In spite of the relative size of the elevator, this was the kind of place that would bring out even a well-buried hint of claustrophobia in a person. Both of the al-Qaeda terrorists had spent a lot of time in the caves of Afghanistan, but even they felt the psychic weight of the millions of tons of rock pressing down on them from above.
As the elevator came level with an upper tunnel, Rodriguez moved the controls and stopped it. Latches swung down that met sockets in the tunnel floor and the rails in the elevator perfectly matched the ends of rails that continued on down the tunnel.
“This is the main tunnel of the original copper mine.” Santiago said. “Years of ore cars moving along the floor have paved it with crushed copper minerals. This is the area where the lights are turned on only when we need them. It wouldn’t do to have an abandoned mine show lights to anyone going by.”
“People can simply travel past this mine?” Humzan said. “We were told it was a secure site.”
“It is a secure site,” Santiago said. “We control the surrounding area and use vehicles that have a solid cover for being here. But we cannot control the overhead travel of a plane or helicopter.
“In fact, insisting on using your own vehicle to transport your man to his destination is taking an unnecessary chance. We have a good system in place and it would have been much better if you had taken advantage of it. It worked well enough when your man crossed the border by another route last week. He was taken by one of our trucks all the way to Las Vegas.”
“We will consider using it again in the future,” Daumudi said. “For the time being, it is better if we use our own devices in this country. You say we are actually in the United States right now?”
“A little less than half a mile north of the border, actually,” Santiago said. “This is one of the longest tunnels of its kind in the world.”
“The rail system is indeed worthwhile,” Daumudi said, “but Allah in his all-powerful wisdom and mercy saw fit to supply us with tunnels and caves that went on for dozens of kilometers in the mountains of Afghanistan. Now, just what are these?”
The group had continued walking up the tunnel as they were speaking. Turning a corner, they had come on to a pair of dark green John Deere 6×4 Gator utility vehicles. The short, flat vehicles looked a little like shrunken military Humvees, the replacements for the jeep, but they acted more like ATVs in their ability to move over rough terrain.
“We use them to move the loaded cars from the elevator to the mouth of the tunnel,” Santiago said. “They are called Trail Gators. Something like the model being used by the U.S. military. We have found them quite useful for moving about the area and maintaining security as well.”
“Whoever was using them last seems to have run into a bit of difficulty,” Humzan said as he noted the dried blood in the open-back beds of both Gators.
“That was a mistake,” Santiago said. “It will not happen again. You may have noticed the individuals who caused those stains back in the cavern.”
“Individuals?” Daumudi said. “We saw no one.”
“Perhaps I should have said smelled them,” Santiago said with a smile.
Daumudi ignored the answer.
A large truck had been backed up close to the mine’s entrance. The green outline of a stylized heart symbol took up most of the roll-up door on the rear of the truck.
“What is this truck?” Daumudi said. “And why is it here?”
“Your confederates in this country have not yet arrived,” Santiago said. “This truck is backup transportation in case something has happened to your people. Masque wanted to be certain that all options were available to you if needed.”
Opening the satchel he hadn’t let out of his hands once during the entire trip, Humzan reached in and removed a cellular phone. It was just a generic prepaid phone, one of a large purchase of such phones that had been made by al-Qaeda operatives in the U.S. more than a year earlier. The phones were almost impossible to trace. This particular one would be used for the present operation only and then discarded.
Dialing a number, Humzan listened and then spoke into the phone in a flurry of Arabic. The conversation was a short one as Humzan snapped the phone shut and returned it to his satchel.
“Our people were slightly delayed in their trip here,” Humzan said. “They estimate that they will be arriving here within the next half hour.”
“Very well,” Santiago said. Turning to the man who had been the driver of the lead Suburban, he called out in Spanish, telling him to take one of the Gators and go wait at the front gate. The man went back to the Gator and started its engine. As he drove past, Santiago handed him a single large key. The man continued on his way out of the mine, moving slowly to ease past the truck by the entrance. He quickly disappeared into the darkness beyond.
“We keep the gate locked, of course,” Santiago said, “especially at this time of night. During the day, our trucks can simply blend in with the normal traffic flow. They are such a recognized part of the local community that they are rarely if ever stopped by the regular authorities or the Border Patrol.
“We have built-in compartments at the front of the truck beds that can hold a number of men or large amount of materiel comfortably. Even if you knew what you were looking for, the compartments would be very hard to detect. You would have to cut your way into it from behind the cab of the truck. That is not something that the U.S. law-enforcement community is likely to do.”
As the men looked out into the desert a few minutes later, they saw the headlights of a vehicle come up the road toward them.
“Ah, our brothers have arrived,” Daumudi said.
After looking intently at the oncoming lights, Santiago suddenly turned to his men.
“Take these men back into the mine,” he said.
“What?” Daumudi said. “These men are our brothers in struggle, our fellow mujahideen.”
“Not unless they drive Lincoln Navigators,” Santiago said. “I know who this is and I don’t want her seeing you. So don’t argue with me, just go, now!”
“We do not hide from women…” Humzan started to say.
“I said now!” Santiago commanded.
The two Arabs decided against arguing further. This was Santiago’s area of knowledge and not theirs. Humzan thought about the Soviet Stechkin APS machine pistol he had in the satchel next to the bags of diamonds. The big weapon held twenty rounds of 9mm Makarov ammunition in its magazine and was capable of full-automatic fire. At a cyclic rate of 750 rounds per minute, the Stechkin would empty its magazine in a little over a second and a half. If Santiago was trying some form of scheme to steal the diamonds or turn Humzan and Daumudi over to the Americans, Humzan would make sure most of that first magazine went into Santiago himself.
The weapon Humzan had hidden away wasn’t necessary. Either of the heavily armed mercenaries would have kept him from ever drawing it against their captain. The huge green Lincoln Navigator SUV pulled up next to the truck in a swirl of dust and spray of gravel. The driver’s door swung open and a tall, thin, blond woman stepped out.
As she stormed up to him it was obvious that the woman knew Santiago. And her attitude demonstrated that she was more than used to having her own way.
“What is this?” Valentine Dupree shouted. “This is the second time inside of a week that there’s been activity at this mine that I haven’t been told about. How can this be kept a secret if people are coming and going every night? I would have never allowed this to happen…”
“Be silent!” Santiago shouted at the woman, cutting her off in midtirade. “Do not presume to speak to me in such a manner. I will have you cut off at the knees. Is that perfectly understood?”
Obviously, it was not understood, but it was shocking. Dupree was not used to being talked to in this manner. Normally, she was the one who just bowled people over with her pushy manner and rude behavior. She just stood there stunned for a moment with her eyes wide and staring—the whites showing in a big circl
e. For a moment, her mouth just gaped like a beached fish trying to breathe air.
“You cannot speak to me in such a manner!” she started to say as she tried to recover her composure. “This is my property and you will do as I say.”
“I think you have a dangerously inaccurate view of the situation,” Santiago said in a low voice. “We have allowed you to make a profit selling what we have delivered to you. In no way does this put you in charge of anything at all. You may run your business as long as it is convenient to us. But do not think for a minute that we wouldn’t get rid of you like a snuffed-out match if it served our purpose.
“You may think you are some kind of political dogooder in this country, selling your organic trash and protecting the slithering little animals. To me, you are just another burned-out ex-hippie drug dealer selling pot—nothing more. It would be very unwise for you to consider yourself above the situation. We can always get another front person to run this ranch.”
Before Dupree said a word, two of Santiago’s men stepped forward, both holding their Galil SARs in a threatening posture. She knew that at a single word from their commander, she would be cut down in a hail of fire and bullets. The woman was of course against any civilian ownership of vile assault weapons in the United States, or any guns for that matter. As she looked at the two very deadly appearing men and the lethal hardware in their hands, she sincerely wished that there were hundreds of armed neighbors behind her at that very moment.
For the first time, she realized just what kind of people she was dealing with. These were not the sort of men who would be swayed with stupid phrases and repeated platitudes. And there was no question that they couldn’t be intimidated by her personality. She was lost in a quagmire of her own making and sunk in it up to her neck.
“But, but,” she sputtered, “there can’t be all of this traffic here at night. People will notice the coming and going. First there was that unscheduled truck that left here last week, then the men taking the truck a few nights ago. Now this. They will wonder just what is going on and the authorities will start asking questions.”
“Then you will have to give them answers they can understand,” Santiago said in a much softer voice. He had intimidated the woman and set her in her place, now it was important not to cause her to panic. People did stupid things when they panicked, and he didn’t have the time or desire to deal with the results.
“You do not have to worry about the truck being taken out tonight,” Santiago said, “there will be no further exposure of the mine, our operations, or your company’s connection with them. Now, we have people coming here right now. It would be better if they didn’t see you. That way we can protect you and your valuable contribution to our organization.”
As Santiago was talking to Dupree, he was gently guiding her back to her SUV. She put up no resistance as he pulled open the door to the Navigator and held it for her.
“Please,” Dupree said, “we must be careful about all of this.”
“We certainly shall be,” Santiago said, and he shut the door.
As the big SUV turned around and headed back the way it had come, Daumudi and Humzan came up from their concealment in the back of the tunnel.
“That woman is a danger to our operation,” Daumudi said. “She is a weak link in your chain of security.”
Watching the luxury SUV reach the road and head back to the Heart ranch, Santiago heard the comments and knew the al-Qaeda terrorist was right. But he wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that.
“We have been running this operation for a year now,” Santiago said as he turned to Daumudi, “you do not need to concern yourself with its security. I would think that what you have seen so far would amply demonstrate that we are well able to seal off any security leaks when we deem it necessary.”
The two men looked at each other for a moment before Santiago broke the tense silence. He turned and walked to the front of the truck to watch for the car that was due at any moment. Daumudi knew that the man was dangerous, but then again, so was he. And he knew for a certainty that he could allow nothing to threaten the upcoming operation.
All of the expensive transportation of people and materials across the border had been in preparation for what would take place over the next few days. A specialist and his very valuable cargo was due in within a day. Once again al-Qaeda would strike at the very heart of the United States—and uproar and destruction of the vaunted U.S. people, their government, and their economy, would make the glorious World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks seem as healthful as a walk in the garden. Allah be praised.
It was less than fifteen minutes later that the silver Jeep Wrangler turned and came up the road to the mine entrance. Driving the Wrangler was Paul Stebbins, an ex-political-science major who was disillusioned with the United States and how he felt the U.S. was pushing its corruption of democracy onto the rest of the world. Having taken up the Islamic faith, Stebbins, whose new Muslim name was Mustafa Ibraham, was doing what he could to help with the overthrow of the U.S. government and an establishment of an Islamic world state.
Daumudi and his fellow al-Qaeda fighters found Stebbins a useful tool, one that could be discarded without a second thought. Stebbins was not truly trusted by the organization. Ali Issa, who rode with Stebbins, watched the man carefully. He had orders to eliminate Stebbins at his first misstep.
With Humzan ready to get in the Wrangler and continue with his journey, there was nothing more to do at this point. Daumudi and Humzan embraced and kissed each other on the cheeks. Then Humzan climbed into the backseat of the Wrangler, his ever-present satchel clutched securely in his hand.
While the dusty Wrangler moved back to the road, Santiago and his men waited for the driver of the Gator to come back after the gate was secured. With his return, they headed back into the mine, the cavern, and Mexico at the other end.
Chapter Eighteen
While Hausmann dug out his spotting scope to set it up, Reaper took out the compact Carl Zeiss 7×30mm binoculars he had borrowed from Hausmann while they were still in the truck. Looking over the area in front of him, he could make out the sign on the truck identifying it as one of the fleet belonging to Heart Green Foods.
Having gotten the Bushnell spotting scope set up and focused on the area of the mine entrance, Hausmann once more rummaged in his Spec-Ops T.H.E. pack and pulled out the pair of binoculars he had placed there earlier. Handing the binoculars to Manors, Hausmann settled in behind the spotting scope and adjusted its focus.
The observation post the men had set up was just under the cover of a heavy stand of creosote bushes. If they were careful, and they would be, none of the men would be able to be seen from even a few feet away. They all were experienced in the bush and their skills showed it.
The three men could clearly see the front of the mine, and the activity that was starting up there. At first, it was merely the movement of some shadows. Then a John Deere Gator rolled out of the mine and headed down the road. A few men followed from the mine and watched the Gator move off. Observing from the crest of the ridge, Reaper, Hausmann, and Manors knew that they had each probably just seen one of the ATVs that had made the tracks along the railroad and in the barn.
The men standing around the truck didn’t look like they had stayed in the mine since the night before. All of them appeared to be heavily armed. The distinctive lines of the Israeli Galil rifle, with its long, curved thirty-five-round magazine and tubular folding buttstock, was familiar to all of them. Both Reaper and Hausmann knew that the fired ammunition they had found at the ambush site had come from weapons that certainly weren’t Galils, so who were these people? For Reaper at least, that question was partially answered in just a few moments.
As the men watched, another vehicle shone its headlights onto the road leading up to the mine. While Hausmann and Manors turned their optics on the newcomer, Reaper’s eyes were riveted on the front of the mine and the man who stood there.
“God damn,” Reaper cursed quietly and he gritted his teeth.
“What?” Hausmann whispered. “That just looks like Dupree’s Lincoln Navigator.”
“Not that,” Reaper hissed through his clenched teeth. “I know that bastard down by the truck.”
“Who?” Hausmann said. “The one with the shoulder holster giving the orders?”
“That’s him,” Reaper said. “That motherfucker is Garcia Santiago. He deserted from Team Four back in 1990, right after Panama. He was going to be charged with stealing Team funds and drug dealing. I was going to be one of the witnesses against him. I never expected to see him in the United States again.”
“So what is he doing here?” Manors said.
“I don’t know,” Reaper said, “but I’m sure of two things. One, that whatever he’s doing, it can’t be good. And two, that I will find out what it is.”
The men lay still and watched the exchange between Dupree and Santiago. There wasn’t much question that the woman went from being aggressive to very meek and more than a little scared. If this was the tough broad who had killed Hausmann’s dog, she was finding out that she was at best a pup among a pack of wolves. The exchange didn’t go on for very long before she was back in her SUV and heading for the safety of her ranch. Nothing happened for a few minutes and the trio returned to their observations.
“Somehow,” Hausmann said quietly, “I don’t think she’s running off to call the sheriff.”
“Not that a county sheriff would have much of a chance against these hardcases,” Manors said. “They would eat a deputy up before he ever got out of the cruiser. And who in the hell are those Arab types down there?”
“I’ve got a feeling we’re going to find out before long,” Reaper said. “Here comes another vehicle.”
The Jeep Wrangler drove up to the mine entrance and the occupants got out. Whatever the conversation was, it was short. One of the two Arabs, and Reaper was sure that’s what they were after watching them embrace—a very Middle-Eastern action—got in the Wrangler and drove off.
Hostile Borders Page 17