by Mel Odom
“Business,” Tyrel said, hoping the man didn’t keep talking to him. He just wanted to get across the border and be gone.
After riding out, he’d freed his horse. Given time, the mare would wander back to the barn. He knew that Don, and Shel for that matter, would care for the livestock. Three miles of hiking had brought Tyrel to Bobby Foyt’s place. Foyt and his family were out of town on a last-chance vacation before school started back.
Tyrel had hot-wired the old Chevrolet pickup in the garage, left money for it in Bobby’s barbecue grill because Bobby didn’t let many days go by without grilling, and driven down to El Paso secure in the knowledge that no one would know the truck was missing for several days at least.
He’d stopped and eaten once outside of El Paso. The television had carried a baseball game and the local news. That was when he found out about the manhunt the sheriff had unleashed to look for him. Tyrel had gone into the bathroom with the hair color and come out with black hair. Then he’d gotten back on the road.
In El Paso, he bought a few things to carry across the border in a suitcase, courtesy of the bargain bins at the Salvation Army. He’d have been able to buy anything he needed in Juarez, or wherever he finally decided to light, but going across the border empty-handed would have drawn attention.
“What kind of business?” the cabbie asked.
“Construction.” Tyrel knew enough about that line of work that he could pass for a foreman. He’d learned a lot about woodworking and building when he’d built the ranch house and barn. Then there had been various other projects with neighbors over the years.
“Constuction is a fine business,” the cabbie said. “I have done construction work. My father was a cabinetmaker. A very fine cabinetmaker.”
Tyrel wished the man would shut up. Waiting in the long line was making him as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He didn’t need to try to be carrying on a conversation at the same time.
He glanced at the people at the side of the street. The border allowed a lot of walk-through traffic as well. If not for the checkpoint, El Paso and Juarez might as well have been one large city. They were of equal size, but there was a vast difference in the appearance and the economies.
As he watched, a young boy of nine or ten walked beside his mother. The boy was eating a hot dog and holding on to a bright blue balloon. The balloon jerked in the wind and captured the boy’s attention.
The young mother balanced a sleeping child in her arms and chatted amiably on a cell phone. She hardly paid any attention to the older boy.
The boy with the balloon stopped suddenly. His balloon floated away and he grabbed his throat. Panic filled his face. His mouth opened to yell-but nothing came out. He grabbed his mother’s dress.
Angry, the young mother turned around to admonish her son. Then she saw him holding his throat. His sunburned face reddened more.
Somebody help him, Tyrel thought. He’s choking.
“Help me!” the young mother screamed. She dropped the cell phone and grabbed her son’s arm. Wakened, the baby started screaming too. “My son needs help! Please! Someone help me!”
The bystanders backed away as the boy continued to struggle to breathe.
Tyrel couldn’t believe it. Surely someone was going to help.
No one did.
Without thinking, Tyrel threw the cab door open. Images of Don and Shel ran through his mind. He remembered how he’d always been afraid of something happening to them when they were young. It was a parent’s worst nightmare.
Like a broken-field runner, Tyrel made his way through the stalled lines of cars till he reached the boy. The woman still yelled for help.
“I can help him,” Tyrel told the woman. “Give him to me.”
Reluctantly the woman let go of her son. “He’s not breathing. He can’t breathe.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler said. “I know.” He felt a little panicked himself. When Don and Shel were little, he’d worried about them. Especially Shel because he’d been fearless growing up. Don had had more sense. Tyrel had worried even more when Shel enlisted and went off to fight in the Middle East.
The boy fought Tyrel, pushing at his hands.
“Listen to me, son,” Tyrel said calmly. “You’re gonna be all right. We’re gonna get through this.” He forced the boy’s jaws apart and peered into his mouth.
There was no visible obstruction.
Tyrel stepped behind the boy and placed his hands together in a double fist just above the boy’s navel. He pulled in and up, fast and hard, just like he’d learned to do when the boys were small. In all those years, Tyrel had never had to Heimlich anyone, but once he’d been shown something, he never forgot it.
Nothing happened. The boy still couldn’t breathe.
Tyrel knew that a crowd of people had gathered around them. All of them watched. He cursed them all. What he was doing was something anyone could do. The only reason he was there was because no one else would step up.
“C’mon, boy,” Tyrel coaxed. “You’re scaring your mama. I’m right here, and I ain’t gonna give up on you.” He pulled again.
This time the piece of hot dog stuck in the boy’s throat exploded from his mouth. He sucked in a ragged breath, then cried out in pain and fear. He fought against Tyrel’s hold.
“Hold up there, partner,” Tyrel said. “Let’s make sure we got it all.”
The boy trembled as he turned back toward Tyrel. When he tilted the boy’s head back, he looked in his mouth and down his throat.
The child was breathing normally now.
“It’s okay,” Tyrel told him. “It’s okay.” He released the boy, who immediately ran to his mother.
She was crying and shaking, but she held her son tightly. The boy held on to her and cried too.
“Thank you,” she told Tyrel. “Thank you so much.”
Tyrel touched his hat and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Glad I was here to help.”
The crowd around them suddenly erupted with applause.
Embarrassed, Tyrel ignored them and turned to walk back to the waiting cab. He intended to finish his escape now that the line was moving again. He was only a few minutes away from freedom.
However, when he stepped from the curb, it felt like the top of his head had come unscrewed and someone had dumped spiders inside. A tickling sensation ate at the edges of his thoughts; then black spots appeared in his vision.
He tried to keep walking even though he felt woozy. He didn’t take more than four or five steps before it felt like someone drove a railroad spike straight through the center of his heart. His legs went out from under him and he fell between two cars. On his back, he stared up at the sky and saw the sun dimming in the west.
Tyrel tried to get up, but the viselike pain in his chest grew even tighter. His vision closed to small tunnels. People came over to him and looked down. Tyrel tried to take a breath and couldn’t. Blackness consumed him.
49
›› Rafter M Ranch
›› Outside Fort Davis, Texas
›› 0125 Hours (Central Time Zone)
Someone was knocking on the door.
Worn and exhausted though he was, Shel woke immediately. Out of habit, he reached for the SOCOM. 45 hidden under the cushion of the couch where he slept. Don had tried to get him to come home with him, but Shel hadn’t been ready to do that. He’d needed time alone to think and decompress.
In the end, after much talking-which had only further exhausted him-and because Don didn’t have the strength to continue, his brother had left. Shel had also invited Will and the other NCIS agents to stay at the house, but they’d declined, and he’d been glad. He’d dropped his duffel on the bed in the room he’d once shared with Don, then headed out to the couch to sleep.
Max was already up and awaiting orders.
The knocking repeated.
The house was dark. After everyone had left at eight o’clock or so, finally relinquishing the site, satisfied ther
e was nothing more that could be learned about what had happened, Shel had raided the refrigerator. He’d found leftover pinto beans and some cold corn bread. He’d microwaved both and ate at the table. He had never felt lonelier or less certain.
“Shel?” It was Will’s voice.
“Yeah?” Shel stood by the door and peered through the window.
Will appeared to be alone. His rental SUV was parked out front next to the one Shel was driving.
“Can I come in?”
Shel tucked the pistol in his waistband at his back and unlocked the door. He could tell by Will’s face that something bad had happened.
“What’s going on?” Shel asked.
“The El Paso police called,” Will said.
Shel took his cell phone from his pocket and glanced at it. The battery was dead. During all the confusion, he’d forgotten to charge it. The home phone lines had been cut when Victor Gant and his crew had tried to kill Tyrel. Shel looked at Will but couldn’t ask what was most on his mind.
“Your father’s been located,” Will said. “There was an incident at the border. It appears he stopped to help a boy who was choking, then suffered a heart attack.”
A heart attack? The words poured ice water through Shel’s veins. People die from heart attacks.
“Is Daddy going to be all right?” Shel asked.
Will’s face softened. “They don’t know. The doctors say it’s too soon to tell. They’ve got him stabilized.”
Shel nodded and took in a deep breath. He felt dizzy and hurt all at the same time. “Does Don know?”
“Estrella went to tell him. I figured this was news he didn’t need to hear over the phone, and since we’re staying at a hotel outside of town, we were about equal distance. The sheriff’s loaning us a helicopter so we can get to El Paso sooner.”
“All right,” Shel said. “I’ll get my kit and meet you in the car.”
Will turned and headed back to the SUV.
Real fear settled in over Shel as he walked to the back bedroom.
He took a moment to get everything organized, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. His daddy was in a hospital, maybe fighting for his life. The Marines hadn’t had a checklist or training for that.
Shel felt helpless. In a situation like this, Don would pray. Shel envied his brother that feeling of being useful. But Shel knew he didn’t believe or trust enough to do that. He’d be a hypocrite if he tried to pray, and he didn’t wish for that.
Unable to do anything else, Shel grabbed the handles of his duffel and hoisted it to his shoulder. As he headed for the door, he looked around the house and wondered if it would ever feel like home again.
›› Love Field
›› Dallas, Texas
›› 0239 Hours (Central Time Zone)
Shaved and sporting a new haircut, wearing a suit for the first time since his last court arraignment, Victor Gant sat in the waiting area for his flight. Beside him, made over in a similar fashion, Fat Mike sat reading a copy of Playboy he’d bought in one of the magazine shops.
Neither one of them was GQ material.
A few bleary-eyed travelers gave Fat Mike hard stares over his choice of public reading material, but the biker ignored them.
Victor controlled the anger and frustration that slopped around inside him, but only just. If it hadn’t been for alcohol, he wouldn’t have been able to contain himself. He drank just enough to keep the edge off.
“You’re gonna have to let it go,” Fat Mike said quietly from beside him. “Maybe you didn’t kill Tyrel McHenry, but you seriously jacked his life.”
The local news had been full of the attack on McHenry’s ranch. Victor had seen footage all day while he’d made the necessary arrangements to catch this morning’s flight. If all went well and no one saw through the false papers he was carrying or identified him-which, based on the mug shots they were displaying on the television, Victor doubted-he’d be back in Vietnam in a few days.
He’d be safe.
That irritated him too, because it had been a long time since Victor had truly felt threatened. But there was something about that big Marine, something so intractable, that Victor had lost some of the confidence he’d always had even at the worst of times. Shel McHenry was one of those bona fide human assault weapons that just wouldn’t stay down.
Victor knew he’d have felt better if Shel were dead. But being in Vietnam didn’t mean he couldn’t work on that. He still had friends in the States, still had people who owed him favors and money.
It was just a matter of time.
“Did you hear me?” Fat Mike asked.
“Yeah,” Victor said irritably. He felt naked sitting there without a gun.
“Says here in this magazine that stress will kill you if you keep it internalized.”
Victor glanced at Fat Mike. “You saying I’m stressed?”
“No,” Fat Mike replied coolly, suddenly realizing he might be on dangerous ground. “I’m telling you it’s a good thing you’re not.”
Victor turned back to the windows overlooking the airfield. “I’m not stressed.”
“You don’t look stressed. Want a magazine? I got Penthouse too.”
“That old man should have been dead last night,” Victor said. He spoke in Vietnamese so none of the other passengers around them could understand their conversation.
“He got lucky. That’s all.”
“Lucky enough to kill three guys.”
“You and me, we seen guys go down in the jungle that shoulda lived, bro. And we seen cherries that should have gone down the first time Charlie opened fire live to fight another day. Don’t mean nothing. Just means we gotta let it go for now. We’ve put stuff on the back burner before. Ain’t no thing, brother.”
“The Marine should have been dead too. Out of the two of them, somebody should have been dead. Instead, we got a lot of dead guys behind us and a whole lotta heat coming down on top of us.”
“Maybe this just happened so you can get them both later.”
Victor didn’t believe that, but he knew he wasn’t going to stop trying.
“We get back to Vietnam, you’ll wrap your skull around this thing,” Fat Mike said. “You’ll figure out a way to get them. Nobody escapes you in the long run. But I’m telling you, bro, once you’re back in the jungle-where only the quick and the dead show up-you may decide it wasn’t all that important anyway. After a few days there, it might not even matter.”
That wasn’t going to be the case, though. Victor was sure of that. Whatever it took, he was going to balance the scales between himself and Shel McHenry.
›› Intensive Care Unit
›› Las Palmas Medical Center
›› El Paso, Texas
›› 0648 Hours (Central Time Zone)
“Are you his son?”
Shel disengaged himself from the confusion that filled his mind and focused his attention on the nurse who had just entered the ICU room.
She was Hispanic and looked like she was in her early thirties. Her scrubs fit her athletic build well. She wore her black hair pulled up.
“Yes, ma’am,” Shel said. His voice was thick from disuse. He’d sat at his daddy’s side for hours, worrying about him and wondering what he was supposed to do now. The constant chirping of the heart monitor and humming of other assorted machines provided an undercurrent of noise.
“Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’” the nurse said. “You’ll make me old before my time. My name is Isabella.” She turned from the chart and stuck her hand out.
Shel got to his feet and took her hand.
She smiled, obviously pleased. “So, you’re a gentleman.”
“No. I’m a Marine.”
“Is that better or worse?” Isabella’s face showed that she might have really been interested in the answer and not just making small talk.
“I guess it depends on who you talk to.”
“Well, either way, your father is going to be all right.”
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“That’s what they said.” Shel resumed his seat out of the way while Isabella manually took his daddy’s vitals. Shel watched her with interest.
“I trust the machines,” Isabella said. “They’re good. But I don’t ever want to get out of practice doing things the old-fashioned way. In case I’m ever in a situation where I have to.”
“Redundant systems,” Shel commented.
She smiled at him. “I guess you could call it that. I just think of those kids working fast food when the computer crashes. They act like they don’t know how to add or subtract or how to make change. Computers are supposed to make things easier, not impossible. We’re supposed to be the redundant system. I suppose the military is really big on redundancy.”
Shel nodded.
“I’m going to be with your father-and, I suppose, you-during this next shift,” Isabella said. “The other nurses told me you were here most of the night.”
“Some of it, anyway.”
“And I’ll also tell you that if Dr. Abelard wasn’t a fan of the military, you wouldn’t be sitting in that chair. He likes his ICU kept clear of civilians. I suppose you can empathize with that.”
Shel felt magnanimous enough not to point out that the hospital didn’t have enough security people and orderlies in the building to make him leave if he decided to stay. He remained quiet.
“But Dr. Abelard can be a generous man if nobody makes any trouble,” Isabella said. “So here you are. They said there were two of you.”
“My brother, Don,” Shel said. “He was here for a while. But he had to go take care of his family. They’re going to stay in town for the next day or so. Until we get Daddy through this.”
“Like I said, your father is going to be fine. There’s no need for anyone to get stressed. In a few days, barring any complications, we’re going to send him home.”
But there already were complications, Shel couldn’t help thinking. The murder and Victor Gant were out there lurking like land mines along their path.
“We know that,” he said. “This isn’t about being here waiting for something bad to happen. We’re here for Daddy. When he gets better, we want him to know we were here for him.”
