Border Crossings

by Michael Lee Weems

  They worked quickly to get him a lawyer and, of course, the public defender immediately wanted the death penalty off the table for any exchange of information.

  “We get the girls back alive and he testifies against the other defendants if and when we find them, as well as whoever else was involved, and we’ll agree,” said the assistant district attorney. “Your client is a cop killer. This is the best he’s going to get and it’s contingent on those women being found alive. If they’re not, I will be asking for the death penalty.”

  With that, the deal was struck. “Where are they?” one of the Texas rangers demanded. At this point, the girls had been sitting in the metal trailer for just under five hours.

  “At the park,” he told them. “Guadalupe Mountains park, a mile or two off the main road.”

  He passed Jose a blank piece of paper and a pencil and told him to draw a map.

  There was a look of shear disbelief on Vargas’ face when an armed unit of five AFI agents walked into the police offices, past stunned faces and cries of surprise, right into Vargas’s office with their weapons drawn. They were led by agent Rojas who announced, “Humberto Vargas, I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of the minor known as Juan.” The young boy did not have a last name, or did not remember it if he ever did, Julio had explained.

  “You can’t be serious,” he told them.

  “You accepted twenty five thousand dollars from the criminal Fernando Ortiz for the boy’s murder. I assure you were a very serious and we have proof of your crime. Deny it if you wish. You will only be punished more severely.”

  They took him into custody and led him out in a walk of shame the likes of which had not been seen in the station. And when they had him seated at the AFI headquarters, they confronted him with the ledger and the testimony Julio, Maria, and even aunty Nita had provided. The evidence was overwhelming and Vargas cracked within an hour. He hadn’t personally killed Juan, but he did turn him over to some of the gang’s members in Cancun. He claimed he didn’t know they were going to kill the boy but Rojas told him to save that argument for his trial.

  “Who told you to get the boy?”

  “Some guy who works for Victor Arismendez,” Vargas confessed. “His name’s Ortiz. I’ve worked some outside jobs for Arismendez for a few years and when the news broke about the girl, the Ortiz guy called me up and told me Arismendez wanted me to tell them everything we learned as the investigation went along, quietly. He told me I was to call him directly, never Arismendez. After I talked to the boy and realized what he knew, I called the guy, and he told me to just drop the kid off in the city. There was a car waiting. I handed the kid over and they gave me an envelope. That was it. I didn’t do anything other than that.”

  “What was in the envelope?”

  “Twenty five thousand,” said Vargas, he head dropping to the table in defeat.

  Catherine, Matt, Vice Admiral Alvarado, and Ramirez were all in a separate office watching the interview on a monitor. “We got him,” said Catherine. “He said he got paid twenty five thousand, which matches the entry in the ledger. That should be enough evidence to get a warrant for Arismendez,” she explained to Matt.

  “Yes,” said Ramirez. “Though I’m not sure how we’re going to arrest him.”

  “That’s where I come in,” said Alvarado. “If agent Rojas is able to secure a warrant based on this testimony, I will be in charge of the arrest.”

  Catherine was still confused by why the Mexican Navy was apparently going to be in charge of apprehending Arismendez, but at least they had military support.

  In the heart of Cancun a massive force of military personnel and AFI forces appeared on Lopez Portillo Street. Two hundred Mexican marines amassed, supported by a naval helicopter and two tanks. All police were ordered to stand down and Cancun was put under military control. The helicopter hovered over the city as the military force began its march forward. Cancun now looked less like a vacation resort and more like a city in the heat of battle in Afghanistan or the Ghaza strip.

  Victor Arismendez quickly caught wind of the incoming assault when first it appeared in the city and ordered his security to call everyone, every gang member, bodyguard, and soldier they had. By the time the military reached his compound, he had no less than forty armed men holed up with him.

  Catherie and Matt remained at AFI headquarters and watched the assault on the news. It was all out war. Armored vehicles rammed the walls of the compound, met by a hail of automatic gunfire. Grenades were tossed from both sides. An insane news caster stood on a street corner only a few blocks away narrating what was taking place as bombs exploded behind him.

  “Jesus,” said Catherine, completely amazed by the spectacle.

  “I guess you were right,” Matt told her. “This guy’s got his own personal army.”

  The siege wore on late into the afternoon, casualties on both sides. Mexican Special Forces were seen being carried out on stretchers, bodies of the cartel were on every channel, nothing censored. On and on it went, the multi-million dollar compound being reduced to rubble by the bullets and explosions until finally half of its structure came tumbling down in a cloud of dust and debris. The Special Forces stormed in. Marines repelled down from the helicopter to the roof while a separate assault team came in through the now gaping hole in the side. More gunfire was heard, then two grenades . . . . then silence.

  That evening, Matt, Catherine, Ramirez, and Jim and Amy Woodall all sat a large conference table at the AFI headquarters. Agent Rojas sat across from them with other military officials. “Shortly after seven O’clock this evening our forces made entry into Victor Arismendez’s compound,” he was explaining. “We encountered several armed men and our forces threw two grenades into the room in which they were barricaded. Afterward, a search of that room revealed four bodies. I’m sorry to report that Victor Arismendez was not among them. We are still searching the premises, but our people found a tunnel located in the wine cellar leading to an adjacent property. It appears Arismendez was able to escape through this tunnel, possibly as early as when the assault began.”

  A collective sigh of disbelief and disappointment passed among them all. “No,” whispered Amy. Matt looked to Catherine, she being the only one in the room that could look beyond his icy façade to the disappointment beneath, and while his was a face of stone, Catherine’s anger and disappointment was written out neatly upon her features.

  “We should have known,” she said. “Of course he would have an escape route.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Matt told her, “There was no way to know.”

  It wasn’t comforting her. “He’s right,” Jim offered. “We’ve come this far. We’ll get him.”

  “We have every resource available looking for him and while he may have had a few hours, he isn’t likely to be able to go far,” offered the agent. “We have military at the airport, the local marinas, and stationed along the main roads out.”

  All told, the siege had taken four and a half hours and had netted sixteen AR-15 rifles, nine AK-47’s, twelve handguns, a few shotguns and other miscellaneous firearms, a cache of grenades, nearly two thousand rounds of ammunition, a quarter million dollars in cash, and a vast assortment of drugs and drug paraphernalia, but of course, no Arisemendez.

  They spent some time in the room discussing what came next. After the military and AFI left the room, Amy asked the rest who remained, “What’s your honest opinion at this point?”

  Catherine’s heart had sunk when she’d learned Arismendez had escaped. In her gut, she felt they had the once chance and had missed, but she didn’t have the heart to say it. Neither did Ramirez. It was Matt who spoke, instead, “They probably won’t find him,” he told her truthfully. “He knows better than to just get picked up at in some public transportation location.” Amy began to cry angry, silent tears. Jim reached over to comfort her. “But we won’t give up,” he continued. “The authorities may not find him, but we’ll keep on him. He’l
l run. He’ll go some place he feels he’s safe, and then he’ll get careless. It may be a while, but eventually he’ll pop his head up, and then we’ll find him and end this.”

  The mood was somber, the group in silent reflection for some time before Ramirez excused himself with his sincerest apologies to all for the turn of events. Then Jim and Amy left for their room for yet another night of restless sleep and unresolved despair. “Drink?” Matt asked.

  “Let’s have it back in the room. I need to sit for a while and think.” She got up to leave, but paused as they were walking out, looking up at him, “When you said he’ll show up again, but it may be a while . . . how long do you think . . . really?”

  He put his brawny arm around her. “Years, maybe.” He felt her sink in on herself. “I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted to get this guy.”

  Zuniga sat with Yesenia after she’d heard the news. Silvia, Maria, Isabel, and Evelyn were all dead. She wept miserably. “You did all you could,” Zuniga told her, trying to comfort her as best he could. “I know it’s hard, but we were able to save two thanks to you.”

  “No,” she said, “I shouldn’t have waited. It’s my fault. If I’d gone straight to the police after they chased me in that alley, you would have found them in time. But I hid! I hid and now they’re dead because of me.”

  “You hid because you were scared, and rightfully so. Those men were trying to kill you, Yesenia. Imelda and Catalina owe their lives to you. Many people wouldn’t have had the courage to come forward after what you’ve been through. And Trooper Daniel Shoal’s family now has closure because of you. We now have his killer in custody, all thanks to you. I know this is hard, unbelievably hard. But you did a brave thing, Yesenia. You stood up even though you knew it was risking your life.” But still she cried inconsolably. “You know they have a visa called a T Visa,” Zuniga told her, putting his arm around her in a fatherly sort of way. “It allows a victim like you to remain here if you help law enforcement, which you have to say the least. We can get you, Imelda, and Catalina an application. We’ll write you out a reference and I’ll even testify for you if I can.”

  “No,” she told him. “I’m going home. I just want to go home.”

  After leaving the conference room in utter defeat, Catherine and Matt had retired to their room, poured themselves two jack and cokes from the little mini-fridge, and were sipping their drinks in quiet discern of the day’s events when Catherine’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Ms. James. Bad news this evening, I hear.”

  Catherine looked at Matt with a frustrated yet curious expression. “Who is this?”

  “I have a gift for you, Ms. James.”

  “And what would that be?” she asked, now wary of this mysterious new turn of events.

  “Victor Arismendez,” he said.

  The pause was palpable. “You know where to find him?” she asked.

  “I do,” he said. “He had tried to catch a plane at an airport in the desert earlier this evening, but it didn’t work out for him.” Catherine listened with keen interest. “Mr. Arismendez is now sitting in room 403 of the Cancun Palace Hotel, not but a few miles from his former residence.”

  “That’s impossible,” she said automatically.

  “See for yourself,” said the man.

  “He wouldn’t be that stupid. There’s no way.”

  “As I said, Ms. James. You’re welcome to see for yourself. He’s got a couple bodyguards in the lobby on lookout. I’m sure you can spot them easily enough.”

  “Who is this?’ she asked again more fervently.

  “I suggest you hurry, Ms. James.” Catherine was left dumbfounded as the caller hung up.

  “What?” asked Matt, who’d done his best to try to figure out what she might be hearing on the other end of the phone.

  “You’re not going to believe this . . . .”

  Catherine repeated verbatim everything that the mysterious man on the phone had told her. “There’s no way, right?” she asked him. “I mean, his face is plastered all over the place.” She was genuinely confused and stood with her arms folded trying to put the pieces of her recently exploded mind back in place. “Is it a trap, you think? One last try to take us out for bringing the military down on him?”

  Matt was equally lost in thought. “Could be. But then again, could be the truth. Maybe he’s hiding in plain sight. I wouldn’t have thought it, but from what we’ve heard, he just might be arrogant enough. He could have had someone get the rooms, then just strolled right in.”

  “I can’t see it,” she said. “And I don’t like it,” shaking her head. “This just doesn’t make any sense. Who the hell was that guy?” Her blue eyes met his brown orbs under the darkened brow, “What do we do?”

  He shrugged. “We go see for ourselves, I guess.”

  They put their shoes back and grabbed Matt’s bag of toys and hit the rental car for one more shot in the dark at Victor Arismendez. And as they drove North along Kukulcan Boulevard and looped around headed back off the island into the city, Catherine could not shake the doubt, “Any ideas?” she asked him.

  “Not really,” he told her. “Could be one of ours . . . DEA, FBI, CIA. “

  “CIA!?” she gasped. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No. Don’t forget there’s still a war against the cartels in our country as well. They might not be able to directly take action, but feeding us some information would be one way of doing something without actually doing something.” His words left Catherine further racking her brain. “Or it could be another cartel.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Arismendez is someone’s competition. They might be taking advantage of his present circumstances to finish him off.”

  She hadn’t considered that possibility. “Why not do it themselves, then?”

  “Maybe they don’t want to draw attention to themselves.”

  “Or maybe this is Arismendez setting us up before he leaves town,” she added again, back to square one.

  “True.”

  They pulled up to the Cancun Palace Hotel, its fountain in the circular drive sending jets of water upward in a cordial dance. “If the guy was right, there’s some guards in the lobby area.”

  “It’s not going to be very busy in there at this hour and they don’t know my face,” said Matt. “You wait here and I’ll go have a look.” She didn’t like it, but she knew she’d been seen enough with the Woodalls at this point that someone could recognize her. Matt, on the other hand, was still a ghost. Except, of course, to the man on the phone.

  He returned several minutes later, jumping back in the car with a brisk step, “Yeah, there’s two guys in there. They’re dressed down, no obvious necklaces this time, but I could tell they were out of place.”

  Catherine wasn’t sure if this was good news or bad that the facts were backing up the mystery man’s claim. “Did they see you?”

  “Yes,” he told her. “They took off for the elevator as soon as they noticed me staring at them.”

  “What!? Oh, crap. I thought the whole point of me staying in the car was so you could check it out without drawing attention to yourself.”

  “It was.”

  “So what the hell happened?”

  “I got made,” he told her. “What can I say?”

  “God damn it,” she told him, exacerbated. “Now what do we do?”

  “We improvise,” he said, reaching for the bag of guns.

  “We gotta stop improvising like this, it’s making me a wreck.”

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t plan to get made, but as soon I walked in, they took one look at me, said something to each other, and it was over.”

  “Okay, so do we have anything remotely resembling a plan? You think he’ll bolt or dig in?”