Chapter 80

I was sitting in the Intel room going over my plans in my own mind, trying to find any flaws. For the life of me, I couldn't see anything I had left out. But, as with all plans, things were always fluid. This early, the only danger facing the men in the field was the gorge operation. I had no idea if JJ had left men behind to watch or not. If he had, I didn't know if they were still there or had been ordered back to camp. If they were there, I knew they would be well dug in and would be alert for any movement around them. This made it more dangerous for the men going in. I had made the mistake of assuming they would be well equipped with NV equipment, the same as we were. I had to smile to myself, remembering the old adage about assuming anything. I had no doubt Stumpy would know how to flush them out, but I could only hope I didn't lose anyone while they were doing it. I had to find something else to catch my attention, I was thinking, or I would drive myself crazy with details.

I went in and refilled my cup, then went outside to have a cigarette. I was sitting on the steps when I was approached by Masters, who also had a cigarette lit.

"Since when did the groups allow smoking, Masters?"

"They don't like it Harry, but I have been smoking since I was a kid. I learned from my older brother, and he got the habit from Dad. We used to grow our own for extra money. That's how I was able to attend college, and then go to OCS after I graduated. Other than my dad and grandpa, I think I am the only one who ever left those hills."

"Where are you from, Masters?"

"A little burg called Myerstown, way back up in the hills of West Virginia. It's close to the Pennsylvania border, about a hundred miles from Wheeling. I don't know if there are enough people to call it a town, but that's all I ever heard it called. It was named after a civil war Colonel named Jimmy John Myers. He was some kind of aide to General Lee. Hell, we had to walk five miles from our house to get to the store. I still think one of my legs is shorter than the other from walking on the sides of those hills, Harry."

We both chuckled at the old joke, and then fell silent as we smoked and watched the moon crest over the mountain across from us. If it weren't for the chemical smell and the noise of forklifts running, this would be an idyllic location. I sipped my coffee, thinking about the cabin and how much I had missed having a child's laughter in my life before I moved here. I had never dreamed I would be married and have three little girls to raise. I had to admit to myself, I was happier now than I had been for at least the last ten years before I came out here. I knew thinking about the girls helped me not to worry about the lives I was responsible for again. I had to admit, I didn't like it anymore than I had in Nam. I was hoping against hope I wouldn't have nightmares again when all of this was over, but I knew I would. I was already having them over the short conversation I had in the hospital with Agent Thomas. I couldn't understand why he would attach his admiration to someone like me. I wasn't anyone special, and I sure didn't want anyone thinking I was. I would make it a point to go back and visit him when this operation was over. I had promised I would visit, and I meant to keep my word to him.

"Harry, Stumpy just radioed in and I think we might have just got a lucky break. You better come up and listen to his report."

I looked at Masters and shrugged, getting up to follow Preacher to the radio room. We went down the hallway to the last room. The noise after being outside in the relative quiet was almost too much for my eardrums. I followed him over to the corner where the scrambled radio was set up all by itself. He had the radio operator contact Stumpy again.

"Chick 1, this is mother hen, do you copy?"

"I copy ten by ten, mother hen, is rooster there?"

I looked over at Preacher and he got that shit eating grin and shrugged. I gave him the finger before I took the mike in hand. He was chuckling as I replied to Stumpy.

"This is rooster, chick 1, what is your sitrep at the present time?"

"We have caught one egg and have one broken rooster. Can you send mama hen out to pick up the egg? We will stay and see if anymore eggs are found or new ones laid, over."

"Mama hen will be on the way shortly. Suggest you take egg to nest, and then wait to see if anymore are found, copy?"

"I copy ten by ten, rooster. Egg will be waiting for mama hen at nest, copy?"

"I copy chick one, and I am clear."

"Chick one, clear to mother hen."

"Preacher that has got to be the worst excuse for radio jargon I have ever heard. What smartass kid thought that one up?"

I just looked around at the personnel in the room, as they all broke up in laughter at my statement. I was glaring at Preacher waiting for an answer, but he was laughing as hard as the rest of them. He finally settled down, and told the operator to send transport for the prisoner before he answered me.

"Harry, both of the teams in the field decided on it. They both said you reminded them of a rooster watching over his flock to keep them out of danger. Honest to God Harry, I didn't have anything to do with it. You know as well as I do the teams in the field decide on what codes to use."

"Yea well, you would think they would be a little more professional."

I went out the door and as I closed it behind me, I started chuckling to myself. Man, I could see I was going to have my hands full, trying to keep these guys in line, if this was any indication. I was glad the radios were scrambled, because I could just see the confusion if anyone was listening in on that transmission. I had left my coffee cup in the radio room, but I could still hear the laughter, even through the closed door. I decided I would hunt up a new cup and wait to see what our prisoner had to say when he arrived. I just had a feeling he would have some kind of wild story about why he was camped in that particular spot that had nothing to do with his real reason for being there. Oh well, I would find out shortly when he got here. I went back into the Intel room to wait on his arrival. I had been sitting thinking about interrogation techniques I could use when Preacher stuck his head in the door, saying they had arrived.

I got up and followed him to the lower floor to a room that was about 12 x 12 and solid concrete with a barred door. Before we went in, Preacher told me they had taken all the toxic chemicals out when they first arrived. They had done a complete decontamination on the room so it could be used as a brig. When we went in, the prisoner was shackled to big rings set in the floor and he was sitting on a metal chair. There was a cot in one corner with a bucket for bathroom use by the foot of it. There was a long chain set in another ring in the floor by the cot so a prisoner could reach the slop jar but that was about all. Two men brought a folding table in and set it up in front of the prisoner's chair. We had two padded folding chairs to sit on while we were in the room. We were brought fresh cups of coffee as we sat down.

The prisoner was about six foot tall and you could see he was in good shape. He had a few bruises and a black eye, but there were no other outward signs of violence on his person. I sent for a camera so we could snap a few shots of his face to cover our asses, just in case. He just sat and glared at us, not speaking at all. Preacher led off and I just sat back and watched his reaction to the questions. The private brought the camera and a fingerprint card with an ink pad and set them on the table. Another private brought two M-16s in and laid them on the table too. I immediately checked to make sure they were both unloaded and the prisoner watched me as I went through the process. He hadn't spoken or answered any of the questions Preacher asked. He was watching me the whole time, like he was trying to figure out how I fit in here.

"Look, I am not going to waste my breath if you won't speak. I will give you a choice, either give me your name or I will run your prints and have your whole record in about fifteen minutes. I know you and your friend were the rear guard for JJ. I can just ship you to Leavenworth as a domestic terrorist. I don't have time to play your silly games. The ball's in your court, so what are you going to do?"

He sat and glared at me for a few minutes. Then he asked a question aimed at me.

"Who the hell are you, mister? I can see you are not in the service because of your obvious age."

"I am a Special Investigator for Homeland Security. I decide what happens to you and how you're charged. If you don't already know, I can charge you with domestic terrorism, and put you away for at least a year before you will even be able to see an attorney. Now I don't give a damn if that happens or not, but I guarantee you that you will tell all you know before that happens."

"Just how do you expect to accomplish that if I won't cooperate?"

"We have the drugs at our disposal that will make you sing, but I won't guarantee you will be normal after they are given to you. Under the terrorism laws, we can pretty much do anything, if we feel you have information we need to save lives. I have pretty much guessed what JJ is up to, but I need it confirmed by you, because being one of his men, you know things I need. Preacher, call the medic in and tell him I need the green colored liquid I brought. It's in the cooler in my quarters. I guess I am going to have to do this the hard way, because I don't have time for this mute bullshit."

I was hoping Preacher would remember the little trick we used many times in Nam to scare the hell out of uncooperative prisoners. I sat back and drank my coffee a sip at a time, with the prisoner watching every sip I took. I knew his mouth was dry and he needed a drink but wouldn't ask for it. I made a production out of drinking my coffee to make him even thirstier than what he already was. The door opened and the private came in and filled my cup back up with fresh coffee. I noticed he must have been coached because he poured it slow so the man sitting across from me would be able to get a good clear look and smell the brew. I thanked him and as he went out, Preacher came back in with a small vial of a green liquid and two syringes in fresh sterile packages. There was also a bottle of alcohol and several cotton balls for swabbing.

"Call in two of the guards to hold his arm steady. I sure as hell don't want to miss the vein. Better yet, tie him tight to the cot, and I will inject it directly into the jugular so it will work faster. That way I won't have to waste time waiting for it to get to his brain. You better have the medic stand by in case he has a reaction to the drug. He can give him a shot of Benadryl to counteract the snake venom in the serum."

I sat as Preacher went out the door. I heard him talking to the guards in a low voice before they came back in and led the prisoner to the cot. He didn't fight, but I could see the color draining out of his face as he was tied tight to the cot face up with his head hanging over the end for easy access to the neck. When he was tied tight, I looked over at Preacher and he had a big grin on his face.

"Sir, can I talk to you in private for a minute? I am not comfortable with what you're doing here."

We went outside the door, and went into the well rehearsed argument we had used for years in another time. With the door not completely closed, the prisoner could hear every word we said.

"Sir, do you know what that stuff will do to his brain if you give him too much? I thought you were going to use the Sodium Pentothal, not that venom concoction that has done so much damage to the prisoners it has been used on. I have to protest the use of that particular concoction, sir."

"Commander, that man is not going to tell me anything without a little persuasion on my part. I happen to like using the venom cocktail. I could care less if it makes him a vegetable. I believe you were told by your superiors that the prisoner is mine to do with as I wanted to make him talk. Now, stand aside and let me have my fun, Commander. Besides that, Commander, he has not even said his name, so if he should die or need medical care, he is just a John Doe to my Agency. Now, if you don't want to watch, then by all means just make sure the medic is here before you leave."

I went back into the room and started preparing the syringe. I pulled thirty CCs up into the syringe and soaked a cotton ball with alcohol. Then I went over and swabbed the big vein on his neck as I held his head sideways, so it would pop up real nice. I was talking to him, explaining what I was doing step by step. He was soaking wet with sweat before I got done with the swab. I went back to the table and picked up the syringe and called the medic in, telling him to get the shot of Benadryl ready in case it was needed. I knelt next to the cot by his head where he could have a plain view of the needle in my hand.