“I’ll have your orders emailed to your accounts so you can file when you return to Marfa.”
“Our vehicle is at Buck Ward’s ranch.”
Ashton nodded, “As Lincoln said earlier, the helicopter will take you there in the morning.”
Art called them at the Marriott at 9PM and asked if he could come over and fill them in. Hunter said, “Meet us in the bar.”
Hunter grabbed a table in the far corner away from the few other patrons and ordered as Art limped in on crutches.
“Order me whatever you’re having,” he said to Hunter.
He sat down, indicating the crutches and saying, “I’ll be so glad not to have to use these things any more, Jesus.”
“You stay at the meeting after we left?” Raymond asked.
“Uh-huh. The Mex-Feds took it over and said they’d handle everything on their side, said we could send a couple of people to observe.”
“When do they do it?” Hunter asked.
“Scheduled for 4 AM, and they’re going in loaded for bear. Oh, and a ton of news teams.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Not our call. Their country, so…”
“Yeah. I guess we’ll hear how it comes out.”
“I imagine.”
Raymond said, “What’s their plan?”
“Basically, they go in through the compound while observing from the air.”
Raymond raised his glass, “Here’ to a successful mission.”
They all toasted and sipped their drinks, then Hunter said, ‘Does anyone ever figure out what the target was going to be, with the sarin gas?”
Art said, “Not that I heard.”
They talked a few more minutes. The orders of Buffalo wings arrived and all three ate rather than talked. An hour later, Art left and Hunter and Raymond went to their rooms. The mental stress of the day, coupled with the many questions made them more tired than physical exertion. Both were asleep in minutes.
Art picked them up at six the next morning and had them at the copter in fifteen minutes. No reports on the raid, Art told them, have a good flight.
The trip back to Buck’s was beautiful, with the air still and clear and the morning sun highlighting the ridges and mountains. Small fingers of smoke rose occasionally on the Mexico side where people still cooked meals over open fires.
Hunter watched closely when they approached the Big Bend area, with Emory Peak looming so high in the distance, and the hidden location of Pasqual Osorio’s ranch and compound south of the Rio Bravo.
The ranch area appeared normal, with some activity from men in pickups, but no military vehicles or planes circled overhead. She wondered if the authorities even raided the ranch. Hunter looked at Raymond, raising her eyebrows in question.
He said, “Beats me. I guess we’ll hear something soon.”
Buck waited for them as the helicopter landed in the clearing by the ranch house. Hunter grinned at how clean and shiny her pickup looked. Buck waved at the pilot as the copter left, then said, “You two okay?”
“We’re good,” Hunter said. “You see any activity on the Mexican side early this morning?”
“Heard choppers and a few vehicles, but all that was upriver from here, a good ways off. You know how sound carries. Was it the raid on Osorio’s?”
Raymond said, “We guess so. We haven’t heard anything.”