THE HAUNTING PAST MOVEMENT OF THE BODIES

THE HAUNTING PAST: MOVEMENT OF THE BODIES While Tami and I might have agreed, to aid a dead general, and his comrades, in locating their remains, for Islamic burial, the problem turned out to be far more complicated, than simply asking invasion command where the bodies were being stored. As the spirits, themselves, had informed us, their bodies had been retrieved, from the debris, of one of America's latest "succcesses". A village, bombed to its very foundations. After invasion command had declared "victory", the dead had been removed, from the site, but, not by American invasion forces. No, the bodies had been "recovered", by scavengers, who had come into the debris, searching for anything worth selling. The bodies, of the dead, had been recovered, by these scavengers, and was being transported, for sale, on a "market". A place where, once listed as "martyr's", the soldiers bodies would be auctioned off, to the highest bidder. While Tami and I had agreed to attempt to locate the missing bodies, we agreed that, first, we needed some leads. As even our pilots would point out, "We need a destination, to know which course to set". I would add "We should, also, make a list, of potential sellers, as well as buyers." While Tami and I searched for clues, our pilots received a weeks worth of relaxation. This even as the Brown Agency researched the question of "Who was willing to sell human bodies?" If the question had been "Who was willing to sell living people", the answer would have been much simpler. Even in the 21st century, there are "markets", around the world, where a person may, legally, purchase women, and children. Race/ethnicity made no difference. White, Negro, or Asian. If a buyer had money, then human life could be purchased, as easily as Americans buy home furnishings. What made our task even more difficult was the fact that modern human remains are almost as difficult, to sell, as Egyptian, Roman, Incan, Mayan, and Aztec, mummies are. The market, for the unusual, might be a multi-million dollar business, just as the drug trade is, however, the market, for the unusual, is very EXCLUSIVE. For example: WHO would be STUPID enough to place a sales ad, stating: "For sale. Body of Ramses the Second. Contact Cohens, Bergners, etc, for price quote". No, even Mr. Brown would agree that such sales, of even modern dead, would NOT be advertised, similar to automobiles, stereos, home computers, etc. When the spirit, of Mother Superior, would grace us with her presense, aboard Ghost Ship 2, the nun would make a point of stating "While I am forbidden from naming the actual source, which is selling the remains, I am permitted to suggest that you begin your journey, at the shrine of Cabul". When I would mention "Mother Superior, Cabul is in the middle of the area, where American invasion forces are pounding locals into the ground. The locals HATE Americans, with a passion". When Mother Superior would say "Nonsense. The holy church is NOT a place, of violence". I would state "Well, I am NOT about to suffer enemy fire-power, just to prove you wrong." When Mother Superior would ask "What if the Chairman were to guarantee your safety?" I would say "I would tell the Chairman the same thing I would tell Washington D.C. It is easy to make promises, from a distant location. It is the up-close-and-personal, which is what worries me. While the Chairman is immortal, I am not". This is when Tami would ask Mother Superior "Beyond the question, of exactly WHICH shrine, inside Cabul, we should begin with", I think we should start with the question of "WHOM should we make contact with?" Then, this presents another question. That of "Can we TRUST our contacts?" When Mother Superior would say "Children, one step at a time.". I would add "Then, step ONE must be security. We MUST know who we can trust". Tami would add "Especially in a nation, where America has been blasting villages, into the dust, for sixteen years". All that Mother Superior would say was "I have provided a starting point, for your journey. The remainder of the journey, is up to you." As the nun dissolved, Tami would say "Swell. Any idea how many shrines there are, in Cabul?" I would suggest "If a shrine is like a church, then there may be dozens." When I would add "Too bad the soldiers cannot aid our search", The general, and two lieutenants, would appear, asking "Who says we are forbidden to aid in your search?" When Tami would ask the spirits "Which shrine, in Cabul, are we to start with?" The general would say "While I have visited Cabul, many times, I lived more in the outer area's. In this area, we had our own temples." A lieutenant would say "I grew up in one section, of Cabul, and there were two temples, in my neighborhood." The other lieutenant would correct the man, saying "Use the PAST tense, comrade. Remember, the Americans levelled your neighborhood, in 2014". Then the lieutenant looked at Tami and I, saying "America suspected our people of harboring Taliban forces". When Tami would ask "Did anyone survive?" The lieutenant would say "No one, who was in the area, at the time. Several, of our people, who were not at home, at the time, were rounded up, and taken, for interrogation, by the invasion forces. IF any of these people survived, we have heard nothing, from them, to date." When Tami would ask "What about bootleg liquor, drugs, slaves for hire? Have you heard of any temples, using vice to support the church?" The lieutenants would seem un-easy, with such questions, even as the general would say "There are, always, rumors". When Tami would ask "Any place with MORE rumors, than the others?" The general would mention the name of a temple. The general would caution, though "The way, into the "pit", is NOT through the main doors, of the shrine. The shrine is holy, and only acccepts donations. The holy ones have NO interraction, with the underground activities". When I would ask "Okay, so HOW do WE (indicating Tami and I) get into the place?" All three men would be quick to inform Tami "Women are forbidden. SHE must stay behind." When I would ask "What if I need assistance? I can, barely, manage English. Arabic would "out" me in about five seconds". The general would say "Do not worry. I will have a platoon standing by. If you require assistance, we will be ready". One thing, which had become obvious, and that was the fact that our pilots had accepted the fact that they were conversing, with spirits. It would seem that even the air force retirees were becoming accustomed to, regularly, speaking with the deceased. While the general showed our pilots the route, that we should use, the lieutenants would send out advance scouts. Spirits which would report on conditions, on the ground. When the scouts reported back, the lieutenants, and the general, conversed on which landing zone to use. It would seem that the chosen landing zone was just a patch, of ground. Two weeks, previously, American, saturation, bombing, had wiped out a suspected, Taliban, camp. The general, also, suggested the area since there was present only about two inches, of sand, covering a large deposit, of bedrock. When our pilot asked the general "HOW do we insert, with all of the fire-power, on the ground?" The general would say "I have an idea". By the time G.S.2 was airborne, and headed for the Middle East, the entire ship was on "HIGH ALERT". All weapons were on "Ready Stand By". Thanks to Mr. Browns connections, G.S.2 was, even, loaded with depleted uranium rounds. Like the boss said "I dont mind my agents working for the spirit world, but I would appreciate it if my human personnel were returned, in a single piece." Boy! When the general said he had an idea, to pull ground attention OFF of our insertion, the man was not kidding. The general created something, with so much IMPACT, that no ground personnel even noticed our planes passage. Just as the general predicted, as well, it would take G.S.2's jet exhaust maybe five seconds to clear away the dust, and expose the hard bedrock. After we landed, Tami was about to say "I am going in, as well. If you can do it, so can I". I had to remind my partner "There is NO "womens lib", in this part of the world. Equal Rights do not exist." The general would add "Women neither speak, nor show themselves. It is our way". When Tami would ask "HOW am I supposed to do my job?" I would suggest "Via remote interface, from the plane. This is, after all, American "soil". If you see anything, you want a closer look at, just comm me, and I will investigate it". Even as I departed G.S.2, along with a phantom platoon, I would notice that the general was a man of his word. G.S.2 was "surrounded", by a battallion, of phantom soldiers. My own "team members" did not cease to amaze me, even when we came to a section, of dirt. A soldier would, simply, pass a phantom hand, across the ground, and a hatchway appearred. I had to wonder if invasion command knew of the existance, of such entry points, to the nations underground? Once the hatch was open, my group descended some steps, obviously cut from the rock, to a tunnel. A place, eerily, similar to the indians water tunnels, of North America. While myself, and my "escort", were walking through an ancient tunnel, which had been delivering water, to the area, for thousands of years, back at G.S.2, Tami had plans, of her own. While watching the monitors, and feeling like an "outsider", Tami would remember the first time she had felt this way. Tami was thirteen years old, at the time, and had, just six months before, struck a compromise, with her own mother. While Tami had wanted to be a "modern girl", and "equal", to boys, in every way, mother had sermonized the girl, saying "One of these days, you are going to want to be CLOSE to a boy. A boy, who will want to be "close" to a GIRL." The issue, at hand, had been the length, of Tami's hair. Tami had wanted a short cut, like her brothers. She had noticed that, with short hair, the boys were, never, caught, off-guard, by hair, flying, in the face. Mother had felt that "young ladies" should have atleast torso-length hair. Hair, which Tami hated, since it was, constantly, in her face. Finally, after a friend braided Tami's hair, into a pony tail, and her mother got over the "shock", of seeing her daughter, with her hair pulled back, still draping down her back, just not flowing, mother had agreed to the compromise. Tami could braid her hair, so long as she kept it "feminine". The braid had come in, handy, later, when Tami wanted to know what the local boys "secret" was. The boys, in the neighborhood, had their own secret "something", which they ONLY shared with other boys. Even Tamis best, boy, friend, would not share the "secret". Tami decided to learn the secret, on her own. Since she had yet to develop breasts, Tami found it easy to wrap that pony tail around her head, then top it with a hat. (No one needed to know how much hair was under that hat). Donning her brothers clothes, then digging her nails, into the yard, just enough, Tami set out, for the boys club house, in search of the "secret". At the club house, since she knew better than to speak, she just let the boys think that she was just a shy boy. She just pretended to be one of the boys. That day, while Tami would learn, that the rumors, of the boys, drinking booze, in the club house, were as fake as those plastic posts (which a neighbor insisted were real, wrought, iron), she did find out what the secret was. It was a stack, of Playboy, Penthouse, and other, mens magazines. The very magazines, which wifes had thrown out, claiming that husbands did not need such "filth", in this, Christian, community. It would seem that, while the wives were tying the magazines, in bundles, their sons were watching. What the boys could not understand was the reason why their mothers made such a "fuss", over some magazines. Some of the wives wrapped the magazines, in brown paper, while others used last-years Christmas paper. Once the bundles were "disguised", the women told their sons to "Take this off the property, and "Get RID of it"." While the boys followed their mothers instructions, to the letter, making sure that the magazines LEFT the family property, the boys just never said WHAT they did, with the magazines. Now, Tami knew, as well. The magazines had come to the club house, where the boys spent their free time examining the pictures. So, that was the "big secret". Tami did, however, know when it was time to "get lost". This was the time, when the boys started playing a laughing game of kissing one another. While she knew it was just innocent fun, she knew it would take a boy just two seconds to realize that he was kissing a GIRL. While Tami never "outed" the boys, seeing as there was no harm, in looking at magazines, when Tami realized that she was not discovered, she began using the disguise, more often. She even used the disguise, to enter a boys, free-style, bicycle race. While she won the race, when a boy patted her rear, while saying "Nice job, rookie", Tami had betrayed herself, by speaking out, in her female voice, saying "Thats my bottom, boy!". When the judges were called over, and Tami was forced to reveal herself, she was dis-qualified, from the race. Reason: As the rules said, it was a race, between boys, for a Scouts merit badge, in "Fair Play". Since it was a Boy Scouts event, it was limited to boys. While the second place finisher was a full two minutes, behind Tami, he would receive the prize, and first place, since he was a boy, in a boys event. To Tami's annoyance, it was within three months, of this, that her breasts began to "blossoom", and, soon after this, her vagina became "active". Her days, of acting like a boy were over. (OR, were they?) Now, on-board G.S.2, Tami wondered if she could, still, pull off the "young man" disguise. All she needed was a turbin, some of my clothes, and something, to hide her breasts. Then she had an idea. Using one of our lab knives, she cut some padding, out of my bullet-proof vest. (Just enough to let her chest feel comfortable.) While it took her some time, to wrap her hair, in the turbin, the rest, of the costume, was easy to adapt. (She would deal with telling me about my vest, later). Down, in the tunnels, the spirits lead me to the place, where information was available. It might cost me a few drinks, and some credit, but this would be a very good place, to learn either where the bodies were being stored, OR who was selling the bodies. I did not worry, about charging alcohol, on my agency gredit card. After all, Mr. Brown admitted that, at times, his own card was "maxed out", buying drinks, for sources. Sure, Mr. Brown took an occassional drink, but 97% of his bar tab, was case-related. While the spirits were eaves-dropping, free-of-charge, I ended up paying for more than a few drinks, just to find out WHO would have the information that I wanted. (I have to say, though, that, as a life-long tea-tottler, the smell, of booze, was a bit STRONG, in this place.) I had to wonder if the water, which I was drinking, was drugged. I wondered since I thought I saw a young man, who could be Tami's brother. Since her brothers were, all, state-side, it had to be just a coincidence. When I managed to approach the man, who had the information, I had just secured the information, when a woman cried out something, in Arabic. Shortly after this, the young man ran out of the club. When I asked a spectral sargeant, the man told me "That whore claims that a woman came into the club. Came into her chamber, and disgraced her. What nonsense. No woman comes into the club. ALL women know it is forbidden". I had my own suspicions, though. This is when I suggested that we depart this place. The reason why we beat Tami back to G.S.2 was because I allowed the spirits to show me the correct path. After all, this was their land. They knew it so much better than I did. When Tami, eventually, stumbled in, and saw me, she gave me a look of "I KNOW I am guilty. So what?" When I teased her, saying "You never looked better", she rolled her eyes, and headed for the shower. By the time Tami was a woman, again, I had examined my vest, along with the pilots, and we agreed that a new vest should be ordered. After all, the outside material might stop a bullets penetration, but the force, of impact, without the insulated, inner layer, would be like being hit with a baseball bat. When Tami joined me, she said "So, you know. I impersonated a boy, to get into the club." All I asked was "What happened, with the worker?" Tami would say "Would you believe it, I think she thought I wanted to lose my virginity. She wouldn't stop until she opened my pants, and saw my..." When I concluded "Once she saw it, and cried out, you dressed, and ran out". Tami would say "Nothing else I could think of. Oh, and, by the way, while you were racking up that bar tab, did you find anything?" I showed her the list, of names, and addresses. When she asked "Our list, of buyers and sellers?" I would caution her "It MIGHT be the list. When you are rested, I want you to run these names. For all I know, I just ran up a bar tab, in return for a list of Americans, killed in action, here." When Tami would say "I will run it, right now. I am much to wired, to sleep." After an evening, surrounded by drunks, and dope-heads, I was more-than-ready for some shut eye, myself. By morning, though, Tami would wake me, with a soft whisper. When I opened my eyes, she would say "Your dis-comfort, in the bar, paid off. The computer verified that the names are the sellers." When I asked "What about the bodies? Does it say where they are?" Tami would say "No such luck. The note only says that the bodies are "In Transit"." Swell. Even in America, "In Transit" can mean anything from "Being loaded", to "On the Road", to "Being sorted", etc. When the computer beeped, Tami went to check it, then said "Good News." When I asked "What?" She said "After breakfast". Sure enough, the Brown Agency computers had tied the list to a shipment, traveling by train, for some province I had never heard of. A place, whose name I will not dis-honor, by trying to pronounce it. What caught everyones attention were the keywords: "Special Cargo". By the time Ghost Ship 2's on-board computers had provided us with a translation, of the Arabic names, and we learned that our next stop, would be in France, this information did, however, create two problems, which had to be resolved PRIOR to our departing the Cabul area. The first, and, by far, easiest, problem was the locating, where the generals body was being stored, prior to sale. While the list provided us a name, and address, the information, cunningly, was not based upon modern day maps. The information was based upon the more generalized, and much more artistic, maps, of the 1500's, through 1700's. This meant that positions, of towns, were approximate, to a plus or minus, of about five miles. Even so, our pilots were certain that the ships computer could locate the place. After all, G.S.2 had, originally, been designed, and built, as an American stealth bomber. Then, there was the fact that, by the time this bomber was constructed, there had been to many mis-fires, both in America, and abroad, when missiles had mistaken one property, for another target. The "fall-out", to date, from seven missiles, having blasted UN-intended targets, had driven the Pentagon to order that weapons functions be placed in HUMAN hands. Un-like computers, which, simply, follow commands, HUMAN pilots are more willing to double, and even triple, chek targets, to ensure that correct targets are hit. This is why G.S.2's designers had replaced "optically-guided" missiles warheads, with pilots H.U.D. based guidance. In the case, of our bomber, though, the manufacturer had designed in an additional "safe-guard". Had this bomber gone into service, the pilot, bombadier, AND the on-board computer, ALL had to agree, on the target. If targeting accuracy was less than 92%, either the humans, or the computer, had permission to prevent attack. This feature was one which our pilots adored. This because, at times, and in various nations, locations might appear so similar, that attack would be left up to the "little things". Small details, which, sometimes, made the difference between life and death. Within G.S.2, the computer was equipped to visualize the writing, on mail boxes, as well as building signs. In short, G.S.2 could spot a target, atleast as well as its pilots could. While Tami and I worked on "nailing down" the location, of the generals body, Mr. Brown took on an even rougher problem. The problem of gaining an American bomber permission, to enter French air space. This was due to the fact that France was one, of several nations, which had stood opposed to America's un-ending military actions, in the Middle East. When some factions, in Washington D.C. had commented "IF the French are not, FIRMLY, with us, then they MUST be terrorist sympathizers". The French had considered this a threat. While no one, in America, would admit to knowing the source, of the comment, it would seem that this person, or someone else, had suggested that, to prevent France from "Aiding the terrorists", that Amrica should attack France, next. In this way, forcing France to close its borders to all incoming refugees. While the White House, flatly denied that any such actions were even being discussed, when the French government suggested that Washington D.C. issue a flat condemnation, of those, who were spreading the rumors, it would turn out that Washington D.C. was not willing to commit to such a statement. As a result, all Americans, on French soil, were placed under federal surveillance, and observed even more closely, than visitors, from other nations. The French also restricted U.S. air travel, as well as searching every passenger plane, even more than usual. France had made its position clear. While France had issued the American people the nations heart-felt sympathies, for our losses, especially on September 11th, 2001, along with the nations promise to deliver humanitarian aid, which America might request, the French stood in flat opposition to America imposing "Democracy", at GUN-point, in the Middle East. The reason was clear, and simple. As with Germany, France had bitter memories, of World War Two, with troops, marching in the streets, and civilians being either shot, dead, or dis-appearring, just because an invading force FELT that the people MIGHT POSSIBLY be "enemy sympathizers". As with Germany, France was determined: "It will NEVER, happen, again". Now. Mr. Brown was in negotiations, for allowing what was, really, nothing less, than a stealth bomber, to land on French soil. It would take DAYS, for Mr. Brown to convince the French that our plane carried no missiles, or combat soldiers. When asked about our pilots status, Mr. Brown would agree "Yes, the men are RETIRED air force" When the French had questioned "Then, these men ARE capable, of launching an attack, on our lands, should your government desire, to conquer our lands". Mr. Brown would be required to soothe this, by promising "I said the pilots are RETIRED. They have no access, to ballistic ordinance". When the French Defense Ministry would insist "If your ship is not so armed, as in preparing for battle, the you will not object if French inspectors take a look at the plane, once it enters French air space". Mr. Brown would say "Go right ahead. AND, if you find any ballistic ordinance, on-board, I will EAT the bombs, in front of your president." By the time the message rached Cabul, Tami and I had used ancient maps, to plot where the plane would be flying, after the federal inspection. When our pilots received the inspection orders, the pilots only comment was "Will the French provide food, and drink, for us, while they examine the plane?" The only response, from France was "You Americans". Since our primary destination was to be a military base, just within French borders, when the co-pilot mentioned "I was stationed here, once. There is a great little cafe, just outside the base..." When the pilot would ask "...Is that the place where the waitress slapped your face?" When the co-pilot would say "Yeah. Thats the place. HOW was I supposed to know I was making a lewd suggestion, in French? All I wanted was some French Chocolate". The pilot would say "Stick to English, IF we are even allowed off of the base. Your French is even worse than your other, language, "skills"." When Tami would ask "I am curious. WHAT did the man really ask, of the waitress?" The pilot would say "Ma'am, as you are a woman, I will not repeat the words, either in French, or in English". When Tami suggested "That good, huh?" The pilot would say "HE drew thrity days, in the brig". The co-pilot would mutter "Rub it in". When we landed, at a French air base, (Whose name I will NOT insult, by trying to pronounce it), before the pilot would deploy our weapons pods, the pilot would ask the French base commander "Permission to deploy weapons pods, for inspection". For some reason, the French seemed shocked to find that our plane was equipped with 50-calibur machine guns. While the four of us rested, nearby, the French went over G.S.2, even asking about protrusions, along the body. Our pilot would, in a dis-interested tone, mention things like "flak dispensers", "flares", "chaff", and "smoke", among various terms, for various parts. What Tami and I could not believe was when we viewed the French actually taking a sample, fom G.S.2's fuel tanks. A sample which was sent for testing. When Tami would ask our pilots "Why bother? Its only jet fuel". Our co-pilot would say "There have been rumors, that U.S. planes are being loaded with a combination of jet fuel, and some other, liquid". The pilot would "The rumor is that, once the plane is in flight, pilots can inject a toxin, into the exhaust." When Tami would ask "Isn't that dangerous, to thee ground crews?" The pilot would say "No, ma'am. No deadlier than spilling soda. The mix only becomes lethal, when burned in the engine exhaust. Anyone, inhaling the remnants, of the exhaust, would die". The co-pilot would say "Thank God, its only a rumor". By the time G.S.2 was declared "non-hostile", Tami had the chance to speak to some French military people. She had received some refreshing news. "It seems that our target has been stationary, for the past few days". When I would ask "Why is that?" Tami would say "Heavy rains. Creeks, and rivers, are over-flowing. Sewers are backed up. By the time we arrive, the clean up should be just about complete". When I asked "The sales?" Tami would say "Unless they were dumb enough to try and sell, on-line, the sales have yet to begin". Receiving clearance, for an American plane, to land, at a local airport, turned out to be more difficult than trying to land G.S.2 on a ninety degree angle. It would seem that, not only was France opposed to America's invasions, of the Middle East. It would, also, seem that a few, active-duty, American soldiers had the same language problem, which our co-pilot had, once, had. While no Frenchman would speak of it, with Tami (a woman), present, I was, discreetly, given an example. It would seem that the same insult, which would receive a "flip off", from an American woman, was, in France, considered the same as removing ones bottoms, in front of the pope. Still, despite Frances opposition, to American invasions, some, armed, French, boys remained willing to assist in our search. I dont know HOW the man does it, but Mr. Brown had, by this time, secured the location, of the generals body. The address, building, section, and even the crate number. Mr. Brown never ceased to amaze. Now, came the disgusting part. As per agency protocol, before Brown agents are allowed to commandeer any objects, we are required to verify that the actual merchandise is, in fact, present. This is because, early, in its existance, Mr. Brown was hired, to commandeer a statue, which was supposed to be in a certain crate. When the crate was commandeered (with Mr. Brown losing an agent, as well as a close friend), Mr. Brown had decided to verify the contents of the box were, indeed, worth the price, of his friends life. What Mr. Brown found, inside the crate, was not the ancient, painted, procelian, statue, of a goddess. All that Mr. Brown had found, in the container, was a blow-up, sex, doll. This is why Mr. Brown, himself, had lead the team, which delivered the crate. When the receiver had said "Let us open it up, and gaze upon my prize", Mr. Brown would interceed, saying "This crate cost me one of my best agents lives" When the receiver would say "Most un-fortunate" Mr. Brown would keep the crates lid in place, while delivering the bill of lading. Mr. Brown would list the crates number, then say "The package is delivered. Where is the payment?" When the receiver would say "First, allow me to gaze upon my prize". Mr. Brown had said "You KNOW what is in there. It never was a statue. Now, if you will accept delivery, and present our payment, we will be on our way". When the receiver had said "Most un-fortunate. This means you die, NOW!" The receiver had been dumb enough to think that Mr. Brown had not anticipated such an ambush. As a result, the Brown operatives were wearing enough body armor, to make possible their escape. While the receeiver had thought that he would have the "last laugh", in gunning down Mr. Browns agents, it would seem that Mr. Brown had gotten the REAL "last laugh", when he returned the borrowed, bullet-proof vests. Mr. Brown also put out the word, on the receivers treachery. After this, Mr. Brown instituted one, of his primary policies: Check status, of merchandise, prior to action. Since cardboard crates are notorious, for having squeeky nails, Mr. Black had developed a "nail no-squeek" spray. Nails might hold, if secured, properly, but crates would not squeek, if we were able to lift their lids. Applying our air purifiers, Tami and I lifted the top, of the crate, just enough to verify that the generals body rested inside, packed in something like dry ice. Our pilots lowered us a cable, through our access window, and, once the generals body was removed, from the crate, myself, and our pilots, hoisted the body, while Tami inspected the crate, in order to ensure that it appearred un-touched. Tami was just preparing to climb out, the window, when a strange, smelly, gas, began to pump into the chamber. When Tami realized that the gas was poison, she found herself saying "Really?", before she switched her air intake, fully, to the purifiers on-board, air supply. Now, the "clock was ticking". Tami had just twenty-four hours, worth of reserve air, to make a five minute climb. Outside the building, and with the general still frozen, I truly, do not know what the phantom soldiers said, or did, to the living soldiers, but the living soldiers abandoned their firing positions, around our group. All that I DO know is that, one moment, the soldiers were ready, to shoot us, where we stood. The next moment, the living soldiers dropped their weapons, and ran. Later, on-board G.S.2, and with the general "back on ice", in G.S.2's on-board freezer, We would return the man to his home village, and to his grieving family. (This, even as Mr. Brown had his agents scouring the Middle East, for the lieutenants bodies). I know it will sound odd, however, when Tami and I returned the generals body, his mother did not even flinch, when her sons spirit stood beside her, whispering "These are my friends". (Indicating Tami and I). When his mother would say something similar to "These American scum! They bomb our lands, detain our people, endlessly. Force us to accept THEIR version, of government, and at GUN-point! You call them friends?" The general would inform us "Pardon my mother. She DOES know your language. She was the one, who taught me. Isn't that right, mother." When the woman looked at us, with murder in her eyes, and said, in English "You murdered my son. Now, you want me to thank you, for returning his body?" The general would say "Mother, I ASKED these Americans to aid me, in recovering my body. The scavenger clans reemoved my remains, from the field of battle. Now, I am home, in body and soul. I ask you to thank the Americans, for aiding my return, to my home. Now, I may be properly buried, in accordance with Sharia. I may stand, before Allah, and join my brothers (in arms)." To our surprise, the generals mother would ask "Will you remain, and show your respect, for my sons sacrifice. I ask this in the name, and presense, of Allah". Not knowing HOW to show proper respect, under Arab society, I would bow, and Tami would curtsey, as we agreed "We would be honored". At the funeral, I learned that the general had, for most of his life, been the Arab version, of American General Omar Bradley. The man had been willing to lead his forces, into battle, but ONLY with good reason. This, and a CLEARLY DEFINED goal. The general was no "jihadist", or a militant. When, at the funeral, I asked Tami if I were imagining what I saw, during the service, Tami would whisper "If you are imagining then so am I". Tami, myself, and the generals family, watched as the soldier stood, before Allah, who was dressed in dazzling white. After the general made the humble stance, and Allah embraced the general, the general turned to the gathering, waiving "farewell". Shortly after this, the service was completed, as the Holy man would say "May Allah be praised, in the highest". The lieutenants, however, were another story. It would seem that, although all three men died, in the same attack, that "lieutenants" are just not in such "hot demand", by collectors, as generals were. Not even as martyrs. It would, also, seem that, in order to "protect their investment", the scavangers had sold the soldiers bodies, twenty-five miles apart. While the bodies remained in France, the location was "somewhere in underground France". With the amount, of jet fuel, we were bruning, on this case, we were thankful that Allah/God/The Chairman made allowances, for this. Mid-air re-fuelling was no problem. Neither were re-supply shipments. No, the main problem was jet-lag. After flying to the Middle East, then to France, then back, to the Middle East, by the time we were due to return to France, all four of us were ready for twenty-four hours, of rest. (For the record, the ONLY reasons why Tami and I shared a hotel room, in France, was for two reasons. First, the reservations clerk had decided that a man and a woman, travelling togteher, were "involved". This was because Tami and I noticed that Tami was listed, under MY family name. Second, since there was a festival in progress, to celebrate the liberation, of the village, from the Nazi's, all those many years ago, the hotel was full up.) Sure, we COULD have slept, on G.S.2, but we did not want to risk offending our hosts. Two days, of rest, later, and Mr. Brown would send us a lead. One, of the lieutenants bodies was being stored, inside a meat-packing plants freezer. Surveillance said that plant security was, nearly, non-existant. Just one guard, to keep watch, over the thermostats. Mr. Black added his "magical touch", to the "festivities", by using security camera footage, to create duplictes, of the packing plant workers uniforms. So far, Tami's "teenage boy" disguise was holding up, to any scrutiny. We could, only, hope for the best. Entering the meat packing plant was a sinch. A simple, pad, lock (which Mr. Black had provided us a duplicate key for). Tami was only irate when she saw that the brave soldier was being stored, like a side of beef).. By the time Tami and I had the frozen man, on a cart, and rolled him out of the door, our pilots had a van, ready and waiting, for us. To my astonishment, gate staff did not even question our late-night delivery, of "frozen meat", destined for a local hotel. Once the first lieutenant was, safely, in G.S.2's freezer, then came body number three. Jesus! Was the third body hard to get hold of. Both Tami and I wondered WHY warlords, and other dictators, desire to own the bodies, of deceased soldiers. While Tami and I had, both, heard the rumors, over the years, we just could not believe that modern people still believed in such tales. Tales, which included the story that claimed that ownership, of a corpse, which had died, bravely, in battle, would, somehow, embue its owner, with "magical/mythical" powers. What we were faced with was a person, who was either insane, with power, or just plain insane. By the looks, of the heavy fire power, in the complex, it was a safe bet that the owner was paranoid as Hell. While checking the lay-out, Tami found out just how psycho the man actually was. Based upon her research, it would seem that, while the mans sister had hoped, for an edcucation, at one, of Europes, finer, schools, her brother, whom Tami had heard, was mentally un-stable, presumably since childhood, had insisted that his sister marry him, instead. If the research was, in any way, truthful, it would seem that the man, reportedly, locked his sister/wife in a cell, chanied to a wall, when he had no call for her. When I asked about the parents, Tami would say "I keep finding the same information. The man hunted down, and murdered, their parents, for objecting to his plans, to marry his sister." By Tami's look, of revulsion, I said "Let me guess. The siblings have children, and the guards have "shoot to kill" orders, IF either the mother, OR her children, try to escape". Tami would add "The same orders apply to house hold staff. If guards even suspect dis-loyalty". When I asked "Is there any GOOD news?" Tami would say "The man is planning a public viewing, of the body, two nights from now". When I would mention "full moon", Tami would say "All sources indicate that the man is a full blown psycho. He wont even have sex, unless the full moon is visible". When Tami would ask "Do we call it off?" the lieutenant would appear, looking totally human, and asking "Why? My men have taken down tougher places". When I would suggest "Then, YOU, and your men, take down the defenses, then WE will secure your body". When the lieutenant would ask "When?", and Tami would say "Two nights from now. The full moon." The soldier seemed happy, that he would be fighting, again. What none of us could have conceived of was the mans reaction, when a "ghost battallion", took down his guards, in a matter of minutes. No question. The man was insane. Proof of this was evident, in the fact that not only did he keep a fully loaded automatic rifle, at his bed-side, but, for reasons, only his demented mind could understand, once the attack was underway, he did something, which even the ghost soldiers wouild think un-believ-able. For some, unknown, reason, the man actually crashed through his childrens bedroom door, yelling "traitors", then emptied the primary clip, of the rifle, into his childrens bodies. Soon, after this, his sister/wife would whisper "May Allah have mercy, on my soul", as her brother entered her cell, and she walked up to the man. The wife had seen the insanity, in the mans eyes, and she knew, as any mother would know, that her children were dead. She didn't flinch, as the man rammed the knife, through her heart, even as he whispered "traitor". Shortly after this, the man regained his sanity, long enough to witness the group, of phantom soldiers, ready to avenge the deaths, of the innocent. As to why he bothered emptying a clip, of ammunition, into a group, of deceased soldiers, this was anyones guess. After the soldiers brought the wife, and children, to Tami and I, the battallion made sure that the insanity received the most un-holy, of "burials". What struck me as odd was how, while the compound was inside France, Almost everyone, present, was Arab. With the soldiers body loaded into G.S.2's freezer, the wifes, and childrens, bodies, were loaded as well. Tami and I would attend three, more, Islamic, funerals. After seeing the last, of the lieutenants off, Tami and I watched as Allah welcomed the woman, and her children, into his warm embrace. It would seem that, to Allah's point of view, the woman, and her children, were, ALL, victims. Just before the group vanished, the wife said something, which only Tami seemed to hear. When I would ask, Tami would say "Those were her parents, who were with Allah. They were present, to welcome their daughter, and their grand-children, home." I was about to suggest "Shall we consider the case done?" When a new group, of voices, these, of Americans, would ask "What about us? Dont Americans deserve atleast as much aid as the Arabs?" My thought was "Swell" Now, we had a shot down bomber crew to aid. When Tami would ask the spirits "Do you know where your bodies are?" The air force captain would say "Twenty miles that way. We would appreciate it if you would bring our bodies, to command, and inform our families". When Tami thought "What about the standard notification of "We regret to in form you..." The captain would ask "How would YOU feel, if some, nameless officer, told YOUR family "They are dead, end of story"?" Tami and I knew that the soldiers had a point. The problem was, if Tami and I stayed around, to aid every soul, which had perished, during the invasions, then our descendants would, still, be processing souls, well into the future. Where would it end????