Chapter 14               Death in the Desert

Highway 5 exits Mexicalli south toward the Gulf of California east of the mountains and the Salt Lagoon. The sun blazed out of a clear blue ski searing the air over the asphalt into swirls of distant watery mirages as Agents Sullivan and Burns arrived at a town sign posted as La Puerta late in the afternoon. The town streets, reinforced by speed bumps called topes, packed with people going home in buses and trucks, slowed their passage. Agent Burns steered the Navigator through the traffic while Agent Sullivan observed whatever was to be seen but they had not encountered anything unusual all afternoon.

            They had maintained radio silence but when it crackled to life Agent Sullivan jumped in surprise responding slowly to acknowledge the call and clear reception. The Station Chief in Calexico confirmed that an airstrip near farm buildings had been located west of La Puerta on the salt flat. The scrambled message included directions to the site and instructions to investigate and report. No overt action was authorized.

            The Border Patrol in Mexicali heard the transmission but was not able to unscramble the message. The Chief radioed their agent shadowing the Lincoln with instructions to continue and call in every fifteen minutes.

The sun glared directly into Agent Burns eyes as he turned off Highway 5 onto a dusty road toward the distant grey mountains. They traveled about one kilometre when two battered yellow school buses passed them raising dust obscuring the road for several minutes. Agent Sullivan was surprised to see the buses appeared to be carrying migrant workers, not children. He called in asking if there were any escuelas on the road.

            The road twisted around a hill and then led straight into the sun for five or more kilometres. A distant cloud soon became another school bus with migrant workers.

            “What the hell is this all about?” Burns asked.

            “There must be farms ahead where these guys work. They use school buses for everything here. I’ll check again. Maybe they know what they grow in this area.”

            The Agency in Calexico didn’t know of any schools or farming in the area. The reason for the school buses was a mystery the field agents would have to answer.

            The road crested a steep rise to a valley below where a large farm building appeared surrounded by a high fence. Burns stopped the Navigator when they received instructions to watch unobserved. A clump of trees just off the road hid the vehicle while still providing a clear view of the valley. They heard a car pass moving toward the building and stop just down the slope. The door opened and a driver appeared looking around as if searching for something. A crunch of gravel announced another school bus cresting the hill driving directly into the compound. At least a dozen campesinos emerged from the bus disappearing into the building. The other car turned and drove back toward the hill and stopped off to one side.

            “Who’s that guy? Has someone been following us?”

            “I don’t know. I’ll check.”

            Both drivers called their controllers and both were told to wait and observe.

The voices outside our door were not those of rescuers. Through the babble of Spanish I heard El Jefe shout that the filming would have to wait.

            The director was not happy. “Ah, boss, we should do it now. The light is just right.”

            In spite of himself El Jefe had a small element of conscience for he replied to the director crudely. “Fuck off, pervert, we have other things to do.”

            Tracy had collapsed at my feet breathing hard. “Do you think we have a chance, Hilton?” she gasped.

“Tell me what they are saying.” I wanted to know as much as I could. Tracy, fluent in Spanish, listened. She understood what was going on pretty fast and it took her mind off what might happen to us for a few minutes.

            “They are getting packages of cocaine to take into the States. Each person will join a group of illegal migrants crossing the border. El Jefe says they’ll be paid when they deliver their package to L’Araña in the States but if they are caught they are to destroy it and say nothing. If they cheat their pay will be a bullet.”

            “This is a big operation,” I whispered. “But that’s not a reason to kill us.”

            Tracy smiled a crooked smile. “You live in a different world, darling. I wanted to join you in it. Do you think we have any chance of getting out of this?”

            I kissed her and we hugged for comfort. The buses kept coming all afternoon and into the evening. Sometime during the afternoon the director opened the door and gave us a bottle of water and two tacos.

            “I want you to be fresh in the morning,” he said sarcastically.

            “Where’s Susanne?” Tracy demanded. She was defiant in spite of her fear. A surge of pride in her spirit washed through me.

            “She won’t be back, now shut up.” He slammed the door.

Shortly after that two guards came in to tie our hands and legs. One explained in Spanish, “Por evitar que vosotros escapar.” I think he mouthed a prayer as he looked back closing the door.

            “What’s going to happen? What did he say?” I asked.

            “He said the ties are to keep us from escaping. They murdered Susanne, didn’t they? You saw it didn’t you.” She was agitated again.

            “Yes, I saw it. She was very brave. Why would they do that, Tracy?” I had never heard of such a thing. Sure, one sees people being killed on the news almost every night but not murder for prurient sexual purposes.

            She answered with a soft voice, “They’re called a snuff in the porn business. I’d only heard about it, I didn’t believe anyone would actually do it. Oh, Hilton, I’m so frightened. Don’t let them take me. Promise you will kill me yourself it they come back.” Her green eyes were streaming tears.

            “I promise, darling.  But as long as they’re busy we have a chance.” I didn’t believe I could do it and silently asked God to save us. Thoughts of the church I went to as a child reminded me of prayer. Faith was all we had.

            “Darling, I believe in miracles, something will save us.” She didn’t say anything, lost in her own thoughts.

            Our chance came sometime during the night. The last group of campesinos were leaving when our door opened quietly and a woman appeared.

            “Shh, no hablemos.”

            She cut our bonds and beckoned us to the door. “En sequida. Vamos. Hay un auto aqui.”

            We were outside in the dark beside an old Fairlane. One of the guards who had bound us was behind the wheel. She motioned us to the back seat and joined the driver. He started the engine as the last school bus drove toward the gate and when it opened he goosed the car and followed it outside, passing the bus and jammed it down the road. I heard shots from the gatehouse but nothing hit the car.

            The drivers name was Pedro and his wife, Florita. They put their lives on the line to save us from “muertre como la signora, espirita santa.”

The Fairlane flew past a parked car and up the rise when a Ford Explorer roared out the gate in pursuit. Unaware of what was behind, Pedro turned to us smiling confidently. I squeezed Tracy; she kissed my cheek in happy relief.

            El Jefe and the director had seen the open door of the locked room and looked inside to find the prisoners gone. They heard shots from the gate and guessed what had happened. El Jefe ordered Jerry and a guard to take the Explorer and bring us back dead or alive, preferably dead were his words.

            The Explorer, much faster than the Fairlane, was closing as it passed the hiding place of the Navigator.

            “Something’s stirred the hornets nest,” commented Agent Burns. “I heard shots. Should we see what’s happening.”

            “Yeh, lets tag along, I’ll call in and let them know what we’re doing.”

            It took a few minutes to get on the road by which time the Explorer approached the Fairlane. Jerry had taken an AK47 from the gun rack and prepared it for firing. The road narrowed and turned to the right as they pulled alongside the Fairlane. Jerry leaned out the window and emptied the magazine into the speeding car. It swerved violently and crashed through the brush along the road coming to a jarring halt against a large tree. The Explorer roared past as the driver applied the brakes and skidded for a hundred metres on the gravel. Jerry was running back to finish the job just as Agent Burns, rounding the bend, momentarily saw his figure in the headlights on the road.

            “Holy shit, look out,” Burns said jamming the brakes.

            Jerry had reloaded and was bringing the AK47 up to blast the Navigator but too late. The chrome plated brush protector in front of the grill caught him just above the belt and twisted his body over and under the bumper. He died quickly when his head, caught between the front left wheel and the steering arm, cracked open against a rock beside the road. Burns felt the steering suddenly jamb as he momentarily lost control. He applied the brakes gently bringing the heavy vehicle to a stop just about where the Explorer had been when Jerry had started to run back. It had gone.

            Sullivan climbed out and found Jerry’s body wedged under the Navigator. He called to Burns to clear it while he went to look into the wrecked car. The school bus arrived at that moment and the driver, recognizing trouble, swung around the Navigator accelerating as quickly as he could. The Mexican car stopped some distance back to report the situation. He was told to stay out of sight.

            Agent Sullivan approached the Fairlane, gun drawn. He needn’t have been concerned. Pedro and Florita were slumped in front, their blood splattered over the dash. In the back he found a woman and a man, American he thought. The man stirred from under the woman who sprawled over him. She seemed to be lifeless. He lifted her off the man.

            “Are you okay?” It was a silly question.

            “I think so. Help us. How’s Tracy?” He couldn’t feel anything except the warmth of Tracy’s body and wondered why she didn’t speak as his eyes went dark.

             C’mon fella, we’ll help you, lie still were the last words he heard.

            Agent Burns reported the situation and was told to bring the Americans to Mexicali. They could abandon the stakeout since a helicopter raid was planned for first light but were not told about the Mexican agent also watching the farm.

            Sullivan and Burns gently placed Tracy and Hilton in the Navigator and drove. Hilton’s wounds were serious but Tracy’s frail body had absorbed the sting of the bullets that passed through her and struck him.

            The Mexican Border Police and the FBI acted jointly coordinating a raid on the compound and the Mexican Agent was instructed to monitor the site now that the Americans had gone. He resumed his stake out and watched as the Explorer returned to the farm.

 “Senor Jefe,” the guard cried falling to his knees. “Yankees were watching. Senor Jerry is captured or dead. I don’t know. The prisoners crashed into the trees. The Americans took two people in their car and drove away.”

            El Jefe knew that the place was compromised and would be raided soon. Now was the time to get out but just then the director appeared asking what had happened.

            El Jefe snarled, “It was you, you morbid son of a bitch, if I had killed them like I wanted we wouldn’t have this problem. Asshole, you had to make movies. Fucker.”

            El Jefe was angry. A man of action, he pulled the blue 9 mm SIG 226 pistol from a holster under his coat and pointed it at the director. The hollow point bullet entered the director’s head just above the nose and exited through the back transporting most of the skull and all the brain matter across the room toward a reflector umbrella. The impact knocked the umbrella over onto the shroud that covered the cold body that had been Susanne. The warm grey brain tissue soaked into the shroud staining the pallid skin that had been her breasts.

            El Jefe found the director’s videotapes and put them into the Explorer. He didn’t intend to leave evidence of Susanne’s murder. All the cocaine had been taken by the Mexican mules and he was satisfied that there was nothing important left behind. The flop flop of approaching helicopters echoed among the hills when he drove the Explorer past the Mexican watching the compound. The agent didn’t know who he was, didn’t pursue him, allowing him to be the only one to escape. An Explorer, later linked to El Jefe, was found week later at the Tijuana airport where he was traced to Mexico City and then to Bogotá. For the next several weeks the US Border Patrol intercepted a few illegal migrants carrying the bags of cocaine. The majority of it was delivered successfully so cocaine pushers and their customers could be supplied without interruption.

            Mexican authorities arrested the workers who had been left in the compound and moved the dead to Tijuana for autopsy. The bodies of Susanne, Jerry and the director were transferred to American authorities to assist their ongoing investigation. Mexican Border Agents, happy to shut down the operation, contrasted to the frustrated FBI, which vowed to get the rest of gang still in the States. Meanwhile, in Bogotá the cartel, satisfied with the ninety five million US dollars the operation had grossed, were already planning the next project.  

Chapter 15

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