by Joe Nobody
On cue, another figure entered into the magnified circles of Zach’s vision. It was Ghost.
“You son of a bitch,” Zach hissed, his first thought being to rush down to the truck, grab his rifle, and rain volleys of hot lead down on his nemesis. “I knew you were behind all this. I knew this entire bag of shit had your stink all over it.”
Ghost had brought his own wine and soon joined his hosts at the rail. “Now aren’t you just one, big, happy, narcotic-supplying, plague-producing, dysfunctional family,” Zach growled. “Isn’t the view from your mega-yacht lovely this evening? I wonder how the poor people onshore are doing out there thanks to your influence. I am curious if watching your nation’s children gunned down in a crossfire is your evening’s entertainment?”
The ranger wanted Ghost more than anything he could ever remember. Watching the casual wine sipping made his heart race with fury as adrenaline surged through his veins. His only respite came when he recalled how it felt as his fists slammed into the terrorist’s face during their brawl in Istanbul. “I wonder how long it took before you could eat without pain, bitch.”
Zach forced himself to turn away, his mind churning to formulate a workable plan of attack.
El General had chosen his hiding spot well, Zach eventually admitted. It would take a small army to overcome the ring of security that surrounded the floating keep.
Perhaps an airmobile assault team could leverage the element of surprise and board the boat, but they would suffer extensive causalities in the effort.
Armor could pierce the defenses, but by the time the large, noisy machines could approach, Zach was sure Vincent would be motoring at high speed out to the open sea.
Zach wondered about a waterborne assault, the ranger having read about the U.S. Navy Seals practicing such tactics. But he didn’t have a SEAL team on speed dial and doubted if President Clifton would answer his call.
He could snipe Ghost and Vincent from his current position, the 500-yard shot doable, even with the small caliber rifles he and BB had brought along. That, however, was a suicide mission. It wouldn’t take a ballistics technician to figure out where the shots had originated, and Zach was sure El General’s men would turn the warehouse into a deathtrap in less than a minute.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Ghost. You’ve picked one hell of a spot to ride out the looming war and pandemic.”
Zach retreated back to the stairwell and soon joined BB, who was keeping a lookout below.
After listening to the younger man’s report, BB nodded toward a building down the street and said, “Something’s going on in that other warehouse as well. A semi pulled up while you were on the roof, and a bunch of cartel thugs starting unloaded the cargo. The place is full of pallets and boxes. I think we’ve found El General’s stash house.”
Zach studied BB’s discovery for a bit, finally turning and admitting, “I can’t figure out a way to get at them. That fucking boat is built like a battleship, and no doubt it’s twice as fast. Even if we could muster enough firepower to shoot our way through their defenses, Vincent and Ghost would be motoring off to the deep blue yonder before we could even get aboard.”
“And who knows how many shooters he has on the yacht,” BB added. “Even if we did somehow manage to board her, that might be the same as jumping from the frying pan into the fire.”
A feeling of helplessness flooded Zach’s mind. He’d finally tracked down the men responsible for so much death and destruction, and yet they were unreachable – as if they were on another planet.
BB sensed his partner’s dwindling mindset. “You haven’t slept much the last few days. Let’s go someplace comfortable and quiet where we can think this thing through. You know our friend El General isn’t going anywhere… at least not for the moment. Besides, I need to give Izzy a call. She’s probably going loco with worry, and I could use a beer.”
Zach initial reaction to BB’s remarks was anger. Didn’t the old coot realize what was at stake? He wanted a beer? To call his lady? No wonder the rangers had pushed him out.
A cool head soon returned to Zach’s shoulders. It dawned on the ranger that rushing in half-cocked had played no small role in the current shit storm. They’d made sound decisions so far, and luck had been on their side. Was taking a few minutes to develop a strategy sage or lazy?
In the end, he couldn’t argue the older man’s wisdom. Besides, every minute they spent in the area infested with Vincent’s private army increased the odds of the two lawmen being discovered.
“Okay, BB. I get it. Let’s go find someplace to think this through. But not too far … and not for too long. I don’t want our kingfish swimming away.”
They found a small, run-down cantina less than a mile away from Vincent’s floating fortress. Inside, a small radio played Corrido music while a handful of patrons stared into their drinks.
As the two lawmen pulled back the antique art deco chairs at a corner table, a middle-aged woman appeared to take their order. “Dos Coronas, por favor,” BB smiled.
As they waited for their refreshments, BB pulled out his cell phone and punched in Izzy’s number. “We only get cell service on clear days, but at least, I can leave her a message.”
The weather must have been good up north, BB’s call answered after only a few rings. The old ranger’s face brightened with a huge smile when he heard Isabelle’s voice.
Zach decided to give his friend some privacy. Besides, he was too keyed up to sit and sip a brew. Taking his beer from the server, he wandered outside using the excuse that he wanted to keep an eye on the truck.
Leaning against the pickup and noting the setting sun, the ranger thought about the man he’d recruited to join him on what was an extremely dangerous quest. BB moved to a different rhythm than most of the lawmen Zach had worked with before. There were times when the man was pure genius, coming up with creative solutions and showing a degree of preparedness that was impressive.
Other events had left Zach frustrated as hell.
Zach had learned a long time ago to distance his reasoning in any complex situation and look at things from a broader perspective. It had helped him solve numerous crimes.
His mind ventured to a place where he watched from afar, like an angel floating above BB and himself, watching their activities with a third party’s perspective. After a few minutes of recounting their adventure, the ranger had to chuckle.
An old joke summed up the view from the heavens. A young bull and an old bull were standing on a hill, peering down at a herd of cows. “Let’s run down there and service one of them,” the young bull suggested.
“Let’s walk down and service them all,” countered the old bull.
The humor, tasty beer, and beautiful sky helped Zach regain the perspective of a professional lawman. He was able to push aside at least a portion of the gut-felt hatred for Ghost that had been controlling his thoughts.
Guilt, coupled with a rage derived from failure, had been driving his actions as of late. That might be acceptable when dealing with bank robbers and child molesters, but Zach knew he was pursuing an entirely different level of criminal brainpower.
Most crooks were just plain stupid. Ignorant not only of social values and lacking conscience but low on the scale of human intellect. He remembered the showdown with Tusk, recalled thinking that the man probably couldn’t count. In reality, that most likely wasn’t far from the truth.
Ghost and El General, however, were completely different animals. Both men demonstrated notoriety that wouldn’t have been possible without extremely high IQs. That intelligence, combined with a streak of ruthlessness had paved the road to their ascent to power. They were the most dangerous adversaries he’d ever faced, and if he didn’t start using his brain over brawn, they would win.
The ranger’s thoughts returned to BB, wondering if the older, more-experienced lawman had realized all of this from the beginning. “Maybe I should do what BB is doing,” he thought. “Maybe there’s method to his ma
dness.”
Zach had purchased a no-contract cell phone while shopping for the box and paint. He hadn’t known why at the time, but the advertisement for “Free Calls To Texas and The United States,” had drawn his eye.
He pulled the older model flip phone from his pocket and completed the setup in less than a minute. From memory, he dialed Cheyenne’s number.
The busy model didn’t answer, which wasn’t unusual. In a way, Zach was relieved to hear her voicemail. He hadn’t been sure what he was going to say.
He started to put the phone away but then dialed Sam. She answered on the second ring.
“Ranger Temple,” his partner’s voice chimed.
“Hey.”
“Zachariah Bass, where in the hell are you? And don’t you dare spin some lie that you’re in the mountains hiking.”
“I don’t want to tell you where I’m at. And believe me, you don’t want to know.”
“Zach? Are you okay?” she responded, the worry genuine and thick in her voice.
“Yes, I’m just peachy. I’m enjoying a cold brew and looking at a beautiful sunset,” he answered honestly.
Her sigh of relief sounded across the international connection loud and clear. “Well, that’s good, I suppose. What are you doing? Can you tell me that at least?”
“No.”
Sam’s famous temper got the better of her concerns over his wellbeing. “Well … then why did you call me?”
Chuckling, Zach again was forthright. “To be blunt, I’m not sure why. I guess I was worried about your leg. How are you doing?”
“Bullshit!” she barked, but there wasn’t much ire behind it. “Seriously, Zach, what’s going on? I’m your partner, damn it. The entire world has gone to hell in a handbasket, and you leave me a message that you’re going off on some fucking pilgrimage into the mountains. I’ve been worried sick about you.”
There it was. The last part. Somehow, that made Zach feel better. He now knew why he’d called.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I really am. I just had to go do this by myself. There wasn’t any other way.”
“Asshole,” she snapped, but then immediately regretted it. “But I forgive you … I think … I guess…. Hell, this sucks Zach. I am glad you called, though. I was about to write you off.”
The ranger grinned again, not believing she would ever give up on her partner. “Yeah, I’m good for the moment. Let me ask you something – do you know how to disable a boat?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve got to figure out a good way to keep a boat … a big boat … from moving. I don’t think I can sneak on board and remove the distributor cap,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. “So how in the hell would you go about something like that?”
There was a silence on the other end, making Zach think that Sam was looking up the number for the nearest insane asylum. Finally, she responded, “Just shoot a hole in the hull and sink it,” she answered.
“It has a steel hull, and I would have to shoot about a million holes for it to sink. It’s a big boat – really a ship.”
“Blow up the engines,” she suggested.
“I can’t get on board … at least not without a battalion of Marines helping me out, and I’m a little short on assault troops and explosives at the moment.”
Sam was tiring of the game, “Shit, Zach! How in the hell would I know? I’ve only ever been on a boat one time, and that ended up a disaster. My dad took me fishing when I was a girl, and somehow I managed to get the dock line tangled up in the propeller. We were powerless, drifting around for an hour before somebody towed us in.”
Light bulbs flashed and the ideas began to spark. “That’s it! You’re a genius, Sam! I have to go. I’ll call you in a few days … I hope.”
“Ranger Zachariah Bass, what on God’s green earth are you talking about? Don’t you hang up on me, damn it! Zach? Are you there?”
Sam looked at the disconnected cell phone, the wrath of hell’s fire beaming from her eyes. It passed quickly, though, replaced with sadness. “Please, be safe, Zach. Please.”
The lady ranger started to return the phone to her pocket but didn’t. Instead, she glanced at a business card lying on the coffee table and picked it up.
Sam contemplated calling the number, her mind whirling with a cyclone of stress, concern for her partner, and fear for her country. Texas wasn’t weathering the storm that was lashing its southern neighbor very well, and it looked like the violence was heading north.
The economic impact alone was staggering. With closed borders on all sides, international trade had come to a standstill.
Protests had turned into riots and widespread civil unrest in Dallas, San Antonio, and Houston. El Paso had a massive march scheduled for the following day.
International outrage monopolized its own percentage of the headlines. President Clifton seemed to be outmaneuvering Simmons in the diplomatic blame-game. Somehow, the republic had ended up holding the bio-weapon development bag, and a lot of people across the globe made it clear they wanted nothing to do with such a “rogue” nation.
Mexico, before the government had fallen apart, was threatening to file charges in the International Courts in The Hague, Netherlands. There were legal firms in Dallas and Austin working on class action lawsuits on behalf of those who had lost family or livestock due to the plague.
Just that morning, Sam had watched a news report out of Brownsville, the segment droning on and on about how many workers were calling in sick, afraid to leave their homes because of the epidemic.
Sam eyed the business card again, in full realization of the consequences if she made the call, and it didn’t go well. Then again, her partner was clearly in danger, and the republic was teetering on the edge of a very, very deep abyss.
“What the hell,” she whispered, punching the numbers onto the screen.
After the first ring, she almost hung up, barely fighting off the urge.
On the second ring, her thumb was hovering again.
“Foot Hood,” sounded a male voice. “How many I direct your call?”
“General Hopkins, please.”
“One moment.”
This time, a female voice answered, all business. “General Hopkins’s office. State the nature of your call, please.”
“This is Ranger Samantha Temple. I need to speak with the general, please. It is a matter of national security.”
“Hold one moment, please.”
Sam almost hung up again, a ball of fear trying to crawl from her stomach into her throat. It was almost two minutes before the general’s familiar voice came on the line.
“Ranger Temple, I hope you are well.”
“Thank you, General,” Sam replied, trying to keep her tone professional. “Sir, I need to speak with you, and time is of the essence. Do you have a few moments?”
There was a pause, Sam bracing for rejection and perhaps even a scolding. “I do, Ranger Temple, but not over an unsecured line. Is there any chance you could visit me here on the base? My duties require that I remain here for the foreseeable future.”
Glancing at her always-ready crutch, Sam responded, “Yes, sir. I can be there in about an hour if that is acceptable.”
“Of course,” the military man warmly replied. “I will leave word at the gate. It’s always a pleasure to assist the republic’s law enforcement officers. Will Ranger Bass be accompanying you?”
“Ranger Bass is the reason for my visit, General. But we can discuss the details in an hour.”
“Agreed. See you shortly, Ranger.”
Chapter 15
After disconnecting with Sam, Zach remained outside for a few more minutes, mulling over the plan born of his partner’s childhood experience.
Tipping back his beer, he ventured back inside and found BB engrossed in a Mexican newscast, a deep frown directing the old ranger’s brow. “Your friends on the yacht are some very bad men, Ranger Bass. They have managed to stir up the biggest pot of shit I’ve
ever seen.”
“Told you.”
BB grunted, “I should have taken your words more to heart. Anyway, I’ve been thinking this through, and my suggestion is still the same – let’s go talk to my friend, the chief of police.”
Zach nodded his agreement, but there was more to it. “I think we should pay him a visit, but the conversation I’m envisioning probably isn’t what you are thinking.”
“Go on,” BB said, his eyebrows arching in anticipation.
For the next 30 minutes, the two lawmen hashed and rehashed Zach’s plan. The younger ranger knew BB was onboard when instead of a second beer, the old timer ordered two cups of coffee.
Sipping the steaming cups of java, BB’s face flashed with inspiration. Waving over the waitress, the old ranger produced a handful of pesos from his pocket while exchanging a string of Spanish that Zach had trouble following.
Eventually, after three rounds of negotiation, BB handed the woman a handful of bills and then stood. Motioning Zach to follow, he enlightened his partner, “Come on, we’re going to become high-tech crime fighters.”
The barmaid led them to a grungy back office and pointed toward a new-looking computer residing on the cluttered desk. “Gracias,” BB responded, and then sat down in front of the monitor.
Zach was stunned as the old timer’s fingers began pecking on the keyboard. After a bit, a blueprint of Vincent’s boat was displayed on the screen. “I found an old listing at a yacht brokerage,” the weathered lawman explained with pride. “I figured that purchasing that big-ass boat was like buying a house, and the broker would have pictures and a layout.”
“That’s brilliant, BB. Can you print that shit out?”
“Sure ‘nuff.”
The nearby printer began humming and clanking as paper slid in and poured out with various pictures, drawings, and information about La Rosa. Zach paid special attention to the location of the propellers.
As the duo returned to their table, BB glanced at his watch and said, “If we’re going to pull this off, we’d better get moving. There’s a lot of work to be done.”
