Black Flagged Redux

Chapter 27





7:40 PM

The Jacksons’ Residence

Fredericksburg, Virginia





Darryl Jackson had just brought the perfectly tenderized and sautéed steak tip to his eagerly awaiting mouth when one of the cell phones on the kitchen island started to play Darth Vader's “Imperial March” theme. He looked over at his wife, who raised an eyebrow and almost imperceptibly shook her head. He placed the fork back down on his plate, into the reduction sauce, and excused himself from the table.

"Shall I pack you a small bag? Toiletries, underwear…maybe some cigarettes you can trade with the other prisoners?"

"Very funny, Cheryl. Probably nothing. This shit's off my reservation, so I'm not worried."

"You look worried," she said and took a bite of her own steak.

Jackson mumbled the entire way to the kitchen, still looking back at his wife. He didn't need to glance at the caller ID. Darth Vader's theme had been chosen specifically for his friend, Karl Berg.

"Good evening, Karl. I was just enjoying a wonderful dinner of steak tips with a red wine reduction sauce, rosemary garlic mashed potatoes and my wife's legendary spicy green beans. Brevity would be appreciated," he said.

"Oooh…the green beans? I haven't had those in ages. Tell her I'll bring a rare Bordeaux if she invites me over. Cheryl's cooking is to die for. Sounds like a celebration. Did I miss an occasion?"

"Not really. We're just celebrating my two year anniversary of not going to jail on your account, so you can stop with the lube job. I wasn't expecting to hear from you for another three to four hours, so this sounds like it could be my last supper," Jackson said, walking into his den.

"It's not that bad," Berg said.

"I'll be the judge of that. What the f*ck happened this time?"

"Let's just say that your group in Astana won't be getting their weapons or night vision gear back. My team was ambushed, and their truck was destroyed. They ditched everything at the ambush site," Berg said.

"What? Goddamn it, Karl. Those weapons are traceable back to Brown River. The magical arms dealer fairy didn't f*cking wave her magic wand and make that shit appear at their compound. It's all categorized and licensed with the Kazakh government. The CIA better be hiring middle-aged African Americans with no foreign language skills," he said.

"The weapons won't be traced back to Brown River. My team was hit by a platoon of Russians using similar weapons. They threw them into the burning wreckage of one of the helicopters that was shot down. There are thirty or forty AK's scattered among the dead Russians. Nobody will be comparing rifle serial numbers."

"Jesus H…helicopters? I don't want to know. Sounds like you're in over your head over there."

"Still treading water. I'm sorry about the weapons and the hassle you'll go through explaining their loss, but they couldn't risk travelling with them anymore."

"No big deal. Pain in the ass, but I had expected worse," Jackson said.

"From me? That hurts my feelings."

"You don't have any feelings," he said, and they both laughed.

"But I have a soft spot for you…actually it's your wife's cooking. I guess this will put off my invitation for another year or so?"

"Another year? Shit, you're still serving time for the last disaster. Thanks for the heads up, Karl. I have to get back to the table, or you won't be the only person she won't invite to the dinner table."

"Sorry to interrupt. Talk to you later."

"Look forward to it…I suppose."

Daryl closed the phone, walked back into the dining room, and sat down to a sardonic look on his wife's face.

"I don't know why you still take risks for that guy. He almost sent you to jail two years ago," Cheryl said.

"He saved my life, honey. I'll never be able to repay him for that. Karl's a good man, better than most I've ever met. He didn't have to help me in Afghanistan, but he was the only man in a room full of spooks that couldn't watch us die. Can you imagine that? One man…I'm just glad he was in charge of the Predator flight, or we would have all died that day. He's worth a little heat. To see you and the kids again? Well worth it."

"I understand, hon. Let's just try and keep you out of federal prison so you can spend the time productively."

He nodded and smiled, staring into her deep brown eyes. He wasn't worried about going to jail as much as he was worried about losing his high-paying job and the ability to continue funding his two daughters' private college educations. Unfortunately, much of the kids' reserve college fund had been trickled to an overseas contact in order to pay back the sudden loan needed to clean up Berg's debacle two years ago. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small sacrifice to be sitting at this table, with the woman he had loved for nearly thirty years.