by Frank Perry
Washington, let me talk to the DCS-ops (Deputy Chief of Staff-operations) ASAP.”
He had the phone propped to his ear while packing his travel gear. A few seconds went by then, “Peter! This is Len Brody (Brigadier General). It’s good to hear from you. How can I help you?”
“Hello, General. It’s always good to talk to fellow trench diggers. I need to inform and then ask for your help.”
“Go ahead, Major. You know we always help our local heroes.”
“Sir, Captain Stokes has been captured in Mexico, and he may be wounded.”
“Peter, I’m sorry to hear it. You two are quite a team.”
“Yes, Sir. He called me less than an hour ago when it was going down.”
“Okay, Peter, I’ll call his wife as soon as we get confirmation from the Texas TAG office.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll inform them when we break. I think I’m the only one that knows at this point.”
“Right. How can I help, Peter?”
“Sir, would you work the channels at the El Paso CBP Sector and Guard support unit to get me cleared to attempt a rescue op?”
“You know we will, Major. Do you want any of our guys or equipment?”
“Thanks, no sir. Also, I left a message with HQ here, so there may be some redundant communications. Doesn’t matter to me. I just need clearance to go in country when I land.”
“When’s that, Peter?”
“Don’t know, Sir, under twelve hours, I don’t have a TDY authority yet.”
Brody knew that with or without orders, Peter Shields was going after Stokes. “Good luck, Peter. Bring back our boy and watch six!”
“Will do, Sir, and thanks.”
Brigadier General Brody had been the primary logistics supplier during the counter-terror mission in Chicago more than a year earlier and was totally reliable.
The closest military airlift base was Andrews Air Force Base, which Peter called as he threw his bag into his truck. There were no MAC flights to Texas from Andrews scheduled, so he drove toward Dulles. En route, his phone rang, “Shields.”
“Major, this is Giles. I got your message.”
“Yes, Sir, thanks for returning my call. I hope you understand the urgency and my request for TDY assignment to the Texas ARNG?”
“Sure do, Major. I’ll have TDY orders cut in the morning and send a message tonight to the TAG that you’re coming. Anything else?”
“Sir, I contacted MAC and need to fly commercial. I’m on my way to Dulles to try to find a flight.”
“Sure thing, Major, TDY Commercial Air will be covered. I’ll contact our travel office right now and see what they can book for you. They’ll call you back.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Good luck, Major, let’s get our boy back safe.”
“Roger that, Sir.”
The call ended as Peter turned north on I-395 toward Rt. 66. Minutes later, the travel office confirmed his flight leaving Dulles at 2315 (11:15PM EDT), arriving in Dallas with transfer to El Paso. He would arrive in the early morning and had to break the speed limit to get to the airport, so he called Rachael for more help.
When she answered he said “Hi, Rachael. Could you give me some logistics help?”
“Sure, Peter. What do you need?”
“I’m tied up driving and flying for the next five or six hours. Can you please set up my POC (point of contact) in El Paso so they know I’m coming, and who I’m supposed to see? I’ve got all the military alerts going out, but I just need to know who to contact when I get there around one in the morning.”
“Sure. Do you want me to find a hotel?”
“No, I’ll stay at Bliss if I stay anywhere. I want to get across the border as soon as I can, so hope they’ll have it all set up when I get there.”
“Okay. I’ll send you a text message. Check when you get there.”
“Thanks, babe, out.” He realized his “babe” slip and felt embarrassed. She had opened the door tonight but hadn’t leapt across the threshold yet.
In her townhouse, Rachael didn’t miss the endearment. She relaxed on her sofa and thought about Peter and John. Then she thought about Carolyn. They had all met in Chicago. She was near death in a coma at a suburban hospital after a nuclear blast destroyed the Federal building, only a few blocks from ground zero. She’d awakened after the bombers had been stopped. Peter was in another hospital with gunshot wounds.
She met John when visiting Peter in the hospital. Carolyn was with John several times, and they became friends over the weeks recuperating together. John had saved Peter’s life, so she understood the bond. She also felt close to Carolyn and tried to imagine the dread and hopelessness she must feel. She understood why Peter had to attempt John’s rescue. She made some calls and sent a text message to Peter’s phone.
He exited the commuter plane in El Paso around 0130, stepping down the narrow stairway to get his bag and then walking to the terminal. The text message read:
See LTC Marian Colson at El Paso Section HQ. She’s sending a car to get you. Love, R
He saw “love” before anything else registered. Shaking his head he said to himself, Man, you are really grasping. He was seriously intrigued by her use of the term. It had been late when she wrote it. Maybe she just slipped up. It didn’t matter. He would savor every morsel of affection from her, real or perceived.
As he walked through the gate, a uniformed military enlisted man was waiting with a sign that read “Major Shields.”
Peter was dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, so didn’t salute. Without breaking stride, he said, “Hi soldier, I’m Major Shields.”
The soldier tried to take Peter’s bag, but was waved off. “Sir, if you’ll follow me.”
“Sure, Specialist, what unit are you with?”
“I’m with the 36th Infantry Division, Sir, we just got back from Iraq.”
He threw his bags into the back of the TXARNG HMMWV saying, “Must feel good to be home. You married?”
“Oh, no, Sir. I’d like to be, and to have kids, but haven’t found Mrs. Right yet.
“How about you, Sir?”
He reflected looking out the open side of the Hummer, “Yeah, well. I did find Mrs. Right, but we didn’t get married.”
For the next fifteen minutes, they talked little, and always about military subjects.
When they arrived, it was cool and dark, nearing 0200. “The Colonel said she would be waiting for you in her office, Sir. It’s through the glass doors and three doors down on the right.”
“Thanks, soldier.” Peter grabbed his own bag even though the young man tried to help.
Inside, half the lights were off, but there was radio dispatch dialogue and voices of unseen men congregating in some of the cubicles. He went to the third cubicle and found LTC Marian Colson intensely pounding her computer keyboard, which stopped immediately when he arrived. She wore desert camo fatigues and had a man’s haircut, probably from the base barber at Ft. Bliss. She was short, dishwater blond and broad, and looked like she worked out with free weights. She stood and shook his hand with a strong grip, “Hello, Major, how was your trip?”
“It was fine, Ma’am.”
“Good, now sit down and tell me what you know about Captain Stokes. Oh, and we have coffee brewing around the clock here. Can I offer you some?”
“That would be nice, Colonel.”
“Okay, let’s walk and talk. I want to know what you know about Stokes.”
Peter explained the phone call from Stokes, but omitted the information about Padilla and the GPS trace he assumed was completed. They were joined by others, whom the Colonel introduced, “This is Leo Moritz, DEA supervisor, and this is Mike Schmitt, El Paso Sector Assistant Chief.”
Shaking hands, Peter acknowledged, “Gentlemen.”
The Colonel led the discussion, “Now, Major Shields believes that Captain Stokes has been kidnapped or murdered, based on a phone call he received from
Stokes.”
Schmitt was sitting in a folding chair with his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands and looking at Shields, “We haven’t heard anything here.”
Peter asked, “Well, how would you hear it unless someone told you?”
Schmitt responded. “We would be officially notified through our embassy by the Federal police, the Federales.”
Peter was too tired to be polite, “Well, I can say without a doubt that John Stokes has been taken. I was talking to him in real time when armed men, between eight and twelve, stormed a police station where Stokes was sitting alone. I heard it all happen.”
Moritz remained silent as did the Colonel. Schmitt continued, “Look Major, I don’t know what you think you heard, but until we get informed through channels, it didn’t happen.”
Colson spoke up, “Now, Mike. Stokes is technically under my command, so I want to know if he’s in trouble.”
He responded, “Colonel, I have to keep the peace here on the border. It’s like balancing teacups on a tightrope down here. We rely on the Federales more than our own Agents to stop bad guys. I can’t go questioning ‘em just because an American might be missing. We need proof.”
Peter was getting upset, “Well, what the hell do you think I’m doing here.”
Schmitt lifted a finger and pointed at Peter, “Look, hotshot. Just because you flew out here overnight from Washington doesn’t put you in charge. The Border Patrol and DEA know how to control things down here. You Guard guys come down here thinking it’s a regular shooting war. Well, it ain’t, and we’re careful about doing things right, diplomatically. Hell, we can’t even send these wetbacks