Trail of the Chupacabra: An Avery Bartholomew Pendleton Misadventure (The Chupacabra Trilogy - Book 2)

by Randel Stephen

  “But what does it all mean?” As the gunfire outside intensified, Avery scratched his gnarly beard and climbed back under the desk. An atlatl, a SIG-SAUER, a macuahuitl, a Remington, an Enfield, and a tepoztopilli, he thought to himself. Modern guns and ancient weapons stored together. It doesn’t make any sense. Or maybe it does. Maybe it makes sense by not making sense. Why, you sneaky bastard. Avery typed the first letter of each weapon into the laptop. ASMRET. Access was still denied. Avery rearranged the letters in his head. He typed in STREAM. It didn’t work. He tried TAMERS. It didn’t work. Avery could only think of one more anagram that would fit. Into the password dialog box, he typed MASTER. This time it worked — he was in.

  “How did I ever get to be this good-looking and brilliant at the same time? It’s almost not fair,” Avery said as he searched through the files on the computer. Some were simple to open. They mainly contained spreadsheets and graphs relating to a complex global drug business. Others files were more difficult. Additional passwords were needed to access the encrypted data…

  • • •

  “So, losers, that’s how it went down,” Avery said as he placed his hands behind his head and kicked his feet up onto the table in front of him.

  “Off,” General Morales said as he knocked Avery’s feet from the table. “How much of the data did you access?”

  “Enough to get the general picture, General.” Avery giggled.

  “Colonel Beltrán, have your men start to download and organize the information.”

  “Right away,” Cesar said.

  “Oh, it won’t be that simple.” Avery finished his Mountain Dew. “Hit me again, General.” He crushed the aluminum can in his hand and belched. “The really good stuff is still encrypted. Of course, I can access it, but I’ll need my other computer.”

  “Where is it?” asked Cesar.

  “In the bus.”

  “Where’s the bus?”

  “Not far from the compound,” General X-Ray said.

  “Is there a reward for this so-called Padre?” Avery asked.

  “Naturally,” General Morales replied. “Up to ten million U.S. dollars, depending on the level of involvement.”

  “Well, I can help you get your man. I know where he’s heading. Take me with you, and I can work on the rest of the computer files on the way.”

  “Colonel, do you want to take him with you?”

  “If he can help me track down the Padre, yes,” Cesar said.

  “Then take him.”

  “Where’s the Padre headed?” Cesar asked Avery.

  “I would say we should head toward Monterrey. His calendar shows a meeting regarding methamphetamine production will take place there soon. I also noticed something about a secure communications network. It explains the transmitter in the desert that I executed. I may be able to tap into it for you.”

  “How?” General Morales asked.

  “General, here’s the deal. I could try to explain it to you, but the process is so incredibly complex it would most likely cause blood to pour out of your ears.”

  “General Morales,” Cesar said, “that may explain why we suddenly lost all trace of communication with the Padre’s cartel through the traditional cell phone networks a few months ago. This man could be useful.”

  “Take him with you, then.”

  “Okay, I’ll get our men ready to move out. We can be in the air in less than thirty minutes. General Morales, what do you want me to do with the rest of these people?”

  “Let the woman and the wrestler go with the understanding that everything that happened here last night, never happened. I don’t want the press to find out the Padre evaded us again. As for the Americans, take them to the border and turn them over to the U.S. authorities.” General Morales turned to face the men of STRAC-BOM. “You should feel very lucky I don’t charge you for being in this country illegally. You’re not welcome back in Mexico. Ever.”

  “Fine by me,” said Private Zulu. “This place is crazy, and the food sucks. Goddamn plastic chickens.”

  “What about Ziggy?” Avery asked.

  “Your missing friend,” said General Morales. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have the resources to look for him right now. I need every available asset focused on the Padre. If we don’t move fast, he’ll disappear forever. Your friend is on his own for now.”

  A worried look crept across Avery’s face. He knew Ziggy wasn’t very good on his own.

  • • •

  Back in the desert, an ancient Aztec pyramid filled Ziggy’s dreams. Not a tall pyramid like the ones found in Egypt, but lower and flatter. It was symmetrical and perfectly alabaster, as if geometry and art were as one. Ziggy thought it was beautiful. He thought it was perfect. Unfortunately, there were two problems with this image for Ziggy: One, the steps of the pyramid were lined with canine creatures made of stone, and two, their eyes seemed very, very, real. They all seemed to be staring right at him. In his sleep, Ziggy began to sweat and toss. The red eyes of the beasts looked right into him. They looked right through him. He tried to get up and run, but he couldn’t move. Slowly, in his dream, the clouds in the night sky parted to reveal a perfectly full moon. It began to turn red. Ziggy fought his paralysis. Slowly, very slowly, he made it to his feet, but it was as if he was moving in quicksand. His mind was completely awake. It screamed at him to run, but his body wouldn’t respond. On the pyramid, the creatures slowly began to move. One by one, they began to climb down the levels of the pyramid. Ziggy tried with all his might to turn and run, but his limbs wouldn’t respond quickly enough. By the time he’d taken his first step, they were on him…

  “Like, Jesus Christ, man!” Ziggy screamed as he woke from his nightmare. Leaping into the air, he ran around in circles and waved his hands over his head. “Shit, like, shit, like, shit, like, shit, man. I don’t, like, need this hassle!” Ziggy looked around. He was in the middle of a canyon. The sun was bearing down on him. Scattered around his feet were the tarot cards. Suddenly it all came back. The trip to Mexico, the firefight at the farmhouse…all of it came back. Ziggy sat down and tried to meditate. It didn’t work; it was too hot, and he was too thirsty. He tried again.

  “Ohmmmm, ohmmmm,” Ziggy hummed as he sat in the lotus position with his thumb and index finger pressed together. “Ohmmmm, ohmmmm,” he continued, until it gradually began to feel cooler. Slowly, his thirst diminished. Little by little, his body began to relax. Progressively, his mood improved, and the pain in his bloody knees subsided. Then he heard something. At first it wasn’t clear. Then, slowly, it came into focus. It was coming from inside his head. He strained to understand its meaning. Bit by bit, it became clearer. Then, as if someone had turned the volume on the stereo up to eleven, he could make it out perfectly.

  They can come in pretty handy when you don’t know what to do, the voice said. Ziggy was confused.

  They can come in pretty handy when you don’t know what to do, the voice inside his head repeated itself.

  That’s, like, so familiar, man, Ziggy thought to himself. Like, where did I hear that before?

  They can come in pretty handy when you don’t know what to do.

  “Mae Mae!” Ziggy screamed, leaping to his feet. He ran around the canyon floor, scooping up the loose tarot cards.

  • • •

  Outside the Mexican Army’s mobile operations area, two helicopters began to spin up their rotors. Commandos refitted with fresh weapons and ammunition climbed into the choppers. General X-Ray looked on enviously as he and his men were led to a military truck for transport to the border. He wanted one of those helicopter things, bad.

  “Colonel,” General Morales said to Cesar, “what happened to your man on the inside?”

  “I don’t know, General. I followed him into the tunnel myself. When I got there, it was only the body of Carnicero. Nothing else.”

  “Is this man a mercenary?”

  “He never asked for money.”

  “Then why would he help you?”<
br />
  “I guess it was personal.”

  “With the Padre and him, or you and him?”

  “General…”

  “It’s okay, Colonel.” Morales put his hand on Cesar’s shoulder. “Look, Colonel, I know who he is. I know who he was. This fight we’re in the middle of is so upside down, you don’t know whom you can or can’t trust anymore. I promise you this, as long as he can help us apprehend the Padre, I don’t care who he is. I never will. I won’t ever come after him for things he did in the past if…if we can do this. But I need to know, can you handle him? Can you trust him right now?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cesar said as he stood at attention and saluted.

  “Good, then.” The General returned the salute. “Now, what about that one?” General Morales pointed at Avery, who was busy arguing with a soldier as he tried to load a case of Mountain Dew onto an army helicopter.

  “I don’t know. I can’t decide if we really need him or not.”

  “Should I be worried about this mission?”

  “About the American?”

  “No, I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about El Barquero,” General Morales said. “I don’t know what he is going to do.”

  “I trust him, sir. He can help.”

  “Okay.” General Morales paused for a second. “Get on your helicopter, Colonel. Bring me the Padre…dead or alive.” Cesar turned toward the helicopter, which was spinning up for takeoff. “Colonel.” Cesar looked back at his superior. “Don’t let the American get killed. I’ve got enough paperwork to deal with already.” Cesar nodded and boarded the chopper just as it took off.

  • • •

  Ziggy scooped up all the tarot cards from the canyon floor and stacked them neatly. For most of his life, he’d needed advice, but this time trumped all those times. Parched and weak with hunger, he shuffled the cards.

  “Like, here we go, Mae Mae.” He spread the cards in a fan. Which one? Ziggy thought. One from, like, the middle? No way, totally obvious, man. Like, one from the end of the deck? Ziggy closed his eyes and shook his head back and forth violently. The sensation would have caused most people to be slightly thrown off, but for Ziggy, it helped him to think more clearly. Something about redistributing years of built-up carcinogens locked up in his body into a more uniform pattern. Keeping his eyes closed, Ziggy reached out and randomly picked a card. Opening his eye, he turned the card over and placed it on the ground in front of him. The card was the Magician. Ziggy enjoyed tarot cards. He didn’t really understand their meaning; he just liked the colorful pictures. The Magician’s right arm was pointing upward, as if signaling a direction. Ziggy looked up. The Magician’s arm was pointing down one of the canyons. Ziggy gathered up the tarot cards, placed them in his pocket, and got to his feet. He started walking.

  • • •

  The helicopter Avery was in had open doors on either side. The noise was too loud for the passengers to speak. Avery wore a headset for communication. Avery offered a Mountain Dew to the door gunner. The soldier ignored him and panned his machine gun across the desert floor. Avery shrugged and opened the can. Avery took mental notes of the interior of the helicopter. He’d long assumed this would be the type of machine that the black-ops units would use when they came to arrest him. He thought it was ironic that he was now traveling in one on behalf of a foreign government.

  “Once we get your laptop from the bus,” Cesar said through the intercom to Avery, “we’ll head straight for Monterrey.” Avery nodded. “I need you to narrow down the location for us,” Cesar continued. “I have a contact there who may be able to help, but after we got so close to the Padre last night, I’m worried he might decide to completely disappear. I’m relying on you, Avery. We can’t let the Padre disappear.”

  Avery nodded in understanding and took out the Padre’s laptop. He opened the calendar. He wanted to take a closer look for clues.

  “Door gunner,” Avery shouted into his intercom. The gunner turned to him. “If you see any vicious-looking beasts with glowing red eyes heading north toward the Texas border, I suggest you shoot them.”

  • • •

  Ziggy had walked as far as his bony legs would carry him. He was seriously dehydrated and beginning to mildly hallucinate. Of course, this may or may not have had anything to do with his hydration issues. Ziggy randomly hallucinated all of the time. It was payback for a lifetime of his particular chemical habits. All of a sudden, he heard the beating of helicopter rotors. Looking up, he saw two helicopters flying low and fast across the top of the canyon.

  “Like, hey, man!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Like, down here, dudes! Down here, dudes!” The helicopters roared over the canyon and continued on their way. Feeling ultimate dejection and complete loneliness, Ziggy lay down and closed his eyes. He wasn’t walking anymore. Curled up, he made peace with the universe.

  • • •

  General X-Ray and his men sat in the back of a military transport truck headed toward the border crossing. The General looked at his dejected men. Fire Team Leader Bravo stared blankly out the window. Private Tango looked at the floor. Their morale was completely gone. The General knew he’d let them down. He’d lied to them. His family wasn’t full of military heroes. His family was full of bakers. The truth was, he’d never even served in the military. He couldn’t do more than a couple of pushups and could only tread water for less than a minute. When he tried to enlist, he was disqualified for having exceptionally flat feet.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” the army doctor had said as he tried to slip a piece of paper under General X-Ray’s arches. The General had founded STRAC-BOM after reading about civilian militias in the paper.

  “If the military won’t take me, I’ll start my own,” he had sworn. It was pretty easy, actually. No paperwork involved. Everything he knew about the inner workings of a military unit, he’d learned from watching old war movies. The General had seen the movie Patton about a hundred times. He knew every line by heart. The men he’d recruited to join the Southwest Texas Revolutionary Armed Confederate Border Operations Militia had bought his story hook, line and sinker. As for the men, they weren’t all that into military maneuvers — they just liked being away from their families for a few weekends a month. The camping out, drinking beer, and blowing stuff up was a bonus. Once General X-Ray had formed STRAC-BOM, he realized the one thing he desperately needed was an enemy. What’s an army without an enemy? He finally realized the desperation that his hero, General George Patton, felt when WWII ended. So General X-Ray did the only logical thing: He invented an enemy. He lived close to the border, so Mexico was the obvious choice. Besides, he didn’t have the financial resources to fly north and fight the Canadians, which he would have preferred. Also, immigration was the headline issue in West Texas at the time. Thousands of undocumented people were streaming across the border every year. He’d never really had a personal problem with it before. On the contrary, he actually liked the fact that a pickup truck full of Mexican men would knock on his door every Sunday and offer to mow his lawn for ten dollars. It saved him a lot of time, and they did a really good job. Not like the lazy dope-smoking teenagers from around the neighborhood who didn’t bag the clippings or edge the sidewalk. Still, a real general needs to declare war on somebody. The Mexicans were perfect. So Mexico it was. As a bonus, running around in the desert at night protecting his country’s border made him and his men feel important. He constantly claimed victory to anyone who would listen, even though the local press was reluctant to report his victories. Over time, he really began to feel he was doing the right and patriotic thing, but the truth was they never actually apprehended anyone. The tricky thing about a lie is that if you tell it long enough, sooner or later you actually begin to believe it yourself.

  “Jesus,” the General muttered as he looked at his hopeless band of men. They sat with forlorn looks on their faces as the truck hauled them closer to the border. The simple truth was they were financially broke and
had failed their last mission, losing a civilian in the process. General X-Ray felt like a complete failure. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. What would General Patton do? he thought. All of a sudden, it hit him like a piano falling from the top of a building. He wouldn’t quit! Right here, right here in front of him, he had a team of men he’d trained. They were men who would follow him. They were men who looked to him for leadership and direction. And right now, more than ever, they needed a strong leader. General X-Ray decided he would fight on. He wouldn’t quit. All he needed was a new mission, a better one than they had ever had in the past, one that would rally his troops and reclaim their honor. He was as certain of it as anything in his life. Morale was everything for an army, and morale for warriors starts with a clearly defined objective. But this operation would be for good, not evil. That was the only way to fully repair the unit’s honor.

  “That’s it,” the General said as he wiped the tears from his chubby face. Operation Skinny was now in effect. He was going after Ziggy, with or without the rest of STRAC-BOM.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Before He Was King

  Scraping…scraping…scraping. Rough scraping like sandpaper. Ziggy felt something abrasive drag across his cheek. It woke him from his restless sleep. He tentatively opened one eye. A prehistoric-looking eye stared back. It blinked at him, and then something bit Ziggy’s nose.

  “Nancy!” Ziggy cried as he hugged the big iguana. Nancy hissed. While iguanas do enjoy licking things and being reunited with the ones they love, they don’t necessarily enjoy being hugged. In fact, they hate it. It’s just not in their nature, hence, the squirm defense. Nancy’s heavy tail whipped against Ziggy as he clutched her to his breast.