy movies, that’s right out of the MI-6 handbook,” Frank said as we made our way back to the house.

“I don’t have time to watch any TV Frank; it’s all worthless crap anyhow, as it does not contribute to the big picture or profitability. Besides, I have five mates who crave all the personal attention they can get and I like to supply it,” I replied.

At the elevator Frank stopped abruptly, turned and said, “Don’t tell me you have the MI-6 operations manual.”

“Frank, you know a girl has to have secrets. I will tell you this; there are a couple more volumes to the MI-6 manual than your CIA manual. The Mossad operations manual is the most impressive; takes up a whole row in the book shelf but then there are four volumes on developing and executing successful covert operations that were real interesting and have been useful,” I replied as I stepped into the elevator ahead of them.

“Reading the KBG operations manual was boring and a disappointment,” I said.

“I had the same opinion of the KBG manual and here I thought it was just me,” Vicky added.
They just stood there looking at Vicky and me.

“Latest editions I suppose?” Frank finally asked.

“Yep, revised this year, all of them except yours; it’s out of date and decades behind the times compared to the others,” I replied.

“I have got to pay more attention to the things in your office when I am there,” Frank said.

“How did you get the KBG manual?”

“Never mind; forget I asked that question. I really don’t want to know,” Frank said as the elevator doors opened in the garage.

The girls and the wives were still in the room carrying on and it was going for 1700. I was hungry and we soon needed to pack for the flight tomorrow morning.

We had sub loaves and plenty of all kinds of deli lunch meat that needed to be eaten before we left. It would be bad when we returned. Hot soup and subs were one of our favorite quick meals.

“Wash up men, you are helping fix supper,” I said.

We had just enough sub loaves, tomatoes, lettuce, onions and fixings to make a descent sized sub for everyone. With two different kinds of soup, there was enough for everyone.

It was a wonderful evening with friends, beer, wine coolers and champagne. Everyone had left by 1800 giving us time to pack.

At 0600 we were at Morton packing the things we needed into my G5; the six of us, two boys and four bodyguards. The bodyguards were going to make this interesting in a way. Gordon Decker – my dancing partner from Kampala – was one of them and other three were the chosen partners for Marcy, Vicky and Lorrie when they started the embassy visits.

Three hours later we were transferring everything to two SUVs and two cars from the MAAR site at Naples Airport. Lorrie’s Florida house rental division had houses all up and down the Gulf Shores area. JBG owned a lot and had a lot more by contract.

We had chosen a six bedroom house less than a quarter mile from the cove where we were going to spend four days resting and relaxing on the beach and the warm waters of the gulf. The cove was a private beach that went with one of the properties we owned.

The property deed and sales contract stipulated the cove and beach were to remain open as a nudist beach. The previous owner was an avowed nudist and had plenty of friends who were nudist in the area and were regulars at the beach.

Aileen Comstock, the MAAR site manager, asked if we were going to the cove.

“Yes, of course! That is what we came for,” I replied.

“Be careful, there have been some troublemakers. The police have been called a couple of times on them,” she said.

It was noon by the time we got everything put away and secured. With coolers, towels and swimsuits we drove to the sandy parking area.

Death threats and bodyguards complicate life; I finally had to agree to wear the body armor to and from the beach. One guard was going to stay with the automobiles and serve as a lookout at people coming to the beach. The other three were going to sit in the beach grass in chairs in case they were needed.

Even with the difficulties, we had a good afternoon. Even the boys had a good time running around naked, although they didn’t like the suntan spray that much. There were a lot of people on the beach for a Monday, I thought.

As the sun was starting down, we packed and left. After showers and getting the boys dressed, we went out for supper. I almost had to fight not to wear the heavy body armor, it was eighty degrees and humid. I finally convinced Gordon I would be OK wearing two layers of the light duty armor. I was one step away from making a direct order for the guards to stand down.

We went to a high end restaurant; Jenny had reserved the room in her name. Salad with the steak and seafood combo – with before dinner wine and beer – set the mood for the evening.

By some miracle I escaped without being recognized. Back at the house we turned in early and were up early and had breakfast at one of those pancake houses that old folks ate at that was not far from the beach. We spent all day on the sand, in the sun and water.

Wednesday was a repeat of Tuesday until after lunch, then is when the trouble started.
Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

Christmas was upon us; in the blink of an eye it was Christmas Eve. The gym was still open for those that had an access card, but they were on their own. The elevator codes were changed to require a JBG ID card swipe. The refreshment stand was closed.

At Morton Field the restaurant was closing at 8, but the tower was still 24/7; it was now part of the FAA network. All the shops were closed, but the UPS and FedEx flights were still operating to get those last minute and critical packages delivered.

The church that my and Jenny’s family had been going to for years had an early service Christmas Eve. This year when Mom and Lisa asked if we could go as a family, we said yes.

Even though it was not lady-like for church I wore a pant suit with two of the light vests and my hardware. Other than a down sized escort to get there I was sending most of the security team home; after all, it was Christmas. I would be my own bodyguard. There be the two who were at the house and the EIT duty man still was watching all the outside cameras of the house.

The question was how the boys would behave. They were as good as gold as they normally were. It was a traditional Christmas service. After the service we socialized for a few minutes with old friends and the minister before leaving.

We made the rounds, Mom and Dad’s first; Jake and Mindy were there and we exchanged gifts. Then on to Jason and Lisa’s and more gifts. The boys who – would soon be two – made out like bandits.
They had all kinds of toys, clothes that they would soon out grow and some they needed to grow into and they had a blast opening presents. Some of the toys would be put away and brought out in stages while older toys were put away for a month or two.

At home with the boys sound asleep we girls opened our presents. There were plenty of presents to give to each other. I and the girls had been making lists all year. With the help of internet shopping and Cindy there were only a few items that I did not get.

It was a wonderful family night together with Christmas music and ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ playing on the TV. The boys would have more presents to open tomorrow morning under our tree.

I was up early – my natural clock would not let me sleep in – so I carried my clothes and dressed in the living room then quietly slipped out and took the tunnel to the office.

After checking with the EIT duty man I sent a general Merry Christmas email to all the security employees. Then I opened a VCATS and paged the communication room at the South Korean embassy; according to the schedule JBG employee Berry Simms was working.

“Record the conversation,” I instructed the duty man.

I looked at the employee file that was setup by HR for each embassy for easy reference so I would know for sure who I was talking to.

“Hello Berry; Merry Christmas,” I greeted.

“Merry Christmas to you ah-mm, Ms. Jones,” he replied.

“You can cut it with the Ms. stuff. BJ, Boss or Ambassador, whichever rolls off the tongue the easiest is fine. Are you alone in the control room?” I asked.

“Fred and I are the only ones in here,” he responded.

Fred was Fredrick J. Monahan, one of the three shift leaders for the JBG security group.
“Have Fred come sit in front the camera so we can talk,” I instructed.
“Howdy boss, how are things in Maryland today?” Fred asked.
“Things are good here. You do understand that the conversation we are about to have is JBG classified, strictly between you and me?” I said.

“Yes Ma-am,” they replied.

“Scramble the feed,” I replied and at the same time motioned to the duty man working the console to begin recording the conversation. The little red light on the corner of the screen came on indicating it was being recorded.

With the feed scrambled no one on either end system could monitor the conversation.

“What the hell is going on there,” I asked point blank.

There was a delay; a long delay – I thought I was going to have to ask the question again.
“There has been a lot of tension between the State Department personnel lately. There had been conflicting instructions and orders almost daily,” Fred replied.

“Is Foley the problem?” I asked.

“No. the assistant Ambassador Hammond Baines and Foley’s boss Clayton Albright seem to be the issue and neither is supporting Foley anymore. Foley is trying to do right but the assistant is undercutting him with the support of his boss,” Fred replied.

Clayton Albright had a dozen embassies in Asia under his assignment as assistant director.

“Baines is leaving a lot and dumping the security detail. Then he calls several hours later to be picked up, very drunk and reeking of sex. He is rarely picked up at the same location and not in the better parts of the city. Oh, and he always has his secure briefcase with him. Before he goes out he always spends a lot of time on the computer and printing documents. Several times it was unlocked when he was picked up and obviously empty,” Fred replied.

“How is Albright involved?” I asked.

“Albright covers for him, he has shut down several investigations and disciplinary actions Foley has tried to do over the last year,” Fred replied.

“You do know that Foley has requested a security expansion?” I replied.

“No! There is no place for anyone else here, we are already hot sheeting bunks. Foley has been trying to get that fixed and Albright has been stopping that,” Fred replied.

“Foley said he has been trying to get housing approved for three years, so Albright does not want a larger security force; he must be afraid someone will get curious,” I said.

“Proper housing will be taken care of soon,” I said.

“Who has the daily logs of all travel?” I asked.

“Baines and we know he alters them, we started keeping a duplicate set of our own a year ago to cover our ass, with coded notes on them,” Berry replied.

“How long has this been going on?” I asked.

“Off and on for a while, maybe eighteen months; Foley said he would put a stop to it. But in the last 30 days, a couple, sometimes three times a week,” Berry replied.

“Three weeks ago Albright came and read Foley the riot act with the door opened; that was just a couple days before his medical issues started. That’s when he told Foley he had crushed Foley’s investigations against Baines and that there were to be no more. Since then Baines has been really bad,” Fred added.

“Why haven’t you said anything before now?” I asked.

“Technically we are not supposed to be involved in the inner workings of embassy operations and I’m sure you know that; just security, but this is getting out of hand and if our suspicions are correct, sick to our stomachs,” Berry replied.

“OK, I will check into things, you may have some visitors in a few days that want to talk to you, the password for them to identify themselves so that you know it is OK to talk to them will be ‘Lone Ranger”. Your reply back will be ‘Tonto was a trusted sidekick,’ that works for both of you,” I said.
“Can you get enough private time to copy the last six months of the travel log you kept and send me a copy in an electronic format on the JBG system?” I asked.

“Foley and Baines are visiting other embassies all day tomorrow. You will have it then,” Fred replied.

“Ok, don’t get caught. I have to run, keep me informed,” I said as I closed the feed.

“Make me four copies of that conversation on DVDs; I need two and put two on Robert’s desk, mark them classified from me please,” I said.

I had just stepped into the house as the gang was getting up. Coffee was in the pot and I was waiting on the first cup.

By 0800 the boys were up and the last of the presents were opened followed by a late breakfast for them. It was boys and toys and clothes until 1500 when the McBride family came.

We had presents for all of them; we had asked Paul and Andi, Rachael’s mother if we could get Rachael the dress and some items for the ball before we bought them. We also had gifts for Candice, her younger sister by two years.

We had brought each one of them a former JBG laptop computer that Robert’s group had cleaned. Then they installed all twenty foreign language learning programs that were approved for JBG and at Marcy’s insistence, the complete office programs along with anything else they thought a gifted student would need.

Rachael knew she was getting a dress because she had gone with us to get the right size and the same with shoes. She did not know she was getting two; a different one for the second ball and different jewelry. The cover for the second dress was that Rachael’s birthday was three days after Christmas, while we would be in Florida.

Rachael was anxious to show the dresses off to her parents and with Vicky, Ching Lee and Candice tagging along, went to change. They were taking the other presents with them.

When they came back into the room my heart would have stopped if I had been a man, there were not enough words to describe how beautiful Rachael was. The dress was perfect; the diamond ear rings, necklace and bracelet that were also gifts completed the package. Rachael was going to need a bodyguard.

Paul and Andi just stared and were quiet for a moment, “I think our daughter grew up when we were not paying attention,” Paul finally said.

Rachael modeled the other dress; it was as perfect as the first one, only the jewelry for it was pearls.
It was 1600 when the calls and visits started; I guess that was how things were done in Washington.

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

Even with a small party in Section 12 Ed and Bill had me back at the gym by 1630. I was able to sit in on the last meeting with the administrators and clerks until after the New Year. Parties were also going on at the gym and Morton Field; a lot of people were off Christmas Eve day. Just skeleton crews would be at both places until January.

There was unexpected good news; Jake’s crews completed the last concrete pour today and moved all the heavy equipment away from the area to a lot near Camp Smith.

One crew was coming back after New Year’s Day to do final grade work and remove the tarps off the last four concrete slabs. That was the last work Jake’s crews were going to do until the end of February when road construction started back up.

It would be a month from today before the newest part of the new tarmac could be used by heavy planes. Painters were coming – if the weather stayed good – to put stripes and o’s to mark parking spots and guide lines so no planes went off the edge. We were already using the first five hundred feet that had enough time to cure properly; it needed thirty days to do that.

The other news was that Jenny had a meeting with Howard, Howard and Fine; the changes were in the works in case the worst happened to all of us or any one of us – meaning me.

In bad news we were being sued for hiring discrimination. Jason, Jenny and I had to give depositions at the end of January. The attorneys for the individual were the same attorneys who were here when the labor union organizer showed up and demanded access to our employee list, including personal information.

All of us thought this was just another angle for the unions to get the information under the information gathering rules for lawsuits. No attorney was going to pursue a case simply because, ‘I put in an application and didn’t get hired; I want to sue.’ There was some other motive.

A check of all the college sites and embassies confirmed that everything was quiet. Many college students had returned home for the holidays. Many of those that stayed had part time jobs and were in high demand at the malls over the holidays.

Others worked as hostesses for the many corporate and business parties. There were always some that carried the hostess thing into the oldest profession for the big bucks being thrown around at the corporate parties.
Robert’s group was still monitoring phones and internet that the terrorist were using and anywhere else he could think of.

Marcy, Vicky, Jenny and I were on the mats working on hand to hand combat skills with knives. We had just finished with the pogo sticks. We were in the protective suits we used when Mayor Blum and his group came in and were led to us by Ching Lee.

We went at the fight for five more minutes before we were both on the mats gasping for breath.
“Follow us over to the locker and we can talk while we change out of this gear,” I said.
While we were changing I asked if there had been any more new developments in the investigation.
“There was another packet of pictures and a letter dropped off at a mail box in Essex this afternoon. It was an isolated box with no cameras in the area. It contained more threats and worse pictures; the kids were beheaded,” Mayor Blum replied.

Elsie, his wife, was clearly upset as I would have been at the revelations.
I split the assembled group in half – there was too many to fit in the elevator – and down to the basement we went.

Vicky had taken over more rooms in the basement. In one there was all the new SWAT gear for all of us plus spare equipment for the special OPS teams. In another was all the different body armor and vests she used for the VIP protection business that was growing so well. Vicky had amassed a good selection.

I started with Else first, “This is light body armor; it is what the girls and I wear daily. It’s like wearing a sweatshirt and lasts two months with normal washings. It provides reasonable protection from most small to medium caliber rounds. It provides the best protection when used with class C body armor that is over there,” I said.

Vicky described the other kinds of armor and let Else and the daughter try on several different styles. Their daughter was 15 and was just a fit for the medium sizes.

I concentrated on Mayor Blum and his son Raymond. Raymond – like his father – was tall and stocky like a football player. They tried on several different ones before they decided on the ones they wanted. We had just finished up and were walking towards the elevator when Cindy stepped out.

“BJ, Vicky, Ambassador Foley of South Korea is on VCATS wanting to speak with both of you,” Cindy said.

“Cindy, please take this group to the refreshment center for drinks and as soon as Vicky and I finish, we will take them to Morton to look at armored Suburbans,” I said.

“Good morning Ambassador Foley; I believe it is Christmas Eve day in your part of the world. Have you got all your Christmas shopping done?” I asked.
“BJ, Vicky, good evening, all done here; you have another day to finish yours, when you are not looking over your shoulder. I see you have managed to piss off the bad guys,” he replied.

“We are done here so it is a day to relax and party. The bad guys need to be looking over more than their shoulder because I am not backing off. The hounds are on their trail and closing in,” I said.
“I wanted to call you and give you a heads up before I called Elmer Hobart and Amy Lockerman. I requested an upgrade in security due to the increased tension in the area a couple weeks ago. I completed the forms and assessment a few days ago. Amy thinks it may be approved today,” he said.

“Amy sent a copy of the request a week ago. The question I have is housing? There is no indication that there is any on grounds housing,” Vicky asked.

“There is no room to expand the housing in the embassy grounds; you will have to rent, buy or come up with a plan,” the Ambassador replied.

“We may move ALL JBG non-management employees out of the embassy when we find suitable living arrangements,” I said.

“The last time the security force was expanded before JBG took over the contract, there was to be additional areas built for recreation and sleeping and that did not happen. Embassy duty is not a Navy ship where you hot sheet the bunks,” I said then I added, “That’s not going to continue under my watch!”

“I agree with you completely. I have tried each budget year but keep getting stonewalled by my director. He has been in the hospital for several weeks so I had a chance to go around him and I took it,” Ambassador Foley replied.

“I will work it from this end. Something will happen, I can promise you that,” I said as I closed the VCATS.
South Korea was one of the unique JBG embassy sites. SK was considered to be a staunch ally and Americanized with dependable strong economy and reasonably safe. The current escalating tension was coming from the North and the embassy was coming under heavy surveillance and hacking attempts.

The Mayor, his group along with Marcy, Ching Lee, Jenny and Lorrie were sitting as a group with tables pushed together.

“When we get back from Florida, Marcy, Vicky and you need to take a security team to go to Seoul S. Korea. You need to find secure permanent housing for at least thirty-five JBG security personnel,” I directed at them.

I was in the second Suburban of four on the trip to Morton Field; the Mayor had come with three Baltimore police cars. At Morton we went into hangar 17 where Marcy took over.

“These on the left are new; twenty of them are going overseas so we have five extra. They are $200,000 each. They have one inch bullet resistant glass and 6000 pounds of added armor plate with run flat tires and diesel engines,” she said.

“Twenty one are going overseas, Korea will get a second one if it is approved,” I said.

“Over there are fifteen that are five years old and were sent back to the up-fitter for refurbishment and upgrades. All of them have less than forty thousand miles, some as low as ten thousand miles; they have gas engines. They are $100,000 each, the keys are in them. Please have your driver take one for a road test and see which one you like. All of them have the hidden light package and currently the JBG GPS locating system that I can have removed,” Marcy said.

“You have to know the airbags have been disabled. You do not want a minor mishap to stop you from being able to run from the bad guys. Another thing is that at the end of their life cycle for you, they have to go through a certified destruction process; you will have to sign a contract agreeing to that,” I added.

“Why is that?” the Mayor asked.

“Well, you would not want a Baltimore gang banger riding around your city in one and there are proprietary secrets built into the security package that could be reveled allowing someone to develop counter measures,” Marcy replied.

One of our guard group went with them so they could get past the guard house and back in.

I knew from the pricing Marcy had added $50,000 onto the price of each for all the administrative work that was involved in getting them this far. It was a mess; contracts, bids, shipping, follow up, flights to the mid-west for pre-paint inspections and acceptance flight before they were shipped. Then there was the logistics in getting them where they needed to go. I was OK with it; business is business.

The real thing was other than freight and the refurbish cost, they were free to JBG. The state department paid out the full cost over the life of the contract.

After extended test rides with different drivers, the mayor had a powwow with his group.
“I would like one new one to be bought by the city for official use and if you will allow, to buy one of the refurbished ones for my wife and kids to use,” the Mayor said.

It took an hour to finish the paperwork and then it was home, boys, hot tub and an evening to relax.
Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

The ride home was quiet; nobody jumped out at us. The State Police and transit authority did their thing.

In the office we had the big meeting I was dreading; there were several parts. The first was the six of us with Robert Alderman, our in house tax man. It was depressing to listen to the amount of taxes that would have to be paid if we all died at the same time. More corporate changes were coming and fast, all were above my head.

The next meeting was with Dad, Mom, Jake and Jason, Lisa and Jeanna and was a talk that I did not want to have. I laid out the why; Marcy and Robert Alderman the how. Then there were discussions that were followed up by a trip to the Morton armory and the two safes, along with an explanation.

While we were there I had my security team load up ten new FM-9s, ten of the modified bag that held the belt and five refurbished FM-9. The standard bag held two hundred and fifty rounds. The machine shop that made the devices for our drones made up the new larger ones that held five hundred rounds.

We had a rack full of the FM-9; most were new, some refurbished. We used the same ones over and over in training and they wore out. The barrels and mechanisms simply couldn’t hold up to thousands of rounds fired through them. They were sent back to be rebuilt as good as new.

They loaded them, a case of clips and one manual loader. You could push the bullets into clips with your fingers; the guys had done so many times. It was hard on the fingers and the loader made it much easier and faster.

The gun club would do a transfer to the Secret Service and invoicing tomorrow as required by the ATF.

Tomorrow is to be my last day at the White House until after New Years, unless there was an emergency. The following day was Christmas Eve. There were Christmas parties at the office and at Morton Field that I wanted to attend.

I hated to do it but I needed my Christmas order picked up from the jewelry store. I couldn’t just go with twenty bodyguards so I asked Ed to go and pick up the things for me. I gave him my credit card to pay for them.

I had ordered very expensive fancy necklaces and earrings to go with the new party dresses for all my mates, Mom and Lisa. It was something they would never buy for themselves. I had done it weeks ago. The jeweler called and left a message on my phone a couple days ago. That would complete my Christmas shopping.

I chose a different style necklace and earrings for each of them and I was anxious to see what they would look like with the dresses, but I had confidence they would look great. I just hoped he had the boxes marked according to the way I ordered them.

We spent the evening with present wrapping and final decorating for Christmas. We also had some fun time in the hot tub before quality time in the basement playroom; it was our first over a week.

The convoy took me to Morton Field before heading west. Robbie and Ed had something they wanted to show me.

Sitting in the main helicopter shop was one of the Blackhawks; Ben-David’s secret shipment had been mounted on it. The extended range fuel tanks had been removed. In their place were the weapons pods that would hold eight Hellfire missiles on each side or eight Stinger missiles.

I was directed to the shipping crates and in the bottoms were sixteen of each.

“Guys, I know you think this is a good idea but you cannot load those weapons on that helicopter and that thing cannot be flown anywhere around Washington. That kind of weaponry is strictly forbidden,” I replied.

“Robbie and I did some research within various circles and we can under a research and development clause. There is a small gray area we can
squeeze it in,” Ed replied.

“That small gray area may lead to a small federal prison cell,” I replied. “I will make some calls and see what exemptions our federal licenses cover.”

After a thought, “I wonder if this shipment was intended to be installed on the extra helicopter at Kampala.”

The trip to 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. went as normal and that was no problems. This morning I was again in the third SUV in line. The outside media gang was staked out by the fence to the parking lot. The Secret Service allowed the four Suburbans to go inside the parking lot and make a circle.

My Suburban was staying in the parking lot in case I needed to make an emergency exit. The Secret Service would coordinate escorts in such an emergency.

I handed Agent Archer the keys, “There are some things you wanted in the back, please take a picture of the end of the box with the numbers and the serial number on the unit and email them to Jim at the address on the business card.”

Jim Braxton ran the wholesale department at the gun club. James Clown ran the retail department.

The first order of the morning after coffee – and with the President and Troy present – was set the protocol for the holidays. The clerks were going to split the duties as were the rest of the team. I would be on call as normal.

Today, same as yesterday, was putting all the data coming in into an order we could use.

One piece of data that quickly drew attention was a possible surveillance photo of Balthazar Khamini at a Quick Gas and Go on route 95 at Woodbridge Virginia.

As usual with these Gas and Go stations, half of the cameras were not working so there was no tag number to go with the purchase. I guess they did not feel that it was important that transactions at the pump be video recorded since it was a credit card or cash only in advance site. There was little risk of drive offs without paying.

Agents were on the way to interview the attendants and get the video. The flag on the photo came from a secret data scan that was being carried out on all things sent to the cloud. More secret stuff that was going on that no one talked about.

The hope was that there were enough images with time stamps and with traffic camera footage with close time stamps, a list of possible cars could be generated. It was something that was impossible just years ago but now a real possibility. Maryland, Virginia and Washington DC had been in a race to see who could put in the most traffic cameras. Almost every intersection and exit was now on camera.

We had just finished talking about Khamini when Wayne Thompson – my resident DHS assistant director – handed me a folder he had just printed off.

“You are going to get a kick out of this after yesterday’s call,” he said.

The folder was a report generated last night from the FBI. Baltimore’s Mayor Blum – who had read me the riot act yesterday – had received a detailed death threat in the afternoon mail. The stuff in the mail had included pictures of his house, his kids playing in the yard, his wife – even the dog. All the pics had been photo shopped to show them bloody.

I wondered how I would handle such a delivery to the office.

“FBI and DHS plus the Baltimore PD are handling it for now,” Wayne replied.

“Keep me informed of any happenings next week,” I replied.

I finally had time to do a VCATS with Ambassador Reddick and Bob Short. I had not talked to either one of them in over a week.

“I hear you have had some excitement in the last few days. Are you going to stop making people mad?” Andy asked.

“If you think they are mad now, just wait,” I replied before I laughed.

“How is the reconstruction project coming along? Are you on schedule?” I asked Bob.

“Going to be close, might be done a day or two ahead of time; Amy Lockerman, Victor Edmonson and Elmer Hobart are checking in every few days. Andy and I are putting together a photo file of the progress with before and after photos of what we have done,” Bob replied and then added, “When it is finished I will send you a copy.”

“Keep those three happy and everything will be OK. I need to run,” I replied as I signed off to answer my phone.

“Hello, this is Jones.”

“This is Mayor Blum. I need to apologize for my tone and harshness yesterday. I didn’t fully comprehend the risk you take personally for just doing your job until yesterday afternoon.”

“I was aghast at the way your security team handled you but now I wish I had them to watch over my family.”

“You said yesterday I should get a vest and armored SUV, and I cannot agree more now. I got a vest from my police department but it looks nothing like the one you are shown wearing. What kind is it and where did you get it?” the Mayor asked.

“It’s a new experimental version. It’s heavy and the tests show it will handle everything except 50 caliber rounds. The military is never going to adopt it because of the weight and my Special OPS are not going to use it,” I said.

“We are using that style for VIP protection because it completely covers the upper torso, even the arm pits, and is easy to remove once you are at a secure location. It wraps around the body and overlaps so there are no gaps for bullets or shrapnel to find their way in. If you remember, the bullet that almost killed President Reagan entered under the armpit,” I said.

“The company only does limited manufacturing runs. I don’t know how many JBG bought or what size, but I will look tonight for you,” I added.

“The other thing you suggested was getting an armored SUV. There are none to be found. None to buy with over a year waiting list and none to rent. Every company I called said we were a day late and a dollar short. After the news conference last week everything was rented or sold,” the Mayor said.

I knew that not to be true, at least for JBG; Marcy had just made the comment in our meeting the other night that all the replacement ones for the contract were in. She and Lorrie were looking at the logistics to get them to the embassies that were scheduled to get them. She had ordered several extra; it seemed like we were losing a couple a year to terrorist damage or accidents.

They were stored in hanger E along with fifteen that had been worth refurbishing from last year and were just returned to JBG. My plan was to expand the number of JBG executives that would get one and college security directors if they wanted one. The events this week only reinforced that issue. There was no way we were going to sell them on the consumer used car market.

Would Marcy sell one to the city of Baltimore? I didn’t even have to ask.

“Be at our main office 1001 Summers Road at 1730 and bring your family and your security team,” I said.

Edit by Alfmeister

Proof read by Bob W.