“You think I can invade Mexico, find Guerrero and the Night Wolves, and get those girls away from them by myself?” Tom asked.
“You’ll need help.”
“The law won’t give it to me. The federal government sure as hell won’t.”
Keller’s lips pursed. “You’re right about that. I was in the DEA long enough to know how all the red tape and PC bullshit have just about strangled our ability to get anything done. It’ll have to be a civilian operation.”
“An outlaw operation, you mean.”
“You want those girls back or not?”
Tom forced down a surge of anger. Keller was a prickly son of a bitch, but he’d earned the right.
Since they were speaking bluntly, he asked, “Where can I get the help I need?”
“You look like you can take care of yourself,” Keller said. “You a vet?”
“Couple of tours in Vietnam. And a while back, there was some trouble out where I lived. Got through that all right.”
“If you go after Guerrero, it’ll be more than just some trouble. It’ll be a war.”
Tom didn’t mention that the clash with M-15 had turned out to be pretty much of a war, too. He said, “I can handle it.”
“There are bound to be relatives of some of those other girls who feel the same way. Guys who were in ’Nam or Desert Storm or Iraq. Guys who know how to take names and kick ass, if they’re just given the chance.”
Tom nodded. “I was thinking along those same lines. That’s the real reason I’ve been trying to force the hand of the FBI agent in charge of the case and get her to call a meeting of all the families. I want a chance to scout out some help.”
The left side of Keller’s mouth lifted. It took Tom a second to realize that he was smiling.
“We’re on the same wavelength, Brannon. You go ahead with that. I might be able to find a few people who’d like to go along with you, too. I still have a lot of contacts in the law-enforcement community, and some of them are pretty fed up with the way things are going these days.”
“They’d be risking their careers if they helped me,” Tom pointed out.
“Some of ’em might find that an acceptable risk.”
Tom turned his head to look toward the building. “What about Captain Rodgers?”
“Roy’s too much of a straight arrow,” Keller said with a shake of his head. “He knows what you’re up to, and he wants to help. He’d love to go along on the mission. But he can’t do any more than turn a blind eye to whatever we hatch up.”
“Well, I appreciate him doing that much, anyway. It’s good to have an ally in this.”
Keller raised his left arm and held out his hand. “It’s good for an old cripple to have something to do again. I’ll get on the horn, start making some discreet calls.”
Tom used his left hand to shake with Keller. “Thanks.” He knew he was putting his trust in a man he had known for only an hour or so ... but he had to trust somebody. He couldn’t go it alone. And every instinct in his body told him that Keller was worthy of that trust.
“Give me your cell number,” Keller said. “No need to write it down. I’ll remember it.”
Tom would bet that was true. There was still a sharp brain behind that scarred face, and now Keller had a worthy reason to use it.
After giving Keller the number, Tom walked back into the hospital and found Rodgers waiting for him in the lobby, as the Ranger had promised.
“You and Brady have a good visit?” Rodgers asked.
“Just fine,” Tom replied.
“He seemed to perk up better today than I’ve seen him in quite a while,” Rodgers said as the two men walked out through the hospital’s front door. “I hope I did the right thing by bringing you to see him.”
“You did,” Tom said.
The TV uplink truck was gone when Tom and Rodgers reached Kelly’s house, and only one newspaper reporter was still there. As they got out of the Tahoe, the man hurried over to them and asked, “Any comment on the meeting this afternoon, Mr. Brannon?”
“What meeting?” Tom asked, although he hoped he already knew the answer to that question.
“The one with all the families of the kidnapped girls.”
That was what Tom had wanted to hear. He said, “I think it’s a good idea. I’ll be there.”
“Where’s this meeting going to be held?” Rodgers asked the reporter.
“City Hall. Two o’clock. You didn’t know about it? Where have you and Mr. Brannon been this morning?”
“No comment,” Rodgers said with a shake of his head. Tom followed the Ranger toward the front door of the house.
When they got inside, Bonnie met them, excitement in her eyes. “Have you heard?” she asked.
“We just did,” Tom told her. “Where’s Kelly?”
“Cleaning up and getting ready. She’s excited that something will finally get done.”
“She’d better not get her hopes up too much,” Rodgers warned. “Who’s going to be in charge of the meeting?”
“Agent Morgan, I suppose. She was the one who came by here and told us about it.” Bonnie smiled. “She’s not happy about it, either, but evidently the families put enough pressure on their senators and congressmen, not to mention talking to the media, that she had to give in.”
Tom nodded in satisfaction. The seed he had planted earlier had sprouted quickly. It remained to be seen whether or not it would grow into anything, but at least this was a start. With his meeting with Brady Keller, the morning’s developments were the most promising since he and Bonnie had arrived in Texas.
Rodgers said, “Agent Morgan will just tell you that we’re already doing everything that can be done to locate and rescue the girls.”
“She’ll have to tell that to a lot of angry people. Other federal officials will be there, too, along with the sheriff and the Laredo chief of police. They can’t all stonewall us.”
Tom wouldn’t have bet on that—but he had already given up any hope of the authorities accomplishing anything, so it didn’t really matter. He just wanted a chance to talk to some of the men who would be at the meeting.
Rodgers gave Tom a nod and said, “I’ll see you later.”
“You’ll be there? At the meeting?”
“Yes. The Rangers have a stake in this, too.”
Tom knew that Rodgers would have liked nothing more than to take a whole company of Rangers and cross the border and raise hell until they got those girls back, but that wasn’t going to happen. The conflict between wanting to do the right thing and feeling like he had to follow the rules was eating Rodgers up inside; his eyes had something of that look about them.
“We all have a stake in it,” Tom said.
Rodgers just nodded and left.
“Where did the two of you go?” Bonnie asked.
“To see a man who knows a lot about Guerrero and the Night Wolves.”
“And?”
“What he had to say wasn’t good ... but then, we already knew the situation was bad.” Tom didn’t say anything about the other matter he and Brady Keller had discussed. Soon enough, he would have to tell Bonnie what he was thinking about doing. She wouldn’t like it. She loved her sister and niece, of course, and she wanted Laura returned home safe and sound. But if the only way to accomplish that was by Tom putting himself in danger, she would go ballistic, and might even try to stop him.
But it was too late for that. Laura and those other girls had only one chance. The American and Mexican governments were helpless—by choice, Tom thought angrily—and the only way to save those girls was for those who loved them to take action.
Like it or not, Tom Brannon was going back to war.
Seventeen
The Laredo City Council normally held its meetings in this room. Seldom, though, had the chamber ever been as packed as it was this afternoon, when it had been taken over by the FBI, the Webb County Sheriff’s Department, the Laredo Police Department, the Border Patrol, and the Texas
Rangers. Every chair in the spectators’ area was occupied, as were all the seats on the platform where the city council members usually sat. It would have been even worse if the media had been allowed into the meeting, but Special Agent Morgan had closed the proceedings to the press, despite howls of protest from the assembled reporters. They crowded into the foyer outside the chamber, and local police had been forced to form a corridor through which the members of the kidnapped girls’ families could reach the meeting room.
Not surprisingly, it was a grim-faced bunch who sat there. Features were drawn tight with strain, and most eyes were red-rimmed from crying. Fear and grief were evident in their expressions, but there was plenty of anger and frustration there, too.
That was good, Tom thought. Anger and frustration would fuel the need to do something about an intolerable situation.
Morgan leaned forward to the microphone in front of her and said, “Let’s call this meeting to order, please.” As resentful silence settled over the crowd, she went on. “Most of you know me already. I’m Special Agent Sharon Morgan of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and I’m in charge of the effort to locate the victims of the kidnapping that took place yesterday morning.”
“It’s been over twenty-four hours,” shouted a man in the audience, “and you’re not a damned bit closer to finding them.”
On the platform, a tall man with close-cropped white hair and deeply tanned skin stood up and glared at the man who had shouted. Tom recognized him from newscasts as Sheriff Phil Garza.
“We’re not going to let this meeting turn into a free-for-all,” he warned in a hard voice. “Sheriff’s deputies and police officers are standing by to enforce order if need be.”
A man in the audience shot to his feet. “You want to gag us, that’s all! But you can’t shut us up! Our daughters are gone and you’re not doing a thing to get them back!”
“That’s not true,” Morgan said as sheriff’s deputies started forward from their positions along the wall of the meeting room toward the man. She waved them back and went on. “Sir, we’re doing everything in our power to determine exactly what happened—”
This time it was one of the women in the audience who interrupted. “We know what happened! Our children have been taken away!”
Shouts of angry agreement rang out from the audience. Tom almost felt sorry for Morgan and the other officials up on the platform. Almost.
Morgan sat back, shook her head, and let the uproar continue for a minute or two. Then, wearily, she motioned for the officers to step in.
All it would take was an impulsive swing or two at a cop’s jaw to turn this into a full-fledged melee. Tom didn’t want that. He stood up, ignoring Bonnie as she said, “Tom?” and strode forward to the podium with its attached microphone. During City Council meetings, audience members could come forward and use it to address the council. He ducked aside as one of the cops reached for him. When he reached the podium, he grabbed the microphone from its stand and bellowed into it, “Everyone be quiet!”
His voice boomed out. The microphone was not only turned on, but the PA system worked very well. A sudden silence fell as everyone in the room was shocked into being quiet. On all sides, eyes stared at Tom.
In a more normal tone of voice, he went on. “Starting a riot won’t do any good. Let’s just listen to what the officials have to say, and then we’ll have our turn to speak.”
A woman near him in the audience asked, “Have you lost your daughter, too, mister?”
“We don’t know that any of the girls are lost,” Tom said. “But my niece was one of those who were kidnapped. Her mother is sitting right there.” He pointed out Kelly, who sat beside Bonnie, biting her lower lip, her face drained of color.
Morgan said, “Thank you, Mr. Brannon. I must admit, I didn’t expect to hear the voice of reason from you.”
“Most folks are full of surprises, Agent Morgan. Why don’t you go ahead and say what you’ve got to say?”
“All right.” Morgan squared up some notes in front of her. “As you know, the group called Los Lobos de la Noche have claimed responsibility for the kidnapping. At the moment, we believe this claim to be true and have no information leading us to think otherwise. The Texas Rangers and agents of the Border Patrol were able to follow the tracks left by the vehicles used by the kidnappers and established that they forded the Rio Grande and entered Mexico at a point known as the Old Spanish Crossing.”
“Then the girls are definitely in Mexico?” a man asked.
“We believe that to be true, and again, we have no information indicating otherwise. Unfortunately, we’ve been unable to determine where they were taken once they crossed the border.”
“Have you looked?”
“We have requested that the Mexican government—”
“No,” said the man who had asked the question. “Have you looked? The FBI, or the Rangers, or anybody?”
“Neither federal agencies nor local authorities have any jurisdiction or right to operate in Mexican territory,” Morgan said. “Mexico is a sovereign nation, and we have to respect its boundaries.”
Another angry murmur began to rise from the audience.
“But we’ve contacted the authorities in Nuevo Laredo,” Morgan hurried on, “and the State Department in Washington has been in touch with the government in Mexico City and requested aid in the strongest possible terms. Deputy Undersecretary of State John Holland is with us here today.” She nodded toward the middle-aged black man with graying hair who sat next to her.
There was a microphone in front of Holland, too. He said into it, “Let me reinforce what Agent Morgan has just told you. The secretary of state has spoken with the Mexican ambassador in Washington, and I’m told that the president plans to speak with the president of Mexico later today. Everything possible is being done, but it’s being done through proper channels that respect the rights of the nations involved.”
A thickset man stood up. “My name is Joe Delgado,” he said. “I grew up in Nuevo Laredo, and I’ve still got family over there. The Mexican cops aren’t going to do anything. They can’t keep a chief of police in Nuevo Laredo for more than a few months without him getting assassinated. The ones who aren’t scared to death of the cartel and the Night Wolves are getting paid off by them!”
Another man stood up and said, “I’m Frank Ramirez. I don’t know Mr. Delgado, but he’s right. We can’t count on the cops, and the military is just about as corrupt and powerless. Nuevo Laredo’s run by the cartel now. The government don’t mean nothin’ over there.”
“I think you’re overstating the case, sir,” Holland said. “However, that doesn’t change the fact that the United States is bound by treaty and international law to respect the rights of other countries. What would you have us do, send tanks across the International Bridge to roll through downtown Nuevo Laredo?”
A tall, lean black man got to his feet and drawled, “I’d be glad to lead them. I was in the National Guard and rode a tank into Baghdad a few years back. Nuevo Laredo can’t be any worse.”
That brought shouts of approval from quite a few members of the audience. A Hispanic woman stood up and called, “I flew a helicopter gunship during Desert Storm. A few Blackhawks could take care of Guerrero and his Night Wolves!”
Morgan said into her microphone, “Please! Please, ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t getting us anywhere. You know as well as I do that the United States is not going to launch an armed invasion of Mexico. It’s unthinkable! The repercussions of such an international incident would have an effect on the entire world.”
“You mean France and Germany and England might not be pleased with us?” the black former tank commander asked. “My response to that is—screw ’em.”
That laconic comment brought cheers and applause from the desperate people in the audience.
The officials on the platform exchanged glances. Clearly, they knew that they were about to lose control of the meeting again. Morgan said into her
microphone, “We’ve explained the situation as best we can. Rest assured that everyone involved will do everything in their power to return your loved ones to you as soon as possible. In the meantime, please return to your homes, and we’ll be in touch immediately if there’s any new information—”
The muttering turned into angry shouts again, but this time Morgan didn’t threaten the crowd with the cops who were on hand. She and the other officials on the platform just got up and left hurriedly through a door in the front of the room.
Tom returned the microphone he was holding to its stand on the podium. He had a place to start now. As everyone in the audience stood up and began to mill around, talking angrily among themselves, he made his way toward the tall black man.
By the time Tom reached him, the man was comforting an attractive woman who was probably his wife. She tried to wipe away tears as he hugged her.
Tom hung back for a moment until the man noticed him. Then he stuck his hand out and introduced himself. “Tom Brannon.”
The man kept his left arm around his wife’s shoulders, but extended his right hand to clasp Tom’s hand in a firm grip. “Wayne Van Sant,” he said. “You said some good things.”
Tom smiled. “Not as good as you.”
Van Sant said, “I’m not in the habit of being so crude. I just get so frustrated with the way the government of the greatest nation on earth runs scared so much of the time.”
“Wayne,” the woman at his side said, “this isn’t about the government. It’s about Michelle ... and the rest of those poor girls.”
Tom said, “That’s right, ma’am.” His eyes met Van Sant’s again. “If I could have a word with you in private, Mr. Van Sant ...”
Frowning in consternation, Van Sant said, “Sure, I suppose.” He added to his wife, “I’ll be right back.”
Tom drew him aside, into a corner of the meeting room, and said bluntly, “You know the government’s given up, don’t you?”
Van Sant’s lean face tightened and twisted with emotion. “I haven’t given up. I’ll never give up hope.”
Invasion Usa: Border War Page 11
