What Do You Mean Its Still Tuesday

by Billy Bob Richardson

  One made it out just as the other turned to try and cover the doorway. He locked eyes with Al, but before the last target could swing his weapon off of his back, Al nailed him. Hurrying to the window, he took in what was going on outside. By the muzzle flashes he could see at least 3 more bad guys outside trying to slide to the right and get to the alley with the truck parked in it. His man was firing on them but he was outgunned and while one guy kept him pinned down, the other two were about to make a dash for it. Leaning out, Al underhanded a grenade right behind them. The two had just taken off running when it went off. It looked like they had put on a sudden burst of speed as they flew through the air. The last man swung his weapon up to take out whoever was at the window above him, but he never made it. Al’s man guarding the back shot him through the head.

  They were way out of time. He had one man look for the keys to the truck and waved the man out back to come around front and watch for anyone coming.

  “Atash, I need to gather the intelligence we came for from the first room, stand at the head of the stairs and guard my back.”

  “Yes boss.”

  In the room Al checked all the bags and found four of them contained neatly tied bundles of $100 bills, two had a lot of paperwork in them. He needed to make sure that the bags actually held all money and not just some money and paperwork. He pulled one bundle of money out to make sure it was more money, and it was. A quick search of the room and desk revealed no more money. He grabbed papers from the two bags of paperwork and covered the top of the money in each money bag. He wanted it to seem like they were full of files. Grabbing paperwork on missions was something he and his guys had done before. As he was securing the top of the last two bags one of the guys from outside yelled up the stairs.

  “Boss, I hear vehicles coming. They are very close. We have the truck started in the alley, hurry.”

  As he turned around he thought he saw a shadow on the door frame. That was one of the problems with using oil lamps; they tended to flicker and do crazy things to the light. When he reached the door however Atash was at his post.

  “We have six bags of intelligence; grab two of them and let’s get out of here.”

  “Yes boss.”

  Back in the room Al grabbed the four with money; they were a lot heavier than he had expected, but still he let Atash have the two that actually had paperwork in them. They headed downstairs. Just as Al made it halfway across the downstairs room he was hammered from behind. Falling to the floor he blacked out for a few seconds.

  When he came around he could hear loud talking in Afghani. Apparently Atash had watched from the doorway when he checked the money. Never hesitating, as soon as they were downstairs he opened up on Al with the MP5. When Atash explained to the others what he had seen and why he shot Al, they had no problems with it.

  By this point people were looking out their windows and Atash was shouting at them to stay inside or die.

  Amazingly Al could still move. In a great deal of pain, but still, he could move. Al knew he had to act fast or he would lose everything. Two facts had saved him. One, he wore new generation soft body armor with trauma plates under his robes. Two, his men didn’t know that fact. Otherwise Atash would have gone for a head shot instead of center mass. Lucky for Al, the subsonic rounds just didn’t have the punch to penetrate his armor. He could see his men through the open door. As soon as they disappeared from his view, with a huge effort he heaved himself off the floor. Trying to hurry, he dropped the partially use magazine from his weapon and replaced it.

  By the time he made it to the corner of the alley the three men were untying the tarp top and loading the bags into the bed. With the motor idling and laughing about killing an infidel while making themselves rich, they didn’t hear Al coming.

  He was slow; he was never going to make it in time to stop them. If one of the others hadn’t insisted Atash show them the money he would never have made it. Atash opened the bag pulled out a flashlight; pushing the papers out of the way he held up a stack of money, holding the light on it.

  Greed did them in. They were standing pressed together to see into the bag. First Al shot low and hit them in the ankles and feet. Blood and bone sprayed everywhere. Ankles and feet have a lot of bone in them. As they dropped screaming to the ground he shot each one twice at point blank range in the head. When he got to Atash, he gave him a wicked grin. Pressing the tip of the hot barrel to the man’s forehead he simply told him, “Welcome to paradise.”

  Picking up their weapons and extra ammo, he closed the bags and redid the tarp. Backing up in the truck he felt it thump, thump over their bodies. About to pull away, he saw lights wash along the buildings behind him. He got out of dodge before the Germans could get there. Checking his watch he saw it was only 3:17am.

  He stayed ahead of the German patrol with his lights out. Just before he was about to leave the town he made a turn and followed the street until it ran out into the surrounding country. He couldn’t feel any blood, but he was hurt. No way was he going to be able to make the drive back to Kandahar alone through all the roadblocks and possible ambushes. He needed the Germans one more time. He kept a lookout as best he could. The only good thing about hurting like this was he wasn’t in danger of falling asleep. When it was full light and the goat boys and farmers were headed out of town, he circled around and headed back for the German base.

  At the checkpoint he asked for a sergeant that knew he was in town. He had to wait 38 minutes but finally the sergeant arrived and told him the commander wanted to see him. It didn’t take long to get inside the first checkpoint and to a parking area. He couldn’t take the vehicle any closer; if he tried they would search it.

  At the headquarters building he was ushered in to see the head man.

  “My friend you look the part of an Afghani I have to say. You are dirty and smelly, perfect camouflage.”

  “I do my best to fit in, Sir.”

  “You look like you have been up all night my friend.”

  “Just about, I headed into the hills to do some recon and just got back,” said Al.

  The commander looked at him with a frown. “You shouldn’t take such chances, even though you look the part these people are very suspicious and would turn you in for two Afghani dollars.”

  “Like you, I have my orders. Not going to say I always like them, Sir.”

  “Indeed. You were right about last night, my friend. Something definitely went down.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes, something definitely was going on in a house in the southern part of the town. When my men arrived they found what looked like a firefight and 15 dead. One turned out to be a notorious Taliban operative. Someone chopped them pretty significantly.”

  “That’s a shame; were they all dead when you found them?” asked Al.

  “Unfortunately, yes. That operative would have been quite the catch if we had been able to apprehend and interrogate him.”

  “I somehow feel I am to blame, Sir. If I had been able to get better intelligence maybe you could have gotten them alive.”

  “Nonsense, you did as much as you could and I am most grateful. A dead Taliban leader is better than none, as they say. Now, is there anything I can do to help you further your mission?”

  “I managed to gather some papers and books, things like that from local sources. I need to get them back to where I can analyze them. If I could get a ride back to Kandahar it would really help, Sir.”

  “I am sure we can arrange something,” the commander told him. “I hate to ask, but if you find anything that pertains to my area of responsibility, or what that mess last night was about, could you pass on the information?”

  “No problem, Sir, I will be happy to pass on anything I find in the papers I retrieved. Maybe this time I can get you a live Taliban.”

  That got a laugh.

  Al was nervous about leaving four bags of money sitting in the back of a truck, with the only thing protecting it being some canvas. Not muc
h he could do about it though. The Commander had told his sergeant to take care of him. While the sergeant was checking on a ride Al was using the officers’ showers and getting back into his own clothes. Being in the middle of a work day, he had the place pretty much to himself. Very carefully he got undressed. At first he didn’t think he could get the body armor off by himself. After a struggle, he got it off. He had to grab a bench to hold himself up, but gravity won and he sank to his knees.

  He must be hurt because the cold tile floor was looking mighty comfortable. Talking to himself he kept saying, come on Al, get with it, you are not that hurt. He made it to his feet and examined himself in a mirror. It looked like he had been beaten with a baseball bat. He eased into the shower and ran the water as hot as he could stand it.

  Twenty minutes later he managed to get dried off and dressed. His body armor was looking a little sad. If the rounds he was shot with hadn’t been subsonic 9MM he would be in a lot worse shape. The armor saved his life, but it was possible he had some broken ribs. Atash had been standing less than three feet behind him, and must have given him a three to six round burst to chew up the armor this much. In a couple places it looked like a round had hit the intersection of the plates and at least a part of the round had made it through to the armor beneath.

  Time to hurry up and wait. Clean and dressed he decided to wait where he could get some chow, and some coffee.

  The German mess hall was a marvel of stainless steel. The German soldiers liked to brag it cost $20,000,000 US, and he could believe it. By this time he could have eaten an old shoe, but it wasn’t on the menu so he settled for steak and eggs. By his fifth cup of coffee he was feeling almost human. How did armies function before coffee? He was about ready to leave and look for the sergeant when he saw him come into the mess hall.

  “I have your transportation arranged; you leave in 15 minutes from the helicopter pad. The commander said you might have some papers to load. Tell me where they are and I will send someone for them.”

  “They are in the parking area, but I better go with them so I can point out the correct truck.”

  The sergeant took him to the duty hut and arranged for some soldiers to help him. Al led them to the truck and they hefted them out to the pad and loaded them on the chopper for him. It was a good thing, as he could never have gotten them all the way to the chopper by himself in one trip. The chopper warmed up, Al climbed in and they headed out. Choppers made for fast travel, but no one in their right minds would call them comfortable. Even so, Al found himself dozing off. Just before he fell asleep he wondered what the commander would have thought had he seen him boarding the chopper. All Al had said was papers and books. He was pretty sure the commander was thinking briefcase size, not six fat bag size.

  At the base in Kandahar Al got some help with his bags, got them on a cart and headed for the civilian contractor area. Home sweet home, well actually, what the Army called a wet CHU. CHU stood for Containerized Housing Unit (pronounced "Choo"). Just a metal box slightly larger [22'x8'] than a commercial shipping container with linoleum floors and cots or beds inside. These insulated CONEX shipping containers had a door, window, top vent, power cabling, and an air conditioner. One version housed four people, while another version was split into two, two-person rooms.

  The version with a shower and toilet shared between two rooms was called a "wet CHU," which provided less crowded latrine and shower conditions than tents. The CHU gives soldiers a lot more living space than tents. He had a special one built just for him. Only one sleeping area and an office space in it; his was a 40’ version. At his CHU he pulled the bags off the cart and let them hit the floor. His was full of equipment that went along with his cover, so a few more things stuffed around wouldn’t even be noticeable. He was really hurting by this time so he settled for dragging them. He got them under a bunch of crap and covered it all with more work related items. He called one of his workers and had him deliver a box for shipping some of his personal things back to Germany. It was delivered at his personal CHU twenty minutes later; his guy brought the box inside and left. The box wasn’t all that big, maybe 5’x5’x4’. It was big enough.

  Taking the money out of the bags, he counted it. Then counted it again, and then a third time. 8.6 mil. His hands were shaking by this time. He didn’t want to even think about what would happen if anyone opened this box in the future.

  Working in covert operations allowed a man time to read while he waited around for intelligence. When waiting for something to pop, reading was about the only thing to do here. He had boxes of paperbacks, so he used them. A couple of layers of books then the money stacked in the middle. Books and some clothes he didn’t need pushed in all around the edges and books to fill the box to the top. When he was finished loading, nailing the lid on only took a few minutes. He called and had the office send over a couple of guys to take it to be strapped and then loaded for transport. Then he headed out to get some medical attention.

  He definitely had some broken bones so they kept him overnight and filled him with fluids and wrapped his ribs. They suggested he make it to Ramstad Air Base and see a civilian doctor. There was only so much they could do for him in Kandahar. It isn’t unusual for broken ribs to cause a person to develop pneumonia, plus he could have some internal injuries. He asked for and got a written, signed paper to that affect. He checked in with his contact from the agency and showed him the paper. After giving a fanciful tail about how it all happened it was agreed that he had better go to Ramstad. He was told, no point in letting it turn into pneumonia.

  Before leaving for Germany he got on his computer and arranged for a container to be shipped back to the US. He sent an email to the company they used as a front in Germany and told them to fill a container with the items on the list he was sending them. He had been saving things to ship back for just such a necessity. They were to hold it until he got there to verify the load. His special box made it from Afghanistan to Germany without a hitch. After making sure the special box made it into the shipping container, he headed for a hospital.

  27 hours later he was in a civilian hospital going through tests and the box of money was loaded into a container headed to the port to be shipped back stateside. If he wasn’t there to take delivery the company he supposedly worked for would unload the container and send his box of personal belongings to an address he used for a drop. He intended to be there when it was unloaded, but in his business you never knew.

  Chapter 2

  US Army Base, Kandahar, 4 months later - Al’s Chu

  “Welcome to my humble abode, gentlemen.”

  Madd and the four cousins filed in, shook his hand and slapped him on the back.

  “Wow Al, you are living life large. Got you a 40’ wet CHU all to yourself. We have to share a four man one that’s only 20’ long.”

  “One of the perks of being a favored son of Uncle Sam, guys. Pick a spot and take a load off.”

  “How you doing Al, how’s the back?” asked Madd.

  “A lot better than I thought it would be. All the pain finally went away and the doctor says I am 100%.”

  “We haven’t seen you much, they have you on the run taking care of business?”

  “Pretty much, Madd.”

  “I just got off of Skype,” Madd told Al, “and Rose wanted us to check up on you, make sure you were behaving. She said you managed a few days there while turning over the money to Dek.”

  Hearing about Rose made Al smile.

  “We wanted to thank you for all you have done for the family. Plus let you know what some of that money was being used for,” Madd told him.

  “Not a problem guys, I did it for all of us. I have to admit, I am curious about a couple of things. Like how are you managing to add 8 mil plus to the family finances without raising any red flags with the IRS, or the Organized Crime Bureau?”

  “It took some thought but one thing we came up with was using an established LLC. A thumb nail of the type of LLCs we set up
looks like this. There can be any number of members of an LLC. They don’t have to have any voting rights or any contractual returns on moneys they invest in an LLC. In our case, three key members decide on any dispersals of funds. They never have to legally give anyone money back at all.

  “You can have an LLC inside of an LLC. One can transfer funds to the other without any disclosure, in most cases, since there is no cash in a direct transfer. The basic core of family members we intend to provide for, is something over 300 individuals, perhaps as many as 500. In the past we have funded one LLC, Riders in the Storm, by subscription. Thirty-two members invested $7,500 several times since forming the LLC.

  “The family LLC membership is the 300+ I mentioned. Keep in mind that the members of the Riders LLC also have membership in the family LLC. You can be a member of as many as you like. There is a $10,000 limit to cash deposits in any 12 month period, before it has to be reported to the government. In theory $9,000 falls under the limit that a bank has to report to the government. The Family LLC holds a limited power of attorney-in-fact in fiduciary matters for all members. For our purposes it means that whoever heads up the LLC can deposit monies in the name of each member of the LLC.