Targets Down

by Bob Hamer

  Michael and Alicia rose, and the three walked out of the classroom.

  After they exited and were beyond hearing distance, the principal said, "I guess that went well."

  Caitlin looked confused. "How do you figure?"

  "We lived."

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Oscar Cano, the veteran coyote, continued to push the weary travelers. His promise of a trip lasting a few hours was broken after the first day of travel. They were on their third day, maneuvering around mesquite and prickly pear cactus.

  They traveled from the early evening until midmorning. Last night they were blocked from taking the usual route when Cano spotted headlights a few miles up the main trail. He rerouted the group, wasting time but presumably avoiding the Border Patrol or the Minutemen, a civilian border watch group. Cano wasn't sure who was behind the vehicle lights. He doubted it was vacationers, but he wanted to avoid confrontation if possible. Cano was armed but more to protect the group from predators, animal or human, than to fight government authorities. He took no chances, and the group walked an additional five miles through rugged terrain to avoid contact.

  Once they found shade, they would lay up. The blistering sun made any daytime travel a fool's run. The water ran out the day before, but early that morning the coyote spotted a blue flag marking a water drum refilled semiregularly by a Tucson-based, church-run charity. The travelers made their way toward the drum and refilled the one-gallon plastic jugs.

  Snakes hid behind every rock, and only the coyote wore double-insulated work boots, offering some protection against attack.

  As the party was filling the water jugs, Juanita slipped off the trail to relieve herself. She walked several hundred feet to a large clump of cactus, attempting to conceal herself from the others.

  Without warning, a six-foot Western diamondback sprang from a coiled position. The hollow fangs clamped onto Juanita's right leg, penetrating the skin, releasing the poisonous venom. She screamed as an intense burning immediately surged at the site of the injury. A fang broke off in her leg as the snake released its grip and raced toward the rocks.

  Most were unaware she walked off the trail and were startled by the screams. There was also a sense of anger her screams would alert authorities. The coyote and several of the men ran to the sound.

  They found the beautiful traveler writhing in pain on the hot desert floor. Already weak from the journey and dehydration, she fought to avoid going into shock.

  Dmitri rushed to provide aid.

  "Leave her. She was stupid enough to walk among the snakes. Let her die," said Cano.

  Dmitri was unfamiliar with snakebites and had no clue how to provide assistance. He pulled the broken fang from her leg. The two puncture wounds were about a half inch apart. He applied pressure but the damage was done. The venom pushed through her system attacking cells and organs. Dmitri gave her water from his jug, but Juanita quickly vomited the liquid.

  "I said leave her."

  Cano and the others returned to the shade of the layup.

  Dmitri did what he could to minimize the panic the Mexican mother felt. He held the woman but was able to provide only minimal comfort. Since the coyote had no antivenom, it was only a matter of time. Within an hour the poison would paralyze the most important organ in her body, the diaphragm. She would be unable to breathe and death would come.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  The slender shadow moved in and out of the bushes concealing his intent. He was at the back of the school property away from any residences or businesses. He picked the darkest spot where the intermittent light poles failed to illuminate the fence. He threw a small, thick, braided rug over the three strands of barbed wire and waited a few moments to determine if his activity was detected. He then carefully climbed the chain-link fence and made his way over the razor-sharp stainless-steel security precautions. Once successfully over the top he dropped to the ground.

  The school had a night watchman but no security cameras. Graffiti was the most serious problem the guard confronted. The last major break-in occurred four years earlier over the summer. The school lost a dozen computers. Since then the campus was essentially crime free.

  The shadow made his way to the north side of the building. He counted down the rooms and came to Caitlin's. He checked each window, attempting to pry open one she forgot to latch. He struck out. They were all secured. He removed his sweatshirt and wrapped it around his hand and arm. Standing in front of the largest window, he swung with all his might, his arm crashing through splattering glass throughout the room. He raked his arm around the edge of the window, cleaning out the remaining chards.

  The slender figure crawled through the window. He stopped at Caitlin's desk and grabbed the pictures from beneath the glass top. After thinking briefly, he lifted the glass and threw it on the floor. He rifled through the drawers looking for loose change and valuables, then emptied the contents onto the floor. He dumped over several desks and tipped a file cabinet. Papers were strewn throughout the room—perfect fuel for his next move.

  He removed a can of lighter fluid from his back pocket. Popping the lid, he emptied the combustible liquid over the papers, making a trail back to the window; the pungent odor hung in the air.

  Just as he climbed out the window, he spotted the night watchman, a retired schoolteacher who supplemented his pension with a part-time security job. The shadow needed another few seconds to complete his mission and make his escape. He pressed his body against the wall of the alcove waiting for the guard to pass. He could see the uniformed employee meander down the walkway humming "The Old Rugged Cross," oblivious to what awaited.

  The shadow drew an automatic from underneath his shirt. The noise from the footfalls increased as the guard moved closer, but the guard was in no hurry to complete his rounds. The singing grew louder.

  The shadow watched as the guard passed the alcove. The shadow began to raise the auto, preparing to fire, but in his mind he also began to sing the hymn. When the guard stepped on a piece of broken glass, he was startled and looked down. Rather than pulling the trigger, the shadow swung the weapon like a club connecting to the side of the skull.

  The sixty-nine-year-old guard collapsed on the concrete walkway.

  The shadow grabbed the guard's weapon, a revolver, and stuck it inside his belt alongside his automatic. The intruder then pulled a book of matches from his front pocket. He lit one match and stuck it in the book. In seconds the book exploded in flames. He tossed it into the lighter fluid trail, watched the liquid ignite and begin a race throughout the room.

  As the shadow ran back to the rear fence and made his escape, the fire alarm from the classroom sounded.

  MATT REACHED OVER AND turned off the lamp on the nightstand. The moon lit up the evening sky. Enough light crept through the partially opened plantation shutters for Matt to see Caitlin approach the bed wearing a white Victoria's Secret teddy. As she climbed in, he leaned over and grabbed a kiss. She returned the favor and the two embraced. The passion from their honeymoon remained, but before he could show his love again, the phone rang.

  He yanked the phone from the cradle. "Dwayne, this better be important."

  Matt paused for a moment, put his hand over the receiver, and handed the phone to Caitlin. "It's Ramon."

  "Why is my principal calling at 11:00 p.m.?"

  "Good question. You might want to ask him."

  "Ramon?" asked Caitlin. She listened for a few minutes and finally responded, "I'll be right there."

  She handed the phone back to Matt. "Someone set my classroom on fire."

  She and Matt got dressed and headed to the school.

  POLICE VEHICLES AND FIRE engines crowded the school parking lot. A paramedic unit rushed the injured security guard to the hospital. News units were set up on the street, and reporters flooded the scene in an
effort to get footage. A torched classroom was breaking news.

  Matt and Caitlin edged their way through the crowd of neighbors and onlookers. Police groupies monitored law enforcement and news frequencies and flocked to any site suspected of being interesting. The crowd numbered more than fifty. Matt carefully scanned those hovering at the scene looking for a familiar face but saw none. Normally he might have badged his way to the front, but he maintained the secrecy of his FBI identity as he approached a patrol officer providing security.

  "We were called by the school's principal, Ramon Sanchez. We were told my wife's classroom was torched. Can you direct us to the detective in charge? I believe they want to talk to my wife."

  The patrol officer spoke into his shoulder microphone while maintaining an eye on the crowd.

  He turned to Matt. "Someone will be here shortly," said the officer.

  Within a minute a detective arrived at the yellow tape and introduced himself. He lifted the evidence tape, and Matt and Caitlin walked under. Both signed the log-in sheet then followed the detective to her classroom.

  Caitlin gasped when she saw the blood-stained sidewalk in front of her classroom. Matt squeezed her hand a little tighter and ushered her past the dried puddle.

  Once inside her classroom she saw the devastation.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  The next afternoon J. D. Pinney walked through the back door of the Russian Veil.

  The club opened at 2:00 p.m.—the same time everyday. Business didn't pick up until five or six. Some of the "better" gentlemen's clubs opened at 11:00 a.m. and served a free lunch to entice businessmen and their clients. Boris catered to white trash. He saw no need to furnish free anything. The only benefit he offered was no cover charge if the voyeurs arrived before five. Once the clock struck five, a ten-dollar fee was imposed. On the weekends there was always a cover charge. Boris found a weekend cover charge didn't discourage any customer from crossing the threshold, and almost every evening the place was crowded. The economy had little impact on the clientele. Through robust times and downtimes men were willing to pay money to watch women disrobe; they would pay extra for sexual favors. Boris found the one recession-proof business in America.

  J. D. knocked on the door.

  "Come."

  J. D. opened the door and poked his head in, "Boris, can I talk to you?"

  "You are talking to me." Boris was devoted to those from Russia who followed him to the United States. He tolerated the bikers who were attracted to the club and provided a variety of criminal services. J. D. was a biker.

  "I want to show you something."

  "Come," said Boris motioning with his hand.

  J. D. walked in and laid a picture on the desk. "Does this guy look familiar?"

  Boris examined the wedding photo. It was almost ten years old. The man's hair was short, but Boris recognized the groom. "Yeah, it's Matt. Where'd you get this?"

  "This broad in the picture is Alicia's brat's teacher."

  "Who is Alicia?"

  "My old lady."

  "Okay so Matt's wife is this kid's teacher, so what?"

  "Her name is Hogan. I thought this guy's name was Wallace."

  "Yes, he said his name is Matt Wallace. Thanks, I'll ask him."

  "Yeah, but don't you think . . . ?"

  "I said I'll ask him. Thanks. I'm busy and have important business to do." He picked up the phone and was waiting until J. D. left to punch in the number.

  J. D. grabbed the picture from the desk.

  "No, leave it. I'll show it to him and see what he says."

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  The damage to Caitlin's classroom wasn't as extensive as she first thought. When she saw the room that evening, she assumed it would be weeks before the room could be inhabitable. Most of the mess she spied was from the firefighters who turned over furniture in an effort to extinguish all the flames and embers. The school district brought in professionals who serviced fire-damaged property, and within two days the classroom was ready for occupancy.

  The investigation into the arson continued. Caitlin hadn't heard any news from Matt and was unaware of any progress the LAPD or the fire department was making. Although the teachers discussed the events in the lounge during breaks, no one could come up with a motive for the vandalism. Caitlin inventoried the equipment and everything was there; some was unserviceable, but theft didn't appear to be the reason for the illegal entry.

  Caitlin's class met in the auditorium the day after the fire. She sent out notices to the parents asking for help in getting the room ready. Most of the parents worked and were unable to assist, but Alicia, Michael's mother, volunteered.

  On Thursday afternoon Michael and his mom stopped by the room as Caitlin was putting new maps on the wall.

  Alicia knocked on the open door as she and Michael walked in.

  "Thanks so much for coming," said Caitlin standing on a chair trying to hang a map of the United States.

  "We thought you could use some help," said Alicia.

  Caitlin managed to level the map and stepped down from the chair. "You should have seen it the other night. I would have never thought they could get this back in order so quickly."

  "What can we do?"

  "Would you mind putting up the alphabet above the white board?"

  For the next hour Caitlin, Alicia, and Michael worked hard preparing the room for the next day's classes. The work session was relaxed, and Alicia mentioned in passing her marriage had seen some rough times. Although she never admitted being abused, Caitlin suspected the home life wasn't ideal. J. D. Pinney was Alicia's second husband. Her first husband, Michael's father, was in the Army. Michael was in preschool when her husband's reserve unit deployed to Iraq for a second time. He died a few months after arriving in country.

  Caitlin mentioned Matt's brother, a Marine, killed in Afghanistan. Caitlin knew the toll Scott's death took on the family. She could empathize with Alicia, a young mother dealing with the devastating loss of her husband.

  Alicia said she moved back home to Los Angeles after Michael's father died. She married J. D. a year later.

  Alicia wasn't gushing praise on her second husband but did say he had a job and came home most nights. Caitlin never questioned Matt's love for her but in a small way could identify with Alicia's characterization of the relationship.

  The conversation made the afternoon fly. Caitlin appreciated the new insights she gained into Michael's situation at home and appreciated even more the discipline he showed in the classroom.

  J. D. STOPPED BY the club that evening. He stayed long enough to speak to Boris and learn Boris had not yet confronted Matt over the differences in last names. J. D. had a criminal record. He wasn't going back to prison, and he wasn't taking any chances.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  The trail was littered with trash and human waste. Ranchers found their fences cut, animals killed, and property destroyed. One traveler was dead, and the group was still a day's journey from Three Points, Arizona, where vehicles awaited to take each to their final destinations. For some it was Iowa, others Virginia, still others Ohio. For Dmitri it was Los Angeles.

  Dmitri was angry with Oscar Cano. The coyote's indifference may not have caused Juanita's death, but his attitude demonstrated each traveler was a commodity, a piece of meat merely representing profit. Cano was no humanitarian seeking to assist those subjected to poverty and oppression. It was a business, no different from the cattle drovers of the Old West. Cano's "cattle" were the people and the backpacks they carried.

  Dmitri spotted the tree among the scrub brush. From a distance he could see strips of cloth blowing in the wind. As he approached, he realized panties and rags hung from the branches. His stomach tightened. The Rape Tree was real.

  "Just a little longer. Around this be
nd and we will lay up," said Cano as the group passed the man-made warning to female travelers.

  They neared the final layup. They would rest today. As the sun was about to set, they would begin the final phase, and by early tomorrow morning they would be in Three Points.

  Each welcomed the rest. It had been another long night of walking. Backs ached from hunching over carrying the heavy packs. Food was now in short supply. Even those who made the journey before did not bring enough to sustain three nights in the desert. They were also out of water. No blue flags were visible; no apparent relief in sight.

  The travelers dropped their backpacks with a collective sigh. Even the shade provided little comfort.

  Cano walked over to one of the females. Dmitri never knew her name and never heard her talk. She kept silent the entire trip. When Cano whispered in her ear, she shook her head. Cano said something again and this time, as he completed the sentence, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She didn't resist or cry out. She knew the rules. Cano escorted her a few hundred feet back on the trail.

  Dmitri was tired, thirsty, and hungry. He wanted to sleep, but he knew Cano's plans. Everyone did. They tried to appear as though they didn't see the coyote, but each knew Cano was escorting the woman to the Rape Tree. They remained on the ground resting for the last leg of the journey.

  Dmitri kept his head down, debating his next move. He was in the middle of the desert in a foreign land he illegally entered. He was muling thirty pounds of cocaine and had no idea how to get to the immediate destination. Who would listen to him? Who would come to his aid if he acted? He couldn't count on the others. They needed the coyote in their flight for freedom. Everyone knew the rules and the costs. He put his choices on the scales of justice and watched the balance crash.