Detachment Delta (15 page)

 

Charlie said, “Did you read where he has one testicle and is schizo?”

Fila said, “I sure did.”

Charlie said, “That proves it then.”

“Proves what?”

“He's half nuts!” Charlie pronounced.

Fila laughed so loud that it made several NCOs working on daily updates of classified Area Studies jump half out of their seats.

“Why didn't the CIA have him or his group listed in their
CIA World Fact Book
?” she asked when she stopped laughing.

Charlie said, “Simple. They do not want to acknowledge him and give him more power.”

“Really?”

He walked over to a refrigerator and got them both plastic bottles of water and opened hers.

Charlie said, “My main martial arts instructor was a cool guy. Really cool. He was a grandmaster, and he deserved that title. So a close friend introduced this kung fu guy who had won some national championships, but only within his style in both weapons kata and sparring. Since the friend introduced them and spoke so highly of the kung fu guy, my instructor flew the guy in, put him up, fed him, and let him do a clinic for us on wushu. You know, kung fu.

“Two of my instructor's black belts, a husband and wife, were kind of wimpy and soft when it came to sparring or grappling. So they got real intrigued with this kung fu guy's weapons forms. He spotted this, so behind my instructor's back, they privately went out for coffee together.”

“He stole them away from your instructor?” Fila said.

“Yes,” Charlie replied. “To make that part of the story short. Secret phone calls, manipulations, and he ended up moving to our town and opened a school with them. He had them call all of my grandmaster's students and say my grandmaster had a felony record. All kinds of vile stuff. They never stole any other students and went out of business in five months. The kung fu guy left town in disgrace.”

She laughed.

Charlie said, “What's so funny?”

She said, “What does this have to do with the CIA?”

“Sorry, I guess I'm writing a book,” he responded with a chuckle. “Some years passed and a guy called who the grandmaster knew was a student of the kung fu guy in another state. He figured the kung fu instructor was sitting right there with the guy waiting for a good laugh, after pushing the grandmaster's buttons.”

He swallowed some water and went on. “So the kung fu guy was named Sifu Smith. Original, huh? So the other guy said, ‘Hey I have had some problem with Sifu Smith and would love to see him go to jail.' ”

Charlie laughed thinking about it.

“ ‘Sifu Smith? Who is that?' the grandmaster said.

“I was sitting right there and started quietly laughing.

“The guy said, ‘You know, Sifu Smith. He was a competitor of yours.'

“The grandmaster said, ‘Sifu Smith, huh? Name doesn't ring a bell. If he was called Sifu, he obviously was kung fu. Oh yeah, I think there was a guy who did a clinic here once and opened a school for a month or two and went out of business. Was that the guy's name, Smith? Guess I forgot.'

“The other guy was frustrated and said, ‘Yeah, but I want to sue the bastard. You want to help me?'

“ ‘No,' my instructor said real firmly. ‘Why would I do that? I don't know the guy. He probably isn't even in the martial arts anymore. I cannot even remember what he looks like.'

“The other guy said, ‘Yeah fine, see you.'

“The grandmaster explained that he totally stole the man's power, and you have seen the ego in some martial artists. He did not even acknowledge the guy. It must have totally crushed the flake.”

“I love it!” she said. “So by not publicly mentioning Davood Dabdeh or mentioning his group, even though it is growing like crazy, the CIA steals some of the horsepower from his revved-up engine?”

“Great disinformation program on their part,” the Lakota warrior said.

She came back. “But wouldn't it make Dabdeh think that he is pulling off a major operation? He might think he is recruiting tons of people and building this giant jihadist network, but the CIA are not even on to him?”

“No way, baby,” Charlie said. “The guy is not that dumb. It will destroy his little ego anyway, and probably make him more determined to make the organization even bigger.”

“We have to close up shop, folks,” a good-looking Military Intelligence captain said, approaching their desk. “We have to replace the TS folder you have been looking at.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” Charlie responded.

They took the folder over to the desk by the large vault filled with Top Secret Area Studies on all the countries in Africa and most of the ones in the Mideast. They had to log it back in with the young sergeant sitting by the vault door, who wore a loaded .45 automatic.

They thanked the captain and several sergeants for their assistance and left.

“Well, Fila, tomorrow we have the briefings and Oplan development starting,” the big sergeant said, referring to the operational plan. “We only have this evening left to continue getting acquainted like the Old Man ordered. How about dinner at my house? I'll grill us some steaks.”

“Instead . . .” she said. “It was hot today and we made those four HALO jumps. I sure could use a nice tall, cold beer. How about the GB Club?”

“Sounds great to me,” he said.

They stopped there and each had a cold beer, then went on to Charlie's place, where he fired up his deluxe grill. After a great dinner, they talked awhile and then took a walk outside holding hands.

THEY
were two blocks from Charlie's house, walking along enjoying the smells of fresh-mowed lawns and the fragrances of some well-manicured yards filled with blooming flowers. He kept asking about her past in both Iran and Iraq.

They came to a small building that said “BBQ” on the outside, nothing else, but several cars were parked outside. They went inside, and Fila was surprised at the number of people in there ordering dinners to go with barbecue, hush puppies, cole slaw, and other Southern treats.

They came up to the counter and a large, smiling ruddy-faced woman came up to Charlie and spoke with a thick Southern accent. “Why, Charlie, I swanee! I haven't seen you in a dog's age. Want some hot barbecue today?”

“No,” he said and smiled. “My friend Fila here has not had the opportunity to taste a piece of one of your homemade pies or your carrot cake. Fila, this is Rose. Rose, Fila.”

They both nodded and lipped, “Hi.”

Then Rose gave a big laugh and said, “The way she has been looking at you, Buddy-Ro, Ah'd say ya oughta get a piece a carrot cake and split it.”

She winked at Fila, who blushed deeply.

He said, “Sound like a plan, girlie?”

“Sounds like a plan, Stud Muffin,” she shot back without missing a beat.

Rose went to her cake dish to pull out a thick, rich-looking carrot cake, and she said, “Bettah hang onta that one, Charlie. Ah like her. Woman's got some gumption. Ya heah?”

Charlie held the chair for Fila to sit at the tiny corner table, and he sat down opposite her. Rose brought a piece of cake over, set it between them, and handed them two forks.

“How ya like your coffee, Fila?”

“Black, please.”

“Comin' up.”

She returned with two steaming cups of coffee and Fila took a bite of the cake. She swallowed it and said, “This is delicious! Really delicious, Rose!”

Rose said, “Wal thank ya. I have a trick that makes mine bettah than all the othahs.”

“What's that?” Fila asked.

Charlie said, “Oh, I didn't want you to ask.”

Rose laughed and said, “Real carrots. Everybody else uses orange Crayolas. How you like them apples?”

Sporting a big smile, Fila said, “You are a marvelous cook. I mean fantastic, but you suck as a comedienne.”

Charlie laughed and pointed at Rose, and she smacked his hand with a towel she carried. “Oh pshaw.”

She went back behind the counter.

With his back to the corner, Charlie glanced at every customer who walked in the door. He was used to always sitting back to the wall, facing possible dangers. This was very common for all specops types and police officers. Fila felt comfortable, though, knowing he was there to spot any danger behind her.

On about their third bite of the delicious cake, which they were eating using only one fork that was held in his hand, with him feeding her and then taking a bite himself, trouble came.

Charlie's eyes opened as he looked to the door, and he whispered, “Trouble.”

“Don't nobody move. I'll pop a cap in yo asses if ya do!” a young black punk in oversized shorts yelled.

He was also wearing a red Cardinals baseball hat and an oversized red tank top. He held what looked like a .380 semiautomatic pistol in his hand, which he now pointed at Rose, who looked like she was going to have a heart attack.

Just past him was another large white youth, who also wore the colors of the Bloods, with a red scarf under his cocked and tilted red baseball cap.

Charlie looked at both of them but whispered through closed lips, “I got Big Mouth. You take White Bread.”

“I'm locked and loaded. Say when.”

“Gimme all the money you got in that drawer, bitch, and move!” the leader said.

Two middle-aged women stood at the counter waiting for a take-out order and looked like they were ready for a heart attack, too. A yuppie-looking man walked in wearing a suit and immediately had a sawed-off twelve-gauge shotgun shoved in his face, and his hands went skyward.

Charlie quickly whispered, “One, two, three! Now!” and in one fluid motion, Fila spun and rose, and he moved out one step away from her.

Both were leaning forward, knees slightly bent, their left hands coming up in front of their chests as if they were saying prayers, and this slapped the butt of their Glock 19 9-millimeters and extended the guns forward, their right hands cradling the grips.

Charlie yelled, “Do not move, punks! Freeze or die!”

Both gang members looked at him and Fila pointing guns at them, and their demeanor showed they knew what they were doing.

The black kid stuck his jaw out, saying, “You want me to shoot this old bitch, Player?”

Charlie said, “I don't know her. Who cares? I just know if you do, I can castrate a flea with this nine at a hundred meters, so I will not kill you. I will put a bullet in your spine and paralyze you. You both have till the count of three to lay the weapons down or die. One.”

Both punks got panicky looks on their faces and swung their guns at the same time toward Charlie and Fila, and the woman at the counter and Rose screamed. At the same time, Charlie and Fila each fired twice in rapid succession and both gang members fell to the floor just like that, crumpling like rag dolls. Each had two holes in his forehead.

Charlie yelled at Rose, “Call 9-1-1 now!”

He ran out the door, gun in hand, while Fila checked the pulse on both gang members. They were quite dead. She then ran out behind Charlie, to see the driver of the car and one more gang member in the backseat.

Charlie said, “Driver! Both hands on the wheel, engine off, and throw the keys. Now or die. No arguing! Backseat, both hands out the window, crawl out the window, and lay facedown, spread-eagled. Fila, cover me!”

He heard her say, “Got it! Go!”

Charlie moved around the car to the driver's door, while the still-shocked customers inside watched out the window and neighbors were now running up, but staying back a safe distance.

“Both hands out the window!” Charlie commanded.

He approached the man, saw that Fila was covering him and the passenger very well, and slipped his Glock in his pocket, grabbed the driver's two thumbs together in a viselike grip, knocked his hat off, grabbed him by his dreadlocks, then hauled him out the driver's window and face-first onto the ground. Charlie then lifted him, marched him quickly around to the other side of the car, and laid him down about ten feet from his friend.

Now the crowd of neighbors started cheering and applauding as cruisers drove up, screeching to a halt.

The first officer out pointed his weapon at Charlie and started to tell him to drop his weapon, but a man from the crowd ran out holding up a police badge and yelling, “Aesop, Narcotics! They are one of us! The man and woman are good guys!” The officer nodded at Charlie and Fila.

Charlie said, “One at the back of the car was backseat, one in the front was the driver. They have not been searched.”

Fila yelled out, “Two holdup men inside are both dead!”

The crowd started cheering again.

Charlie said to Fila, “Call Weasel. Then call Pops.”

He held his weapon on the two gangbangers from the car until other cruisers arrived and took over. Charlie holstered his weapon, and Aesop came up from the crowd and shook hands very enthusiastically with both him and Fila. Soon, the first sergeant to roll up came up and shook hands with both of them also.

Within twenty minutes, a helicopter could be heard and a Little Bird landed right in the middle of the street, and Pops emerged, wearing Bermuda shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and sandals. He went up to the Fayetteville police lieutenant now in charge, showed him his identification, and spoke to him.

He then ran over to Charlie and Fila and said, “You two okay?”

Aesop was still there and said, “Hey, I know you, Colonel. You two aren't cops.” He looked at Charlie, saying, “You must be C.A.G. I did twenty-two years in Group, many of them at Bragg with 7th and SWC.” He was referring to the Special Warfare Center.