Detachment Delta Read online

  Bubba Dalton was the largest officer in Alexander and Rashad’s precinct, and he simply was one of those men who saw the top part of everybody’s head. He was so big and solid that whatever he touched would always move. He was also a total racist and a bully, but he knew James Rashad, and the man was a cop in his precinct. Six men were now around the van, guns drawn, and Stinky, neck bleeding and still screaming, was roughly pulled out and Juan Atencio screamed to call for an ambulance.

  Detective Sergeant Brad Pitt hollered out, “I know this officer. His name was James Rashad. His head was blown completely off his body. It’s laying on the floorboard!”

  By now Charlie was being cuffed, and Bubba Dalton screamed, “You cop killer!”

  He grabbed Charlie and slammed him face-first on the hood of the cruiser that had come down the alley from the far end. Then he punched him several times. Charlie spit out blood and grinned at the monster, who got even more enraged and kneed Charlie in the ribs several times.

  “Dalton!” Brad Pitt screamed, walking over. “Knock that crap off!”

  Bubba yelled, “He is a cop killer, Sergeant! We ought to waste the punk!”

  Brad Pitt said, “Yeah, we should but we won’t.”

  Bubba glared at the detective sergeant and then screamed in pain as the now-handcuffed Charlie head-butted him viciously, flattening and breaking his nose. The behemoth cop fell on the ground, and as his knees buckled, Pitt and another officer grabbed Charlie by both upper arms and escorted him to the backseat of the cruiser. Dalton was now rising to his feet, totally enraged, and looking for Charlie.

  At the van, Atencio now had the duffel bag in his hand, and it had been unwisely opened by the first man on the scene. He looked inside, and seeing the metal container, he gave out a long, low whistle.

  Seeing this from the alley, Pitt yelled, “What is it, Atencio, coke?”

  Juan yelled back, “No, it is a damned Stinger missile!”

  A murmur went through all the officers.

  American soldiers on the ground had concerns in the past about low-flying enemy aircraft because of either bombing, surveillance operations, or inserting and supplying enemy troops. Shooting down these aircraft would be the easiest way to eliminate the threat, so not counting on support from the air or ground vehicles, the army concluded they needed a lightweight, portable weapon that could also be what is called a “fire and forget” weapon, such as the M-72 LAW or light antitank weapon created during the Vietnam War for use on enemy armor and bunkers. It was in essence a disposable bazooka. The Stinger missile is much larger and should be used by two men but can be used by one. The missile and its launcher weigh about thirty-five pounds, and unlike the LAW, the launcher itself is reusable. It is a shoulder-launched weapon, and one person can launch it.

  Also the LAW used a pop-up plastic sight, but the Stinger missile is a passive infrared-seeker. If you fire one at a jet or other aircraft, it homes in on the heat signature or jet or engine exhaust and will travel right into the exhaust port of an aircraft and then detonate.

  When the seeker locks on, it makes a distinctive noise. The soldier pulls the trigger, and two things happen: (1) a small launcher-type of rocket shoots the missile out of the launch tube, and (2) the launch engine drops away, and the main rocket engine takes over and shoots the Stinger at approximately 1,500 mph.

  The missile then flies to the target automatically and explodes. The Stinger missile can hit targets flying as high as 11,500 feet and has a range of five miles. This means, in a general way, that if an airplane is less than two miles high, and it is visible as a shape (rather than a dot), then it is likely that the Stinger can hit it. Stinger missiles are extremely accurate.

  “Dom,” Brad said, “I want you riding downtown to get this guy booked in and stay with him. I don’t trust or like that big jerk Dalton at all. Alexander also has a rep for beating on cuffed prisoners. I want this guy to get the death penalty, and we are not blowing this case and getting chewed out by the DA for screwing up in case prep. Let’s get him out of the cruiser now and keep the dips away from him. We will Mirandize him with several witnesses.”

  Dom said, “Sure, Sarge, but O’Hare already Mirandized the long-haired punk, I think.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Sergeant Pitt responded, running his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. He received comments all day long about his name but did not look a thing like the actor.

  He went on, “No screwups on this. Let’s take care of it. The feds seem to be cooperating good on this case, and I want to comb the crime scene so thoroughly we can find a flea’s pubes, if they fall out.”

  Dom chuckled. “A flea’s pubes? Jeesh, Sarge!”

  They opened the door to the cruiser and pulled Charlie out. His left eye was almost swollen shut. Bubba Dalton started to lumber forward and Brad raised his hand in a halting gesture. The look he gave the big man stopped him in his tracks.

  Brad said, “Dalton, you go help crime tape the area, and I do not want to see your big Lurch ass anymore tonight.”

  Bubba stormed off, slamming the door shut on a cruiser as he walked by.

  Brad Pitt made sure that Dominic and another officer were witnessing and Juan Atencio walked up and politely did not interrupt.

  Pitt looked at Charlie, saying, “Sir, you are being booked on suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain silent. If you choose to give up your right to be silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning, and if you cannot afford an attorney, the court will appoint one for you. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?”

  Charlie said, “Yes, I do. I want an attorney present during questioning.”

  Sergeant Pitt said, “What is your name, sir? Your license says James Reed, and you had a receipt from an airline ticket saying you are Chuck Wagon.”

  The Indian chuckled and said, “You can call me Charlie, Detective. That is my real name.”

  “Do you want to tell me why you murdered a police officer, Charlie?”

  “As I said, Detective, I would like an attorney present during questioning, and I would like my phone call ASAP.”

  “In due time, Charlie,” Brad said. “We will get you medical attention at the station, too.”

  Juan stepped forward, teeth-clenched. “This piece of shit is a cop killer! The hell with his rights. He is gonna tell us what we want to know right now! If he doesn’t—”

  Charlie said, “You won’t do a damned thing, because you guys do not want to blow a case against a cop killer. You must be a fed, or you would not have jumped in like that trying to play good cop, bad cop, with two detectives standing here, and I assume this one is probably a sergeant.”

  Charlie glanced at Brad, who nodded affirmatively.

  The Sioux went on, “So what are you, FBI, ATF, DEA maybe?”

  Juan said, “Really smart, aren’t you, Charlie? I am DEA Special Agent Juan Atencio and this is NYPD Detective Sergeant Brad Pitt. It will be a lot easier for you if you totally cooperate with us. Yeah, I was trying good cop, bad cop, but you apparently have been around the system. Will you cooperate?”

  Charlie said, “I have cuffs on. I don’t have much choice. If I discuss anything, it will be with Sergeant Pitt, because we have already established rapport, and I respect the man. He is a professional, and you are going to learn about it anyway when Homeland Security and the FBI hears about the Stinger missile. I doubt you’ll find any drugs other than Stinky’s personal stash.”

  Brad said, “So you are an associate of Stinky’s? Why did you kill a cop?”

  Charlie said, “I want my phone call and an attorney present during questioning. If you want to keep rapport, Sergeant, respect my rights.”

  Brad immediately said, “Dom, take him uptown and book him. Charlie, Detective Fernella will see that your rights are protected to a T.”

  Dominic put his hand on top of Charlie’s head
to protect him from bumping it, and Juan hollered, getting Charlie to stop as he was crouching into the cruiser, “Charlie! Just tell us this. You used to be a cop or something?”

  Charlie grinned and said, “Something,” and ducked into the car.

  He made his phone call an hour later and was told to sleep and not speak, and wait until morning.

  The word had already circulated on the graveyard shift, and men were searching for excuses to come to the precinct to get a look at this ruthless cop killer who had decapitated James Rashad with an explosive device. To a man, everyone figured Charlie was a terrorist with al Qaeda, but they could not figure out his country of origin or how he learned to speak with not so much as an accent of any kind.

  When he had showered and had been checked for body lice and other nasty critters, none of the officers present could believe, first, how well built he was, but more so, the obvious bullet holes and jagged scars that seemed to permeate his body.

  The officer in charge of getting inmates prepped for holding cells said to the others, “This guy is a hard-ass and punk of major proportions. He has been shot, stabbed, and none of those bullet holes are from a .22, that’s for damned sure. I wonder if he is in MS-13 or one of those outfits.”

  A patrol officer standing by him said, “I say he is a rag-head. Al Qaeda, I bet.”

  Charlie was soon in a holding cell, lying on his bunk and going to sleep. During the arrest he had only been concerned about getting killed by an overzealous cop like Bubba. Now that he was where there could be witnesses and video, he relaxed. Court did not concern him. He had made his phone call, and all would be taken care of in the morning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A Day in Court

  “ALL rise!” the bailiff commanded in the packed courtroom, and the many people there rose to their feet.

  Charlie sat bolt upright, blinking his eyes. A faint light shone through the unbreakable glass on his cell door. He looked around, breathing heavily, smiled at himself, and lay back down. He was almost immediately asleep.

  In the morning however, it was no dream, as the real courtroom was indeed packed, and all the officers from the crime scene were there, but so was the chief of police, the police commissioner, and many police captains and lieutenants, even the district attorney himself was there to watch one of his subordinates handle this important case. A number of attorneys, waiting for later cases to start, were present, as well as Officer Gerome Alexander, who had been simply questioned that night, and there was no feeling he was involved in any wrongdoing. He explained that Stinky was one of Rashad’s snitches and meeting him like that was quite commonplace when the two were on patrol. He also explained that Stinky had indeed given his partner a number of good leads in the past.

  Nobody was there to represent James Rashad’s family or friends. Most of the press had been kept out, but several had snuck in posing as family members.

  The officers all stared in disbelief, shock, and awe at the legal team that had come in immediately to represent this brazen cop killer. George Rooney, New York City’s sharpest criminal defense attorney, was the lead attorney, but he was joined by two associates from his Manhattan firm, and what amazed all in the room was the U.S. Army major who sat next to George in dress greens, wearing many ribbons as well as the brass of the Judge Advocate General’s branch. Behind him were four very tall, muscular men who looked like bodyguards in Brooks Brothers suits. This puzzle was getting more complex. They had already gotten permission for Charlie to dress before entering the courtroom, as George easily argued that his client dressed in coveralls instead of a suit would automatically prejudice anybody. The judge, Alicia Silver, was noted for being a tough bird who allowed no foolishness in her courtroom and went overboard being fair to defendants simply so appellate judges would not overturn her decisions. All the cops loved her, because she handed out harsher punishments than any other judge.

  One of the attorneys present in the courtroom who wanted to see what happened in this arraignment was Virginia Hampton. She had heard that someone wearing war paint and dressed in black like a modern-day ninja had blown the poor officer’s head off with some kind of sophisticated explosive device. She had no idea it was the man she had approached more brazenly than she had ever approached any man in her life. The man who, even after he’d told her he was gay, was still someone she could not help fantasizing about.

  The doors opened from the suspect’s holding room, and a large jailer walked in followed by Charlie in handcuffs attached to a large leather band around his waist, and also being held by another large jailer. What was amazing to all present, though, was the way Charlie was dressed. He wore a U.S. Army dress green uniform. Several officers who were familiar with army awards and decorations started translating what he wore, and among others, a very shocked Virginia listened intently. The officer said, “The guy is a master sergeant. Look at those stripes. He has a Special Forces combat patch on his right sleeve, which means he was a Green Beret, and I am not sure about the patch on his left sleeve, but see the sword or dagger upright in the middle of that kind of gold triangle? That is the unit he is in now, and damn, son of a bitch! I think that patch is for Delta Force.”

  Virginia got a chill down her spine.

  She heard the man go on. “Look at his ribbons below the CIB with a star, meaning he served in combat in two wars. He has the DSC, the Distinguished Service Cross, the nation’s second highest award for valor. He has got a Silver Star, too. Three Bronze Stars with a V device for Valor, two Purple Hearts, which are for wounds, the Legion of Merit, an air medal. I think that one is the Soldier’s Medal for risking his life saving somebody else’s in a noncombat situation. He might be a cold-blooded killer, but this guy is a superstud, a major hero. He must be Native American, too, by his looks.”

  Charlie gave his attorney and the major a very odd handshake with his hands cuffed to his hips on the thick leather belt. Charlie glanced at the big men who looked and acted like bodyguards.

  “All rise!” the bailiff commanded and Judge Alicia Silver entered the courtroom and politely smiled at the packed crowd.

  She sat down and all followed suit.

  Immediately, George Rooney stood up and said, “Your Honor, may we approach?”

  She had not even spoken yet, but she nodded and looked at the assistant DA, who also walked up. She was surprised to see the army major walk up, too.

  George Rooney said, “Your Honor, this case presents an incredible set of circumstances that will never happen in our careers again. May we, including not only my respected opponent here but the district attorney himself and the chief of police, meet with you in chambers?”

  “Mr. Rooney,” she said, “we have not even gotten started and this is only an arraignment. This is highly unusual, but without objection from the prosecution . . .”

  The prosecutor smiled and said, “Your Honor, I am curious as hell what Mr. Rooney is up to. We have no objection.”

  She nodded, and they stepped back.

  Judge Silver said, “Defense and the prosecution will meet briefly in chambers. Mr. Smith, they would like you and you, Chief Davidson, too, to join us in chambers if you please, gentlemen.”

  In the gallery the two men stood, and both said, “Yes, Your Honor,” simultaneously. The chief of police and district attorney were both puzzled as to why they were called.

  The judge even offered coffee or tea for anyone who wanted some. She poured herself a cup of tea and removed her robe, sitting down in a comfortable dark red diamond-tufted leather high-backed chair.

  Taking a sip, she said, “George, will you kindly let us in on this mystery now.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” he replied. “First, please let me explain. This whole case pertains to national security matters, and we cannot take a chance of anybody in that courtroom blabbing things to the papers. I will be moving that charges against my client be dismissed immediately without prejudice, Your Honor.”

  He held his hand up, smiling
at the prosecutor and stating, “And before my learned opponent or his boss get in a defensive posture, please allow my associate here, Major Ronald Hair of the Judge Advocate General’s Corps to explain. Major Hair was rushed here by air force jet from MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida, and has had no sleep, so please if you will indulge him. I would have lapses in between lapses. Major Hair.”

  The soldier stepped forward and smiled politely, “Your Honor, our client, Master Sergeant Charlie Strongheart, is a recipient of our nation’s second highest award for courage, the Distinguished Service Cross, as well as many other awards, including the Silver Star and multiple Purple Hearts, has been a longtime Green Beret NCO, and is a member of the top secret C.A.G., Combat Applications Group, known to most of the military as 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, and more commonly known as Delta Force. Your Honor, we can move for dismissal for a number of reasons, but most notably because Sergeant Strongheart cannot be arrested, by presidential decree.”

  “What?” the judge said.

  Hair reached inside his dress greens, pulled out a small card, and read, “Your Honor, Presidential Decision Directive 25 grants Delta Force members ‘freedom from all legal accountability,’ including exception from the 1878 Posse Comitatus Act—a statute imposing criminal penalties for anyone using the military for personal gain, domestic law enforcement, or unsanctioned covert operations.”

  “Incredible!” the district attorney said. “Are you telling me that this guy can come in here and murder, decapitate, a member of our police force, and the president has granted him immunity, and we have to let him walk?”

  “Not exactly,” Major Hair went on. “That is why we asked for you, Chief, to join us. The man he killed was a known terrorist. James Rashad was a member of the Black Panthers and later joined al Qaeda and has even met Osama bin Laden and al-Zawahiri both in Afghanistan, where he attended an al Qaeda training camp before the war started there. Years ago, he actually changed his name to Ibn Osama Rashad. When he went through the police academy, his entire biography and identification papers were all carefully forged by al Qaeda operators right here in New York City. Chief, we also are bringing you some experts from the Department of Homeland Security to privately assist you so nobody else can sneak into your department like this again.”