The Surge - 03 (26 page)

“The government in Mexico City is trying to place all of the blame on Texas and the United States,” began the handsome, young actor reappearing in his role as a newscaster. “Salinas isn’t telling the entire truth. The gringos didn’t act alone. They had help from within Mexico. A coup is in progress, and the cowards that control our government are too ashamed or too afraid to admit it.”

What followed was touted as “hard evidence.” Point by point, Vincent’s announcer began laying out the “facts.”

A stack of documents was displayed on the screen, police reports with bold letters across the top. “Ballistics Report – Langtry Massacre.” The camera then zoomed in as the smooth-talking anchor explained, “The incursion into Texas was performed by the Mexican military. We know for certain that the weapons, ammunition, and other equipment used by the men who stole the Texas Plague were issued to the Army of Mexico.”

A red line circled the notation, “Ammunition casings found at the scene contained markings consistent with Mexican Military issued FX-05 Battle Rifles.”

The face of the handsome young actor reappeared, his brow knotted in concern as he continued. “The men who fought a gun battle with the Texas police in San Antonio were from the Mexican Army’s Special Forces, their identities are being kept secret by an embarrassed government in our capital.”

Another document flashed, this one displaying the emblem of the SAPD. This time, the red circle highlighted the text, “No fingerprint or DNA match known. All international sources verified. Identity unknown.”

The anchor again, “The banker involved in the scheme was working with government officials from Mexico City.”

On and on, the evidence splashed on the screen. Somehow, the cartels had gotten access to the video footage recorded at the lab, which according to El General’s propaganda, clearly depicted a Mexican Special Forces Team exiting with bio-terror weapons under their arms.

“With the Texas border closed, we have to ask how such weapons of mass destruction could be smuggled back into Mexico without official cooperation and assistance?” the sham newsman questioned.

The final point, however, was the most damning.

“This is a photograph of Miss Elisa Velasquez, a Mexican national working on a doctorate at A&M University. Miss Velasquez was employed at the lab where the Texas Plague was being developed. Here is another image of her, along with the other scientists working at the facility. During the raid, every single person at that lab was killed with one exception – Miss Velasquez. Why?”

The actor paused perfectly, building a key point of suspense. “She was spared because Miss Velasquez is the mistress of General Ignacio Juan Perez, commander of the Mexican Army.”

A grainy photograph filled the screen, the shot appearing to have been taken at one of Mexico’s many oceanfront resorts. There was a handsome, middle-aged man walking through the sand with an attractive, much younger female on his arm.

Another picture was displayed, this one obviously inside of a nightclub, both the man and his attractive young companion holding cocktails while they exchanged a kiss. That image was soon followed by several more, each making the case that the pair was a romantically inclined couple despite the vast difference in age.

“So I ask my fellow citizens,” the announcer continued, “how could all of these events have occurred if our own government wasn’t involved in the tragedy that has befallen our nation? Mexico City is a principal in this cover-up. There is a coup taking place even as you watch this broadcast, desperate men trying to seize power illegally and turn us all into slaves. Join us, my friends. Come and stand with Mexico’s only true patriots. United we can restore order … and protect our freedom and the lives of our families.”

The television cameraman swept a scene that could only be described as chaos.

Armed men were scurrying in all directions, most of their faces covered in whatever type of mask, respirator, or covering they could scrounge.

Many of those wearing military uniforms were topped with ancient, WWII-era gas masks, the leather straps and old-style buckles pressing into their sweating mops of dark hair. Some of the ambulance personnel were stuck with mere painter’s units, simple pieces of white cloth held over their mouths with rubber bands.

Sam had never heard of Heroica Veracruz, let alone the fact that one of the largest military installations in all of Mexico resided in the coastal town.

The fact that several senior commanders as well as over 1,000 Marines were apparently infected with the “Texas Plague,” shocked the lady ranger. “We knew this was coming,” she announced to the television, wondering why she was feeling such a strong reaction. It then dawned, “I might just as well be looking at a scene at Fort Bliss or one of our air bases.”

Desperate first responders were scampering everywhere, some carrying medical kits, others hauling out men on stretchers. There were flashing lights throughout the video’s background, as well as multitudes of people who were either blistering angry or staring at the ground with blank, hollow expressions.

Somehow, the reporter managed to corral an officer whose rank and position must have given him credibility. The Marine was obviously operating on adrenaline and rage, his blasting, poignant words sending a message long before the English translation rolled across the bottom of the newscast.

“This attack is the work of a highly organized, well-disciplined entity with access to secured areas of the base,” the officer growled. “Our initial focus is on providing medical care for those exposed to the plague, but the investigation will eventually uncover who is responsible.”

“Are there any preliminary indications who or how the bio-weapon was brought onto the base?” the reporter inquired.

“No, not currently,” the Marine barked. “But who else could it be? The security at this facility is second to none. These murdering scum had to be insiders … traitors with security clearance. We will find them and deliver justice.”    

The picture then changed to the city surrounding the huge base. A woman with three small children was attempting to herd her gaggle across a street. All of the little ones had towels taped across their faces, only frightened eyes peeking out in the small slits left for vision. When the mother looked up into the camera’s lenses, Sam had never seen such terrified eyes on any human being.

It was an iconic image, one that would serve as the visual reference for the ongoing disaster in Mexico. When the broadcast finally returned to the anchorwoman, the desperate mother’s face remained pasted on the background.

Sam turned off the boob tube, frowning at how quickly the situation was escalating just a few hundred miles south of where she sat. While Mexico had always seemed a world away, the connection with Texas and the involvement of the rangers served to draw the dire state of affairs closer, making each and every death seem more personal.

Bored, frustrated, and feeling sick over a looming sense of responsibility for the carnage, she considered calling Zach and demanding that the ranger immediately approve her return to active duty.

That initiative prompted a tinge of guilt to enter her mind. Zach had been so kind and attentive, constantly stopping by, going to the market, and picking up her prescription refills as needed. She was well aware that between her absence from the job and his babysitting duties, he was having to spend a lot of extra hours to keep up with the workload. Asking him to jump through the hoops of medical forms, evaluation reports, and the other bureaucratic nonsense just wasn’t fair. Besides, she had her doubts if he would do it.

“I need to be an asset, not a liability,” she said to the ever-smaller apartment. “Earn your keep, Ranger Temple. Step it up. You can still serve the people of Texas, gimpy leg or not.”

It dawned on her that she had just hit on the crux of the problem. She hadn’t made detective of the nation’s fourth largest police department by sitting around on her ass and expecting people to wait on her hand and foot. She produced. She busted it. Lazy was not a word ever mentioned in the same sentence with Samantha Temple.

Pulling her laptop open, she decided to do something positive. During Zach’s last visit, it had been discussed that one of her partner’s biggest frustrations had been his lack of knowing whom he was dealing with. Vincent was a mystery, a complete unknown to every law enforcement agency in the world.

Around ranger headquarters, the smart money was on the assumption that Vincent headed the Gulf Cartel. Given that supposition, Sam was amazed that such a prolific crime boss was shrouded in mystery. Apparently, no one had been able to gain any Intel regarding the commanding criminal’s background.

“We’ve wiped so many of them out; the middle management has been promoted faster than we can keep up. Most of these guys started as street thugs and mules. Hell, I know of two cartel bosses who never had a driver’s license or a regular job. They are given nicknames early on so that the Mexican authorities or competitors can’t identify their families. Remaining incognito means survival in cartel land,” one of her old contacts in the DEA had shared.

Sam had access to numerous law enforcement databases, indexes, and file servers. She knew that the images their equipment had captured in San Antonio were a top priority at several different agencies throughout Texas. Yet, no one had been able to recognize the man widely assumed to be running the show.

The lady ranger decided to take a different approach. She would let everyone else chase the big cheese. She would start with the lower ranking rats.

Despite Hollywood’s depictions to the contrary, facial recognition systems weren’t foolproof or fast. There were a variety of standards that had been implemented over the years, some of the older software versions requiring a straight-on head shot, others being able to “see around,” sunglasses, hats, different lengths of facial hair, and other cosmetic modifications.

All operated on the basic premises that human skulls had unique attributes, just like DNA and fingerprints. These features involved a set of measurements of different points on a person’s face.

The most common method involved comparing two overlaid triangles, the three points being the distance between the pupils and one corner of the mouth. Other systems gauged the gap between nostrils, the width and height of a person’s head, and even the depth of the eye sockets.

Sam started with the known inventory of faces involved in the crime spree. She had good images of the security team that had surrounded Vincent at the San Antonio steakhouse. There were the two men Zach had disabled at the golf course bar, as well as two more individuals who were recorded at the research lab outside of Bryant.

Of all the photographic evidence, it was the grainy images from the lab that were the lowest quality. Knowing that most of the people trying to identify the culprits would start with the best pictures, she would begin with the worst.

It was easy to eliminate the two exposed faces. One of those men had been killed by Gus in the alley, the other dead from Zach’s .45 behind Titus’s front door.

Sam replayed the recording three times before picking a frame with the clearest view of a masked man’s eyes. It was when someone had tossed him the Jag’s keys.

Her first comparison was with the morgue photographs of the shooter killed by the good Samaritans at the golf course’s bar and grill. Within five minutes, she knew that the man who had caught the car keys wasn’t the deceased.

Next, she eliminated the victim of Zach’s beer mug assault. His eyes were far too wide.

Within an hour, she knew Mr. Mask had survived all of the encounters. She also discovered he was left-handed from his catch of the tossed keys and the side of the body where his weapon was slung.

In the primary database used by the rangers, there were 1,850 individuals with a similar distance between their pupils. Of those, over 500 were of Latino descent.

After cross-referencing another file provided by the Mexican government, she narrowed down the list to 54 males who were left-handed.

It took the lady ranger another two hours to filter that list even further. Who was dead? Who was in jail? Who was in the military? She ended up with six potential names, a very manageable number.

She was researching number three when Sam inhaled sharply at the image displayed on her laptop.

The Mexican Federal Police had been tracking down deserters from an Army unit and had been shooting surveillance photographs of a number of suspects. A quality snapshot of #3 was in the man’s file, along with two other men in the background.