Invasion Usa: Border War

by Johnstone, William W.

  Laura turned her head to glare at Shannon. “Shut up! This isn’t helping anything.”

  From where she sat on the floor, Billie Sue said in a small, pathetic voice, “Nothing’s going to help us. We’re doomed.” She and her sister Aubrey put their arms around each other and started crying.

  “You don’t know that,” Laura said as she stayed between Carmen and Shannon. “Giving up and fighting among ourselves isn’t going to make things any better, though. People are bound to be looking for us. Somewhere out there, there’s someone who’s going to help us.”

  “You really believe that, Laura?” Shannon asked bleakly.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

  “Well, you just cling to that hope, then, and you keep on clinging to it while fifty of those bastards take turns raping you, and when they’re done you just tell yourself that everything’s going to be all right ... right up until the time when they cut your throat and dump your body in an unmarked grave.” Shannon’s façade of control had slipped, and all her terror had come out in the shakily voiced words. “You just keep up the act, okay, and see what it gets you in the end.”

  And with that she slumped to the floor, put her hands over her face, and joined Billie Sue and Aubrey in sobbing pathetically.

  Laura looked at Carmen and Stacy. They weren’t crying, but they looked like they wanted to. Laura wanted to, as well. But she wouldn’t let that happen. She hoped because she had to. She believed because she had to. If she gave up, she would collapse and wouldn’t be any good to anybody, most of all to herself.

  It was the twenty-first century, long past the time of heroes, if such an era had ever really existed in the first place. Now it was an age of pragmatism, of the bottom line on one hand, and political correctness on the other. No longer was there a place for a knight in shining armor or a cowboy who rode to the rescue. To place any faith in the idea that someone would actually do the right thing and display any real courage and selflessness—well, that was just setting yourself up for a fall.

  But something deep inside Laura’s soul refused to give up hope. Sooner or later, help would come.

  And in the meantime, it was up to her and her companions to remain strong and do whatever they could to help themselves get out of this mess.

  Because the day would come, she told herself—a day of reckoning... .

  Fifteen

  Tom didn’t know what the Texas Ranger had in mind, but he was willing to play along with Rodgers and find out. He caught a moment alone with Bonnie and told her that he was going somewhere with Rodgers for a little while.

  “We shouldn’t be gone long,” he said, “and you can call the cell phone if you need to get hold of me.”

  Bonnie frowned. “But where are you going?”

  “I’m not sure. I think it may have something to do with getting all the victims’ families together.”

  “And holding that Agent Morgan’s feet to the fire,” Bonnie said. “I like that idea.”

  “Figuratively speaking, you mean.”

  Bonnie just raised her eyebrows and cocked her head a little to one side without saying anything.

  Tom gave her a quick hug and a kiss and then left the house with Rodgers. The Ranger captain’s Ford Tahoe was parked in the driveway. “We’ll go in my truck,” he said.

  “Who’s this fella you’re taking me to meet?” Tom asked as they drove away from Kelly’s house. The few reporters still on hand watched them go.

  “You’ll see when we get there. He probably knows as much or more about Los Lobos de la Noche than anybody else on this side of the border, though.”

  That was good enough for Tom. He was well aware of how important it was to know your enemy.

  Rodgers headed out on the northeast side of Laredo, toward the lake and the state park that had been the destination of the kidnapped girls. When Tom realized that, he asked, “Are we going to look at where it happened?”

  Rodgers shook his head. “Nope, that wouldn’t do any good. Forensics teams from both the Rangers and the FBI have been all over the crime scene and gathered all the evidence already. The place we’re going just happens to be in sort of the same direction.” Rodgers looked over at Tom. “Unless you’d just like to see the place ...”

  Tom shook his head. “I don’t need to see it to know what happened there.”

  “That’s sort of what I figured.”

  After a few moments, Tom asked, “Did the forensics teams turn up anything that hasn’t made the news, anything that might give us an idea where exactly the girls have been taken?”

  “If that’s the case, then nobody’s told me. They made casts of the tread patterns from the tires on the kidnappers’ trucks and were able to tell us that they were standard pickup tires. There were no bits of mud that had to come from a certain place or a leaf from an exotic plant that only grows in one spot in the world. Anyway, we know who the kidnappers are; we just don’t know where the bastards are.”

  Tom frowned in thought. “All we’ve got to go by is that e-mail claiming to be from the Night Wolves. What if it’s a fake, an attempt to throw us off the right trail?”

  “That’s a possibility. And it’s one of the things I want to ask about when we talk to the fella we’re going to see.”

  “You say he’s some sort of expert on the Night Wolves?”

  “You could say that,” Rodgers replied with a grim edge in his normally cheerful voice.

  A few minutes later, Rodgers pulled into a concrete driveway that circled in front of a low, sprawling building surrounded by lawns and flower beds. The lawns were strikingly green, evidence of a lot of fertilizing and especially a lot of watering in this semiarid climate. Fat palm trees flanked the glass doors of the entrance.

  Tom looked for a sign indicating what this place was, but didn’t see one. “Looks like a hospital,” he commented.

  “It is,” Rodgers said as he brought the Tahoe to a stop in the parking lot. “A private hospital.”

  The air was growing hot already, despite the fact that it was only mid-morning. Cool air washed over the two men as the glass doors slid aside automatically and they walked into the building. The air had a carefully neutral scent, but Tom still smelled disinfectant. That and the hushed atmosphere were enough to tell him that he was in a hospital.

  Rodgers took off his hat and led the way through the lobby, past a receptionist’s desk and several offices. The pretty receptionist smiled at Rodgers and lifted a hand in greeting, indicating that she knew the Ranger. Rodgers returned the smile and then motioned with the hand holding the Stetson for Tom to follow him down a hallway that ran toward the rear of the building.

  They came to a nurses’ station, and Rodgers paused to ask the middle-aged woman behind the counter, “Is he in his room or outside this morning, Doris?”

  She pointed to another set of glass doors leading out to what appeared to be a small garden of some sort. “Outside.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  She shrugged. “About the same as usual, Roy.”

  He nodded and walked on. The doors slid aside like the ones in the front had, and Rodgers and Tom stepped outside.

  A roof of green plastic extended out from the building and overhung the garden. It allowed some sunlight through but still provided shade. The plants in the garden were mostly various kinds of cactus—prickly pear, cholla, barrel, organ pipe. They grew in beds filled with polished stones. It was a pretty place, in its own thorny, somewhat forbidding way.

  A man in hospital pajamas and a lightweight robe sat by himself in a wheelchair beside one of the beds of cactus. He was turned at an angle so that Tom could see the left side of his face. He appeared to be in his thirties, ruggedly handsome, with brown hair.

  “Hello, Brady,” Rodgers called as he and Tom approached. Tom figured he didn’t want to startle the man.

  Tom was the one who was startled, though, when the man gripped the left-hand wheel of his chair and turned it so that the chair spun toward the
visitors. That gave Tom a good look at the rest of his face, which was covered with puckered scar tissue. The right eye was milky and obviously blind. From the looks of the damage, fire had done this.

  That wasn’t the extent of the man’s injuries. His right arm hung useless at his side, and the wrist that stuck out from the pajama sleeve was a lot thinner than the still-muscular left wrist, indicating that the right arm had been incapacitated for quite a while. Bulkiness under the legs of the pajamas told Tom that the man had heavy braces on both knees. Obviously, he had been through a lot.

  “Roy,” the man said as he nodded slowly at the Ranger. His left eye shifted toward Tom, squinting as if he couldn’t quite make him out, and Tom realized that eye had been damaged by the fire, too, although not blinded. “Who’s that with you?”

  “Fella name of Tom Brannon. Tom, this is Brady Keller. Brady’s an agent with the Drug Enforcement Agency.”

  “A retired agent, as you can see,” Keller said with a not-surprising bitter inflection to his voice. “Full medical disability.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Keller,” Tom said. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

  “You a Ranger, too, Brannon?”

  “No, I’m strictly a civilian, down here in Texas from Arizona.”

  Rodgers said, “Tom’s here because of a case, Brady.”

  “What sort of case?” Keller demanded. “Nobody’s told me about anything big going on.”

  “Well, I guess your doctor and the other folks here at the hospital thought it might upset you unnecessarily, and since—”

  Keller broke in. “And since I can’t get up out of this damn chair and do anything about anything anyway, why tell me? Is that it? No point in telling the crip anything, since he’s useless to start with!”

  “Damn it, Brady, you know it’s not like that! You and me have been friends for a long time. I’ve always played straight with you.”

  Keller glared up at the visitors, and with his scarred face, it was a fearsome sight. “Then tell me what’s going on,” he snapped.

  “It’s about Guerrero and the Night Wolves.”

  Keller’s lips drew back from his teeth in a grimace, almost like an animal’s snarl, Tom thought.

  “What have they done now?”

  “Kidnapped a whole busload of girls from that Catholic school, Saint Anne’s, and taken them somewhere below the border.”

  Keller stared at the Ranger for a long moment and then finally said, “Son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah.”

  Keller shook his head. “You can kiss those girls good-bye, Roy. You’ll never find them without the Mexicans’ cooperation, and you know you won’t get any help worth shit from them.”

  “Brady ... one of the girls is Tom’s niece.”

  “Oh.” Keller sniffed. “Sorry to’ve been so blunt about it, Brannon.”

  “That’s all right,” Tom forced himself to say. “I want to know the truth about the situation, and Captain Rodgers says you know more about the Night Wolves than anybody else.”

  “I’ve gone up against them and lived to tell about it. I’ve even seen Guerrero in person. But it’s pure dumb luck that I’m still alive. Guerrero and his men murdered everybody else, but spared me to deliver a warning for him. A warning not to mess with Los Lobos de la Noche.”

  “Let me get some chairs,” Rodgers said. “We’ve got some talking to do.”

  There were several folding chairs against the wall next to the door into the hospital. Rodgers fetched a couple of them, and when he and Tom were sitting down next to the cactus bed with Brady Keller, Rodgers explained what had happened to the DEA agent on a dark night months earlier. Keller sat expressionless throughout the story.

  When Rodgers was finished with the details, he said, “Once Brady was up and around again, he started studying everything he could about the Night Wolves. I gave him a hand when I got the chance.”

  “Did my legwork for me, you mean,” Keller said, “since I obviously can’t do my own anymore.”

  Tom leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands together between his knees. “Tell me about them,” he said. “About Guerrero and his men. What are they capable of?”

  Keller’s one good eye looked straight at him. “Anything.”

  Tom took a deep breath and said, “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “You know they’re mercenaries,” Keller said. Tom nodded. Keller went on. “They’re pretty loyal to one of the cartels and most of their work is related to protecting the drug-smuggling routes. They’ve assassinated dozens, maybe hundreds, of law-enforcement and military personnel in Mexico. It’s no wonder that the authorities down there have pretty much washed their hands of the whole deal. If they make any effort to crack down on Guerrero these days, it’s a halfhearted one, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets warnings well before any action that occurs. The Night Wolves have also staged commando raids of their own on the rivals of their employers. They’ve stolen drugs, blown up warehouses and convoys, and gone after the families of the rival cartels’ leaders.”

  Tom nodded. “Captain Rodgers and I wondered if this kidnapping could have something to do with that.”

  “How so?”

  Rodgers said, “What if one of the girls on the bus is related to one of Guerrero’s enemies in Mexico?”

  Without hesitation, Keller said, “I guess it’s not impossible,” he said, “but as far as I know, none of the other cartels’ leaders have any close relatives on this side of the border. They keep their immediate families stashed away in heavily protected villas and compounds.”

  “But if Guerrero’s gone after them down there,” Tom argued, “maybe it would be smart to hide their loved ones over here for a change.”

  “Because Guerrero would be scared to come after them on American soil?” Keller gave a short bark of laughter. “If that was the case, they sure figured wrong, didn’t they? The bastard’s invaded us twice and gotten away with it both times.”

  “Then why grab those girls?” Rodgers asked.

  “Ransom?”

  The Ranger shook his head. “That was everybody’s first thought, especially when we got that e-mail from Guerrero claiming responsibility. But there haven’t been any ransom demands.”

  Keller waved his left hand. “Forget about that e-mail. That’s just Guerrero’s arrogance coming out. He wanted everybody to know what he had done, what he had gotten away with. He’s just about the most vainglorious son of a bitch you’ll ever see.” Keller paused. “And he’s smart enough to know that you’d think about waiting for ransom demands, too. The natural caution that goes with that would slow down your response a little and increase his edge, and he was likely counting on that to help him get away.”

  “If he didn’t take them for ransom,” Tom said, “then why did he take them?”

  “These are schoolgirls, you say?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How old?”

  “Juniors and seniors,” Rodgers said. “Sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen.”

  Keller’s left shoulder rose and fell in a shrug. “There’s your answer, then. He’s going to auction them off.”

  “Prostitution,” Tom said grimly.

  “Yeah, some of ’em will probably go to brothels. But there are rich drug lords in Mexico who’d probably pay a high price for a white, sixteen-year-old virgin.” Another bark of humorless laughter. “Don’t let the PC police hear you say something like that, but it’s true anyway. And it’s not just the Mexicans. These days there are a lot of Asians and Arabs mixed up in the drug trade down there. How many girls are we talking about?”

  “Forty,” Rodgers said.

  Keller snorted. “Hell, Guerrero can clear a couple million easy by auctioning them. Maybe twice that or even more, depending on how pretty the girls are.”

  Tom felt sick to his stomach. “Couldn’t he get more by ransoming them back to their families?” He clung to that idea because it seemed to provide
a little more hope that the girls wouldn’t be mistreated.

  “Collecting ransom is a lot more trouble, and you always take a chance that something could go wrong. Bigger payoff, but a bigger risk. Sell ’em to the highest bidder.” Keller nodded. “That’s what Guerrero will do.” His attitude softened a little. “Sorry to have to tell you all this, Brannon, but you asked.”

  “Yeah.” Tom took a deep breath. “And it tells me something else, too.”

  “What’s that?” Rodgers asked.

  Tom looked squarely at the Ranger. “That we don’t have much time,” he said.

  Sixteen

  Rodgers looked hard at Tom. “Just what is it you intend to do, Mr. Brannon?”

  Tom didn’t answer, just sat there with his mouth set in a grim, taut line. After a moment, Brady Keller said, “Give us a little time alone, would you, Roy?”

  Rodgers’s gaze turned toward the man in the wheelchair. “If you’ve got something to say to Mr. Brannon, you can say it in front of me.”

  “Just a minute,” Keller said, “as a favor to an old crippled friend.”

  “Damn it, Brady, you’re putting me in a mighty bad position here.”

  “You’re the one who brought him,” Keller said.

  Rodgers sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He put his Stetson on. “Anything I can bring you next time I visit?” he asked.

  “Not unless you come across a Target that sells knees, elbows, and eyes.”

  Rodgers grimaced and turned away. “I’ll be in the lobby.”

  They waited until the automatic door had slid shut behind Rodgers, leaving the two of them alone in the cactus garden. Then Keller said, “Roy’s a good Ranger. It’s just hard for him to walk the line sometimes. He’s too good a man. Wants to do the right thing, even when the system doesn’t want him to.”

  “What’s the right thing in this case?” Tom asked.

  Keller grunted. “You know the only chance those girls have is if somebody goes down there and gets them. The Mexicans won’t do it. Neither will the Rangers or anybody from our side without proper authorization, which they won’t be able to get because everybody below the border is too damned scared of Guerrero to cross him. So that leaves it up to you.”