Dr. Ammad and Hydar had finished their discussion and Hydar appeared to have lost. With the argument over, the sullen bodyguard climbed back into the truck and fired up the big diesel engine.
Even moving the truck could not go smoothly, it seemed. Though he couldn’t swear to it, Santiago suspected that the bodyguard intentionally tried to hit him with the truck as he was backing it up. This was ridiculous. It was like two grade school children trying to fight in a playground. Santiago simply wasn’t going to play anymore.
Inside the hacienda’s main house, Santiago walked in to see Masque, Daumudi, and Dr. Ammad sitting in the sunken living room. The doctor was talking, apparently about the house or something like it.
“Yes, yes,” Dr. Ammad said. “It is a nice home. Not like what Saddam put us up in during the good days back home. But it is nice enough. Better than where I’ve been.”
“That villa was the best home that Nueva Casas Grandes could offer,” Daumudi said. “It was a decadent example of Western living and corruption. Made for American tourists.”
“The only reason it was chosen was because of the deep pool it had,” Dr. Ammad said. “It was for storage of the material and nothing else.”
Hydar chose that moment to walk into the house. He shouldered past Santiago to go up to Dr. Ammad and report. The short burst of Arabic was answered with just a nod.
“Everything seems satisfactory,” Dr. Ammad said. “At least the security meets with Hydar’s approval.”
“The best news I’ve heard all day,” Santiago said as he walked into the room. “We shall strive to continue to earn his approval. So, Doctor, what materials would you need to store in a pool? A tanker full of fish perhaps?”
“He should know,” Masque said. “He is in charge of my security. Santiago does his job best if he’s aware of the risk. I’ve found him to be completely trustworthy and would put my life in his hands. In fact, I have done just that a number of times.”
Now Santiago’s curiosity was really piqued. The use of the term risk immediately activated his personal survival instincts and set them to a high level.
“Very well,” Dr. Ammad said, “if you feel it is necessary for the safety of the material. What we have in the truck are four shielded containers of radioactive isotopes, particularly powerful ones. There are three containers of Cesium-137 and one of Cobalt-60. The Cesium-137 is packaged in small Lucite rods while the Cobalt-60 is in stainless-steel pencils about forty-five centimeters long and eight millimeters in diameter. There are several thousand curies of radioactive material there. It may be more simple for you to think of it as more than thirty kilograms of radioactive powder.”
“It isn’t the kind of thing that a nuclear bomb can be made of,” Masque said with a hint of laughter in his voice. “At least not what the rest of the world considers a nuclear weapon.”
“No, that isn’t what the material is intended for,” Dr. Ammad said.
“It will be used to make a series of radiological bombs,” Daumudi said. “What the Western press calls a dirty bomb.”
“Yes,” Masque said. “It is all very amusing. The Americans, indeed the world, seem to be absolutely terrified of the idea of a dirty bomb. Even the suspicion of such a thing being in a subway or in a skyscraper can cause panic. There was even a television show about such a device. American Public Television made a program where they showed the effects of a dirty bomb in the Washington, D.C., subway system.
“The people were screaming when they learned of such a thing being detonated. And the device in the show was only a firecracker. Literally, a firecracker with a pinch of radioactive powder in it. And there are kilos of it here!”
“But what can such a device do?” Santiago said. His voice was not giving him away. Though he appeared calm on the outside, on the inside, his mind was racing over the possibilities—and none of them were good. He needed to stall for time in which to think.
“There is little in the way of practical data to work from,” Dr. Ammad said. “We tested several types of devices in Iraq for use against the Iranians. Technically they were successful, but none of the bombs satisfied President Hussein. The isotopes we have came from Iraq and other sources prior to the illegal invasion of Iraq by American forces.”
“And they invaded Afghanistan as well,” Daumudi said. “Another offense in the eyes of Allah, All Praise be upon his Name.”
“Allah akbar,” Hydar grunted.
“There is some hard data from an accidental isotope spill in South America,” Dr. Ammad continued. “In 1987, scavengers in Brazil stole a radiation source that contained Cesium-137. They were breaking into an old medical clinic and didn’t know what they had. When they broke open the container of the source, they split up about twenty grams of material among several people. The results were that fourteen people received overexposures to radiation and 249 were contaminated. Four died from the radiation and more than 110,000 people have ended up requiring regular monitoring for the rest of their lives. Cleaning up the contamination filled 125,000 drums and 1,4760 boxes. Eighty-five houses had to be destroyed.”
“And that was twenty grams!” Masque said almost giggling. “Only twenty!”
“But why the water?” Santiago said. “Why a tanker truck?”
“The water acts as a moderator for the radiation,” Dr. Ammad said. “It helps shield it from American spy satellites. It was brought up by boat to the coastal city of Guaymas in the Gulf of California. There we placed it in the water truck for transport to Nueva Casas Grandes. There it stayed in the bottom of a swimming pool until I received the call from Daumudi early this morning,” he nodded in the terrorist’s direction. “The same truck was used to bring it here.
“The boxes are shielded, of course. But the additional water moderator makes it even safer to move the material. The Americans have detectors all along their borders and at every border crossing, port facility, and airport. I have been assured that you have a secure route of getting it into the U.S. From there, Daumudi and I can use the munitions you have received for us to completely disrupt the American elections. The entire world will see what can be done in spite of all of the Americans’ efforts.”
“I assure you, Doctor,” Masque said. “We have a most secure and positive route to get you into the United States. We have changed the timetable a bit to help ensure your security and the safety of the shipment.
“We will be crossing during the day. That will allow us to use the business trucks that have proven very capable of moving our drug shipments without detection. They blend in perfectly with the normal traffic throughout the area. I will personally lead you across the border myself. Santiago will assign his very best men to accompany me.”
That was not going to be the best thing the men had ever heard, Santiago thought. The assumption that Masque would just order them around was something they had lived with, he was paying very well—which was always of primary concern to a mercenary. Protecting their paymaster was something they would accept. Working with these terrorists was another thing entirely.
“I’m afraid that Hydar will allow very few armed men to be with both me and the shipment,” Dr. Ammad said. “He is very concerned with my safety and the success of our mission.”
“That will not be a problem,” Masque said. “Only Santiago himself and his trusted sergeant as driver will take you to the crossing. I would be honored if you would allow me to personally take the means of the Americans’ destruction to the crossing point.”
“I think that is agreeable,” Daumudi said. “Don’t you agree, Dr. Ammad?”
“Yes,” Dr. Ammad said, “I think that is a satisfactory arrangement. As long as the materials always stay in our sight.”
“That is easily accomplished,” Masque said. “We will simply drive in front of you.”
This is madness, Santiago thought to himself. Smuggling radioactive isotopes to be used against U.S. cities? Drugs were one thing, but this? There was no affection in Santiago’s heart for
the country that had hounded him since Panama. But he knew that the American government would spend years hunting down everyone involved in such a terrorist incident.
The U.S. had invaded Afghanistan and Iraq. Didn’t Masque realize that? The leader of a drug cartel taking part in such an attack on the U.S. would just be signing his own death warrant. No place on earth would be safe for such a person—or the men who had worked for him. And that included Santiago personally!
While he maintained a calm outward appearance, Santiago was coming to a very serious decision. It was time for him to leave Masque’s employ. The money had been good, but now the risks far outweighed the value. He would have to make arrangements immediately.
The ex-SEAL looked at the bulky presence of Hydar across the room. The bodyguard scowled at the slight smile that was on Santiago’s face.
Chapter Twenty-three
It was late in the afternoon when Reaper finally pulled into the parking area of the Dogbone Ranch. He was dusty, dirty, stank, and knew that he would barely have time for a shower. The dogs didn’t care how he looked, they enthusiastically greeted him as he stepped down from the truck. Considering how torn up some of those corpses in the cavern had been, Reaper had a lot of respect for the power contained in the jaws of the two rottweilers. He was very glad they gave him the reception they did as the two big dogs bounced and jumped around him, wagging their stub tails.
Once inside the ranch house, Reaper saw that Hausmann was sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by an even higher pile of papers than earlier. There were stacks of documents and printouts all around him with a cordless phone on top of the largest pile of papers.
“Damn, Reaper,” Hausmann said, “I was starting to worry about you. This lone-hero crap really wears on the folks waiting back home. Find anything interesting?”
“That’s the understatement of the decade,” Reaper said. “Before we go into any of that, did my people check in?”
“Yeah,” Hausmann said as he picked up a pad of paper and checked his notes. “Max Warrick called in from the Albuquerque airport a little while ago. Said that he and Mackenzie were refueling and that their ETA in Tombstone was 2000 hours. Pat Manors called in and he’ll be here within the hour.”
“Great,” Reaper said, the relief showing in his face, “my guys will be bringing in the bulk of the gear we’ll need to hit this place. We’ve got to move as fast as we can. I figure tomorrow night at the latest.”
“Tomorrow night?” Hausmann said. “That’s moving pretty damned fast. Just what did you find this afternoon, anyway?”
“I just hope it’s moving fast enough going in tomorrow,” Reaper said with concern in his voice. “I’d rather go in tonight, but there just isn’t enough time to pull everyone and everything together.”
Sitting down at the table, Reaper proceeded to tell Hausmann just what he had seen that afternoon. He spoke quickly and concisely, embellishing nothing but not leaving out any details either. Hausmann grimaced when Reaper described the pit full of bodies, but he didn’t interrupt what the other was saying. The story took a while to tell. When Reaper was finished, he inhaled a deep breath and blew it out slowly. It had been a long, stressful afternoon, and the day was hardly over yet. He got up and walked into the kitchen.
For a moment, Hausmann just sat and looked at his friend rummaging in the refrigerator. It took a minute for everything Reaper had said to sink in and take hold.
“A cave?” Hausmann said finally. “You found a cave a couple of miles long?”
Straightening up from the refrigerator with a cold can of Pepsi in his hand, Reaper popped the top open and took a long drink.
“Not just a couple of miles long,” Reaper said. “It’s much longer than that. I only followed the tracks in it for about a mile and a half. The cave stretched out much farther. It went well past where the light could reach.”
“Then you found the other mine?” Hausmann said.
“Just like the satellite pictures showed,” Reaper said. “That underground railroad ends right in the middle of the Crystal mine in Mexico. There was activity at that other mine just like the infrared pictures showed. It sure as hell isn’t abandoned by any stretch of the imagination.”
“Son of a bitch,” Hausmann said slowly. “They must have been running drugs under the border for years. I’ll bet that bitch at the Heart ranch is involved with drugs up to her skinny ass. That company of hers was in financial trouble just a year or so ago. Then some kind of investor helped her out. I never did think that organic food business could make a go of things out here and turn any kind of a profit. I’ll bet she’s been moving pot and coke in those trucks of hers.”
“Oh, that snake lady, as you call her, has to be involved,” Reaper said as he sat at the table and took another drink, “involved up to her neck, I would think, going by that show we saw last night. But I don’t believe that tunnel and the train system has been running for years. A lot of that installation looked pretty new. And I didn’t see any drugs in either mine, though there’s a hell of a lot of other stuff there we have to be worried about. That train setup can move a small truckload of freight past the border. And there’s some really dangerous ordnance piled up in that mine tunnel.”
“So why don’t you call your Washington people about it and let them deal with things,” Hausmann said. “They can send in the military.”
“What I found won’t change the situation,” Reaper said. He got up and started pacing around the room while he spoke. “Washington will have the same problems moving that I was told about this morning. By the time they get something staged to go across the border, that tunnel would be empty. There’s no way they could stockpile all of that stuff there without some cooperation with the local military. Even an airborne helicopter assault would take some time to get to the mine, and it would be on Mexican radar all the way.
“They would get a warning, Santiago was way too good not to make arrangements for something like that. They’d either bring the stuff through the tunnel, or more likely just move it and cross someplace else.”
Ceasing his pacing for a moment, Reaper stood by the table looking down at the documents all across it. Anger started to well up in him as his face grew dark.
“Damn it,” he said as he slapped the Pepsi can down on the table. “We can’t make a mistake and let that stuff get away, not this close to the border. Those missiles alone could rip an airliner out of the sky. The rest of the weapons and munitions could keep a bunch of terrorist cells operating for weeks. No, Straker wanted me to deal with the problem down here if I could, and I think I can. He knows he can’t order me to go, but he also knows that I will. So will my partners once I give them the details.
“You can count me in on this one,” Hausmann said as he leaned back in his chair. He looked Reaper straight in the eye. “And don’t argue about it. Those bastards killed a friend of mine, and they tried to kill me, too. If you think I’m good enough, I want to go with you.”
Looking at his friend, Reaper knew that Hausmann meant every word that he had said. And he knew that Hausmann had tactical experience behind him, as a sworn police SWAT officer he had been on the sharp end more than once. Before that, he had spent a stint in the Army as an MP. He had experience and skills that would help and the determination to see things through to their end. Since he’d received his law degree, Hausmann was the only lawyer Reaper knew who habitually carried a cocked-and-locked M1911A1 under his suit jacket. His help would be welcome.
“Okay,” Reaper said. “You’re in, I hope you don’t regret it.”
“By the looks of this situation,” Hausmann said, “you just may need a good lawyer along, anyway. I may have to brush up on my international law, though.”
“Just don’t take too long,” Reaper said. “We have to move on this.”
Before Hausmann could say a word, the intercom on the wall behind him beeped for attention. Getting up from where he was sitting, Hausmann walked over to the unit. Leaning in
to the speaker, Hausmann pressed one of the buttons on the panel.
“Yes,” he said.
“It’s Manors, Pat Manors,” came out of the tinny-sounding speaker.
“Come on in,” Hausmann said and he pushed a large red button on the panel. Outside, the electric gate opened to let Manors’s truck in.
“Did you change the combination on the gate?” Reaper said.
“All but yours,” Hausmann replied. “It seemed like the prudent thing to do.”
The barking of the dogs cut into the conversation as Manors opened the door and walked into the house. Greeting everyone, he sat at the table and Reaper took him through the materials they had spread out. As Manors looked at the paperwork, Reaper went over what he had seen that afternoon, the Border Patrol agent was more than a little astonished at Reaper’s discovery.
“A tunnel several miles long?” Manors said. “I’ve heard of tunnels that were dug under the border that were over a thousand feet long, but a couple of miles?”
“It’s not just the tunnels of both mines,” Reaper said as he got up and headed into the kitchen. “There’s that huge cave connecting the two of them together.”
“Even so,” Manors said, “you’re talking about one great big hole in the fence down here. Were there any other exits besides the two mine tunnels that you saw?”
“Nothing that I could see,” Reaper said, pulling another Pepsi from the refrigerator. “I just followed the train tracks from one mine to the other. The cave is gigantic. You couldn’t see either end with the lights that were down there. I would imagine that there are other openings to the surface, I just didn’t see any. Parts of the cave floor were covered in bat shit, but there wasn’t any bats, they had to get out somehow.”
“There’s small caves all around here,” Hausmann said. “Some aren’t much bigger than a coyote den, others are pretty deep. Every now and then, somebody stumbles across one with some old Indian artifacts in it that turn out to be a couple of hundred years old. But the only holes I’ve ever heard about that were big enough to lay tracks in were always mine tunnels, never a cave.”
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