“What if they oppose our departure?”
David pulled a compact semiautomatic pistol from a zippered compartment concealed behind his tactical vest’s ballistic chest plate. “We’re leaving tonight. One way or the other.”
Nathan glared at the pistol and nodded, a look of discomfort washing over his face.
“It won’t come to that,” said Nathan.
“Let’s hope not.”
CHAPTER 12
Keira checked her watch again and squeezed her legs together. Where the fuck did he go? She needed to use a bathroom but had no intention of leaving her son alone in this room. Owen lay curled up on the mattress, breathing deeply, an olive-drab wool blanket pulled up to his chin. He needed every bit of rest he could get, especially if they intended to spend the night on the road. She couldn’t imagine any one of them sleeping in a car again—ever. Not after last night’s interstate ambush, and especially not with Cerberus hunting them.
She watched Owen for a few moments, envious of how deeply he slept. She’d passed out as soon as Nathan had pulled the blankets over them last night, but her sleep had been scattered. She’d spent much of the morning awake, sensing that Nathan was plagued with the same problem. Neither of them wanting to disturb the other, or Owen. Of course, he’d barely stirred when Keira and Nathan had gotten up. She wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
Their son had shown surprising resilience throughout the entire ordeal, particularly after last night’s attack, but he’d witnessed the horrors of combat—up close and personal. Few adults could emerge mentally unscathed from an experience like that. An eleven-year-old? Forget it. She’d briefly concentrated her studies on post-traumatic stress disorder before deciding to pursue a master’s degree in cognitive disability therapy, and knew the odds. They’d need to watch him closely for signs of emotional trauma. She didn’t want to think about the long-term effects. One step at a time. She glanced at her watch.
“That’s it,” she muttered, crossing to the door and yanking it open to find Nathan standing inches from her face. “Jesus!”
“Sorry.”
“I’m about to piss my pants here,” she hissed.
“Got pulled away for a minute,” he said, remaining in her way.
Keira glanced past Nathan’s right shoulder at the armed man seated behind him. He looked more like one of those bearded hippie hybrid types than a soldier. They were far from safe here. Shit. Before she could say something, Nathan pushed her inside the room and shut the door.
“What was that about?” she said.
“You looked like you were about to say something about our guard—in front of him.”
“Not exactly awe inspiring.”
“This is babysitting duty. The hard-core crew is probably guarding the entrances and buildings leading to the entrances,” he said quietly. “I’m not worried about it.”
“You willing to bet our son’s life on that?”
Nathan pulled her deeper into the room. “I talked to David. We’re getting out of here.”
“When?”
“Maybe right after dark,” he said, looking at his watch. “Sunset is at 7:49, so we’re looking at a few hours.”
“That’s too long. While we’ve been sleeping, Cerberus has been looking,” she said, a swift urge hijacking her thoughts. “I really have to go to the bathroom.”
“The guard outside our room can point you in the right direction. It’s easy to find.” He shrugged. “Hey, after you get back, I need to leave again. David and I agreed to meet with Jose to discuss our situation. He’s brewing up fresh coffee and preparing some food. I’ll bring that to you before the meeting.”
“What’s there to discuss? We thank them for their help and leave when it’s dark. Hopefully sooner.”
“It’s not that simple. We’re in the middle of Mexicali, in a former Sinaloa cartel drug-processing bunker. We can’t leave without an armed escort.”
“Says who?”
“Jose. The cartel still controls the city. We can’t just walk out of town with our backpacks and rifles. We still need their help. How would we get anywhere? The town is locked down by the cartel. Not to mention we’re in the middle of a desert.”
Now she understood why Jose had called a meeting. She knew their rescue hadn’t come free.
“And they need our help, too. Right? If we don’t help them, they don’t help us. Does that pretty much sum it up? What does David think about our little situation?”
“I don’t think it’s going to be like that,” he said. “We’re going to listen to Jose’s sales pitch and politely decline whatever he’s proposing.”
“Really? What if he’s not satisfied with that? They went through a lot of trouble to rescue us.”
“We’ll give him something. Enough to get us across the border safely.”
“Like what?”
“I have an idea,” said Nathan.
She didn’t like the sound of an idea, but she had far more urgent things to take care of at the moment. She was about to further soil her already filthy pants. “We need to have a long talk before you sit down with Jose. The less you say in that meeting, the better,” she said, breaking for the door.
“Hon,” said Nathan, grabbing her hand. “We’re gonna be fine. I promise.”
She pulled away. “I get the distinct impression that it’s not really in our hands anymore. Maybe it never was.”
“I’m optimistic about our future,” he said as she opened the door.
“Annoyingly optimistic,” she said, cracking a faint smile before stepping into the hallway.
CHAPTER 13
Nathan met David in front of a wall-size map of the western United States and northern Mexico. The Marine stared vacantly at the map, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup.
“At least the coffee’s good,” said David.
“Jose said it’s from a roaster in Puerto Vallarta. Better than the usual operations center swill. My dad never stopped complaining about it,” said Nathan.
David nodded absently, taking another sip. After a few seconds of silence, Nathan continued.
“And God knows it’s a massive step up from MRE coffee.”
“They put Starbucks coffee in MREs now,” stated David, never taking his eyes off the map.
“That wasn’t Starbucks we drank during our little camping trip at Pendleton.”
“I gave you old MREs,” he said drily before nodding at the map. “They’re after more than just an independent California.”
“That’s what Jose alluded to earlier.”
“Doesn’t change our plan,” said David.
“No. It doesn’t,” Nathan said, reaching out to trace the Colorado River.
Major dams along the river had been circled, extending from the Imperial Dam just north of Yuma, Arizona, to Grand Valley Dam outside Grand Junction, Colorado. An array of unfamiliar symbols accompanied each dam, betraying little about the California Liberation Movement’s plans. The Hoover Dam at the bottom of Lake Mead was crowded with symbols, followed upriver by Glen Canyon Dam, a few miles north of Lee’s Ferry, Arizona.
Lee’s Ferry served as the official demarcation line between the Upper and Lower Basins of the Colorado River, but the Glen Canyon Dam represented the true division between them. Water flowed through Lee’s Ferry at the rate allowed by the dam, which sat comfortably inside the Upper Basin. In 2027, at the height of the Basin Water War, First Ranger Battalion, Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment had been assigned to protect the dam and the Lake Powell Reservoir from an increasingly hostile and rightfully frustrated Arizona state government.
Water flow into the reservoir and through the dam had continued to decrease in the early 2020s, as more water was diverted into a series of new irrigation canals built into the Colorado side of Lake Powell. Not a problem if the Upper Basin states had limited the use of their federally allotted share of the river water to irrigate their own struggling ecosystem, but when they had started pumping vast amounts of water d
estined for the Great Plains, you had a big problem.
Especially when the Upper Basin states made a fortune from the water. Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming filled their coffers while draining critical Arizona aqueducts that kept Tucson and Phoenix from drying up and blowing away in the hot desert winds. When Arizona state legislators started talking about sending National Guard troops to seize control of the Glen Canyon Dam, Washington, DC, preempted the move by deploying the Rangers as a deterrent.
That was when Nathan had started looking for a similar job as a water reclamation engineer in one of the surrounding states. He knew better than anyone that Arizona was living on borrowed time. The key was getting out of the state before the general public realized the water situation had crossed the point of no return.
The sound of a chair sliding across the floor behind him drew his attention away from the map. Nathan turned his head to see a stocky, intense-looking man push away from one of the computer stations on the opposite side of the room, where he had met Jose this morning. Nathan had barely given the bearded man a second look a few minutes earlier. Looking at him now, he could tell the guy was important. Possibly Jose’s second in command or chief of security.
He wore what Nathan had come to regard as the CLM uniform: high-end, earth-tone hiking boots; light brown or olive-drab cargo pants; fully loaded tactical vest over T-shirt of choice. The T-shirts seemed to be a personal statement, though the man standing behind them wore an unpatterned, light brown T-shirt—like Jose’s. He didn’t carry a rifle, instead sporting a brown thigh holster. Once again, just like Jose’s. He was definitely in a leadership role. For all Nathan knew, the guy could be the head honcho. He had just assumed Jose was the group’s leader.
The man met Nathan’s glance with steely eyes. He was a whole new tier of badass. Locked into a staring contest, Nathan withstood the withering look, grateful when Jose appeared.
“Gentlemen, this is Baker. He runs the tactical side of our operation,” said Jose.
Baker smirked faintly before turning to address Jose.
“No signs of trouble from our contacts. Exterior security reports all clear on the streets. Remote observation teams report the same.”
“It’s still early,” said Jose. “I guarantee it’s in the works. Once the price is right, we’ll start to notice extra surveillance. Might even get a courtesy call from our patrón.”
“If he’s not the first to sell us out,” said the man.
Jose shook his head. “There’s too much money at stake. I hope.”
How much money could CLM afford to pay to stay here? It couldn’t possibly be enough to keep a low-level informant from taking a stack of cash.
The man shrugged. “Only time will tell.”
“I’d like to be out of here before time runs out,” said David, pivoting on his feet to face them.
“That’s the trick, isn’t it?” replied the mystery man.
“Nathan. David. This is Jeremy. Former US Naval Special Warfare Development Group. Squadron commander. He runs security for the installation and southern-tier tactical operations.”
“Development Group?” said Nathan.
“SEAL Team Six,” said David. “Very serious shit.”
Jeremy’s face didn’t betray the slightest response to David’s compliment.
“Yeah, he’s about as serious as it gets,” said Jose. “He directed the assault that cleared Cerberus from their positions overlooking your convoy.”
“He dropped in with the Mexicans?” said David.
“There were no Mexicans present during last night’s operation,” said Jose.
“Everyone keeps saying that,” said Nathan.
“That’s because it’s an important point to clarify,” said Jose.
“Uh-huh,” replied Nathan. “Just like the CLM isn’t running operations out of a foreign country.”
“Exactly,” said Jose. “Will Keira be joining us?”
Nathan shook his head. “I took her some food and coffee. She doesn’t want to leave Owen alone.”
“Perfectly understandable.” He pointed toward the map. “What do you guys think?”
“I think you’re planning on taking out a few dams,” said David.
Nathan shook his head as Jose walked between the two of them to stand next to the wall.
“You don’t think we can do it?” said Jose, raising an eyebrow at Nathan.
“I know you can’t do it. Not without access to the air force.”
“The US or Mexican Air Force?” replied Jose.
Was he kidding? Landing a platoon of paratroopers a few miles north of the border was one thing—launching a coordinated air strike against major US infrastructure points was altogether different. He didn’t like where this was headed. He was in enough trouble as it stood. Adding domestic terrorism and federal treason to the list could only serve to ensure that neither he nor his family ever lived a normal life again. He had a chance against Cerberus and the trumped-up murder charges in California. There was no going back from what Jose was suggesting.
“If you have access to the Mexican Air Force, why do you need me or David?” said Nathan.
“Because we don’t have access to the Mexican Air Force. Even if we did, I can’t imagine any scenario in which they would cross the Colorado–Arizona border to hit the Glen Canyon Dam. If they were willing to risk that kind of aggression, taking out the Hoover Dam would make more sense, yes?”
Knocking out the Hoover Dam would undoubtedly benefit Mexico, dumping the contents of Lake Mead into the Colorado River and sending an unrestricted flow toward the Sea of Cortez and the long-dried-out aqueducts in Baja California. It would also overwhelm the smaller dams built along the river south of Lake Mead, quite possibly destroying them. That would be an unmitigated disaster for the Lower Basin states, emptying the reservoirs that fed water into Arizona and California.
Of course, all of this was a moot point. Most of the Colorado River’s water never made it out of the Upper Basin. Nathan would take a different approach altogether if he was put in charge.
“You don’t seem to like that idea,” said Jose.
Jesus. Was he that easy to read? Jose stifled a laugh as Nathan cleared his throat.
“We have no intention of destroying the Hoover Dam. That would be counterproductive for everyone, including Mexico. Most of the water would dump right into the Sea of Cortez—wasted,” said Jose. “Control it? Yes.”
“If you’re looking to restore the Lower Basin to historic levels, you’re going to need the Mexican Air Force. Not us,” said Nathan. “Glen Canyon Dam has to come down. There’s no point in seizing it. If the government doesn’t drop the US Army Rangers on your head, I guarantee the Upper Basin states will mobilize their National Guards to evict you, so to speak. Not that it really matters. Lake Powell is at its lowest levels ever. They’re diverting too much water upriver.”
“It’s a compound problem,” said Jose.
“That’s an understatement.”
“We could use your expertise in formulating a plan.”
Nathan shrugged. “I don’t know what these symbols mean, but it appears to me that you’re focusing on the right dams.”
David reached for the map, pressing a finger against a point in northern Utah, near the Wyoming border. “This one seems pretty isolated. Why destroy a dam this far north?”
Jose nodded at Nathan. “Care to explain?”
“You’re not dragging us into this.”
“What’s the harm in reiterating what the CLM already knows?” said Jose.
Nathan gave him a skeptical look, then turned to David. “Flaming Gorge is one of the keys to this whole mess. It controls the flow of the Green River, which is the Colorado’s main tributary. There’s no shortage of water flowing from mountain sources north of the dam, but the Upper Basin Authority diverts a ton of it east, toward the Great Plains.”
“Doesn’t the federal government control these dams? How fucking difficult is this to fix?”
said David.
Jose shook his head. “Very difficult, when some of the nation’s wealthiest industrialists have so much to lose if the water starts flowing again. They tend to spend money on these things. Lots of money. Lawmakers on both sides of the aisle in DC have turned their backs on this issue. The US Bureau of Reclamation has ignored Colorado River Compact violations for so long, they’ve more or less redrawn the water allotments. Even the White House turns a blind eye to the problem. Three administrations, both Democratic and Republican—nothing but empty promises to investigate the issue. This isn’t going away by policy. Dams need to come down.”
“Uncle Sam isn’t going to sit back and let you destroy these dams,” said David. “You’d need the equivalent to a Marine combat division, with full air support, to pull this off. Your time and money would be better spent lobbying for more desalination plants—if water is your main concern. Even a public awareness campaign about the water diversion.”
“We’ve been down that road, and it always leads to back to the status quo,” said Jose. “Desalination plants are expensive. The state can barely cover the current infrastructure costs of the California Self-Reliance Act.”
“Is that new legislation?” said David.
“See? That’s the part of the problem right there. The CSRA was renamed the California Infrastructure Improvement Act seven years ago—eight years after the legislation passed it into law. A subtle but effective way of deemphasizing the whole point of the act: to achieve resource and economic independence from a federal government too corrupt to address a serious threat to California’s future. Most Californians have forgotten why they overwhelmingly voted in favor of the CSRA in 2020.
“We’ve been losing the media battle. Doubling the current number of desalination plants will not produce the amount of water needed to both irrigate California’s fields and hydrate the population. It’d help, but it’d be a trickle compared to what the Colorado River can supply. If the Upper Basin cuts the river flow any farther, the state will have to choose between the people or the farms. This is where it gets interesting.”
Rogue State (Fractured State Series Book 2) Page 7