by Joe Nobody
It was just getting dark when they finally left the cantina and headed for the shopping district where they’d first picked up Vincent’s scent.
Two hours later, they were parked outside the sugar and cotton warehouse. “I want to wait until at least midnight before we make our move,” Zach said. “I’ll take the first watch if you want to get some sleep.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” BB replied, reaching down to recline his seat while pulling his hat low over his eyes. “Wake me in an hour.”
“Will do.”
Sam drove like a demon to Fort Hood.
As before, the security procedures were thoroughly obnoxious.
She had just pulled into the denoted “Authorized Visitors Only” parking spot when she spied General Hopkins marching across the well-manicured lawn. He was making a beeline for her car.
After a quick greeting and handshake, the senior officer surprised Sam by suggesting they take a walk.
“I’m not walking so well, sir,” Sam answered, pointing toward her crutch.
“There is a nice shady bench not far from here, Ranger. I think I have a pretty good idea why you’ve come to visit, and I think it would be best if we had our conversation outside.”
Sam loved a good mystery novel, would even admit to receiving some twisted sense of enjoyment when working a particularly difficult murder. Today, however, she wasn’t in the mood for cloak and dagger adventures.
“Sir, I feel an extreme sense of urgency about this matter. I would appreciate it if.…”
The general raised his hand to stop her mid-sentence. “Zach called you right before you called me. He’s in Mexico.”
Sam was stunned. “How did…. Are you….”
The general motioned for Sam to start hobbling along with her crutch. She wanted answers and saw little alternative than to do as the man wished. After they had rounded the corner and entered a small, park-like setting, he began. “Your phone and Ranger Bass’s cell were placed on a watch list after you last visited this facility. We take our security very seriously, Ranger Temple. It is standard procedure for us to monitor the communications of anyone who is the recipient of classified information.”
Immediately furious, Sam snapped, “Are you watching me take a shower, too?”
“No, Ranger Temple. While we could do that, most people don’t divulge secrets while bathing. It really upsets you to know that we were eavesdropping, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. It most certainly does,” she replied forcefully.
“So now you know the primary reason for our multiple layers of secrecy and demand for discretion. The feelings you are experiencing at this moment are common to practically anyone who becomes aware of our capabilities. Even I was shocked when the program was first launched. That’s one of the main reasons why we must keep it so closely guarded.”
The lady ranger had to admit, he had a valid point. “I bet you know a lot of secrets, General.”
“Our equipment hears a lot of secrets, Ranger. Unless it is a matter of national security, no human becomes involved. A computer listened to your conversation with Ranger Bass to make sure neither of you was discussing privileged information. Short of that, it wouldn’t have mattered if you and your partner were discussing robbing a bank or killing a man who cut you off in traffic, we wouldn’t get involved. Crime is none of our business. We only breach our citizens’ right to privacy if they are placing the republic directly in danger or planning to sabotage our military capabilities.”
“And non-citizens? How much information do your machines gather from those outside of Texas?”
“That’s classified and irrelevant to our discussion, Ranger Temple.”
Sam nodded. “I understand, sir. Besides, you’ve already passed along the primary reason for my visit by telling me Zach is in Mexico. Can you tell me where he is by any chance?”
Hopkins nodded, “Yes, he’s in Tampico, along the riverfront. I assume you would like the exact address?”
Again, she was amazed. “You can track someone’s location that closely? That is very scary, sir.”
The general looked left and right as if he were trying to verify that no one was paying them any attention. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a small slip of paper and handed it to Sam.
“Your partner could use some help, Ranger Temple. I suggest you get in touch with the man on that note.”
Sam glanced down and saw some map coordinates above the name, “Captain Billy Riddell, ROTMC,” and a phone number. She recognized the area code as south-central Texas.
Hopkins noted the confusion on her face. “Captain Riddell was the officer in charge of the training platoon that was ambushed near Langtry. As a matter of fact, I’ve taken the liberty of contacting him already. He’s expecting your call.”
Sam started to ask for more, but General Hopkins stood, making it clear their discussion was over. With a firm smile, he added, “I’m sorry to cut our visit short, Ranger Temple, but I have pressing matters to attend to. Thank you for stopping by.”
Then he was stepping away, leaving Sam clutching the name of a Republic of Texas Marine and little else.
After exchanging catnaps, Zach and BB began preparing for their nocturnal activities.
Grumbling about having to wade through the bottom of a birdcage, BB climbed to the roof to make sure nothing was new along the pier. Zach began changing clothes.
The ranger had purchased a set of swimming trunks during their shopping spree, as well as some additional dark clothing and a set of flippers. After trying on his nautical attire, the Texan then set about darkening his face and hands with a mixture of Vaseline and charcoal. It was the best camo paint he could come up with on short notice.
Next, he inflated a dark blue floatation device, just like a vacationer would find drifting atop the pools at the seaside resorts on the tourist side of town. His knife, a waterproof flashlight, and a pair of goggles rounded out the Texan’s kit.
Then, he hefted a length of steel cable, the sturdy strand about the size of Zach’s little finger. He’d purchased 50 feet of the stout line, which weighed just over 150 pounds. The pool-raft would hold a full-sized adult; he prayed it would keep the coil afloat as well.
The ranger used duct tape to secure the cable to the raft, and then he was ready.
BB returned, quickly informing Zach that all appeared quiet around the yacht. “Looks like everyone but the lookout has turned in for the night. There’s one guy with a shoulder-fired weapon walking around the deck, three more blocking each end of the dock. I’m sure there are more, but I couldn’t see them.”
“Okay, let’s get this over with.”
The duo made their way to the riverside, Zach estimating the yacht was just over 400 yards downstream. Peering down into the water, the Texan couldn’t help but shiver. BB noticed his hesitation.
“I don’t blame you for having second thoughts,” BB teased. “Who knows what’s lurking in that murky water? That’s got to be worse than the bird scat on top of the warehouse.”
Flashing his friend a pained expression, Zach countered, “Oh, thanks for that, BB. What a wonderful thing to say about now. ”
“What?” BB replied with feigned remorse. “That’s not why you were stalling?”
“No,” Zach said. “I don’t swim all that well.”
Before BB could mutter an apology, Zach was descending a ladder. The elder lawman watched as his partner lowered himself into the dark waters. “Lower down the float,” Zach hissed, still clutching the ladder. “This fucking water is a lot colder than I thought it would be.”
The senior lawman did as he was told, grunting with the weight of the attached cable. Zach accepted the pool toy without comment. “See you downstream,” the voice called from the water. And then the ranger shoved off, his darkened face and arms barely visible as the river took him toward El General’s floating palace.
Zach soon found the current wasn’t very strong, and after a few minutes, h
is body started to adjust to the chill.
While he’d been spying on Ghost and company from his rooftop perch, Zach had noticed some children swimming on the opposite bank. Despite BB’s comment about the water quality and unknown composition, the ranger figured it couldn’t be all that deadly if parents were letting their kids get wet – if they were aware of any unseen threat.
In less than 15 minutes, Zach was nearly even with the bow of Vincent’s yacht, the impressive superstructure rising like a skyscraper above the Texan’s head.
He dropped lower into the water, leaving nothing above the surface but his hands grasping the plastic float, and his mouth and nose grasping for air. If someone on the deck above did spot the mini-raft drifting by, he was counting on it looking like just another piece of trash floating down the river.
Kicking silently under the surface, Zach propelled himself toward the massive hull, finally letting the river take over when he was close enough to reach out and touch the side.
With the nearly black background of the water, his skin and clothing darkened, he prayed the lookout didn’t have night vision and wasn’t an overly observant fellow. As the seconds passed, the ranger waited for the beam of a flashlight to illuminate his trespass. He was pretty sure illumination would be quickly followed by gunfire if he was discovered, and there was no place to go, hide, or retreat.
No challenge or bullets came from above.
It seemed like it took forever to float the length of Vincent’s pleasure barge. After raising his head just long enough to sneak a quick glance, Zach observed that the stern of the huge vessel was finally approaching.
Just as he passed the rearmost part of the ship, Zach kicked hard for the dock, his flipper-equipped feet struggling to move the mass of his own body and the raft. If he was to have any chance of pulling this off, he couldn’t drift too far past La Rosa.
The glow of a cigarette caused the Texas to freeze, his head floating less than a yard away from a sentry’s feet. The Texan stopped breathing, making no more noise than a church mouse pissing on a rug.
Moving only his eyes, Zach spotted one of Vincent’s bodyguards standing on the yacht’s rear platform while enjoying a smoke. If the man had any night vision and peered down, the ranger would quickly find out how the fish felt while being shot in a barrel.
The guard flicked his butt into the river, the small cherry landing less than two inches from Zach’s nose. With his nicotine craving satisfied, the man pivoted and disappeared into Rosa’s water garage.
Zach reverted to kicking hard for the pier, his legs burning like fire from the effort. By the time he finally reached up and grabbed onto the concrete wall, he realized he’d floated far past the point where he’d hoped to make landfall.
The blueprint BB had found online told the ranger that the propellers were eight feet below the surface. According to the brokerage, they were massive blades, six feet in diameter, each powered by a 1500-horsepower diesel engine.
Using the pier to pull himself back against the current, Zach finally managed to recover from his overshooting the mark, and tied off the pool float to the concrete wall of the dock.
He next pulled his knife and began carefully cutting away the tape securing the cable.
With a firm grasp of one end, he let gravity uncoil the heavy, steel line as it fell to the bottom. If he let go of his end, or the cable snagged onto something, his swim would all be for naught.
He checked the back deck where the guard had been smoking, finding the fiberglass platform void of any patrols. Pulling down his goggles and taking a deep breath, Zach kicked hard for La Rosa’s stern.
Between the weight of the cable and fighting the current, the ranger thought he’d made a huge mistake. Despite pumping his legs as hard as possible, he wasn’t making any progress.
Visions of Gus and Buck surged into his mind, raising his rage and bolstering his determination. Zach channeled the anger to his aching legs and kicked with longer, harder strokes.
He finally reached the underside of the platform where he discovered a handhold and silently raised his head out of the water.
The fiberglass extension had been added to Rosa’s steel hull, the shipyards in Germany knowing that their wealthy clients wanted to swim, scuba, and have access to jets skis and launches. It was also a godsend for Zach, as he drew air into his lungs without worrying about being spotted from above.
With his oxygen replenished, the ranger pulled out his flashlight, refilled his lungs once more, and dove under the surface.
Again, the current fought his progress, the Texan trying to dive down while holding his position relevant to the hull above.
With the inky black waters limiting visibility to just a few feet, and knowing the massive vessel was above him, Zach began to feel a coffin-like sense of claustrophobia. Despite his flashlight, the world seemed to be pressing in on his body and mind, his brain demanding that he surface and draw air.
It took all of Zach’s will to keep going, fighting the waves of hysteria that crashed against his soul. Down he went into the black hole, ignoring the internal voices that he stop this foolishness. He felt like a truck was sitting on his chest, struggling to control his weak, unresponsive limbs.
Finally, the huge bronze blade of a propeller showed in the tiny circle of his flashlight. Then another, and, at last, the tire-sized, bullet-shaped nose of the hub.
The ranger didn’t waste a second, looping the cable in and out, weaving it between the blades. He had to kick hard to go deeper, but could let his natural buoyancy pull him up.
His lungs were burning by the time he’d finished the port propeller, but he didn’t think he could make the journey back down a second time … or ever again.
With a nearly super-human effort, the Texan kicked hard for the starboard propeller and again began entangling the cable within its massive blades.
Air had never tasted so good when he finally managed the surface. Zach didn’t care if the guards could hear his breathing.
After drinking precious oxygen into his lungs, the ranger felt a sense of euphoria fill his core. He’d done it! He’d disabled Vincent’s primary escape route, crippled a multi-million dollar yacht with $40 worth of cable and a couple of pool toys.
The joy was short-lived, however. He still had to get out of the river and find BB. If he missed the exit point, he could easily be washed out to sea.
Wouldn’t that suck, he thought, watching the shoreline pass. Here I pull off a stunt worthy of a Navy SEAL, and then I drown because I couldn’t get back to land.
The thought, along with the fact that he seemed to be moving faster and away from shore, caused Zach to start swimming overhand, his hands making gentle splashing noises as the ranger started to gain against the river’s flow.
He finally managed the pier, grasping onto to a wooden pillar and catching his breath.
Relieved, fatigued to a point beyond where his body had ever been, Zach spied a ladder extending down into the river from above. It would save him having to pull his soaked frame up the vertical wall.
Zach was on the third rung when the gun barrel pressed into his forehead. “Hola, amigo. Out for a swim this evening?” a low voice from the pier growled.
The ranger’s exhausted mind wanted desperately to recall his Spanish, but it just wouldn’t come. Somehow, he realized that the first word of English out of his mouth would ruin any reasonable excuse he could conjure. “Hola, Señor. I fell in.”
Loud laughter filled the otherwise quiet evening as the pistol’s hammer cocked. “And you just happen to have painted your face before falling into the river, Señor.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“I got a little drunk and fell overboard. That’s not face paint; it’s mud from the river.”
“I don’t believe you. You are lying to me, and so I am going to kill you.”
Zach clenched, waiting for the hammer to drop, wondering how far his body would drift before being discovered – i
f ever.
A string of angry Spanish came from behind the gunman, Zach picking out enough words to know the man about to blow his head off was being called stupid. “The jefe will want him alive. El General will demand to know what he was doing in the river.”
Yeah! Zach’s mind raced. Don’t shoot me just yet. Let Vincent torture my ass for a while before you spread my brains all over Central Mexico.
The conversation continued on the pier, Zach using the delay to plot his next move.
Finally, the gunman stepped back, waving his pistol and ordering the ranger to continue his ascent up the ladder.
There were two of them, burley gents for certain. That figures, Zach thought, calculating his chances of overpowering the two thugs. Not many employment opportunities for wimpy dudes in the cartel security game.
One had what appeared to be an MP5 sub machinegun. The other was holding a Glock pistol that had been pressed against the ranger’s forehead until a moment before.
When Zach finally stepped onto the pier, the beam of a flashlight hit him in the eyes. “Ahh! A tall gringo. What are you doing in our river?”
“I told you. My family and I are down here on vacation. We rented a boat upstream, and I fell overboard.”
The interrogator stepped closer, tilting his head as he stared at the dark goo covering Zach’s face and arms, then shining the light up and down the ranger’s frame.
“You fell overboard with flippers on, Señor? I think this is bullshit.”
Damn it, Zach thought. I should have kicked these fuckers off in the river.
Another conversation in Spanish ensued, the two lookouts obviously disagreeing about what to do next. Zach squinted, trying to regain his night vision after the assault from the flashlight while translating the string of obscenities flying between his two new friends. The ranger spotted a shadow rising behind the two gunmen. A hand appeared over the pistol holder’s mouth as his back arched forward. BB had arrived.
Still half-blind, Zach threw himself at the other man, reaching for anything he could get. He managed the fellow’s shoulders and jerked his head forward with as much force as the Texan could muster.
