Hawke's War

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  The construction materials I’d seen out front were a perfect cover. Anyone watching the house would think a renovation project was under way with trucks and trailers coming and going for a year or two, or more if they could figure a way to stretch it out.

  After that, a For Sale sign in the yard and advertisements in the paper would tell the locals that the house was up for sale again, and that would allow for more vehicles. Then after it “sold,” and to the same shell company who owned it in the first place, more trucks could arrive for extra renovations, or another room, another wing, or even building up. It could work for years.

  “You’re right. No one knows where I am, either. They’re looking forty or fifty miles to the west of here, in the park.” I waggled the SAT phone. It was useless in the tunnel, but a lifeline once I emerged on the Mexican side of the border. “So that means we’re on our own until we can use this to call for help.”

  I stood, feeling the angry throb under my arm. I thought the water I’d just drank was going to become public again and leaned against the wall. Instead, the infection sent a wave of feverish chills through my body. Cold sweat broke out and I shivered as it soaked my shirt.

  “You gonna make it? You look like hell.”

  “That’s ’cause I been through hell.” I paused. “We both have, and we got a ways to go yet.”

  “You’re bleeding through all the dried blood on your shirt.”

  The aching pain came back after she mentioned it. Climbing down that ladder hadn’t helped it none. “Shot. It’s infected, too, so that’s probably why it’s still open.

  She built a slight grin that lit up her face. “We make a pair, don’t we?”

  “Yessum. We’re something. What say we hie on down to the other end of this tunnel and find some help.”

  She gently took my good arm. “You can lean on me, if you want.”

  Those words from that little slip of a girl watered my eyes. She was likely damaged both physically and emotionally, but was willing to help me walk. She reminded me of Mary, and a wave of dread washed over me again, because I wasn’t sure any of my family was still alive.

  I let her hold my arm, more for the physical comfort than anything else, and we limped down the long slope, hoping to get to the exit before Javier could arrange for a surprise party on the other end.

  Chapter 61

  The well-lit command center was an oasis of light in the gathering dusk. Jerry kicked at a rock in the parking lot that skipped between two new pickups. He was mad as a Jap, as his Grandpa Herman would say. “Told me she couldn’t use us!” He slammed the palm of his hand on the Bronco’s hood.

  Kick. Another rock went sailing, barely missing a game warden’s truck.

  “Said we were just kids and didn’t have any experience! I told her who I was and she said the best thing I can do for him is wait right here. How’s that supposed to help?”

  Kick. That one bounced once and dented the rocker panel on a highway patrol car.

  Arturo checked their surroundings, to be sure no one was watching. He didn’t want trouble with the law, because he intended to become a Texas Ranger someday, and being part of a car denting was sure to get him in trouble.

  “Look, calm down and let’s decide what to do.”

  “Do!” Jerry kicked another rock and Arturo had the feeling that the next time that hiking boot kicked out, a windshield was going to crack.

  “Jerry. I might have an idea.”

  “About what?”

  “About where your dad might be.”

  “Bullshit. How would you know?”

  “Because while you were squared off in there with the commander, I was reading the maps they have out on the tables. Those guys like to write things down, and when they were pushing you outside, I heard one of the guys say he knew who you were and that they’d found your daddy’s truck.”

  The anger disappeared and Jerry grabbed Arturo’s elbow. “So let’s get out of here. Where did they find it?”

  “I don’t know exactly where . . .”

  “Then why did you tell me?”

  “Well, at first because they found a body a ways off.” Arturo saw the look on Jerry’s face and held up a hand. “Hold it. That’s why I didn’t tell you, but it’s not your daddy. It’s someone else. Some park rangers and Texas Rangers went out there and said they think it’s a gangster from across the river.”

  Jerry relaxed and the line between his eyes went away for the moment. “How would they know a gangster from a wetback? Do they carry signs, I’m a gangster?”

  He saw the hurt look on Arturo’s face and wilted a little. “Hey, I’m sorry I said that.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re worried and all.”

  “So where’s the truck?”

  Arturo repeated what he’d heard. “That area’s going to be swarming with searchers. We can’t go there. They’ll have everything sealed off.”

  “We’ll bluff our way through.” Jerry was back on top with the good news. “Then we can join one of the search parties and . . .”

  “Stop. Let’s drive down to the visitor center and get us one of those topo maps they were looking at. I saw where they’d circled that area. If we get the same one, I can tell you where the truck was.”

  “Then what?”

  “That Bronco has plenty of clearance. We can drive out on our own and come in the back way. You know your dad, maybe we can figure out where he went.” Arturo saw Park Ranger Rivera and Major Parker leave the CP and stop beside five men in tactical camouflage, boonie hats, camo caps. AR-15s hung muzzle down across their chests. Prominent patches on their shoulders identified them as Texas Rangers, and it was the first time Arturo had ever seen them in anything other than their iconic western wear.

  “Give me your phone.”

  “Why?” Jerry held the phone out even as he asked the question.

  “Because I don’t have one.” Arturo took it and drifted back toward the huddle of men behind Rivera, tapping at the screen and scowling. It was the same performance the boys had seen over and over that day with frustrated responders. Cell phones seemed to have a mind of their own in the remote park, sometimes working, sometimes not.

  The youngster turned one ear toward the group and listened as Rivera spoke softly with the Texas Rangers. None of them paid any attention to the familiar sight of a youngster intent on a cell phone. He angled himself and lifted the device as if trying to find a signal, and with the ears of youth, heard enough to make him want to dance.

  Arturo waved Jerry over and led the way toward the impromptu parking lot when the group dissolved and Rivera returned to the CP.

  “Where are we going?”

  “La Carmen.”

  “La Carmen? Why there? That place is nothing but a dead end in the desert.”

  “Because that’s where your daddy is. We’re following those guys. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  They broke into a run as a rumble of thunder seemed to jar even more water from the sky.

  Chapter 62

  Frustrated at the lack of news and equally aggravated that she hadn’t heard from her brother, Mary Hawke sent a flurry of Snapchat photos to her friends, complaining that she was going nuts in the Posada Real Hotel and wished she had some news about her dad.

  * * *

  In his sprawling house in Houston, Chavez gave a child’s giggle of glee as Mary’s Snapchat photos popped up on his screen. “Gotcha!”

  He adjusted the mouthpiece on his headset and tapped a couple of keys on the laptop squared up with the edge of his light granite counter.

  The gruff voice on the other end of the call answered with a thick Spanish accent. “What?”

  “I’m pleased to inform you that I have some excellent news.”

  The man on the other end sighed as if a great weight had been placed on his shoulders. “What?”

  Taken aback by the Chatto’s gruff tone, Chavez almost declined to give the gangster his news. However, the thought of taking his
revenge on the Hawke family overcame his childish reluctance. “Fine fine fine, if you want to dispense with social courtesy”—he licked his lips in anticipation—“the Hawke targets that your people missed are now securely ensconced in the Posada Real Hotel. You may complete your contract there.”

  “You still owe me that package.”

  “I’m sure you know that it’s in hand and on the way to your location at this moment.”

  “That man you had so much faith in probably failed. I should have sent my own man along with the Apaches.”

  “Issues arose beyond my grasp.”

  “You and I are finished.”

  “I expected as much. Just do what I paid you for.” Chavez clicked off and sighed. Dealing with people of such low class was frustrating. If this project failed as he expected, much like the last in Ballard, he planned to take a different tack on the next one. He’d forget the Hawkes, charging both failures to experience, and contact his disillusioned mercenaries in EmCorp. Those guys were professionals and would do as he asked without fail.

  Bolstered with the idea, Chavez clicked the keys on his computer again and sat straighter when a woman’s soft voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “This is . . . Ed.”

  “Well hello, honey. Are you lonely today?”

  “Yes. Can you have someone here in say, two hours?”

  “Of course. Now, don’t get started without us.”

  * * *

  Sheltered in the cool darkness of the Americana Bar de Vista, in Paso La Carmen, Chatto handed the cell phone back to his number one man, who slipped it into the pocket of his linen slacks. “Ernesto. Send Rodriguez and some men to Chavez’s house in Houston. Our association has come to an end. Wrap this up before the sun comes up tomorrow.”

  “Sí.” The gangster pulled a second burner phone from another pocket and pushed a button. “Ernesto aquí. Terminar el contrato de Chávez en Houston.”

  Ernesto here. Terminate the contract with Chavez in Houston.

  “Cuándo?”

  “Inmediatamente!”

  Immediately.

  Chatto nodded and walked across the grimy floor. He stopped at the open doors and sighed in satisfaction at the soft rain falling on the darkening desert. “The Ranger’s family is in the Posada Real Hotel in Ballard. I want this finished.”

  “Instructions?” Ernesto’s face was impassive.

  “Kill everyone there, and then burn the hotel down.”

  The gangster’s eyes glittered. He surveyed the room full of local cowboys, gangsters, and the Mexican officer in fatigues. “That will take an army.”

  Chatto shifted his feet, and leveled his response to Captain Perez of the Mexican Army, who leaned forward and laced his fingers on the table, listening. “It is time to go to war.”

  Ernesto made another call on his burner phone. “Ernesto aquí. Es hora de ir a trabajar.”

  Ernesto here. It’s time to go to work.

  Chapter 63

  “I’m all boogered up, but we can’t stay in here.” Our feet were wet from half an inch of water that covered the floor. It was an eerie feeling to walk down the long tunnel lit by bare bulbs and know that the Rio Grande was flowing not far above our heads.

  Long gray electrical cables attached to the wet walls sagged like bunting. I limped along best I could, with Phoebe holding my arm like I was a hundred years old. Honestly, I could have used a walker.

  Like I’d expected, there was no elevator at the end of the tunnel. I eased up to see past the ceiling and into the shaft leading upward. The metal ladder set into the wall was exactly the same as the other, and a bare yellow bulb showed me the closed door above.

  I pulled Phoebe back. “Listen, kid. I have a bad feeling about this. You wait until I find out what’s up there. I’ll call you when I know the coast is clear.”

  “Or when everyone is dead?”

  My eyebrow went up at her question.

  “I saw your work back there.”

  “Look, I was lucky as hell. That’s all. The odds are against me if I get into another altercation with those guys.”

  “Altercation?”

  “You know what I mean. They’ve had plenty of time to call their friends on this side. They’re probably waiting for us up there.”

  “The cops back at the house will figure things out. Why don’t we wait until it’s safe?”

  “More than one reason.” Now that I was still and thinking about it again, the infection pressed down like a weight on my shoulders. I almost sagged and put one hand on the wall as my head spun. It took a moment to rally. “Mostly because I might be unconscious from this bullet wound by morning, and second, there’ll probably be someone from this side who’ll open the door at any time. They have product to move, and we’re smack dab in the way.”

  “Fine then, but don’t get yourself killed. I’m beginning to like you.”

  “You’d like my daughter better. She’s about your age.”

  Trying not to groan out loud, I worked my left arm through the backpack’s straps and settled it on my shoulders. Climbing up was going to be harder than going down, but I figured out how to keep my left arm as still as possible.

  Things got a little complicated when I reached the top. That little thing called gravity gave me trouble. I had to loop my good arm through the ladder to hold steady while a couple of deep breaths gave me the strength and courage to reach way out with the other. The wound shrieked and light flickered in my eyes.

  A large white garage button pushed by many dirty hands lifted the door above my head. It moved with a growl and hiss of hydraulics. Expecting light to come pouring in, I was surprised to see I’d come up in some kind of pit in the floor of a metal building. A lone yellow security light directly overhead showed me the grimy floor.

  Any other time I’d have peeked out with the .45, but essentially being one-handed on the ladder presented a problem. I swiveled my head like an owl, scanning what I could see of a long narrow concrete trench. Feeling disoriented by the fever, I wondered if I was hallucinating. A steel grate four or five feet above my head explained everything.

  The trap door came up in an oil-changing pit. It was something I hadn’t expected to find in Mexico, but I figured it was a relic of the days before 9/11 when the area was booming. Someone must have had more money than sense back in the 1980s or ’90s to put in an oil-changing station, and the owners must have been betting on an economic upturn.

  After the attacks, the border was closed and Paso La Carmen withered away to nothing.

  I waited, listening. The building was empty, so I pulled myself upward and rolled onto the pit’s floor with a groan.

  Silence.

  “Hang on. It’s going to take a minute or two more.”

  Instead of listening, Phoebe came up the ladder like a monkey, apparently glad to get out of the tunnel. I was wondering if she was claustrophobic when something scraped in the metal building. It was so late in the day that a dim glow around a large rolling steel door on one end was all I could see. I used the concrete trench as cover and stretched my arm with the cocked 1911 above the floor. I was waiting for my eyes to adjust when Phoebe squeaked like a mouse.

  I spun to find two armed men pointing guns at the same time something the size of a calf landed on my shoulders. More bodies dropped into the pit like falling fruit, and their weight took me to the ground.

  Chapter 64

  Yolanda Rodriguez was in the Posada Real Hotel’s colorful art deco lobby when her cell phone vibrated. Guided by a strong sense of responsibility, she’d stopped by on the way out of town to check on the Hawke family on her way to join Perry Hale. Beside her on the dark leather couch, Kelly Hawke raised an eyebrow in question and Yolanda nodded. “It’s Perry Hale.”

  The Posada’s lobby went silent at the announcement. Yolanda answered. “Hey you.”

  “Good to hear your voice.”

  “You sound great, too. You’re coming through loud and clear.
You must have a good signal wherever you are in the park.”

  “I don’t know how. I’m not there. I’m in La Carmen Hacienda, where we spent the weekend a couple of months ago, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Sonny’s alive, and the last time I saw him he was in a house down below the bed and breakfast, overlooking the river.”

  Yolanda saw the anticipation in everyone’s faces and rose, shaking her head that Perry Hale didn’t have anything new. They went back to their discussions as she left the lobby and crossed the red Mexican tile floor. She pushed through the double French doors out onto the patio. It had stopped raining for the moment, and the streamer flags crisscrossing overhead hung limp. The bubbling fountain covered her voice and she faced the arched entrance to the street, talking freely.

  “I remember the place. You can see all the way to that little church on the Mexico side from our room. You’re in there now?”

  No phones, no television, and no Wi-Fi, the remote Hacienda was for people who wanted to get completely off the grid for a while. It was so remote, they opened only when someone reserved a room, which meant the rental was empty and closed most of the time.

  “Yep. That’s where I am. I’ve glassed both sides of the river. There’s a few locals over there with what looks like a squad of Mexican soldiers.”

  “Do they have Sonny?”

  “He disappeared back into the house with me hollering at him. I worked my way down the river so no one could see me coming in, and the minute I got behind the house, here came Sonny, boiling outside, shooting at everyone in sight. The whole world went to shit. I tried to cover him, but he must have thought I was one of the bad guys. I kept yelling at him, but he couldn’t hear me. He ducked back inside and things got too hot. I had to slip back down the riverbank and split.

  “But here’s the deal, the war ended and them that could walk took off without him. It’s quiet now, but with those people across the river watching I don’t dare go down there to look.”

  “What does that mean?”