Bjjonesmylife. Book 2

It was a normal weekend for a change. The last five of the Rapid Response group went home Thursday. They were coming back Sunday night and were then flying to Bogota. The return would bring back the five there. The 18 from Morocco were to return on Monday as well. It was the start of our retraining of all 500 of the embassy personnel. Next week would be busy again.

Saturday morning we had a long breakfast at the gym refreshment center with the four homeless girls. We learned a little more about them and I’m sure they did about us.

Jenny wanted to spend more time in the gym today. I volunteered to watch the boys. It was the first time I had been able to sit with them by myself for more than a few minutes during the day time; there had always been one of the grand mom’s only too eager to sit with them.

I put the carriers on my desk and just watched them breathe and make facial expressions, the yawns and watched them flex their little fingers in their sleep. Occasionally I did do a few things on my computer.

I looked over all the State Department daily alert reports. There was no mention of Haamid or any incidents in Morocco. Libya – on the other hand – had page after page. ISIS was wreaking havoc in Tripoli. There was no mention of Murzuq or the training camp.

When I looked back at the boys, they were both wide awake but quiet. I guess they were studying me as I had been them; then they began to get fussy.

They started tensing up and their little faces started turning red; I wondered what was going, on then it hit me. They were taking a poop – both of them at the same time.

“Oh my boys, you are still connected to the same clock,” I thought. When the natural color returned to tell me they were done, I changed diapers. Then they wanted milk. The best I could do at the moment was a pacifier for each and called Jenny to supply the real thing.

Over the weekend several agreements were made with the homeless girls. One was that they would double up in just two rooms when we needed the rooms. The second was they would work in the gym as cleanup crew to make some money to help pay their way.

On Monday Jenny was going to make some calls about the two youngest ones. Finger prints, DNA and face scans had carefully been collected from all of them; the real issue was how to do it discreetly. Jenny was going to use the facial scans against the missing persons list and all state ID cards. There was also the possibility of DNA match from the federal system.

If Jenny could not find anything, then Robert and Burt could work their magic on the problem.

On Monday the eighteen were back from their week of R&R. The first order of business was the doc’s for them. First it was the head doc, then the real ones for complete physicals including blood work and a DNA work up that went into our confidential files; they were never connected to anything on-line.

Then HR began the task of updating the 18 personnel files. That consumed the first two days. On Wednesday they started with Jamie and her group at the gun club. The weather was to be fair and the shoot don’t shoot course was operational after all the snow removal, including the fixed target range.

Monday when I returned from KCC, I called all 18 to the meeting room, including the two docs who were still there. I told the story of Haamid Muhammad and his terror enterprise with the attack on the embassy. Then I told of his death by the special ops team and passed around both pictures to give closure to the event.

The state department wanted advanced shotgun skills added. To be exact, the skeet range to practice in bringing down small flying targets. There was open season on drones in some places in the world. That also expanded our contract in a couple ways.

We had to supply shotguns – five per embassy – for a total of 400. Not the cheap ones either. To be able to reach out there and get the drones, the department had written specs for a brand name 10 gauge semi-automatic 3 ½ chamber that was $1500 dollars a copy. The shells were 300 dollars for a case of 250 rounds. Each embassy was to have 2 cases.

We needed 30 in the armory for training and who knows how many shells. I did know one thing though. Dad had a 10 double-barrel and I had shot it a few times. It kicked like a mule. After shooting a dozen rounds you wanted no more for a few days.

As I said I was to work at KCC again on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. On Monday the autopsy report had been released on Herbert Carter.

Herbert had died of a massive brain aneurysm that resulted in subarachnoid hemorrhage while in his sleep. Technical terms that meant little to me; he was dead and nothing would bring him back. Herbert had no drugs or alcohol in his system. The final verdict was natural causes.

Administration and HR were going to box all his personal affects and the room would remain empty for the rest of the school year.

Tuesday morning in the field house, the administrators held a remembrance for Herbert. There were also crisis counselors on hand to give comfort to any students that felt that they needed it. It was a very solemn day on campus. Wednesday was better and the crisis counselors made the rounds again, this time talking to groups.

Thursday it was hard work in the gym with the 12 of the Morocco 18 – six of them did not pass the weapons training. Jamie insisted on at least two more days for them to finish. Tomorrow 7 more employees from the college division would be here to join in the training. They were officially and permanently transferred to the embassy security division.

They were young ex-military and wanted the big bucks tax free for as long as it lasted. They would finish the training with the 18 to bring the Morocco group up to a 25 man roster.

Friday afternoon Robert sent me a text to come to their office; they had information I needed to see.

“The prince has put together a new group in Sidi Slimane by using the same internet Café communications setup, with a few changes. We were able to decipher the changes by the style and technique. The leader he has chosen is Faaiz Faeq Fahad. The prince is meeting Faaiz and several of his group on Thursday,” Robert said.

“There is even his time line and travel plans in here; he is that confident,” Burt added. “He is flying in to the International Airport and taking a four vehicle convey to the meeting site. The meeting is to be held at a villa 4 miles east of village El Aarjate. The villa is centered in a mandarin grove on the north side of the highway.”

I sent all the information to Andy at the Morocco Embassy through the State secure system, after I ran it through Robert’s favorite encryption processor. Robert had a list of encryption codes that he assured me a super computer would be days breaking.

I sent Andy the code to reverse the process in three different emails; the third word in the third paragraph in each of the emails told him what to use. The subject line was the tip-off that there was a code included in this email out of the dozens he received daily. The time stamp of the email told him the sequence.

An hour later he sent me a reply that they would check out the place and send a tools request back that would be needed by special delivery sometime tomorrow.

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

I managed to quietly leave without getting tangled with the cluster of reporters massed at the administration building, waiting for some official word.

As I drove south through C-ville over the last bridge leaving town, there must have been every police car the town owned and every officer they had was on site. With the officers, there were eight – maybe ten – people standing beside the cars in cuffs with an assortment of bags.

The rumors were true. It was scuttle-butt that there were homeless people were living in that section of woods in junked cars that the previous owner had just abandoned there. In all my travels I had never seen anyone that I suspected of being homeless in the area. I wondered what was going on; why all the police and why were they in cuffs.

You know the old saying, “Curiosity killed the cat.”

I made a ‘U’ turn in the road, drove past the all the police cars, made another ‘U’ turn, pulled up behind the last car and turned on the light package.

I walked up to the group of officers. I recognized one right off. Corporal Herb Albertson was a regular at the restaurant.

“Herb, what’s going on?” I asked.

“The town manager ordered the chief to round these homeless up or lose his job. All the men have summons against them or they put up a fight so now they are going to spend a few days in the detention center. The women we have been told to carry to the county line and dump them out,” Herb replied.

“Herb, the county line is ten miles from the next town and it’s already below freezing. I thought there was a shelter on the Island. Does the town council know about this?” I asked.

“The shelter is full up. You know the community is trying to close the shelter down there. The same two or three people are calling in complaints every day. They cannot take in any more people and the county health department sends someone down there everyday to check the numbers,” Herb replied then he added, “The town council is mysteriously out of town today and not answering their phones.”

“Herb, you just can’t take them to the line and dump them out. That’s just not right. It’s just to damn cold and it will be dark in an hour,” I replied.

“I cannot afford to lose my job; none of us can. The new town manager is on a power trip and is on a power grab,” Herb replied.

“Are they under arrest?” I asked.

“No, if they were I would take them to the detention center – at least for the night,” Herb replied.

“Can you release the girls to me?” I asked.

“As long as they are out of town and do not come back here. I guess we can,” Herb replied.

Herb motioned for the other three officers to bring their charges. When they were all there, I said “You have two choices. The officers will take you to the county line and drop you off or you can come with me. It is your choice, you have to decide right now.”

All four responded at the same time, “I’ll go with you.”

“OK, did you get everything that belongs to you when they brought you out?” I asked.

All of them nodded the affirmative. With them uncuffed and their bags in the back of the Suburban, there were three on the back seat and one in the passenger seat. I drove to the island; It was a smelly ride.

On the way I called Marcy, “Is the meeting over?”

“Yes, it was a short one. The notes you need to look at are on your desk,” Marcy replied.

“Help Jenny and the boys get home. Then I need the four of you to meet me at the Horsey house. I am 15 minutes away. I will fill you in when I get there. Turn the heat up in the downstairs rooms please,” I instructed.

Vicky, Ching Lee, Lorrie, Marcy and Jenny were in the Horsey house when we got there.

“Mom is watching the boys,” Jenny replied to my glance, looking for them.

With their bags in the lobby area I retrieved four trash bags and told them to strip. “Everything off,” there were some objections but they did it. While they were stripping I placed a body bath towel, a hand towel, a medium towel to dry their hair and a wash cloth in separate piles for each of them.

Then soap, two of those motel sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner, body soap, a disposable razor and shaving cream, tooth paste and tooth brush went into a plastic bag and onto the pile.

When they were done I said, “Each of you pick up one of those piles and come with me, you are to shower twice, wash your hair twice and shave anything that needs shaving. When you are finished we will go get something to eat. Leave the room doors unlocked; we will bring in some more things for you in a minute.”

I opened a room for each of them. After they were in the rooms I gave the whole story to the girls. They were as upset as I was that the town was just going to dump them at the county line.

Jenny, on the other hand was livid, “They cannot do that; that is illegal in this state, let alone horrible treatment. I will make a call in the morning; someone is about to get their cage rattled and more.”

Ching Lee and Vicky went to the gym to get gym shorts, tee shirts, sweat shirts, sweat pants and socks from the gym store for the four girls. They also brought back 4 jackets. We placed the items on the bed in each room while they were getting clean.

I placed all their things, with the exception of their shoes, in the trash bags, tied them off and put them by each door. I did not want them in the rooms until everything had been washed, just to make sure there were no pesky insects in the belongings.

While they were getting cleaned up, the girls and I had a long talk. When they had all came out of the rooms, it was time for some introductions.

“I’m BJ; this is Lorrie, Ching Lee, Vicky, Marcy and Jenny. And you are?” I said.

“I’m Joni Athens”
“Alica Sevens”
“Paula Craft”
“Amanda Black”

Joni was the older of the group; late 20’s I guessed after seeing her naked. To look at her face, you would think late 30’s; life so far had been hard on her. She seemed to be the den mother looking us over very carefully.

Alica; if she was fifteen I would be surprised, fourteen was my guess. That meant we would have to tread carefully.

Paula was most likely 18 and had a natural beauty that just glowed. I wondered why she was homeless – her looks alone should have opened doors for her.

Amanda was also in her mid teens – sixteen was my guess. She was just an average looking teenager.

As we gained information Jenny could research them to see if anyone was looking for them and maybe get a little history.

We were going to the airport restaurant for supper, but were going to make a stop on the way at the outlets. The four girls were going to get new clothes.

Everything we had seen so far was worn out and hand me downs at best. At the outlets they each got a cart and one of the girls went with them to help them decide. Twenty two hundred dollars later they each had a weeks worth of panties, bras, several pairs of jeans, slacks, tops and shirts, a jacket and a pair each of shoes and boots.

At the restaurant they ate steaks, potatoes, rolls, gravy, and salad with deserts. I asked if they wanted to take anything back for late night snacks; they did.

Back at the Horsey house we helped them unload all the things they had bought, “You will get a wakeup call at 6; be ready to go at 7 and someone will take you to breakfast. You can spend the day at the gym with the girls helping out or go with Lorrie down to the airport. Lorrie spends most of her day there,” I said. “If there are any problems there is a pad under the phone with emergency numbers. Good night,” I said.

As we turned to leave Joni asked, “Why are you helping us?”

“Why not?” I replied. “I will see you tomorrow, Oh make sure you have your room keys; you can charge lunch and snacks on them at the gym or the airport.”

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

When I walked into the meeting room I was pleasantly surprised to see the boys in carry seats on one of the tables, sound asleep. Our meeting would be a quiet one, for sure.

I listened to Marcy’s updated finance report. She ran some kind of program daily. Then I was surprised again when she told us that she was negotiating with another utility to take over their leasing package. This utility was a big one, compared to the other two we had under contract.

Southern Power and Gas had 4000 vehicles; a mix of everything. There were trucks, trailers trenchers, excavators, bulldozers, cranes, hybrid cars and trucks, boring and pipe pushing equipment and the list just went on. It was spread over four states.

Their turn around was five years on light equipment, seven years on midsize and 10 on heavy equipment, unless it was problem prone. The proposed contract even had JBG to handle disposal of the retired equipment.

Marcy had all the percentages calculated out and an agreement for Midwest Banking to supply the financing at a rate that made my head spin. I wondered how Jeanna could do financing for that rate.

All that meant that Marcy would need more employees in her division and someone was going to spend a lot of time tagging changing titles, evaluating equipment and spending time in the south, a lot of time. Jeanna always reviewed those kinds of contracts for us as a second opinion from a financial standpoint.

Jenny suggested we get Howard, Howard and Fine to look at all the leasing laws and rules into the four states as well as the tagging rules. I seconded that suggestion very quickly.

Lorrie received a text, and then had to stifle a giggle to keep from waking the boys up.

“Robbie is up to no good again. Look at the picture he sent me,” she said as she sent it to the plasma.

It was the C17 with our big JBG logo taped on the side of the fuselage, with both of the C130s parked with it in the same picture.

The text with from Robbie said, “Looks good to me”

“Looks like wishful thinking to me. You are going to set off a fire storm in Washington with pictures like that LOL,” Lorrie sent back.

I sent the picture to Frank and Eric, “What do you think? Will that make the NSA boys jumpy or what?” as the text with the picture.

It only took Frank a few seconds to respond, “I already have that picture – it came a few seconds ago; say it is not so, you are going to drive those NSA guys crazy. They still have not come to terms that you had more information than they did, let alone the action that you took.”

“The guys at the aviation shop were having fun today, that’s all,” I sent back.

We spent a lot of time on the items needed for the debate security. Five thousand invitations had been sent out by the criteria that we had put forward at the meeting with the candidates. 4500 had accepted and the plan was to run all of them and all bags through a body scanner.

East Coast Security was going to supply the scanning equipment. Robert Bradberry was going be on-hand to do training and make sure the scanners worked and stayed working. Each body scanner would have a bag scanner next to it.

Half the scanners would be operated by female employees; they would handle the female guests so there would be none of the controversy associated with scanners.

All of us girls would work that night plus all of the female administrator’s clerks in the offices and all of the female college security personnel from Frost Borough, Altoona, Warrington, Greensboro Community and Johnson Tri-County, to make sure that the progress was fast.

All the male administrator’s and clerks and half of the male security people from the same colleges would be there. I was also going to use any part-time employees from KCC who wanted to work.

The rough things that needed a lot of advance work had been discussed. As the date drew closer the finer points would have to be worked out.

There was one more security issue that needed to be worked out long term. Of all the embassy security people that JBG supplied, only three were women; Alice Dorsey, Ellen Mills and Linda Charms at Quito Ecuador. Those three definitely were going to get a complete training course, and it was going to take more than two weeks.

To add to the dilemma I had no one to put in their place for the three weeks they might be here. The only solution was to add women to the rapid response team to be able to fill in. I could pull several from the college section but most of them were married and had small children.

To pull them away for three weeks would be tough, but I would do it if I had too. Another thing that would be tough would be to change the college security mentality to one of personal bodyguard.

I had made the decision several weeks ago to make that happen. Roseanne, along with Jason’s help had had scoured the employment applications and had 15 female former military personnel who looked interesting.

Roseanne was going to call of the applicants to see if they were still interested. If so, she would mail them a multi-page questionnaire. It would include questions like: Do you have a current passport? Is there any reason that you cannot get one? Can you travel, be away from home for extended periods of time? Are all your shots up to date?

Anybody that went to Africa or central or south America needed a boat load of vaccinations before they were sent there. Our company doctor who did our pre-hire physicals was now an expert on all those vaccinations and administered them for us over several days. Most family doctors were simply out of the loop as to what was needed for extended visits to Africa.

On top of all that there was the new Zika virus that there was no vaccine for yet. That meant more questions. Are you on birth control? Are you pregnant? Then one more test before any women were sent anywhere; a pregnancy test each and every time before they shipped out. I wanted no part of any complications to a baby from exposure to the virus. This was one of the many problems going forward.

Friday started off good enough, but went downhill before noon. One of the male students – Herbert Carter – failed to report for class. After missing the first three classes, the college’s computer system flagged his name.

When the flag hit my screen I checked the location of his ID card. His ID card was showing on the screen as still in the dorm room. I found one of my male counterparts and together we opened the dorm door with my master card. There was no response from inside the room.

The door had only opened a couple of inches when the safety hook stopped the door. It was the same kind of setup that all motel rooms had. Its use meant that someone was in the room. I had brought a special set of bolt cutters made especially to shear the device and allow the door to open.

Before we cut the latch I called Bob Jackson to inform him what was happening. A quick snip and we were in. Herbert Carter was still in bed. He had no pulse and the body was cold. Rigor mortis had already started.

The next call was to 911 and the call after that was to Bob Jackson and the college’s medical staff which consisted of a registered nurse.

The rest of the afternoon was tied up in the investigation. The room was searched not just once but by the town police and the state police, all with Bob Jackson’s blessing.

The medical examiner pronounced Herbert dead and estimated that the time of death to be around 1 AM.

After the body was removed and the door was locked the State Police officer, Bob Jackson and I went to my office to check the computer logs to see what time Herbert used his ID car to enter the dorm and his dorm room.

According to the log he had entered the dorm at 10:10 PM and his dorm room a couple minutes after 10:12. There was no log of the door being opened after that until my master ID opened the door.

While I was in the computer I changed the door codes to the room so that only Bob Jackson’s and my card would open the room and lock it down so no one could change it. Then I wrote instructions to the night crew to that effect.

It was time to go home and I was glad. I needed to see two little boys.

Edit by Alfmeister

Proof read by Bob W.

I held the boys a little tighter when it was my turn to hold them. I wondered just what kind of world they were going to be growing up in.

To me it looked bad; the economy was getting worse for the middle class and poor. The good jobs were leaving the country at an unprecedented rate; what was left was nothing. Even having college degrees did very little when there are simply no jobs. Our current government was the most corrupt in history.

When government starts to fail, the first thing they try to do is get total control of the citizens, disarm them first, then control the money, food, land and finally total surveillance of the citizens.

They could do a lot already – phones, internet, and utilities, even to taking your money out of your bank account without due process. A bureaucrat with a lifetime job could take every penny without reason or consulting anyone.

Government could now stop your car from starting; just another bureaucrat with a terminal is all it takes. My conversation with Robert and Burt had been very informative. They had access to all the things the powers wanted to be able to control and it was everything.

JBG was doing well because we were in high demand fields because of the times and in one of the richest areas of the country because of proximity to Washington.

We went over to the gym to work out but I needed to go to the office first. I wanted to do a VCATS with Andy about Haamid; a job well done, pat on the back was in order and to tell them that we had found the financier and would track him.

The day people were still at the office. I paged Vicky, Ching Lee, Jenny, Jason, Lorrie, Marcy, Cindy and Mark to come to my office. While I was waiting I printed off the picture Andy had sent to phone on the color printer.

When all were assembled, I passed out the picture that EIT had given me of Haamid.

“This is Haamid Mohammad, he was the man that planned and ordered the attack that killed Koons and Adams.”

“Haamid Mohammad was taken out by a JBG special ops team today,” I said as I passed the other one to Jason first.

“I did not know we had a special,” Jason started to say and stopped. He had put 2 and 2 together.

“That is all I wanted to say. Nobody kills our people and gets away with it. Write it in stone,” I said.

I picked up the pictures and went to the EIT office to see if Burt and Robert were still there; they were.

“Yesterday and then today,” as I handed them the pictures, “Our special ops team took care of him today. I want to know if the prince makes any trips to Morocco in the next three weeks,” I said.

“10-4 boss, we will think about a way to entice him to go there,” Burt said as he handed me the pictures back.

“By the way, we are putting the folder together for the debate. You will have it on Monday ready to use, but they are going to take continuous monitoring, right up to the debate itself” he added.

“When you had access to Haamid’s computer, were you able to get his contact list off it?” I asked.

“Yes, we assumed you wanted us to monitor his contacts, Robert is working on that,” Burt added.

It was an aggressive hour in the gym then home for supper. A loaded salad again, minus cucumbers for Jenny – we had come to the conclusion the boys were getting cucumber in mother’s milk and bad gas with it. Pepperoni was another no-no, as was garlic.

Thursday Patti and I rode together to KCC for the first time in weeks, it seemed. She was driving so I could look at the latest alerts from the state department and DHS. There was nothing new anywhere. I looked over everything from the Middle East very carefully, especially Morocco, Libya and Saudi Arabia. It was 8:30 when I finished; time that most Washington people were getting to their offices. I wanted to inform Victor and Amy myself and should have done it last night.

I paged Victor and Amy on a VCATS call on my State department computer. When they both responded, “What’s hot in Washington today?” I asked.

“Not exactly sure, other than Washington is on a buzz. There is a 10:00 o’clock high-level meeting for all G10s and above.”

“I can tell you what part of it is about,” I sent the first picture.

“That is Haamid Muhammad taken three days ago. He is the one that planned and ordered the attack on the embassy in Morocco,” I said.

“This is Haamid Muhammad at 2:10 PM yesterday,” I sent the second picture, “A JBG special ops team took him out,” I said then added, “Nobody kills my people and gets away with it. Write it in stone!”

“JBG supplied other information to the intelligence community; that is probably what the buzz is about,” I said.

“A JBG special ops team, when did you – never mind, I don’t want to know,” Victor replied.

“Some day, over a drink maybe, you can fill me in with all the details,” Amy replied.

“You know where I live; come over some night, join us in the hot tub for a beer, wine and steak,” I replied.

I had a weeks worth of paper to deal with. Patti had everything she did in order, all I had to do was approve and sign. Then I did something I had not done in a while. That was to walk the entire college property – every dorm, every floor, every building.

That trek took me an hour and a half and gave me plenty of time to think. I did not find anything wrong, not that I was expecting to. I had plenty of suggestions for the next staff meeting with changes to the campus to improve student safety. Some would not go over very well.

When I made it back to my KCC office I followed Mr. Nobles and Bob Jackson in. It was routine; after every time I was off for a couple days or on the news for them to make a visit. They had come around one corner and I from another just a few seconds behind. They were standing at the counter with me behind them and they did not know I was there.

“Is BJ in her office?” Bob asked.

“No, she went out to walk the grounds; she should be back any minute,” Patti replied. “What can I help you with?”

“I saw her on the news last night in Washington again. This morning Washington is all abuzz about something and the reporters can’t find out a damn thing. I was wondering if BJ had ventured any tidbits,” Bob said.

“I have not seen the news this morning. But, I hear Washington is in a buzz,” I replied, causing them both to jump. Patti tried hard to contain her laughter but couldn’t.

“You are bit jumpy this morning,” Patti said while trying to hold a straight face.

‘You would almost think they are afraid of me the way they jumped,” I said to Patti.

“I think the buzz is going to be about the terror level being elevated a bit for a while,” I replied.

“Then again this may have a little to do with it,” I said as I went into my office and came out with the pictures. Patti had not seen them and had said nothing about any conversation with the girls. But I knew sooner or later she would find out. I did not want her to feel left out of the information chain.

I put the picture on the counter and explained them.

“A JBG Special Ops team successful mission; BJ, you are getting into some very serious things,” Bob said.

“For Haamid, payback was a bitch,” Mr. Nobles added.

Patti looked at one picture then the other several times before she handed them back.

The rest of the day was quiet, even the Washington buzz had petered out by the time Patti and I arrived home.

Our meeting tonight was on more planning. I still had five of the second group of the Rapid Response team working on the training program for hostage rescue. The agency and the FBI tactical team had helped all week to put the final touches on it.

Bob’s Construction had built one more row of thrown together wooden buildings on each side of the two existing rows, to give a more third world village clustered look – along with other changes. There were two streets in the village now.

When Bob had finished, the Agency, the FBI and the DHS started negotiating a contract to use the compound 10 days a month. Centrally located between Washington, Baltimore and Philly, with the reputation of the airport restaurants food was just too inviting for them not to use the compound for training.

Marcy and Lorrie began a discussion about buying the motel we and everyone else used so much, or building one of our own. I immediately shot down the idea about building it on airport property; I was sure the agency did not want public motels that close to their top secret hangar.

The five were flying out Sunday in the second part of the embassy retraining schedule. They were going to spend two weeks in Bogota and be back at the same time that the Morocco group returned.

Then things were really going to get complicated. The group of thirty would be split up into six teams sent to six different embassies for two weeks. Then there would be a one week off cycle when they came back to supply manpower for the debate. There was a lot of prep work to do for that. I needed to decide how many of the college security force would be called in to assist.

Did I need 100 or 200 or more for security? When Robert and Burt finished I would know more.

Spread out on the meeting table was a blown up blueprint of the arena where the debate was being held. Locations for security checkpoints and scanning equipment had already been penciled in. Progress was being made on all fronts. I was relieved before the meeting even started.

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

“In January 2014 in the town of Sidi-Slimane, Morocco, a wanna-be jihadist named Haamid Muhammad put out a call for fighters against the great Satan – the United States – from a local internet café. Sidi-Slimane is 50 km north of Rabat,” I said.

“Within 2 months he gathered over fifty fighters, with no money and few weapons. A Saudi junior prince Aabad Aabzaari was in Morocco and was one of the people Haamid befriended in the internet café,” I said.

“Money suddenly became no problem and neither did weapons or technical support. Haamid developed a code for the fighters to communicate without using their names on the forums and later in emails. Numbers instead of names; the first digits of the number identified the location,” I said.

“Here is the conversion numbers to names table that was in a plain language attachment,” I handed it to Eric.

“For example, Aabad’s little support group in Alwajh, Saudi Arabia was 100 with Aabad himself 100101@sa.sa for an internet address. Haamid was 200101@mo.mo,” I said.

As I read the translated text I passed the sheet around with Vicky collecting them back.

“Now fast forward a few months, another connected group located in El Golea, Algeria became 300 with the commander Naabih Nayef having 300101,” I said.

“The training camp that you reference in the report that you said that you could not find any information on is located 10km outside Murzuq, Libya. The commander there is Jaad Dahi, also known as the Lion. Based on the information we were able to get in this stack of papers, 25% of those who go to the camp do not survive the training,” I said and continued.

“Here is one from the prince giving detailed instructions on how to get to the training camps and how to avoid detection by your top secret intelligence satellites. How do you think he got that bit of information?” I asked.

The throat clearing, shifting in their seats and the need for water increased ten-fold.

I passed out a pile of papers one at a time; I was not going to read every one.

“Fast forward again to June 2015; here are the instructions from Jaad to Haamid for his fighters: along with items to bring to the camp and directions. Haamid sent all fifty of his fighters. Only 30 came back to Sidi-Slimane; an accident en-route and an explosives training accident claimed 20,” I said as I passed out the sheet with the information. Those 30 were the ones that attacked the embassy at Rabat.

I kept handing out the transcripts; cell phones started sending pictures and text. Vicky kept rushing them to get the papers, back much to the dismay of Frank, Eric and the NSA guys.

With another jump ahead I read one with detailed surveillance of the Morocco embassy site for the two weeks prior to the attack. “That surveillance was brought to the attention of the onsite Embassy security chief by my JBG people and was ignored. That brush off cost four people their lives,” I said.

“The surveillance was so detailed that it even gave the time the flag was raised every morning,” I added.

Here is one, sent to the Prince asking for his prayers for success, that gave detailed plans for the attack on the Morocco embassy,” I said

“This stack of papers has communications to and from the Prince to the group at the Washington learning center, with instructions to attack JBG. That group had been to the Murzuq Libya training just one week after Haamid’s group,” I said.

They came across the Mexican border. For a cool one million dollars the cartel furnished a guide and the explosives to make the bombs that were in the vans,” I said
‘Do you want to know what really sucks?” I asked. All I got was blank stares.

“I was introduced to that bastard prince at the embassy party in Saudi Arabia; he has embassy access,” I said.

The look of surprise and dread on the faces said all that was needed to be said.

“This final stack of 25 pages contains the names and contact numbers of jihadists who have come in with or are attempting to come in with the refugees and across the Canadian and Mexican border, along with a list of high value priority targets. Again, JBG as well as several embassy locations are on that list. And all of them have been to the Libya camp or the second training camp in Algeria” I said. “Bad news is coming in more ways than you can imagine,” I added.

Vicky had all the papers back and I put them in my briefcase, including the final stack of 25 pages that they did not get to read. I was going to let them sweat it out a few days, if I made it out the door. I would see that Frank and Eric had copies in their emails when they logged in tomorrow morning.

I picked up the Morocco final report and held it upright, “This is either a cover-up or a case of the world’s worst intelligence gathering ever,” I replied.

“My intelligence team found all this with one thousandth of the resources that you have. Just what the hell are you doing?” I asked, not expecting any answer.

Ben Smith took one more photo out of the folder and laid it on the table. It was of Morton Field with the C17 circled. “What the hell are you doing with that,” he asked as he thumped his finger on it.

“I wish I could tell you it was mine to carry drones to Morocco to blow the training camps off the face of the earth. But it is too damn rich for my blood. Talk to your counter parts; they know what it is,” I replied.

There were several files that Burt and Robert had given me that I had not shown the group. One of them was a picture of Haamid, taken by his own computer just two days a go.

In his depression following his group’s failure to cause more collateral damage and not get the Ambassador with the embassy attack, Haamid was ordered to go off-grid until everything cooled off.

Haamid was stupid; he was going to the internet café every day at the same time looking for orders to start a new group.

Yesterday when I read all this information, I sent Haamid’s picture, all the location information and all the other information to Andy with, “handle if you can.”

What I did not tell anyone – including Jason – was that 8 of the Rapid Response team were four former Navy Seals and four Army Special Forces, including the explosives expert. Jason had read the codes on their applications but apparently did not understand what it meant or did not think it mattered.

All eight of those guys had worked in various assignments in Libya, Morocco and Algeria during Obama’s support for the spring uprisings. I had long informative talks during the training; they knew the area very well.

I stood getting ready to leave.

“BJ, we really would like to have that last folder and to know how you collected all this information,” Eric said.

“Do you want it bad enough to make a deal?” I said.

“I guess it depends on what you want,” he replied after he glanced at Frank and Marty.

I opened the briefcase and handed Eric the file.

“I want to be in the control room when the “go” command is given to the Special Forces to take out the training camps,” I replied.

Frank, Marty and Eric nodded. Frank added “We can do that.” The NSA guys just sat and looked bewildered and confused that anyone would make demands of the group, let alone get that quick of a positive response.

Just then my phone received a text and a picture. I sent the text and picture to my tablet. It was perfect timing.

I took the picture of Haamid out of the briefcase and laid it on the table, “This is Haamid two days ago. And this is Haamid three minutes ago,” as I handed Eric my tablet to look at the picture. Haamid was hanging out his car window with an entrance hole between the eyes and the back of his head missing, with blood and brains all over the side of the car.

The text in the corner simply said, “Special ops mission accomplished quietly. His laptop is in route to you.” They had used a silencer and had gotten away clean.

The picture went around the table fast, my tablet a little slower as they flipped between the text and picture.

Vicky’s eyes were big as saucers as she looked at the picture.

When the 18 came back from the week of R & R, I would show them the before and after picture of Haamid. Nothing relieves the pain of what they went through like revenge served cold.

The NSA guys were data people; they turned green looking at the picture, but the senators never changed expressions. Eric, Frank and Marty looked at each other several times as they handed the tablet back and forth between them for a second and third look. Eric was the only one to speak, “We are still friends, right?”

We had just driven in the yard when I received a text from Eric, “You never said how you collected this stuff; OK, I know a girl has to have some secrets and good girls never kiss and tell.”

“You made an impression; those NSA guys are still talking about it. That was a nice closure to the meeting, just good old cause and effect,” Eric

“Oh, by the way, Frank, Marty and I will never need reminding to never ever piss you off.”

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

The extra hours spent dealing with the wreck and an unusually long joint question and answer session put us a lot later returning home than I wanted. What I had hoped to be a 16 hour trip turned into a full day. It was Tuesday morning when we landed back at Morton Field. Luckily I had gotten some sleep on the return flight.

We went into the airport restaurant for breakfast and one more quick meeting. My statement was simple, “You have the week off for rest and relaxation, and then it’s back here for training and recertification. There are pool cars for you to use to go see family or travel. Lorrie’s assistants Carson Mayes and Sabrina White will arrange flights or connecting flights to where you want to go or motel rooms if you want to stay here.”

“You need to be at the JBG main office at 1001 Summers Lane next Monday at 7 AM,” I said.

I had asked plenty of questions of the team leaders on the flight back. Along with the answers, I got improvement suggestions – some of which I was going to implement today.

After breakfast I first went home to see Jenny and the boys before going to office. Even though it had been just a day I could have sworn they had grown.

At the office I made my way first to VCATS to check in, and then I wrote a change in policy to all JBG embassy security team leaders.

“Effective today a confidential log (for JBG eyes only) will be maintained and forwarded weekly to Cindy Shaw. All incidents reported to your on-site supervisor are to be logged, including any unusual activities, surveillance, suspicious activities or otherwise outside the compound wall,” BJ.

My next stop was to the EIT office. Brooke, Robert and Burt started putting stacks of papers together with those big document clips in front of me on table.

“They are in order by date, there is a lot of computer gibberish there but we highlighted the important stuff after the translation. We think we were able to get back to the beginning,” Burt said.

“There is a map to connect the information together and an outline of the time line. The best thing is we were able to backdoor a program that tracks everything – similar to a key logger and filer that only transmits when called upon,” Robert said.

I spent the rest of the day with Robert and Burt one page at a time on a stack 4 inches high and learned a lot about the art of hacking, the fallacies of computers, espionage and other nefarious activities on the dark net. I learned so much it gave me a headache.

I made the afternoon meeting. Lorrie and Ching Lee gave an update on the Morocco group. The G5 carried eight of them to Charlotte; they lived there to be close to the original Black Water headquarters.

Then the G5 continued on to Atlanta with 6 more. Four were going to stay in a motel on the island, then drive to the ski slopes in western Maryland tomorrow and spend the rest of the week there.

I locked the stack of paper in my briefcase and locked it in my office until tomorrow. It was time to go home to the babies and my mates. It was a quiet evening. The babies were a week old and both grand moms were still spending most of their day at our house.

We were all up early; babies know no clock and at 5 AM it was nipple time. They let the world – or at least anyone close by – know it. Pulling the double was the routine feeding procedure; they both wanted mother’s milk at the same time.

A quick light breakfast was the order for today. In a change of plans Vicky was going with me whether they liked it or not. We drove to the first metro station on the western shore then took the metro into the city. I carried both computers and Vicky carried the briefcase with the EIT team work.

Again we had to navigate the maze of reporters and this time we were not lucky enough to sneak through without being recognized.

Not only Marley Kendall but several other national news organizations corralled us for a statement on everything; the attack on Morton lane and flight 709 to the Morocco incident, as the event was now being called.

The ZNN world news reporter asked, “Are you satisfied with the final report on the Morocco Incident?” He was looking for an endorsement of the administrations position.

“No, absolutely not. It’s not what the report says it is, but what it does not say that is the problem,” I replied.

“BJ, we are going to be late,” Vicky prodded to end the session.

After going through the congressional security screening we were led to the committee meeting room. The same group of senators – Harrison, Fordes and Whitby and intelligence groups; Eric Robinson from DHS, Frank Love from the CIA and Marty Colburn from the FBI – were there with the addition of several FBI officials.

Also introduced were several NSA officials; Stan Phillips, Paul Roberts and Ben Smith.

First they went over all of the TV video including all the video that Hanna and the cameraman took, plus all they could get from other news sources. Then there were the FAA recordings of the communications with the choppers including our 900 megahertz radio security radio system. As if that was not enough, they played my phone conversations with Eric.

I wondered how I was going to broach the subject of the calls from Eric but that was a moot point now.

Stan Phillips began, “We have seen the video and the recordings, but NSA is convinced that there was not enough time for you to gather the personnel and position them in the defensive posture that you presented.”

“We believe that you had advanced warning. We just don’t know from where,” Ben Smith replied.

“You had too many security people on site for it to be a coincidence,” Stan added.

“You have all the film and recordings, I am also positively sure you have accessed all my phone records. You found no warning because there was none. It simply didn’t happen,” I replied.

“A unique set of events came together on that day. It was the first day of training of our 30 man Rapid Response Team, at the same time we had the second 20 man Rochester SWAT team,” I said.

“All of the men on the RRT are ex-military; we just had to finesse the training and make sure their heads were on straight. They proved their skills and dedication on the very first day,” I said.

“The Rochester SWAT team arrived from the shooting range too late to be involved in the fight, but was there when the cameras were rolling. Made for a damn impressive picture for anyone thinking of a copycat plan,” I said.

“So you did not have any contact with Aadam Mohamed?” Paul Roberts asked.

“None what so ever,” I replied.

Paul pulled a picture out of a folder and pushed it across the table. It was of the compound; I guess the agencies still were not talking. I knew the DHS and CIA both knew what it was.

“Just what is this?” he asked.

“Well if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, waddles like a duck, what do you think it is?” I asked back.

“It looks like a prison,” he shot back.

“You got that right, my own special little place in hell for people that piss me off,” I replied.

Seeing that I was getting agitated Eric sought to change the discussion.

“Where is this Rapid Response Team if we decide to question them?” Eric asked.

“Morocco, I flew to Rabat yesterday with them. I did an audit on accommodations for the expanded group and interviewed the embassy staff. I had the burnt-out Suburban hauled away that should have been gone weeks ago and returned home with the 18 men who were there,” I replied.

“The 18 men are on a weeks R & R. When they come back, they are going to be interrogated and then retrained,” I replied.

Suddenly on the other side of the table, men became uncomfortable, shifting in their chairs and reaching for glasses of water.

“Interrogated; why?” Paul asked.

I open my briefcase and held the Morocco report.

“Because this is lies, distortions and a cover up,” I said as I put it on the table.

Stan stood up and in a raised voice, “Now wait a minute, I worked on that investigation! Every word is true – there was no cover up.”

“The agency supplied technical support. That is pretty strong language BJ,” Frank said.

“Technical support means data and information, but you did not put the report together,” I replied. “Did you read it?”

“No, it was not the agency’s charge to do the full report; we moved on to other things,” Frank replied.

Then he added, “I assume you have other evidence to dispute the findings.”

I opened the briefcase again and put the stack on the table to a groan or two.

“Yes, indisputable evidence,” I replied.

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

The flight continued on without incident. We were 20 minutes from landing when I received a text from Brooke Haywood clerk EIT team, “Success, Robert and Burt got the break they were looking for today – you will be surprised.”

“Thanks, looking forward to reading it,” I replied.

The three JBG Suburbans and a multi-passenger van were waiting when we landed. The four pilots stayed with the planes, “Keep your eyes open and get the planes ready to leave. I don’t know how long we will be but I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to,” I said to the pilots. “10-4 Boss”

We drove in the main gate and around back to the housing complex that the security personnel were assigned to. As soon as I exited the vehicle I started looking around.

It was easy to see where the walls and south east corner had been replaced. Then I turned to look at the north east corner of the compound and instantly became infuriated.

There along the wall at the north end, partially covered by a blue tarp, was the Suburban that our two employees and the two state department employees were killed in. It was no wonder moral was on the floor. To look at that thing everyday, all day long, was emotional torture of the worst kind.

It should have been gone as soon as the investigation was completed. In fact I had sent an email to Washington that it was to be disposed of.

I pulled out the state department smarter than smart phone because it would work anywhere in the world I was told; the other phone I carried would not even work in the back yard sometimes. I had it on speaker; Ching Lee was standing beside me so she could hear.

“Victor, why is the blown up Suburban still sitting inside the embassy compound at Morocco?” I asked.

“How do you know it is still there? Oh shit, you are there,” he replied.

“Yes, I am here looking at it. It was supposed to be long gone. No wonder moral is so low,” I replied.

“I will call and tell the Ambassador to have it removed,” Victor said.

“It will be gone today if I can find someone to haul it. Do you have any more information on the timeline of the attack and the participants?” I replied.

“Nothing more than what was in the report that you have,” Victor replied.

“OK, I will see you on Wednesday,” I replied.

“BJ, your tone is worrying me. Do you know something that I don’t?” Ching Lee asked.

“The EIT group got all the dots to connect today. I think either we have been lied to or there has been a major intelligence failure. I will know for sure when we get back and look at their data. If we have been lied to I am going to carry a bucket of fire and hell into that Senate meeting on Wednesday,” I replied then added, “No one is going to lie to me and get away with it.”

I turned around to walk back to my guys and was standing just inches from Ambassador Rambo, Assistant Ambassador Earl Conley and Harvey. I was mad and I know my expression showed it.

“Harvey, is there an auto scrap yard around here that you know of, that can come get this piece of junk out of here today?” I asked.

“Yes Ma-am, there is about 6 km away,” he replied.

“Go call them. If you cannot get an answer, get with Andy Reddick; he is the commander of Rapid Response team. Take three or four of the new guys for backup and go there. I want this thing gone today,” I replied.

“Yes Ma-am, right away boss,” Harvey replied.

I turned my attention to the Ambassador and assistant, “Good afternoon Ambassador, it is good to see you in the flesh,” I said and I took his extended hand to shake it.

I gave him one of those marine handshakes that hurt intentionally; although I was not known for a gentle handshake he would remember this one. I introduced Ching Lee to them; I know she had the very same handshake.

“May I give you the grand tour?” Ambassador Rambo asked.

“Yes indeed, then we need to do a private meeting and I need to audit the accommodations for my employees. I have some questions I need answered. Then I need both groups together for a quick information exchange,” I replied.

“Then we need to leave, I wish my stay could be longer but I have to testify before a joint congressional committee Wednesday morning,” I replied.

“Being we are this close lets look at the accommodations for my men and get that part of the audit out of the way.”

All of the other embassies I had visited had small groups of JBG employees; Morocco was one of the largest with 20 and now 25. At those small embassies there were a variety of accommodations ranging from being housed within the ambassador’s residence to separate housing.

When the State Department sent the request to expand the JBG unit I had asked if there were sufficient accommodations for them and I was assured there was. I would find out for sure now, or was the housing one more reason for the low moral.

The building was two stories, good sized and away from the back wall of the compound by 15 feet. The first floor had a large kitchen and recreation room with a big screen TV and two gun safes.

Several of the guys who were leaving had already packed and the doors were open. Each room was like a very small apartment. They each had a tiny bedroom with a ½ shower with a toilet and sink and a small kitchen that consisted of a sink, microwave, hotplate and toaster oven. The living room was combined with the kitchen and had a TV and a couch or a recliner. There were 30 of these rooms with several being used for storage.

The basement that the ambassador tried to direct me away from was a workout room with weight benches and a variety of other exercise machines and also contained two washing machines and driers. I found out why he tried to steer me away. Taped on the wall were various Playboy and other centerfolds. There was a TV, a DVD player and a pile of XXX DVDs.

Ambassador Rambo and Assistant Conley started apologizing and stuttering all over themselves.

“No need for you to apologize; they work for me,” I replied.

“What do you think Ching Lee, are they real or silicone?” as I looked at the nearest centerfold.

“Fake, they are too perfectly shaped here,” as she followed the outline with her finger, “But the doc was a good one; they are a perfect fit for her body structure,” she added.

“The nipples are perfect for piercing; nice and erect and not too big around. What do you think – barbells or rings?” I asked.

“Rings definitely,” Ching Lee responded.

“I will agree with that, she needs a shave, should she leave a landing strip or take all of it?” I asked.

“All of it, she has a nice protruding clit, either posing made her horny or she played with it to get it to peek out of its hood for the photographer,” she replied.

“Find a good piercer who knows what he is doing and split the hood back a bit, and then put a ring so that it rests on the clit. She will never wear panties again without being aroused with every few steps,” I replied.

“Definitely a beautiful lady have you seen the new group that joined the gym? There are a couple ladies who are this good, maybe better,” Ching Lee said.

“No, I have been too busy,” I replied.

“Let’s get going, we have a lot to do yet,” I said.

“What do you want done about all this?” the Ambassador asked looking at the posters. Both of them were blushing at Ching Lee and my conversation.

“Nothing, if you are OK with it so am I. I would rather they have jerk off sessions than hunting for hookers in these streets. Men will be men no matter where they are. If we ever add women to the team here then things will change,” I replied.

We had gained an audience during the discussion and no one said a thing. As we walked by the gun safe I stopped. “Open it up,” I said.

“Do these belong to JBG or the embassy?” I asked.

“JBG,” Harvey said as he joined the group.

“Inventory them and your side arms with serial numbers and condition while we are in the administrative meeting.”

We looked over the rest of the place and had our meetings – first with the ambassador and his team.

When we came out of the first meeting the burnt Suburban was hooked up behind a ragged beat up 1960 Chevrolet Holmes wrecker.

The driver wanted a bill of sale. I wrote it out on a ½ sheet of paper for him. He was upset that he had to deal with a woman and even more upset when I responded to his frustrations in a mix of Arabic he understood.

Then I brought both JBG groups together for an informational exchange. Two hours later we were back on the planes. I had the four senior people who acted as supervisors in my plane up front where we could talk. It was a long flight home.

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

The training of the response team continued until Friday afternoon, including a revised hostage rescue. Hanna and her cameraman participated again. Not because it was newsworthy but because I wanted video to critique the training and to document the training improvement.

To my surprise Victor showed up to watch the hostage rescue. I had new thermal images from the agency hangar in the back to work with. The agency was always evaluating new equipment and procedures and more than willing to use it.

Special agent Kevin Parks was the manager of the agency hangar and research team stationed at Morton Field. After the Atlantic 709 issues had gone away, Hanna’s station ran the rescue clips again in a different news slot; Kevin had seen them.

Friday morning when we were loading the chopper for rescue training, a Gator made a bee line from the agency hangar straight to me.

“Are you doing another rescue?” Kevin asked all excited.

“Yes, it will finish up the training for this group before they ship out Monday morning,” I replied.

“Can you hold off ten minutes to let me get a drone high? I have some equipment I want to test with real time live action,” Kevin asked.

“Can I get a copy of the video for training purposes?” I asked.

Jake was doing the pyrotechnics effects and I was going to help him so I could learn. I needed to learn because Howie and Jake were soon going to be gone most of the time. Howie Crafton was the member of the RRT who had the explosives license. Howie had already ordered enough blasting caps and other toys that were locked up in the armory.

Howie was in the second chopper as part of the roof assault team. Then this afternoon he was on one of the ground teams. This was one of the changes for this group; they were going to get to experience both ground assault and aerial assault.

Since there were no Rochester guys to be bad guys, I had to be creative. That meant that Vicky, Ching Lee, Mark and several guys from the aircraft shop got to be bad guys. Vicky and Ching Lee were pumped at being bad guys.

Another thing that Ching Lee and Vicky were going to do was get wild in the second run through. They were going to don double hearing protection and a helmet so the flash bangs would not bother them and heavy coveralls. They were going to stay out of sight under the stairs and surprise the group after they worked past them.

While we were critiquing over lunch, cardboard boxes and other debris was going to be put into the concrete building to play with their minds for the second run through. I called Kevin and gave him a time for the second run to get the drone in the air.

The first run went smooth – the second was a totally different outcome. Ching Lee and Vicky tagged (killed) the entire aerial team and two mechanics tagged three of the ground assault team.

I was concerned as hell at first with the outcome of the second then I realized why. They were complacent; this group had been the bad guys when the Rochester group went through. They thought they had it figured out but they thought wrong.

I learned more than they did, there would be no more cake walks in this part of the training. I was going to be a lot harder on the next group. Big changes were coming for this part of the training. This group would go through it again very soon.

I was extremely upset with myself for not thinking the project through. Bob’s Construction was coming back as soon as I figured out what changes were needed. I just hoped the RRT would not need this skill any time soon and would get several trips through the training.

Friday afternoon the RRT was sent home to be back at 6 AM Monday morning with their baggage for a minimum stay of 3 weeks in Morocco.

The weekend was quiet as it could be with two newborns in the house. Mom and Lisa were still spending a lot of time with us. We did not mind – it gave us the time to spend together and spend in the gym that we all needed.

Early Monday morning Ching Lee and I said our goodbyes with hugs and kisses to our mates and the little ones. At Morton Field I also said hello and good bye to Jake, Mindy, Tony and Kathy and their spouses. Their flight to Japan was twice as long as ours. They would have to stop and refuel on the west coast to be able to make it to Japan.

The members of the Rapid Response team were surprised as hell when Ching Lee and I rolled bags to the plane. The two who had grabbed the front seats were even more surprised when I told them they needed to move. They thought they had prime seats for the flat screen displays.

Lorrie had the original flat screen removed and replaced with the largest that could be installed in the space. I started with the SVOL contacting all 10 colleges. A headset kept the conversations private. It was the first time in a while that I had the opportunity in the daytime to check in with all of them, unless there had been an emergency.

It took two hours to make the complete cycle of all 10 colleges. After a pee break and a fresh refill of coffee, I connected the State computer to the system and started on the VCATS system.

I started with the embassies I had visited; Bogota, Quito, Lima, La Paz, Dubai, Masqat, Kuwait, Doha, and Riyadh. Then the embassies that the aviation division had made chopper exchanges at – Bamako and Khartoum.

I saved Rabat, Morocco for last. I was going to tell them to pack and be ready to fly out in six hours. I typed up an email to all the JBG employees informing them they were being temporally rotated out of Morocco today for the recurrent training module and to be ready to fly out in six hours. I held off sending the e-mail until I had talked to the Ambassador.

I called Ambassador Howard Rambo on the VCATS. Harvey Black was working the security desk today.

“Hello Harvey, good to see you today. How is the weather in Rabat today?” I asked.

“It is good here – warm and dry as always with the winds off the desert. What can I do for you? It is unusual to talk to you this time of the day,” Harvey replied.

“First thing is how long would it take you to teach someone to do the job you are doing today?” I replied.

“Not that long – it is reasonably easy and there is always a state department employee here during the day shift. Why do you ask?” he responded.

“Can you page Ambassador Rambo for me, and then I can tell you,” I replied.

“Good afternoon Ambassador, BJ Jones of JBG – how are you doing today?’ I asked.

“I’m doing well and it is good to hear from you again, but somehow I don’t think the weather is the reason for this call,” he replied.

“You are correct. The current 18 man JBG team is being rotated out today. The plane with the replacements should be landing in about 3 hours or so; you need to coordinate transportation. There will be 27 individuals to transport to the embassy,” I replied.

“I need to call Victor and Amy to confirm that. It would have been nice to have several days notice,” he replied.

I hit send on the email to the site employees then responded to his comment.

“I met with Victor yesterday; in fact he witnessed one of the training modules for the temporary team that is flying in. Amy is in the loop as well.”

“As far as the short notice – given the massive data breaches to government systems daily it seems like, “Loose lips sink ships is the best policy.” The best security today is not to put it in writing and don’t talk on the phone about anything that needs to be secret,” I replied.

After a chuckle, “You are right about that,” Ambassador Rambo replied. With that the screen went black.

I paged again and Harvey opened the screen, “Did you get my email?”

“Yes, some of the guys are packing already. We are going to be able to come back aren’t we?” Harvey asked.

“Yes, that is correct; in three or four weeks depending on how fast the training goes. The Ambassador is supposed to be getting transportation for 27 people, follow up on it if you would,” I replied then I signed off.

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

While the babies slept and Jenny napped and we watched over them with watchful eyes, I read 200 pages of gobble-de-gook and nothing. An orchestra could have not been better played or a play better choreographed. I hoped the next 300 pages were more informing.

The weekend was consumed with babies, in between work and house guests. Mom and Lisa made repeated trips to the house to remind us of things they had forgotten to tell us about baby care. They always stayed until they had a chance to hold Jacob and Robert.

Every night at the first cry, the doorway was filled with 4 girls to make sure we were up looking at the boys.

Jenny took advantage of all the child care to visit the gym. A strong physical fitness regimen is addicting; without it you just feel like something is missing. Doctor Peterson had given Jenny a list of preferred exercises and a time frame the she should be able to start them over the next few weeks.

Jenny had already been four days without any exercises, excluding the workout from childbirth. As that saying goes, “Damn the schedules – full speed ahead.” Two hours later with both Jacob and Robert telling the world that it was past mother’s milk time, it took two of us to help Jenny into the Suburban to come home.

Jenny was already leaking as the boys made the latch like a vacuum cleaner. Being sweaty and stinky did not deter their demand for mother’s milk.

By Sunday evening I had managed to highlight multiple pages in the last 300 of the report and put sticky tabs to make them easy to find. I explained what I had found to the girls. Vicky was going to carry the report to Robert and Burt in the morning and explain what I had found, hoping it would assist them.

Monday I was back to the work routine; kisses all around, including gentle ones on the forehead of the boys before I left. I was working all day today and then half days Tuesday and Wednesday, again in the mornings.

Thursday and Friday I was spending all day in the gym on the final training push, part of which would be spent on hostage rescue. I was promised the compound would be clean of snow and ready to go.

The rapid response team was in their last week. The state department was coming back today to finish up their presentation. Then four days were left to finish out the training. Then they would get to spend the weekend at home.

I carried two framed blow-ups of my family, the five of us surrounding Jenny holding the boys and then another of me holding the boys. I placed them on my desk.

The meetings that were postponed on Friday were on for this morning. I carried my laptops with me in case I needed them. At the meeting room when I opened the door and walked in, there was clapping and congratulations. On the big screen were the pictures I had blown up on my desk. Patti had sent them around on the administrative email.

After the oohs and ahs and kidding about sleepless nights, we had our normal college business meeting. We broke for lunch and ate in the cafeteria with other faculty and students.

At one before the meeting resumed Bob Jackson played a short clip of Atlantic 709, from the low fuel warning until the wheels touched down. Then he played the Hanna interviews of Lorrie and me.

“You may not realize it but you are turning into a politician one news event at a time,” Bob replied.

The meetings lasted until three. I was glad to be finished with them and go home.

I was late getting to the nightly meeting and was surprised to see that Jenny was there.

“Where are the boys?” I asked.

“The two mom-moms each have one and we now have two rocking chairs in the living room. They are going to be so spoiled rotten,” Jenny said as she was laughing.

“That’s what grandparents are for, that and babysitting,” I replied before I broke out laughing. I had forgotten that Jason was sitting at the table with us.

“You do remember that us Grand-Pops are supposed to teach them how to pee on the tree trunk, we could change that to the potted flowers in the living room,” Jason replied trying to hold back a smile.

“Don’t you dare,” Jenny replied at half a shout just before Jason lost it laughing loudly.

“Well, we do have three or four years to work out an agreement,” Jason replied.

“Agreement my butt – that’s not going to happen,” Jenny replied.

“OK, back to business,” Marcy replied.

“The bill for Atlantic Airways is complete and on the way to them. The Horsey house and the Crash house have both been cleaned today. Bob called to say they would have all the snow out of the compound by tomorrow afternoon,” Marcy said.

Ching Lee and Vicky gave the training schedule that the RRT was going to use starting tomorrow. Jamie had signed off on all the weapons training. Hand skills and the rescue training was all that was left.

Marcy had contracted 10 more college rape prevention seminars. All ten of them were for next month, luckily two each at five universities. Vicky and Ching Lee were going to take turns being the lead on them with several of the clerks to the complete the team.

We were nearly done with our meeting when Captain Peterson paged our SVOL video conference system.

“Good afternoon, I see you have spent the last week busy as usual and in the news. You are not likely getting our local news there but the stations here are still interviewing flight 709 passengers about their experience,” Captain Peters said.

“We are still working through everything, it was a good week for a lot of people,” I replied.

“By the way, congratulations on the birth of the twins; I know you are happy,” he said.

“We are very happy, proud parents and the grandparents are too,” I replied.

“The DVD you sent us has made the rounds. The next group is chomping at the bit for their turn. I need to give them a date but put it out there a month to six weeks if that works for you,” Captain Peters said.

“Six weeks would suit fine, same travel arraignments as before; we pick up your team and return them. Will it be the same contract price?” I asked.

“That would be great – works for us,” he replied. “Question for you, one of the guys noticed that the Black Hawk had your decals on it; how many choppers do you own, if I am not being nosy?”

“Twenty four; there are ten Black Hawks and 14 Bell 407s. They are scattered – some are in Africa, the Middle East, Asia and South America,” Lorrie replied.

“Wow, you always have something to keep you busy then,”

With that the call ended; we still had business to attend to.

“I have scheduled two G5s to make the personnel transfer at Morocco. 45 one-way commercial tickets plus all the extra baggage charges were going to cost over $50,000, with the price of fuel now we can beat that by using our own G5s,” Lorrie said.

“Since it is a round robin I’m going to go. I want to see that site first hand plus question some State Department embassy staff. The cover story will be that it is an audit. Whatever answers I don’t get I can ask the group on Wednesday at Washington. Who wants to go with me?” I asked.

Ching Lee was the first to say, “I will go.”

“Get with Jamie, spend some time on the shooting range,” I replied. The rest of the week motored along. Wednesday before I left KCC at noon I went over the administration building to see Bob Jackson and Mr. Nobles.

I caught both of them in the hall getting ready to go to lunch. “I am leaving for Morocco early Monday morning and returning in the wee hours Tuesday morning. I have a couple empty seats. Do either of you want to go along?”

“Morocco, I don’t think so,” Bob answered very quickly. Mr. Nobles shook his head, “No”.

“It’s a hot spot; might be some action there,” I replied.

“I will still pass,” Bob replied, “Hot spots you can handle just fine.

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.

We had an excited conversation on the way home about having babies in the house. Vicky and Ching Lee were making list of the things we needed to do tomorrow to bring the boys home. That was so easy to say, “The boys, our boys,” it brought me teary eyes just thinking about it.

When we got home we cleaned the house from top to bottom; we dusted every nook and cranny there was. I even changed the heater filters, putting in the latest kind that removed everything; mold spores, lint, and pollen, fine dust – everything!

The girls made up the cribs; each boy was going to have his own. One my mom gave us; it had been Jake’s, then mine. The other had been Jenny’s. We bought completely new mattresses, side bumpers and linens for them.

There were boxes of sterilizers, baby bottles and breast pumps. They were dug out ready to be cleaned if Jenny wanted to use them. After watching the connection between the boys and her I was sure the only thing they were going to get any time soon was the real nipple – any time and any where they wanted it.

Tomorrow – until Jenny called – it was back to the grind. The Rapid Response team had lost three days of outside training because of the weather. I called Bob and asked if he knew anyone who could remove the snow from the roofs of the four block buildings in the compound so we could use it right away. Jake and Dad could use the front-end loaders to move the snow outside the fence.

To their dismay, they were going to spend the rest of this week in the gym training and in class. The state department was sending a team to give them a crash course on diplomacy, policy and procedures. In ten days they were going to Morocco to swap the entire JBG team there.

Our electronic investigative team (EIT) had been up and running a week now. Robert and Burt had taken on matters, the Morocco attack and the political debate. To that, I had added a third.

My Washington closed door inquisition with the intelligence committees had been postponed two weeks on Wednesday because of the storm.

Eric and Frank both dropped hints that the committee was digging to see if we had any advance knowledge of the attack because we were so well prepared for it. Eric also indicated that the panel was going to be loaded with other intelligence groups.

“They are looking for why JBG was targeted – what you knew and how – that the intelligence group did not,” Eric stated.

I asked both Robert and Burt to devote a day or so to researching the terrorism attack against JBG to see what kind of information they could dig up that I could use in my defense.

I was able to give them a head start. I had both the cell phone number that was blown up in the van and a list of all the numbers that it had called in and called out. There were also some email addresses of North African origin that came in a state department info dump that I should not have received a day or so after.

The Feds tried to recall it after they realized it had been addressed improperly, but Cindy had already printed the packet seconds before it disappeared from our system.

Robert was working aggressively on the three groups that were planning trouble for the independent debate. From updates I was getting, they had already infiltrated all the leader’s emails, text and cell phones and had set up continuous monitoring of all three. The other was digging into the Morocco incident and making progress.

Cindy had assigned administrative assistant Brooke Haywood full time to the pair to put everything together in a form we could use. It was a totally stand-alone office not connected to our mainframe or our internet. Brook kept us up to date with emails. She was also putting together everything need for the first meeting.

Friday morning all of us went to the gym offices. It had been four days since any of us had sat down behind our desks and there was a pile of things to catch up on.

I had heard from the people in the office that Cindy had a sense of humor, although I rarely saw it. I saw it today when I sat in my chair and looked at the top of my desk. There were three neat stacks of paper work; on top of each was a sticky note.

One read “Easy piece of cake,” the next said, “Complicated, take a break first,” the last one read, “Oh my God, get two cups of coffee before you start this then call me,” Cindy. She was nowhere to be seen but I could hear her giggling around the corner.

She assumed that I would start with the easy, but – “Bring me the two cups of coffee and let’s get started,” I said in the direction of the giggles.

The, “Oh my God,” was the final report on the attack in Morocco that killed Phil and Albert. It was 500 double sided pages long. It might also help Burt and Robert in one of their assignments I had given them.

Cindy was right but four cups of coffee may be more like it. I put it back on the desk and put the sticky note back on it. It needed to be done but it would wait until later today.

I started with the piece of cake pile and then the complicated pile. I had finished both and the two cups of coffee when Jenny called, “We are being released in an hour, come and get us, I’m going crazy – get us out of here, please!”

We were going to take three vehicles to bring Jenny home. All five of us were going and we were bringing back five. My mom, Lisa, Jenny, Jacob and little Robert were coming home. The car seats for newborns were already in the Suburban.

We were there in plenty of time, the roads had been plowed repeatedly and the full shoulders were now exposed.

Jenny was a ball of energy when we walked into the room. If she was tired from the delivery it was not showing. Lisa, on the other hand, looked frazzled.

“Jenny has been going since six o’clock when the babies were brought in to be fed. I thought she would rest, I’m the one who needs the rest,” Lisa replied as she sat down in the chair beside the hospital bed.

Doctor Peterson came in and gave all of us the new parent talk, the do’s and the not to do’s. There were discussions on sniffles, care, feedings, burping and diapers, bathing and a 24/7 information number to call if there were any problems.

We had diapers; Jenny had gotten cases from the baby shower, every size from newborn to six months.

The babies were fussy while we were loading everything up, but as soon as the vehicle started moving fell quickly asleep.

To my surprise Jenny wanted to go over to the office before going directly home. She wanted to show the babies to her office clerks and staff. I wanted the same thing but I was not going to suggest it today, not knowing how tired she was for sure.

We spent the next two hours over at the office with a steady parade of well wishers looking at the boys and congratulating Jenny and all of us on the addition to our family. Then it was home with babies, dirty diapers and feeding. All of us took turns holding, rocking and adoring Jacob and little Robert.

Dinner was of Jenny’s choosing, after reading the hand book of those things that could be passed on to the little ones through her milk. No pickles, garlic, nothing hot spiced, no booze, no over the counter meds without the doc’s approval.

When quiet was finally necessary for the little ones to sleep and when they were, Jenny and I snuck off for a long hot deserving shower. I washed her back multiple times with her favorite soap. After the shower she hit the bed for a nap while five of us listened to the boys’ breathe and watched all the facial expressions two-day-olds could muster.

In this quiet period I started reading 500 pages of double-spaced bold print final report of the attack on the Morocco embassy.

Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.