Borderland

by Peter Eichstaedt

  Garcia bent over her and brushed his hand over Anita’s face, gently closing her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. He took a breath, stood slowly, and cleared his throat, and spoke into his mike. “Bring a body bag,”

  “What about Kid Cartel?” asked one of the agents standing nearby.

  Garcia turned to the man. “Gone,” he said, irritated.

  “He could have been tipped off,” the agent said.

  “I saw someone leave on a horse. It was him.”

  “Now what?”

  “Get a couple others to bag the body and put it on the chopper. Come with me to check out his computers. Then we light the place up.”

  The agent nodded.

  Garcia turned and hustled down the dark hallway to the office. The fireplace still burned, lighting the smoky room with an eerie glow. Garcia scanned the office, then paused at the big wooden desk and the blank computer screens. Beside the desk was a television camera, the one he figured that Anita was using to film Carlos. He fumbled around the camera and found the memory chip. He pulled it out and stuck it in his pocket.

  He turned to the desk and found the computer’s processing unit under it. He pulled a commando knife from its sheath, pried open the computer casing, and found the hard drive. He popped it out with a snap of his knife, then shoved it into his thigh pocket. Two other agents walked into the office. He made a circling motion to them, then they moved quickly to place explosives around the room.

  Ten minutes later, the agents hoisted the body bag with Anita into the open door of the waiting Black Hawk, its rotor blades pounding the air. Garcia turned to Dawson, already strapped into his seat, and watched the last of his men climb in. He looked at his watch then signaled to the pilot to take off.

  As the Black Hawks rose into the night, spun and nosed into the darkened mountains, the hacienda erupted into a fireball that lighted the night sky.

  * * *

  Carlos reined his horse to a halt at a small clearing high in the hills and turned to the burning hacienda. A series of massive explosions roiled upward, lighting the night. Each thundering blast shook him. He ground his teeth and felt the warm wetness in his eyes, blurring his vision. You’ll pay for this, you bastards.

  Chapter 53

  Rancho la Peña, New Mexico

  Dawson sat hunched at the spacious desk in the country club office, his eyes burning in the glare of the desk lamps. Now back from the mountains, his side still aching, he stared at the collection of papers spread on the desk, all from the sheaf of documents that he’d rifled days earlier from the Alvarez house. It was a treasure trove of incriminating information: bank accounts, money transfers, e-mails with names, dates, places and amounts. His mind raced. “Holy mother of God,” he mumbled. He needed to get it organized and into a story.

  His back and neck ached. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, hoping to relieve the burning, then massaged the back of his neck. The muscles felt like piano wires. He stood and stretched, then glanced at his watch: 2:30 a.m. Aw, hell. Where does the time go? He’d been sipping beer throughout the evening, but now craved something stronger. With all that was tumbling in his mind, he’d need several if he was ever going to sleep.

  He walked over to the bar, twisted the top off a bottle of tequila, and gurgled some into a glass. He drank deeply, poured a refill, and took it back to the desk where he settled into the big chair. The enormity of the information was staggering. It meant the end of Senator Micah Madsen’s presidential campaign. That was just the start. It would end Madsen’s political career— and get him disbarred. He could never practice law again.

  For a second, Dawson felt sorry for the man. But the feeling faded as he thought about how much money had been squirreled away for Madsen in offshore bank accounts by his blind trust. Madsen didn’t need to work. Ever again. But Madsen wasn’t the only one who would suffer from the story he intended to write. If Madsen lost the election, it would set his party back another four years, probably more, depending on how cynical and disaffected the public had become with their political leaders.

  His gaze fell on his father’s collection of photos and awards on the wall. My father, Sam Dawson. Dawson realized he’d reached his goal. This is for you, Sam. His father had been a pawn. Sam’s desire to be rich, coupled with his gregarious, almost clownish personality, made him the perfect front man for what was a monumental scheme of border and cartel corruption.

  His throat thickened as he thought of Anita. She’d suffered and died because of the mountain of corruption that he was going to expose. And Madsen was standing atop the pile. Dawson lifted his glass and drank deeply. He took a deep breath and massaged his burning eyes. I need to get to Washington. Now! He flipped open his laptop and bought a plane ticket back, scheduled for the next afternoon. That done, he settled back into the chair and closed his eyes. A dull ache filled his skull. He slowly massaged his temples.

  * * *

  The next morning, Dawson leaned forward in the big chair in the country club office, a cup of cold coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other. He pushed a button and the screen came to life. Garcia twisted around in the chair he was sitting in to look at it.

  “As we reported previously, Channel 7 news is sad to announce the death of our long-time reporter, Anita Alvarez,” the television anchorman said. “There’s been a new development in this tragic event.” A photo of Anita appeared. The anchor turned to a another camera and his voice took a new tone. “Channel 7 news has learned that Alvarez died during what appears to have been an attack on a Borrego cartel compound that Mexican sources claim was by a team of special agents of the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration. According to our sources, those agents destroyed an elaborate drug processing facility belonging to the Borrego drug cartel high in the Sierra Madre Mountains. In the wake of this tragedy, Channel 7 can now reveal that our reporter, Anita Alvarez, was on assignment at the time of her death. She was in the Borrego cartel compound conducting an exclusive interview with Carlos Borrego, the heir to the Borrego cartel. Carlos Borrego is the son of the late Don Diego Borrego, who was assassinated several weeks ago as he dined in a well-known Juárez restaurant. Channel 7 can confirm that Carlos Borrego survived the attack, but his whereabouts are unknown.”

  The anchorman continued. “Channel 7 has obtained exclusive footage of the attack from our Mexican sources.” The anchor turned to a nearby screen where the shaky image from what appeared to be a phone camera was just clear enough to see flashes of automatic gunfire and hear the pop-pop-pop of the assault as the hacienda burned. With the outbuildings flaming behind them, the silhouettes of the armed special agents charging across the field, weapons at the ready, were distinctly visible along with two hulking Black Hawks, rotor blades churning the air.

  The camera switched back to the anchor. “The U.S. Justice Department declined to comment. The spokeswoman for the regional office of the DEA here in El Paso said that the event did not involve any U.S. personnel, but may have been an assault by an unknown military-style organization, possibly linked to one of Mexico’s competing drug cartels. The Mexican government, meanwhile, has vigorously condemned the attack as a violation of national sovereignty and is demanding a full explanation and an apology from the White House.”

  The anchor turned to another camera. “Alvarez, a resident of both El Paso and Juárez, held dual citizenship. Alvarez joined Channel 7 shortly after graduation from the University of Texas, Austin, and developed a reputation as a tough and fearless reporter, winning many awards for her coverage of the drug wars.” A brief clip showed Anita standing on a Juárez street littered with bodies. “Channel 7 will have a special program on the life of Anita Alvarez and the many stories she covered this Sunday at 7:00 p.m. Be sure to watch.”

  Dawson muted the sound and looked at Garcia, shaking his head sadly. “Whose video was that?”

  “It had to be Carlos. Filmed it with his phone.”

  “The target was Carlos. What the hell happened?”
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  “He escaped,” Garcia said. “And we only lost Anita.”

  “That’s the part that hurts.” Dawson grimaced, looking out the glass doors to the putting greens. Anita had been desperate for a story—a big story. He admired her desire to move up. She had the brains, talent, and beauty to go big time. But she never made it. He felt sick about it.

  Now she was dead. He blamed himself for that as well. He’d encouraged her to go after an interview with Don Diego Borrego, El Guapo. But when he was killed, Carlos was next in line. It was the right choice. Would he have done the same thing? Hell yes. But he had the luxury of not being so close to the source. Had Carlos told her they were related? Did she know? It doesn’t matter now. Anita’s death felt like a chunk had been ripped from his heart.

  How could she have known that Carlos was in the crosshairs of the DEA’s special operations team? Garcia knew, but had told neither of them. Dawson leveled his gaze at Garcia. “Why did you guys go ahead with the plan if you knew she was there? What difference would a day or two of waiting have meant to the objective?”

  “We’d been training and working on this mission for months. The original target was the old man, Don Diego. But when he was killed by Fonseca, the mission became one to take out Carlos.”

  “But you knew Anita was there. Why didn’t you call it off?”

  “We were under pressure. Everything had come together. The place was accessible. The timing was good. Carlos was relatively unprotected. Although extracting someone like Anita from a situation like that is tricky, it can be done. We knew she was with Carlos, but we never expected she’d be outside, especially when Carlos and his men were shooting at us.” Garcia paused and looked at Dawson with genuine sorrow.

  Dawson listened, but it sounded like more excuses. He shook his head slowly. “Who, exactly, was applying pressure?”

  Garcia shrugged. “All I know is that Carter said we needed to move. Like yesterday. He knew Anita was there, but said it was not his or our problem. His words, Kyle. Not mine.”

  “Not your problem? Jesus. He does hate the news media.”

  “I built her rescue into the mission.”

  “But she died.”

  Garcia shook his head. He looked at Dawson apologetically, “Look, Kyle, I’m sorry. I told you that already. There was nothing I could do. She’s dead. It’s terrible, I know. I wish I could bring her back. But I can’t, and neither can you.”

  Dawson swallowed hard. He hadn’t meant to lean on his friend that way. Garcia was right. There was no sense in beating each other up. Garcia had done what he could. As bad as it was, Anita was gone. He paused for moment, looking out the sliding glass doors to the greens.

  “I didn’t like this mission from the beginning,” Garcia said.

  “Why not?”

  “The Borrego cartel is disintegrating. It will eventually collapse by itself.”

  “Maybe.”

  “If the DEA wanted to cause damage, it’d be better to hit one or both of the other cartels before either one can fill the void left by the Borrego cartel.”

  “So whoever’s behind the raid will take the fall for its failure. Who is it?”

  “Not me. I’m invisible and intend to stay that way. But, you could shake the tree and see who tumbles from their perch.”

  Dawson thought about it. One person would clearly benefit from a knockout blow to the Borrego cartel. “If you’d captured or killed Carlos, you’d be a hero. And one person would make sure of that.”

  “Who?”

  “Senator Madsen. Border security has been one of his main campaign issues.”

  “Yeah. I know. But what about the man who sits in the White House? It’s his administration in office now.”

  Dawson shook his head. “It’d be out of character. It would draw attention to the border issue, which has been his Achilles’s heel. It would make people ask why it wasn’t done before.”

  “I agree. But still…,” Garcia said doubtfully

  “If you had captured Carlos, Madsen would have run with it. As head of the Senate’s Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee, he’d try to take credit for it. I can guarantee that he’d be on the podium lifting Carter’s hand in victory. He’d say, ‘I’ll do more of this. We can win the war on against drug cartels.’”

  Garcia nodded.

  Dawson’s phone rang. He picked it up and looked at the screen, then frowned, not recognizing the number. “This is Dawson.”

  “I have information you might find useful,” the voice said.

  “Who is this?”

  “Carlos. Carlos Borrego.”

  “How do I know?”

  “If you want to talk to me, this is your chance.”

  Dawson sat upright, his heart suddenly pounding, phone in one hand while he held his pen poised to take notes with the other. “What’s this about?”

  “You have five minutes.”

  Dawson took a deep breath. When someone like Carlos Borrego called saying he had information to give, it was not to be dismissed. Whatever it was, it could be a hell of a story. But the thought was quickly replaced by the realization that Carlos could be dangling bait, hoping Dawson would walk into a trap. Carlos had kicked the hell out of him and could have killed him, but Anita had saved him. Maybe Carlos knew about them and had been jealous all these years? Now Anita was dead. She had died because of Carlos. He’s got her blood on his hands. Now he feels guilty. Dawson was sure of it. He wondered how far he could goad Carlos into talking. “Okay. Tell me, how did you survive that attack?”

  Carlos chortled. “I’m the new Pancho Villa. They will never catch me.”

  “Why did you call me?”

  “Anita respected you.”

  “So you called me?”

  Carlos sighed deeply in the phone. “I tried to help her by giving her an exclusive interview. She died because of it.”

  “Anita’s death was a mistake.”

  “I know who is responsible for the death of my father and my brother, and now Anita. They will pay for their crimes. The attack was a foolish attempt by the Americans to kill me.”

  “How do you know it was the Americans who attacked?”

  “They’ve been after us for a long time.” Carlos laughed. “The DEA thought they could infiltrate our business. It was so foolish. My father let them get away with it.”

  “Why?”

  “To keep track of them, of course.” Carlos sighed deeply, then fell silent. “I didn’t call you to talk about my father and his mistakes.”

  “What did you call about?”

  “Your father put millions of dollars into secret accounts for Senator Madsen. He channeled money into Madsen’s campaigns. Most of that money came from my father, Don Diego.”

  Dawson swallowed hard at Carlos’s words. “Can you prove it?”

  “I could have. The documents were in the hacienda. But they were destroyed in the attack.”

  Dawson’s heart leapt. Carlos had confirmed what he’d found in the documents pirated from the Alvarez house. And now Dawson knew how incredibly valuable they were. The originals in the hacienda were gone, destroyed. What he now possessed could be all that remained. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I was going to tell Anita. I’m telling you now.”

  Dawson’s mind was spinning. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Some people need to pay for what they’ve done.”

  The phone clicked dead. Dawson looked at it, then at Garcia.

  “What was that about?” Garcia asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  “That was Carlos Borrego.”

  Garcia shook his head warily. “Just when you think it can’t get any stranger…. Be careful. If a Borrego gives you something—anything—it will come with a price.”

  Dawson stared at Garcia, lost in thought. “I’m going back to Washington. I have enough now to write the story I came here to get. Actually, I have more.”

  “What do you have?”
r />   “Anita’s father was Don Diego Borrego’s lawyer.”

  “I frigging know that. So what?”

  “Among the remains found in the mass graves at Rancho Seco were those of Anita’s father, Alfonso Alvarez.”

  “I heard that.”

  “I tried to tell her. I thought she should know. But she was already with Carlos at the hacienda.”

  “You’re a damned Boy Scout.”

  “I told Margarita instead. She’d been drinking. When I told her, she burst into tears.”

  “That’s understandable,” Garcia said, listening intently.

  “Then she confessed something.”

  “Okay. You got me hooked.”

  “Anita’s biological father was Don Diego Borrego. Not Alfonso Alvarez.”

  Garcia’s eyes widened. “Aiiieee.” He thought about the implications. “Carlos is her half-brother?”

  Dawson nodded. “But then Margarita collapsed.”

  “You gave the woman a heart attack.”

  Dawson shook his head. “The bottle of brandy had more to do with that than I did. It probably numbed her.”

  “Now you’re a doctor?”

  “Then I remembered what your friend Reyes told me.”

  “Which was?”

  “Alvarez kept files. Reyes was right.”

  “I guess his life was not a total waste.” Garcia paused. “So you have those files?”

  “Yes. Exactly what I need.”

  “You’d better be careful.”

  “What now?”

  “You’re not the only one with those files.”

  “I’m not?”

  Garcia shook his head. “Before we lit up the hacienda, I got the hard drive from Carlos’s main computer.”