Hunter said, “Call it quits for now. We can check again later. How about we go to Presidio tomorrow and talk to Lee Rodriguez, see if he has any idea about who owns that helicopter?”

  “I’m for that.”

  Hunter said, “Maybe we can meet at the Oasis and grab a bite while we’re talking.”

  “You sure you don’t have a tapeworm?”

  Hunter grinned as she fished the keys out of her pocket.

  CHAPTER 2

  Holland put the night vision goggles in the helicopter and said to Floyd Riffey, “We take the quiet gear tonight.”

  Riffey said, “So no AKs?”

  Holland ignored him.

  Riffey said, “We need to get in and out, grab that wetback, get the merchandise and haul ass out of there.”

  Holland didn’t respond. Riffey said, “You thinking something else, some other plan?”

  “What you said was redundant. It did not need an answer.”

  “Damn, Holland, you could have said something just to be courteous.”

  Holland stopped loading gear and looked at him. Riffey felt a shot of ice run up his spine. He swallowed, then raised his hands in surrender and walked away, toward the small shack on the rise. Inside were four men, all Mexican, and each one with gang tats covering their arms. The one eating an apple said, “Your dude out there don’t say much.”

  Riffey opened a gray metal locker and removed two Colt model 1911s fitted with SilencerCo suppressors. The black nylon shoulder holsters hung on a wooden peg, and he gathered them as well.

  The Mexican said, “So we just sit here until the Russian out there tells us what to do, that right?”

  “He’s Chechen, but yeah, pretty much.”

  “We’re getting bored, Riffey. I’ve got like, half a bar on my cell phone, and there’s no TV. Hell, there’s not even a paperback layin’ around.”

  Holland entered and said, “We move back across the river after tonight.”

  The Mexican said, “Are we comin’ this time?”

  “Yes, get your gear and bring the Hummer. Watch my signals, because we will drive with lights out until we are close to the ranch. Riffey and I will go in the house. Come if you hear trouble or if I call.”

  The Mexicans rose, grabbed their AK-47s, the ones the gangs called cuerno de chivo, because the curved magazine resembled a goat’s horn, and followed Holland out the door.

  ***

  Sam Kinney awoke thinking he heard Chula’s low growl, but when he strained to hear, there was only silence. The clock read: 2:36AM. He sat up, found his moccasins and slid them on, using a finger in the heel. Moving in silence, Sam eased through the house. He entered the open kitchen area and felt a presence loom behind him.

  A voice said, “Don’t move.” Sam felt something like the end of a small metal tube touch the back of his head. “Where is the Mexican.”

  “What Mexican?” A sharp punch to Sam’s kidney took his breath and dropped him to his knees.

  “You can make this easy or hard. Where is the Mexican?”

  Sam rose to his feet and braced one hand on the refrigerator for balance. “Give me a chance to catch my breath, okay?”

  A second punch to the same kidney took Sam’s voice and it felt like something wet broke inside him. He grasped the refrigerator handle to keep from falling. “Okay, okay. Jesus, don’t hit me again.” He straightened, moving his hand to the top edge of the refrigerator for more leverage. “The only Mexican I’ve seen came by here a couple days ago. He’d been shot. I doctored the wound as best I could, then he left.”

  As if to confirm it, another deep shadow moved in the gloom and said, “Nobody else here.”

  The first voice, the voice of the man who hit him said, “Did he leave something with you?”

  “No.”

  The voice was silent for several seconds, then said, “I cannot take your word on that. Sit at the table.” The man’s hand touched Sam’s upper arm as if to lead him to a chair. The voice said to the other one, “Zip tie him to the chair, get a towel and fill a bucket with water.”

  Sam slid his hand across the top of the refrigerator and grasped the handle of his Colt. He flipped off the safety with his thumb as he pulled away from the man’s grasp and spun to fire in the same movement. The kitchen bloomed with light and noise, and Sam saw two men wearing night-vision goggles before it went dark again.

  He fired twice more, seeing the two men duck away in the flashes, frozen in movement like still photos. Sam raced out the front screen door, and cut to his right to circle the house.

  Voices yelling in Spanish carried through the night, and then the harsh booms of automatic fire. Sam made the corner as a bullet slammed into the wall, spraying his face with fragments.

  Using his memory to guide him as he raced into the darkness, Sam dodged water faucets, stacks of rocks, and other items. As his night vision improved, he went faster. A pale path beckoned and he took it into the boulders of the foothills close behind the house. He slowed, chancing a glance behind, and saw what appeared to be three or four men. Sam made use of the rocks and brush, keeping them between him and the house. He knew how well night vision goggles worked, and he wanted to give them no opportunity to see him.

  Sam moved toward the first low crest, then stopped and looked through a fist-sized opening between two large boulders. He studied the house, seeing the two men with the night goggles scanning the area. One of them pulled off his goggles, then the other one followed suit. One of the others went inside and turned on lights while two others trotted into the night, returning ten minutes later in two vehicles with their beams on high. In the increased light, Sam noticed something on the edge of the porch and he squinted to make it out.

  It was Chula, and she was dead. Sam’s eyes stung. He raised the forty-five and sighted at one of the men for a long time before lowering it. He knew that one shot would have them back on his trail like wolves on a fresh scent. He couldn’t risk it. Sam moved higher into the foothills and farther from the men.

  Miguel whispered softly, “Sam.”

  Sam jerked, then settled. “Miguel.” He touched the Mexican’s arm. “They’re hunting us both now. We need to get out of here.”

  “Where can we go? It will be daylight soon, and if they use the helicopter to hunt us from the sky…”

  “We’ll hide in a place I know.”

  “And then?”

  “We’re going to find out what the hell’s going on.”

  ***

  Riffey asked Holland, “You want us to burn the place down?”

  Holland said, “Not tonight. If we leave it, he may return. After all of you scour the place and take every weapon and bullet you find, assign someone to stay and watch for him.”

  “You want this guy pretty bad.”

  “I want the camera if the Mexican left it with him. If he doesn’t have it, I will make him tell where the Mexican is.”

  Riffey shook his head, “We can’t wait around too long on this. Time’s running out.”

  Holland was looking away from him and said, “I’ll worry about the time. Do as you’re ordered.” Riffey’s lips thinned, but he didn’t speak. Holland continued, “Have the men pick up shell casings and police the area, then we leave.”

  “All right. I’ll take care of the dog, too.” Riffey said. He checked the weathered adobe outbuildings and located the tool shed, then removed a shovel and returned to the porch. Using a small xenon flashlight to look over the yard, he found a suitable place, then picked up the dog and took her to a garden area bordered by several peach trees. He dug the hole, placed Chula gently in it and covered her with soil. Riffey looked around again, found a number of smooth, fist-sized rocks and placed them in a circle around the small grave, with a large piece of flagstone covering the top. “You were a good dog,” he said, then returned the shovel to the shed.

  Ten minutes later, the men finished searching and left the ranch in their vehicles. As Holland drove, he asked, “Why did you bury the dog?”

  “Because she deserved it.”

  Holland started to say something, but instead remained silent. Riffey decided that Holland was so batshit crazy, a longer explanation would only bring more of his psychobabble crap. And, Riffey thought, if I piss him off much more, he might kill me rather than answer. They rode in silence. Riffey glanced at Holland, and he wouldn’t even bury me.

  ***

  Sam and Miguel watched them drive away; except for the one man they left in the brush to watch the house. Sam said, “Let’s get out of here.” They walked away, using the dark for cover, but keeping to the shallow draws, and making sure not to highlight themselves in the open areas. The moon was still bright enough to see people at a hundred yards, Sam knew. They carried the items Miguel took previously, but nothing else, and scanned the land and lightening sky constantly. Once, a plane engine whined overhead, and the men hid in a shallow wash under an overhang of cenizo until they couldn’t hear or see it any longer.

  By the time they walked for two hours, Miguel’s eyes were bright with pain, and he winced every time he moved his shoulder. Sam had him sit on a rock while he examined it. The sides of the wounds were still swollen, though not as much.

  The shunt was the problem. It was crusted and dry, not draining. Sam said, “I’ll need to twist the cloth, make sure it’s letting out the fluid, and to make sure the hole heals from the bottom up. It’s gonna hurt.”

  Miguel nodded and closed his eyes while Sam, as gently as he could, twisted the shunt around and around until he felt it give, then there was a small seep of pink fluid again. “We need to twist this once or twice a day to keep it open.”

  Miguel breathed easier and Sam saw the pain lessen on his face. Miguel said, “I will do it. I can reach the cloth.”

  Sam said, “We’re almost there. Another two hours and we’ll be safe for a while.”

  “Is there water?”

  “Yes, nearby. A large, sheltered tinaja that always has water, and it should be full after the rains a few days ago.”

  “Are we going to a house?”

  “No, an Indian cave back in a canyon.”

  “Ah.”

  “They left their marks on the walls.”

  “That means there are spirits there to watch over us.”

  Sam smiled as he led them onto a long rise that angled steadily upward toward the rough mountain in the distance, “Yes, amigo, I believe so, too.”

  They made their walk to the base of the largest mountain and circled until coming to a rugged canyon splitting the foothills. Sam led them at an angle up the canyon sides, sliding often on all the talus. An hour later, he and Miguel stood in a large cave with a long opening shaped like a half-closed eye.

  Miguel looked at the fire-blackened roof, evidence of several thousand years of manmade fires. Dozens of pictographs adorned the wide back wall, most of them in a dark red. Sam said, “If we stay away from the front edge, no one can see us unless they climb to the cave mouth.”

  “It is a good place.”

  “I’ll get us some water while you pick a spot to bed down.”

  Miguel took Sam’s pack and carried both to the back wall, where he found a level place near where someone had made a fire ring with rocks. He went outside the rock shelter and discovered a large area of bear grass, and kicked at the base to break the roots, then brought the plants inside to cover the cave floor. The floor was comprised of flour-fine gray dirt that would get into everything unless something covered it. He covered the mat of bear grass with two, six-by-eight plastic tarps, and then sat and waited.

  ***

  Hunter drove the Tahoe to the open space in front of the Oasis Restaurant and exited with Raymond. They went through the doors to immediate coolness and the sight of Lee Rodriguez pointing to fresh tortilla chips, salsa and guacamole on the table. Lee saluted them with a chip as they pulled out chairs. He bit the chip in half, chewed and said, “I checked around on your chopper. Didn’t find it. Maybe it crossed from Mexico. I’m checking on that angle, but haven’t heard back yet.”

  Raymond said, “It wouldn’t be the first time for an illegal crossing by aircraft, even though it’s usually airplanes and not helicopters.” Hunter didn’t say anything as she attacked the guacamole and salsa with her chips. Raymond said, “I don’t guess anybody has shown up with a bullet wound?”

  “Nope. And no one found the body that fell from the plane, either.”

  Hunter said, “Whatever happened to old time, simple cut and dried cases that almost solved themselves?”

  Lee said, “Oh yes, the good old days.”

  Raymond said, “Don’t let dreamy nostalgia cloud your heads. The good old days had plenty of problems.”

  Lee said, “I did hear some rumors from the other side. Seems that CISEN is in Ojinaga and Juarez, looking around.”

  Hunter stopped chewing, “No kidding? Mexico’s version of the CIA, here in our neighborhood? Did you find out what they’re working on?”

  “I did not. Yet.”

  Raymond said, “They’ve been involved in a few cross-border task forces back around 2008, 2009.”

  Lee said, “If this is the one I met last year at a law enforcement function in Chihuahua City, he’s a good one. And Hunter, you would definitely like him.”

  “Why?”

  “He looks like Henry Cavill, you know, the guy that played the new Superman.” Lee raised his eyebrows twice and grinned at her.

  “Get out of here.”

  “Really. The face, the build, all of it.”

  Hunter’s cheeks flushed, “Quit it.”

  “Okay. He’s probably gay anyhow.”

  Raymond choked on a chip, and Hunter laughed, “Don’t say that!”

  Lee chuckled, “Okay, okay, I’ll quit. And I was kidding about the gay thing.” Hunter gave him a play mean look.

  Raymond said, “What else has been going on?”

  Lee told them about the newest edicts from the Acting Sheriff. “He wants me to spend more time on my paper work and a lot less out in the public areas. He stopped short of saying for me not to campaign against him.”

  Raymond said, “How does he expect you to answer calls and everything else you have to do?”

  “I asked him, and he said that activities outside the office are not my concern. Error-free reports, turned in timely, are what are important.”

  Hunter said, “Did he just come down from Mars?”

  “Seems like it sometimes.”

  Hunter said, “And you’re going to stay in your office all day, just like a good little deputy?”

  “Absolutely, except when I’m serving the public. So, I figure an hour in the office and the rest of the shift out and about.”

  The restaurant door opened and one of the local ranchers came in, looking around until he spotted Lee. He walked to the table and nodded at the others, “Last night I was outside running off some raccoons from the dog food bin, and I heard automatic weapons fire. Way off to the west.”

  Lee said, “You have a guess how far?”

  He scratched his ear, “Sound carries so far out there, it’s hard to tell. The shots were real faint. If I was gonna guess, I’d say Sam Kinney’s. Anyhow, I thought you might want to know.”

  After he left, Lee said, “I’ve got your lunch. I need to head out that way.”

  Hunter said, “We’re free right now and nothing else is going on. You want some backup?”

  “Sure.”

  Raymond rose and said, “I’ll leave the tip.”

  ***

  The first thing they noticed at Sam’s headquarters was the number of tracks, both of people and vehicles. The second thing was that the house was empty and had been thoroughly gone through, with cabinets open, clothes on the floors, drawers dumped, papers scattered across the room, and every weapon and cartridge of ammunition gone from the open gun cabinet. Lee went inside as Hunter and Raymond circled the building, reading the story in the imprints on the ground.

  They met again ten minutes later on the porch. Lee said, “There are three bullet holes in the wall and cupboard in the kitchen, look to be .45 caliber.”

  Hunter said, “That’s what Sam shoots.”

  Lee continued, “I found a shell casing under the edge of the fridge, it was .45 auto, so somebody fired a semi-auto in Sam’s kitchen. No blood anywhere, though.”

  “We found a little blood at the edge of the porch,” she pointed, “and I found a few dog hairs.”

  “Chula,” Lee said.

  “It was.” She pointed to the little grave with the deer antler resting on top of it. “We followed sign from the blood to that little grave over there. I checked. It’s Chula.”

  “Who buried her?”

  “One of the guys who attacked this place.”

  “Huh, I wouldn’t have expected that.”

  “Me neither.”

  Lee rubbed his chin, “How many total?”

  Raymond said, “Six, all in and around the house, and one down the road there who was the last one to leave. I think he was watching the place for a while after the others took off. Another person, and we’re thinking it was Sam, came out of the house and went into the foothills.”

  Lee said, “And no tracks of Sam coming back?”

  Hunter pointed, “Nope. Just the ones going into those rocks.”

  Raymond said, “So what now?”

  Lee said, “I left Sam a note on the kitchen table to call me. Not much else I can do.”

  Raymond said, “We’ll be around, if you need us.”

  “Where are you two going from here?”

  “Down on the river, then cut sign for a while before calling it a day. We’ve been finding markers on the roads where dope smugglers set them to tell the drivers where to pick them up.”

  “You still working RATS?”

  Hunter said, “Yeah, Roving Agents Targeting Smugglers. Usually a good deal, but we’ve been doing more walking and tracking this week than if we were working on the sign-cutting unit.”

 

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