by David Nees
“I hope you are correct. It sounds like you can’t trust your own people.”
“Just do as I say and you might get out alive.”
“You are a crazy gringo.” With that Rodrigo faded into the darkness of the alley. Dan turned and went into the building.
He found the stairs and was happy to find that the access door wasn’t locked. He crawled across the roof to the parapet and settled into a good spot to observe. He could not see the guards close to the wall but he could see the trucks. Dan laid out the phones in a row in the same order as the trucks. He punched in the numbers for each truck. He had the phones set up to not let the screen go to sleep for two minutes. Of course they would while he waited, but when the drivers came out and the men were loaded, he would have time to wake them up and hit the green connecting icons. Next he checked his Barrett to make sure it was ready to fire. Then he settled down to wait; the familiar waiting.
He didn’t think about the next part of his mission. It was almost 1,500 kilometers to Mexico City, about 900 miles. It would take him seventeen hours of non-stop driving to get there even with good roads. If they were bad it would take longer. He would have plenty of time to come up with a plan.
It was 5:30 am. The sky was getting lighter in the east. The night’s chill had crept over Dan. He had hunched down with his coat wrapped around him waiting for the dawn to come. There was some commotion in the warehouse. Instantly he was alert. Three guards came out. A two other men followed. They were dressed differently from the guards and didn’t look like cartel members. Dan guessed they were the terrorists. Everyone stood outside the door smoking.
Dan watched carefully. Soon things were going to get exciting. A half-hour later, the sky was lighter, the sun just about ready to break over the horizon. Suddenly the men came out of the warehouse. Someone was directing them. Probably the guy, Tariq. Dan waited. The back doors of the trucks were opened and the men began to climb into the boxes. Tariq was moving around from truck to truck talking to the men, probably saying goodbye with some words of encouragement. Finally they were all loaded and the doors closed. The drivers headed for the cabs. Dan woke the five phones. The drivers started their engines. Tariq took one last look, turned, and walked towards the front gate. Dan pressed the connect buttons, one after the other.
Before the second call was completed the first truck in line exploded. The blast threw Tariq and the guards to the ground and shattered the cab of the second truck; then the whole line went up in explosions. The shock waves slammed into Dan causing him to fall back from the parapet of the roof. The pressure knocked the wind out of him and he struggled to get his breath as he lay on the roof.
When he got back up he crawled back to the edge of the roof and looked out. Men were running out of the warehouse. The guards at the gate were down. Two of them were moving but the rest lay still. Through the scope Dan could see they were covered in blood as they lay twisted on the ground. The boxes of the trucks were completely shattered; only parts of the cabs and the engine bays remained. Body parts were strewn around the dirt yard. Fire erupted among the ruins of the trucks and smoke billowed into the air. The warehouse wall closest to the trucks was caved in from the blast. Out on the street, people emerged from the surrounding buildings and looked towards the warehouse.
There was no need for the backup plan; no one from the trucks survived. Dan collected the phones, crawled back to the door, and went down the stairs. He peeked out of the door leading to the alley. It was empty, so he walked back down it, away from the carnage he had caused. Dan didn’t see the large raven lifting from the adjacent roof and flying off.
Chapter 38
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T ariq was up before dawn. This was the day. By 5:30 he began rousing the men to wash and say their payers. After, he gave them a short speech of encouragement, telling them to not be seduced by the west, to seek support within their own community, and to be ready to act. He worried more about the ones who were to be sleepers. They would have to blend in for years. The others could take action right away, as warriors should, and then try to find their way out of the country. The men headed outside. Tariq counted them off into groups of twelve for each of the trucks. Sixty warriors to strike the U.S. Tariq smiled. In spite of the odd events, the insertion was finally taking place. Once he saw the men off, he could conclude his business with Hector Ortega and head back to Karachi.
The men were finally loaded and the doors closed. As the drivers headed for the cabs, Tariq turned and started towards the gate. That turning probably saved his life. He was halfway to the front gate and the trucks were starting their engines when the first explosion went off. The pressure wave threw Tariq to the ground. Chunks of metal flew past him, some of it cutting his back, and some of it killing anyone unlucky enough to still be on their feet. Then more explosions in rapid succession. In a moment it was over. Tariq turned in a panic to see only shattered remains where the trucks were once parked. The ruins were in flames. He staggered to his feet and lurched towards the inferno screaming out the names of his men. The fierce heat burned his face and singed his hair; his back was wet with blood. He fell back. He tried again and again to approach the burning remains until some of the guards grabbed him and held him back. It was no use. He could not get close. Then he noticed the body parts strewn around the yard; there was no one alive to pull from the burning wreckage.
The flames rose high in the air with black smoke billowing above them. Tariq stood back from the fires staring in disbelief. How could this happen? All the plans laid waste in a single moment of explosions. Who did this? No one knew about the men except for himself and the cartel. He sank to the ground. His mission had failed. Not only failed but he lost sixty of his finest men. All the money and planning were now gone to waste. He thought of Rashid al-Din Said. What would he say? He had offered up 500,000 dollars to help with this mission. He would hold someone accountable. And that someone would be Tariq.
The gang members gathered. One of them yelled to call Carlos, another said to call Rodrigo.
“What will Don Hector do when he hears of this?” one asked.
“We’ll let either Carlos or Rodrigo deal with that,” another replied.
Soon the sirens of the fire trucks could be heard. The men ordered Tariq into the warehouse to remain out of sight.
Rodrigo got the call as he was driving up to his house.
“The trucks were blown up. With everyone in them. They’re all dead.” The man on the phone shouted.
“When?” Rodrigo asked.
“Just now. I called Carlos but he doesn’t answer. Should we call Don Hector?”
“No. Get the fire out, get rid of the fire department, and tell the cops that it was a gang attack and to not interfere. I’ll be there shortly.”
Rodrigo hung up the phone. He could possibly play this out for a while although it might get awkward to explain how he got out of the desert but no one else did. Would Don Hector suspect the gringo? Rodrigo could throw suspicion on Los Zetas. They were brutal. But he didn’t know how far Don Hector had gone in making peace. Better to play dumb. After all I just got back.
He went into the house and woke Miranda and Solana.
“We have to pack and get ready to leave,” Rodrigo announced.
“What’s happened?” Miranda asked.
“Some trucks at the warehouse were blown up.”
“The gringo, Steve?” Miranda asked.
Rodrigo didn’t say but his look betrayed the truth.
“But why do we have to go away?” Solana asked.
“Because some people may suspect I had something to do with it. I still have to explain myself to Don Hector.” He pointed his finger at Solana. “And remember. You have never seen the gringo. He was never here.”
She nodded, her eyes wide with fear.
“Are we in danger?” she asked.
“Yes. That is why we have to pack and be ready to leave. I’ll play this out as far as I
can but we may have to hide.”
“Where will we go?” Miranda asked.
“Tía Milagros. She lives near Torreón. We can get there in two hours.”
“And what then? Wait for them to come for us?”
“Wait for people in the U.S. to get us out. I have the number to call.”
“I’m scared,” Solana said.
“So am I,” Miranda responded. “But we have to do what Uncle Rodrigo says. The gringo gave him a number for people who can get us away and hide us. Rodrigo thinks we can trust him since he saved our lives once already.”
“Go pack, both of you. I have to go down to the warehouse,” Rodrigo said and turned to leave.
Dawn had come and when he opened the front door, he saw the raven perched on the wall. Rodrigo stopped and stared. Why was it here?
He turned back to the house and called to Miranda and Solana. When they came to the door, Rodrigo just pointed to the raven.
“What does it mean?” Miranda asked.
“I don’t know, except that the raven is the sign of the shaman. He sees us. I told you this was all true and now you see for yourself.
“It’s just a bird,” Solana said.
At that the raven let out a harsh squawk and jumped into the air. The three on the porch shrank back at the size of the bird’s wingspan. It flew at them and then swooped into the air before setting back down on the wall.
“It is not just a bird,” Rodrigo said. Slowly he began to walk to the car under the watchful gaze of the black bird. He noticed the red and black eyes. It was the same bird as in the desert. It was Tlayolotl.
Dan headed south out of Chihuahua on highway 16, then 24 towards Mexico City. When he had put fifty miles behind him, he pulled off and tried to sleep. Sleep wouldn’t come. Dan’s thoughts were a swirl of confusion. Things blowing up, getting lost in a dark mansion and seeing a beautiful woman only fleetingly drifting around dark hallways, always out of reach.
The day was beginning to heat up. He would get no sleep now. He got out of the pickup and splashed some water on his face. Get something to eat, get some gas and press on. You can sleep later.
He drove down the empty road, being careful to keep to the speed limit. With his rumpled ball cap on and the Mexican plates on the very beat up looking pickup, Dan hoped he presented an unlikely candidate for extracting a bribe. Still he was happy he had his 9mm under the seat, close at hand.
His mind drifted to María as he droned along the road. He had only seen her through his telescopic sights and here he was creating a whole persona around her. She seemed to Dan to be sad. A beautiful woman stuck in a trap with two beautiful kids whom she seemed to love. Maybe she had nothing else in her life but the kids. How long had it been that way? This is dumb. What did he know about her? Nothing except that she was beautiful and had two kids. Yet his mind kept returning, teasing her back into his thoughts. Maybe it was the idea of Ortega taking her over, as a prized possession and her life remaining like a caged bird without escape. What do you care? He kept telling himself. But his mind didn’t seem to listen.
The red and blue lights flashing in his mirrors jarred Dan out of his thoughts. Damn. This is not going to be good. He slowed and pulled over to the side of the road. It was a lonely stretch of highway with desert on both sides. It had been miles since he passed a building and probably miles before he would pass another.
While he was pulling over, Dan grabbed the 9mm from under the seat and put it under his jacket on the seat next to him. Now he kept his hands on the steering wheel. The cop got out of the patrol car, adjusted his equipment belt and began to walk towards the pickup. Dan could see he was with the policía federal. That was not a good thing. Dan felt the rush of adrenalin run his body. This was dangerous. Earlier he had looked at the registration in the glove box and noted the name of the owner. He’d try to play the scene out and bluff his way through. If not, there was the 9mm.
“License and registration,” the patrolman said when he reached the driver’s window.
Dan slowly pulled his wallet from his back pocket and removed his U.S. license in the name of Steve Mason along with his International Driver’s Permit.
“The registration is in the glove box,” he said.
The cop looked up from the documents and nodded to him. Dan opened the glove box and retrieved the paper. The truck was registered to a Diego Ramírez. The cop looked at the documents and then looked at Dan.
“This is not your truck,” he said.
“That is correct. I’m delivering it to my friend Diego in Mexico City. He had to fly there earlier and wanted me to drive his truck down to him.”
“What is your business with Diego Ramírez?”
“He is a friend of mine. We sometimes work together.”
The cop raised his eyebrows. “And what work is that?”
Dan silently cursed himself for giving more information than was necessary. “I help him with his crafts business.”
“What kind of crafts?”
“He makes carved figures. I help him.”
“That is odd. He gets a gringo to help him make figures? Why does he not use someone local?”
“We met some years ago and became friends. I got interested in what he was doing and wanted to help out. I don’t have a regular job so this worked for me.”
“And you sell these things in the U.S.?”
“Sometimes when I go back I sell some to friends back home.”
“And you smuggle them out of our country.”
“No. I take them in my luggage and declare them. They are gifts that I purchased. I don’t smuggle them.”
“But you don’t purchase them and they are not gifts.” The cop looked suspiciously at Dan.
“It is not what you think. Most of Diego’s business is here in Mexico. Look, if I was speeding, I’m happy to pay the fine. I’m just trying to get to Mexico City to meet my friend.”
The cop smiled for the first time. “That could be expensive. You might be a smuggler who should go to jail. Or you might need to pay a lot of money to stay out.” This last was said with a smirk.
“How much do you want?” Dan asked.
“How much do you have?” the cop answered.
“Enough. It is in my backpack.”
Dan moved to reach into the back seat.
“Stop!” The cop commanded.
Dan looked back at him. The policeman drew his side arm.
“Get out of the truck. Keep your hands where I can see them. I’m putting you under arrest until I can determine if you are a smuggler. I’ll check your backpack.”
With the C-4 and wires, the backpack would get him put in jail. That and the weapons in the other bag would keep him there for a long time. He got out as the cop backed up.
“Put your hands against the roof of the truck.” He frisked Dan with his left hand while holding the pistol in his right.
“Now bring your left arm down and behind your back.”
He was going to handcuff him. It was now or never. As he brought his left hand down, Dan spun and pushed the pistol to the side. The cop fired but the bullet went into the back door of the truck. Dan continued with his right hand and smashed it into the neck of the cop. He reeled back and shot again. This time the bullet hit Dan in the left leg. Dan surged forward against the policeman grabbing for the gun again, trying to control it. They were both grunting as they struggled against each other. The cop beat at Dan’s head and face. Dan ignored the blows. He knew he had to win the wrestling match quickly. His leg would not hold up. With a huge surge of energy, he forced the gun against the officer. With both men’s hands fighting for control of the weapon, the gun went off. The cop staggered back a look of surprise on his face. The gun fell from his hand. A red stain spread out from his chest. He put his hand to it and looked down at the wound as he fell to the ground. Dan fell back against the pickup.
The bullet had entered below the man’s chest and traveled up, behind his rib cage to nick his heart.
He lay on the pavement bleeding out internally. In a minute he was unconscious. In two minutes he was dead.
Dan sagged to the ground. The bullet had hit him in his outer left thigh. Thankfully it had traveled through his leg so less energy had been deposited in his body. There was steady bleeding, not pulsing; the bullet had not hit an artery. Dan took off his belt and tied it around his leg above the wound. He limped to the rear door and opened it. Climbing in, he opened his backpack and took out some QuikClot dressing and antiseptic powder. Opening the belt, he slid his pants down and applied the powder and then the QuikClot pad to the entrance and exit wounds. He then tied everything off with some gauze bandage wrapped around his leg.
After watching to see that the bleeding was under control, he pulled his pants back up and sat back. He drank some water. What a mess. Got to get the cop off the highway. He looked around. What do I do with the patrol car? He could drag the body out into the desert and hide it behind some rocks but the police car was a bigger problem. There were no obvious places to hide it from view. Best thing is to get far away from here. It’s useless to hide the body if the car is still visible.
Dan decided to put the cop’s body back in his car with the pistol in his hand. It might look like a suicide at first glance and create some confusion. A hidden body would indicate that someone had killed the cop. He took a deep breath, got out, and limped over to the cop. The bullet had not gone through his body so he wasn’t bleeding out of his back and onto the pavement. That gave Dan some hope he could set a realistic scene. Dan dragged to body back to the patrol car and, with some effort, got him back inside. He arranged his pistol in the man’s hand, lying on his lap, where it would fall after shooting himself. The deception wouldn’t survive a close scrutiny, but it would delay the conclusion that the cop was killed by another person.
