by David Nees
Tariq was standing in the yard outside of the warehouse. The cartel guards did not let the men out, but didn’t stop Tariq. He watched as the man, Ramón, drove into the compound. Tariq knew that Ramón was a trusted underling to Hector. He got out and stood around impatiently waiting for something. Soon Rodrigo, who seemed to be another important man in the gang, showed up.
In a half hour two more pickups stopped outside and the sheet metal gate was opened for them. Each truck had four doors and was four-wheel drive. One had a cab mount that held an M60 machine gun. The other pickup had been modified with armor plating bolted to its sides. There was plating bolted over the door windows and windshield which had small slits in the metal for driving. It had a roof vent so a shooter could stand up inside the protected cab and fire. Both trucks had aggressive tread, off-road tires.
The men climbed out; Tariq counted twelve including Ramón and Rodrigo. The men all wore armored vests. As they stood around, Ramón inspected their weapons. Most of the men carried AK-47s. This was a familiar weapon; Tariq and his men used them. The rifle shot a 7.62mm round which was much larger than the 5.65mm round used by the U.S. military in their M16 and M4 rifles. One man carried a shotgun, probably 12 gauge Tariq thought. It was equipped with a large magazine. Some of the AKs had grenade tubes attached below the barrels. There was also a rocket launcher.
These men are going into battle. Tariq could see the signs. There was nervous laughter, rough gestures and friendly scuffles among them. He had seen it before. Nervous energy. Even experienced fighters need to burn it off. Ramón was talking to Rodrigo. Tariq edged closer to try to overhear what was being said.
“Don Hector wants me to lead this chase. I have picked the men. You will be under my command. Do you understand?”
“If Don Hector wants it that way, I’m okay with it. Do you know what you are doing?” Rodrigo asked.
Ramón looked at Rodrigo with disdain. “Of course I do. Just do as I say.”
“How many are we going after?” One of the men asked Ramón.
“Just one,” he replied. The man looked at him with a quizzical expression on his face.
“One man? We have enough to take on fifty men.”
“Sí, but this man has killed almost twenty men so far. He is not to be underestimated.”
The man nodded, but looked unconvinced.
“Be happy I’m taking so many men. You are safer for it.” Ramón said dismissing him.
Tariq watched the assemblage load up and then head out. He wondered if they had anything to do with Hector’s keeping his men bottled up in the warehouse. Hector had seemed very distracted. Something had gone wrong in their world and this looked like their response. He quietly watched and kept to himself. No one would tell him anything; he would just have to make himself and his men ready to deal with whatever came up. Tariq had little trust in Hector. It was Jorge whom he had negotiated with. He wished he could talk to him now. He had sensed from the beginning that Hector did not like this operation. Tariq would be happy when his men were across the border and he could head back to the middle-east.
Chapter 16
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T he road was getting worse. Dan’s pace was reduced to a crawl. Better to make progress slowly than to break the truck. What made the travel more difficult was that the tires, while suitable for some off-roading, were not really strong enough for the full desert. As the road deteriorated, they showed their deficiencies in how easily they spun and how they flexed over the uneven terrain. Dan worried about tire failure as much as getting stuck. At times he stopped and walked ahead to use the pickup’s jack to pry a large rock out of the way so it wouldn’t damage the suspension or undercarriage.
He labored on as the afternoon waned. When it got too dark to see the road, he finally stopped and grabbed some power bars and water. It was dark now and Dan realized that he needed some rest. It was not prudent to drive in the dark; the headlights were inadequate for lighting the path enough to avoid boulders and soft sand. He would have to take a chance and stay put until it was light. There could be pursuit. It might be happening already and Dan would be finished if his vehicle died on him. The further he got into the desert the more he realized that he was on a one-way trip. Sometime tomorrow there would be no going back. The only way out would be to get across this uninhabited expanse to another road and some level of civilization. He could only hope his pursuers would have to stop at night as well.
By late afternoon the two pursuing trucks reached the end of what passed for a graded road and now were on the unimproved two-track. As dusk approached Ramón realized that the armored truck was a poor choice for the desert. It was so heavy that it kept getting bogged down and had to be pushed often. Still, he couldn’t abandon it. If he put all the men into one pickup, it would be overloaded and have the same trouble. In addition, he didn’t think he could fit all of the weapons in one vehicle. No, he would have to labor on with both trucks. He knew the truck they chased was not any better adapted to the desert so there was a good chance the assassin was having problems as well. When the night got dark, Ramón finally called a halt. He would push hard tomorrow and close up on his quarry, but for now, he needed to wait for light in order to not damage the trucks.
Dan woke as the black sky of night turned blue in the east. As the darkness faded away, he set out, even before the sunrise. He drove slowly but kept the truck moving forward. Sometimes there was no sign of a track. He pushed forward and was relieved each time the faint trace of the two-track reappeared. He was still on the right path; one that would eventually get him to a real road.
He came to a hill studded with rocks of various sizes. Slowly, in low gear, he made his way forward. Here the path was easier to see. The two-track wound its way upward in a circuitous manner, never attacking the slope directly. Dan stopped numerous times to lever larger rocks out of the path.
The pickup lurched its way forward on the loose surface. The engine got hot under the load and Dan feared it would overheat before he got to the top. Who knew what lay on the other side, but gravity would be an ally then, not an enemy. After many painful minutes of lurching forward with the wheels searching for traction, each one slipping or grabbing as the gravel-laden dirt shifted under them, he drove over the summit and stopped just beyond the peak.
Dan shut off the engine and climbed out with his binoculars. He walked back up to the top and lay down. He scanned the terrain over which he had come that morning. Nothing moved except dust from the winds that stirred the desert floor. There was no sign of any pursuers.
They must be coming. He lay and watched for ten minutes. Finally he got up and scrambled back to the truck. They’re coming. I’m just lucky they’re still far behind. I might make it yet. He got in and started the engine.
The sun burned down. The pickup was black which didn’t help Dan’s situation. The motor ran hotter and hotter. He turned off the air conditioning in order to ease the strain on the engine. He wasn’t sweating. The dry air blew through the cab sucking the moisture from him immediately. His lips began to develop cracks from the dry heat. He could not swallow; there was not enough moisture in his mouth. He suppressed the gag reflex and tried to not think about swallowing. He would wait until he let himself drink from his diminishing supply of water. The truck groaned on, bouncing forward as if in a drunken stumble. The day wore on and still the horizon ahead showed nothing but more desert. Hills rose around him on all sides. The two-track trail, ever faint, still went north, threading its way around the largest of the hills.
That afternoon Dan stopped almost by instinct. The ground ahead looked different. Gone were the rocks of different sizes from pebbles to ones large enough to threaten the pickup. What lay ahead looked too smooth, too easy. He got out and walked forward. Within two steps of getting into the smooth sand, his feet sank up to his ankles. He dragged them out and stepped forward. Again they sank. This was a sand hole; soft and unstable. If he drove into it, the truck
would be stuck deep over its axles and never get out.
Dan turned and plodded back to the stony ground. His heart was racing. How easy it would have been to have just driven into the sand? He caught his breath as he thought about his close call. Listen to your instincts. Something had caused him to suspect the terrain and to stop. I can’t make that mistake or I’ll never get out of here alive.
He calmed down and looked for a way around the sand hole. He could skirt it to his right by driving along a slope that dropped into the sand. It didn’t look too steep but it sloped down to the sinkhole. Hope the truck holds and doesn’t slide down. He set out, inching forward. If he spun the tires they would slip sideways taking the truck down towards the trap. Slowly, slowly he moved along the cross slope, his front wheels cocked to the right, pointing uphill. After a tense fifteen minutes he passed the sand hole and was able to turn back to the track. He went forward again, only this time with increased vigilance.
That night he stopped on the north side of a small rise. The truck and his flashlight would be hidden from any pursuers. After eating the last of his power bars and drinking more of his water than was prudent, he scanned the ground to the south of him for any sign of pursuit. At one point he thought he saw a light far off in the distance, but he couldn’t be sure. And it only showed once.
The water ran out the next day. The danger of dying had increased, but there was nothing to do but continue. The day passed in the same, slow manner as the previous ones. The next day, the second one without water, Dan sucked on a pebble to try to get his saliva going and lubricate his mouth.
How many days could he go without water? He had to find water soon. Dan knew the average was three days. We’re sixty-five percent water so we can’t afford to lose too much. Circulation and organ functions depend on it. Dan guessed he had two, maybe three days left before his body would give out. Keep going. The weak perish, the strong survive.
The third day without water Dan’s reflexes were slowing. His attention wandered and the truck was hitting more rocks. It was increasingly hard for Dan to keep locked on the subtle marks of the two-track. It appeared that there had been no vehicles on it for years and it was fading in the desert from the wind erosion. That afternoon he hit a rock with his front tire and it burst.
He slumped back in the cab. His options were closing down, not expanding. That was not a good sign. He sat in the cab for ten minutes, not able to move. Then, gathering his strength he got out and went to the back of the pickup. The spare would be in a carriage under the rear. He could do this. He could get it out, jack up the front tire and change the flat. He would continue on.
The spare was held in a cradle under the gas tank. The cradle was bolted closed and the bolt was rusted tight. Dan looked around for a wrench but couldn’t find one. He hammered the bolt with a rock to no avail. After twenty minutes of work, Dan sank to the ground defeated. Options closing down.
After mentally cursing the pickup’s dead owner, Dan got up. He would walk. He went to the back of the truck. What to take? There were a few power bars left. He couldn’t imagine trying to get them down now but he could use them if he found water. He put them in his pocket. He studied the weapons: the Barrett, the M4, his Beretta M9, the ammunition. He felt some affection for these weapons. They all had been modified for him to be the best examples of their kind. He had relied on them for his survival. Now, however, they would only slow him down and could make the difference between getting out of the desert alive or not. He grabbed the M9 and a spare clip, his binoculars, and a small compass. There didn’t seem to be anything else worth carrying.
If I make it out, what shape will I be in and what resources will I need? The question bore considering. He would still be in Mexico, which he had to treat as hostile territory. He still had to find a way out and across the border. He reached into the pack and grabbed his fake ID and a handful of cash. This isn’t heavy and if I make it I’ll need the cash to get north.
With a last look around, Dan put on his brimmed hat and trudged off. He headed towards some hills just following the faint two-track trail.
Chapter 17
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R amón chaffed under the slow pace, but it was the only way to keep going. The armored truck went first. If it got stuck, the second truck could sometimes just push and get the two going again. If it couldn’t he would have it drive around, hook a tow strap to the heavier truck and, with six or more men pushing, pull the truck forward until it was free.
He could see the track of the pickup they were pursuing. He was confident of his route, but he needed to close the gap. Somewhere up ahead this miserable trail would intersect a graded or paved road. He had to catch this assassin before he reached that point.
After another stop during the night, Ramón decided he had to drive, even in the dark. They were not traveling fast enough to close the gap. He had extra drivers, the assassin did not. He would use that to his advantage.
“Everyone up,” he shouted just after midnight. “Enough sleep. We drive in shifts and we don’t stop until we catch this man.”
The men grumbled but gathered their pads and blankets and loaded themselves into the trucks. The ones in the cab leaned against the doors and went back to sleep. The ones in the rear lay down and tried their best to sleep in spite of the bouncing against the metal bed.
Three hours later, before the sun could lighten the eastern sky, the armored pickup drove into the sand trap that had almost captured Dan. The driver gunned the motor and spun the wheels deep into the sand. He tried forward and reverse until Ramón reached over from the back seat and grabbed him.
“Stop! You’ll only dig us deeper in.” Ramón opened the door. It scrapped against the sand. The truck was buried up to the cab. “Chingado!” Fuck! He exclaimed after shining his flashlight on the truck. Ramón roused the other men and had them attach the tow strap to the back of the truck. The second truck pulled in reverse and the men pushed the armored truck but it went nowhere.
“Dig out the tires,” Ramón instructed. The men grumbled but began to dig. They had no shovels so they had to work with their hands. After ten minutes of digging, he had them try the pulling while the other men pushed. This time the pulling truck allowed the strap go slack and when it snapped tight, it broke with a loud report.
“You idiot,” shouted Ramón.
The driver jumped out. “You drive if you think you can do better. I can’t see the damn strap. How was I to know it was slack?”
“Never mind,” Ramón said. “Knot it together and we dig more and try again.”
They tried two more times, digging in between each pull. The problem was that with each try, the armored truck spun its wheels and created deeper holes beneath them. And then when the body was fully resting on the sand, the wheels just spun futilely as the truck sat grounded on its frame. It was going nowhere. They would need metal ramps and much more digging to free the truck body enough to move.
With the sky getting light, Ramón called a halt to their efforts. He had the men off-load as many weapons as they could into the second pickup. Now they would cram five men into the cab and seven into the bed of the truck.
There was little room for weapons or supplies. Ramón left the M60 and the rocket launcher along with the ammunition for both weapons. He didn’t want to but there was no room. He would rely on the submachine guns and rifles the men carried. After all there were ten of them. He didn’t like losing those two valuable weapons, but they were of no use to him at this point.
When it was light enough, Rodrigo, who had deferred to Ramón’s leadership on this chase, scouted how the assassin had made it around the sand trap. He found the track on the side slope. With everyone out, the pickup carefully worked its way across the slope and joined the trail on the other side. The men climbed in and the truck lumbered off. It swayed heavily as it lurched over the rocks and ruts.
They drove through the day. The men in the back grumbled. Ramón had to
rotate some into the cab so they could get out of the sun. There was little food and the men had only the water they had brought with them. By the end of the day the water was gone.
Now Ramón began to worry. He had to catch this shooter soon. His men would not last many days without water and he was already two days into this empty part of the desert. He pressed on through the night.
The next morning he looked at the men. They were covered with dust, lethargic and could only talk in whispers. Still he drove them forward. He could not go back to Hector in failure. Even if he lost men, he had to capture or kill this man he was chasing. Ramón spoke little. The men spoke little. They lay in the bed of the truck or, if they were fortunate, had some time in the cab. It was no cooler inside. Ramón had ordered the air conditioning to be turned off as the motor was running dangerously hot, but inside there was some relief from the sun’s fearsome rays.
Late that day they stopped to rest from the bouncing and to change drivers and seats. One of the men took a cup, stepped away from the others, and peed into it. He held his breath and drank the urine. Those who saw him told him he was going to poison himself.
“How long have you been doing that?” one of them asked.
“Two days,” the man replied.
“It will kill you,” another said.
The man shook his head. “At least I won’t die of thirst.”
Two hours after they set out the man began to spasm with stomach cramps. He could not talk and just curled up and moaned or cried out when the truck bounced and caused more spasms. By that evening he was unconscious and barely breathing.
No one spoke. Ramón ordered him unloaded from the truck and set him aside on the sand. He could not afford to carry a comatose man who would never recover. There were no shovels. Ramón said a few words and commended his spirit to Santa Muerte. They left him lying on the ground. No one had any energy to even put rocks over his body. Ramón ordered the men back into the pickup. They filled the cab and crawled in the back. The truck set out again.