The Long Run, page 33
His shoulder ached. But he felt strong, alert. It was a flesh wound. Nothing more. He nodded. “I’m fine. I can do it.”
Agent Dominguez shook her head. A battle of thoughts played out inside. After an extended silence, she reached for her cell phone.
“Fine,” she said. “I know where to cross the river. But I’m calling for help.”
CHAPTER 62
Chucho
The last of Chucho’s .45 rounds chased the gringos away from the hangar. He hit the Land Rover a few times, blowing out the rear window and narrowly missing driver’s head. He cursed his inaccuracy and slid the Smith and Wesson into his shoulder holster.
A crackle of rifle fire beside him caught him by surprise. Hugo had regained his feet and found a nearby AK. He held it with one arm and screamed as he emptied a clip into the darkness. In Chucho’s eyes, Hugo was no fat narco dressed in jeans and a sloppy tee shirt. Instead, he was a lean and muscled warrior in a colorful loincloth that hung to his knees. A feathered headdress topped his head. It brimmed with slender red and purple feathers that swept down to his shoulder blades. He toted a spear in both hands and gave a victorious war cry. He was magnificent. Chucho strode to his side and rested one hand on his shoulder.
“You fought well. The Gods will reward your bravery,” Chucho said.
“Gracias, Chucho,” Hugo said with an uncertain dip of his head. He lowered his rifle and winced in pain.
Chucho surveyed the battlefield. His men had paid a fearsome price. A demon in long hair had attacked them from the blackness of hell. The shattered corpses of his fallen warriors littered the field. He walked from warrior to warrior, praying to the Gods to grant them swift entry into the highest level of Heaven. The final warrior still moved. He blinked and groaned as Chucho approached. The man’s leg bent at unnatural angles above and below the knee. An injury like that meant death in the jungles of the Yucatan. Chucho kneeled by his side.
“Your courage is legend, friend. The Gods will look upon you with favor.” He took the warrior’s hand in his and clapped it firm. “They will welcome you in honor.” Chucho picked up a discarded Uzi and stood.
“No! Chucho!” the warrior said. “Get me to a hospital! Please! Chucho!”
A burst from the Uzi cut short the warrior’s plea. A thin gurgle of death curled out over his lips as his spirit began its ascent. Chucho muttered a brief prayer. The warrior’s sacrifice. There was no greater calling. He turned and faced Hugo, the last of his surviving men. Chucho surveyed him and gripped the Uzi.
“Are you prepared for battle?”
“Yes! I’m OK! I swear,” Hugo said.
“Bien. Muy bien. Let’s hurry. We cannot allow them to escape.”
They ran to the parking lot and climbed inside the remaining Land Rover, with Hugo behind the wheel. His shaking hand gripped the gearshift as they reversed out of the lot. Chucho retrieved his iPhone and swiped open the Find My app. He retained the same access to the AirTag trackers that La Doña had. And with it, he could track all their vehicles. He found the tracker for the Land Rover that Israel had driven away. A blue dot moved at high speed through Reynosa. Their SUV had sustained heavy damage in the battle. With any luck, it wouldn’t survive the journey.
CHAPTER 63
Agent Dominguez
Friday night revelers packed Reynosa’s restaurants and clubs. Streams of cars and trucks pushed through narrow roadways. Agent Dominguez cut through it all like a saw blade ripping through lumber. She squeezed past jammed traffic on sidewalks and raced around ambling delivery trucks. They emerged from the city’s clogged heart and entered onto the highway leading away from town. She didn’t know if Chucho was following her. But she knew he survived and had access to a network of spies. Meanwhile, all her backup remained on the other side of the border. Their lives depended on them reaching US soil as fast as possible.
The gas pump icon lit bright orange on the Land Rover’s dashboard. Their gas level had plummeted since fleeing the airfield. The likely result of a punctured gas tank. She watched the needle tick into the red zone. Come on. A little further.
Israel’s groan pulled her gaze to the rear-view mirror. He scowled in pain as Sofia fashioned a makeshift sling using his ruined shirt. It wrapped around his elbow and shoulder, securing his arm below his chest. The blood that once flowed down his torso had dried and matted into a dark maroon.
“How’s he doing?” she asked Sofia.
“The bleeding has stopped. For now,” she frowned in worry.
Like a skinned knee, the bullet hole scabbed over quickly. But any knock could loosen it to bleed anew.
“I’m good,” Israel said and flashed a thumbs up.
The brash bravado of youth. Agent Dominguez wished she could believe him. Despite punching out the Land Rover’s rear window, the bullet had passed through Israel’s shoulder and slammed into the dash. With luck, the bullet left a clean hole. Because fragments from a fractured bullet could poison the blood and cause massive infection. Fishing them out required the skilled hands of a surgeon. She should deliver him to the nearest hospital right now. It was her ass on the line if he died crossing the river. But the same was true if the maniac narco caught them and put a bullet through Israel’s head. She was an FBI Special Agent, trained and empowered to make tough calls on the fly. From where she was sitting, the river made the most sense.
“Glad to hear it!” she said. “Keep applying pressure, Sofia!”
“I am!”
Reynosa’s bright lights faded in the distance as they plunged deeper into the countryside. Federal Highway Two’s winding roadway ran parallel to the US-Mexico border. The blue dot representing their SUV on her iPhone approached the pinned location for the Carson Engineering worksite she had visited days earlier. She hoped they hadn’t completed the border wall yet.
“The river is narrow here. And when it’s low, it’s easy to cross,” Gene, the Carson Engineering project manager, had told her. Immigrants crossed there in search of a better life in El Norte. Hopefully, she and Israel and Sofia could find the same salvation.
A few miles into the countryside, the glow of pungent LED lamps brightened a distant point across the border. The glow emanated from the construction site’s light towers to ward off thieves and vandals. She followed it like a beacon and turned at the nearest intersection to exit the highway. They crossed over a twin set of railroad tracks and bumped onto a dirt country road. It twisted into the darkness, flanked on either side by scrubby pastures of weeds and grass. As they plowed ahead, the light cast from the construction site grew until it illuminated a wide, grassy field. Flaking mesquite and twisting oak trees cast dark shadows near the river’s edge. A stiff breeze howling across the Rio Grande swayed the trees and rippled the river’s surface.
The Land Rover sputtered and coughed. The needle on the gas tank rested at the bottom of the gage. She pulled off the road and shifted into park.
“We have to go!” Agent Dominguez said.
She jumped from the driver’s seat and pulled open the rear door to help Israel climb down. He winced in pain and nodded thanks. Sofia joined them as they pushed into the pasture. Firm soil topped by dense, lush grass surrounded them. Agent Dominguez fixed her gaze on the worksite across the river. Every footstep brought them closer to home. They had crossed half of the pasture when the headlights of approaching Land Rovers caught their attention. Her head swiveled in horror.
“It’s Chucho!”
They broke into a loping run, bounding over deep grass to outrace the vehicles. The Land Rovers cut off the dirt road and cleaved through the pasture in pursuit. Their headlights bobbed inches above the top of the grass. Israel yelped in pain and tumbled to the ground. Sofia stopped beside him to help him stand. But her efforts were useless.
One SUV arced around them and parked near the river, blocking their path. The second took position behind them. Agent Dominguez and Sofia helped Israel stand as both cars emptied their passengers.
They were four in total, two from each Land Rover. Three thick gunmen of the usual variety. Cowboy hats and shiny belt buckles. They carried rifles and heavy scowls. The last was a woman—a brunette—tall and leggy in mauve slacks and cream blouse. A shoulder holster wrapped around her neck and sat heavily by her side. She approached them from the SUV nearest the river. She stopped in front of the trio and eyed them through oversized sunglasses. Agent Dominguez recognized the woman behind them.
“Hello, La Doña,” she said.
La Doña removed her sunglasses and dropped them into her shirt pocket. She inspected Agent Dominguez’s outfit like a snide fashion designer, complete with a sneered lip.
“I know the other two,” she said. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Special Agent Alana Dominguez. FBI.” Agent Dominguez met La Doña’s gaze, refusing to look away.
“Really?” La Doña laughed. “I suppose you have a badge inside your jacket?”
“I do.” Agent Dominguez made a show of reaching into her jacket pocket and withdrawing her wallet. She handed it to La Doña for review. The narco’s lips parted in a wide smile as she scanned it.
“You really are! Holy shit.” She clicked her tongue. “You came down here on your own?”
“I have backup coming.” She hoped that was true.
“That was your plan?” La Doña glanced at the river, then back at Agent Dominguez. “Swim across?”
Agent Dominguez ground her teeth. “We were improvising.”
“Hm. Get ‘er done.” La Doña said with a manly growl, then smirked. “That’s what dad always said.”
“You should let us go.”
“Or what? The big bad US government will come find us?”
“Remember Kiki Camarena?” The murder of the US DEA agent had sparked a massive federal response that brought down the Guadalajara Cartel. Agent Dominguez hoped La Doña knew the case as well as every American law enforcement agent.
“I saw that TV show!” La Doña studied Agent Dominguez for a moment as her smile faded into a thin line. “I’m a lot smarter than Rafael Caro Quintero.”
Agent Dominguez’s heart sank. “Are you willing to risk your life on that?”
“You know, I told Chucho to let these two go,” she nodded toward Israel and Sofia. “I told him they weren’t worth the trouble to find. But here they are.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Found.”
“You should follow your first instinct.”
“I told Chucho that because he’s lost his mind. He’s so high on peyote he thinks he sees ghosts. Talks to them too. I tolerated him because he got shit done. He’s so fucking weird. Everyone was too scared to cross him. Y’know? But when he gets here, I’m letting him go.” She mimicked a pistol firing with one hand.
“Chucho’s coming?” Sofia said, startled at the news.
“Yep.” La Doña lifted her phone and flicked the screen open. She eyed it for a moment, then displayed it to the trio. It showed a GPS map and a dot moving down Federal Highway 2. The map resembled the one Agent Dominguez had looked at minutes earlier. “This is how I found you. AirTags are amaaaaziiiing!” La Doña said, stretching out the last word in mock ecstasy. “I thought y’all were Chucho, so I followed you. I assume this dot belongs to him.”
If that was Chucho, he wasn’t coming in peace. His men died at the airfield. He was already obsessed with finding Israel and Sofia before that. She doubted their deaths would change his mind now. Ice crept into her veins. Whatever was about to happen wouldn’t be pretty.
“Let us go. Please!”
“Put them in my car!” La Doña said, ignoring Agent Dominguez’s plea. She motioned to the guard beside them as Chucho’s SUV appeared on the road. Its headlights glided over the gravel surface. Two figures sat in the front seat, obscured by darkness and distance. They cut off the dirt road and crossed the pasture at a measured pace. They slowed and stopped near the Land Rover parked behind Agent Dominguez. The two narcos beside it approached Chucho’s passenger side door. They gripped their weapons but seemed unconcerned as the window lowered.
“What is he—” La Doña began to say.
Bright muzzle flashes erupted from the passenger seat. Each shot illuminated the shooter inside the cabin. A maniacal grin spread across Chucho’s face. Bloody tissue ejected from the first guard’s head and sprayed the Land Rover behind him. The second guard had time to raise his rifle to his chest before another burst caught him in the chest. Both men’s knees buckled and collapsed under their dead weight.
“Chucho!” La Doña screamed as she reached for her pistol. The guard leading Agent Dominguez to the Land Rover stopped and swiveled to face the new threat.
“Run!” Agent Dominguez yelled at Sofia and Israel.
CHAPTER 64
Chucho
Death was an appropriate penance for those that served the conquerors. Chucho sneered as the bodies of the two traitors slumped to the grassy field. Two sets of glassy corneas stared at the sky. The Gods would decide their appropriate punishment. His gaze focused on La Doña. He saw her true form in a shimmering steel breastplate and greaves. La conquistadora. She faced him with blazing eyes of fire. The devil himself lived inside her. She gripped her silver weapon with both hands and roared in defiance.
“Forward!” Chucho yelled at Hugo.
“I… I…” Hugo’s jaw quivered in shock. He stared at Chucho, round-faced and terrified. Chucho lifted his Uzi and pressed its warm barrel into Hugo’s cheek. Chucho leaned in close as the first retaliatory gunfire passed through the Land Rover’s windshield and buried itself in the back seat.
“Forward, cabrón!”
“OK! OK!” Hugo cried with eyes shut tight.
His heavy foot stomped on the gas pedal. The SUV rocketed forward, plowing a path towards La Doña and her surviving soldier. A row of bullets, straight as a die, perforated the windshield. Hugo ducked low behind the steering wheel, avoiding the incoming fire ripping through his seat. Chucho extended an arm out of the window and aimed his Uzi in La Doña’s general direction. A burst sent her scrambling for cover.
“I am the light for my people!” Chucho proclaimed.
The Land Rover impacted La Doña’s vehicle broadside. It juddered backward and dug into the soft dirt. The passenger-side wheels tilted up before the entire SUV rolled onto its side. A scream cut through the kaleidoscope of sound. With both vehicles forced to a stop, Chucho jumped out in search of his quarry. He ran around the front end of La Doña’s SUV with his Uzi raised. He found her remaining guard lying flat on his back with the entirety of his lower half pinned underneath the overturned Land Rover. His rifle lay several yards away in the tall grass. He stared at Chucho with a pleading scowl. Chucho stepped forward and pointed the Uzi at his head.
“No! Please!” the man yelled and extended one arm in defense.
A burst from the muzzle split his palm between the index and middle fingers before shattering his forehead. The back of his skull splattered onto the crumbly brown soil.
“May the Gods forgive you,” Chucho said, eyeing his handiwork.
A gunshot rang from the tree line ahead. The round caught an upturned wheel near Chucho’s head and caromed off the rim. La Doña stood in the distance, with her pistol raised high. Another shot missed wide. A sign from the Gods. His charm against bullets held true. Several dry clicks followed before she tossed her spent pistol to the ground. She turned and sprinted for the road.
Chucho tossed his Uzi as well. The weapons of the conquerors weren’t needed now. He would dispatch her as his forebears had. His long, sprinting strides caught up to her quickly. She had grown soft and slow in her elevated position of power. And those sandals didn’t help. He grabbed her hair and rode her to the ground. She thudded in the dewy grass and shrieked as Chucho flipped her onto her back.
Her furious slaps stung his cheeks, though he barely felt them in his mescaline high. He wrestled her arms to her sides and pinned them in place between his knees and her torso. She bucked like a wild mule trying to break free. He unsnapped the holster mounted to his leg and withdrew a machete. Its broad, straight blade calmed her wild thrashing when pressed against her throat. She stared at the machete and then at him.
“You crazy son-of-a-bitch!”
“Your reign has ended. Now is the return of my people.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“How does it feel to serve the servant? La conquistadora.”
“Go to hell you—”
Her reply terminated mid-sentence in a squelch of sucking air as the machete sawed through epidermis and tendons. Arterial blood arced into the air like a fire hydrant unplugged. Despite her mortal wounds, she bucked and kicked and almost dismounted him. He sank on his haunches to reclaim control and pushed down until the blade bit bone. Her thrashing slowed and stopped as the glass of death covered her face. Red tinted saliva bubbles caked her lips and cheeks. Chucho sat upright and peered into the heavens.
“In praise of you, Buluc Chabtan!” Only through his grace could he have completed this quest.
Behind him, where his Land Rover had wrecked, a door creaked open. Hugo emerged from the driver’s seat, pushing himself out of from the mangled vehicle. He fell to the ground on all fours and stared at the carnage surrounding him. He had remained loyal and brave through it all. This honor belonged to him as well. Whatever his failings at the compound, he had redeemed himself in Chucho’s eyes.
“You performed well, guerrero!” Chucho called.
Hugo stood, surveying the scene in silence. He focused on Chucho straddling La Doña’s corpse. Then he turned towards the highway and sprinted away. Chucho watched him go with an approving nod. La conquistadora was dead, along with her men. All that remained were the unarmed gringos. Hugo had repaid his debt and earned his future. Maybe their paths would cross again someday. Though his greatest foe had already fallen, enemies remained. He swiveled in search of the remaining Americans.
