Border Alert- Terrorist Penetration

by Glenn Ball

“Yeah, but it hasn’t been so great since has it?” The light chuckle in Nick’s voice didn’t go with the pensive wrinkling of Nick’s forehead; but it wasn’t long till he voiced his concerns.

  “You know we may be able to give them the slip in these woods, at least while it is night. I’m not crazy about the idea of moving on, but I don’t think we have a choice. In the morning they will pick up our trail easy enough.

  As Pedro nodded in agreement, he felt something crawling along his arm. He shook it violently and was startled by a large centipede that he shook off. Nick promptly squashed it with his shoe. “Those are poisonous.”

  “It gave me the willies. Especially in the dark.”

  “We’ll have a lot to watch out for traveling in the dark. Thirteen different types of rattlesnakes, scorpions, tarantulas, and Gila monsters are all poisonous. That’s one of the reasons why I’m not crazy about the idea of wandering around here at night. But what really concerns me is that nighttime is when all the dangerous predators are on the prowl for food. We may become a target for them.”

  “Like what?” Romero asked.

  “Black bears, wolves and cougars.”

  Something about the tone of his voice made Pedro believe that he was speaking from some type of first-hand experience, not from mere book knowledge, but he did not press. “I don’t know much about bears, but what I’ve heard about them I don’t think I ever want to run into one. I hear they can kill a bull with one blow.”

  “Bears are bigger, faster and stronger than any human. Their claws can rip right through you, and their bite would be like several knives puncturing you all at the same time. They can smell you from miles away. But generally, if you leave them alone, they leave you alone. Just be careful if there are cubs around.

  “But what scare me more are the wolves and cougars.” Nick’s voice trailed off for a moment.

  “Cougars?”

  “Cougars, mountain lions or pumas are all the same thing, just different names. Many people don’t know how dangerous they are. They are adept stalkers and almost without fail catch their prey unawares, even the most alert animals. They are nearly impossible to see in the daytime, and totally invisible at night. They are habitually silent. If one is after you, you’ll never know it until it is on you. They can jump 18 feet vertically, so there is little escaping them. Their horizontal leap of more than forty feet allows them to launch from a ledge well out of the range of vision. Imagine the force with which one could strike you pouncing on you like that. The sheer impact would knock you senseless, followed by its front hooked claws shredding like eight hooked knives.”

  Nick paused, as if he were holding back some emotional memory. He continued, though his voice sounded a tad unsteady. “Meanwhile its bite would cut right through your jugular.”

  After some moments he finished his terrifying description in the steady voice of someone merely stating facts. “They are among the fastest animals alive, and strong enough to pull down an elk. There would be no use trying to run away from one, nor fighting one, nor in climbing to get away. If it wants you, you basically have no options.”

  The chill of the night air sent a whiff of the crevice’s musty rock odor into Pedro’s nostrils. “Wow, I sure hope we don`t come across any pumas! They sound like a Freddy Kruger nightmare.” Pedro, a little confused where Nick’s knowledge came from, wondered if he should pursue the topic. “Say, it sounds like you’ve been here before.”

  There was a moment of pause as Nick gathered his thoughts. “I was a biology student at Arizona State University and fell in love with a student there. But my student visa ended when I graduated, and I couldn’t get another visa to get back in.”

  At this Pedro gazed with consternation at Nick’s face, seemingly unable to reconcile Nick’s apparent age with the timing indicated by the story.

  Nick seemed troubled. He added, “I tried for a number of years, and finally decided to cross illegally.” Then no longer waiting for a reaction he resumed his account. “In the courses I took we learned about the animals here in the Southwest and various dangers of the terrain here as well. Aside from the heat in the desert during the day it is much more dangerous to travel by night here.”

  “Just as long as we don’t run into any pumas.”

  “Well Pedro, wolves might not be much better. Cougars hunt alone as a rule. But wolves normally hunt in packs. They are extremely clever, and they are relentless. If you get the better of a pack of wolves and they go away, it is only so they can encounter a more opportune moment to attack you. They are strategists.” The moonlight danced about with the shadows on Nick’s face giving his eyes an eerie flickering glow. “They will take advantage of your every weakness. They would chase you down for days on end, no matter how many miles it took. And once they have you where they want you it’s a multitude of jaws ripping you apart, limb from limb.” The shadows chased around the walls like so many black carnivorous phantoms. There was another howl ringing in the night.

  “What do we do?” There was a nervous plea in his voice. “I don’t want to be hunted by wolves.”

  “Neither do I, but we have to get going. Besides, that didn’t sound quite like a wolf; a coyote perhaps or maybe someone’s pet dog. If it’s a coyote, it could pose a threat, but not likely. If it’s a pet dog, then we may be close to a town where we could find refuge.”

  “Or it could be another tool of the death squad to hunt us down.”

  “All the more reason we need to get going.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Crossroads

  They had traveled for several hours, sweating profusely. Nick had helped them avoid the dangers of dehydration by finding unlikely sources of water, including a number of plants.

  Some kind of bird called out in the trees overhead. These woods had their own type of alarm system long before our modern systems of today. Both their ears perked up to listen for anything that might be a threat to them. Perhaps the bird was merely reacting to them.

  Surrounded by trees they were unable to confirm their direction and decided to climb up the slope of a hill and get a better view. It was a good thing, because they had begun to get off track. Their biggest hope for escaping danger from the death squad was to get to a populated area, and they needed to do it while there was still time to hide out before the squad got there.

  As they ascended, there seemed to be a lot of boulders that helped to keep them out of sight. They also ran doubled over when necessary to avoid being seen. It would help to keep them from being detected by the death squad, but not by animal predators; they use their noses, and here the breeze was catching their scent and broadcasting it for all the animal population nearby to be alert to the intrusion.

  In their upwards climb the sky began to look much brighter toward the other side of the hill. As they made it over the crest of the hill, they could see the panorama of the entire countryside that lay before them. They had been travelling generally in a northeast direction throughout most of the night. The town rested a few miles further to the northeast. If they followed the hill downward toward it there would be mostly wooded area almost to the very edge of the town. They spent a couple of minutes marking the pathway in their minds and noting any significant landmarks that would help to guide them in their journey.

  “If we make good time, we should be able to get to town before sunrise.” Nick was nodding toward the woods that came within the edges of town. “We need to approach from those woods there.”

  It was a little hard to determine in the moonlight, but it looked like there were three or four levels of plateau to drop before reaching the level of the valley where the town was. The drop-offs did not look to be too severe such as cliffs would be, but there were a lot of boulders and slopes, and possibly a number of places where the descent could be difficult. His main landmark that would guide him right to the foot of the village was a powerline that stretched from the hills, through the woods, and entered the village near where the woods seemed closest.


  With both of them satisfied as to the route ahead of them they set off once again. One nice thing was they had discovered a walking path that probably came from town. They followed it for some fifteen minutes when Nick stopped. “I’m sorry, I’ve really got to pee. You go on ahead and I’ll catch up.” Pedro, not thinking much of it, continued on for a few minutes till he came to a fork in the path between two boulders. There he stopped to wait so they would not end up separated.

  Standing there by himself he began to notice how still and quiet it was. It reminded him of a graveyard. Several minutes passed without a sound. From hours of running his clothes had become damp with his sweat. Now that he had stopped, he began to get a chill. A cool breeze was swooping down from the mountains into the valley; he was directly in its path. Apparently, a storm was coming.

  As he looked around, he felt as if a pair of eyes was on him. It was an uncomfortable sensation. It was even stranger when a silent shadow passed directly over him. There had been no sound, but there had been an unmistakable shadow and a strange current of air. He had seen it. His eyes searched frantically everywhere for the source of the shadow, but nothing showed itself.

  Coldness ran through his bones. He wasn’t sure if it was the temperature dropping, or some kind of terror rising up inside of him. It was the oddest thing, and he didn’t like it. He felt sure someone was watching him.

  The minutes ran on, dragging on as if they were hours. A string of doubts and questions bounced through his mind: maybe Nick wasn’t coming. Should he go back and look for him? What if something had happened to him? What if the death squad had gotten him, or a puma had killed him in silence?

  The decision was simple he told himself. Trying to reason more calmly he stated the case to himself: “Should I go back, or go on without him? No, to go back would only put my own self in danger if something like that had happened. If not, Nick seemed to know how to take care of himself. As for me, I believe I can make town just before sunrise if I go now.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Night Tortures

  Antonio growled to himself, burying his head in his hands in his weariness and frustration. This had taken years of planning and preparation, travelling numerous times across the globe, coordinating trucks and warehouses, materials and chemicals, scientists and experts of all kinds. It was delicate and risky business dealing with terrorists, and now to have this debacle! He was exhausted.

  Even with the soft covers and warm bodies in the next room he knew he would not be able to sleep. And the thought touched a nerve so deep inside of him he could not fathom where the irritation came from. Thoughts of Alicia rose up before him like a morning mist, clouding his mind. He could see those deep black eyes with her luscious lashes as if they were still inches from his face. Those thick lips satisfied his like no others. She felt so good in his grasp. And she had tolerated his rough foreplay too. He would never find another woman who tolerated so much from him. How he would love to get his hands on her neck, as if he was going to strangle her, and then kiss her and make love to her.

  He reminisced about the last time he had made love to her. For some reason she had been especially obstinate that night. In order to have his way with her he had put her on the rack. It was a torture device built exactly like the originals used by the monks of the Inquisition. The castle was full of such items. They added a certain ambiance and could prove useful from time to time. He had strapped her in, and then made love to her as she was held taut by the four straps. Her screams still sang in his ears. He had loved the fact that he could always make her succumb to him eventually.

  Not anymore, thanks to that nincompoop. It absolutely infuriated him.

  Sensing the horrendous loss of control over everything and everyone about him, even of his own emotions, he decided to climb up to the roof. A little fresh air might clear his mind.

  Stepping out on the rooftop he pondered his situation. Glaring out over the border the trailer-truck accident filled his mind. It had put their entire operation at risk. Nevertheless, he was more than confident his crews would get things under control, and the chemicals would be on their way in the secondary trailer-truck and should still make Dallas on time. Furthermore, there would be no witnesses. The remains would seem an ordinary accident with no consequences to their operation.

  That left the other issue that was throwing the entire mission spiraling out of control: Alicia’s escape.

  Here on the rooftop his mind was drawn to other thoughts about Alicia, forgetting entirely the dangers to their operation that her disappearance was causing. The soft breeze felt like her soft hands caressing his face. He could still hear her sexy whispers tickling his ears as he looked over the sparsely lit countryside. The bustling town below had been put up for the night, much as it had on so many of those special romantic nights he had shared with Alicia.

  He was wont to treat her like a queen on their special nights. They would sit at the round table inside the gazebo taking in the tremendous panorama the castle rooftop afforded them. The castle was situated near the top of the highest hill in town, and was more than five stories tall, setting them as if on a pinnacle surveying everything much like an eagle from its exalted nest.

  He could still taste the cabernet and juicy steak. Their candle-lit dinners in the gazebo were epic, with live mariachi music, and nothing less than seven-course meals. He knew just what it would take to get Alicia in the mood to make love to him. Each of their special nights was as if it were the first, with him courting her, softening her cold looks and unresponsive body-language until he could tell she would succumb to his advances. She was often all but drunk by that time, but he would do whatever it would take.

  He could never understand why she hardly seemed to appreciate all the effort he put into her. It seemed hardly to even occur to her that by being his favorite she enjoyed the most nights off, having only to please one man on those nights. That was something rare and very much appreciated by the rest of them, “Just ask the girls I left in the bedroom tonight!” he insisted out loud to an Alicia who was nowhere to be found, much less within hearing of his voice.

  A sigh escaped him. She had been the closest thing to a friend he had ever had, and now she was gone. She had been his favorite lover, and now she was gone.

  In a burst of anger, he threw the glass of tequila he was drinking, smashing it against the stone wall lining the rooftop.

  “Better head downstairs,” he barked to himself, as if ordering one of his subordinates. He was accustomed to giving orders and being in control. Stepping back into the halls of the castle he was surrounded by the medieval weapons that lined the walls in decoration. Here near the roof there were scimitars and battle axes of various types. Climbing down the marble stairs he marveled at his abundant means of maintaining control through his ranks. It was the one thing that soothed his constantly perturbed inner emotions.

  After all, love had never been all that important to him. He had never had any real friends. He was content knowing that everyone was afraid of him. He loved the fact that he could exercise control over everyone by their knowledge of how he would punish them if they did not explicitly obey him and achieve his demands, no matter how eccentric they might be.

  Downward he continued in the spiral of marble steps, passing floor after floor with the weapons on the wall changing at each level, from broadswords of various types, war hammers and bludgeons, to maces, flails and crossbows. At each floor the entrance was greeted by a different device of torture. The thrill of the howls haunted his memory with the pleasure of imposing his will on those that had resisted him till their legs were crushed in the shin-crusher on this floor, or others who gave in as their legs were scalded in the Spanish boots on the next.

  The one that gave him the most pleasure was on the bottom floor. It was the iron chair of torture. A wave of elation passed over him as his eyes came upon the chair directly across from the bottom of the stairs. The chair was made up of a thousand spikes that covered the sea
t, the back and the armrests. By sitting in it the spikes dug into the victim all the way to the bones.

  He could never forget the terror of Slims’ eyes as his arms had been pressed into the spikes of the armrests and the fastening bars came ever so slowly downward the till the spikes held his forearms immovable. The idea of dealing with terrorists had been too much for him, and he had threatened to go to the authorities.

  Over the next day Ochoa Machado had paraded each and every one of his trusted compadres through this very hallway to observe the spikes digging gradually deeper into Slims’ back and legs, into his very bones. Death came slowly since the cause of death comes from bleeding out, and the selfsame spikes that cause the bleeding also inhibit it. He could see the awe in their faces, and he knew they would never defy him.

  The chair, like the other devices that decorated his castle, was a favorite device used during the Inquisition. He often fancied himself a monk born out of his proper time. Of course, he would never take a vow of celibacy, but he had heard how that vow was rarely taken seriously anyway. Though he could not identify with their religious hang-ups, he could definitely identify with their love of torture.

  Having passed the chair, he decided to descend to his favorite room, thinking he would feel even better yet with a visit to the dungeon. The walls of the castle hallways were evenly spaced with candelabras which were lit nightly. They cast a devilish light over Antonio, their shadows flitting about his face like so many bats. His bloodthirsty eyes looked like those of Bela Lugosi’s Dracula.

  Pushing open the enormous wooden doors, he stepped through before they even stopped creaking. The empty chill caressed his face like a cold corpse. Why he always felt that thrill as he entered this cavernous room he never really understood, but it seemed impossible for him to come here without ultimately feeling a lift in his spirits.

  The crudely cut stones were hard and solid under his feet. He descended the stairs carefully, taking in the invigorating smells of death, blood and torture. This was a room he never suffered to be cleaned, as it would deplete its effectiveness. Nothing could dissuade his adversaries from antagonizing him like this dungeon. It was the ultimate weapon in his arsenal of control. Here he felt like Satan himself ruling over the dark thoughts of his enemies, turning them from any and every objection. Here he could crush any opposing will, wear down any resistance and demolish any idea contrary to his own. He could rule without fail.