Chapter 483

The games were over by 1700 when we left to go home. There had been a few arrests for weapons and other incidents, but the events finished off a bad day with no new problems.

At Morton Field I picked up the package from the DHS then went to the jail at Camp Smith.

As soon as Saif saw me, it was obvious he knew who I was.

“I demand to see the Saudi Ambassador and to speak to a lawyer under the rules of the Geneva Convention,” he demanded.

“Crimes of terrorism are NOT covered under the amended Geneva Convention charter that was modified after 9-11,” I replied.

“I’m sure you are aware that a tribunal at Gitmo will make those decisions if you live long enough to get there. You could be three years getting a lawyer. You are going to start answering questions for me in a day or two,” I said.

“I will answer no questions. You are wasting your time,” he replied.

“We shall see,” I replied.

I turned to the cell Rafi Quastri was in, “Are you ready to answer questions?”

“Why should I? You have nothing on me.” he replied.

“I know a lot more about you than you think; all of it is bad enough for you to die. How well do you stand in with the Crown Prince Sultan al-Zahab? You took a lot of orders from him; will he bail you out or watch you die one little piece at a time?” I asked.

“He will negotiate; I am a blood relative,” he replied.

‘That offers all kinds of possibilities’ I thought as I turned and walked away.

At home I walked through the tunnel to the command center and then to Robert’s office. I placed Saif’s computer and phone on his desk with a note. Robert was coming in for a while in the morning to look and see what was on them.

The hot tub and several bottles of cold beer, a late supper was what it took to relax me and then precious time with my mates and little boys.

Tomorrow we were going to have our family Thanksgiving dinner. Because of all the activity, Lisa and Mom has agreed to postpone it on Thursday.

I had a bothered sleep. My mind just would not stop turning; so many things that had happened in the last few days. Also there was the loss of so many of the SWAT team members.

Breakfast was a modest affair; after all, there was going to be enough food to feed an army in a few hours. I helped the girls set up the garage with tables and chairs.

There were already a dozen crock pots on tables cooking all kinds of delicious things, according to the scents.

After everything was set up and cooking, there was no more that I could do. Mom had run me out of the kitchen twice as it was.

I went to the Morton restaurant and picked out breakfast for the inmates, apples, oranges and bananas. I also had the cook fix them eggs and steak. I also placed a clean orange jump suit, underwear, socks, towel and washcloth.

Back home I went to the office and tried to catch up on emails - and there were plenty.

I had a list of the services for the agents killed in the raids; the list had the complete information. The first one was Columbia Monday afternoon. The four DHS agents and the Columbia PD officers memorial service was going to be a joint service.

Two were Tuesday- one mid-morning and the other mid-afternoon - and two on Wednesday with the final one on Thursday.

I was saddened at all the officer deaths. But to read that all six at Columbia had been former military and were younger than 35, hit me especially hard. From the DHS side, two were Air Force and two were Marines. The two from the PD were Army.

There was a contact number for more information; I called and talked with the DHS agent who was handling the formalities and asked if I could participate in the standing guard.

I spent a few minutes with Robert and Burt; they were both working on the phone and laptop.

There were eight numbers in Saif’s phone; the six leaders, Rafi Quastri and Crown Prince Sultan al-Zahab. There were no text messages.

Robert was working on the computer, “It’s going to take a while, there is a lot of encryption.”

“Quit whenever you are ready, take a break; you have been busting ass for weeks. Take the rest of the weekend off, come join us for turkey. We have plenty, this will wait.

Our delayed Thanksgiving meal was superb as all the special meals were when the Moms had done the cooking. And then there were the deserts that had to be put off for at least an hour.

I made three plates and took them to Camp Smith with plastic utensils. This would be Saif’s last meal. The Doc, Eric, Frank and Marty Coeburn were coming at 9. I had told them to have all their questions written down, that this was the one time and only interrogation session there would be.

Men from the Rapid Response team were in the camp to make sure nothing happened.

The family outing together lasted until after dark. Jake and Mindy were the last to go home.

Mindy, Lorrie and Ching Lee were comparing baby craving symptoms and making plans. Jenny was leading on with the things to come.

The three were working out in the gym with an exercise program approved by the baby doc to keep the weight gains within reason and were comparing notes. There was no doubt that fun times were coming with those three girls.

With all of us on the floor in the living room, including the two little boys, we had an evening of family bonding. Of course the two little boys were more interested in finding Jenny’s nipples. Sometimes any visible nipple was fair game.

They were hungry all the time even though they devouring baby food by the case. They were also active, always on the move and into something.

I slept much better of course with Jenny’s arms wrapped around me holding me so tight I could barely breathe. That may have had something to do with it. We both woke up early, managed to get dressed and sneak out without waking the boys.

We would know immediately when they were up; they had learned that aggressively rattling the sides of the crib brought someone or everyone quickly.

Breakfast was well under way when they started shaking the crib. Clean diapers and in high chairs, breakfast became an experience. We were putting pieces of fried eggs, bacon, sausage and sugar smacks on their little plates.