by Tom Ellis
“When the hell did that happen?”
“Last night.”
Bradford was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He looked at the screen and the current number for El Jefe.
Ron Kroll was sleeping soundly next to Ivalou Vargas. His cell phone began to buzz.
“Kroll,” He said sleepily.
“Ron, you’re closer to the ranch than I am. Get down there and find out what’s going on. One of the jihadists is dead, and the trucks are painted with gang graffiti. El Jefe says one of his men speaks English.”
“OK, I can do. Are you going to start that way?”
“No, and you will have to leave as soon as you call me back with what is happening. El Jefe says the shipment can’t go until late tonight. He says something about the balloon being up and his helicopter can’t fly across the border.”
“OK, I’ll call you when I know something.”
“Call me when you get to the ranch.”
Kroll clicked off. He got up from the bed and watched Vargas sit up yawn and stretch.
“What the hell was that all about.” She asked getting out of bed and reaching for his shirt to hide her nakedness.
Kroll was pulling on his pants. Vargas went to the bathroom.
A few minutes later she returned. Kroll took her place in the bathroom. It didn’t take him as long. He stopped by the sink and brushed his teeth. Ivalou got dressed by the time he finished.
“So what’s up?”
“Bradford called, said El Jefe called him. There is a dead jihadist, and the trucks have gang graffiti on them. Bradford wants me to find out what’s happening.
“You may want to wake up Havelee and the guys. They can follow in that pickup truck at a discrete distance and photograph from the service road. I hope this doesn’t turn into our needing backup, but I want them close. Get back to your hotel and get ready. Dress like a mean ass take no prisoners Latina for this gig.”
“Got it,” Ivalou said giving him a quick peck on the cheek as she went out the door.
Ron Kroll walked alongside the old yellow trucks and read the graffiti.
CINCO CINCO SEIS
556
VE RAPIDO EL JEFE 556
MATAR EL JEFE 556
Kroll examined the corpse as he took out his phone. He snapped a few pictures of the trucks and the jihadist’s corpse. Then he called Bradford.
“I think the raghead got kicked by a horse. It looks like two horseshoes imprinted on his chest. And something bit him badly on his package. Not much blood so the kick probably killed him quickly. I’m texting you pictures of the trucks and the body. No one knows what happened. The dead guy was known for getting up in the middle of the night to go piss. He probably walked up on whoever sprayed the trucks. As high up as the writing is they were probably on a horse.”
“Well, tell those assholes to use the tractor to bury the guy and you get the hell out of there. I’ll call El Jefe with the bad news.
“Those FBI agents had a field day photographing those trucks on the Rocking H Bar,” Cruz said. He and Russell had followed the agents from Nogales. The two PI’s went on to the Casita. Jolene was watching the computer screen showing the camera feed.
“Bradford must have called Kroll to come investigate. That was a gutsy move letting the Latina agent ride with him. Even if she did stay in the car.” Burns said.
“Bradford’s SUV is still in Tucson,” Russell reported. “Kroll stays in Nogales and the Latina agent sneaks over to his motel every night.”
“Nothing like fooling around while undercover,” Jolene said.
“I just hope those trucks get out of this valley before they catch fire,” Burns said.
“That will be funny as hell if the FBI shares with the DEA and they come bust everybody involved,” Cruz said.
“And the trucks catch fire while all that is going on,” Russell added.
“We don’t need a wildfire in this valley. Even if it does get blamed on the five fifty-six gang.” Burns responded.
Chapter Nineteen
The four marijuana-laden trucks left the Rocking H Bar at 4:00 AM. The drivers were promised martyrdom in the land of the Great Satan after they completed their deliveries. None spoke any English past a few basic phrases. And their directions were crude maps. Each map warned them to avoid Sierra Vista Arizona and its most prominent landmark, Fort Huachuca. All four jihadist wannabes promptly got lost. Due to their lack of sleep from a nighttime border crossing and immediately being put in trucks and told to drive. The men quickly found places to park their trucks for a nap.
Haji Zabeeb almost screwed up the mission early on. He found a pull off spot within one hundred yards of Fort Huachuca’s rear gate. The wind wasn’t blowing in the right direction for the MP’s manning the gate to notice the pungent smell of burning pot. Andy Burns incendiary devices worked as expected. Holes in the wooden floor board of the cargo box provided enough airflow augmenting the missing skylights. Cracks in the seams did the rest. The illicit cargo was steadily turning into a glowing furnace. At some point in the trucks life, another cargo shifted and punched a hole through the front of the box into the cab. The hole provided another outlet for the heady fumes. And, enhancement for Haji’s restless dreams.
The bales in the other three trucks ignited in a similar fashion. Though not as hot has Haji’s truck yet, the pending disasters awaited movement to fan the flames.
Aashif Qaadir woke up before the other drivers and somehow managed to get his truck out of the valley and on I-40 toward Tucson. The vehicle would run 75 miles an hour. The speed caused a bellows effect on the already glowing bales. Aashif was not affected by the burning marijuana. His cab was tight, and he paid no attention to other motorists trying to warn him his truck was on fire. He was approaching Casa Grande when three state trooper cars surrounded his truck and forced him to stop. Qaadir could not figure out why they dragged him out of the cab and onto the ground. He understood the handcuffs, however. In his country, this usually mean an execution was happening soon. The troopers quickly realized this was not a Mexican driving a truckload of burning dope; when Aashif Qaadir began reciting Muslim prayers.
Jabir Tabrez realized he was going east on I-10 when he should have been traveling westbound. He slowed then hit the brakes hard as he considered a U-turn across the median. Jabir sped up and then slammed on the brakes again when a likely look spot came in view. It wouldn’t work, and he hit the gas. The third abrupt braking pissed off a passenger Tabrez didn’t know he had. The rattlesnake sunk its fangs into Jabir’s calf. He screamed and lost control of the truck. Witnesses said it fishtailed and ran off the road going end over end once before it struck the bottom of Davidson Canyon. The snake slithered out of the wreckage as the marijuana bonfire of Davidson Canyon began. Jabir died on impact.
The Tabrez wreck and fire got the most attention and blocked I-10 in both directions as emergency services responded. A group of eastbound motorcyclists out for an early morning run to New Mexico were closest to the pot conflagration. They were enjoying it. This bunch was higher than any nearby tree when a pissed off firefighter arranged for them to get around stalled traffic. They merrily gunned their bikes eastbound.
A few miles ahead of the stoned bikers Fadil Naadir was not feeling any pain either as he entered I-10 eastbound. Fadil didn’t care which way he was going. His truck was running wide open at 65 miles per hour. The speed caused the hot coals of marijuana to blaze at the same time the stoned bikers reached it. The motorcyclists realized they were following a five-ton pot pipe.
Haji Zabeeb’s weed enhanced dreams the erection in his pants led him to believe he was driving a suicide bomb truck. This idea morphed into reality in his pot deadened mind the same time an old TV remote slid from under the seat during a hard stop. The red button would detonate his load, and the promised virgins would be waiting. Haji finally found a paved road that went toward the forbidden town of Sierra Vista and Fort Huachuca. The Fort was his target, and his erection r
eminded him of the promised virgins. Zabeeb stood on the gas and ran three red lights at major intersections in his quest for paradise. Pot smoke belching truck attracted the attention of the Sierra Vista Police.
A couple of motorcycle officers intercepted the truck when Haji stopped and yelled at a senior citizen pushing a grocery buggy he’d almost run down. Incredulously Zabeeb yelled, FORT BOMB PARADISE VIRGINS ALLAH AKBAR!
The senior pointed in the direction of the fort. Haji gassed the truck making a left turn onto Fry and a straight shot to Fort Huachuca’s main gate.
One of the motor cops asked the senior citizen what the driver said.
“He’s a fucking raghead, and he’s going to blow up the Fort! You need to shoot that bastard before he does it!”
Warning of a terrorist attack in progress went out over the police frequency. The local cub newspaper reporter monitoring the police scanner went wild notifying every media outlet on Facebook and the Associated Press wire service.
Zabeeb’s truck was not running as well as it should. In his zeal for paradise, Haji shifted it into low gear. It was still going fast enough to keep the cargo box fire stoked. The police chase was turning into a drug induced parade of cops and everybody whose olfactory nerves were working. The rolling bong easily knocked a couple of squad cars aside, and the officers emptied their pistols into the truck.
“ALLAH AKBAR!!” Haji shouted every time he came close to a group of people.
The main gate was where the action would be. The MP First Sergeant gave orders to the security team to lock and load. One MP sat the M249 Squad Automatic Weapon on a bipod in the front window of the guard house. Another loaded a belt of ammo into the weapon. The two female MP’s assigned to the post took aim down Fry with their M4 carbines.
The four-lane Fry Blvd intersected Buffalo Soldier Trail in front of Fort Huachuca’s main gate. The First Sergeant used the traffic signal control to stop traffic on Buffalo Soldier Trail.
An alert police sergeant ordered his officers not to get in front of the truck as Zabeeb bore down on the gate. “Back off! Back off the truck! The MPs will open fire on it when it crosses Buffalo Soldier!”
Two police cars accelerated to the intersection in front of the main gate and stopped their cars blocking traffic. The cops bailed out and took cover behind their cruisers.
The First Sergeant noticed the young MP on the SAW was turning blue from holding his breath. The older man laid his hand on young Military Policeman’s shoulder and said.
“Easy son, just breathe. Fire on my command. Aim for the driver. He is coming in range now. Standby.”
Haji saw the main gate dead ahead and readied his TV remote. He said whatever prayers his marijuana inhibited brain function could remember. Haji commenced screaming “ALLAH AKBAR!” out the window of the truck at everyone watching with a camera phone.
Zabeeb sucked in one last breath of the powerful smoke. He let go of the steering wheel closed his eyes and pressed the red button.
The truck would not track in a straight line without someone steering it. A bump in the road didn’t help either. The smoking vehicle veered to the right and crashed into a stone wall smashing the radiator. The momentum carried it partway over the wall before coming to a stop. The impact opened the seams of the cargo box. Flames erupted as more air fed the burning marijuana.
The driver’s door came open when Haji smashed against it. The would-be martyr fell out.
“Safe your weapon soldier. Clear it and stand down.” The First Sergeant ordered the MP on the machine gun. Watching the man on the ground by the burning truck the First Sergeant directed to two women forward. “He doesn’t appear to be wearing explosives approach with caution. Police are approaching as well.”
The two women MPs moved forward covering the jihadist. A male and female pair of Sierra Vista Police Officers moved in also. If Zabeed hiccupped, the cops and MP’s would shoot him into a bleeding pulp. The two MPs aimed their carbines at the prostate terrorist. The male cop patted him down and checked for injuries. Other than a red mark on his forehead there were no visible injuries. More cops moved in. The first two pulled him away from the burning truck. The two MP’s raised their weapons. Haji moaned, and the cops lifted him to his feet.
Stunned and very much under the influence Haji thought he was in paradise. One of the MPs was close enough he recognized her as a woman. He managed to say something about uniformed virgins and groped the MP’s crotch. She laid Haji out with a quick jab.
“Virgin my ass,” she said as the First Sergeant arrived.
“Nice punch soldier.” He said.
“Thank you, First Sergeant, my brother fought golden gloves he showed me a thing or two.”
At that moment Haji started to get up again, and the female cop Tased him. Zabeed started hunching his hips upward as the current hit.
“The stupid sonofabitch is air humping virgins,” the MP said.
“Be advised the Fire Department is waiting for verification of explosives before they come any closer.” Dispatch radioed the police sergeant.
“It appears to be a couple of tons of marijuana burning. And the crowd is getting higher than a democrat’s tax hike. Tell them to put this mess out. Before we have a street dance.”
Traffic at the eastbound I-10 Border Patrol checkpoint near the Arizona-New Mexico line was light. The fire at Douglas Canyon was still causing a backup. The Border Patrol agents noticed their drug K-9s getting fidgety. They started to whine. One agent caught a whiff of pot in the air. All of them saw the faded yellow box truck pulling off the interstate too fast and belching smoke like a steam engine. A motorcycle gang was following the truck. The riders were zigzagging and popping wheelies.
The truck slid to a stop and did not quit rocking before Fadil Naadir opened the door and got out. The now flaming truck continued forward and veered into a parked patrol vehicle.
Naadir, smiling broadly and speaking Farsi unrolled his prayer rug pointed it east and knelt down saying his prayers. Four bikers joined him.
Burning marijuana trucks and the failed terrorist attack on Fort Huachuca led the noon news broadcasts around the country. Havelee and Ivalou watched the news intently. Kroll watched it on a TV at the small café in Patagonia where he was eating lunch. His phone buzzed with a coded text from Penelope. It was urgent that he call her. The phone rang with an incoming call from Bradford.
“Kroll, have you seen that shit on TV about the burning trucks?”
“Yeah, I’m watching the news now.”
“Do you think they are the trucks from the ranch?”
“Probably, but I’m not going to call the cops and ask.”
“Man you are funny. You must have had your comedian pill this morning.”
“Well, Ash I really can’t say about the trucks. I just don’t know. You have pictures of them. One for sure, there is a rat in your partner’s barn. Somebody sold out those trucks. If I’m correct, those tagged numbers belong to a Tucson street gang. I’ve seen them on the news and in town.”
“I have too. Don’t go back to the ranch until I call and tell you. Shack up with a whore. Come to Tucson and get some cash if you need it. El Jefe will figure out he has a snitch, and there be more bodies at the ranch.”
“I’ll be in Nogales waiting for you to call.”
Kroll hung up and paid his check. He called Vargas on the way back to Nogales.
“Bradford and company are not coming back to the ranch today. El Jefe is probably on the war path.”
“Havelee is wondering if the trucks on the news are the same ones from the ranch.”
“Probably, Bradford called earlier and said we could start back to the ranch. A human shipment is due in the next day or two. We have to be there for that. He called just after I got your text and told me to hang out in Nogales until he called. He thinks El Jefe has a snitch for the gang in his organization.”
“I would hate to be the snitch. Since you’re planning on coming back to town, Havelee will
want to have a debriefing sometime this afternoon.”
“I’ll be available. I think we should either meet at a truck stop in Wilcox or the eastbound rest stop in Texas Canyon.”
“Sounds good I’ll let you know.”
El Jefe was not the only one unhappy with the burning dope trucks. The General was livid. He appreciated Burns’ successful sabotage mission. He was not happy with that the fact the previous four trucks got clean away. The General got on the phone to a Washington news source. Clips of the pot burning trucks led the evening news segments about the DEA director having an affair with a staff member.
Ransom Carter and the FBI Director enjoyed the evening news reports of their upstart counterpart’s new difficulties. Both of them wondered who the unnamed source was. The Director worried if the same source knew of his mistress.
Chapter Twenty
Jolene observed the flatbed ranch truck cross the border at Lochiel and return an hour later with the usual load of hay. Or so it appeared. What piqued her interest was the time frame. It was an unusually quick turnaround for the expected load of dope. Maybe it was a makeup shipment for those lost to fire. When the truck unloaded at the barn, she saw it was not. Jolene grabbed her phone and called Burns.
“Are you where you can get a look at the Rocking H Bar barn?”
“I can go up the hill and use the spotting scope. What’s going on?”
“The hay truck just unloaded a dozen or so women from across the border at the barn. I’m thinking human trafficking.”
“I think you are right.”
“They didn’t even bother to unload the hay bales on the sides. They just put the tarp back on and are leaving now. I bet they are going back to get another group.”
“Let me know if they cross the border.”
“OK.”
Burns pondered the conversation as he rode Don Cameron to an observation point. Once in place he lay behind a powerful spotting scope and studied the Rocking H Bar headquarters area. A male with an M16 casually stood guard at the barn door. Whether the man was Mexican or, middle eastern was a guess. The two races could pass for the other anytime. Two more men patrolled the ranch armed with AK47 rifles. The weapon of choice for aspiring jihadists. The suburban SUV was gone. Yesterday Bradford’s two thugs were using the tractor to bury bodies. Apparently, El Jefe had loyalty issues with his help and laid off five employees. Only the car driven by Ron Kroll was visible.