How many hours had it been since they shot me off the rim? I was finally still for a little bit, feeling blisters on both heels. The once glossy black cherry Lucchese boots weren’t made for desert travel. They looked like work boots.
It was the first time I was able to evaluate my wounds in the light. In addition to the gunshot, I had three serious gashes, one behind my right shoulder, one on that same arm where my watch had been, and another seeping cut on my left thigh. The dozen scrapes and slashes on my cheek, arms, and legs were stinging like fire.
Keeping an eye on the wash, I pulled out two dozen needles that stuck out through my jeans, but twice that many had broken off and were buried in my flesh. Sitting there thinking about it, my legs lit up with a whole spectrum of hot stings from the tiny hair-like stickers from those same prickly pears, adding to my misery.
The overcast was a stroke of sheer luck. My hat was somewhere back up that first canyon and I sure did miss it. Had the sun been out, I would have been in even worse shape. However, the clouds didn’t block all the UV rays, and I could feel the sting of sunburn on my face, neck, and ears. My lips were already cracked and peeling.
Still nothing out beyond my rock window. Feeling weak and feverish, my mind was oddly clear. I settled into a more comfortable position and worked another cactus thorn free. With time to finally rest and think instead of react, I wished I was back home with Kelly and the kids. A thought crossed my mind and I jolted straight up. What if it wasn’t just me they were after? Did they put together an orchestrated plan to take me out and at the same time go to my house?
Wait! Pieces began to fall into place. The one guy’s Middle Eastern accent. The people responsible for the Ballard takeover had ties to ISIS, and they’d teamed up with Mexican gangsters and even one of the so-called homegrown terrorist groups from east Texas.
This had to tie in somehow. And that meant it was entirely possible that they led me right into an ambush and had every opportunity to make me pay an even higher price for throwing a monkey wrench into their takeover by kidnapping or killing my family.
For the first time since I went over the rim, I was afraid. Not for my own safety, but afraid they might kill me and then go back to Ballard, if they hadn’t already done so. My hands were shaking when I took another long swallow of water.
I wondered if any of the tourists camping or hiking in the park had heard the shots that drew me like the sucker I was. If they had, then maybe they reported them to the ranger station and help was closer than I thought.
Think, boy, think!
Run due south until you come to the river, then float down to Boquillas or if you went farther, Rio Grande Village was next. There were park rangers there, and people. They wouldn’t chase you into such a populated area, would they?
I studied the heavy clouds. Who knows, Pop?
I’d never been so thirsty in my life. The jug of water felt much lighter in my hand. I closed my eyes and wished I had half a dozen of those water bottles Kelly kept in the icebox. Cold, cold water that would make the wait in my natural stone fort more tolerable.
I took one final drink, holding it in my mouth, letting it trickle down my throat, registering for the first time the odor of creosote released by the bright green bushes all around me.
I’d barely replaced the cap when I saw movement at the head of the arroyo. Moving slow, I put the jug down, snugged the Cobra’s stock to my shoulder, and tensed when a roadrunner popped into view. It scurried twenty yards before it stopped to listen and watch with one unmoving black eye. He wasn’t hunting or listening to the bees. Someone or something was behind him.
Index finger along the trigger guard, I licked my lips and waited.
Two men flickered through the mesquites, moving cautiously in my direction. It was the first time I’d gotten a good look at them and I was surprised by what my imagination had created and what I saw.
They were slight. One was built like a barrel cactus, and the other like a hungry five-foot-five-inch stray dog. They wore dusty jeans and faded shirts. Both had rags tied over their heads. One wore ragged tennis shoes. The other was in some kind of lace-ups.
They were less than a hundred yards out, within range of my weapon, but I wanted them closer.
Much closer.
A shriek came to me. I’d heard that kind of scream before. It came from sheer terror.
What’n hell?
A bearded guy with a rifle strapped across his back popped into view and took two steps into the open with another machine pistol in his hand. The long gun told me he was the guy who’d shot me, there was no doubt in my mind. I squeezed the trigger, just like I was on the target range.
Shooting with both eyes open, I saw explosions in the sand and all around him. The guy hit the ground. Already knowing what to expect, I dropped down at the same time the rocks in front and behind my position snapped and cracked from the impacts of two other fully automatic weapons. I curled into a ball, hoping none of the ricochets would find me. They quit firing at the same time, probably reloading.
I took that opportunity to rise and scan the area, hoping to see a leg, an arm, or a whole body to get a little more payback. The sound of a rock rattling down the slope behind me was startling, but not as much as the voice not ten feet away.
“Manos arriba. Get your hands up, my friend, and you’ll live long enough to meet Abdullah, but you won’t like it too much, I think.”
I swiveled my head to find an even smaller version of those guys standing on the edge of the rim, with the mate to the Cobra in my hands aimed right at my chest.
Believe me, that kind of thing’ll make you holler calf rope pretty quick. I laid the Cobra down and showed him my hands. “You’re under arrest, you know.”
His face broke into a smile after a long beat, which meant he had to translate my words. He laughed. “That’s a good joke. Now, stand up and go with my brothers. They will want to hear that, too.”
Chapter 28
Yolanda rode shotgun with the windows down in Perry Hale’s 2003 Dodge truck. It was unusually cool for that time of the year. Yolanda pulled her hair through the adjustment hole in her gimme cap, and her black ponytail danced in the wind. Both wore shades and desert camouflage Marine Corp Combat Utility Uniforms, or MCCUUs. It would be easy to mistake them for on-duty marines.
Yolanda turned to cock her left leg against the center console. Arm stretched across the distance between the seats, her fingers rested on his shoulder. “All right. Now that we’re away from everyone, what do you really think?”
Keeping both eyes on the two-lane road, Perry Hale flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I think something bad’s happened. Sonny checks in with Kelly more than once a day. Even if he broke down somewhere out there, he’d call as soon as he got cell service or to a phone. I don’t believe he’s lost.”
Yolanda glanced at the low mountains on her right. “So what’s the plan? I don’t suppose we’re joining a search party.”
“Well, we need to check in with SAR to see what they know.” Both were familiar with Search and Rescue terminology after volunteering in the past. “I’d rather do that at first, but if things seem to be off, then we go on our own.”
“He went out to check on that crime scene. Maybe he saw something, like tracks, and followed them and got lost.”
Perry Hale nodded. “He’s on Red, so that means he might’ve gone in any direction.”
She twisted to check out the gear in the back of the four-door cab. Their loaded packs took up the seat along with an RTIC cooler and cases of bottled water. A heavy water-resistant bag filled one well in the floorboard, packed so full of gear the seams stretched and the zipper looked ready to pop.
The custom-made built-in aluminum case under the back seat contained two custom AR-15s and extra handguns. Those were in addition to the .40 caliber Glock 23s on their hips.
“That bag tells me you’re ready for anything.”
The corners of his mouth rose. “Like I said, Sonny’s i
mpulsive, and if something else happened related to those murders last week, then he’s gonna need help.”
She faced forward at the same time Perry Hale’s phone rang. He dug it from his shirt pocket. “It’s Ethan.” He punched it to speaker and rolled the windows up. “Yessir?”
“Where are y’all?”
“Coming in to Marathon.”
“You’re at least forty-five minutes out.”
“Less than thirty.”
“Funny. Don’t get pulled over. I have an idea what you’re carrying and it might make somebody nervous. Anyway, you’ll get there first. I’ve talked to Tammy Rivera, the park ranger who’s heading the search. They sent a two-man Hasty Team out last night to the crime scene. It was dark when they got there, so they set up a SAR cache and did a little exploring. They didn’t find anything. The bad news is that Sonny’s truck and trailer weren’t parked at the trailhead.”
“That’s not good. I assume they’ve checked other trailhead parking lots.”
“Been on that since daylight. The command post is at the ranger station.
“We’ll go there, then.”
“I’m a little behind, but you’ll see me when I get there. Herman’s with me. I talked to the Park Service, and they say the clouds show no sign of clearing up anytime soon. In fact, they think even more moisture is headed up from the Gulf and that’ll increase the cloud cover.”
Yolanda leaned forward to squint upward through the windshield. “That means rain.”
“Hundred percent chance, and that’s gonna play hell with tracking Sonny.”
“You want us to wait for you then, if we need to move?”
“No, do what you need to do, but if you lose cell service, backtrack and give me a call.”
They knew from experience that communications was always a problem in the remote park. The large dead spots where neither radios nor cell phones worked were a common frustration for visitors and employees alike.
“Will do.”
“They’re worried. They’ve already called in parks personnel from Big Bend State Park and are planning on asking for others, so I figure we listen in and then decide what to do on our own. The governor called TEXSAR in without asking, and I imagine the Park Service ain’t too happy about that.”
Well respected, TEXSAR, or Texas Search and Rescue, was a volunteer first-responder organization with teams in Austin, Dallas, and Galveston. Though the unit based in Austin primarily served most of central Texas, they often deployed anywhere in the state upon request from federal or state agencies, local law enforcement, or even relief agencies.
Perry Hale also expected a call from the governor once he heard that Sonny was missing. “I’ll let you know what we find out.” He ended the call and showered down on the gas.
Chapter 29
I wasn’t gonna to let them see me sweat, but I was afraid and empty.
There was no doubt the little guy with the machine gun pointed at me wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. He flicked the muzzle back toward the way I’d climbed up and waited for me to turn before he started down. The slope and loose rocks would force him to take his eyes off me to follow. My mind raced.
All right, he can’t see the .45, so when he looks down, draw, shoot, then spin and throw a couple more at those other guys to keep them down while I pick up the Cobra.
It was a great plan, but he stayed right where he was. The next thing I knew, another voice from over my right shoulder ended that idea right then. “Manos arriba.”
Those guys moved like lions. Another down below looked Asian and was so confident in his friend’s ability to ventilate me that his weapon wasn’t even pointed in my direction.
I did what he said and raised my hands.
Knees weak and shaking, I concentrated on picking my way down the rubble and to the bottom of the arroyo, all the while keeping both hands where they could see them. That’s when Asia pointed the gun at me and twisted one finger in a circle, telling me to turn around. I did, and he plucked the .45 from my holster.
Another guy appeared out of the mesquites with blood running down the side of his neck. Asia said something in a language I didn’t understand and laughed. It sounded like there was some Spanish mixed in there, but an Indian dialect was all tangled up with it.
The next thing I knew, somebody hit me behind my right ear and I went down like a pole-axed steer.
That kind of blow will take down even the toughest guy, and I was far from tough right then. The Old Man taught me to hit a hardcase behind the ear to knock the fight out of him, but it was the first time I’d ever been hit there.
It took a few minutes for my head to clear, but I was conscious the entire time. Someone tugging at my gun belt told me they’d pulled my handcuffs from the case. I was still seeing little bluebirds in front of my eyes when they jerked my arms back and clicked the cold metal cuffs around my wrists.
I’d been hurtin’ before, but goddlemighty, I thought I was gonna pass out for sure when those muscles damaged by the bullet pulled and twisted. My left scapula felt like it was cracked or broken. One cuff was on that deep gash in my wrist and it burned like the dickens.
Hands grabbed my arms and yanked me upright as if I weighed only fifty pounds, tripling the lightning bolt of hot pain in my shoulder. Another guy grabbed ahold and they pulled me into the mesquites. I let out a groan and stumbled along between them until they stopped beside a thin tangle of bushes.
The guy in the beard was sitting on the ground, holding himself upright with one hand, swaying forward and back. He spoke into a satellite phone. “We have the Ranger. Yes. I will call you again when we cross the river. Now wipe his family from the earth.” He pressed a button to disconnect.
His eyes were glassy and his skin looked pale and waxy. I registered a bloom of red on his shoulder. It made me feel a little better to know I’d hit him. I was never any great shakes with a machine gun and could only hit with a rifle when I took my time.
Looks like I should’ve aimed better.
He rallied after a few seconds. “You are Sonny Hawke. Texas Ranger.”
I blinked a drop of sweat from my eyes. “That was my line.”
The Beard frowned at the comment.
“I never listen to my own advice.”
“What is that?”
“My old daddy always said to use enough gun. It took years to realize what he meant, and you’re the best example I’ve ever seen.”
“I am an example?”
“Yep, if I’d waited for you to get closer, I could have shot you with that forty-five over there, the one that skinny little goober’s playing with, and”—I raised my voice—“I intend to get it back from you.”
Asia stopped looking at the photo in the Sweetheart Grip my ol’ granddaddy made during World War II. He frowned in my direction and jabbered for a second. He angled the cocked and locked pistol to look at the other side of the inside grip. The clear Lucite revealed the remaining cartridges in the butt. Obviously unfamiliar with the .45, he was pointing it every whichaway.
“Hope you shoot yourself with it, you sawed-off little bastard.” I turned back to Beard. “Anyway, that forty-five is enough gun to do the trick. Then you wouldn’t be sittin’ there.”
He started to say something else, then stopped and dragged a desert-tan pack close to hand. He unzipped an outside pocket. From there he drew out a gray cloth bag and a long knife. He pitched them toward Asia.
“Esto es para su cabeza. Tómalo y ponlo en la bolsa.” This is for his head. Take it and put it in the bag.
My Spanish is bad, but I knew exactly what he said. I kicked sideways and caught the Chinese-looking guy in the knee. He howled and stumbled backward. Fighting was useless, but I couldn’t stand there and let them saw my head off like those poor people I’ve seen in execution videos.
Before I could launch myself into the next guy, an arm wrapped around my neck and yanked me backward. I hit the ground like a crash-test dummy and choked down a cry when I landed
on my cuffed wrists.
Whoever’d jerked me backward grabbed a handful of hair and pulled my cowlick so hard my eyes watered. I dug both boot heels into the ground and threw my head back. His nose broke with a soft crunch and he gasped and let go of my hair. I twisted on the ground and drew my knees upward to stand. I was halfway to my feet when another grabbed my arms. A loop dropped around my neck and the next thing I knew, I felt like a calf fighting a lariat rope. They drew it tight.
My ears roared and I panicked, knowing from experience I had only seconds before I blacked out. No air. No blood to the brain. Instead of fighting it, I bucked toward the rope to get some slack. A flat-faced guy fell back, pulling the noose tighter, if that was possible.
Those guys were pros. One grabbed me around the waist to hold me still while another dug in with his feet and pulled hard.
Lights flashed. The world turned silent.
I thrashed harder, but it was a weak effort.
Then darkness.
Chapter 30
Abdullah was amped up by adrenaline from his wound and their success at capturing the Texas Ranger Sonny Hawke. Wincing in pain, he unscrewed the cap from a small bottle and shook white powder on the back of his hand between his forefinger and thumb.
He sniffed the cocaine into one nostril, then shook more powder and snorted again. Abdullah wasn’t an addict, and had only used cocaine once before when he was wounded. It was the best medicine he had on hand and it would keep his mind sharp when it kicked in.
Waiting for the coke to take hold, he tucked a compression bandage under his shirt and held it in place with his right hand. Knowing his wound was grave, Abdullah had no doubt that Allah would see him through. They’d planned for such an event, and it called for one of the gangsters to strike out alone and return with the four-wheeler they’d hidden back where they shot the Ranger at the outset.
He tried to smile, but the muscles wouldn’t work. They should. He was successful. Abdullah had captured the man who killed his brother and would now get his revenge.
His vision grayed and his mind wandered. The buzzing of bees on the blooming sage and creosote bushes reminded him of a swarm of locusts that had once flown over their tiny house in Qara, Syria, a remote mountain town perfumed by cherry trees. His father heard it long before the swarm arrived and shouted for everyone to get inside. The boys had been playing in the street and stopped to see a cloud approaching.
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