by Joe Nobody
For a moment, Zach was tempted to make a run for it. He could see a reasonable distance in both directions, and there wasn’t any sign of human activity. With his heavy pack, Zach figured he could cross the uneven terrain in about 15 minutes if his legs and lungs held out.
He quickly dismissed the urge. The local agents probably had horses, ATVs, and 4-wheel drive trucks. They could be hiding in a thousand different places. Making such a run in broad daylight was just stupid given how much was riding on his safe passage.
If they caught him, his career was over, he would cause no small amount of embarrassment for Texas, and Mexico would most likely be torn apart. If the U.S. boys were in a vigorous frame of mind, he might even go to jail.
Zach scanned his surroundings again and decided the canyon was his best bet at concealment. Unless a drone or copter flew directly overhead, he would be difficult to spot. Dropping his pack to the ground, he leaned against a large boulder and again pulled a few swallows of water.
After resting a bit, he began removing the gear from his knapsack and setting up camp. There was an old tent, entrenching tool, a small butane powered stove, and a special package he’d prepared just for the trip.
The tent was a mess, complete with worn fabric, unworkable zippers, and a hole large enough for a good sized scorpion to make a nocturnal visit. Zach didn’t care – he wasn’t going to be sleeping tonight.
The fire pit required special care. There was enough dried mesquite and scrub oak lying around to provide fuel. The ranger was careful to dig the pit extra deep on three sides.
He made coffee and heated a camping meal, shoving the last spoonful of the extra-salty beef stew in his mouth just as the sun sat in the west.
Dusk was the perfect light to run the wire and dig his hole.
There was only one way up the small draw to his camp. Zach quickly secured one end of the thinnest fishing line he could find and began unwinding the spool. The first time he tried to test his equipment, he broke the thin, plastic string. The second attempt proved workable.
It was much darker by the time he started digging the spider hole.
He knew the BP would be using night vision and infrared equipment. The light amplification units weren’t his primary concern. It was the infrared that worried Zach the most, and it wasn’t just the agents on the ground that he had to bypass.
Aircraft and fixed position cameras also were equipped with similar technologies.
Moving as close to the mouth of the canyon as he dared, Zach selected a semi-exposed shelf of rock. After picking the best example, he began hacking, scraping and digging out a burrow large enough to conceal most of his oversized frame. It was hot, filthy work.
Next, he unfolded a sheet of radiant barrier material used to insulate houses. The metallic fiber was similar to the thin, Mylar “space” blankets commonly found in emergency kits. According to the manufacturer, it would reflect 95% of the heat generated by his body.
He draped himself in a cloak of the shiny metal fabric and then did the same with his leather duster. Zach knew his two-layered approach wasn’t a long-term solution, as his body heat would eventually bleed through. “All I need is 30 minutes,” he whispered, wishing there had been more time to test his gizmos.
When his spider hole and thermal suit were ready, Zach threw a large bundle of firewood in the pit, connected the wire to his special package, and darted for his hide.
The ranger knew the fire’s signature would point the local CBP toward the canyon. He was hoping it would draw them in like moths to a flame.
Zach was also well aware that the typical border crashers didn’t build fires. He was putting a lot of faith in the never-ending game of cat and mouse played along the international boundary and the continuing creativity of the smugglers. Everything from tunnels to ramps and even catapults had been used for illegal border crossings. He was reasonably sure something unusual, like the flames, would be sure to lure in the agents.
Sliding under the rock and then draping his enhanced duster over the opening, the ranger waited. It was less than 15 minutes before he heard the first engine noise.
Zach was tempted to peer out, but he knew any exposure of his skin could be detected on an infrared reticle. Before long, he could hear several sets of boots working their way toward the camp.
There were at least four of them. Once he was sure they had passed his hide and were approaching his fake camp, Zach felt safe chancing a look through a narrow slit in his heat shield.
With the fire backlighting their approach, he could make out five agents spreading out to approach his lure.
When they were within 20 feet of his fire, he pulled hard on the fishing line.
The thin line tightened, pulling Zach’s package into the flames. Inside the paper bag was what the lady at the fireworks stand called a “multi-stage artillery shell.”
Zach closed his eyes and covered his ears.
It took the fire another few seconds to burn through the paper.
A throbbing white fireball erupted in the canyon, the strobe of blinding light accompanied by an ear-splitting crack of overwhelming noise. The rock surrounding Zach vibrated for a moment, the searing flash visible through his clenched eyelids.
The fireworks had been designed to be launched skyward and then explode in the brilliant spread of white, thunderous starbursts, quickly followed by secondary poppers and fizzling streaks of color. When the nearly two pounds of powder exploded in the fire, the effect on the agents and their equipment was devastating.
Zach knew modern night vision and infrared devices were equipped with automatic shut-off, “auto-gated” mechanisms. These circuits were meant to protect the sensitive tubes from sudden bursts of light. And that’s just what happened to the CBP equipment.
The human brain suffered a similar condition. While Zach’s surprise, combined with the 3-sided fire pit, didn’t throw any shrapnel, the agents were still disabled. It was if they had been hit with a flashbang grenade of massive proportions.
Blinded, stumbling, and deaf, the border patrol team was completely dazed, none of them noticing Zach sliding out from his hide and running like hell toward the valley below.
He was a good 70 yards behind them, moving as quickly as possible through the rough terrain. He broke out onto the flat valley floor, the smoother ground allowing the lanky Texan to take advantage of his stride.
That’s when Zach spotted the three official-looking SUVs sitting alongside the path. He could clearly hear one of the radios through the otherwise calm, desert night.
With a grunt, the ranger detoured toward the government vehicles, hoping all of the agents had made for the canyon. Sure enough, he found the three SUVs idling unattended.
Zach couldn’t help but grin as he opened the first vehicle’s door. He studied the radio for a moment under the dome light’s glow and then pushed a quick series of buttons. He depressed the microphone’s talk button and wedged the device between the seat and center console, careful to keep the unit transmitting.
With the keys still in the ignition and the broadcasting radio blocking the primary communications channel, Zach closed and locked the door.
The ranger did the same on the other two green and white patrol units and then spirited away toward the Mexican border. It would take a while before the CBP boys figured out why their personal radios were no longer working. Unless they had spare keys in their wallets, it would be even longer before they were mobile.
Running hard now, eating up the distance across the level basin floor, Zach hoped he would never meet the federal agents he’d just left behind. He was sure they would shoot him on sight and leave his carcass for the buzzards. “Some people have no sense of humor about this shit,” he whispered between breaths.
The Texas lawman, now turned criminal, slowly made his way across the desolate landscape that was northern Mexico, eventually arriving at a two-lane, blacktop highway that the map identified as Carretera Federal 2.
Zach b
egan walking east, staying to the edge, ready to hide in the rocks if headlights appeared ahead or behind.
There was little population in this part of Chihuahua, the arid climate and volcanic rock supporting only the occasional ranch or small village. Still, the ranger knew that the U.S. Border Patrol occasionally worked with the Mexican authorities. By now, the American agents he’d left behind would be over the shock and awe of the encounter in the canyon. They would be steaming pissed and clawing for payback. Calling in the Policía Federal would be about their only recourse, short of invading a foreign country.
The thought of spending time in a Mexican prison wasn’t at the top of Zach’s bucket list.
So the ranger kept to the side of the road, scurrying to hide whenever the rare car or truck appeared in the distance. Highway 2 in this part of the world was never a busy artery. Given the early hour, the roadway was all but abandoned.
Were it not for the speed limit signs posted in kilometers and the occasional “No Rebase” warning drivers not to pass, Zach noted no difference between this road and the typical U.S. state highway.
Just after 3 AM, he approached a bridge crossing a small, dry creek bed. A sign declared the structure was Puente El Venado.
Zach left the roadway and climbed down the embankment, cautious of snakes or other wildlife that might have found the manmade structure attractive. After a quick search with his flashlight, the Texan found a suitable rock and made himself as comfortable as possible.
He passed the time nibbling on a power bar, drawing water from his CamelBak, and admiring the impressive field of stars that illuminated the Mexican night.
At 5 AM, he recognized the whine of a truck engine coming from the east. The vehicle did a U-turn and then stopped right on the bridge. Zach heard a door being opened.
“Ranger Bass, I presume,” boomed BB’s voice over the railing. “Welcome to Mexico.”
“You know if this doesn’t go well, your career with the rangers is over,” BB stated with a matter of fact tone.
Zach didn’t respond for a bit, his attention seemingly focused on the passing Mexican countryside as they drove east.
“Yes, I know,” Zach eventually sighed. “What’s really troubling is that I’m not bothered by that nearly as much as I should be. I hate to admit it, but being a ranger hasn’t always been a good fit for me.”
The older man grunted, “That’s probably why you’re a good lawman. If you liked the job … if it was a perfect match, then I’d say something was seriously wrong inside your head.”
The comment surprised Zach. Somewhere along the line, he’d developed a sense that all of the other rangers loved their jobs and wouldn’t think of doing anything else. His peers had seemed to develop something more than professional dedication or loyalty to the cause of law and order. It was almost as if they had found the perfect mesh between God’s desire and nature’s design.
BB took the younger man’s lack of response as a signal to expound. “I lost my wife early. Miss Lily succumbed to breast cancer. God rest her soul. She was 51, and I watched her die a horrible, painful death. That fucking disease took everything away from her, and it did it slow and mean. I lost my faith, watching her wither in agony and melt away to nothing. She’d been a God fearing woman all her life. Never harmed a soul and touched anyone who came close with her kindness and love. She didn’t deserve to go out that way.”
Zach was a little surprised at BB’s openness. “I’m sorry to hear that. I knew she had passed on some years before we met, but I never heard any of the details.”
“I hit the bottle pretty damn hard…. Tequila became my best compadre. My captain was a patient man. He tried to give me time to straighten things out, but I’d already started sliding down a pretty slippery slope. When I eventually did return to duty, I was a bitter son of a bitch who didn’t give a fuck about anything or anybody. That’s a dangerous combination for a big hombre who carries a gun and a badge.”
The younger ranger had seen it before. The ranks of law enforcement had more than their fair share of disgruntled officers who, for whatever reason, had gotten sideways with the world. The occurrences of spousal abuse, alcoholism, and suicide were all much higher among those in this line of work. Opinions regarding the causes of such things were as varied as the recommended treatments for them.
The conversation was interrupted by a slow-moving truck struggling to climb a grade. After BB had safely managed to pass, he continued with a monotone voice. “I answered a call in Marathon one night. According to the dispatcher, a deputy had cornered a suspected bank robber and was requesting backup. By the time I got there, the suspect was fighting with the officer, both of them rolling around on the ground, throwing punches and kicking for all they were worth. What was even more troubling was the fact that the officer on the scene was getting whooped.”
With his eyebrows arching skyward, Zach asked, “What happened?”
BB frowned in pain, the memory obviously unpleasant. “I jumped in, of course. One of my kind was getting his ass kicked. I tore into the suspect and damned near beat that poor bastard into his grave … almost killed him. He lost an eye, use of his left arm, six teeth, and never walked again without a limp.”
Zach threw a glance at BB when the narration paused, but the older man wasn’t in the cab of the pickup anymore – at least not mentally.
“Problem was, the suspect wasn’t the bank robber. He was a close match to the description and driving a similar car. Some of the senior officers thought the poor bastard deserved it, but times were changing. People didn’t want tough cops anymore. Everyone was throwing around phrases like civil rights and excessive use of force. My captain gave me a choice. Stay and face potential charges, or resign and get on with life. I resigned.”
“How did you end up living in Mexico?” Zach asked, trying to tie the story together.
BB grunted, “For a while, I didn’t think my captain was going to be able to keep Austin off my ass. There was all kind of talk, folks speculating that charges were going to be filed against me. So I decided to spend a little time exploring Mexico. I took the grand tour of every cantina from Juarez to Reynosa. The tequila was cheap, the señoritas friendly, and no one cared if I was Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or a washed up Texas Ranger.”
Again, traffic required all of BB’s attention. Zach knew they still had some distance to travel, so he let his friend come to it when he was ready.
“We’re about 30 minutes from the ranch,” BB finally stated. “My place isn’t much, but it’s mine. The cost of living down here is next to nothing, and I’m only 20 minutes from Texas if I want to go back.”
Zach wanted to hear the end of the story. “So what changed, BB? How come you didn’t end up with a failed liver or beaten and left lying in the gutter somewhere?”
The old ranger grinned, “Isabelle.”
“Isabelle?”
“Queen Isabelle.… Or at least, that’s what I call her. She was a waitress in some run-down cantina. Hell, I can’t even remember the name of the dump. I was there one night when a handful of punks started giving her a rough time. They made a circle and were shoving her back and forth, making it clear she was going to be part of their entertainment that evening – like it or not.”
“And?”
BB’s answer was matter of fact. “And I changed their minds.”
Zach grunted at the casual response but didn’t doubt the story for a second. I’d rather slap Satan across the face than go hand-to-hand with BB in a bar fight, he figured.
The old-school lawman continued, “I went back into the place the next few evenings, but they seemed to have lost their desire to frequent that establishment. Izzy and I got to talking. Her family owned some land up in the mountains but couldn’t afford to do anything with it. I had a small retirement from the rangers and a little money saved back. So, we moved in and started raising horses, a few head of cattle, and a nice, big garden. She convinced me to cut way back on my vices, and
we’ve been together ever since.”
The veteran ranger was soon guiding the pickup onto a lane that was little more than a dirt path. The old truck bounced and bumped, kicking up a small rooster tail of sand and dust as they meandered upwards into the Carmen Sierras.
Zach felt his ears pop at about 4,000 feet. The air cooled as the foliage outside the pickup began to change drastically. White Oak clogged the draws and box canyons, the steeper slopes taken over by juniper. “The locals call this La Frontera,” BB announced. “I call it damn fine country. Kind of reminds you of the Davis Mountains back home, don’t it?”
The young ranger had to agree.
The ranch consisted of two adobe buildings, the one with a thatch roof housing the barnyard animals, the one with a tin crown being the main house. The fences and corral were a weave of mesquite limbs, none bigger than Zach’s wrist. A Latino woman was standing in the doorway.
“My queen,” BB laughed as he exited the truck. “The ruler of all she sees before her.”
As BB completed the introductions in Spanglish, Zach studied the woman that would be his hostess for the day.
She was younger than BB, probably by 15 years, but it was difficult to tell exactly. Isabelle was obviously tough as nails and a woman who wasn’t afraid to put in a hard day’s work followed by a warm night’s comfort. It was also clear that she adored the ex-ranger.
Zach sensed Izzy was immediately suspicious of his presence, and he couldn’t blame her. The ranger was sure she grasped the unspoken truth that he was about to draw her man into something dangerous, and she didn’t like it. More than once, she looked at the cuts from San Antonio, still visible on BB’s head, and grimaced.
There were two younger vaqueros from a neighboring spread that helped manage the livestock.
“You’ll find a hammock behind the barn,” BB announced after watching Zach yawn. “Have a couple of Isabelle’s cheese and egg burritos, and then go catch some shuteye. Most afternoons there’s a good breeze blowing down the mountain, and those two old oaks will keep the sun off of you until at least mid-afternoon.”