Chapter Fourteen
As Reaper froze in position, the noise of the rattlesnake behind him grew louder. It would be only moments before the snake would zero in on the SEAL’s body heat. It didn’t need to see him in order to strike, the snake could aim itself very well with nothing more than the heat sensors on the inside of its mouth and with its forked tongue. The rattlesnake’s rattle was loud enough that both Hausmann and Manors could clearly hear it on their side of the open window.
Realizing that they had a much greater danger to deal with at that moment, Manors abandoned light discipline and slipped his left hand into the window. Pressing down onto the base switch of his tactical light, Manors illuminated the enclosure with a brilliant white blaze.
The disk of light from Manors’s SureFire darted across the floor for only a moment before it centered on the coiled form of a large snake on the sandy floor. The huge rattlesnake was coiled in a classic pose, its tail raised and twitching while the broad, triangular head sat up at the end of a neck drawn back into a sharp S-curve. The snake would strike out by straightening the S of its neck, and by the size of the thing, it would have no trouble reaching Reaper’s leg just two feet away.
Looking down and back over his left shoulder, Reaper could see the reptilian threat coiled behind him. The chances were low that he would swing around with his M4A1 and shoot the snake before it could sink a fang into him. Even though they hadn’t seen anyone in the compound, the sound of firing could bring in anything nearby to discover the three intruders.
The big rattlesnake held enough venom in one bite to put Reaper into a world of hurt, if not kill him, before his friends could get him to a hospital. He had to do something, but his options looked very limited. Then Reaper heard Hausmann quietly call out his name.
Lifting up his eyes from the threat on the floor, Reaper could see that Hausmann was slowly extending the barrel of his M14 to where the SEAL was standing. Realizing what Hausmann was trying to do, Reaper decided to take the chance he was being offered.
Moving with infinite care, Reaper let go of his M4A1 with his left hand, and slowly raised it to reach out for the rifle extended toward him. The buzzing of the rattlesnake didn’t change as Reaper reached for the muzzle of the M14. His fingers closing around the prongs of the long flash hider on the rifle, the edges of the front sight digging into his palm, Reaper took a solid grip on the end of the weapon. He drew the gun back from Hausmann, each movement seeming to take an eternity.
Finally, Reaper felt the entire weight of the big rifle twisting down from the grip of his left hand. Even the very strong ex-SEAL was under a severe strain holding the heavy weapon in such an unnatural extended position. But it wasn’t for very long that Reaper had to hold the M14 out at almost arm’s length.
Sensing something, the snake suddenly increased the volume of its rattle. It was now or never. Swinging the rifle down toward the poisonous head of the reptile, Reaper took his chance and smashed down hard with the steel buttplate of the M14.
With a crash, the steel bottom of the rifle drove down onto the head of the rattlesnake. Before the reptile could strike out, its head was crushed down into the sand. Turning to face his deadly little opponent, Reaper bore down on the M14, grinding and crushing the head of the snake into the sand as its body thrashed about. Finally, the death throes of the reptile slowed as its body accepted the fact that its brain was destroyed.
Facing a deadly reptile was something new in Reaper’s experience. His heart was beating like a trip-hammer, the pulse thudding in his ears. For a moment, Reaper wasn’t trying to kill the snake by pushing down on the M14, he was trying to hold himself up. As he breathed rapidly through his nose, Reaper brought himself back down. In what felt like a long time, but was actually only seconds, he calmed.
Now able to continue with the task at hand, Reaper lifted the butt of the M14 and looked down at the huge reptile. The slowly twisting body of the snake had to be over five feet long, probably more like six feet long. The most important aspect of the rattlesnake at that moment was the fact that it was dead. Reaper lifted the M14 up and extended it back out to the window where Hausmann and Manors were standing.
Signaling Manors to come into the building through the window, Reaper turned back to the inside door of the snake enclosure. After first taking a fast look around into the corners with his SureFire flashlight to make sure there weren’t any other slithering night guards on duty, Manors climbed in through the window. After the recent bout with the snake, Hausmann had no problems with remaining outside on watch.
The enclosure was about eight by twelve feet in size, the floor covered with several inches of sand and a scattering of small piles of rocks. The plywood walls were five feet high with a row of heavy wire fencing stapled in around the top edge. The inward-leaning wire mesh looked as if it was able to prevent the escape of even a larger snake than the one Reaper had just killed.
The door had a standard interior doorknob and lock plate. The whole enclosure had a professional look about it and had taken some thought to design. But the layout of a big snake cage wasn’t of interest to Reaper at that moment—the contents of the big barn were. With his M4A1 up to his shoulder, Reaper reached out with his left hand and turned the knob. The door opened easily and no sudden lights came on inside the building. Both Reaper and Manors were able to see over the wall of the enclosure, but taking extra care in this kind of situation had been instilled into Reaper over years of training.
What was inside the cavernous interior of the barn was just a lot of nothing. No vehicles, trailers, or much of anything caught the men’s eyes. All Reaper could see through the PVS-14 was a row of enclosures down either side of the huge building, and that was all. Waving Manors in, Reaper still swept the interior with the muzzle of his M4A1. The caution of the big SEAL was contagious and Manors also kept his Benelli up to his shoulder while the two men quickly moved through the enormous structure.
All that they found was a number of tools and supplies, both for ranching and the care of vehicles. The tools were nothing out of the ordinary, but Reaper examined each corner and enclosure with care before turning to Manors.
“Okay,” Reaper whispered, “go ahead and use your light, but be careful with it. See if you can spot anything that will tell us what happened to the ATVs.”
Not about to accidentally sweep his brilliant flashlight beam across one of the windows, Manors nodded and turned to one of the big roll-up doors at the end of the building. While Manors began his search, Reaper started looking more closely at what was around the inside of the barn. All he found were empty cloth grain sacks, rakes, shovels, wrenches, hammers, and the like.
Next to the roll-up door at the south end of the barn was a small desk, the kind that was used by dispatchers and such. Inside the desk, Reaper only found shipping forms, most of them blank. Hanging on the side of the desk was a clipboard with more forms, only these were filled out.
All of the forms were for the same company, Heart Green Foods. There was the outline of a large green-colored heart symbol at the top of the form, right above the block letters spelling out the company name. Below that, in smaller letters, were the words NATURAL ORGANIC FOODS OF THE WEST.
What the hell is that, Reaper thought to himself, cactus fruits? Any free-range chickens out here would be eaten by the coyotes.
Flipping through the forms, Reaper just read lines of various produce and other food products, and the locations the material was sent to. All of the locations were inside of Arizona proper except for one. That form, just below the top of the stack, was for a delivery made to Las Vegas, Nevada.
Now this whole situation was making even less sense. He and Hausmann had been ambushed by some Mexican military types working for an organic food company? That was a little too weird for consideration.
A small trash can next to the desk yielded nothing more than an old map tossed among the papers and trash. The papers showed nothing, most being just damaged shipping forms. There wer
e some old paper bags from a fast-food outlet, the bags having been in the can for a long time by the looks and smell of them. Reaper was just unfolding the map and seeing that it covered the southwestern states of the U.S. when he heard Manors call him.
“Reaper,” Manors said softly, “come here.”
Turning, Reaper could see that Manors was bent down near the ground. His Benelli was slung out of the way on his back and he was shining his light down onto the ground, shielding most of the lens with his left hand.
Stuffing the folded map into the inside pocket of his 5.11 tactical vest, Reaper picked up the clipboard once more. On impulse, he pulled the Las Vegas shipping form from the stack he had been reading off the clipboard and stuffed it into the same pocket as the map. Going over to where Manors was examining the ground, Reaper leaned in close and looked down at what was being illuminated with the slivers of light from between Manors’s fingers.
There were a number of tire tracks in the dust on the concrete floor. Reaper couldn’t make much sense of them, but to Manors, they were like an open book.
“Look,” Manors said, indicating with the light, “these are the same ATV tracks we’ve been following. Only now there’s two sets of tracks—one coming in, and an earlier one going out. See how the tread marks coming in cross over the tread marks going out? The V’s of the treads first point out, then they point in. The tracks on top were made last.”
Reaper nodded his head.
“Well,” Manors said. “Right here, both sets of tracks disappear completely. I don’t mean they were brushed away. I mean they were never made, the ATVs never crossed the concrete.”
“What do you think happened?” Reaper said, keeping his own thoughts to himself for the moment.
“The ATVs drove up a ramp and into a trailer,” Manors said with assurance. “There’s the line across the dust where the ramp was laid down from the back of a trailer.
“And over here,” Manors took a few steps to the side, “are the tire marks from a dual-axle. Four sets of tires, two close to each other, on either side of the trailer. And the tires on the right side are pretty worn. On the left side there, one of the tires wore out-of-balance. So it has scalloped edges. These tracks are distinctive as hell. You find me a trailer, and I can tell you if its tires made these tracks.
“And here’s the clincher,” Manors said as he moved back over to the ATV tread marks. Shining his light down, Reaper could then see small dark flecks in the dust.
“Those are blood splashes,” Manors said. “Somebody got on this trailer leaking from a wound, probably through a bandage by the small size of the drops. There’s all kinds of boot prints all over the ground here.”
“What are those bright blue bits there?” Reaper said as he squatted down and pointed with his left hand, his right maintaining a hold on his M4.
“Don’t know,” Manors said, “looks familiar though. There’s some of the same stuff in some of the boot tracks. And there’s a bunch of it in the ATV tracks where they first appear in the dust. Must have popped off the tires or underbodies when they hit the end of the ramp.”
Taking the shipping form from his inside vest pocket, Reaper quickly folded it several times. Pulling out his Emerson CQB-7 knife, the wave feature on the back of the blade unfolding it as he drew it from his pants pocket, Reaper slipped the blade tip underneath some of the blue material, scooping up the material and the surrounding dust. Dumping the dust and blue bits into the paper, Reaper folded it several times to seal the sample in.
“Hey,” Manors said, “you have to leave that. That’s evidence at a crime scene.”
“Evidence of what?” Reaper said as he folded his Emerson and put it back in the pocket of his 5.11 pants. “This isn’t exactly a legal search. Nothing we find right now can be used as real evidence against anyone. Besides, there’s plenty of this stuff still on the ground.”
Realizing the big SEAL was right, Manors stood and looked around the barn and changed the subject.
“Each one of these enclosures,” Manors said, “is made to keep in snakes. And they’re under every window.”
“Kind of a natural burglar alarm, I guess,” Reaper said, “you just listen for the screams of whoever broke in. Grab that empty bag there, we’re getting out the same way we came in, less the scaly welcoming committee.”
Going back to the enclosure, Reaper took the cloth bag from Manors before waving him on through to the window. Then he backed away from the door after closing it. As he backed up, Reaper brushed the cloth bag across the sand, obliterating the footsteps the men had made coming in and going out.
Suppressing a momentary shudder, Reaper picked up the rattlesnake that had almost bitten him and stuffed it into the bag. Then he kicked sand over the blood from the dead snake and brushed it over with the bag. Finally back at the window, Reaper handed the bag out to Hausmann.
“Here, a present for you,” Reaper said. “Take it with you to the river. I don’t want it found around here.”
Then Reaper climbed back out the window. Pulling the red quick release on his Chalker sling, Reaper dropped the M4A1 free of the brass shackle in the center of his chest. Leaning back into the barn, Reaper used the butt end of his M4A1 to obliterate the last of his footprints.
The covering of their trail that the men had done wasn’t intended to fool a real tracker. But with no obvious sign of their having been in the area, there would be no reason for anyone to search for the harder-to-find footprints outside of the window.
Now Reaper could understand the big green heart symbol on the trailers he saw only a few dozen yards away. The stacks of old pallets, grown brush, and junk around the trailers showed that they hadn’t been moved for some time. None of those had been used to hide and transport the ATVs.
Moving around to the big roll-up doors, Reaper and Hausmann maintained watch while Manors examined the ground just off the concrete apron extending from the barn. He found the signs he’d expected. There were two sets of tracks for the ATVs coming in and out of the rear door of the barn, the door pointing toward the river. All that he could find near the other door were the tire marks of a tractor-trailer rig, a rig with worn tires on the rear axle of the trailer.
The men had learned just about all they could from their covert visit to the facility. Now it was time to withdraw and examine their options. Leaving the way they had come in, the three men worked at obliterating the signs of their passage. Bringing up the rear and walking backward as much as he could, Hausmann brushed at their footsteps with the cloth bag holding the dead snake.
When they reached the gate, the men climbed back over, leaving little sign of their passage into the compound. Once more Reaper noted the big expensive lock securing the chain holding the gate closed. With there being so little in the way of valuable materials in the compound, why was there such a lock when all you had to do was jump the fence as they had? Then again, anyone trying to break into the barn would find the way in very easy—and what was waiting for them on the inside very deadly.
Taking the Prowler back across the river, the men once more took their seats for the ride back to the Dogbone Ranch. The dogs announced the arrival of the trio back at the garage. As they climbed off the Prowler, Hausmann pulled off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair. When he looked at his friend, Reaper was surprised to see that Hausmann still had the cloth grain sack in his hand, and the bulge at the bottom of the bag showed that it still held the snake carcass.
“What in the hell are you doing still hanging on to that dead snake?” Reaper said. “You going to give it to the dogs?”
“Nope,” Hausmann said with a grin, “they can have the leftovers if there are any.”
“What does that mean?” Reaper said.
“This is a Western Diamondback, a nice big one, too,” Hausmann said. “I’m going to clean it, skin it, cook it, and eat it. Might even get the skin tanned and make a belt or something out of it. It’s damned near big enough to make a pair of shoes, maybe
boots even.”
“You have got to be kidding,” Manors said.
“Not a bit,” Hausmann said. “The dried-up loser hippie bitch that owns that place killed my dog. I know it and there’s nothing I can do about it. Well, I’m going to eat her damned snake. Besides, rattler is good, especially grilled over mesquite with barbecue sauce. It tastes like chicken—dark meat at that. I like it.”
“Didn’t think you could cook,” Reaper said.
“Hey, I can grill like a madman,” Hausmann said.
“Well,” Reaper said, “I believe the madman part.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Cristal Hacienda had once been a shining example of richness in the northern Sonora desert. With the end of the optical-grade crystals that could be found in its mine, the hacienda fell on hard times. Picked up cheaply by the Zapatista cartel when they moved into the area, the hacienda saw some improvements made to its fading splendor. But Felix Zapatista had the taste of a peasant and a thug at best.
When the hacienda was taken over by Eduardo Masque, he saw to it that the garish colors and tastes of the Zapatista cartel were eliminated. A large main manor house was built of modern materials and classic Spanish lines. The thousands of square feet of living space in the sprawling six-bedroom building were used by Masque, his guests, and his most trusted lieutenant.
Across the walled courtyard of the hacienda was another building, this one much smaller than the main house and only consisting of four bedrooms. On the south side of the hacienda was a long garage with living quarters for the staff of the hacienda as well as for the bulk of Masque’s men. The nine mercenaries brought in by their captain, Garcia Santiago, lived in the four-bedroom home along with their sergeant, Miguel Rodriguez. Santiago stayed in the main house with Masque.
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