“You all right?”
Her dark eyes narrowed and she stared out the windshield like a toddler trying to wake up. “Pull over.”
Knowing better than to argue, Perry Hale steered onto the shoulder, taking care not to run over a patch of cactus that had spilled through a bob-wire fence and spread out in a glacial flow onto the two-lane highway’s shoulder. “All right. You forget your makeup?”
“You’ll need it to cover up the bruises if you make that kind of crack again.” She smiled with her eyes the way he liked, but it quickly went away. “Would you be upset if I told you to take me back to Kelly’s house?”
“You throwing me over for her?”
“She’s not my type. Listen, dummy. I’m not superstitious or anything. Well, my grandmother was and she believed in a lot of that old-world stuff that I never could explain . . .”
“What . . . are you talking about?”
Yolanda paused and glanced out the passenger window, as if bad guys were creeping up on them in the broad daylight. “Something’s up, and I can’t put my finger on it.”
“I ’magine it’s this gray weather and Sonny that’s giving you the heebie-jeebies.” Perry Hale scratched at the stubble on his jaw. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Well, you haven’t seen me in a lot of ways.” She held up a hand to block his obvious comment. “Don’t get nasty there, buddy. What I mean is I think you need to take me back. If something’s happened to Sonny that wasn’t an accident, it might be related to the takeover a few months ago.
“It may be just my imagination working overtime, but I was thinking about what you said when you were at the house and played the What If game. The first thing I’d say is, what if Sonny was a target for what he did in the takeover? What if he’s not the only target?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Guys don’t think the way us girls do. For the most part, you’re more reactive.”
“Like the other night.”
“Stop, dang it. I’m being serious. Think about it. Ethan’s on his way south, and so are most of his deputies. Lots of guys have already volunteered, and even a couple of the DPS guys are there.”
Perry Hale rested an elbow on the console and rubbed his chin. “Half the volunteer fire department is gone. I get the picture.”
“Good. It’s not just me.”
“I didn’t say that.” Perry Hale checked his mirror and made a U-turn. “But I’ve already learned to trust your instincts. I’ll take you back, but Kelly’s gonna throw a fit. She wants to be at the command post, too. She’s not going to like the idea of staying at home.”
Yolanda rested her hand on Perry Hale’s bicep. “This bad feeling’s getting stronger. I can handle whatever comes our way back in town, and having me out there to search with you guys won’t make one bit of difference.”
“It will to me.”
“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Well, don’t get used to me being such a nice guy all the time.” He studied her face for a second. “You really don’t wear much makeup, do you?”
“Thanks for finally noticing.”
* * *
Herman Hawke and Gabe were sitting on Sonny’s and Kelly’s wraparound porch when Yolanda and Perry pulled into the drive. Herman looked comfortable with his chair back against the wall on two legs. Anyone simply glancing at Gabe would have thought he was asleep with his back against a column and his legs stretched out on the wide railing. His arms were crossed on his chest, a sweat-stained straw hat shading his eyes.
Herman stood when Yolanda opened the Dodge’s door. “News?”
“No, sorry.” She grabbed her MOLLE pack while Perry Hale dug under the back seat and unlocked the gun box. She crossed to the steps and dropped the pack beside her. “I changed my mind and decided to stay here with Kelly. Looks like you had the same idea.”
Herman eyed the MOLLE pack, then the AR-15 that joined it. “In my day, the women usually baked or quilted when they were worried.”
“I don’t do those things, but I do clean weapons to take my mind off my troubles.”
He grinned and winked. “I wish you’d been around when I was younger.”
“Me too.” Gabe thumbed his hat upward.
“Easy, boys.” Perry Hale laid a heavy canvas bag beside her pack. “She’s locked and loaded.”
Yolanda climbed the steps and hugged Herman’s.
Gabe swung his legs inward to stand and almost lost his balance. “Hijo de puta . . . boy of the bitch!”
Herman sighed. “It’s son of a bitch, boy. You have got to learn how to cuss.”
Chapter 36
My dome was still on my shoulders as they hauled me across the ground. Limbs crackled and rocks put bruises on top of those that were probably turning a nice shade of black and blue. It sounded like they’d pulled me under the mesquites, though the sound was somewhat muffled by the bag. The next thing I knew, my feet were tied and fingers grabbed the material in front of my mouth.
I found myself fighting to breathe through the bag’s thick material.
Still not going out without a fight, I kicked and thrashed until a fist caught me upside the head again. “Estate quieto! Be still!” A hand pushed the bag into my face and the owner squeezed my nose and pulled the material away from my mouth. The next thing I knew, a blade punched through and cut my bottom lip. I wanted to tell the dumb sonofabitch he’d completely missed my neck when he sliced outward and quit. “Para el aire. Respira aquí.”
They pulled back and I did what he said. I twisted my head inside the bag, working my face closer to the material and putting my mouth over the new slit. The fresh air coming into the already stale bag was the sweetest and coolest I’d ever inhaled. My head cleared. They were going to let me live a little longer.
More sounds of rustling and I heard them drag Beard’s body the same way. They dropped him next to me with a heavy thump and left. We lay side by side, but only one of us was breathing.
Chapter 37
The gangsters fiddle-farted around all day, loafing under the mesquites and napping in turn. I could tell because the tones of their soft snores were different. Even though I was scared to death, I dozed a time or two, always jolting awake when someone spoke. It was easy to tell when dusk arrived only because the inside of the bag got darker.
As far as I knew, they were staying there to avoid being spotted by aircraft. They were spinning their wheels, because based on past experience and the last time I’d seen the clouds, there wouldn’t be anyone searching by air.
At least they bought me some time. The last time someone was lost in the park, I was part of a search party that involved an airplane and helicopter from the DPS, and even a drone, new technology I hadn’t been around, but of course it was a clear sky.
That day in the command post we watched the monitor as the operator flew the drone over some of the most rugged country I’d ever seen, and it showed me that the world had passed me by. The drone investigated corners we could never explore on foot or by plane, and we found the hikers on the second day because they’d left their destination written down in their car.
I brightened, hoping they had one up right then, but it might take a day or two before anyone stumbled across the truck and trailer. SAR would concentrate in that area first, giving my new friends time to go or do whatever they wanted.
A light pop thumped the sack over my head, making me think one of the gangsters had thumped the bag for some reason. Another landed on my cuffed hand. That one was cold and either someone was spitting water on me like my friends did when us kids were swimming at the local pool, or it was raining.
The wind freshened and a distant rumble of thunder told me falling weather was on the way. That sounded pretty good to me, because I needed moisture. In addition to being dry as a gourd from breathing through my mouth against the slit, my stomach felt like my throat really was cut.
Wind increased as the di
stant storm moved closer. Hands grabbed my feet and those guys weren’t any too gentle about dragging my carcass out from under cover. I’d been still for so long the bullet wound had settled into a low throb, and the rest of the cuts, scrapes, and punctures faded into the background. The minute I moved, my wound fired up.
I groaned when they yanked me upright. It was all I could do to stay on my feet, but I figured that if I went down, they’d take what was already bagged up and leave the rest behind.
“Water, guys. If you’re planning on making me walk, I’m gonna need water and something to eat.”
They jabbered with each other in their complicated language until one of them untied the drawstring and yanked the bag off my head. It wasn’t full dark like I thought, only dusk, giving me enough light to make out the faces surrounding me. The one with the bag in his hand was the little sawed-off guy who’d snuck up behind me.
He held up an unidentifiable object and pushed it against my lips. “Eat.”
“I’d be easier if you’d uncuff me and let me hold it myself.”
“No. Comer.”
“So I just bite it off or hold it like a cigar in my teeth and go to chewin’?”
“Comer.”
“You were the valedictorian of your class, right?”
A second voice cut in. I’d heard the name Javier, and thought it might be him. “He does not speak English. That is the only thing you will get, so do it as he says. If you don’t, you won’t eat.”
I shrugged and bit into what the runt held. I expected some kind of jerky or homemade food, but it was an energy bar. I didn’t like the consistency that reminded me of sandy peanut butter, but ate it anyway. It was harder’n hell to chew with a mouth as dry as the desert.
Gnawing on the granola bar like a cigar, I had time to check them out. It was then I noticed they were geared up for a hike. Each one of the four wore backpacks slung over their shoulders, Cobras hanging battle-ready over their chests. They were spread in a semicircle, facing outward. It was obvious they were keeping an eye out for search parties.
The Beard still lay under the bush, but there was something odd about him. It took me a second in the fading light to figure out that his ears were gone. My head spun when I saw them hanging on a leather thong around Fat Face’s neck. That’s what I’d come to call him. The guy was built slender, but his face was abnormally large for his body and neck with four sweeping lines. Snarling coyote tattoos faced each other on both cheekbones, their snouts against his flat nose.
Pieces clicked in my mind and I remembered where I’d seen those sweeping tattoos, on a wanted poster. My eyes flicked from one gangster to the other. Even though we were losing light fast, there was enough to see that all four of the heavily armed men standing around me had the same tattoo in the same place. What skin I could see on their arms and hands was also tatted up, and most were jailhouse art.
I was seriously in trouble, because the Coyotes Rabiosos were my captors, and they killed for a living.
Chapter 38
Darkness fell and so many volunteers and reporters filled the command post in the Panther Junction training room the CP had to be moved to three large canvas tents set up at the far end of the parking lot. One of the tents became a “media room,” and the other a gathering place supplied with coffee and snacks.
Searching the maze of shallow canyons in the stark Chihuahuan Desert took organization, and that’s how the park staff was spending their time in the brightly lit tent surrounded by experienced Search and Rescue team members frustrated by the weather.
Perry Hale stood to the side of the tent, out of the traffic flow, and watched as Chief Park Ranger Tammy Rivera accepted a cup of coffee from Emergency Coordinator Ronda Boyd, who served as second in command for what had become known as the Hawke Incident. Both wore Park Service uniforms. Their flat-brimmed hats rested on the edge of the table.
Boyd waved the foam cup toward the top of the tent. “Texas DPS and Border Patrol aircraft have been coordinating for a potential air rescue in the morning, but the Operations Support Manager with the McDonald Observatory says foggy conditions and low cloud cover will most likely prohibit any flights into the area, just as they did this afternoon.”
The CP glowed in the dark, lit from within by electric lights served by two near-silent portable Honda generators. Sheriff Ethan Armstrong studied a waterproof, tear-resistant topographic map spread over a table. Several experienced Park Service personnel were gathered around the table as the emergency coordinator discussed possible search locations with SAR volunteers from multiple agencies.
Typical Search and Rescue teams often involved as few as four or five volunteers, along with Park Service personnel. A Texas Ranger disappearing under mysterious circumstances on the heels of a horrific triple murder brought a sense of urgency never before seen in the national park. The brotherhood of law-enforcement officers resulted in a significant turnout, so many that what they’d begun calling the Coffee Tent was nearly full.
Sonny’s superior, Major Chase Parker, waited off to one side with two other Rangers, listening. All three lawmen stood out in the group, exuding what Ethan had once heard called Texas Cool. Their Silverbelly hats were the most noticeable item. The aura that only iconic Texas Rangers can project cleared a three-foot circle around the trio.
Major Chase Parker stood out from the other two in a white shirt, dark tie, and black khaki pants. Rangers Bill Gasch and Cameron Dulles wore light pinstriped shirts and dress jeans. All three carried semi-automatic. 45s in almost identical Ranger Rig holsters strapped under matching tooled leather belts. Their cinco peso badges glowed under the lights. Different brands of polished boots were the only noticeably individualized items they wore.
None of the three had offered any suggestions or advice since they arrived. The Rangers had little or no experience in desert search and rescue, and knew the federal government, specifically the FBI, held jurisdiction. They were there for Sonny.
Holding a cup of steaming coffee not far away, Perry Hale half sat on a table with one foot on the ground, listening. Although the governor had authorized Sonny to work with Perry Hale and Yolanda, they were both instructed to fly under the radar. Only Major Parker knew of his involvement. The other two Rangers in the CP had no idea who he was.
Coordinator Ronda Boyd marked an X with a grease pencil on the topo map and pulled a stray strand of short brown hair out of her eyes. “This is the site of last week’s murders. Based on information from Sonny Hawke’s wife, he was most likely headed there. Now, here’s the problem. He was in his truck and pulling a horse trailer and we haven’t found them yet. That’s a huge concern. You all have descriptions for them, including tag numbers.
“The Hasty Team reported tire tracks of a truck and trailer, but they were following them by flashlight when it started to rain. They’re the only ones we have on the ground in the target area at this time because of the weather.”
She glanced up at the Rangers standing nearby. “We dispatch Hasty Teams at the outset. They’re our first boots on the ground and equipped with light packs to get in fast and evaluate the situation. They’re prepared for a fast medical response and carry satellite phones.”
Major Parker nodded his thanks and Boyd went back to her outline. “Like I said, National Park Service ground searchers were deployed to trails in the area, and the park’s fixed-wing aircraft and Customs and Border Protection helicopters are standing by, but we can’t get them up right now, so it’s not looking terribly good for aerial extraction.
“This is rough country.” She glanced up again, fighting that troublesome strand of hair and making eye contact with the Rangers. “Some of the roughest in the park, and that’s what concerns us. Our SAR usually utilizes helicopters for extraction in there. Tracking was difficult this morning. I have guys walking the slickrock areas by the mile, and besides the Hasty Team, other experienced park personnel are out there with flashlights.”
Chief Rivera scanned their concer
ned faces. “Some of them have been out there in the rain since it started. Just so you know, and this doesn’t get out of this tent, and especially to the media out there, we have the Justice of the Peace and the funeral home on standby. Local game wardens called in to say they’re available if we need them. A couple of those guys are experienced desert survivalists and will come in handy if this continues.”
Park Ranger Boyd picked it up without a break in the beat. “I have the county emergency medical services on standby, with extra paramedics who can be here in thirty minutes. We have people checking all the pull-outs and trailheads in the park, but if this rain keeps up, and I’m afraid that’s going to happen, some of these roads are going to wash out. When they start to get dangerous, I’m pulling my people in.”
Sheriff Ethan Armstrong couldn’t stay silent any longer. He crossed his arms and studied the map. “Since we don’t have reports of the truck and trailer anywhere else, maybe someone moved it.”
“Did he come out with anyone else?” Chief Ranger Rivera frowned and flipped open a small pocket notebook. “I don’t have that information.”
“No.” Ethan hesitated. He didn’t want to misdirect the SAR team. They had a proven plan to find people that worked over and over again in normal circumstances. “My concern is that this is connected to the murders in some way. What if someone took Sonny at gunpoint and drove the truck away?”
Stone faced, Major Parker crossed his arms and leaned into Ranger Gasch, who flipped a page on the small notebook that seemed to be part of his left hand. He wrote a brief note and nodded at the quiet statement, then turned his attention back to the sheriff.
Completely out of his comfort zone, the single FBI agent on-site had been stationed in West Texas for only a couple of months after his involvement with the Ballard Incident. After two years in the Washington, D.C. field, Agent Landon McDowell had yet to acclimate to the Big Bend region. His suit, tie, and white shirt were completely out of sync with the rest of those in the CP. “That’s something we haven’t discussed. Lost visitors and hikers are one thing, felony kidnapping is another. I worked with Sheriff Armstrong on getting an APB out on the truck, but what if it never left the park on normal surface roads? What if he never arrived?”
Hawke's War Page 13