Donald Harstad: A Long December

Volont had been right. The ricin cans were at the farm, and their distribution had been delayed when we began working the area because of Rudy’s murder. They’d apparently tried to get in twice, and there were either lab agents or cops there both times, so they just kept on driving. The DCI lab team had been within fifteen yards of the little fruit cellar, but the entrance was nearly impossible to see. When we went on our little picnic to the old Dodd place, the people who started shooting at us were actually in the process of pulling the ricin cans out of the cellar and taking them to the shed where they’d parked the car. Odeh and company were supposed to meet them there, but elected to walk in when they were told that we were on the scene. It was a risk for Odeh, but it was either that, or have the whole operation with the ricin go down the tubes.

Odeh and Chato originally fled the scene when the ambulance was blown up. They were headed over the hill to the hidden van, but saw four or five cop cars parked just about on top of the hiding place. We didn’t know the van was there, but Odeh and Chato couldn’t know that. They’d circled around, trying to avoid cops, and eventually came out onto the roadway near the media vans. There, they sort of mingled, and then got to the east side of the road and began walking north, away from all the commotion. The helicopter hadn’t keyed on them because they were on the cop side of the fence, so to speak.

The ambulance was blown up solely to create a diversion for Odeh and Chato. There was no other reason. They’d used a terrorist named Aba, who along with Odeh was the only really thoroughly trained terrorist present. He’d been hit in the leg, so his injury was legitimate, and the explosives had been inside the rolled rim of his stocking cap. In the dark, and in the hurry, it had just been missed. We reviewed the tapes. One of the victim HRT guys actually did something at the bomber’s head just before they released him to the ambulance. George thought he’d probably felt the cap to see if there was anything under it, not part of it.

We found lots of remains of the people who’d been either in or just by the ambulance when it went up. The driver was virtually intact, for instance, but under a part of the cab. Those who were actually inside at the time of the detonation were reduced to parts. We never found the head of the bomber, but got his torso, eviscerated abdomen, and legs. Terri must have been leaning over him when he set himself off. We think that because most of her head and torso had just disappeared. If anything about the whole incident pissed me off the most, it was that. Here she was, knowing he had tried to kill some of us, and still putting herself at risk to help the man. So what does he do?

Chato, as it turned out, was supposed to be affiliated with FARC. He was trained, but not a fanatic like Mustafa.

Odeh pled guilty to assault, attempted kidnapping, and wrongfully pointing a gun at another. That was me. I didn’t believe that was all, but the feds needed him elsewhere, and Iowa wanted to get rid of him. He went into federal custody immediately after our trial, and I have absolutely no idea where he is today. Volont didn’t volunteer anything, and I didn’t ask.

Speaking of Volont, Hester woke up after surgery in Dubuque to find a huge bouquet of flowers in her room with a big blue ribbon that said, in gold letters, “Lady Agent.” It came from the FBI Field Office in Cedar Rapids, but it had to have been George and Volont who were behind it. She was charmed.

Juan Miguel Alvarez, also known as Hassan Ahmed Hassan, pled guilty to second-degree murder in the death of Rudy Cueva.

After his sentencing, he was transferred into federal custody, and tried in the Northern District of Iowa for Terrorism. He pled guilty there, too. Last I heard was on the news, and he was being transferred to a federal prison.

Linda Moynihan pled not guilty. Well, what’s an innocent girl to do? I guess the plan was that, since everybody who could testify against her was either dead, in federal prison, or had been deported, she had a good chance of skating. Our federal attorney friend Dirty Harriet shot that one down when she announced in a news conference that any federally held witness who was needed to testify in Iowa would be made instantly available. True or not, it worked. Linda changed her plea and got five years. I expect her to serve eighteen months.

Skripkin turned state’s evidence for every governmental agency he could find in the phone book. We got him a fifteen-year sentence as an accessory, and then he went to trial in the federal system for “terrorism.” I don’t think he’s actually been adjudicated yet, but I’m sure he’s happy as a clam.

When the news got out that the packing plant had been a victim of a terrorist act, their business actually improved. Ben was flabbergasted, but happy. Me, too.

Although my shooting of the two terrorists at the Dodd place was ruled by the District Court as “justifiable,” I got sued. The suit was brought by two sets of attorneys who were supposedly representing “familial interests” of the deceased. Only the court knew the actual families, as they were afraid of “retribution.” They must have been really interested, though because each suit demanded a hundred million dollars. Both dead men, as it turned out, were from Honduras, and had been known to associate with the drug trade. During depositions, it became clear that the plaintiff’s attorneys were going to maintain that their clients, far from being caught by my return fire while they were reloading, were actually unloading their weapons while preparing to surrender.

Don’t you just have to wonder sometimes?

Anyway, the feds let us have Juan Miguel Alvarez for a witness. He was deposed by the plaintiffs, with suitable restrictions, and claimed that the dead men had been reloading because they intended to advance to the barn door, throw in more grenades, step in with guns blazing, and kill all of us. He ought to have known, as he was standing right beside them.

Even so, the suit dragged on for three more months, as the attorneys for the plaintiffs ran up the bill. I hope the “families” of the dead men could afford it.

Oh, and just for the record, I’ve never regretted shooting them for an instant. I went through a short period of time wondering what was wrong with me because I felt no remorse at all. Then I decided that I’d just done what needed to be done. Works for me.

My shot into Odeh’s lower leg was also ruled justified. There was no suit over that one.

The only upside to being involved in a police shooting, I discovered, was that I didn’t have to do the damned investigation. That alone probably saved me six months’ work.

All things considered, we came through this case pretty well. Hester has a permanent dimple in her cheek that the plastic surgeons couldn’t quite erase. It really doesn’t detract from her appearance at all. She still has Big Ears with her. She brings him along sometimes when she has a case in Nation County. Sally and the rest of the dispatchers go nuts when they see that dog.

Hector is still in Battenberg, pretty much in control of the world he inhabits. He still informs for me, when he thinks justice should be done and I seem to be lagging a bit behind. I’m pretty sure he’s doing the same thing for the FBI. I hope they treat him right. He’s a good man.

Our intrepid county attorney Carson Hilgenberg has already started to campaign for office. His bumper sticker reads PROVEN TOUGH ON TERRORISM. Honest. He’s unopposed, naturally.

Lamar says he’s going to retire. I’ll believe it when I see it. As for me, I think I’ll stick around for a while.