by Roger Hayden
“Truck was rigged with explosives,” Martinez said vacantly. “We stumbled on some real shit out here, Agent Gannon.”
Angela nodded as the glow of the fire flickered in her eyes. “That station wagon. It’s all we have now.”
He turned to her, agreeing. He hung his head down, cursing under his breath while balling his fist.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said, trying to say whatever she could to help.
Martinez no doubt blamed himself. His head slowly rose, revealing tears in his eyes. “We owe it to Dawson now to find out who’s responsible for this.”
After a moment of staring at the fire, they walked off together in sober silence toward the flashing lights on the side of a dusty road.
***
They arrived back at the Del Rio Border Patrol station shortly before nine in the evening. A federal chemical inspections team had been deployed to the area along Graffiti Junction to test the air for chemical agents. All roads and underpasses within five miles of the area had been shut down and cordoned off. Businesses and homes within the area had been evacuated, leaving a sense of dread in the neighboring community.
The local media were on the scene but were not permitted to enter the hastily constructed blockades. The authorities were also hesitant in disseminating information for fear of creating a panic. Word from the feds was to keep a lid on it, and Chief Drake’s department was advised to recuse themselves from the investigation until Homeland Security and the FBI could determine exactly what had happened.
For Martinez, there was no second guessing that the men they had engaged were terrorists. He believed that the chemical agents discovered before the truck explosion were materials likely meant for a dirty bomb of some sort. Angela agreed, but was curious on what they were going to do about it. They had no knowledge of the men’s terrorist affiliations or how far their network spread. Assuming there was a network.
She and Martinez watched the coverage of the scene in Chief Drake’s office while they sat across from his desk waiting. Drake was in another room discussing the incident with other superiors. Word around the office was that the FBI was there.
The investigation was already in the works, and all Martinez and Angela could do was wait. They weren’t being told anything, and what had started as a shootout with two suspected smugglers had now spiraled into something much larger involving terrorism. But the death of one of their Border Patrol agents was the single hardest thing to stomach about it all.
The television displayed an aerial image from a news helicopter of the smoldering ground where the truck had exploded. Firefighters had extinguished the fire and HAZMAT teams in full chemical gear were on the scene, monitoring the air with their electronic gadgets.
The news banner on the bottom of the screen indicated a truck explosion without going into details. Martinez’s eyes were transfixed on the TV screen, while Angela read messages on the screen of her cell phone, and replied to a text from Doug. She hadn’t gone into any details and only told him that she wouldn’t be home any time soon.
Does this have anything to do w truck explosion? he asked in the text.
Not at the moment, was all she could say back. I’ll be home soon. Might have to put the girls to bed without me. Love you.
Doug was understandably curious and worried, but she would tell him what she could when the time came. The important thing was that she was okay. The same couldn’t be said for Dawson, whose family, she was told, lived in Oklahoma and had just been informed of his death. The news was devastating to everyone at the station.
Captain Martinez had been quiet since they’d left the scene, saying very little. Angela could see the worry and grief on his face, and the nervous anger of his constant fidgeting and foot tapping. As she turned to speak to him, he suddenly jumped up from his chair, clearly agitated.
“I just can’t do this right now,” he said, pacing around the office.
“Do what?” Angela asked from her chair.
He turned to her with his face flushed. His uniform, like hers, was still covered in dust, dirt, and ash. “Sit in here while they play politics with this whole thing.”
“Who’s playing politics?” Angela asked, genuinely confused.
“The powers that be, that’s who.” He scratched his chin and attempted to peer through the blinds in Drake’s office. “We need to be out there trying to catch the bastards who got away.” He balled one hand and smacked it against the other. Angela had never seen him so angry. “I told Drake about these sleeper-cell pukes. I told him that we need to put more resources into tracking them. And now that the shit has hit the fan, he’s gonna drop today’s entire fiasco in my lap.”
Angela studied Martinez, confused. He was agitated, saying whatever came to mind. And if she didn’t know any better, she’d say that he was coming off as paranoid.
“We’re all on the same team here, though. Right, sir?” she said in the most sympathetic tone she could muster.
Martinez scoffed, laughing. “Sure thing. Until something literally blows up in our faces. Who authorized Dawson to search through the truck? Who authorized any of us? That’s what they’re going to be asking us, so I hope you’re ready.”
Martinez paused and took a step back, seeing the worry in Angela’s face. “I’m sorry, Agent Gannon. I don’t mean to upset you. You should have nothing to worry about. Like I said, it was my call, and I’ll take responsibility.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if she believed her own words. Going it alone had its consequences. They should have waited for backup, but she didn’t feel the need to harp on it.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “What matters is that when you have terrorists sneaking across the border, the blame has to lie with someone. Is the chief going to answer for it?” He paused with brown eyes gleaming, but before Angela could respond, he was on to the next question. “Is the Homeland Security director going to admit they messed up? Is the president going to call a press conference and blame himself? No. It’s gonna be someone like me. Happens all the time.”
“But you said that we could catch these guys. That all we had to do was to find that station wagon,” Angela said. “But nobody paid attention.”
“Trust me,” Martinez said, stepping forward. “I fully intend to.”
The door swung open as Chief Drake walked in with several files in hand, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose and a nervous, preoccupied look across his stricken face. He noticed Martinez standing by the window and signaled him to take a seat next to Angela.
“This won’t take long, I promise.”
Martinez sighed and went back to his chair. They both sat watching as Drake placed the stack of files on the smooth wood surface of his desk. Behind him there was a bookshelf with several plaques and certificates and family pictures with his pretty wife and three boys.
The television in the corner of the room displayed the same aerial feed as before, but the banner at the bottom of the screen had changed. It now said, “Terror Bombing in Texas.”
Drake took his glasses off and squeezed the bridge of his nose, stress showing on his worn face. He leaned forward with his hands folded and got right to the point. “We have to get a lid on this thing and do it fast.”
Martinez glanced at Angela holding his hands out as if to say, No, it’s not paranoia, this is for real, and Chief Drake knows it, too.
Drake continued. “The death of a young agent does not bode well for this department. The important thing is that we put an end to these rumors of a vast terror network, and find out who’s responsible.”
Martinez remained quiet and looked as though the chief’s dismissive words were exactly what he had expected to hear.
“Any word on that station wagon, sir?” Angela asked.
Drake shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. They got away, and with everything going on, it probably wasn’t too hard for them to do it. But all law enforcement agenc
ies are on alert for a vehicle matching that description.”
Martinez stared at the chief, shaking his head. “Today’s events are part of a pattern I’ve been seeing. And if this department doesn’t get on board—if we don’t get the support we need—it’s only going to get worse.”
Drake slammed his hand on the desk, startling Angela. Martinez, however, didn’t flinch. “Let’s get one thing clear, Captain Martinez. You’re in hot water right now. So you may just want to back off a little and get your head together.”
“We’re being overrun by terrorists!” Martinez said. “Not all of them are coming over the border. A lot of them come here on visas. Some on asylum status. They’re here, and we need to take this shit seriously, starting now.”
For a moment the room went silent as the two men stared at each other. Drake leaned back in his squeaky office chair and tented his hands. “I’ve been doing this job for some time now, Captain Martinez. And I know what we’re out there looking for. Terrorism is no exception. We’re entrusted to protect this border, and we can’t very well do that to the best of our abilities when the department is ensnared in an internal investigation.” He paused and pointed at Martinez. “When you’re told to wait for backup, that’s what you do! We may never know who those men are affiliated with now.”
“We got an ID on the intact body, right?” Martinez asked, cutting in.
Drake jerked his chair forward and leaned over his desk. “The FBI are examining his body right now with the coroner’s. But, if everything else of value was in that truck and it’s all gone now…”
“I did nothing wrong,” Martinez said. “We’re authorized to pursue suspicious acts as we see them.”
“I hope you’re right,” Drake said. “Despite what you think, I’m on your side. I take the side of any of my agents.” He paused to clear his throat and then looked sternly at both Angela and Martinez. “You’re both dismissed. We’ll pick this up tomorrow. But you better be ready for it. And please… drop the martyr act.”
Martinez rose slowly from his chair with a deep breath, not saying anything. Angela looked around the room nervously. She wanted nothing more than to bolt for the exit and go home. Martinez turned to the door as Angela stood.
“Have a good night, sir,” she said to the chief.
“You too. Get some rest, Agent Gannon,” he said.
It was dark outside the office window, and Angela was stunned to see how much time had passed. She followed Martinez as he walked out.
She closed the door behind her and tried to catch up with Martinez, who was already halfway down the hall. Most of the cubicles they passed were empty, though a few offices were occupied along the way.
“You need to quit leaving me behind,” she said to Martinez as she caught up.
“Huh?” he said, walking fast with his eyes forward.
“You left me on that hill earlier. By the time I got out of the car, you were half way down.”
He swung his head to the side, glaring as though he was about to rip into her, but instead, his face went calm with an indication of remorse. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I just want to make sure we’re looking out for each other.”
“We are. I’ve got your back, don’t worry.”
From the hall, they entered a lobby with two agents sitting at the desk, both rookies, pulling security. The agents raised their heads in surprise.
“You have something you want to say?” Martinez shot back, defensively.
“Not at all, sir. Have a good night,” the younger of the two men said.
“You too,” Martinez said as they walked past and pushed open the glass double doors.
The night air was dry but refreshing, much cooler than before. Under the parking lot lights, Border Patrol vehicles were neatly aligned in rows. A line of black SUVs took up one lane across the way. All were backed in and ready to go. Angela’s car, a gray four-door 2014 Toyota Camry, was parked in the employee lot in the corner next to Martinez’s Jeep.
“Don’t worry about any of this,” he said as their boots clicked along the pavement in the quiet night. “We’ll get it all worked out tomorrow.”
She wanted to believe him but was worried that their troubles were just beginning. She felt grief for Dawson—shame even, that it wasn’t her. Of course, she had no intention of revealing such thoughts to Martinez. Perhaps he felt the same way.
She wished him a good night and pressed the button on her keychain, unlocking the Camry. Martinez waved as he got into his Jeep and cranked the engine. Once inside her car, she sat for a moment with the engine running and waited for Martinez to leave. His headlights flashed across her rearview mirror, and he was off. With no one around, she leaned forward and rested her head against the steering wheel, sobbing.
Angela arrived home later that evening, pulling into the driveway of her brick three-bedroom sanctuary, located in a quaint neighborhood near Buena Vista Middle School, where her daughters, Chassity and Lisa, attended school.
Doug’s F150 was in the driveway, and she could see a light on in the living room window. She looked at the clock on her dashboard. It was 9:45. For the day she had, that wasn’t too bad. Doug worked normal nine to five hours, which proved to be an asset where their children were concerned.
She turned off the engine and opened the door, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. She felt like a nervous wreck. What was she going to tell Doug? Maybe it could wait until morning.
The neighborhood was quiet with cars parked in driveways under the glow of streetlights. She passed the front of Doug’s truck and moved along the cement walkway leading to their front door, past small lights planted in the ground.
Doug was on the couch watching television when she walked in. His short brown hair was parted to the side, and he was wearing a Duke University T-shirt and sweat pants, his typical evening wear.
“Hi, honey,” he said to her.
“Hey,” Angela said, walking into the foyer.
He muted the television set, took one look at her, and rose from the couch, stunned. “What happened to you today?”
Her cover was blown. She hadn’t had a chance to clean up yet, which she immediately regretted. “Nothing. Just a long day at the office, that’s all.”
He walked toward her, not buying it. “You’re a mess.”
She set her purse on the nearest end table and tried to make it to the kitchen but found herself blocked as he stood in her way.
“Talk to me, Angela. Is everything okay?” She could see the two days’ growth on his thin face, a light shade of brown stubble. He was trying to grow a beard again. That, or maybe he was overworked too.
“Everything’s fine. I just want to have a quick snack and go to bed.”
She glanced at the television and saw live coverage of the blast still playing out. Reporters had swarmed the cordoned area, desperate for a story. An official statement from Homeland Security claimed that the explosion was unrelated to terror. However, a spokesman did say that all avenues were currently being pursued. Angela understood not wanting to incite panic, but to outright lie to the public?
“Your coming home late wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would it?” Doug asked, pointing to the TV.
Angela paused, wanting to tell him everything, but she didn’t think she was ready for it.
“Angela, talk to me,” he said.
She couldn’t fight it any longer and rushed to his arms, burying her face in his chest. “We lost an agent today. A truck was rigged with explosives. We didn’t see it coming. My God…”
Tears began to flow, as Doug’s comforting arms closed around her, his hands rubbing the back of her dirty uniform.
“It’s okay…” he said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
After a shower, she felt slightly better. She lay in her bed in a T-shirt and underwear as Doug brought her a glass of water and some Advil.
“Here,” he said with concerned eyes. “
Drink up.”
She lifted her head, took the tablets, and drank them down with the water. The mattress shifted down as Doug sat next to her.
“You just need to clear your head of everything and get some rest,” he said, rubbing her leg.
“I know,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, and she was afraid she had awakened the girls earlier with all the crying. Doug assured her that she hadn’t. “Dawson…” she said. “He was just a kid. Younger than me.” She smiled a little while thinking about him. “He had a bit of a crush on me, but nothing serious of course.”
Doug looked at her with one brow raised. “Really?”
She pushed his arm away, smiling more. “It was nothing. He was a good person.”
Doug stared ahead sadly. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
Angela rocked her head back and stared at the ceiling as her blonde hair spread out over the pillow. “I don’t know how I’m going to go back there tomorrow.”
“Take the day off and recover,” Doug said. “I’m sure they’d understand.”
She took his left hand and laced her fingers around it. “I can’t. There’s an investigation. Martinez is sure there’s something bigger going on.”
“So it was terrorism?” Doug asked.
Her eyes looked down. “That’s what it seems like.”
Doug rose from the bed and leaned toward her, kissing her forehead. “Just rest. Please. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
He got up and went to the nightstand on his side, switching off the lamp. Their spacious room went dark, and Angela felt unnerved by the sudden silence. Doug lay in bed next to her, and she wanted nothing more than to be cradled in his arms. She turned on her side and lay against him as he rubbed her back slowly, caressing her to sleep.
The phone call jolted Angela awake, sounding like an angry alarm clock. Doug lay sleeping on his side next to her. She reached for her cell phone on the nightstand, ready to throw it across the room until she saw the number. It was Martinez.
