“Thank you.”
It was full dark when the old men shuffled toward their homes. Miguel caught a taxi after much walking, and had the driver drop him off at the bridge crossing the Rio Conchos outside of Ojinaga. There was no traffic, and only a few scattered lights at farms and ranches. When the moon rose an hour later, he could see better and recognized shapes as buildings or trees or plowed fields that almost glowed in the night because there was no vegetation in the pale brown soil. He crossed the bridge to the west side and exited the road to find a comfortable place to sit. For the rest of the night he watched the sky, alternately dozing for a few minutes, then opening his eyes again.
He saw the helicopter rise in the distance while the predawn darkness was a lighter gray. It flew west and he watched it only for a short distance before returning his eyes to the location where he saw it first rise from the earth. Traffic began to increase on the road, so Miguel moved underneath the edge of the river bridge and continued to watch until the sun was completely above the horizon. He was sure he had the location marked in his mind now, but he didn’t want to take the time to cross into the United States and meet Sam to tell him. It was possible that, if he did, he would miss something important. He pulled the cell phone and dialed the number Sam had programmed into the phone.
Sam answered on the first ring. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I have more things to check. Do not worry, Sam. I will see you this evening at the room.”
“What time?”
“Seven, more or less.”
“Okay, Miguel, but don’t take any chances, okay? Are you sure I can’t help?”
“I will be careful. I am in Mexico, and I think you might stand out where I will be.”
“You call me if you need me.”
“Yes, my friend.” Miguel turned off his phone and turned his attention to the ranch some five miles upriver on the west bank of the Conchos. He didn’t know if the men who tried to kill him were there, but he was going to get a much closer look at the helicopter this day, and anyone near it. If it wasn’t the right helicopter, then this would only be an unfruitful day, but if the helicopter was the one, it meant he knew where his enemies slept.
***
Miguel walked southwest across open fields and ranchland until he reached the concealment of rolling hills that bordered the river plain, then he continued south, being careful to stay behind the first line of hills so he wasn’t seen by anyone on the highway or in the area.
Because he took the long, careful route, Miguel didn’t reach the ranch for two hours. He positioned himself in a small, shallow wash that ran downhill. The line of sight was excellent, there was a small mesquite for shade, and his seat, once the sand and rocks were smoothed, was comfortable for a long wait. The only discomfort was the lack of food and water. Miguel was no stranger to the pangs of thirst and hunger, so he endured them.
There was little activity at the ranch. No livestock that he could see, although the river plain was green with grass. He wondered if they farmed hay on this one. Several men came and went from the big house and the huge metal barn, but they were not armed. Miguel swatted at flies that buzzed around his face, and dozed in the heat of the day.
A young jackrabbit that he hadn’t at first noticed was crouched and immobile as a marble statue under a small cenizo bush three feet from his foot. It stared at him, but did not move, firm in the rabbit belief that immobility would protect it. Miguel eased his position in the dirt and rocks, careful not to spook the rabbit. He liked the little creature nearby.
When the afternoon heat built to well over one hundred degrees and the breeze died to a suffocating stillness, Miguel put a pebble in his mouth to help with dryness and thirst. He wasn’t careful and the hot stone burned his tongue before he rolled it around in his mouth enough to cool it.
Pulling the cell phone from his pocket, Miguel checked the time and knew he would have to leave soon to meet Sam. The sun had descended toward the mountains to the west, and he could feel the tremendous heat lessening. Twenty more minutes, then leave. He kept the phone in his hand and looked at the jackrabbit, still frozen and almost close enough to touch.
The metal sliding doors of the barn opened. Several men entered, and a few moments later a small yellow machine, like a riding lawnmower, emerged from the op
ening pulling a helicopter. It was the one.
Three men emerged from the house and Miguel recognized two of them. The man who shot him, and the man’s partner, the bearded one. All were armed with rifles and pistols. Several others appeared, and one man carried a small metal tank to an old Bronco and put it in the back. The bearded man trotted to the Bronco and hopped in the driver’s seat as others took their seats inside the vehicle.
The beardless man got into the helicopter with the pilot, and they lifted from the ground, blowing dust in all directions. Fear shot through Miguel when, instead of going east, the helicopter circled, coming straight for Miguel’s hiding place, and not forty feet off the ground.
Miguel slid from his seat and flattened face-first against the wall as small rocks and debris struck his back and legs from the rotor’s winds.
From the helicopter, Holland saw a puff of dust rise from a shallow gulley. He told the pilot to circle and hover as he called Riffey. “Check out the hill below us.”
“What is it?” Riffey asked.
“Something is there. Maybe someone.”
Riffey floored the Bronco and was below the helicopter in thirty seconds. He and the others exited with rifles ready. Riffey led them as they started up the incline of the first hills.
Miguel took a chance and turned his head. He saw the helicopter, maybe thirty feet high and twenty feet to his left, and the passenger, the same man who shot him, holding a rifle across his lap and looking higher up the gulley.
***
A clatter of rocks from below drew Miguel’s attention. Peering through the thin brush, he saw the other men coming up the hillside. They would be on top of him in another minute.