by Joe Nobody
“Suit yourself,” BB shrugged. “I promised my Izzy that I’d get her a surprise from the big city. You care if we stop up here so I can get my shopping out of the way?”
“No problem. It will give me some time to think.”
The pickup managed a few turns that brought them into an area of shops, sidewalk cafes, and other businesses that obviously catered to Tampico’s upscale residents. After finding a parking spot, BB said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Keep an eye on that cargo in the back, would ya?”
“Sure. Take your time and get her something extra special.”
Zach watched his friend walk away, the ranger’s mind weighing the positives and negatives in visiting the local cops. After 10 minutes, he’d decided they didn’t have much choice, the marina being a wild goose chase.
The ranger’s analysis was suddenly interrupted by a stunningly beautiful woman strolling down the sidewalk, a brawny, rather antisocial-looking fellow at her side. Her skin tone was remarkable, with unusual features and a body that drew the Texan’s eye.
There was something more … something familiar about her.
A lightning bolt of realization shot through Zach’s mind. He knew that girl! He’d seen her picture! It was the missing woman Gus had been hunting, one of Cheyenne’s co-borrowers at Trustline.
The ranger’s hand reached for the door handle, his first instinct to rush up to the woman and launch an interrogation right there on the sidewalk. He then paused, reason entering back into his road-weary brain.
Zach’s eyes never left her sexy, little swagger as she casually strolled down the street, occasionally stopping to gawk in a window or scan an advertisement. The Texan tried to remember her name, but he couldn’t. He did remember Gus and the image of the El Paso cop’s body lying in the street with half of his head missing. “Payback,” he hissed.
Three blocks away, the ranger spied BB’s gangly stride heading back, a small paper bag in his hand. Zach jumped out of the truck and began stepping briskly to meet his friend halfway.
The moment the senior lawman spotted Zach hurrying his direction, he instantly knew something was up and paused, not sure what to do.
Trying to keep a discreet eye on the wandering woman while explaining his discovery to his friend, Zach and BB kept their own leisurely pace through the shops and markets.
“I’ll go back and get the truck,” BB said after the debriefing was finished. “You follow them on foot, and I’ll be close by. Try to stay where you can see her and me at the same time.”
Zach wasn’t sure. “Maybe we should snatch her right now. I’m sure we could convince her to tell us where El General is holed up.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” the older man countered. “That’s some serious cartel muscle keeping an eye on her, and besides, what’s that hostage syndrome where the victim becomes attached to the kidnappers?”
“The Stockholm Syndrome,” Zach answered, his eyes never leaving the short head of dark hair now about a block ahead of them.
“Let’s just follow and hope they lead us back to the nest. I’ll keep the truck parallel on that side street. When you see that they’re finished with their little shopping excursion, come running.”
Nodding his agreement, Zach moved on while BB rushed to retrieve the pickup.
The little Miss continued browsing for another hour, most of the time spent in a boutique that specialized in beachwear. Her cartel escort never wandered away from the store’s entrance.
Her spree made it easy for BB to keep in sight, a parking spot opening up less than half of a block away. When she finally emerged, Zach realized that she was done for the day.
In addition to the two packages under Mr. Muscle’s arm, there was an extra briskness in her step, a subliminal message that the day’s fun was over, and it was time to head back. But back where?
The two subjects reversed direction, a tactic that made sense to their watchers. Their car was no doubt parked at the other end of the area, where the shopping had begun.
Zach heard BB start the old pickup’s engine as the woman sashayed right past him, so close he could smell her hair. For a fleeting moment, he hoped she hadn’t smelled him.
Then the chase was on, BB rolling along at a snail’s pace on the side street, Zach subtly trying to keep up without being noticed. Six blocks later, the suspects cut off the main drag, right toward the spot where BB was idling. Mr. No-neck produced a key fob and pressed the button, the lights of a blue SUV blinking as the doors unlocked.
Zach was just jumping in the cab when the woman and her driver pulled away from the curb. He was relieved that BB held back, even happier that traffic was nearly non-existent.
It quickly became clear that BB had tailed a suspect or two in his day. Zach had to admit the old ranger was good – damn good.
Only occasionally was their truck in the SUV’s rearview mirror, and then only for a short period of a block or less. BB spent most of the journey one street over, sometimes behind, sometimes ahead of the unaware cartel chauffeur.
“They’re heading toward the river,” BB noted, cutting hard to make the traffic light at a cross street. “Maybe your sources weren’t so full of shit after all.”
They entered an industrial section of town, the lack of automobiles making it difficult for BB to remain unseen.
Zach couldn’t figure it out, the area they were travelling almost the exact opposite of where he thought El General’s lair would be housed. At one point, the ranger was worried they had been spotted and were being led into an ambush.
“This doesn’t look like the sort of place where an ultra-wealthy drug lord would hang his hat,” Zach noted. “Matter of fact, it looks damn dangerous.”
Pointing to the burned out shell of what had once been an enormous warehouse, both of the lawmen shook their heads in concern.
The sole remaining wall of blackened concrete blocks was leaning heavily as if about to collapse. BB wondered why the last windstorm hadn’t already toppled the death trap. Zach pondered if the spooky looking skeleton was a harbinger of what was to come. Both of them were relieved when the pickup passed through without being crushed.
The scenery didn’t improve much as they followed the cartel SUV further in. It was obviously a district that had seen better days, a relic from an era where ships had been the preferred method of moving cargo. Now, over the road trucks hauled most freight, and the local real estate market had suffered badly. Again, Zach wondered why Vincent would have picked this section of town.
It all became crystal clear after another block, a bend in the road allowing the two rangers vantage to see the enormous outline of a yacht tied alongside the river.
“That’s it,” BB said, pointing with his head. “That’s about the biggest damn boat around and a private ship to boot. I think we’ve found your man.”
The younger lawman had to agree. “Don’t take a chance on them spotting our tail. We know where they’re going now. Besides, the closer they get to home, the more diligent the driver will be.”
BB cut down the next street, turning off and then parking as soon as the blue SUV was out of sight. “What now, Ranger?”
Shaking his head, Zach responded, “We need to get a closer look at that boat. Let’s wait a bit until the dust settles and then go exploring.”
Vincent stood with Ghost, the two masterminds studying a map.
“Is it time to announce our new capital?” El General asked.
Ghost turned to the large television and seemed to be studying the ongoing newscast streaming out of Mexico City. “President Salinas is nowhere to be found,” he began. “Probably hiding with his private guard at some remote villa. The capital and Tijuana are in chaos with rioters roaming the streets. There have been two uprisings at the border refugee camp and sporadic skirmishes among the military, police, and cartel armies all over the country. Yes, Jefe, I believe it is time.”
Vincent didn’t react immediately, a sly smile creeping across his face at the
realization that his dream was coming to fruition.
“We want to start with the television and radio station in Tampico first. Have your people start broadcasting what I’ve scripted. Reynosa is next … and then Monterrey. Are the warehouses full?”
“Yes, my men have been unloading truckloads of rice, beans, and other essentials for over two weeks. There are over 1,000 tons of foodstuffs ready to receive the tide of refugees.”
Ghost nodded his approval, “And the antidote?”
Again, Vincent delivered the positive news. “Yes. Our kitchen below the mortuary has been making about three pounds a day. My staff believes we’ll be able to immunize at least one million people by tomorrow. They’ll keep producing until I order otherwise.”
The terrorist seemed satisfied, “Then it’s time to untie this vessel and head out to sea. I would estimate that we should be able to return in 5-7 days, depending on Mexico City’s reaction.”
“No,” El General replied firmly. “I’ve decided to change that part of the plan.”
If he was surprised, Ghost didn’t show it. “May I ask why?”
Vincent paced for a few steps while he considered his response. “Because I feel that we can do a better job of managing the revolution from here. We can react faster if something goes wrong, and there may be situations where my presence might make the difference.”
“You are also putting yourself at great risk,” Ghost responded in a neutral tone. “While this vessel is well protected, the military still has assets that can reach her, and thus you. Are you sure about this decision?”
“Yes,” Vincent answered. “I am certain.”
Ghost shrugged, “You are the boss, El General.”
“I will go and issue the orders to take control of the television and radio station. I will also have the couriers deliver the next internet video. Will you join me for dinner this evening?”
“Of course,” Ghost replied. “It is always an honor.”
Vincent pivoted to leave, his co-conspirator studying every aspect of his employer’s body language as he exited the room.
“They’re all the same,” he whispered once alone. “They all feel they are invincible. He doesn’t want to be close by to keep control of his men, he wants to be here to relish in the glory.”
Ghost let his mind wander for a moment, images of Vincent waving to the cheering crowds from the steps at Tampico’s City Hall, drug lord turned savior. “I hope it works for you,” he continued. “As long as you keep paying me, I will say your name in my prayers to Allah.”
Chapter 14
Zach and BB didn’t have any trouble finding a good spot to scout the massive yacht. The industrial section surrounding Rose’s mooring was full of two and three-story warehouses, old factories, and only a few low-rise office buildings.
Adding to his list of committed felonies, Zach made quick work of the rusty padlock securing the tallest structure within ten blocks. According to BB and his better grasp of Spanish, the immense and bare building had been a warehouse for sugar and cotton decades ago.
The interior was completely void of contents, the far-reaching concrete floors covered with nothing more than a thick layer of dust.
It took the two rangers just over five minutes of searching to find a stairwell leading to the roof where long ago air conditioning and dehumidifying equipment once existed. After climbing the iron rungs and pushing open the hatch, Zach and BB found themselves on a flat, tar roof that was thick with pigeon and seagull droppings.
“The things I do to maintain the rule of law,” BB complained, looking at the carpet of bird shit that was about to soil his boots.
Zach advanced slowly toward the edge, fully aware that El General probably had his own lookouts and scouts deployed on and around his yacht.
The younger ranger returned a few moments later, “This is the perfect spot, but we need some sort of cover. Any ideas?”
BB scanned around the level, featureless rooftop and shrugged. “Got a pigeon suit?”
“Funny. Seriously, if either of us gets close to the edge, we’re bound to be spotted. We need some sort of camouflage.”
Again looking at his now-soiled boots, BB said, “What we need is a butt load of newspaper for this bird cage.”
Ignoring his partner’s complaining, Zach decided that maybe they didn’t have the perfect location and began scouting around for a better spot. It was then that he had an idea.
“We need big cardboard boxes and some spray paint,” he announced.
“Huh?”
“You heard me, old man. Do you know where there’s a moving company hereabouts?”
BB tilted his head in bewilderment. “No, but that shouldn’t be too hard to find. Mind drawing this old man another picture?”
“Come on, I’ll show you instead.”
By the time the third package was delivered to media outlets throughout Mexico, the news editors and anchormen had come to expect the unexpected. This latest edition of El General’s studio-quality production didn’t disappoint.
The now-familiar face of the handsome, young actor appeared, sitting behind the same desk but with a different suit and tie.
“As I predicted just a few days ago, our nation is racked with strife and conflict. Powerful men in Mexico City are attempting to take control of Mexico by any means, and they will stop at nothing to fulfill their unwavering desire to control all of our lives.”
The image then changed, a panning view of hundreds of desperate faces staring at the camera from behind a barbwire fence. “Our brothers and sisters are being held in pens like cattle and pigs, their effort to escape tyranny resulting in internment.”
Back to the announcer, “But there is hope, my countrymen. Powerful men among us still have freedom in their hearts and maintain the will to fight.”
A map of Mexico then filled the screen, “As of today, the cities denoted on this map are hereby declared safe zones. Some of our nation’s greatest patriots have stockpiled food and medical supplies to feed those desperately trying to escape the violence that consumes the land. All citizens are welcome to join us. All will be fed and provided shelter.”
Then came a picture showing rows of dead bodies, the few living among the corpses wearing the now-familiar Haz-Mat suits so commonly seen throughout Mexico. “In addition to providing safety, freedom, and the essentials of life, these great benefactors have taken possession of a large supply of vaccine that will protect one and all from the plague unleashed by the traitors. This medicine was being hoarded by the very people you elected to our government. They intended to keep it for themselves, but now it has been liberated. Come. Join us. Enjoy the safety and health every citizen of our great nation deserves.”
The video ended with the map of Mexico returning to fill the screen.
In Tampico and a few other large cities, cartel enforcers arrived at the television and radio stations that provided millions with their daily information. Within an hour, the airwaves were filled with not only Vincent’s message of propaganda but also trusted commentators and anchormen reinforcing the story as presented. The fact that men with automatic weapons were just off camera or microphone remained unknown to the average man in the street.
Ghost watched it all from Rose’s media center without comment or emotion.
Finally, when the news began to cycle, he stood to leave. “Now the game begins in earnest,” he whispered.
An hour later, the two rangers returned to the warehouse – a large cardboard box, two cans of spray paint, and three furnace vents in their hands.
“Thank God for home improvement stores,” Zach snipped. “One-stop shopping for the undercover policeman.”
Ranger Bass quickly set about assembling his contraption, which consisted of painting the unfolded box a metallic gray and then gluing the metal grillwork to the outside. “It’s not perfect, but in low light and from a distance, it should pass as a rooftop air conditioner.”
To “age” his pretend HVAC
system, Zach scraped up some dust from the floor and threw it on the still-damp paint.
The rangers again made for the warehouse’s stairwell, eventually exiting onto the roof. Zach lifted his invention over his head and began slowly making his way toward the edge of the structure.
BB grunted, watching the younger man duck walk bit by bit, slowly advancing toward a spot where he could observe the yacht below.
It took the young ranger almost 30 minutes to advance just a few yards, Zach wary of someone below noticing the movement. Finally, he was in position and studying El General’s vessel through a small cutout while using a pair of binoculars BB had brought along in the truck.
“I gotta hand it to ya, Zach. That’s the damndest ghillie suit I’ve ever seen,” BB said from the stairwell.
It was hot inside the box, and the ranger had to remain on his knees, but he had an excellent view of El General’s yacht and the surrounding area.
It quickly became obvious that a frontal assault was out of the question.
At both ends of the concrete pier were men with automatic weapons and cover. Zach counted three more shooters idling in the doorway of the warehouse directly in front of La Rosa Roja.
Movement on the sundeck drew Zach’s focus.
The woman he’d spotted shopping in town appeared, now resplendent in a formal gown. Immediately behind her, approached the same man he’d spotted at the steakhouse in San Antonio – Vincent.
A flash of disappointment streaked through Zach’s mind when Ghost failed to follow.
The ranger watched as another man arrived, a pair of wine glasses in his hands. “I wonder if you know Vincent was shopping around in Texas trying to buy my girlfriend,” the Texan whispered to the hostage. “I wonder if Chey was going to be your replacement or competitor.”
Zach continued to observe as the couple sipped their wine while standing at the rail and observing the river beyond. “At least, I’ve got the kingpin,” he grunted. “Ghost is probably out delivering the plague to an orphanage. I’m sure he’ll be back in time for dinner.”
