Under Cover Of Darkness

by Elizabeth White

  “Okay, Vernon. Warning taken.”

  “So you’re not going?” Rook’s stare was steely, as if he were back to giving instructions to a rookie.

  Jack shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m not changing any plans until I know where you got your information.”

  Rook glared. “I don’t think you’re takin’ me seriously.”

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck. Sitting here in the presence of his enemy, he didn’t know what to believe. But a shadow of frustrated near-panic in his former mentor’s faded brown eyes kept him in the car. “Look, I know what I’m doing. But I gotta tell you, Vernon, you worry me. How long before you retire?”

  Rook gave a short guffaw. “Retire? Boy I ain’t retirin’. I got a bunch more good years in me.” Rook’s once-handsome face tightened. “I’ve been up for sector chief for some time, and I’d like to see it happen before they put me out to pasture.”

  Alarms went off in Jack’s brain. Here was motivation that confirmed the crime. Still, a grain of sympathy, maybe even respect, remained for this limping, toothless, aging wolf.

  Jack put his hand on the door. “I hope you make it, Vernon. But don’t worry about me, all right? Give Dottie my love.”

  As Jack moved to get out of the car, Rook grabbed his shoulder hard. “I’m telling you one more time, boy, don’t believe anything Carmichael tells you.” The deep voice turned harsh. “You’ll get yourself killed if you do.”

  Jack just looked at him. This was crazy.

  An insane man was an extremely dangerous man.

  “All right.” Jack shrugged off the older man’s hand. “I’ve got an idea. I can’t change what’s set up for tonight, but you can come with me.”

  Hoping he hadn’t just gone over the edge, he watched relief lighten Rook’s expression.

  “You’re serious?” Rook demanded.

  “Yeah.” Jack checked the time. It was after eight. “But we gotta leave now. It’s a long way to the border.”

  Keeping Rook under surveillance was either the stupidest or the most brilliant idea Jack had ever had.

  He hoped it was the latter.

  Meg stared out the window at empty prairie cut only by the ribbon of black highway. The sun was steadily melting into a puddle of magenta and orange that blended into the evening sky.

  She was shivering, and not just because Agent Carmichael was apparently at home in meat locker temperatures. Chauvinistic bosses, undocumented crews, even wrestling with the Sunflowers That Ate Fort Worth paled in comparison to the pickle she was in.

  She glanced at Carmichael, wishing he’d tell her more about what was going on. She was getting a very queasy feeling about this expedition. Carmichael might be Jack’s boss, an officer of the law, but when it came down to it she didn’t know him from Adam’s housecat. It was after dark, and she didn’t know when she’d be getting back home. Her dad was going to kill her.

  She folded her arms. “Mr. Carmichael, you have to let me call my parents. They’ll be worried about me. I promise I won’t tell them anything about Jack’s…uh, operation. Whatever you call it.” After thinking about it for two hours, the whole thing was sounding too melodramatic.

  Carmichael glanced at Meg in surprise, as if he’d forgotten all about her. “No phone calls.”

  Meg stared at him bewildered. “But why?”

  Carmichael’s focus returned to the highway. “Miss St. John, you’re just going to have to trust me. Why don’t you fill me in on what you know about your employer?”

  Meg shook her head. “Mr. Crowley’s a fine man.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You called border patrol back in April, and again in June. You must suspect somebody in the company.”

  “I did make a call in June, but that was the only time—” She stopped. “That means somebody else has noticed something funny going on.” She didn’t like the look on Carmichael’s face. “But I don’t know anything for sure.”

  “Who else have you talked to about your suspicions?”

  “Just—nobody but Jack.”

  “Are you sure? It’s very important that you not lie to me.”

  “Mr. Carmichael,” she said, “the only reason I called INS that day was because I was tired of losing my crew every other week. I generally keep a low profile to keep from being Mr. Warner’s punching bag.”

  “How did you find out Torres is border patrol?”

  Meg looked at him uneasily. Would Jack be in trouble because of her? “It was an accident. I brought him some clothes when he was in the hospital. I heard Jack telling the doctor not to file some OSHA report.”

  “Are you and Torres lovers?”

  “Of course not!” Meg exclaimed, horrified.

  “You were seen going into his room.”

  “But he wasn’t even there!”

  “He kissed you today.”

  “How would you know that?” Meg’s voice rose. “Did Jack tell you—”

  Carmichael chuckled. “You’re a beautiful girl, and I’d be surprised if Torres hadn’t decided to mark his territory. How well do you know him?”

  “Jack hasn’t told me much that’s personal,” Meg managed to get out in spite of her embarrassment. “And I’m sure most of what he has said is a lie.”

  Carmichael shot her an amused glance. “You sound resentful. You in love with him?”

  Unable to deny it, Meg looked away.

  “Unfortunately, it’s part of his job to keep things from people.” Carmichael’s voice was sympathetic. “If you decide to stay with him, you’ll have to learn to live with that.”

  “He’s made it clear I won’t have to worry about it.”

  Carmichael shook his head. “Give him time. He lost a partner in a shoot-out about this time last year.”

  “So at least that was the truth,” Meg blurted.

  Carmichael looked at her sharply. “He has talked to you.”

  “He just said a close friend had died. I didn’t know it was his partner.” Sadness for Jack swamped Meg, for the moment displacing her anxiety. No wonder he had a hard time allowing anybody close to him.

  “The boy’s seen a lot of violence,” Carmichael said. “He’s a former Marine.”

  Meg swallowed. “Really?”

  “Border patrol has a new program of bringing in veterans of the wars in the Middle East.” Meg tried to pin down something odd that had seeped into Carmichael’s tone. “Supposedly they’ve got the training in covert ops that we’re looking for. These young guys will eventually replace all of us old guard.”

  “That must make you feel sort of…strange.”

  “I’ve learned to deal with it.”

  For some reason, a shiver went down the back of Meg’s neck. After an uncomfortable moment she said, “How much farther?”

  “We’ll be in Eagle Pass in about four hours. But we’ll stop for gas in San Antonio.”

  Meg’s pulse jumped. Maybe she could get to a phone then. “That sounds good,” she said agreeably. “I didn’t have any supper and I’m hungry.”

  Truth be told, her stomach was the least of her concerns right now. She was trying hard to appear calm and cool, but what she was, was scared and confused.

  God seemed as far away as the stars winking overhead. But experience had taught Meg that He often went silent during the times He was working major change.

  Lord, she thought, please be close to Jack right now. I don’t know where he is, but maybe he needs You as much as I do.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jack’s prayers continued to zoom through his mind as he and Rook left San Antonio behind.

  He knew God was listening, even in the silence.

  And Rook was silent. He’d been sitting on the other side of the truck for four hours, with his hat on one knee.

  Finally Jack had had enough. He reached over to turn the radio off. “Vernon, what were you doing outside the ice-cream shop that night?”

  Rook looked at Jack. “Saw you and Carmichael at the Q one night,” he said. �
�So I followed you to see what you were up to.”

  “What did you think, when I told you I’d left border patrol?”

  “I didn’t believe you.” Rook flapped the hat against his leg. “I knew you must be cut up about Valenzuela. Dottie had been pestering me for months to call you, but I kept putting her off.” He shrugged. “You know I ain’t much for the touchy-feely stuff.”

  Jack snorted. Couldn’t argue with that.

  “Figured you must be after Valenzuela’s killers.” Rook cleared his throat. “I decided if you were too stupid to see through Carmichael, I’d better watch your back.”

  “Is that right?” Jack had to laugh.

  “You’re the one with the college education,” said Rook with a sour smile. “But sometimes plain old common sense beats a pile of book-learning.”

  “Point taken. But I can’t help wondering what you’ve been up to during the last six years. You always told me you’d never leave the border.”

  “Dottie’s doctor is here,” Rook said. “She’s in line for a new kidney, and we have to be close if a donor comes available.”

  Jack drove in silence for several miles, reviewing what he knew about the case and everything Rook had said tonight. Undeniably, Dottie was a very sick woman. If Jack had a chance to save the life of the woman he loved, there was no question where he’d be.

  He glanced at Rook and found him gazing out the window. The older man’s face was gray with fatigue and sadness.

  Jack found himself saying, “All right, Vernon, I’m going to give you one shot at convincing me Carmichael’s the crook and not you. It better be good.”

  Meg adored cashews, but she looked with revulsion at the bag of nuts in her hand. Fear had a way of making one queasy.

  The stop in SanAntonio for gas had provided her with no opportunity to find a phone or talk to anyone. Carmichael had accompanied her inside the convenience store and politely waited for her while she went into the restroom. Then he’d bought her a soft drink and a snack before escorting her back to the SUV.

  Over an hour ago, they’d passed through the little town of Uvalde. Now they were back in the middle of nowhere, but they ought to be getting close to the border.

  I’m not putting up with this anymore. “Mr. Carmichael, did you say Jack’s meeting us in Eagle Pass?”

  “He’ll be there,” Carmichael said. Without a signal of any sort, he suddenly turned the SUV into a gravel side road, set off by culverts on either side and guarded by an iron gate. With a neat three-point turn, he backed into place with the rear bumper against the gate. The headlights went off.

  Meg’s stomach knotted. “What are we doing?”

  “Waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  Carmichael just looked at her, then returned his attention to the darkness in front of the car.

  Meg remembered an article she’d read about young women tricked into driving off with fake highway patrolmen, never to be seen alive again. But Carmichael was the real deal. She’d actually seen him in his office. Besides, the man’s apparent total disinterest in her mitigated her anxiety.

  She tried to remember if Jack had said anything to indicate he was planning to leave town tonight.

  “I don’t think Jack’s going to be very happy to see me,” she said. “He told me more than once to stay out of this, so I wouldn’t get hurt.”

  “Is that right?” At last she had Carmichael’s attention.

  She wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “Yes, sir.” Maybe she should change the subject. “This must be a really dangerous job,” she babbled. “I’ve been wondering how you lost your arm.”

  Carmichael seemed to be thinking over whether or not he was going to answer her. “A long time ago,” he said slowly, “I made the mistake of getting involved with a Mexican hooker. She stuck a rusty knife in my arm.”

  Meg’s blood turned to ice. Jack’s mother had been, in his own words, a Mexican prostitute. “G-got involved? You mean you arrested her?”

  Carmichael just looked at her in the darkness. “I sure did,” he said after a moment. “They just sent her back to Juarez.”

  It couldn’t be, the crazy thing she was thinking.

  Meg scrabbled for a safe topic. “So, have you lived in the DFW area all your life?”

  Carmichael snorted. “Spent my good years down in Del Rio. Dallas sector is where they bring the old lobos. Not enough action to get into trouble with.”

  Meg could hardly catch her breath. But before she could ask more questions, Carmichael gripped the steering wheel. His gaze followed the approach of headlights from the north; a few seconds later an eighteen-wheeler passed.

  “Is this where Jack is meeting us?” she asked, appalled at the breathlessness of her own voice.

  “Didn’t you recognize him?” Carmichael sounded amused, but Meg did not feel like laughing. He had unclipped a set of handcuffs from his belt. “Give me your hands, Miss St. John.”

  Jack hadn’t seen Eagle Pass in over a year, but he figured it hadn’t changed much.

  A scruffy little border city of approximately 25,000 souls, it was separated from its Mexican neighbor only by the smooth gray-green flow of the Rio Grande. Dope smugglers operating out of Piedras Negras had taken border patrol’s efforts to control illegal crossings as a personal affront. Local agents now found themselves facing, with increasing frequency and violence, hidden enemies armed with all the technological benefits of the twenty-first century.

  Jack knew how jumpy those agents would be—exponentially increasing the possibility he’d be blown away by the good guys. El Lobo, the kingpin, was supposed to have prepared the way. Experience had taught him, however, not to count on anything.

  “There’s somebody following us,” Rook said after a moment. Jack had made the older man take the wheel, so that he could keep his own hands free.

  Jack glanced back. The crawling of his skin increased with every mile they got closer to the border. Rico had died on just such a night. Black velvet sky spangled with stars, damp river breeze carrying the unique scents of the river into the open cab.

  He could see the international bridge ahead. The searchlights of the border patrol checkpoint flashed on the American side; beyond the river waited the silent darkness of Mexico. Jack had told Rook to avoid that crossing point and head for the old bridge.

  Rook kept an eye on the side and rearview mirrors as he drove onto the bridge, unchallenged by green uniforms. The pavement was in bad shape, the old-fashioned railings shallow, the river deep and dark on either side.

  Jack swallowed. Fear of water was going to kill him someday. He imagined going under, sucking the river into his lungs.

  Mentally he recited the twenty-third Psalm, as Ramón had suggested.

  He leadeth me beside still waters. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.

  No fear, he repeated to himself. No fear.

  Jack released the gun under his arm, which he’d been unconsciously clutching.

  At the apex of the bridge, but still on the American side, Jack made out a dark oncoming vehicle. “There’s the van.” Unlit by headlights, it approached shadowlike. Jack sat up. “Okay, it’s showtime—”

  His words were cut off by an explosion of glass as gunfire erupted. Rook gasped and slumped over, blood pouring into his eyes. As the truck veered, Jack grabbed the wheel trying to figure out the source of the attack. More shots popped the cab of the truck, and the windshield shattered on the driver’s side. Shots from overhead?

  As the oncoming van accelerated, Jack jerked the wheel and slammed into the side of the bridge. He jammed the gears into reverse, shoving the accelerator to the floor. Deafened by more bullets pinging off the steel beams of the bridge, Jack backed the truck off the bridge.

  Out of range of the sniper, he knew he had to get help for Rook. Blood made the steering wheel slick, but Jack somehow managed to turn the truck around. The van screeched across the
bridge, avoiding shots from the unseen enemy.

  Jack suddenly saw the border patrol SUV that had been following them. It headed right at them, full-speed. Jack managed to swerve out of the way, letting it pass. It bore down on the van, which lurched from side to side as if the driver were drunk. Confused, Jack slowed and pulled to the side of the road.

  For a sickening moment it looked as if the two vehicles would crash head-on. But at the last possible second, the van swerved off the road on two wheels. It continued that way for several yards before rolling onto its side in a thick stand of cane alongside the river. The SUV screamed south onto the bridge.

  The report of a gunshot was followed by a splash. Something or someone had fallen into the river.

  Adrenaline pumping along his nerve endings, Jack put two fingers on the pulse point on Rook’s neck. It was there, faint but strong. He took off his bandanna and tied it tightly around the older man’s head. All his assumptions had been turned upside down.

  Jack looked around, listening for more shots. All was still.

  The van lay on its side in the crushed cane, half in, half out of the water, wheels still spinning. Jack fumbled for the door and got out on shaking legs. The grass was tall and coarse, blending into the carrizo. Hunched over, he struggled through it, fell, pushed on and at last reached the van. The bridge lights were off, but by this time Jack’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He saw that the van was a boxy old green Chevy with ratty plaid curtains on the back windows.

  Jack struggled to open the back doors. They were locked. Confused cries from inside increased his haste. He climbed onto the side of the van, which was now the top. He felt it sway sickeningly toward the marshy water. The occupants of the van beat against the door, rocking the vehicle. It was going to roll into the river.

  God, I’ll go when You say it’s time, but please, these people don’t deserve to die this way.

  He couldn’t remember how many times he’d helped rescue illegal aliens abandoned by a coyote. Sick, dehydrated, starving, near-drowned, lost. Hopeless. He’d never gotten used to it.

  Anger fueled his struggle to free these few. He wouldn’t let them drown.