Willobee's World

by Wendell Vanderbilt Fountain

  “Look at our fatalities. Those are really not good. We lost two state troopers, one man from your outfit, one from the CIA, two FBI agents, two from the Border Patrol, two from DIA, three from DEA…and the two civilian truckers—Mazerski and Willobee.”

  “Too bad ’bout Willobee, I was just beginning to warm up to ’em,” Dobson said.

  “You coulda fooled me from what ya said last night,” Trent quipped.

  “Wait a minute, we were in the heat of battle. I had no choice. How’d he get it?”

  “I’m not sure, ’cause we haven’t found his body yet. The way the truck exploded like Mauna Loa on the Big Island of Hawaii, when that RPG hit it, if he was anywhere near, he couldn’t have survived.”

  “Sounds to me like he might have had a lot of ammunition on board,” Dobson commented.

  “From what little I know about him, I’m sure he had plenty. If you don’t mind, I like for the two of us to examine the scene. Maybe we can learn about Willobee’s fate. By the way, when Mazerski’s body was found. He had a lot of gunshots wounds, and he was also decapitated.

  “Jesus, these people really are savages!”

  “I guess ya heard about the eighty-six-year-old priest in France who, during mass, had his throat cut and was then decapitated by this ISIS bunch,” Creet said.

  “No, I guess I missed that, ’cause of what we’ve been dealing with here.”

  Dobson and Creet left their temporary tent headquarters to see what they could find. When they arrived on the scene, the first thing they noticed was the top of the cab lying upside down. Upon examination of the destroyed canopy of the cab, Creet noticed a partially damaged photo of a woman still held in place by the sun visor. He removed it, thinking this might be the woman to whom Willobee was engaged.

  “Look!… Dobs! This could be a picture of his fiancé,” Creet yelled, nearly falling and stumbling in the debris.

  They continued digging through the rubble, but found nothing. Creet wandered near where the undisturbed desert began until he came across an indication that something had dragged though the underbrush, sand, and clay. He followed it, but lost it in the rocks. He rejoined Dobson.

  “Dobs, something was dragged into the desert over there,” he said, pointing west, “I followed but lost whatever it was in the rocks about a hundred yards in.”

  “Ya think that could’ve been Willobee?” Dobson asked.

  “Don’t know, but I think we should get a search party and check every inch of the area.”

  “You start that process, and I’ll go to the Detention Center and get a dog and one of its handlers to help,” Dobson said.

  “Roger.”

  “Carlos, here!” He waved to Raphael who spoke English very well, because they both were educated in U.S. schools.

  “What you want?” Raphael said, pulling up on his Polaris dump-bed ATV.

  “Let’s check that man,” he said, pointing toward a person on the ground, “he looks dead. We can’t go closer to the cite of the explosion, because many men are over there,” Carlos said.

  They both got off their ATV’s and Carlos checked Trent’s carotid artery. “He’s alive!” Carlos exclaimed.

  “We can put him in the dump-bed of my ATV, and take him with us, but he will probably die before we get back to Tres Ojos,” Raphael said.

  “You have a shovel. If he does, we will bury him,” Carlos replied.

  They picked him up and loaded him on the ATV face up. When they did, he moaned. Carlos and Raphael headed for home in Tres Ojos. The terrain was very rough, and they could hear him moan from time to time, but they pushed on until they stopped to fill the tanks of the ATV’s about an hour away from Tres Ojos. They each had full five-gallon cans of gas on board and lots of water.

  “Wonder who he is,” Carlos said.

  “He’s a gringo, we know that, and I can’t find any identification on him,” Raphael said, rifling through Trent’s pockets.

  “You think he’s going to make it?” Carlos asked.

  “Doubt it, but we will take him to the clinic anyway. He must have been running drugs. They will take care of him if we can get him there.” Raphael replied.

  In less than a half-hour the search party was formed and help from the Detention Center gathered together to search for Trent Willobee. They began at the spot Creet had identified. The dog immediately picked up the sent and went scurrying into the desert following Trent’s path. As they entered the rocky part of the path, upon close examination, they discovered blood droplets. Creet bent down and found it to be still moist, the dog continued trailing the sent, and suddenly stopped, then began jumping about from place to place, and it was obvious he had lost the trail.

  “Creet, look over here,” Dobson said, pointing to partial vehicle tracks.

  “Ya think perhaps these are ATV tracks?” Creet asked.

  “That’s what they look like, but ATV enthusiasts, drug runners, and scavengers are usually all over the desert. Ya know, it’s possible that someone picked him up.”

  “Ya mean, ya think he might still be alive?” Creet asked.

  “Hell, anything’s possible, but it’s a big leap to think that Willobee’s in good hands, if he’s still among the living.”

  “Okay, Dobs, I hear what you’re sayin’, so where do we go from here?”

  “Well, we can get some CIA people to do some undercover stuff in the towns nearby, but I’ll have to do one helluva sales job.”

  “I’m countin’ on ya to do that, because goddamn it, I feel partly responsible!”

  “Shit, calm down, he knew what the hell he was risking,” Dobs replied in a conciliatory tone.

  “Easy for you ta say, I have ta go get that damn letter he wrote to his girlfriend.”

  “What letter, what’re you talkin’ about?”

  “Willobee asked me to go to his place and get a letter he had written her, and take it to ’er in case something went wrong.”

  “You agreed to that?”

  “Yes, I did. They had just gotten engaged, and he wanted to, I guess, say some things to ’er.”

  “Creet, ya know better than to get so personally involved. There’s no tellin’ what he put in that letter. That could put our entire operation at risk. We need to get to his place and find that thing now!”

  “Okay, okay! I’ll fly back to Arizona tonight.”

  “No, you get your ass to Silver City now and grab a flight. The truth is, without a body, he’s missing in action… MIA! We don’t know if he’s dead or alive, but you find that letter, read it, and make sure we’re not implicated in any manner. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Dobs, yes sir!”

  Carlos and Raphael pulled up in front of Dr. Chantico Castillo’s Veterinary Clinic. Though humans were not her specialty, she often performed surgery on drug runners and others outside the law. The two of them carted their stranger in and put him on the first table they found.

  “Doctor C, you have a patient,” Raphael called out.

  “Just a minute! I’ll be right there!”

  About five minutes later, she walked into the waiting area and found a man stretched out on the table where people usually put their pets. She took his vitals, and shook her head.

  “We thought he would die before we got here. He’s not going to make it, is he?”

  “Not without help from God. He’s lost too much blood. These are nasty wounds. My guess is his right kidney has been destroyed. It will need to be removed, and I can’t do that. If I had blood, I could give him a transfusion. I can expand the plasma volume, clean and sanitize his wounds, and perhaps stabilize him, but he needs to be in hospital. I’ll do what I can, but I must get him to CIMA Hospital in Chihuahua. I have a friend who can fly him there by helicopter, but it must be done right away. Did you find any money on him?”

  “No, we found
nothing but two pistolas, no ID, nothing. We did not take anything off him, even his guns,” Carlos replied.

  “This is not going to be cheap, but I’ll do what I can to get him there. Let me get to work, and you two hombres stay out of trouble, and don’t go far, I might need you,” she said, pushing back her dark hair.

  Dr. Castillo spent more than an hour working on the stranger before she called her friend, Juan Sanchez, the pilot.

  “Fuel’s not cheap, not to mention my time,” Juan said.

  “I know, but I need you to do this por favor. My patient has two handguns. Would you take them as payment?”

  “What am I to do with two handguns? I have many guns?” Juan replied.

  “Juan, I don’t like to remind you, but if you remember, I’ve treated both of your horses twice in the very recent past, and I never asked you for a cent. I even refused your money.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, and I appreciate it. Okay, when can you have the patient ready?”

  “Two hours max!”

  “I’ll be there.”

  As soon as she hung up, she dialed Dr. Zapatero of CIMI Hospital. It took a while to locate him, but he finally answered.

  “Doctor Zapatero, this is Chantico Castillo, I have a man that needs immediate surgery. Can you help?”

  “Well…yes… I-I-I guess so. Is this one of those under-the-radar-things?”

  “He’s a John Doe, I have no idea who he is or how or why he was shot, but he’s clinging to life.”

  “When can you get him here?” Dr. Zapatero asked.

  “It’s going to take four to five hours. He’s in bad need of a transfusion. I think I’ve stabilized him, but I’m not sure. I believe if we can get him to you, you can save him. You have always been the very best.”

  “Now, Chantico, I’m not a miracle worker, but thanks for the compliment. To save time, give me a written diagnosis so that I don’t waste precious moments examining him. I’ll take it from there. If you’d like, when I’m finished, I’ll give you his prognosis.”

  “Por favor. Guess I’d like to know, if you can find out, who he is and how he’s progressing.”

  “Now I must get back to my rounds,” he said and hung up.

  Chantico, for a brief moment, sat back in her chair, and then sprang into action. A few minutes later, Juan showed up.

  “I thought you’re going to be longer,” she said, looking up at him with her dark eyes dashing about the room.”

  “I dropped everything for you, but if he dies before I get him to hospital, por favor, do not blame me.”

  “I’m not going to blame you for anything. He must be delivered to Doctor Zapatero in CIMI Hospital as soon as you can get him there.”

  “What’s so special about this hombre?”

  “I’m not sure, but I found old wounds and a tattoo on his body from his U.S. military service that tells me he was not always a bad hombre.”

  “Maybe he’s not. Wrong place, wrong time,” he said as they moved him to a stretcher.

  Chantico, with difficulty, and Juan Loaded him on the chopper.

  “Get him there, Juan. Give this to Doctor Zapatero,” she said, handing him a manila folder and a bag with the two guns.

  “I will, you do not have to worry.”

  “Muchas gracias, amigo, have a safe flight,” Chantico said, waving.

  Juan started the engine and the blades began rotating and he lifted off heading south to Chihuahua City.

  Though Dr. Castillo, had a lot of work ahead for the day, she stood for a moment, watching the helicopter disappear from sight and whispered a prayer for the injured man.

  “Señor, Dios nuestro por favor inaugurar ese hombre Por Jesucristo nuestro Señor, Amen.” She made the sign of the cross and returned to her office where she encountered Carlos and Raphael.

  “Where were you two? I could have used your help.”

  “We were here,” Carlos replied.

  “You can go now, but do not bring me anyone else today,” she said, wagging her finger at them.

  “Momma, I haven’t heard from Trent in a while. He’s been callin’ on a regular basis. You think there’s somethin’ wrong?” Haylee asked wistfully.

  “He’ll call, don’t worry ’bout Trent Willobee, he’s a tough customer. Yessiree, that big ole boy can take care of ’em self. If you don’t hear from him before we go to bed, you call him, so that your mind will be at ease. You need some sleep, ’cause you gotta go ta work in the mornin’.”

  “Okay, I’ll call before we turn in,” Haylee said and returned to her bedroom, until she heard her mother yelling.

  “This is the worst convention, I ever watched!” Kit bellowed at the TV.

  “Momma, what show do ya have on?” Haylee asked, walking into the living room.

  “The Democrat Convention in Philadelphia! These people are lyin’ and disrespectful to our country! They’re upsettin’ me!”

  “Mom, maybe you shouldn’t watch it, if it’s that bad. You didn’t seem to have a problem with the Republican Convention in Cleveland. The truth be told you just like Donald Trump and his family.”

  “What of it? I like the man, his wife, and kids.”

  “I watched it with you, I like them, too, but don’t get so crazy over this one,” Haylee said.

  “It’s getting’ late, have you heard from Trent, yet?”

  “No, but I’ll try to reach him now,” Haylee said, retrieving her cell phone from her purse.

  “Why don’t you call him from your bedroom. Sometimes a woman needs some privacy.”

  “Okay, Mom, I’ll be back in a little while,” Haylee said as she left the room.

  Haylee dialed his number, but the phone didn’t ring, it just went directly to voice mail. She dialed it again, and the same thing happened. Then, she went back into the living room.

  “That was a short conversation,” Kit said.

  “I couldn’t reach him. Just kept gettin’ his voice mail. The phone always rang before,” Haylee said sadly.

  “Now, now, don’t go ta worryin’, he’ll call ya back. Hay, we better get ta bed, it’s getting’ late. You just sleep with your phone close by.”

  Haylee put the cell phone on the pillow beside her. She tried to sleep, but mostly tossed and turned until about two in the morning when she finally succumbed to must needed rest.

  Creet arrived at the Grant County Airport of Silver City for a two-o’clock afternoon flight. He had to go to Phoenix, Arizona and then to Kingman, Arizona where he rented a car to get him to Oatman. It was after seven o’clock in the evening when he arrived at Willobee’s place. He pulled up in front, took a look around, didn’t see anyone, got out, and went to the door. He used his lock picking tools with ease. He was in the trailer in less than a minute. He smiled to himself when he thought about the hassle at the airport with the ignorant TSA “Thugs Standing Around” agents.

  He went directly to the table and picked up the Envelope which was addressed to Haylee-Girl. He turned on a light and slit it open with his lock pick. He hesitated, briefly, because all of a sudden he began to think he was behaving like a voyeur. This letter was a private matter between Willobee and his fiancé, and though distasteful, he had to read it. He found Willobee’s words to be tender, loving, and giving. He told her she could have everything which belonged to him. He described for her where he had hidden $100,000 in cash, and that if she were reading this letter, she would have to find someone else, because he wouldn’t be coming back. He explained he was doing dangerous undercover work for his country; yet, never mentioned anyone’s name or agency.

  Creet sat back in his chair and just stared at the letter. He dreaded terribly what he had to do next. He had to deliver this very sad news to Haylee Harper, but before he did that, he called Dobson.

  “Dobs, Creet here. I just finished the letter, and the
re’s nothing in it implicating anyone or any government agency. Now, I’ll have to pay a visit to Miss Harper.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “That’s the woman engaged to Willobee.”

  “Oh…sorry… I didn’t know ’er name. When’re you gonna talk to her?”

  “Sometime tomorrow, hopefully. I may not get back for a couple of days.”

  “Don’t worry ’bout that, Creet. Do what ya have to do. I already contacted my friend in the CIA, and they’re gonna try to find out if Willobee might still be alive, but that could take some time.”

  Creet made a note of Haylee Harper’s address and put the letter away. He glanced at his watch, and it was getting late, so he locked Willobee’s door, got in the car, and checked his iphone to locate the closest place to spend the night. He was surprised to see that the AVI Hotel & Casino was over 20 miles away, but off he went.

  The next morning, he appeared at the Harper’s door at eight. He rang the doorbell, and Kit answered.

  “Good morning, I’m looking for Miss Haylee Harper,” Creet said.

  “Haylee’s gettin’ ready for work, can I ask what this is about?”

  “It’s a private matter, and I really need to speak to her personally.”

  “Well, I guess you need to come in,” Kit said, maneuvering with her cane to her wheelchair, “please sit down. Haylee should be done anytime now.”

  Creet had just found a chair when Haylee came into the room unaware of the visitor.

  “Momma, I heard the door…bell,” she paused surprised, “excuse me, sir, what can we do for you?”

  “I’m an associate of Trenton Willobee, and I have a letter for you,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket.

  “A letter for me?” She asked.

  “Yes, I promised him you would receive it,” he said, handing it to her, “sorry it’s been opened.”

  Haylee removed the letter from the envelope and began reading. It wasn’t long before tears began running down her pretty face. She looked up at him and then her mother and her gaze returned to Creet.

  “Mister, please, tell me this is not true,” Haylee said, sobbing.