He got out his iPhone, snapped several pictures and said, “Thanks.”
Hunter said, “If you hear something, give me a call, okay?”
“I will. Drive careful going to Marfa. There’s a herd of javelinas wandering all over the road lately, up near the Cibolo Creek Ranch entrance.”
“I will. I don’t want to have a wreck getting to the station when I still have to write all this up on my day off.”
“I hear that.”
“Its what I live for. Writing reports.”
“Just remember, they can kill you, but they can’t eat you.”
CHAPTER 3
Holland was quiet when Riffey told him about the rancher and the Mexican getting away. Finally, Holland said, “We proceed as planned. Our contacts will be in Ojinaga tomorrow to help with finalization. Pack up, and take everything to the ranch on the Rio Conchos. We will bring the helicopter later tonight.”
As the men assembled their belongings and gear, Holland motioned Riffey to him. He talked quietly so the others couldn’t hear, “You were hired for your knowledge and experience in smuggling across this border area, and secondly, because of your military service in Iraq, even if you never engaged in combat. This is valuable to us, Riffey.” His voice changed, “But if you make another mistake, of any kind, do not come back in my presence or I will dispatch you. You are dismissed.”
Riffey nodded stiffly and gathered his things; glad now that he hadn’t told this psychopath that he lost his cell phone when Kinney’s truck slammed into his Jeep.
Riffey got in his vehicle and said to himself, “If I make another mistake, you self-important ass, I’ll come in the door shooting. You can bet on it.” He felt better after saying it, and checked the hideout pistol he now carried for just such an occasion.
It was a small snub-nose revolver made years ago by Charter Arms. The five chambers were loaded with fat, .44 Special hollow points. Emptying those babies in Holland would do the trick, he thought. Riffey imagined it happening, and the satisfaction made him smile. He turned once to watch Holland approaching the pilot, who sat in a lawn chair by the barn. Riffey touched the hidden pistol one more time.
Holland told the pilot, “On the chance that the rancher will return to his property, we will take
a high-altitude look in that area.” The pilot, a mercenary named Aldo Reeves, rose from the chair and entered the barn to ready for the flight.
Holland sat in the vacated chair and enjoyed the silence. Things were going on schedule, and after they completed this glorious mission, he would revel in the praise from Allah’s faithful followers. As a present to himself, he would kill that infidel pest Riffey, too. The thought made him smile. Holland rose and walked to the copter.
Ninety minutes later, the helicopter was at its maximum altitude, and the pilot worked hard to keep it there while Holland looked over the area through stabilized binoculars. A Presidio County Sheriff’s vehicle was parked at the Kinney ranch house, and a Stetson-wearing deputy entered the burned building. Several minutes later he exited and checked the ground for tracks. The deputy took photos with his phone, and searched the outbuildings, stopping here and there to pick up some object and examine it before moving on in a systematic pattern that covered the entire ranch compound.
The pilot asked Holland, “We’re getting low on fuel. How long you want to do this?”
Holland said, “A few minutes longer, then we can go. This deputy is thorough. I want to make sure he goes away empty handed.”
Reeves shook his head but didn’t say anything. He worked the stick to keep the copter stable in the wind.
On the ground, Lee Rodriguez worked out the patterns in the wind-blown tracks of vehicles and men. The last thing he did, more on instinct than anything, was walk the road leading into the ranch yard. A hundred yards up the caliche and gravel he saw where a vehicle had pulled off the road and into the greasewood and mesquite. Shoe imprints were clear on the ground, and he took photos of them. Then he found a pink blob of chewed bubble gum that someone, evidently from the vehicle, tossed to the ground. He removed a small evidence bag from his shirt pocket and slid the gum in it to preserve the DNA, then put the bag in his pocket.
Lee looked around some more and found several .223 cartridge casings, and the imprints where the driver had changed a flat before driving away. Standing to stretch his back, Lee caught a glint of sunlight off something in the brush.
It was a cell phone, barely visible under a fresh scattering of dirt some twenty feet from the road. He picked it up by the corner and put it in his other shirt pocket, then continued to look over the area.
There was nothing else. Lee walked to his vehicle and started the long drive back to Presidio. On a whim, he decided to go across country on the ranch roads.
Holland said, “Stay above him, but don’t let him see you.”
“What are we doing?” Reeves said.
“Following him. He picked up something.”
Reeves looked at him, but didn’t say anything. They followed the law enforcement vehicle for forty minutes before Holland said, “A little further up here, he will have to stop to open a gate. There is a small knoll near it. Get us there in a hurry and set the helicopter down behind the knoll so he will not see us.”
“We’re getting low on fuel.”
“Do as I say, or I will pilot this helicopter without you in it.”