“I plan to do more than hope. I’m going after those girls.”
Van Sant’s eyes widened with shock. “What are you talking about, Mr. Brannon?”
“Call me Tom. I’ve been in touch with a retired DEA agent who’s the closest thing to an expert on the Night Wolves that we’ve got. He’s convinced that they’re not holding the girls for ransom. They plan to auction them off.”
“My God!” Van Sant said through clenched teeth.
“The only way to save them in time is to put together a group to go into Mexico, find them, and bring them out again. That’ll take men with experience, men who can fight.”
Understanding began to dawn in Van Sant’s tortured eyes. “I was in the National Guard for twelve years. Did eighteen months in Iraq.”
“Yeah, I got the feeling you’d be interested in the idea,” Tom said. “You probably know some of the parents of the other girls, since they all went to the same school. Can you think of some more guys who might be willing to take a chance like that?”
“Probably every man in this room would charge into hell to save one of his children. But some of them are a lot more qualified for something like that than the others.” Van Sant nodded slowly. “Yeah, I can think of some guys, all right.”
“Go talk to them,” Tom said. “Keep it quiet, though. We have to spread the word but still keep the FBI and the other authorities from finding out.”
“Because they’d shut us down if they knew about it,” Van Sant guessed. Tom nodded, glad that Van Sant was already talking about “us.” His instinct about the man had obviously been right.
With curt nods to each other, Tom and Van Sant moved apart, each of them heading back into the crowd of angry, frightened relatives. Tom spotted the man who had introduced himself as Joe Delgado. He was talking to Frank Ramirez. The two men seemed to have gotten acquainted with each other already. When Tom stepped up to them, they stopped talking and turned to look at him.
“You want something, man?” Ramirez asked.
“Yes,” Tom said. “I want to go get those girls back. I think with enough of the right kind of help, I can do it, too.”
Both of the men stared at him for a long moment before Delgado said, “Keep talkin’.”
Tom talked and they listened, and by the time he was finished, tight little smiles had appeared on the faces of both men. They nodded, split up, and spread out through the crowd.
It was a good beginning, Tom thought ... a good beginning that might mean salvation for those kidnapped girls.
But not, he feared, without some blood along the way ...
Eighteen
Colonel Alfonso Guerrero leaned back in the heavily upholstered swivel chair behind his desk and snapped the silver lighter in his hand. He held the flame to the tip of the long black cigar clenched between his teeth. If he’d had a beard, he would have looked a little like Fidel Castro, he thought. He felt some admiration for Castro and for the way the man had been able to change the destiny of an entire nation with nothing but a band of ragtag guerrillas from the hills. That admiration was outweighed, though, by the disdain Guerrero felt for Communists in general. A real man was born to gather wealth and power unto himself, not to share it with those less deserving.
Across the desk, Major Eli Cortez smiled and said, “You appear to be thinking deep thoughts, Alfonso.” Since they were alone in the big, luxurious room, there was no need for ranks. They had been amigos for many years.
Guerrero took the cigar out of his mouth and waved away the comment. “Just idle musings,” he said. “Have the men you sent messages to responded yet?”
“Some of them,” Cortez said. “Of those who run houses, Lopez, Almanzar, Escobar, and Gallegos seemed to be the most interested. And of course there were responses from Yusuf Bin Hamid and Pedro Laurenco.”
“Of course,” Guerrero said with a faint grimace of distaste. “Damned perverts.”
“Yes, but perverts with a great deal of money who are willing to pay quite well for their perverse pleasures.” Cortez paused. “And then there is Willingham.”
Guerrero raised his eyebrows. “Ah, yes. Willingham. The Englishman.”
“He wishes proof before he leaves his villa in Acapulco. He says he will not make the trip to a fly-infested hellhole such as Nuevo Laredo unless the merchandise is of the absolute highest quality.”
Guerrero felt a surge of anger at Willingham’s arrogance. He brought it under control. The Englishman had almost inconceivable amounts of money, and he was willing to spend it for what he wanted.
“Set up a computer connection with Señor Willingham,” Guerrero ordered. “We will show him what he could get for his money.”
Cortez nodded in understanding. “Any particular girl?”
“Use your own judgment,” Guerrero said. “Young and pretty and innocent, at least in appearance. That is all that matters.”
“I will attend to it.” Again Cortez paused, and when he spoke again, it was in a careful tone. “Is Angelina any less upset than she was last night?”
Guerrero’s face hardened as he shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. She stays in her room and refuses to see me. She is angry with me. What can I do?”
Cortez sighed sympathetically. “It is very hard to have an ungrateful child. All you wish to do is to give her everything she desires, and yet she turns her back on you.”
Impatiently, Guerrero sat forward and stubbed out the cigar in a heavy glass ashtray. “She will come to understand that what I have done, I have done for her own good. I can afford to wait for her to see the truth.” He leaned back and forced a smile. “After all, I am a rich, powerful man. I have all the time in the world.”
There was nothing to do in the cell but sit and worry and argue over inconsequential matters. As the day went on, the heat grew worse even though the thick adobe walls kept it out to some extent. But the air was warm anyway, and drowsiness stole over all the girls.
Lunch broke the monotony to a certain extent. Once again, the meal consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bottled water. When Shannon was finished with hers, she sighed and said, “God, I’d kill for a frappa-cino right now!”
“You think you’ve got it bad,” Aubrey said. “I haven’t had a cigarette in, like, forever.”
Billie Sue chimed in. “Yeah, I could really use a smoke.”
“I wish I had a Coke,” Carmen said. “A big Coke with a lot of crushed ice in it.”
“And a hamburger,” Stacy added. “A nice, thick, juicy hamburger.”
“I think eating meat is icky,” Billie Sue said. “How can you eat something that once had a face?”
“How can you smoke a bunch of dried-up weeds and deadly chemicals?” Stacy shot back.
“I don’t smoke cigarettes,” Shannon said. “Not tobacco ones, anyway.”
Laura closed her eyes as she leaned against the adobe, trying to shut out their inane chatter. She wondered how long they would be locked up like this, not seeing anyone except each other and the occasional guard.
On the other hand, as long as they were stuck in this cell, something bad was less likely to happen. She was sure that sooner or later things were bound to get worse.
Later in the afternoon, that hunch was proven right.
Laura had dozed off with her head back against the wall. The sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor woke her and made her jerk upright. She saw several men standing just outside the cell. One of them was Ricardo, and another was the older man with the grizzled mustache who had warned them to cooperate after Rosa Delgado’s death the night before. He studied the girls in the cell intently. All of them looked at the floor most of the time, even Shannon, glancing up only occasionally, afraid to meet the man’s eyes squarely.
“That one,” he said after a moment. “Bring her.”
Laura couldn’t help but look up when he said that. With a shock like a physical blow that took her breath away, she saw that he was pointing directly at her.
&
nbsp; “Are you sure, Major?” Ricardo asked nervously.
The older man glared at him. “Of course I am sure! Do not question my orders, Benitez.”
“I beg your pardon, Major,” Ricardo said quickly. “Of course I am not questioning you.” He slung his rifle over his shoulder, took a big heavy key from his pocket, and approached the cell door. He unlocked it and swung it open.
Even in her terror, Laura made a mental note of the pocket in which Ricardo kept the key. Knowledge like that might come in handy in the future.
Ricardo stepped into the cell while the other guards in the corridor leveled their rifles. The major drew a pistol from a holster on his belt and held it at his side, ready for use. As Ricardo came toward Laura, the other girls shied away from him, even Shannon. The redhead looked as pale and scared as the others, her usual bravado gone.
Laura cringed back against the wall as Ricardo came to a stop in front of her. “Get up,” he said.
“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” she asked.
“Get up and go with Major Cortez.” His voice was hard and inflexible, but as Laura stared up at him, she thought she saw something wavering in his eyes. He didn’t like what he was being forced to do, but he had to follow orders.
“I ... I don’t want to go.”
Ricardo bent over her and grabbed her arm, jerking roughly on it. “You must. Now get up!”
Suddenly, Shannon exploded across the cell. “Leave her alone!” she cried as she leaped at Ricardo. She landed on his back and wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. “I thought you were nice, you ... you monster!”
Ricardo came upright as he struggled with Shannon. Billie Sue and Aubrey began to scream. Carmen lunged, grabbed Ricardo’s left leg, and heaved. Already off balance from having Shannon on his back, he fell, going over backward.
The rifle slipped off his shoulder and clattered on the concrete floor of the cell.
It slid to a stop right in front of Billie Sue. She stopped screaming and reached out for it.
The huge, deafening boom that came from Major Cortez’s pistol shocked everyone into motionless silence. The bullet struck Billie Sue in the chest just as her fingers touched the stock of the rifle. The impact of the heavy slug threw her back hard against the wall. Her head bounced off the adobe and then sagged forward. She sat there like that, unmoving, as a crimson stain spread rapidly on the front of her shirt.
Beside her, Aubrey’s screams got even louder and shriller. Cortez stepped into the cell and slammed his pistol against her head. She fell over, landing across her twin sister’s legs. Blood dripped from the cut on her forehead where Cortez had hit her. She was out cold.
“Benitez!”
As Cortez barked his name, Ricardo scrambled to his feet. The sudden outbreak had caused Shannon and Carmen to let go of him. He snatched up his rifle and then grabbed Laura’s arm with his other hand. He hauled her to her feet so roughly that her head rocked back and forth, and practically threw her out the cell door. Stumbling, Laura caught herself before she fell.
“You are a careless fool, Benitez,” Cortez growled as he followed them out of the cell. “Colonel Guerrero will hear about this.”
“I ... I am sorry, Major,” Ricardo said. He looked almost as shaken by what had happened as the girls were. But he took hold of Laura’s arm again with a grip like steel and propelled her toward the door into the rest of the building. She caught one last glimpse of the horrible scene in the cell, but then it was cut off from her view.
She heard Major Cortez’s curt order to the other guards, though.
“Get rid of the dead one.”
Just like that, in one unbelievably horrific second, Billie Sue was gone, her young life ended in a single burst of violence. A few minutes earlier, she had been asking how anyone could eat something that once had a face—and now she was dead. That was further proof, as if any of the girls needed it, of just how fragile existence really was... .
“You should have cooperated,” Ricardo grated in Laura’s ear as she hustled her along a hallway. “You should have done as you were told.”
He sounded like he wanted to cry.
“I ... I’m sorry,” Laura gasped. “I was just scared.”
She was still scared. Terrified, in fact. She barely noticed the fine tile floor in the hallway and the paintings in their antique frames and the ornate tapestries that hung on the walls. She was hardly aware of the gold and silver candle holders or the crystal chandeliers. The old mission, once the humble abode of priests, now reeked of wealth and opulence, but none of that mattered to Laura. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest, it felt like it was going to explode, and her senses were reeling.
She glanced over her shoulder again, and saw that Major Cortez was striding along the hallway behind them. The major still had his pistol in his hand and looked angry. The expression on his face was enough to convince Laura that if she didn’t cooperate, he would shoot her, too.
The corridor twisted and turned until Laura had no idea where she was and knew that she would never be able to find her way back to the cell where the others were being held. Although she had wanted desperately to get out of that confining little chamber, this wasn’t the way. Now she wished she was back there with Shannon and Carmen and Stacy and Aubrey and—
A sob welled up in her throat as she couldn’t finish that thought. When she got back to the cell—if she ever got back—Billie Sue wouldn’t be there.
Billie Sue would be in a shallow, unmarked grave somewhere, just like poor Rosa Delgado.
Major Cortez caught up to them and stalked past. He paused at a pair of double doors and opened one of them. “In here,” he said, and Ricardo marched Laura through the door into a large room that was even more opulent than the corridor. On the other side of the room was a massive desk, and behind the desk sat a man Laura recognized, even though she had seen him only briefly, under hectic, terrifying circumstances.
He was the man who claimed to be Angelina Salinas’s father.
The man who had murdered Sister Katherine without blinking an eye.
And now he was smiling at her and saying, “Come in. Come in, little one, and do not be afraid. No one will hurt you.”
Yeah, right. Tell that to Sister Katherine and to Rosa Delgado.
And to Billie Sue.
Nineteen
Guerrero studied the girl as Ricardo Benitez pushed her across the room toward the desk. She didn’t actually fight him, but she was reluctant to approach. Her eyes were wide with horror and fear and something else... . Anger, that was it. This one had at least a little spirit left in her. She would fight, if given the slightest opportunity.
She had pale blond hair pulled behind her head in a ponytail. She wore a blue, short-sleeved T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. Unlike many teenage girls, she was not skinny, but she was not fat, either. She had some meat on her bones without being overweight.
Benitez brought her all the way to the desk. When he let her go, Guerrero waved him back. Benitez withdrew a few steps and then waited there, behind the girl and to her left. Cortez was behind her and to her right. She couldn’t get away, and the slump of her shoulders seemed to indicate that she realized that. Her eyes moved constantly as her gaze darted around the room, taking in the luxurious furnishings and lingering on the state-of-the-art computer setup. As she noticed the camera, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Smiling in as friendly a manner as he could manage, Guerrero asked, “What is your name?”
“Laura,” she said. “Laura Simms.”
“Hello, Laura. I am Colonel Guerrero.”
She didn’t say anything. He didn’t hold it against her that she was not glad to meet him. The only one of the girls whose opinion mattered to him was Angelina, and she was in the comfortable bedroom he had had prepared for her, under guard.
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
She had a good voice, somewhat strained by the situation in which she foun
d herself, of course, but still firm and determined.
“A senior at Saint Anne’s?”
“I would have been,” she said, “as soon as school started.”
“It is unfortunate that you will be forced to miss the opening of school. My apologies for that, and for any other inconvenience you and your companions have suffered.”
She didn’t buy the apology for a second, he saw.
“Laura, some terrible things have happened since you and the others have been with us,” he went on, “but they do not have to continue. If you and your friends will simply cooperate and do as you are told, none of you will be harmed.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said boldly. “What about Rosa and Billie Sue?”
Guerrero frowned. “Billie Sue?”
“I was forced to shoot one of the others,” Cortez said harshly. “She tried to get a guard’s rifle.”
Guerrero’s breath hissed between his teeth. Every one of the girls who died meant that much less money he and the Night Wolves would make. And Billie Sue sounded like the name of a white girl. Guerrero expected that they would fetch the highest prices. Such carelessness would not go unpunished.
“We will discuss that later,” he said coldly to Cortez. “Now we must deal with other matters.” He turned his attention back to Laura Simms. “Señorita, I must now ask you to remove your clothes.”
Her eyes widened even more with fear. “Wh-what?”
“You heard me.” His tone was brisk now, all business, allowing for no nonsense. “Remove your clothes. Strip.”
She shook her head. “I ... I won’t.”
“If you refuse,” he said matter-of-factly, “I will simply order Benitez there to remove them for you.”
She turned her head and looked at the young man. His face was set in stony lines. He could not refuse an order from Colonel Guerrero, and everyone in the room knew it.
With trembling hands, Laura reached for the hem of her T-shirt. She pulled it up and over her shoulders, peeling it over her head and arms. She stood with the shirt in her hands for a second, as if she didn’t know what to do with it, and then dropped it on the floor at her feet.
Invasion Usa: Border War Page 12