by Ty Patterson
One of the illegals crouching over the dead, a woman, sprang suddenly at the coyotes, shrieking, her arms outstretched. The heavy closest to her stepped back without a word, upended his AK-47, and with a lazy, casual swing hit the woman across the face. The woman fell back and then collapsed in an untidy heap without a sound, and seconds later the dull watermelon-like thud of the impact reached Roger and Bwana.
The coyotes shouted and prodded the rest of the group who resumed shuffling along the corridor. The coyote who had felled the woman hawked and spat on her body and stepped across her as he followed the group.
The gang started hazing and herding the illegals, urging them to go faster. The last one bent over the fallen woman and felt something on her body. He then rose and fired a short burst into her body. Point blank. He then stepped across the body, went to the wall of the ravine, hitched his shirt up with a loud sigh, and urinated a long stream. Just another day in a coyote’s life.
Roger felt loose and light. He could smell and taste each molecule of air that brushed his face and feel the blood steadily pulse inside him. He looked across at Bwana. He knew Bwana understood. Nothing needed to be said.
They moved like a well-oiled machine, countless missions in hot spots of the world perfecting every step they took. They drifted along, flanking the group from both sides, narrowing the gap.
Bwana was closest to the last gangbanger, the one who had fired into the prone woman.
One moment the coyote was trotting to catch up, his AK-47 held loosely in his left hand, feeling deeply satisfied with the night’s activities. The next moment, a steel band whipped across his throat, and a knife pierced his ribs. Before his neurons could transmit and his brain could decode, Bwana’s rocklike arms snapped his neck.
Bwana dragged the body to the side, lengthened his pace, and drew abreast of Roger.
The coyotes had not yet realized that one of theirs was missing, and were still loosely bunched together behind the illegals. Roger smiled grimly as he counted seven of them. None of them had gone ahead of the group.
The rough track had started widening, and the coyotes started pushing the group faster, shouting and cursing. Roger glanced at Bwana briefly. With the terrain opening, the risk of one or more of the coyotes heading to the front of the group increased.
One of the illegals stumbled and fell, and the coyote closest to her roared and lifted his rifle to strike her.
‘Hola, amigos,’ Roger called out softly and immediately stepped to his right.
The coyote froze, and the others jerked as if burnt and whirled. Flashlights stabbed the night, rifles leveled, and a query of voices rang out. Roger could make out English, Spanish and a few other languages that he didn’t recognize.
The gunmen squinted against the lights, peering in the darkness, trying to see past the shape and shadows of the valley.
One of them let loose a fusillade at where he thought the voice had come from.
Bwana took him out with a head shot and dropped down prone.
Roger stepped sideways again, his Kimber coming up smooth and fast, the lights painting bull’s-eyes on his targets, six shots roaring death in the ravine, double taps that felled three gunmen. He fell prone, rolled a few feet away, his gun tracking the group, and saw the remaining three drop as Bwana got them.
He kept the fallen heavies in his sight as Bwana approached them cautiously, not in a straight line, and confirmed the dead.
He joined his companion, and they walked around the group of illegals, who had come to a stop and were watching them vacantly. Bwana went up close to a few of them; they didn’t step back, just looked at him. He shook his head and approached a few more and got no reaction.
Roger watched for a moment and then looked around for the woman who had attacked the gunman. He found her deep inside the group, shivering violently as she stared at him.
He approached her slowly, his arms spread wide, harmlessly.
‘Hello.’
She didn’t respond to his greeting but stood there motionless, shivering and watching.
‘Hola,’ he tried again and got no response.
‘Ola.’ Nope, just shivering and a blank look back at him.
He scratched his head and tried in French and got nothing in return. He cursed under his breath and shrugged out of the jacket he was wearing and went forward to drape it across her shoulders.
She flinched as he went closer, but did not utter a word when he had wrapped it around her. She pulled the jacket closer and stared back at him.
Roger realized she was young, maybe in her mid-twenties. With sudden shock he looked harder at the rest of the group, pushing his way in deeper – he had given the group only cursory glances till then since he had been focused on the coyotes.
All of the illegals were young white women. All of them maybe in their twenties.
He sought out Bwana, who nodded when he met Roger’s gaze.
‘Yep, I noticed it too.’
‘Are they carrying any drugs?’
‘Nope, but then I didn’t search them,’ replied Bwana. He checked his phone again. No signal still.
‘Yours?’
‘Nope. No idea how big the dead area is,’ Roger said, referring to the lack of mobile coverage. ‘We’ll press on to the nearest town and hand these women to the police. Why don’t you try talking to them and see if you have better luck than me?’
Bwana drifted over to the group as Roger went to the dead bodies and collected all the rifles and smashed their barrels on a large stone. He went to the nearest body and removed the jacket the illegal had been wearing.
You won’t need it. Not where you are now, he thought and, dumping all the magazines in it, fashioned a rough rucksack.
He stood up as Bwana approached him, shaking his head.
‘No luck. All of them are drugged to the gills. Not a single word from them. We need to get them to civilization quickly before the effects of the drugs wear off.’
Roger pulled out his compass from his pocket, and then it came back to him in a flash.
‘These folks were all heading the wrong way.’
‘Wrong way? What do you mean?’ asked Bwana quizzically.
‘They were heading TO Mexico. Not stateside!’
Chapter 15
Bwana looked at the group and then at the trail they had come from.
‘Are you sure?’
Roger nodded, pointing in the general direction the bandits and illegals were heading. ‘That way is Nogales. Nogales, Sonora, in Mexico.’
Turning back, he waved his hand. ‘And that’s where all the aliens and drugs head to. The I-19 from Nogales to Tucson distributes product, whether human or drugs. These guys were definitely heading toward Mexico, not deeper into the US. That’s not the normal route for illegal immigrants to take.’
There was a pause as Bwana digested this. His face grew grimmer. ‘Young white girls being smuggled to Mexico. We can guess what for. I’m glad we erased them. But more likely, they’re part of a gang.’
He went to the bodies and started searching them. Roger joined him, and they went through the eight bandits thoroughly.
Half an hour later, they had laid out the results of the search on the ground. Wallets with no identity documents, a mobile phone, keys, loose change, magazines for the rifles, handguns, knives, but no documents, nothing that said, ‘Mr. Coyote, Gangbanger.’
Roger investigated the phone. ‘Burner phone. Just one number that has been dialed from it. No signal on this either.’
He slipped it in his pocket and turned to Bwana. ‘Some of them look European, which would be a bit unusual for gangs doing this. You notice the mark on the wrist?’
Bwana nodded. ‘Never seen it before, but then I am yet to do my PhD on gang tats. Looks like a playing card, a five of clubs.’
Roger thought for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Nothing we can do till we get a mobile signal. Let’s press on. Nearest town should be Rio Rico, that away, so let’s get going now.
’
The gangbangers had carafes of water with them, which Bwana and Roger shouldered. They went to the group of women, who were standing passively, watching them, and silently offered the water to them. Some of them drank thirstily, others just stared back blankly.
Bwana went ahead of the group and said, ‘Let’s go,’ and the group moved obediently. Roger took one last look at the dead guys and made a mental note to wreak grievous bodily harm to any other gangbanger he met, and followed the group.
The bandits had clearly been following a well-trodden route and probably had a rendezvous with others at some point – others who would start pressing silent panic buttons when they didn’t show. Bwana and Roger kept a careful watch and rotated the lead between them, but encountered no one else.
A couple of miles further, dawn broke, bathing the valley in silence, the vast and towering landscape making them feel like the only living beings on the planet.
A mile on, they got a mobile signal.
About forty-five minutes later they heard the Customs and Border Patrol chopper, which on spotting them swung low, and a loudspeaker came on, asking them to follow it to a clearing.
The chopper settled down in the clearing, and three heavily-armed Border Patrol agents jumped out and spread wide as they approached the group. Two other agents covered them from within the chopper, their H&K UMP .40 submachine guns tracking them. Bwana and Roger kept their hands empty and relaxed, conveying a nonthreatening message.
One of the agents walked up to them, his hands free but close to his H&K P2000 holstered pistol, while the other two circled the group of women and started offering water. Roger noticed one of those two was also carrying a medical kit with him.
He drew his attention back to the agent in front of him.
‘Supervisory Border Patrol Agent Gonzalez,’ the agent introduced himself. ‘You guys had a long walk, it looks like. Need anything? Water? Chow? Medication?’
‘We’re good,’ Bwana replied and introduced Roger and himself.
Gonzalez chewed slowly as he looked them over and noted their weapons. ‘Never heard or seen such a thing happening before, two guys, ex-Special Forces, right? We checked on you. You guys took down eight bandits and rescued forty-odd hostages. They would have been sold into sex slavery, and once they had outlived that, would have been used as drug mules. All these women seem white American or European… at a casual glance, anyway. We’ll process them once we take them to Nogales and start the investigative process as well as inform their kin.’
He scratched his head. ‘We’ve busted some human-trafficking runs before, but not this large nor have we put down so many bandits. This has gotten the entire Border Patrol buzzing. You guys are going to have quite the reception when we get to Tucson.’
‘Tucson? Not Nogales?’ Roger asked him.
‘Nope, we’re going to Sector HQ in Tucson – this is big.’ He paused. ‘So why don’t you tell me all that happened right from the beginning?’
Roger and Bwana were expecting this and talked him through their camping trip and the happenings of the night.
‘Sir,’ one of the agents shouted at Gonzalez, ‘these women are drugged and are in a stupor. We need to move them fast.’
‘Load them up and take them to base, Brodell. All of them won’t fit, so we’ll need to make two or three round trips. I’ll stay with these guys till we’re all done here.’
Brodell acknowledged with a thumbs-up and started leading the women to the chopper. Gonzalez watched as Brodell led about fourteen women to the chopper while the other agent led the rest to shade and tried to make them comfortable.
He then turned back to Roger and Bwana and saw they had drawn a map in the earth and hunkered down. Roger stuck a stick in the earth. ‘This is where we were camping. Still got our gear there. Woke up in the night, sensed something was wrong–’
‘Sensed how?’ Gonzalez shouted over the roar of the chopper lifting off.
Bwana shrugged at him. ‘We’ve lived with danger a long time. Knowing when something is off is second nature to us.’
Gonzalez nodded, expecting the answer, and waved at Roger to carry on.
‘So we woke up, scouted around a bit, and saw this glow in the night, followed it and came across these guys.’ He stuck another stick in the ground. ‘This is where the bastards shot three women, and then we took them all out and led the women here, about four miles from where the action happened.’
‘And if we track back, we’ll find the bodies?’ Gonzalez asked them.
‘Danged right, but you’d better get there before buzzards and animals make short work of them. You’ll also find their rifles, smashed, and if you go back further, our gear.’
‘We’ll be obliged if you get our gear back,’ Bwana said straight faced.
Gonzalez laughed. ‘We’ll try.’ He looked at the sheet of paper Bwana handed over to him.
‘Coordinates of all the points Rog marked over there,’ Bwana explained.
Gonzalez nodded in thanks, stood up, and used his radio to check where the chopper was. He then walked over to the women, tried talking to them, and walked back defeated.
‘Have seen this before. The bandits drug them to the eyeballs and then make them walk the trails. Makes it easier for them to manage. By the way, did the bastards have any markings on them? Any gang signs?’
‘Had a playing card sign on them. Here.’ Bwana pulled out his phone and brought up a photograph and showed it to Gonzalez.
Bwana scrolled through a few more pictures and showed them to Gonzalez.
Gonzalez whistled as he swiped through the pictures. ‘I dunno how well you guys are clued on gangs operating on the border, but these guys, 5Clubs, are an upcoming gang who’ve muscled in and started taking over the drug and human-trafficking business. This is the first time we’ve busted one of their runs.’
He looked up. ‘Once we get you back to Tucson and sort out all the formalities and paperwork, will you come back with me to locate the bodies?’
‘We’re good to go right now,’ Bwana replied.
Gonzalez shook his head. ‘I wish we could, but paperwork is paperwork. Still let’s see if we can grease the wheels and turn it around quickly.’
They heard the chopper returning and looked up.
‘There’s another behind it,’ Roger commented.
‘Yup, I want to get the women back to Tucson and medical attention as soon as possible,’ Gonzalez said as he approached the women and got them organized.
Roger and Bwana followed him and helped him to split the women in two groups and get them aboard the choppers.
‘We’ll be turning back as soon as you meet the DCPA and debrief,’ Gonzalez shouted over the racket of the chopper.
‘Deputy Chief Patrol Agent Hugo Fernandez,’ he clarified on seeing Roger’s and Bwana’s quizzical looks. ‘El Jefe in Tucson, for the moment.’
Roger nodded and stared out of the chopper. He knew what was coming: briefing after briefing, to bureaucrats. He looked at Bwana, who read his mind and shrugged.
They were greeted by a phalanx of ambulances, doctors, and agents, who rushed to the group of women and took them away. Gonzalez led Roger and Bwana to the DCPA’s office, who rose from his seat and strode around his desk to greet them. The room was bare of decoration except for a few awards and framed pictures of the President, and one of a uniformed person who they took to be the Chief of the Border Patrol.
Fernandez was short, stocky and mustachioed, with a weather-beaten face that had seen everything on the border. He sharply assessed the two before him and ushered them to their chairs.
‘Gentlemen, Gonzalez would have told you we’ve rescued many men and women from human-trafficking bandits, turned away many illegal Mexicans, busted many drug runs, but this beats them all. I’ve no idea whether to call you heroes or lucky fools, but whatever you are, our thanks go to you.’
Roger and Bwana nodded silently.
‘Now,’ rasped Fernandez, in a vo
ice sandpapered by the sun and the border, ‘why don’t you tell me everything right from the start.’
Bwana and Roger narrated their story once again as Fernandez silently handed over a couple of sheets to Gonzalez. Our military records, guessed Bwana. When Roger had finished, Fernandez strode over to a large map of the border on the wall behind him, took a box of flag pins with him, and grunted, ‘Again.’
He started sticking pins on the map as Roger went through the events and walked them through the route they had taken. He turned around when they had fallen silent. ‘This route is known to us, and we routinely patrol it, but budget cuts have taken their toll on our ability to man it as well as we would like to.
‘This new gang, 5Clubs, is a lot smarter than all the others. They track us and seem to know when we are going to patrol the Corridor and lie low at that point. It wouldn’t surprise us at all if they had snitches in Nogales and Tucson who monitored our movements, our choppers, everything, based on which the gang moved people. I mentioned before – this is the largest people bust we have made – but this is also the first time we have busted a movement going to the other side. In addition to that, it’s the first time we’ve struck at this gang, and believe me, we’ve been itching to do this for a long time,’ Gonzalez chimed in.
‘Despite all our technology, all the choppers, sensors, satellites, all the geek shit we can throw at it, there’s no way in hell we can seal the border totally, and thus drugs and people still get smuggled across the border.’ Fernandez looked resigned for a moment and went quiet.
Bwana and Roger sat silently, allowing Fernandez and Gonzalez to blow steam. They had seen firsthand the enormity of the border and knew how difficult the task of patrolling was.
Fernandez collected himself, gave a last look at the map, sat down at his desk, and scribbled on a notepad. Tearing the sheet off, he handed it to Gonzalez and looked at the two men in front of him. ‘You will go with Gonzo and recover the bodies and your kit.’ It wasn’t a request.