The Surge - 03 (33 page)

The ranger did the same on the other two green and white patrol units and then spirited away toward the Mexican border. It would take a while before the CBP boys figured out why their personal radios were no longer working. Unless they had spare keys in their wallets, it would be even longer before they were mobile.

Running hard now, eating up the distance across the level basin floor, Zach hoped he would never meet the federal agents he’d just left behind. He was sure they would shoot him on sight and leave his carcass for the buzzards. “Some people have no sense of humor about this shit,” he whispered between breaths.

The Texas lawman, now turned criminal, slowly made his way across the desolate landscape that was northern Mexico, eventually arriving at a two-lane, blacktop highway that the map identified as Carretera Federal 2.

Zach began walking east, staying to the edge, ready to hide in the rocks if headlights appeared ahead or behind.

There was little population in this part of Chihuahua, the arid climate and volcanic rock supporting only the occasional ranch or small village.  Still, the ranger knew that the U.S. Border Patrol occasionally worked with the Mexican authorities. By now, the American agents he’d left behind would be over the shock and awe of the encounter in the canyon. They would be steaming pissed and clawing for payback. Calling in the Policía Federal would be about their only recourse, short of invading a foreign country.

The thought of spending time in a Mexican prison wasn’t at the top of Zach’s bucket list.

So the ranger kept to the side of the road, scurrying to hide whenever the rare car or truck appeared in the distance. Highway 2 in this part of the world was never a busy artery. Given the early hour, the roadway was all but abandoned.

Were it not for the speed limit signs posted in kilometers and the occasional “No Rebase” warning drivers not to pass, Zach noted no difference between this road and the typical U.S. state highway.

Just after 3 AM, he approached a bridge crossing a small, dry creek bed. A sign declared the structure was Puente El Venado.

Zach left the roadway and climbed down the embankment, cautious of snakes or other wildlife that might have found the manmade structure attractive. After a quick search with his flashlight, the Texan found a suitable rock and made himself as comfortable as possible.

He passed the time nibbling on a power bar, drawing water from his CamelBak, and admiring the impressive field of stars that illuminated the Mexican night.

At 5 AM, he recognized the whine of a truck engine coming from the east. The vehicle did a U-turn and then stopped right on the bridge. Zach heard a door being opened.

“Ranger Bass, I presume,” boomed BB’s voice over the railing. “Welcome to Mexico.”

“You know if this doesn’t go well, your career with the rangers is over,” BB stated with a matter of fact tone.

Zach didn’t respond for a bit, his attention seemingly focused on the passing Mexican countryside as they drove east.

“Yes, I know,” Zach eventually sighed. “What’s really troubling is that I’m not bothered by that nearly as much as I should be. I hate to admit it, but being a ranger hasn’t always been a good fit for me.”

The older man grunted, “That’s probably why you’re a good lawman. If you liked the job … if it was a perfect match, then I’d say something was seriously wrong inside your head.”

The comment surprised Zach. Somewhere along the line, he’d developed a sense that all of the other rangers loved their jobs and wouldn’t think of doing anything else. His peers had seemed to develop something more than professional dedication or loyalty to the cause of law and order. It was almost as if they had found the perfect mesh between God’s desire and nature’s design.

BB took the younger man’s lack of response as a signal to expound. “I lost my wife early. Miss Lily succumbed to breast cancer. God rest her soul. She was 51, and I watched her die a horrible, painful death. That fucking disease took everything away from her, and it did it slow and mean. I lost my faith, watching her wither in agony and melt away to nothing. She’d been a God fearing woman all her life. Never harmed a soul and touched anyone who came close with her kindness and love. She didn’t deserve to go out that way.”

Zach was a little surprised at BB’s openness. “I’m sorry to hear that. I knew she had passed on some years before we met, but I never heard any of the details.”

“I hit the bottle pretty damn hard…. Tequila became my best compadre. My captain was a patient man. He tried to give me time to straighten things out, but I’d already started sliding down a pretty slippery slope. When I eventually did return to duty, I was a bitter son of a bitch who didn’t give a fuck about anything or anybody. That’s a dangerous combination for a big hombre who carries a gun and a badge.”

The younger ranger had seen it before. The ranks of law enforcement had more than their fair share of disgruntled officers who, for whatever reason, had gotten sideways with the world. The occurrences of spousal abuse, alcoholism, and suicide were all much higher among those in this line of work. Opinions regarding the causes of such things were as varied as the recommended treatments for them.

The conversation was interrupted by a slow-moving truck struggling to climb a grade. After BB had safely managed to pass, he continued with a monotone voice. “I answered a call in Marathon one night. According to the dispatcher, a deputy had cornered a suspected bank robber and was requesting backup. By the time I got there, the suspect was fighting with the officer, both of them rolling around on the ground, throwing punches and kicking for all they were worth. What was even more troubling was the fact that the officer on the scene was getting whooped.”

With his eyebrows arching skyward, Zach asked, “What happened?”

BB frowned in pain, the memory obviously unpleasant. “I jumped in, of course. One of my kind was getting his ass kicked. I tore into the suspect and damned near beat that poor bastard into his grave … almost killed him. He lost an eye, use of his left arm, six teeth, and never walked again without a limp.”

Zach threw a glance at BB when the narration paused, but the older man wasn’t in the cab of the pickup anymore – at least not mentally.

“Problem was, the suspect wasn’t the bank robber. He was a close match to the description and driving a similar car. Some of the senior officers thought the poor bastard deserved it, but times were changing. People didn’t want tough cops anymore. Everyone was throwing around phrases like civil rights and excessive use of force. My captain gave me a choice. Stay and face potential charges, or resign and get on with life. I resigned.”

“How did you end up living in Mexico?” Zach asked, trying to tie the story together.

BB grunted, “For a while, I didn’t think my captain was going to be able to keep Austin off my ass. There was all kind of talk, folks speculating that charges were going to be filed against me. So I decided to spend a little time exploring Mexico. I took the grand tour of every cantina from Juarez to Reynosa. The tequila was cheap, the señoritas friendly, and no one cared if I was Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or a washed up Texas Ranger.”

Again, traffic required all of BB’s attention. Zach knew they still had some distance to travel, so he let his friend come to it when he was ready.

“We’re about 30 minutes from the ranch,” BB finally stated. “My place isn’t much, but it’s mine. The cost of living down here is next to nothing, and I’m only 20 minutes from Texas if I want to go back.”

Zach wanted to hear the end of the story. “So what changed, BB? How come you didn’t end up with a failed liver or beaten and left lying in the gutter somewhere?”

The old ranger grinned, “Isabelle.”

“Isabelle?”

“Queen Isabelle.… Or at least, that’s what I call her. She was a waitress in some run-down cantina. Hell, I can’t even remember the name of the dump. I was there one night when a handful of punks started giving her a rough time. They made a circle and were shoving her back and forth, making it clear she was going to be part of their entertainment that evening – like it or not.”

“And?”

BB’s answer was matter of fact. “And I changed their minds.”

Zach grunted at the casual response but didn’t doubt the story for a second.
I’d rather slap Satan across the face than go hand-to-hand with BB in a bar fight
, he figured.

The old-school lawman continued, “I went back into the place the next few evenings, but they seemed to have lost their desire to frequent that establishment. Izzy and I got to talking. Her family owned some land up in the mountains but couldn’t afford to do anything with it. I had a small retirement from the rangers and a little money saved back. So, we moved in and started raising horses, a few head of cattle, and a nice, big garden. She convinced me to cut way back on my vices, and we’ve been together ever since.”

The veteran ranger was soon guiding the pickup onto a lane that was little more than a dirt path. The old truck bounced and bumped, kicking up a small rooster tail of sand and dust as they meandered upwards into the Carmen Sierras. 

Zach felt his ears pop at about 4,000 feet. The air cooled as the foliage outside the pickup began to change drastically. White Oak clogged the draws and box canyons, the steeper slopes taken over by juniper. “The locals call this La Frontera,” BB announced. “I call it damn fine country. Kind of reminds you of the Davis Mountains back home, don’t it?”

The young ranger had to agree.

The ranch consisted of two adobe buildings, the one with a thatch roof housing the barnyard animals, the one with a tin crown being the main house. The fences and corral were a weave of mesquite limbs, none bigger than Zach’s wrist. A Latino woman was standing in the doorway.

“My queen,” BB laughed as he exited the truck. “The ruler of all she sees before her.”

As BB completed the introductions in Spanglish, Zach studied the woman that would be his hostess for the day.

She was younger than BB, probably by 15 years, but it was difficult to tell exactly. Isabelle was obviously tough as nails and a woman who wasn’t afraid to put in a hard day’s work followed by a warm night’s comfort. It was also clear that she adored the ex-ranger.

Zach sensed Izzy was immediately suspicious of his presence, and he couldn’t blame her. The ranger was sure she grasped the unspoken truth that he was about to draw her man into something dangerous, and she didn’t like it. More than once, she looked at the cuts from San Antonio, still visible on BB’s head, and grimaced.

There were two younger vaqueros from a neighboring spread that helped manage the livestock.

“You’ll find a hammock behind the barn,” BB announced after watching Zach yawn. “Have a couple of Isabelle’s cheese and egg burritos, and then go catch some shuteye. Most afternoons there’s a good breeze blowing down the mountain, and those two old oaks will keep the sun off of you until at least mid-afternoon.”

Despite the urgency of his quest, Zach’s hike through New Mexico and encounter with the authorities had worn the ranger thin. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”       

It was the most wonderful smell. Zach’s eyes fluttered open, the aroma drifting past the hammock and pulling him from the depths of slumber.

For a moment, the ranger didn’t know where he was – a sure sign he’d managed at least a few cycles of REM sleep.

Next came a bit of confusion as he struggled to swing out of the hammock. Finally managing to get his feet on the ground before his ass, he checked his boots for scorpions and other desert critters, and then stood to stretch.

The breeze brought him that appetizing fragrance again. Someone was cooking meat over mesquite. His stomach rumbled a thunderous approval.

The meal was simple and one of the best the Texan could remember. Thin strips of steak cooked over an open fire of mesquite bricks. Small ears of corn dipped in homemade, extra salty butter, and a cold blonde ale called Baja that was served with orange peels floating in the glass.

Zach was embarrassed at how much food he was shoving into his pie hole, but couldn’t stop himself. BB and Izzy seemed gratified that their guest was gorging himself on their fare.

After everyone had finished eating, BB motioned for Zach to join him in the barn. Glancing left and right to verify no one was around, he lifted a thick, wooden pallet from the floor and swept away an inch of loose sand, exposing a heavy, metal slab buried in the earth. “My gun safe,” the lawman-turned-rancher announced.

BB produced a key, uncapped the protected lock, and opened the weighty door. Reaching inside, he pulled out two bundles, each wrapped in a spongy oilcloth. A few moments later, Zach was holding an AR15 rifle, complete with holographic optic and mounted flashlight. “Where did you get this?”

“From time to time, I’ve cleaned up a few bad apples here and there – kind of helping out the local authorities. If the criminals happen to have a well-maintained firearm in their possession, I consider it to be a finder’s fee.”

Reaching again into the cache, BB produced a couple of gym bags stuffed with magazines, each filled to the brim with 5.56 NATO ammunition. Zach whistled, “Expecting trouble?”

“A man never knows in this country, Ranger Bass.”

Zach grinned, “Understood.”

Twenty minutes later, both men exited the corral with smiles on their faces. Zach had expected BB to provide some firepower, but nothing like the old ranger had delivered. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll pack up, and on the way stop by a certain canyon I know to zero these weapons,” the host announced. “After that, we’ll go hunting.”

“That would be good,” Zach nodded. “That would be very good.”

The two rangers left BB’s ranch shortly after daybreak. Once out of sight of the vaqueros, they stopped to test and zero their weapons.

While Zach was adjusting his red dot, BB began to outline their trip. “You know we’re going to have to be extremely careful. With a civil war going on, we’re going to have to avoid the bigger towns. That might take a while.”

“You’re the expert,” Zach replied. “My Spanish isn’t even that strong.”

BB laughed, raising the AK47 to his shoulder and snapping three rounds that nearly cut a small barrel cactus in half. “Let me guess, you know the basic phrases, like ‘How much is the tequila,’ and ‘Put your hands up, or I’ll shoot your sorry ass.’”

It was Ranger Bass’s turn to chuckle, popping a double tap into a plate-sized rock 100 meters out. “Something like that.”

Wiping a quick cleaning rag through their barrels, BB became serious. “Why, Zach? I mean, I can understand a man having a strong sense of right and wrong. I can even sympathize with your wanting to catch the one that got away or to catch the bastard who shot up that gorgeous partner of yours. But you’re throwing everything away on this little adventure of ours, and before I put my salty, old hide on the line, I’d like to know why.”

Nodding, Zach understood where the older man was coming from. It was time to be honest. “Because I fucked up, that’s why. I made a huge mistake over in Syria, and all of this suffering and death is resting on my shoulders.”

It was obvious BB was trying to grasp what the younger man was saying, but it just wouldn’t come. “I’m sorry to be a senile, ancient fool, but you’re going to have to paint this picture nice and pretty for me. I don’t
comprende
.”

“There is a man we know only as Ghost. He was the mastermind behind all the shit the republic went through over in Syria. He was behind the counterfeiting … and the highjacking … and Buck’s death. I had him, BB…. I had my cuffs on his wrists and his ass in my pocket, and I let him go. I’m convinced he’s behind all this shit that’s going down around us.”

“You’re ‘convinced’? You’re not sure?”

Zach shook his head as he began checking magazines. “Are we ever sure? I can tell you that I’m about as positive on this as any case I’ve ever bird-dogged. It’s Ghost, all right. His fingerprints and DNA are all over this, and I’m not going to let him get away again.”

BB took some time to study his new partner, almost as if he was trying to make up his mind. Finally, he said, “I’ll be the first to plead guilty that sometimes a lawman has to trust his gut. Still, you’re putting a lot more on the line here than just one ranger’s career. That weapon you’re holding can do a lot of damage to the people of both Mexico and Texas. Are you sure you’re willing to risk an international brouhaha?”

Zach's face became taut, his eyes on fire. “A lot of the death and suffering we’re seeing on the nightly news is my doing. I feel the weight of it on my shoulders. I can see a parade of dead faces in my sleep. Those Marines. All of the Mexicans in body bags. Gus. There is no shortage of people whose lives have been fucked up. I’ve got to end this. I’ve got to make it right.”

The old man nodded. He knew exactly what Zach was going through. “That’s why you asked me to help,” he whispered. “And that is why you knew I would agree.”

“You’ve been there, BB. I thought you … of all the capable men I know … I thought you would understand.”

The elder lawman glanced back up the mountain, toward Queen Isabelle. Finally, he nodded, “One riot, one ranger. One civil war – two rangers. Makes sense to me. I’m in, Zach. With you all the way.”

A few minutes later, the duo was driving west, the old pickup making good time across the blacktop surface of the two-lane highway. “We’ve got about an hour of smooth road, and then things are going to get a little bit more vigorous. We’ll have to cut off the highway and do a little back road navigation to avoid the sizable towns and cities. All said, if our engine don’t quit, and the creek don’t rise, we should be in Tampico by sunrise.”

“Works for me.”

“And when we get there? I’m kind of assuming we’re not traveling across Mexico with all this illegal firepower just to do a little duck hunting. Do you have a plan?”

Zach nodded, but there was a slight hesitation. “I’ve got some inside information that indicates we should visit the marina in Tampico. Ghost is being sponsored by the head of the Gulf Cartel, an hombre known as El General. I’ve heard he’s hanging out in Tampico. Even if that tip doesn’t play out, I’m hoping a bull that big leaves a trail as it crosses the pasture.”

“They usually do,” BB grunted. “Besides, I did a little bounty hunting for the Tampico Chief of Police a while back. Tracked down a couple of very nasty banditos and delivered them alive … mostly. If we come up empty, he might be able to point our noses in the right direction.”

“That’s why you’re earning the big money on this trip, BB,” Zach teased. “It’s not what you know, but who you know – right?”

“Big money, my ass,” the old man spat. “That’ll be the day.”

The country that passed outside Zach’s window wasn’t much different from his native West Texas. Neither were the people.

Sure, most of the automobiles they saw would have benefited from a trip to the car wash. Nearly all of them had seen better days. The mountains seemed a little less sharp and pointed. It was almost as if the land was an elderly man whose body was no longer as cut or defined due to time and a life of hard labor. Still, there was a raw beauty to the countryside, a comfort that comes from stability, a gratitude earned from years of providing.

The duo passed through tiny hamlets and villages, avoiding the metropolitan areas and the suburbs for fear of bumbling into the local authorities, or worse yet, the civil war.

As they had traveled across central Mexico, Zach had noticed a large segment of the population didn’t possess all that much pigmentation in their skin. It dawned on him that he could be traveling through southern Europe given the color of people’s flesh. He remarked as much to BB.

“I thought I’d stand out down here like a sore thumb,” Zach noted. “Yet a lot of the locals I’m seeing have a fairer complexion than I do. Just goes to show you, a man can’t believe everything he sees on TV.”

“That’s a common misconception,” BB replied. “There are just as many mixed-blood people in Mexico as there are in Texas. Don’t worry; we won’t stand out unless you start flirting with a señorita. She’d pick up on your bad Spanish and northern accent in a heartbeat.”

Chuckling, Zach promised his new partner that wouldn’t be a problem. At least not on the trip down to Tampico.

As they continued, the young ranger realized it was more than just the people that left an impression of the old world. The architecture carried a sense of age as well.

While the territory outside the truck was comprised of modest communities, the buildings were constructed with softer curves and caught the afternoon sunlight in a different way. There was a simplistic nature in their form and function, be it an humble abode or the mayor’s office.

Basic pastels consumed the color scheme with only one exception – the churches.

It was clear the local folk took their spirituality seriously. In every town and burg, it was always the church’s steeple that first appeared on the horizon. Rarely, did another structure rival the chapel’s size, and never was there a challenger to the gemstone-like colors that exploded from the stained glass windows.

Then there were the people themselves.

BB’s truck required a fuel stop, and while Zach couldn’t remember the name of the town, the genuine friendliness of the place had stuck with the ranger. The people didn’t smile and nod to get tourist money; their greetings and interactions were heartfelt efforts to make the traveler feel at ease.

Twice they stopped at a roadside cantina to fill their human tanks, and again, Zach sensed a deep level of gratification in everyone from the señorita who served their food to the young busboys who cleared their plates.  

By sundown, Zach had reached a comfort with his surroundings that extended far beyond familiarity or the repetition of seeing the same basic scene outside of the pickup’s cab, mile after mile. He decided that he liked the culture they were driving through, and it gave him another dimension of righteousness to their cause.

He admired the friendly, unassuming people they encountered. He respected their lifestyle and knew they deserved better than to be slaughtered in a civil war or to be dominated by ruthless criminals.

“We’re going to do a good deed if we kill these men,” he said out loud, surprising BB.

Recovering, the old ranger responded, “Was there ever any doubt about that?”

Zach grinned, “No, I suppose not. Still, I feel better about it. It’s as if these people we’re passing by want us to succeed. They want us to win, and I think we’re going to need all the support we can get.”