Hostile Borders (14 page)

Moving around to the big roll-up doors, Reaper and Hausmann maintained watch while Manors examined the ground just off the concrete apron extending from the barn. He found the signs he'd expected. There were two sets of tracks for the ATVs coming in and out of the rear door of the barn, the door pointing toward the
river. All that he could find near the other door were the tire marks of a tractor-trailer rig, a rig with worn tires on the rear axle of the trailer.

The men had learned just about all they could from their covert visit to the facility. Now it was time to withdraw and examine their options. Leaving the way they had come in, the three men worked at obliterating the signs of their passage. Bringing up the rear and walking backward as much as he could, Hausmann brushed at their footsteps with the cloth bag holding the dead snake.

When they reached the gate, the men climbed back over, leaving little sign of their passage into the compound. Once more Reaper noted the big expensive lock securing the chain holding the gate closed. With there being so little in the way of valuable materials in the compound, why was there such a lock when all you had to do was jump the fence as they had? Then again, anyone trying to break into the barn would find the way in very easy—and what was waiting for them on the inside very deadly.

Taking the Prowler back across the river, the men once more took their seats for the ride back to the Dogbone Ranch. The dogs announced the arrival of the trio back at the garage. As they climbed off the Prowler, Hausmann pulled off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair. When he looked at his friend, Reaper was surprised to see that Hausmann still had the cloth grain sack in his hand, and the bulge at the bottom of the bag showed that it still held the snake carcass.

“What in the hell are you doing still hanging on to
that dead snake?” Reaper said. “You going to give it to the dogs?”

“Nope,” Hausmann said with a grin, “they can have the leftovers if there are any.”

“What does that mean?” Reaper said.

“This is a Western Diamondback, a nice big one, too,” Hausmann said. “I'm going to clean it, skin it, cook it, and eat it. Might even get the skin tanned and make a belt or something out of it. It's damned near big enough to make a pair of shoes, maybe boots even.”

“You have got to be kidding,” Manors said.

“Not a bit,” Hausmann said. “The dried-up loser hippie bitch that owns that place killed my dog. I know it and there's nothing I can do about it. Well, I'm going to eat her damned snake. Besides, rattler is good, especially grilled over mesquite with barbecue sauce. It tastes like chicken—dark meat at that. I like it.”

“Didn't think you could cook,” Reaper said.

“Hey, I can grill like a madman,” Hausmann said.

“Well,” Reaper said, “I believe the madman part.”

The Cristal Hacienda had once been a shining example of richness in the northern Sonora desert. With the end of the optical-grade crystals that could be found in its mine, the hacienda fell on hard times. Picked up cheaply by the Zapatista cartel when they moved into the area, the hacienda saw some improvements made to its fading splendor. But Felix Zapatista had the taste of a peasant and a thug at best.

When the hacienda was taken over by Eduardo Masque, he saw to it that the garish colors and tastes of the Zapatista cartel were eliminated. A large main manor house was built of modern materials and classic Spanish lines. The thousands of square feet of living space in the sprawling six-bedroom building were used by Masque, his guests, and his most trusted lieutenant.

Across the walled courtyard of the hacienda was another building, this one much smaller than the main house and only consisting of four bedrooms. On the
south side of the hacienda was a long garage with living quarters for the staff of the hacienda as well as for the bulk of Masque's men. The nine mercenaries brought in by their captain, Garcia Santiago, lived in the four-bedroom home along with their sergeant, Miguel Rodriguez. Santiago stayed in the main house with Masque.

Though he didn't like going into the main house of the hacienda, Rodriguez did so when he had to meet with Santiago to discuss his plans for the mercenaries. These meetings took place in a small office just off of Santiago's quarters, to the left of the main entrance to the building.

“How many men do you want me to bring with us tonight, Capitan?” Sergeant Rodriguez said.

“In addition to you and me?” Santiago said, “four should be enough, Sargento. Two to escort our guests and two to maintain watch. Shoulder weapons and side arms. The Arabs are supplying their own vehicle and driver on the other side and carrying their own materiel, so we won't need any manpower to move anything.”

“I don't like these Arab terrorists, Capitan,” Garcia said. “They are not to be trusted at all. Even while they pay for our services, they look down their noses at us. In spite of what they do, they think they're better than anyone, that we're all infidels and unbelievers, unworthy of being in their presence. I think that all of their plans against the United States is just going to bring the wrath of President Bush down on us.”

“We are not paid to think,” Santiago said, “only to act. But privately, Miguel, I agree with you. They are
dangerous and we must be ready to move on when the time comes. This has been a rich time for us, but all good things must come to an end.”

Before Sergeant Rodriguez could answer, there was a knock at the door to the office. Without waiting for an answer, Youssef Daumudi opened the unlocked door and stepped into the room.

“It is my understanding that you will be escorting Humzan and myself this evening?” Daumudi said, ignoring the glare of Rodriguez at the rudeness to his officer.

“Yes,” Santiago said, “that is what my sergeant and I were just discussing.”

“We are ready to leave now,” Daumudi said. “Humzan does not wish to miss the meeting with our confederates on the other side of the border.”

“Humzan?” Santiago said. “So you are not going to be making the trip?”

“I will be accompanying you to make sure that everything is in order,” Daumudi said. “If the route is as secure as you say it is, then I will be coming back to make further preparations for our next trip. For now, that is all you need to know.”

“Get the men ready, Sergeant,” Santiago said, turning to Rodriguez. He could see that the big sergeant was becoming seriously angry with the attitude of the Arab terrorist and wanted him out of the office before something was said, or done.

“Yes, Capitan,” Rodriguez said, and he walked past Daumudi who had to move quickly out of the doorway to keep from being jostled.

“Your sergeant forgets his place,” Daumudi said.

“His place, as you put it,” Santiago said, “is at my side. Which is where he has been for over eight years now. I trust him completely.”

Leaving the suggestion that he did not trust Daumudi unsaid, Santiago simply waited for the other man to continue the conversation. Instead of saying a word, Daumudi turned and left the office as rudely as he had arrived.

It was the early hours of the morning when two Silverado Suburbans pulled out of the garage and up to the front of the main house at the hacienda. Standing on the large round porch of the house were Eduardo Masque, Garcia Santiago, and the two al-Qaeda members, Youssef Daumudi and Ammand Humzan.

“I still do not see the need for this very late hour,” Daumudi said.

“You understand that we must maintain the security of our facility,” Masque said. “This time of the night there is very little traffic on the U.S. side of the border. We have also arranged for a number of coyotes to move groups of people into the United States at a number of sites some distance from here. The U.S. Border Patrol will be very distracted by the activity.

“The coyotes have orders to allow a large number of their people to fall into the hands of the Border Patrol. The agents will have their hands full for some time tonight and won't be able to set up the roadblocks or even to man the watchtowers around this part of the border. It would have been simpler for us to supply the transportation for you on the U.S. side…”

“No,” Daumudi said, “you have done very well so far, but we have our own network to depend on in the United States. If things tonight go as you have assured us they will, our business will expand considerably. And you will be liberally rewarded.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Masque said. “And if you need my assistance to help bring down the United States and its corrupt people, you have but to ask. Most of the requests you have made have already been completed, the rest will be done within twenty-four hours.”

The requests Masque had mentioned were a surprise to Santiago. And he was not a man to like surprises. Masque had been letting his hatred of the United States blind his business sense, as well as his trust in his best lieutenant. Santiago was going to have to maintain appearances for the time being while making preparations of his own.

Stepping up to the trailing Suburban, Santiago opened the rear driver's-side door with a flourish, bowing slightly to Daumudi as he walked up to the door. Stiffly ignoring Santiago, Daumudi first set the satchel he was carrying into the vehicle then climbed into the SUV himself.

Going around to the other side of the Suburban, Ammand Humzan entered the rear passenger area of the SUV under the glaring eyes of Miguel Rodriguez. Standing right next to the front door of the vehicle, Rodriguez made certain that the front seat would only be taken by Santiago.

Standing around the leading Suburban were some of
the hard-faced mercenaries that made up Santiago's team. Most of the rest of the men were back in the barracks. Only the back of the head of the driver sitting at the wheel of the first Suburban could be seen. The man at the wheel of the trailing SUV maintained his grip on the wheel and didn't bother watching the men on the porch of the main house.

The two men standing on the outside of the lead vehicle were both armed with vicious-looking 5.56mm Galil SAR short assault rifles. Their combat harnesses held pouches of spare magazines and pistol holsters at their hips. The finish on the weapons was a little worn from use, but all of the guns were spotless and looked to be in perfect operating condition.

Over his shoulder, Rodriguez had a 9mm Uzi submachine gun, that weapon also showing hard use and careful maintenance. For himself, Santiago was only wearing his shoulder holster and his Glock Model 18C machine pistol.

The sidearm was for appearances. Santiago knew that there was a Galil MAR micro assault rifle, the stock folded and a thirty-five-round magazine locked into place, underneath the front seat of the suburban. Next to the deadly little assault rifle was a shoulder bag containing six spare magazines. He also knew that the more attention you paid to the details, the less you would be surprised as developments occurred.

When Santiago climbed into the trailing Suburban, Rodriguez quickly moved to the same place in the front vehicle. When the doors slammed shut on both vehicles, the heavy, solid thunk of their closing was the
only clue to the fact that both Suburbans were heavily armored. They were effectively light tanks, only missing an upper turret with a cannon to be the equivalent of a WWII scout tank.

The small convoy moved out of the hacienda's gate while under the watchful gaze of the two mercenaries standing guard. Normally, the mercenaries were exempt from such duties, but Masque only wanted his best shown to the Arabs. The powered gate closed behind the last vehicle and their red taillights disappeared behind the heavy doors.

The trip taken by the Suburbans was a short one. Less than half a mile away from the hacienda, on the side of a small hill, was the mouth of its namesake, the Crystal mine. The machinery and most of the buildings around the mine shaft were crumbling with decay. Only the front of the mine and the heavy timbers framing it looked well maintained. A wide steel gate inside the mouth of the mine powered open at the touch of a remote control. The vehicles drove directly into the wide opening of the mine.

Both Suburbans fit well inside the mouth of the mine with room to spare. Getting out of the rear vehicle, it didn't take long for Daumudi to comment on the situation.

“I do not see why it was necessary to take two vehicles to cross from the estate to this entrance,” Daumudi said.

“It was simply a courtesy extended to you by Masque,” Santiago said. “And the simple fact is that no one can see inside the tinted windows of these vehi
cles. Anyone watching would only be able to say they saw two vehicles come in, and later they will see those same vehicles leave. But they will not be able to say how many people were in them at any time.”

“Your caution and attention to detail is commendable,” Daumudi said. “But we have yet to see this vaunted secure route you have into the United States.”

“This is the entry to that route,” Santiago said as he turned and started to walk deeper into the mine.

All of the mercenaries climbed out of the Suburbans. Now it could be seen that the drivers of the two vehicles were armed the same as the two guards. The Arabs ignored the display of firepower around them as they followed Santiago down the tunnel.

A few hundred feet from the mouth of the mine, Santiago stopped and pointed to the mouth of a side tunnel. A stack of boxes and crates could be seen just inside the entrance to the tunnel.

“That is some of the ordnance, weapons, and supplies you have asked us to receive and store for you,” Santiago said. “They are also ready when you want them. Shall we go on or would you like to inspect the stores?”

“That will not be necessary,” Daumudi said, “we should be making our crossing now.”

“The trip will not take long,” Santiago said.

The group quickly came to a large, open elevator cage. The elevator rode in a shaft that had a string of bare bulbs running down along one corner of it. The bulbs showed the openings of a number of side shafts inside the mine, but in spite of the lights, the bottom of the shaft couldn't be seen.

Once everyone was in the elevator, Rodriguez pulled the overhead gate down and then worked the controls. With a slight lurch, the cage began to move down, lowered on cables controlled from an electric winch.

The cage traveled down several hundred feet before Rodriguez moved the control to the stop position. One of the other mercenaries lifted the gate at the back of the elevator cage and the group moved out into a wide, well-lit tunnel. Directly in front of them were four open ore cars and a small engine. Three of the cars had been fitted with passenger seats. The last car in the small train was filled with a large box with a closed lid. The lid had a large handle on its front, as well as a lock hasp and two latches.

“This is the box we were told to bring down into the mine,” Santiago said. “Only my men worked on moving it. They said it was too heavy for them to get it here in one piece. So they brought it down here in two sections and bolted it together.”

“It looks satisfactory,” Daumudi said. “But why is the car holding it not attached to the rest of the train?”

“I wasn't told what it was for,” Santiago said, “only to get it down here. It is only a matter of a moment to hook it to the train, but our speed is cut down noticeably when we pull it. We left it off for the time being to eliminate the excess strain on the engine.”

The men all climbed into the ore cars and Rodriguez got into the seat of the engine. The boxy engine was nothing more than an electric donkey, its motor driving geared wheels with power from a large collection of lead-acid batteries. Unhooking a charging cable from
the top of the battery box, Rodriguez turned on the power and moved the speed control forward. Smoothly and with little noise, the engine started pulling the small train into the earth.

More strings of bare bulbs illuminated the walls of the mine as they slipped past. The tunnel seemed to go on forever with only the passing support timbers showing besides the rock. Then, the rock walls suddenly changed. They were much rougher with sharp edges to the cuts that removed the rock. Then the walls suddenly ended as the train entered a huge cavern.

The line of lights continued on alongside the tracks laid on the floor of the cavern. A small trestle ran from the mouth of the mine tunnel down to the floor of the cavern. The train stopped at a signal from Santiago as it reached the bottom of the trestle. In spite of themselves, the two Arabs were looking around open-mouthed at the interior of the cavern.

“Impressive, isn't it?” Santiago said. “It was discovered quite by accident a number of years ago by a professor who was trying to trace some kind of bat that makes its home down here. After an earthquake, the bats no longer came in and out of the mine every night. Some nights they didn't come out at all, others they did. When he came in to investigate that peculiar behavior, he found where the wall of the mine shaft had collapsed, exposing this series of caverns.”