Strong As Steel

by Jon Land

  Garcia nodded.

  “And how is he doing?”

  “He will live a long life now, jefa. I know I must pay for my crime, but I ask you to spare him.”

  Delgado held the gun poised low by her hip. “That is not necessary. He wasn’t the one who stole from me. Your family is safe from the punishment you must bear alone, Vittorio.”

  “Gracias, jefa, gracias,” Garcia said, bowing his head reverently.

  “I must do this to make an example of what happens when discretion is not exercised, when trust is broken. Because each man and woman under my command must act as I would, as my proxy. They must ask themselves, Is this something our jefa would do? or How would our jefa respond? It is the cost of leadership that a price must be paid for misjudgment that hurts my business. If I do not exact that price, how can I expect loyalty from the hundreds, thousands even, beholden to the cartel for their livelihood and the good of their families?”

  Vittorio Garcia looked up, his expression resigned, even calm. “I did this for my family, jefa.”

  “And would you do it again, Vittorio?”

  “I would,” the man said, nodding, without hesitation.

  “I am sorry I must make an example of you,” Delgado said solemnly. “I am sorry for the action you have forced upon me.”

  The pistol came up in line with his face.

  Garcia closed his eyes but did not lower his head.

  Luna Diaz Delgado steadied her pistol, feeling Isabella squeeze tighter against her. She patted the girl’s head with her free hand, turning her face away from the blouse she’d pressed her eyes against.

  “Watch, my love.”

  With that, she turned the pistol to the right.

  And fired.

  Turned the pistol to the left and fired.

  And fired.

  The bodies of Vittorio Garcia’s underboss and boss fell dead to the ground, one after the other.

  Delgado waited for Garcia to open his eyes before she spoke, addressing her words to Isabella, who was staring intently at the two bodies, not trying to turn away again.

  “When an underling fails, the responsibility lies with those directly over him. The two men I shot, my love, should have come to me with this man’s request for the money for his son’s operation. A failure of leadership, because they feared I would’ve taken the fee out of their end. And I might well have done precisely that, but it shouldn’t have mattered, because this man was a solid earner for us who’d made them far more than that over the years while asking for nothing beyond what was due him. He behaved honorably and was dishonored in return. Vittorio,” she said to the man kneeling before her.

  “Gracias, jefa,” he managed, with tears streaming down his face. “Gracias.”

  Delgado handed the big pistol to Isabella, who nearly crumpled under its weight. “Don’t thank me yet. You see, Vittorio, my apology was sincere. I truly am sorry for the action you’ve forced upon me, for making an example of you. Because you will take over as leader now, and with that comes responsibility that brings with it no forgiveness. I hope that this is a task you will welcome, a task you will embrace. And then you will train your son in the ways of the familia, so he may be as strong and loyal a soldier as you have been. You understand there is no choice here, no option.”

  “Entiendo, jefa.”

  “Then rise and stand like a man.”

  Garcia did. Bowing, he took Delgado’s hand and kissed the ring that had belonged to her husband, resized to fit the smaller hand now speckled with gun dust.

  She nodded and looked back at Isabella. “And what have you learned from this, my love?”

  “The gun is very heavy, Abuela.”

  “I know,” Luna Diaz Delgado said, making no move to take it back from her.

  Until the main gate crashed open behind a battering ram on a truck with POLICIA markings.

  Federals, for sure, going through the motions as they did regularly. Luna quickly yanked the pistol out of Isabella’s slackening grasp and tossed it aside. One of her men would make sure it was disposed of properly.

  During those moments, four more SUVs followed the battering ram through the breached gates, armed men spilling out in all directions. Delgado’s people knew exactly what to do in such a situation, which was nothing. Drop their weapons, put their hands in the air, and look subservient to the powers that be.

  The last to exit the SUVs was a short, stout man wearing a colonel’s uniform. He had a protruding chest and a stomach flattened by him sucking in his breath.

  “Colonel Rojas,” Luna said, her hands in the air. “What a surprise.”

  Rojas approached stiffly, flanked by a bevy of armed officers from Mexico’s Policia Federal who were looking for something to shoot at. His eyes fell on the two bodies that circumstances had not afforded the time to remove.

  “Friends of yours?”

  “Who?”

  “Them.” Rojas pointed.

  “Oh, si. Two of my department heads, pushed into early retirement. My men found their bodies dumped just outside the gate earlier this morning.”

  “Did they?”

  Luna nodded. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to call the authorities—until your arrival spared me the bother.”

  Rojas’s gaze fell again on the bodies, as he twirled his thick mustache. “We’ll include them in the arrest report,” he said, whipping the handcuffs from his belt. “Please show me your wrists.”

  “What is the charge this time, Colonel?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. Thought I might spin the wheel and see what crime it stops on.”

  His flippant remark didn’t unnerve Luna, but the message behind him arresting her without a firm charge was definitely cause for concern. It suggested something else might be afoot here, something Luna feared might be connected to the gift the desert had revealed after so many years. That made her reflect on her initial meeting with Texas Ranger Jim Strong and all that had followed, including the last meeting before they parted forever.

  “Your hands, jefa,” Rojas resumed, addressing her respectfully despite the impatience in his voice.

  “You know there’s no point to this,” Delgado said, as he slapped the cuffs over her wrists. “You know whatever made-up lie you charge me with will hold no water. I’ll be free and the federales will be embarrassed again.”

  “I’m not so sure about that this time.”

  “Oh? What changed?”

  “I don’t know. This arrest, this show of force, wasn’t my idea.”

  “Orders?”

  Rojas nodded. “From higher-ups outside the Policia Federal, maybe even outside Mexico.”

  “The United States?” Delgado posited, surprised by the mere possibility, given her relationship with the right American authorities.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, jefa.” Rojas shrugged. “But if I were you I wouldn’t sleep too soundly until your lawyers secure your release.”

  38

  NEW BRAUNFELS, TEXAS

  “That’s her,” Enrico Molinari said to the two men with him in the back of the van. “The Texas Ranger who killed our men in Dallas.”

  Molinari’s vast size made the confines uncomfortable, even if he’d been alone back there. He did his best to shift aside, so the other men could better regard the three monitor screens, all currently displaying the Texas Ranger standing outside the headquarters of Bane Sturgess in the company of a man Molinari didn’t recognize and couldn’t identify. The man had arrived here ahead of her, first on the scene, meaning they must be connected, allies likely, although he wore no cinco pesos badge identifying him as a Ranger as well.

  “I isolated him in close-up off the monitor,” Molinari explained. “We should have a better idea of his identity soon.”

  The specially equipped van was parked just down the street from Bane Sturgess. The video screens built into a console in the cramped rear compartment were attached to a trio of cameras offering views of the street beyond.


  Molinari moved closer to the monitors, catching his own reflection thanks to the light spill refracting off the screen. That perspective allowed for a distorted view of his features. The angle captured his frame like a fun house mirror, his gray-toned face and light-shaded eyes looking preternaturally large, as if he might be able to see the future.

  But right now he was concerned about the present, because someone had somehow gotten to Bane Sturgess ahead of him, someone who must have had their own stake in the contents of those stone boxes.

  Years before, on his last trip to Texas, another Texas Ranger had been responsible for burying what had now gone missing yet again, as if the contents of those boxes were to remain forever elusive to Molinari. Incredibly, according to what Molinari had been able to learn, the female Ranger across the street was that man’s daughter.

  Talk about fate, talk about an epic cosmic convergence only God Himself could be behind.

  “Kill them,” he ordered the two men in the back of the van with him. “Kill them both.”

  39

  NEW BRAUNFELS, TEXAS

  Caitlin had found Cort Wesley Masters waiting for her at the offices of a company called Bane Sturgess, which, from the outside anyway, looked more like a real estate firm that papered its exterior windows with its latest listings.

  “The cavalry’s not too far behind me,” she told him.

  “Good thing.”

  “What’d you find in there, Cort Wesley?”

  “It’s better you see for yourself,” he said. When Caitlin steered for the entrance, he continued, “Last thing you want to do is go inside, Ranger, trust me. Check the window.”

  Caitlin did, and saw four bodies lying on the floor.

  * * *

  Cort Wesley laid it out for her while they waited for reinforcements to arrive, from his meeting with Jones in Marble Falls to Tom Baer to surplus arms and the outfit to which Baer had managed to trace them.

  “You’re telling me Bane Sturgess was behind the guns used in Dallas?”

  “They were behind the shipment. Arranging transfer of the submachine guns and pistols from where they were warehoused as surplus to their buyers. Finding the identity of those buyers is what brought me here. But Bane Sturgess is also pretty heavy in the mercenary world and they aren’t above taking on a job themselves, if the money’s right.”

  “Toy soldiers?”

  “The worst kind, Ranger.”

  “Somebody’s covering their tracks here, Cort Wesley.”

  Something drew Caitlin’s gaze across the road to a pair of men who’d stopped suddenly, as if aware they’d been seen. On second glance, the men seemed to be engaged in an ordinary conversation, and she passed her suspicions off to nerves about the bodies she’d glimpsed through the window.

  He frowned. “You see any blood around any of those bodies inside?”

  “Nope.”

  “Neither did I. That’s why I stayed outside and why we’re still outside now.”

  “Cort Wesley Masters exercising discretion?”

  “I guess you’re finally rubbing off on me, Ranger.”

  “You plan on telling me what the doctor said about your arm?”

  “Maybe I haven’t gone yet.”

  “Yes, you have. It’s written all over your face.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “Nothing good, Cort Wesley. So…”

  Cort Wesley tried not to show any concern. “I’m on blood thinners.”

  “That’s your answer?”

  “Do the math.”

  “Shit,” Caitlin said, expression sinking.

  “That was my thought.”

  “You’re telling me it was a stroke?”

  “One of those warning kinds people get.”

  “So what are you planning to do about it?”

  “I told you I’m on blood thinners.”

  “Besides that.”

  “I’m going to see a neurologist.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I’m coming with you if I have to shoot you, Cort Wesley.”

  “Well, everybody’s gotta die of something.”

  Then they heard the first of the sirens screaming their way. Caitlin looked up the road for the appearance of their flashing lights, noticing that the two men she’d glimpsed a few moments before were gone.

  PART FIVE

  It was said that [Captain Bill] McDonald would “charge hell with a bucket of water,” but that was also said of Captain Leander McNelly, who headed the Special Force during the 1870s. McDonald’s personal motto later evolved into the Ranger’s creed: “No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that’s in the right and keeps on a-comin’.”

  Perhaps less known is McDonald’s statement to a large mob that confronted him as he left a jail with two prisoners in custody. “Damn your sorry souls!” growled McDonald as the men surged forward, intent on hanging the prisoners in his custody. “March out of here and get away from this jail, every one of you, or I’ll fill this yard with dead men.” The mob quickly dispersed.

  —“Lone on the Range: Texas Lawmen” by Jesse Sublett, Texas Monthly, December 31, 1969

  40

  NEW BRAUNFELS, TEXAS

  Doc Whatley emerged ahead of the other crime scene techs, all of them dressed in yellow biohazard suits with internal respirators. Caitlin watched as Whatley yanked off his mask and laid his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

  “I have trouble breathing in these things,” he wheezed, still doubled over.

  “What can you tell us, Doc?”

  “According to every reading on those fancy machines Homeland taught my people how to use, the air’s clear as a bell. No toxins, contaminants, contagions, or anything else present, subject to further testing,” he said, glancing back toward the building entrance, which had been secured with thick precautionary plastic tubing, forming an anteroom to ensure that nothing from inside Bane Sturgess escaped. “But something killed those men, and, from my initial examination, I can say one thing and only one thing for sure: I’ve seen the very same thing before.”

  “The bodies from that train car, twenty-five years ago…”

  “Right as rain.” Whatley nodded. “Maybe I can succeed now where I failed then. Maybe I can figure out what the hell it was that killed them this time. Where’s Captain Tepper?”

  Caitlin realized he must have strayed off, figured he was having a smoke, until she spotted him heading toward her from the direction of a pair of New Braunfels uniforms who’d been directing traffic across the street.

  “Something you need to see, Ranger,” Tepper said to her. “Follow me.”

  41

  NEW BRAUNFELS, TEXAS

  Where were his men?

  Enrico Molinari no longer believed himself capable of feeling fear or trepidation. His return to Texas on such a holy mission had seemed right in every way.

  Until now.

  The men he’d dispatched to right that wrong were nowhere to be seen and weren’t answering his calls, filling Molinari with a cold, dread fear that history was repeating itself. That one Texas Ranger had beaten him a generation before, and another had risen in that one’s stead to do the same, father and daughter to boot. Molinari couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t allow it.

  They are coming from a far country, from the farthest horizons, the Lord and His instruments of indignation, to destroy the whole land.

  The prophet Isaiah’s words formed his greatest dream, of seeing that land perish in the very flames that had sought to consume him. And thanks to the true purpose of the mission that had brought him back to Texas, the means to achieve that were tantalizingly within his grasp. Little had he known originally—little had the Order itself known—that God had served up those means to be utilized in service to His cause.

  The one who sins is the one who will die. The child will not share the guilt of the parent, nor will the parent share the guilt of the child. The righteo
usness of the righteous will be credited to them, and the wickedness of the wicked will be charged against them.

  The prophet Ezekiel’s words rang in Molinari’s ears, carrying both forbearance and hope. For what if a lack of righteousness had caused his failure the last time, and what if he was no worthier a man now than he was then?

  The mere possibility set Molinari trembling, threatened his entire view of himself that came from the mirror of his soul. The root of his failure the last time he came here may well have lain with the true nature of the mission he had undertaken, the pursuit of one thing leading the Order to the pursuit of something entirely different, something that could fuel their efforts for centuries and ages to come. No more displays like the one in Nigeria needed, because He had delivered a means to vanquish His enemies. Molinari had not been worthy enough to find it in 1994, and his return marked his being granted a second chance, rewarded for his service with the ultimate token of being the one to deliver that weapon unto the army of God.

  If the two men he had dispatched had fallen to the enemy, let that be a lesson to him of the stakes involved and the steps he needed to take to address them. One army falling to another. But the war would continue, and Molinari needed a bigger army with which to fight it.

  Amid the cramped confines of the van’s rear, he rolled his chair back and typed a message to the Order’s leader in the United States, based here in Texas: I NEED MORE MEN.

  42

  NEW BRAUNFELS, TEXAS

  Tepper led Caitlin across the street to a darkened walkway between a pair of buildings, where a trio of Dumpsters sat.

  “One of the uniforms spotted a leg protruding from the side of the front Dumpster. You can see for yourself what he found.”

  A pair of bodies sat side by side, as if they’d been posed that way, especially given that they sported identical bullet holes centered in their foreheads. Caitlin also spotted matching nine-millimeter machine pistols, same as the ones used in Dallas, lying nearby.

  “I noticed these men before,” she said, picturing the two figures who had seemed to be coming her way when her stare froze and then had been gone the next time she looked. “Just a few minutes before the cavalry arrived, D.W.”