by JT Sawyer
Chapter 28
As Mitch and Nora exited the mouth of the canyon, they could see an immense valley that gradually sloped to the south. The terrain was peppered with organ pipe cactus and the occasional mesquite tree in an otherwise monotonous landscape of sand and rock.
Mitch leaned against a truck-sized block of sandstone that had sheared off from the canyon wall and studied the terrain ahead. To the right was a small hummock with a building whose rooftop was covered in radio antennas of various heights. Beneath this hill was a small arroyo that came in from the west. Through his rifle scope he could see disturbed soil, indicating that a group of men had recently passed through the region. A boulder field comprised the center of the valley, which opened up to sand dunes to the left. Mitch’s eyes darted back to a cluster of tawny boulders about eighty yards ahead where he saw movement. Mitch could make out a lone gunman in camouflage. He was leaning on the rocks while surveying the distant building with a pair of binoculars. Fanned out in a V-formation a hundred yards on either side were a handful of other men clad in similar garb, their attention focused in the same direction.
Mitch examined the tracks of Steven Jacobs and his abductor on the ground near the mouth of the canyon again then whispered back to Nora, who was staring pensively at the weathered structure on the hilltop.
“The direction of travel of our subjects heads past that boulder outcropping and up to the building. My guess is that they are holed up in there.”
“Waiting for what?” she said, swallowing hard.
“Not sure—maybe there’s a handoff that’s about to go down.” He pointed to the lone figure clinging to the rocks in the middle of the valley. “That looks like a team in pursuit rather than a group of sentries. We may have some competition if that’s a rival cartel.”
Mitch moved out from the shadows. “I’m going to have a little chat with the guy by the rocks there. You stay here and cover me. If this thing goes south, head back the way we just came.”
“I’m not leaving my brother behind.”
He squinted, looking at the hills to the east then back at her rifle. “When’s the last time you went deer hunting, by the way?”
“My aim is just fine, Mitch Kearns.”
“Why do you keep calling me by my full name?”
She frowned. “’Cause it’s less personal, that’s why. Now, you gonna get moving or what?”
He snorted, letting out a smirk. “You’re just as bossy as I remember you.”
“I was only bossy around you when we were younger ’cause you were so wily.”
“So, is this you still being mad at me or just the real, everyday Nora?”
She pursed her lips, staring at him then looking out to the horizon as a faint smile crept out. “Probably a little of both.”
“Finally, some honesty, even though I had to pry it out of you. Now, that’s the woman I remember.”
She waved her hand. “On your way already, Mitch Kea…” She paused then let out a sigh. “Can you please get moving, Mitch?” She stared past him at the distant building.
“I know—I’m worried about him too.” He unslung his AR and turned around. “Let’s get to the bottom of this and get Steven back home.”
The path ahead was broken up with several mesquite trees and large saguaros that enabled Mitch to move from one concealed spot to the next until he was within sixty feet of the lone figure pressed against the boulders, facing away.
Mitch didn’t want this to escalate into a shootout. He needed to get to the hilltop building and the only way was to go straight through this region. First, he needed answers from the lone gunman staked out before him. From the weathered features of the man, Mitch knew that he would have fox-like senses so each footstep was carefully placed as he stalked along the soft ground until he had bridged another thirty feet. Mitch felt the wind shift, which caused the man before him to flare his nose and begin to pivot slowly. He swung his AR up and leveled the barrel.
“Ah-ah, just stay put. If I see you swinging that rifle around, I’ll put a round through your head.” Mitch kept his voice low so he didn’t alert the other men fanned out in the distance. “Now, raise your hands and turn around slowly.”
The figure lowered his rifle and slowly pivoted. Mitch looked into the almond-colored eyes of a man whose face was as deeply furrowed as the canyon walls around them. He could see the telltale sign of a u-shaped scar along the man’s neck that ran below his jawbone to the opposite ear.
Mitch felt a bead of sweat roll down his back. He stared at the man’s face, remembering the smell of cottonwood trees blooming in the springtime in younger days. Mitch lowered his rifle slightly while tilting his head and whispering, “Rafael.”
The man scrunched his eyebrows together and bit his lower lip. “I’ve seen you before, and not just in the arroyo by that damaged truck. I thought that I recognized you, gringo. Now, I am sure.”
Mitch shook his head slightly, wondering if his mind was affected by dehydration as he glanced over the neck scar again. “We can figure that out later.” He waved the muzzle of his rifle towards the distant building. “What do you know about two men who passed through here on foot within the past hour or so? One of ’em an Anglo—tall, blond hair.”
“Steven Jacobs,” said Nora forcefully, walking up behind Mitch. He pivoted slightly and gave her an irritated glance.
“Not my doing—Vincent took him. He’s an enforcer for the Culebra cartel.” He pointed over his shoulder. “They are holed up in that shack up on the hill.”
“And what’s your stake in this—you after Jacobs too?” said Mitch.
“Vincent only—and the trail that will lead to his boss, Mateo Dizon.”
Nora stepped forward, her face tensing. “Mateo Dizon—the police chief out of Agua Prieta is involved in this?”
“In everything that goes on in these parts and even as far north as Tucson. It’s his smugglers that provide all the dope for many of the cities in the Southwest—maybe further.”
She pointed her rifle at his chest. “Is that what you are, or were—some disgruntled employee of his?”
“Crippling Mateo and his kind is, shall we say, a worthy cause in my life at this point, though I wouldn’t mind seeing his head on a pike along the highway. Stealing his shipments and using the money from it is how we fund our operations out here. The few men I have are all loyal to me, having suffered similar fates at the hands of Mateo.” Rafael gave Mitch’s hand a scrutinizing look, taking a step closer to examine the faint star-shaped scar on his right hand. He grinned and looked up at Mitch. “Yes, amigo, we stood in the desert like this once before—long ago.” He smiled, lowering his hands. “I had much better luck back then, I think.”
“I reckon so,” Mitch said, lowering his rifle and motioning for Nora to do the same. He was still trying to wrap his head around Rafael’s presence here.
Mitch pointed with his chin to the hilltop. “I’m going to take out this guy Vincent and anyone else in my way in order to get my friend back, so you can tell me right now whether you’re in on that plan or if I’m gonna have to figure out whether to hog-tie you to some tree.”
Nora leaned over, her face growing taut. “You actually going to trust this old pirate? A minute ago you had your rifle fixed on his head. How do we even know he’s not working for Mateo and setting us up?”
Mitch glanced at the high-end optics on Rafael’s Colt AR. “By the looks of his rifle, I’m pretty sure he’s the one who sniped that cartel member by your brother’s truck, allowing Amy to get away.”
She stepped closer to Mitch. “And how do you two know each other exactly?”
Rafael traced his thumb along the scar on his throat. “Your boyfriend was once sent by the Almighty to save me.”
Nora grimaced at the reference as she looked at Mitch. “Trust me, he’s not my boyfriend, though I do recall hearin’ a story about Mitch rescuing some Mexican kid swinging from the end of a rope once in the desert.”
“Mitch—yes.” He waved his hand up in the air. “And now God’s intervention has brought us into each other’s path again, it seems.”
Chapter 29
Rafael had already given a briefing to his men, explaining the good fortune that had befallen them with Mitch’s arrival and their coming plan.
As the two men squatted beside the trunk of a fallen sycamore tree, they kept their eyes focused on the small cinder-block building fifty yards ahead.
Mitch leaned over towards Rafael. “Remember, we go in with controlled fire—I don’t want my friend inside getting hit. You got it?”
“Sure. Though the tracking software he has goes with me—you got that?”
“That’s DOE property. I don’t think they’re going to willingly part with that. They’ll come after you and I’m not just talking about border patrol agents.”
“Let them come. Besides, they are the least of my concerns. Taking out Mateo is all that matters now.”
“Why him? He’s just a middleman, I thought.”
Rafael chuckled. “On the surface it would appear so but with this device, he hopes to remove me and my men from the picture so he can have complete control over all the smuggling routes in southern Arizona. I’m guessing from what I learned from my source earlier that he will either turn over the device to the cartel to move up in the organization or, knowing his ruthlessness, he could attempt to move against them with this technology at his disposal.”
“Why would he do that? He already controls Agua Prieta, right?”
Rafael shook his head. “Most of you Americans think the rivalry between the cartels is based upon impulsiveness—your comical news reports all reflect that when they highlight a bloody battle, like the two groups just happened across one another at an intersection and let their bullets fly.” He paused, squinting at the sight of several vehicles in the distance approaching, their silhouettes visible despite their blacked-out headlights.
“But everything is meticulously planned, mapped out, and executed with a particular business objective in mind,” he continued. “Mateo thinks he can reinvent himself—become a high-level player in the cartel outside of Agua Prieta by using this device that Jacobs has invented. Who knows, he may even have his sights on muscling out the other cartels in Texas and California if this little operation of his were to work here.”
“So, that’s why he needed Steven,” said Mitch as he glanced over at Nora. “It’s a bold move—one that will be costly for him if he fails, but I suspect he knows that.”
Rafael looked down for a second, his eyes softening in the moonlight. “And for his wife, Anna. She and her child will pay the ultimate price for his treachery; and the Culebra cartel isn’t known for quick executions of their enemies.”
Mitch sensed a change in Rafael’s voice as he spoke of the woman. “You know her—the wife?”
He locked his eyes on Mitch as his face went rigid, his expression akin to a man floundering in a constricting tunnel towards an unobtainable light in the distance. Then Rafael slowly released his gaze and continued studying the building ahead as the two vehicles came to a standstill.
“Just remember, leave Mateo to me.”
Chapter 30
“Corporal Bagley, you got anything?” said the voice coming through Ed Bagley’s earpiece as he squatted near a small ridgeline four miles from the border. He didn’t mind the faux-military rank reference and knew their militia group had structured its hierarchy like the army. Right now all he cared about was seeing some action against the cartel, or illegal immigrants, or anyone south of the border before his last few days of vacation time ended.
He peered through the scope of his backup rifle, a Saiga AK-47, as he replied into the mouthpiece hovering near his cracked lips, “Nothing to report here—all clear.” Then he thought about the alternate report that kept flashing through his head: “Just dispatched two dopers and I’m on the trail of three more who fled up into the hills. I’ll return with their scalps by nightfall.”
He heard some rustling in the brush behind him and nearly squeezed off a round, then scolded himself for having his finger on the trigger as he saw his fellow teammate, Tom Jensen, moving up alongside him.
“Bagley, how you holdin’ up? How’s that war wound on your cheek?” said Jensen.
“Don’t worry none about that. Besides, I’m so amped up right now I can’t feel anything but my heart racing.”
“I hear ya. I’ve been doing this for a few years now and ain’t never had anything like this go down before. Credible intel for once and it looks like it’s going to pan out,” he said, pointing to the mouth of a canyon a half-mile away, where a group of six heavily armed men were slowly creeping into the open.
Bagley squinted an eye, peering through his scope, the fading remnants of dusk barely enough to make out their silhouettes. “Sure looks like illegals to me. Those boys are darker than the coffee I had this morning and remind me of all the fuckin’ thugs I have to deal with at the prison back home.”
Jensen motioned slowly with his chin to the right. “Must be headed to that small shack up on the hill. Looks like an old radio tower or somethin.’”
“Maybe a rally point—bet ya there’s gonna be a dope shipment dropped off there.”
They heard a husky voice come over both of their earpieces as their commander issued orders to the sixteen men at observation points strung out along the ridgeline. “Move up one hundred clicks but do not engage. We are here to observe and gather information. I repeat, do not engage.”
When the message ended, both men moved into a low squat and proceeded over the rocky terrain. After twenty feet, Bagley brushed against a cholla which dislodged, driving several barbed stickers into his hand. He winced in pain, biting his lips to cover his sound. “Fuck this place and these people.”
He rested his rifle on the ground then proceeded to pluck the trident-like thorns from his soft flesh, only to get more stuck in his fingers. “This is bullshit. We coulda stayed on the ridge and dropped these fuckers from there.”
“The boss-man knows what he’s doing. He’s the kinda guy I’d take a bullet for.”
“Yeah, you might do that one day. I don’t see him squatting in the bush with us. He’s probably in his air-conditioned jeep watching the show from a mesa somewhere.”
Bagley flung his hand in the air repeatedly, hoping the cholla spines would dislodge. “Can you help me get this stuff out?”
Jensen slung his rifle and knelt down beside him and removed his Leatherman. A few seconds later, Jensen stopped plucking the spines out and raised a finger to his lips for Bagley to be quiet. “Thought I heard someone coming this way,” he whispered. Jensen leaned back to retrieve his rifle while Bagley did the same. Both men took up a squatting position, sweeping their rifles out towards the thick scrub of manzanita and cat-claw acacias to the south.
A trio of Mateo’s men had just emerged from the thicket, coming up from a depression below the building where Jacobs was being held. They were already within fifty yards when Bagley and Jensen caught them in their crosshairs.
“Holy shit,” snapped Bagley as he immediately fired off six rounds into the chest of the first man then swung to his right and riddled the second figure with a mass of bullets in the midsection, sending a handful of stray rounds into the darkness beyond. Jensen snapped off two controlled shots into the chest of the third man, a portly thug who toppled down the hill into a patchwork of cactus.
Bagley was laughing while trying not to choke on the bile surging up into his throat. “Fuckin’ A, we got ’em.”
Jensen smacked him on his arm. “Yeah, right—you, uhm, see any guns on ’em?”
“Guns?” Bagley said. “Nah, but they had to be spics, right? None of our guys would be coming in from this direction.” A long pause followed after which Bagley rubbed the back of his neck. “Would they?”
As Bagley went to stand up, he heard the bark of a mesquite tree shatter apart by his chest followed by distant muzzle fl
ashes near the base of the hill. He felt Jensen grab his shirt sleeve and yank him to the ground, both men seeing a barrage of gunfire erupting in the valley below while their fellow militia members responded from the surrounding region. They heard their earpieces crackle with the thundering sound of their leader yelling, “Who the hell fired their weapons? Stand down, Goddammit, unless you’re fired upon.”
As Bagley fumbled with a tactical reload, they heard a familiar voice shouting from behind them. Emerging from a thicket of palo verde trees was the welcome sight of the DEA agent that had briefed them earlier.
“Remain at ease, gentlemen. I’m a friendly. Its Officer Tony Salazar—we met this morning.”
Jensen let out a sigh. “Whew, you had me worried there for a min—” The man never finished his sentence as a 9mm round tore through his lower jaw and exited out the left side of his ear. He fell forward on top of Bagley, who was still trying to make sense of the suppressed gunfire.
“Officer, we’re with the militia—what are you doing? We’re not the cartel.”
Tony hovered over the slumped figures then aimed his pistol at Bagley’s head. “Militia, cartel, who cares. I just needed to cut through here and you boys were in my way.” He pulled the trigger, splitting apart Bagley’s head with two rounds.
Tony let out a deep breath and lowered his body behind a clump of bushes. He scanned the surrounding mesa to the north where he knew the other militia members would be located. He had a text message already prepared to send to the militia leader if things went badly between him and Mateo during their meeting. The resulting gunfight between the two groups would hopefully give Mateo the impression the area was under siege by the border patrol and give Tony the time he needed to slip away. Without the usual federal manpower Tony received in past sting operations, he knew he was on his own and the militia provided the best option for creating a diversion. He just hoped the actions of the two trigger-happy miscreants he’d shot hadn’t already set things in motion ahead of his schedule.
