The Point Of A Gun: Thriller

by Steven W. Kohlhagen

  “We tried that. Western Refining’s finest checked with Homeland Security, the El Paso JTTF, and the El Paso ICE. They say all three told them we must be crackpots. They were told all ISIS Acala activities have been long shut down, and nobody could possibly get the types of RPG’s that we described through border security.”

  “Who’s bringing in the RPG’s?” Cheese asked. “The guys from Acala or the two crossing the border tomorrow?”

  “The latter,” May said. “They’re the shooters. The two from Acala are the logistics guys, their planners.”

  “And the plan is?” Tom asked.

  “The four hook up a block from you tomorrow,” Samms replied. “Then set up on a mesa overlooking the refinery after dark and blow it while the security guards are changing shifts. They’ve identified ten targets within the refinery.”

  “And Western’s security told you that you’re a crackpot with that Intel?”

  “Yup. Said we were crazy. That it was impossible. Told us that the DHS and ICE people asked them to have us come over in person with proof. They’d look at it with us.”

  “Good to know,” Tom said.

  “How many grenades and launchers are they bringing to the party?” Cheese asked.

  “Two RPG’s, one each. A dozen grenades.”

  “How much fuel is over there?” Tom asked.

  “Their website says they have two refineries,” May replied. “The other one is in Gallup, New Mexico. We have no idea how much fuel will be there in yours tomorrow night, but it has a storage capacity of over four million barrels.”

  Tom whistled. “If they blow it, it’ll be ISIS’s biggest hit in the States. I guess ISIS doesn’t care about collateral damage. Don’t their coyotes know what a shitstorm this is going to bring down on them? How much damage this’ll cause across the river in Juarez.”

  “I’m sure they were paid enough not to care.”

  “And their plan?”

  “Their plan is to have the coyotes put them and their RPG’s into trucks and get them back to Acala tomorrow night.”

  “And the coyotes’ plan?”

  “Who the hell knows what they actually have in mind? All our data is coming from communications among the ISIS guys. The coyotes are in the background. Silent.”

  “How many?”

  “We don’t know.”

  *

  An hour later, Tom and Cheese left their reconnaissance of the Lone Star, met back up at the car, and drove as close as they dared to the refinery. Their circuitous route took them along Geronimo Drive to Marlow, intentionally avoiding approaching the facility on Trowbridge.

  They parked on a side street, out of view of the plant and any of the major streets. In front of two clearly vacant houses.

  “What do we think?” Tom asked.

  Cheese shrugged. “We certainly don’t want to get into an OK Corral shootout at the Lone Star against four dirtbags and an unknown number of cartel members.”

  “Already sitting there, with more coming from God knows where.”

  “They might not even have the hardware at the meeting.”

  “Right,” Tom said. “We’re going to need a second car.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. I doubt they’ll worry much about being followed, but we may need to be in more than one place once they leave the Lone Star.”

  Tom looked over his shoulder. “This spot is only ten, twelve minutes away from their motel, but there’s no way they launch an attack from anywhere near here. Too many people, no direct exit without winding through the streets. Especially if they really have a truck of some kind.”

  “Too easy for local cops and, hell, even Western Refining’s security guys, to trap them back in here. They won’t come near this place.”

  Tom picked up the phone. Called May.

  “May. Have you been able to pick up anything about where this ‘mesa’ might be? What direction from the refinery?”

  “I’ve been working on that. ‘Mesa’ is really a Spanish, not an Arabic word. It was my best first shot. But in going over their back and forth, I think what they may have meant was a level space clear of impediments. There are two possibilities that I see. But you’re going to be able to do this better there on the ground.”

  “Tell us your two ideas.”

  “There’s a golf course about a mile, mile and a half southwest of the refinery. The only thing between the golf course and Mexico is the Cesar Chavez Border Highway and the Rio Grande.”

  “It’s got to be lousy with Border Patrol Jeeps. Twenty-four seven. We’ll check it out in the morning, but what’s number two?”

  “On the southwest side of a mall, Cielo Vista Mall actually, a little over a mile northeast of the refinery, there’s a sparsely built industrial area, then a clear view of the refinery. There’s access to highway ten at exits twenty-six and twenty-seven in there. I’ll bet at ten at night, it’s an easy shot to get on the highway and head east toward Acala.”

  “And I’ll bet that’s our spot. Thanks, May. Talk to you in the morning.”

  “It’s already morning here, guys. Good luck.”

  And she hung up.

  *

  They drove back to the highway, got off at exit 26, and then drove to the Mall to make sure they weren’t being followed.

  “All clear?” Cheese asked.

  “All clear.”

  They meandered all around the area south of the highway making sure to not draw any attention to themselves. Then headed back to the Mall where it was safe to park in the lot with the other cars. Nobody was going to be bothered by two guys parked in the parking lot.

  “What do you think?” Tom asked.

  “From what we’ve seen, if I was going to do this job I’d do it from one of those two blind spots off Market Avenue. The one closest to the highway entrance at exit twenty-six. I’d do the deed, each of us firing half a dozen grenades into that refinery like we’d practiced, pile into my vehicle and head east on the highway. There have to be a dozen spots off the highway they could have figured to hide out in for a couple of days.”

  “And if I was the coyotes,” Tom said, “I’d let them do the deed. Then I’d kill them, and take some well-known route across the river back to home.”

  Chapter 29

  The next morning they got a second car, picked up their own ordnance, including Cheese’s favorite TAC-338, and the semi-automatic SR-25 that Tom preferred, and staked out Montana Avenue on both sides of the Lone Star.

  After about a half hour, Tom’s cell rang.

  “Yes?”

  “There any point to this?” Cheese asked.

  “Neither of us thinks so, but trying to identify the coyotes at the motel is likely to be more productive than sitting around playing checkers back in our room.”

  “Nothin’ but what looks like Mexicans to me going in and out and around that place.”

  “Right, the ISIS dirtbags aren’t due until two.”

  “And the show’s not until ten.”

  “Although I doubt they’ll care much about punctuality for the show,” and Tom hung up and called May. “Anything new, May?”

  “There’s some anxious back and forth between the Acala guys and the guys just getting into Texas, but no, everything seems to be on schedule.”

  “We have any idea of what type of vehicle the guys from Mexico will be driving into the Lone Star?”

  “Not the kind of stuff they tell each other.”

  “Well, then impersonate one of them and see if they’ll tell you.”

  “Thanks, Tom. If I decide the information is worth breaking our cover for, I’ll let you know.”

  *

  An hour later, his cell pinged for an incoming text.

  He looked at it, broke out laughing, and called May.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No. I used their own encryption and one of the Acala Mexican’s addresses and asked them about the vehicle they should be looking for. The arriving ISIS guys w
ere so impressed that their escorts had a stolen DHS van that they were bursting to tell.”

  “They all coming in that one van?”

  “You, not me, will be the first to know that,” she said. “In about a half hour I’d guess. Roger and out.”

  Tom called Cheese with the news. Then had a thought. He hit redial.

  “Hello?” Samms answered this time.

  “Hey, I have a question for May, but, first, anything we need to know down here in the trenches?”

  “May and I were just doing a last walk through. No changes on their side. Still four ISIS guys, an unknown number of Mexican escorts, and a dozen grenades to fire around ten. Hold on, May says she has something.”

  “Tom?”

  “Yes?”

  “Triangulating various data,” May said, “I get a maximum of six cartel members. And I doubt they’d let the terrorists go to the final show with less than a four man escort.”

  “Can you put this on speaker?”

  “Sure. Cheese with you?”

  “No we’re in separate surveillance cars.”

  “That wasn’t in the plan.” It was Samms.

  “Do we have to tell you two everything? Samms, we may not be able to take all eight to ten of them out if they’re spread out. The likely shooting site is rolling desert with yucca and cactus all around, not a parking lot. Who are the priority kills?”

  “Do you have any weapons that could disable the escape vehicles?”

  “No. We could flatten a few tires but not without risking return fire. Those bullets would be better lodged in the bad guys than in the tires. We can’t afford a firefight. Cheese and I agree we need to kill and run. If they get off even one grenade, that area could be sealed off in a matter of minutes.

  “What do you think, Tom?” Samms asked.

  “My view is that we need to kill or seriously wound all four of the terrorists,” he replied. “The next priority are the drivers of the vehicles. If we could possibly kill or disable enough that they can’t get all of the vehicles out, there will be plenty for the El Paso cops and Border Patrol to work with.”

  “I agree. You said you had a question for May.”

  “I have one thing for you first,”

  “Okay, shoot,” Samms said.

  “Remember our discussion about the sand and the coyotes and the snakes?”

  “Sure.”

  “As we searched the area last night, we found we’d omitted scorpions and tarantulas.”

  “No snakes?”

  “Yes. Turns out they have a special this time of year on rattlesnakes.”

  “Ugh.”

  “May?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a DHS van pulling into the Lone Star right now. But I have a question. May? Won’t the Acala Mexicans be surprised to hear from their colleagues that they had asked about the van, when they never did?”

  “I thought of that, too. There’s a copy of the email I sent in his ‘sent’ folder.”

  “God, you’re good, May. Gotta go. FYI, the van was followed by a Jeep with a Mexican at the wheel. Nobody else in the car.”

  Tom heard the familiar ping of the incoming text. Cheese wanted to know if he’d seen the van.

  It was two o’clock on the button. Punctual in the extreme. Maybe, he thought, these weren’t Mexicans after all.

  *

  At four, the Jeep and its four occupants left the Lone Star and headed southeast on Montana.

  Cheese followed them, his cell on speaker as he briefed Tom.

  “It looks like they’re headed to the highway like we thought…No. Uh oh. They’re pulling a U-turn on Montana.”

  “You think they spotted you? That quick?”

  “If they’re that good, we’re going to have problems tonight.”

  “I see them headed toward me going back past the Lone Star on Montana,” Tom said. “Reverse roles. I’ll follow them, while you watch the motel.”

  “Roger.”

  Tom slipped into the heavy traffic behind the Jeep, wondering if this was what passed for El Paso rush hour.

  “They’re not headed to the highway. But you knew that. Now turning right on Airway, away from the airport. It looks like we’re going to the mall. Me’n the dirtbags. Maybe a little something for the girls back home.”

  “Just the facts, Tom. Just the facts.”

  “Anything at the Lone Star?”

  “No activity at or around the van. I’m not confident I can tell the ISIS guys from the cartel guys, frankly.”

  “I was starting to wonder about that when the four of them got into the Jeep. Ok, they turned left on Viscount. The mall is now just ahead on our right. Time to find out where we’re going.”

  “By the way,” Cheese said, “do you think they just changed their mind about their directions back here or were they looking for a tail?”

  “The latter. They’re driving like someone looking to see if there’s a tail, not like someone who’s worrying about being pulled over by the cops.”

  “If they’re not worried about cops then they must have fake ID’s.”

  “No doubt. I wonder what the cops are going to make of all the dead bodies tonight all with seemingly valid American identification.”

  “We’ll have to leave a few wounded to help the cops out, then.”

  “No trip to Victoria’s Secret after all. We just passed the mall. Turning right on Hawkins.”

  “Bingo, Tom. Nice job last night. They’re headed right to the site.”

  “Takes a sniper to know a sniper. I’m going to have to be careful now. There’s very little traffic. I may not be able to see where they wind up.”

  “I don’t think you need to, Tom. You confirmed what we needed to know. I’ll get there before them tonight. If they’re going to be spread out down there among various different spots, first of all, I’ll be surprised, and secondly, we’ll have to count on May to be tracking their communications.”

  “There are two shooters. They could choose two different vantages, right?”

  “Not the right way to do it, but I suppose they could. It makes everything much more complicated for them, especially an exit strategy. But if they do it that way, we would just have to find a sight line to each location. We have two shooters, too.”

  Silence for five minutes.

  “Anything Tom?”

  “No. They went past Market Avenue, beyond where we thought they would. I’ve moved to where I can see where they emerge from, without them seeing me.”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll be back soon. They’ve driven way beyond the point of a good exit plan.”

  “Damn, I hate when you do that Cheese. On cue, here they come. Okay, they’re turning on Market, going really slow. Headed toward where we thought they would go…pulling off where you thought. They’ve stopped and are getting out of the Jeep.”

  “Your job is done there, Tom. You can come back.”

  “I’ll follow and see what else I can find out. Nothing else to do. And, oh, Cheese?”

  “Yes?”

  “I now can tell the ISIS guys from their escorts.”

  “How?”

  “Experience. I’ll show you when I get back.”

  *

  At eight, Cheese and Tom were on the phone with May and Samms.

  “Anything new, guys?” Tom asked.

  “All systems go,” May said.

  “I’m headed out with our rifles and ammo,” Cheese said. “Tom is staying behind in hopes we’ll get a final tally on the number of cartel escorts that will be there as he follows them out.”

  “You can’t tell after observing them all day?” Samms said.

  “We can ID the four ISIS guys now,” Tom said. “One’s black as night, and the other three hang with him instead of with the cartel guys. It’s simply impossible to tell the Mexican cartel guys who are going with them from the Mexican cartel guys who are staying behind…”

  “…And, frankly,” Cheese said, “from all the p
resumably innocent El Pasoans driving and walking up and down Montana Avenue.”

  There was nothing anybody had to add.

  “Wish me luck, guys,” Cheese said. “I’m outta here.”

  *

  A half hour later, Cheese had set up his hardware and lugged all the ammunition and infrared equipment onto the tarp on the little rise he had chosen. He knew from there that he had a full view of the two most likely firing locations. He would be able to nail them whichever one they picked, or even if they split up and stupidly went for both.

  If they went somewhere else, Tom would be here by then and they’d easily be able to pick an alternative site. No way would the dirtbags come too near this spot. He had also chosen it partly because it didn’t have the sight line they needed to the refinery. He wasn’t shooting refineries. He was shooting dirtbags.

  He then hiked back to the car and moved it to the parking spot they had agreed on the night before. A spot that would not cause any suspicion from either local security or the Mexican cartel escorts.

  He walked back to their firing site and sat down by his rifle. Put on the infrared goggles and looked toward the two potential ISIS firing areas.

  Nobody there yet and no word from Tom. Perfect. As planned, he was the first to the party.

  While he waited, Cheese watched for any and all traffic behind him. Nothing but a ridiculously incompetent security guard, driving too fast to see, protect, or serve against anything but incompetence or wetbacks coming from the river.

  He then, more carefully, looked at the tarp he was sitting on. Then began scanning in concentric circles at the ground around him. Looking for tarantulas, rattlesnakes, and/or scorpions.

  He shuddered.

  *

  An hour later, Tom had settled in next to Cheese on the tarp, lying on his stomach, looking out over the dirtbags’ activities. He was already aiming his rifle, goggles on.

  “Pretty impressive, Tom. You said twenty-five minutes and here you are.”

  “It was pretty straightforward. They came here by the highway route this time. As if they were in a hurry. Since I knew where they were going, once they all left, I just came straight to you. They couldn’t have seen me, but they didn’t seem to care much, either.”

  “They beat you by five minutes. Just drove straight on in. The van and the one Jeep, just as you said.”