The Long Run, page 32
“Ah well.” Chucho shrugged and faced Israel and Sofia. “He couldn’t outrun a bullet.” He approached them until he stood within arm-length. “Now it’s your turn.”
CHAPTER 60
Agent Dominguez
Reynosa’s vibrant heart gave way to its murky suburbs as Agent Dominguez guided her Blazer through Friday night traffic. Her phone sat on the dashboard, held fast by a plastic phone mount. The phone’s glowing screen displayed a green path directing her to the airfield’s location. Now she found herself on the outer edges of town, cruising through narrow streets and passing loping dogs, sniffing for scraps. Small homes topped with corrugated tin roofs and dirt front yards. Her SUV bounced and rattled on the gravel roads.
Around the final corner, she spotted a row of airplane hangars illuminated by two buzzing lamps. A checkered airport flag flapped in the breeze. Opposite the airstrip, a wide field, unspoiled by homes or farms, stretched out for miles. Wild trees and towering grass occupied the pasture.
The unlighted road faded into darkness away from the neighborhood. She drove forward carefully, feeling every rock and dip underneath. As the Blazer plunged into darkness, she thought of every horror movie she had ever seen. The intrepid heroine who ventured into danger, alone and unarmed. She laughed at her own imagination. This was a simple meet-and-greet, followed by a drive to the border. But anxiety remained. There would be problems. The Mexican border authorities wouldn’t accept her FBI credentials without question and allow Sofia and Israel to pass. A long night likely awaited as she sorted their immigration status.
Chain-link fence topped with razor wire surrounded the airfield. Quick and cheap to install, this security gate only defeated casual vandals. It seemed the airfield’s owners weren’t very concerned with thieves. Considering the hangar’s clean steel plate walls lacked any graffiti tags, she suspected the cartel owned the airfield themselves. Probably bought all the surrounding land, too. Nobody was dumb enough to enter a narco airfield unwelcome. Except her.
The front gate stood open under one lamp. An unclasped padlock dangled from the gate. The Blazer rocked as she halted with a stiff press on the brake pedal. She inspected the area. Two parked SUVs sat in the front driveway, in the hangar’s shadow. As if stowed out of sight. Someone didn’t want to make themselves known. She switched off her headlights and idled forward to get a better look. Land Rovers. Spotless other than a thin coat of dust covering their black exteriors. These weren’t regular visitors to the airfield. She stopped and exited her Blazer. She reached for her sidearm from instinct and cursed when she found no holster.
Her soft footsteps made no sound in the darkness as she crouch-walked to the first SUV. The buzzing lamp overhead provided a dim view of the interior. A messy scatter of loose items. Drive through wrappers. A pack of smokes. A creased copy of Récord, a Mexican sports newspaper. Boxes of ammo, their top flaps open. Empty. She reached for her pistol again.
“Shit,” she muttered.
An engine started somewhere in the distance. Too big for a car. And it came from the runway. It must be a plane. She hustled to the edge of the nearest hangar and peeked around the corner. Several people clustered at the end of the runway beside a light airplane.
Men pointed rifles at the plane. One man in front matched Chucho’s description. He yelled something unheard at the plane’s pilot as the plane rolled away. The gunmen followed. Behind the gunmen stood two unarmed people. She squinted to better see them. A young couple; A bald man and a buzz-cut brunette. She recognized Israel. The other, she assumed, was Sofia. They shuffled away from the occupied gunmen. An attempt to escape. If they fled around the back of the hangars, she could meet them and—
Gunfire crackled like fireworks. Sparks pinged off the plane’s frame. The propeller shattered. Agent Dominguez ducked low. The plane rolled on in a curving arc. Unguided. The gunfire ceased as the plane impacted a hangar door. It caved inward but held, stopping the plane’s advance. Chucho turned his attention to Sofia and Israel. All rifles pointed at them. Agent Dominguez couldn’t stand still and watch them die. The gunmen stood in a row parallel to the runway.
Like dominoes.
She raced back to her Blazer and climbed behind the steering wheel and started the engine. The SUV rolled forward and rounded the corner. Smoke from the plane wreckage offered some cover. Chucho backed away from Sofia and Israel. This was it.
She floored the accelerator, launching the Blazer forward. The first gunman didn’t notice her until she passed the smoking plane. He swiveled to face her as she flipped on her headlights. Wide eyes on the gunman, then squinting from the bright light. His burst went wild, but his body’s impact felt solid. The Blazer barely registered the collision as it continued forward. More gunfire rippled. She ducked as bullets peppered the windshield. Clean holes surrounded by a minimal of shatter. Bits of glass, small enough to swallow, fell around her like rain. She grabbed one side of the steering wheel and pulled hard. Her heart and lungs pulled with it, leaving her breathless.
The Blazer fishtailed. Crunches of meat on steel. Somebody’s head punched through a side window, slapping blood on the door frame, and disappeared. The rear window shattered. Gunfire studded the steel frame. A bullet ripped through, past her head, and exploded the driver’s side window. Leather seats gashed. Foam stuffing tumbled like gentle snow. She had to exit the Blazer or die like the pilot, trapped behind the steering wheel. She stabbed at the brake and threw the transmission into park. The SUV rattled to a halt; its final drive accomplished. She scrabbled at the door handle, gripped it, and pushed the door open. She rolled headfirst onto the runway. Her perforated Blazer sat between her and the narcos. She scrunched behind the driver’s-side tire, amazed to still be alive. Bullets pinged and skittered beside her.
An Uzi lay on the runway a couple feet away. Grabbing it would expose an arm and maybe her head. She swiped bits of glass and foam from her hair and exhaled. One chance. A lull in the gunfire. Were they reloading? She hopped to her feet with her head down low. Then a quick dart toward the front of the smoking Blazer. She snatched the Uzi and glimpsed her handiwork. Four bodies strewn across the runway. No sign of Sofia and Israel. Chucho remained standing, as did three more gunmen. Four total. Shit! She pulled back as the rifles crackled. She returned to her spot behind the wheel.
“Hey!” a voice called as the gunfire stopped. She assumed it was Chucho. “Who are you? Eh?”
She had seen a few Uzis in her time. Recovered firearms from crime scene locations. The stubby sub-machine guns packed a wallop in close combat at the sacrifice of accuracy. This model included a collapsible stock its previous owner neglected to deploy. She popped the stock out, transforming the Uzi into a proper rifle, and pressed it under her armpit.
“Do you hear me?” Chucho said.
She rotated on her knees and pressed her forehead onto the Blazer’s frame above the wheel well. A short, calming breath. She had one chance at this. Then she popped up and rested an elbow on the hood, using it to brace her shot. A quick squint at her targets. Chucho and another man stood several feet apart. Two other narcos huddled close together. Better to fire at two than one. A brrraaapp as her Uzi emptied its clip at them both. A pop and a jerk from one of them. His head snapped back, and arms flew in front of him. His rifle burst went wild as he tumbled. The man beside him cringed from the attack and never fired a shot. Return fire sparked off the hood near her head. Something hot seared her forearm. Chucho stood straight, unflinching from her sudden attack, and pointed a pistol her way. It fired again as she ducked. One more down. Three remained. She ejected the Uzi’s clip. Empty.
“Shit,” she seethed. Her last defense, gone. She tossed it and searched for more options. Nothing but scattered Cessna and Blazer debris surrounded her. Tiny shards of fiberglass siding and upholstery.
Debris crunched under booted feet. The footsteps sounded close. She got on her hands and knees and peered under the SUV. Three pairs of feet strode towards the car. One in the front. One in the back. Snakeskin boots in the center. Behind her, a broad expanse of runway to race across. If she ran, Chucho would cut her down from behind.
“Damn.” She faced the front end of the Blazer and balanced on one knee with both palms flat on the runway. Like her old high school track and field days. Explode off the blocks. Catch one man by surprise and take his weapon. Even in her imagination, it didn’t end well for her. But it was her only hope. She braced as the footsteps approached. Deep breaths. One… two… three…
CHAPTER 61
Israel
“What… What just happened?” Sofia panted. She was standing outside the rear of the hangar, grasping her hands to keep them from trembling. Israel was beside her, pressing his palms against the rear exit door with his eyes shut tight. “Izzy? Who was that?”
Their chance at escape appeared in the unlikely arrival of a Chevy Blazer a minute earlier. It had roared in from the darkened runway, clipping several narcos as it caught them distracted. When the narcos turned their rifles on the Blazer, Israel grabbed Sofia’s hand and led her sprinting for the hangar door Clark’s plane had caved in. They squeezed between the wrecked hangar door and the smoking Cessna. Israel glanced inside the cockpit when they brushed past it. What he saw revolted him. Maroon streaks coated the interior. A hand rested on the captain’s seat. The rest of Clark’s body lay obscured in smoke. Israel ground his teeth. Clark had helped them.
“Izzy!”
“Huh?” he said, snapping his head around to peer into Sofia’s dark, terrified face. Scant moonlight provided the only illumination. Gunfire crackled in the distance as the gangsters targeted the mysterious Blazer. Israel had glimpsed the driver’s face before running for the hangar door. “I think that’s the… FBI lady.”
“What? The FBI? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, yeah. I met her. At your house.”
“What? If she’s here, then…” She swiveled and searched the far road. “Where are the rest? I only saw the one car.”
That was a good question. He searched the road for personnel trucks and the sky for support helicopters. But other than the gunfight raging behind him, the area remained still and dark. If this were the cavalry, it was severely lacking.
“I don’t think anyone else is coming.”
“What do we do? They’re going to kill her.” Sofia shook with worry.
Israel focused on the entrance to the airfield. The narcos hadn’t walked here. He assumed they parked their cars in the parking lot in front.
“C’mon,” he said and ran down the rear alley.
They found two black Land Rovers parked near the airfield entrance. He pulled on the driver’s side door handle. It swung wide. Keys fell from the visor. Israel shook his head. Sloppy with overconfidence, narcos were some of the easiest people to rob. He fired the engine as Sofia climbed inside.
“Stay down,” he told her. She nodded and slipped between the passenger seat and the dashboard, placing her knees on the floorboard. She faced the rear of the SUV and rested her elbows on the passenger seat.
It lurched backward, clipping the rear quarter panel of the second SUV as it turned. Israel punched the accelerator, spinning the wheels and pushing the vehicle forward. It wheeled around the hangar and rocketed down the runway. It passed the now flaming plane wreckage and targeted the gangster crossing around the front end of the wrecked Blazer.
From this vantage point, Israel soaked in the entire scene. The FBI agent crouched beside the car, facing the hood. Her wide eyes stared straight at him. Chucho stood on the opposite side of the car; Pistol raised to fire on the FBI agent if she popped her head over the roof. His head swiveled just as the Land Rover plowed into the Blazer’s front end, catching one narco in between. Israel glimpsed the surprise on the gangster’s face before his head smashed on the SUV’s hood. Gunfire studded the hood and frame, forcing Israel to duck low. A cacophony of shattering glass and twisting steel filled his ears. He slammed on the brake pedal as the Land Rover shuddered under the weight of the dead Blazer. Sofia yelped and tumbled to the floorboard. Before they halted, the rear passenger door flew open, and Agent Dominguez threw herself inside.
“Go! Go! Go!” she yelled.
Israel shifted into reverse and floored the accelerator. Spinning rubber on the runway, shrieked. The Blazer’s twisted wreckage held them fast. More gunfire shattered his window, pelting him with glass fragments. But the gunfire wasn’t the burst of an automatic weapon. He risked a glance outside. Chucho stood mere feet away, reloading his pistol. Another narco, the fat man from earlier, Hugo, rolled on the runway, clutching his arm. He had been behind the Blazer when they hit.
“Come on!” Israel yelled, willing the Land Rover to separate from the Blazer.
Finally, a rippling crunch as the front bumper peeled away, along with the shattered remains of the unfortunate narco. The SUV responded to the sudden loss of weight by hurtling backward. Chucho stepped forward, filling the void, and fired several rounds. Israel ignored the bullets even as they passed through the windshield inches from his head.
He threw his right arm over the bench seat to see where he was headed. He guided the careening SUV around the flaming Cessna and fishtailed. It rocked to a stop as he shifted into drive. The Land Rover launched forward as the rear window shattered. Something searing hot bit Israel’s right shoulder. He winced and cringed, but remained upright, steering out of the parking lot and onto the dark gravel road beyond. The SUV bounced on the uneven gravel road, forcing Israel to slow down.
“We’re OK!” he yelled, as much to convince himself as to alert his passengers. As Sofia and Agent Dominguez pulled themselves off the floorboards, Israel turned onto the connecting road and into the surrounding neighborhoods. He breathed hard and licked dried lips. Only now did he feel the hammering in his chest. And sense a growing pain in his shoulder.
“Izzy!” Sofia said. She stared at Israel in horror.
“What?” Israel said, unable to pull his attention from his driving.
“Stop the car, Israel,” Agent Dominguez said in a low, soothing voice. It caught him off-guard. But he sensed their concern and drove the Land Rover into a gas station parking lot. “I’ll drive. You two get in the back.”
Israel winced in pain when he reached for the door handle. A spot of bright red blood coated his shirt. He’d been shot. He gritted his teeth and stepped down from the driver’s seat and moved to the back seat, along with Sofia. Agent Dominguez settled behind the steering wheel. She shifted to drive and steered out of the parking lot.
“Sofia, see if you can stop his bleeding!”
“Shit,” Israel said. He lifted his shirt and patted his injured shoulder. It felt wet and meaty, like a butchered brisket.
“Let me see.” Sofia pulled his hand gently away to inspect the wound. “All I see is blood.”
“Here,” Israel said. He struggled to remove his shirt and handed it to Sofia. “It was fucked anyway.” She balled the fabric and swiped away matted blood to reveal a quarter-inch hole above Israel’s right pectoral muscle and just below the clavicle.
“Are there holes on both sides?” Agent Dominguez said. Passing streetlights bathed the Land Rover in alternating light and darkness. Sofia waited for a pool of light to illuminate Israel’s injury.
“Yes. Front and back of the shoulder.”
“Thank God for that,” Agent Dominguez said. “OK, Sofia. Apply pressure on the wounds with your hands. Try to stop the bleeding. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she said. She flapped the shirt straight and then doubled it over to form a makeshift compress. She laid it across his shoulder to cover both wounds and pressed down hard. Israel groaned from the pressure and flaring pain. “Am I pushing too hard?”
“No. No. It’s OK,” Israel scowled. “Just do it.” He placed one hand over hers and gave a reassuring squeeze. This trip had taken a toll on them both. It would all be worth it once they stepped on American soil. “Where are we going?” he asked Agent Dominguez. She met his eyes through the rear-view mirror. Her hair billowed in the wind from the shattered side window.
“The nearest hospital.”
“What? Here? In Reynosa?” Israel said. He didn’t doubt the quality of Mexican healthcare, only its proximity to an enraged psychotic narco who wanted him and Sofia dead.
“Yes! Here! You think they’ll let us cross the international bridge with a shirtless, bleeding gunshot victim in the back seat?”
“I wasn’t planning on crossing the bridge at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“We were going to swim across the river,” Sofia said.
“What?” Agent Dominguez’s eyes knitted in shock.
“We don’t have our passports,” Sofia said. “They took them from us.”
“Shit!” Agent Dominguez slapped the steering wheel. “That’s right. OK, we’ll take you to the hospital tonight. They’ll clean you up and tomorrow we’ll go to the consulate in Matamoros and apply for replacements.”
“No!” Sofia yelled. Her grip on Israel’s wounds tightened. “Do you think this is over? That psycho won’t give up. He’s chased us all the way from Cancun. His spies are everywhere. They’re watching the consulates. We tried to go to the one in Merida and the gangsters were everywhere. They’ll check the hospitals too. Chucho won’t give up. This guy… he’s obsessed.”
“Jesus!” Agent Dominguez said. “OK. So, that’s y’all’s plan then? Drive straight to the river and swim across?”
“Yeah,” Israel said.
“Can you handle it? How are you feeling?”
