by John R Cuneo
“I’m starving,” said Tom.
“So am I,” said Agent Tygard.
We all moved to the buffet line, where we began the time-honored ritual of filling our plates with delicious roasted meats and every assortment of side dish imaginable.
The dinner was spectacular as always, and soon the live auction portion of the banquet would begin, but first there was a fifteen-minute recess so people could use the restrooms and stretch their legs before the serious art of bidding began. After purchasing another cold cocktail, Agent Tygard and I walked back to our table.
“Why did you wait till the end of your tour of duty before you got the tattoo?” he asked.
“In the event of being captured, none of us wore any type of identification. No rank, no name—nothing. We knew that, from past experience, if you were captured and had any type of tattoo that showed the organization you worked for on your arm, they would chop off your arm. If you had a tattoo on your chest, they would cut out your heart. So this way, you got the tattoo at the end of your tour of duty,” I said.
“I don’t quite understand the design of the tattoo,” Agent Tygard said.
“It represents a black lightning bolt separated by a line of flesh. Some people just have the parallel black lines put on their shoulder. Then, after the tattoo healed, they would take a razor blade and cut the skin from between the two lines, which would cause one hell of a scar to form. This way, if they went on another mission and were captured, the enemy would think it was just a scar and not an insignia of any kind.”
“That’s one hell of a way to get a tattoo,” said Agent Tygard.
“I agree. That’s why I went with two black lines separated by one white.”
“It sure sounds like you earned that tattoo, Jack. By the way, did your group have any special call sign?”
“Yes, we were known as the Black Strike group.”
Chapter 24
Case Closed
Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking, and again, on behalf of the entire flight crew, thank you for flying with us today to Washington, D.C. We are currently passing over the Mississippi River and are approximately two hours away from our destination, so sit back and enjoy the flight, and please let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your trip a more pleasant one.”
Agent Tygard and Detective Gore had been given the VIP treatment in first-class. They both knew that the next few days in Washington were going to be hectic ones filled with meetings and interviews and that the opportunity to speak freely would be limited. As the two men sat quietly enjoying their free cocktails, Detective Gore turned to Agent Tygard.
“I would much rather fly first class in a commercial airliner than in your small twin-engine aircraft,” Detective Gore said.
“The next time we fly together in my aircraft, I’ll make sure I go directly through any thunderstorms in the area,” Agent Tygard said.
Both men laughed as they sipped their drinks.
Agent Tygard leaned in closer to Detective Gore. “We’re going to be under a magnifying glass for the next few days. We should be careful of what we say. No matter how innocent it may sound, these people in Washington are a completely different breed of cat, so be careful.”
Detective Gore nodded. “I understand. I’ll definitely think twice before opening my mouth.”
As they exited the airliner, two Secret Service agents greeted them with a warm welcome to Washington, D.C. The two agents assisted with baggage claim, and on their way to the hotel, informed them of their itinerary over the next few days and what was expected when having lunch at the White House. This evening, Agent Tygard and Detective Gore were on their own with instructions to stay out of trouble and not mention they were meeting with the president to anyone.
Both Agent Tygard and Detective Gore agreed wholeheartedly with the instructions. As they settled into their hotel rooms, Agent Tygard received a phone call from Paul.
“Welcome to D.C.,” said Paul.
“I was wondering if you contact me,” replied Agent Tygard.
“Why don’t you and the detective meet me downstairs in the lobby? We can go out and have a quiet drink together,” Paul suggested.
“That sounds great,” said Agent Tygard. “Let me call Adam and tell him to meet us downstairs at seven fifteen.”
“Okay, buddy, I’ll see you in the lobby.”
The three men met in the lobby at the appointed time. Paul had a car waiting outside, and to their surprise, Chuck was at the wheel of the black town car.
“It looks like the whole team is together,” said Agent Tygard.
“That’s right,” said Chuck. “Great to see you two fellas, but for now, let’s get to the restaurant. We can be more comfortable while we talk.”
The four men drove to a first-class steakhouse, where they sampled some of the best beef in the United States. After their meal, the four men got down to business and started talking about the events that had transpired over the last few weeks. Paul started the conversation.
“As far as my contacts know, there are no missing persons reports filed for Delmo or Fena LaStrange,” he said.
“Nothing has been filed with the FBI regarding either person,” Agent Tygard said.
“I can see no one worrying about Delmo, but when it comes to a missing woman that works for the FBI, I find this very unusual,” Chuck said.
All the men agreed it was highly suspect that a single woman’s lengthy absence had not raised an alarm.
“Well, I propose a toast,” Paul said, and raised his glass. “Congratulations to Adam and Lank on their above-and-beyond actions and upcoming awards.”
During the evening, no one spoke of their past exploits again, and they were sure to keep the conversation as generic as possible because they all knew the chances of being overheard or recorded were extremely high.
Two thousand miles away in Arizona, my family, along with neighbors and friends, was enjoying grilled mesquite delicacies hot off the glowing embers. They were some of the tastiest chicken and steaks that I had ever grilled. Tonight, Carolyn and I were hosting a going-away party for our son, Philip, who would soon be attending the University of Chicago Law School.
In two days, he would be departing for the land of Lincoln and beginning his own two-year adventure. We were immensely proud of our son’s accomplishment and were already missing him, but we knew he was up to the task. He would be a fine addition to the law school’s alumni.
It was just last week when we had toured the university grounds while making final arrangements for his admission to school and his housing. We had decided to rent a small apartment just off campus for him. It was located within walking distance of the law school facility, so Philip wouldn’t be at the mercy of his car or bus service to get to class on time. Earlier this afternoon before the going-away party started, a flatbed truck had retrieved Philip’s car and was transporting it to Chicago, where he would pick it up after flying into town.
With the party in full swing, the crowd of well-wishers found themselves well-fed and in high spirits for the young man. Later that evening as the sun began to set, the partygoers gathered around a blazing fire pit. An open fire can be a welcoming gathering spot.
I asked my son to come with me for a moment. “Your mother and I want you to have this,” I said, and produced an envelope that contained $5,000 in cash for Philip.
“You and Mom have done so much already,” said Philip. “I don’t understand how you can afford this.”
I looked at my son. Then, while giving him a hug once again, I said, “We’ve been planning for this since the day you were born.”
Agent Tygard and Detective Gore were escorted into the dining room of the White House and shown their seats as they waited for the president and first lady to arrive for lunch. Detective Gore turned to Agent Tygard.
“If this is where they eat lunch, I’d love to see where they eat dinner,” Detective Gore said. Agent Tygard looked at his young friend with a frown on his face. “Watch your p’s and q’s.”
Standing close behind the two men was a member of the Secret Service who happened to overhear them talking. “It’s okay. Everybody says that when they’re in this room for the first time,” he told them.
The three men smiled at one another before returning to their businesslike demeanor.
Moments later, a voice announced, “The president and first lady of the United States.”
All the guests stood at the table. The president and first lady made their way to greet the two honored guests before taking their places for lunch. It was only after they took their seats that the rest of the guests and dignitaries sat down. The luncheon, as you could imagine, was on the borderline of spectacular, and Agent Tygard and Detective Gore would both later comment that it was quite easy speaking to the president.
As the luncheon ended, the president had both men stand and meet him at the head of the table, where he and the director of the FBI presented Agent Tygard with a lifetime of service award. The president then received a telephone and, on speaker mode, introduced the Arizona Department of Public Safety commanding officer. They gave Detective Gore an award for outstanding public service on behalf of the people of Arizona. The DPS director announced that Detective Gore was being promoted to the lead position for investigations for the state of Arizona. All the luncheon guests gave the two men a round of applause.
The next few minutes were spent taking photographs with the president and first lady along with the director of the FBI and other dignitaries. The first lady suggested the two men take a tour of the White House. A Secret Service agent stepped forward and acknowledged that she would be taking the two men herself on the tour.
“I need to take off my shoes and lie down for a while,” Detective Gore said when they returned to their hotel.
“I’m with you on that,” said Agent Tygard. “But let’s plan on meeting in a few hours with the team one more time. So dress casual, and I’ll meet you in the lobby at nine o’clock.”
Once in his room, his priority was to call his wife and fill her in on all the details from today’s activities. “I miss you too, sweetheart,” Detective Gore said. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Our flight is not scheduled to arrive in Phoenix until 6:40 p.m., and I’ll be coming straight home.”
“All right, dear,” said his wife. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night.”
It was time to get an hour or two of rest before the team got together.
At the appointed time, Paul once again met Agent Tygard and Detective Gore in the lobby of their hotel.
“Maybe you could get a part-time job as a concierge,” said Agent Tygard.
“I knew this would happen,” replied Paul. “One visit to the White House, and you think you’re a VIP. Now let’s get in the car. Chuck’s waiting for us.”
The four men drove to Paul’s office, where they could meet in complete privacy. Once at the office, the men made themselves comfortable. As always, Paul had an assortment of snacks and drinks for the group. The meeting started with Agent Tygard and Detective Gore talking about their visit to the White House and Detective Gore’s promotion.
“That’s great news,” said Chuck. “You deserve it, Adam. You’ve been through a lot these last few months.”
After the team settled in, Paul gave the details of how he and Chuck had managed with their visit to the storage facility.
“Adam, I know you may be uncomfortable with this, but in the next couple of days, four boxes will be arriving at your home. Each box contains approximately $1 million in cash. Before you say anything, you should know that each member of the team will be receiving four boxes of cash to do with as they please,” Paul said.
Detective Gore did not know what to say.
Chuck offered suggestions on how to hide the cash in plain sight. “And most importantly, do not start flashing handfuls of hundred-dollar bills around town. That is the sure way to draw attention to yourself.”
Paul took over. “I believe we can still do something good by continuing to quietly investigate drug trafficking and looking only at high-profile targets.”
“Speaking of high-profile,” said Lank, “I want you to know that I met a member of the old Air Force Black Strike team!”
“Are you serious?” said Chuck.
“Yes, it’s true. I met him last week while Sarah and I were looking for property in Northern Arizona.”
“What’s the Air Force Black Strike team?” asked Detective Gore.
The other three men looked at each other before Agent Tygard explained the significance of the Black Strike. “They were a group so specially trained that when their first tour of duty was finished in Southeast Asia, our own government was afraid of them and what they could do, so they were disbanded, and a new air force security group was formed in their place.”
“Well, what could they do?” asked Detective Gore.
Chuck told the story of the Black Strike and how they would go on fishing expeditions looking for the Vietcong. Once they found their targets; they would eliminate all of them down to the last man or woman.
Paul talked about the Black Strike leadership being able to fly anything that had wings or rotor blades and how the pilots could outfly and outmaneuver anything the enemy threw at them. He continued with his story, telling the tale of a Black Strike commander who allowed himself to be captured only to escape from a Vietcong prison—but not before assassinating every Vietcong soldier he could get his hands on and their commanding officer.
Agent Tygard went on to tell the team how he had met this member of Black Strike and that he thought he could be useful to their team in the future.
Everyone agreed with Agent Tygard, and it was his task to contact him when he returned home.
“I’ll be sending one of my employees to your homes for the installation of secure phone lines,” Paul said to Agent Tygard and Detective Gore. “I believe we should use a secure method of talking to one another because, as you all know, you can never be sure who’s listening.”
This time, Detective Gore raised his glass and proposed a toast to the team. The three others raised their glasses, and in unison, they all said, “To the team!”
The next morning at the FBI building in Washington, D.C., two agents made their way to the Document Control Center, where they introduced themselves to the department manager, Mr. Wendell.
“I understand you have an employee that hasn’t been to work for a number of weeks?” asked one of the men.
“That’s right,” said Mr. Wendell.
“We would like you to show us the last few projects Ms. LaStrange was working on before her disappearance.”
Mr. Wendell went out into the Document Control Center and enlisted the assistance of one of the senior employees, a woman who had been in the department for over twelve years. He asked her to come with them.
“Gentleman,” said Mr. Wendell, “I would like you to meet Sally. She’ll be helping us identify the cases that Ms. LaStrange was working on.”
Sally sat down at a keyboard and was given an access code the agents had brought with them. It enabled access to all the records that Fena had worked on. After a few minutes of reviewing cases, Sally told the men the only things she could see out of place were that the files she was working on were improperly labeled, and one had no label whatsoever on it.
The two agents were satisfied with what they had seen and were confident that nothing was out of the ordinary. The agents thanked Mr. Wendell and Sally for their assistance then departed the document control center. Mr. Wendell directed Sally to properly catalog the cases. Sally retrieved the final case that Fena had been cataloging before the Fourth of July holiday, and after reviewing the documents, s
he typed, in bold letters, “Arizona – Bloody Basin – Case Closed.”
Epilogue
Deep in the dark bowels of the State Department were several of Delmo’s associates locked in a secure conference room having a heated discussion about the disappearance of their business partner. “As far as my informants know there may be a link between the death of José Vega and Delmo Estranho,” said one of the men. Another interjected, the young man shot by the Las Vegas police was the nephew of their largest cocaine supplier from South America. Now a $5 million bounty on the head of whoever was responsible for his nephew’s death. Then, the third man a man who the other two feared began to speak, “We need to be very careful on how we proceed, knowing that Fena LaStrange may have been involved in the disappearance of Delmo, we all know what she is capable of. She may very well have killed our friend and disappeared with the millions in cash that we had stockpiled across the country with the help of our late friend Nicholas Salazar. Perhaps even more disturbing is that she could have taken all of the incriminating evidence that Delmo had acquired for us. All we know for sure is that Delmo and Fena are missing so we need to find them as soon as possible. And how do we do that asked the other two?
I know a man that may be able to help us; he has done work for me in the past and is very good at his job. If he cannot find them then, nobody can. I’ll contact him tomorrow.”
About The Author
John Cuneo
John Cuneo was born in Detroit during the 1950s. He earned a pilot’s license before graduating high school and was honorably discharged from the Air Force before his 21st birthday. Along with his five brothers, the boys grew up listening to stories told by their parents and friends. It seemed there was always an occasion to spin a tall tale at family gatherings. Now retired and living in the American Southwest, John and his wife of 41 years are turning the pages to a new chapter in their lives.
