The Surge - 03 (32 page)

“Men like Ghost and Vincent would love to see you burn,” he whispered, staring at the icon of the republic.

Zach pivoted, a determination spreading through his core. As he approached the capitol grounds, he paused for a moment to gaze up at the statue honoring Terry’s Texas Rangers, a regiment that had served with distinction during the Civil War.

Zach had always admired the monument. A single man, on horseback, wearing a western hat with a repeating rifle in his hands. The sculpture captured the essence of the sacrifice and gallantry of the Texas cavalrymen while at the same time relaying the burden and fatigue that war placed on a man’s shoulders.

His eyes zoomed in on the plaque where he read the words, “The Terry Rangers have done all that could be expected or required….”

“Have I done all that could be expected?” he asked the lone rider. “Have I done all that is required?”     

It dawned on Zach that he could stop the madness. He could end this thing. Like the bronze cowboy above, he would take the fight to the enemy. It would require that he leave his beloved Texas, and perhaps the rangers, but there was no other choice. The lives of millions and the wellbeing of two different nations were at stake.

The next morning, Putnam seemed surprised by Zach’s unusual request. “Sir, I’m requesting a few days of my accumulated leave.”

“Now, Ranger Bass? Right when the republic faces its greatest challenge? This request doesn’t seem like the actions of the man I’ve come to know over the last few years.”

“I’ve not taking a vacation, Major. There are, however, some avenues of investigation that I would like to pursue in an off-the-record capacity. I know my request is unusual, sir, but I don’t see any other option. I need to operate outside of official channels.”  

Putnam obviously didn’t like. For several minutes he tried to talk Zach out of the request, but the young Texan wouldn’t budge. The major had never seen his subordinate so resolute and determined. “Okay, Ranger Bass. Email me the vacation request form, and I’ll put it through. I pray that you know what you’re doing.”

“That makes two of us, sir. A prayer may be all that can save us.”

After disconnecting the call with his boss, Zach glanced at his watch and smiled. Sam was at a doctor’s appointment and would have her cell phone turned off. It was the perfect time to call.

“Sam,” he advised her voicemail, “I’m taking a few days off. All this is beginning to weigh on me, and I’m going to head up into the mountains for a little hiking, fresh air, and reflection. I won’t have cell service, so I’ll call you when I get back. Hope the doc says you’re doing well.”

His next call was to Cheyenne. “What’s up, cowboy? Or should I say, are you
up
, cowboy?”

“I need your help,” he answered with a serious tone.

His request caught her off guard. Zach never needed help. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing more than what you are reading about in the headlines. Do you think your dad would let you borrow his truck for a day?”

The model was clearly mystified by the request. “Umm … sure … Why do I need a truck? Don’t you already have one?”

He didn’t answer, instead firing another question. “Are you working today?”

“No, Mr. Texas Ranger Man, today is my only day off this week. I was going to call you and see if you were willing to offer this girl a little couple time. I just did this hot lingerie shoot and got to take home a few samples….”

“I wish, but believe it or not, that’s not really what I had in mind. I need you to help me sneak across the border and not tell a soul that you did it.”

Now Chey was really worried. “Zachariah Bass, what’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

“Get your dad’s truck and meet me at my place, ASAP. I’ll explain it all when you get there.”

She wanted to launch a dozen questions, but she’d known him since they were kids. Something in Zach’s tone warned her not to press. “Okay. It will take me a couple of hours, but I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Chey. I owe you one.”

It felt odd to the Texan.

He’d carried a badge for so long, been in a position of authority for so many years. Now, here, he was just a regular guy – an average Joe. The fact that he was about to commit a series of crimes added to the peculiar sensations running through his mind.

For the Nth time, he reconsidered his plan. Wouldn’t it be easier to sneak across to Mexico via a small boat? He was sure such craft could be rented in Brownsville.
But I don’t know how to pilot a boat
, he reasoned.

Perhaps hiking across the border from Texas would be the smarter option?
No
, he came to the same mental conclusion.
Since the massacre and outbreak of civil war, the line between Texas and Mexico is now an armed camp. The military is shooting first, asking questions later.
I don’t blame them.

After a long goodbye, he’d watched Cheyenne amble away in her dad’s truck. Standing at the trailhead, he’d wondered if he would ever see her again. She was absolutely sure he had gone loco, and quite frankly, he couldn’t blame her for thinking that, either.

Zach had worked the Texas-New Mexico border area for years. He knew every back trail and unmarked road. It had been child’s play to cross. The U.S. Border Patrol, new to working an area between states, hadn’t figured it all out yet. Chey had been able to cross the
Land of Enchantment
without issue
,
keeping below the speed limit and heading west using secondary roadways.

He hiked for two hours through the state park, following the marked trails with his heavy pack full of equipment. Primitive camping wasn’t popular in Whitmire Canyon ... but not unheard of. Most outdoorsmen were too afraid of the border area and chose destinations further north. For Zach’s purposes, it was the perfect locale.

“I’m just another backpacker, enjoying the dry air,” he kept whispering as he made his way through the rugged, high desert terrain. The ruse was unnecessary. He hadn’t seen another soul.

After an hour, he was second-guessing the adventure. The ranger’s leg muscles were beginning to burn, the late afternoon sun draining his reserves. Blisters were in his future. “You spend too much time riding in a truck,” he cursed, scanning the barren rock and hot sands. “This is good for you.”

Two miles north of the Mexican border, the wilderness area ended, the boundary denoted by a common livestock fence.

Pausing to take a drink of water from the reservoir strapped on his back, Zach pondered his next move. As soon as he crossed the fence, he would technically be breaking the law as a trespasser. A few miles further on, he’d come to the international border where he would begin compounding his crimes.

But first, he’d have to get past the U.S. authorities.

Zach figured that his time spent working with the U.S. Border Patrol before the secession would come in handy. He knew their technology, tactics, and capabilities. These folks were very good at their jobs. It would take some doing to cross.
Old women with children did it all the time … surely a Texas Ranger could pull it off.

Zach removed his pack and dropped it onto the private property. He didn’t know who owned the land. It was most likely a cattle rancher who lived miles away and probably wouldn’t care. There were no barns, wells, water tanks or other infrastructure in sight. Nothing to harm or steal.

There were, however, likely to be ground vibration sensors and perhaps even infrared cameras watching the area. The ranger had no idea where such devices might be located as they were often moved to keep the other side guessing.

He did know there was no fence on this section of the border. The Mexican side was just as devoid of population, towns, and roads. That, combined with the harsh environment and rugged landscape, meant this area wasn’t a popular crossing point. Still, the ranger was sure it was monitored.

Climbing the 4-wire fence was easy, the Texan’s long legs and thick-soled boots making the barb wire strands an ineffective detriment. After pulling on his pack, he began walking south, now more alert to his surroundings than before. Now, he was breaking the law.  

According to the satellite maps, the only roadway between him and Mexico was actually more of a path. Two worn lanes of dirt served as a patrol route for the green and white trucks of border patrol.

Zach knew the odds were strong that they would be coming. Between the cameras, ground sensors, helicopters, and drones, there was very little chance he would escape their scrutiny.

He found himself crossing a respite of prairie grass and mature trees, the foliage and flat ground a welcome change from the harsh gray and red rock that had monopolized his journey so far.

The island of green was short-lived however, the environment quickly reverting back to scorched, barren surroundings seemingly devoid of all life.

Zach worked his way down a draw, wanting to follow the low ground as much as possible. Neither infrared nor light amplification devices could see through solid rock.

Down he climbed, the rock and stone walls growing steeper as he followed a dry creek bed along the bottom of what was turning out to be a rather deep canyon. The heat was nearly unbearable, Zach constantly depleting the water supply strapped to his back.

It was easy to understand how this part of the Southwest had claimed so many dead. Zach was in good condition, jogged and lifted weights on a regular basis, and had significant drinking water available to him – yet he struggled with the exertion, heat, and dry air.

He noted his body was using far more water than usual, every breath of the low-humidity air drawing critical moisture from his cells. His perspiration was evaporating almost instantly, making his body fight even harder to keep itself cool.

Eventually, his canyon led to a larger valley. Snaking through the bottom of the flatter ground, he spied the route traveled by the border patrol agents. The international boundary was another mile south.

For a moment, Zach was tempted to make a run for it. He could see a reasonable distance in both directions, and there wasn’t any sign of human activity. With his heavy pack, Zach figured he could cross the uneven terrain in about 15 minutes if his legs and lungs held out.

He quickly dismissed the urge. The local agents probably had horses, ATVs, and 4-wheel drive trucks. They could be hiding in a thousand different places. Making such a run in broad daylight was just stupid given how much was riding on his safe passage.

If they caught him, his career was over, he would cause no small amount of embarrassment for Texas, and Mexico would most likely be torn apart. If the U.S. boys were in a vigorous frame of mind, he might even go to jail.

Zach scanned his surroundings again and decided the canyon was his best bet at concealment. Unless a drone or copter flew directly overhead, he would be difficult to spot. Dropping his pack to the ground, he leaned against a large boulder and again pulled a few swallows of water.

After resting a bit, he began removing the gear from his knapsack and setting up camp. There was an old tent, entrenching tool, a small butane powered stove, and a special package he’d prepared just for the trip.

The tent was a mess, complete with worn fabric, unworkable zippers, and a hole large enough for a good sized scorpion to make a nocturnal visit. Zach didn’t care – he wasn’t going to be sleeping tonight.

The fire pit required special care. There was enough dried mesquite and scrub oak lying around to provide fuel. The ranger was careful to dig the pit extra deep on three sides.

He made coffee and heated a camping meal, shoving the last spoonful of the extra-salty beef stew in his mouth just as the sun sat in the west.

Dusk was the perfect light to run the wire and dig his hole.

There was only one way up the small draw to his camp. Zach quickly secured one end of the thinnest fishing line he could find and began unwinding the spool. The first time he tried to test his equipment, he broke the thin, plastic string. The second attempt proved workable.

It was much darker by the time he started digging the spider hole.

He knew the BP would be using night vision and infrared equipment. The light amplification units weren’t his primary concern. It was the infrared that worried Zach the most, and it wasn’t just the agents on the ground that he had to bypass.

Aircraft and fixed position cameras also were equipped with similar technologies.

Moving as close to the mouth of the canyon as he dared, Zach selected a semi-exposed shelf of rock. After picking the best example, he began hacking, scraping and digging out a burrow large enough to conceal most of his oversized frame. It was hot, filthy work.

Next, he unfolded a sheet of radiant barrier material used to insulate houses. The metallic fiber was similar to the thin, Mylar “space” blankets commonly found in emergency kits. According to the manufacturer, it would reflect 95% of the heat generated by his body.

He draped himself in a cloak of the shiny metal fabric and then did the same with his leather duster. Zach knew his two-layered approach wasn’t a long-term solution, as his body heat would eventually bleed through. “All I need is 30 minutes,” he whispered, wishing there had been more time to test his gizmos.

When his spider hole and thermal suit were ready, Zach threw a large bundle of firewood in the pit, connected the wire to his special package, and darted for his hide.

The ranger knew the fire’s signature would point the local CBP toward the canyon. He was hoping it would draw them in like moths to a flame.

Zach was also well aware that the typical border crashers didn’t build fires. He was putting a lot of faith in the never-ending game of cat and mouse played along the international boundary and the continuing creativity of the smugglers. Everything from tunnels to ramps and even catapults had been used for illegal border crossings. He was reasonably sure something unusual, like the flames, would be sure to lure in the agents.

Sliding under the rock and then draping his enhanced duster over the opening, the ranger waited. It was less than 15 minutes before he heard the first engine noise.

Zach was tempted to peer out, but he knew any exposure of his skin could be detected on an infrared reticle. Before long, he could hear several sets of boots working their way toward the camp.

There were at least four of them. Once he was sure they had passed his hide and were approaching his fake camp, Zach felt safe chancing a look through a narrow slit in his heat shield.

With the fire backlighting their approach, he could make out five agents spreading out to approach his lure.

When they were within 20 feet of his fire, he pulled hard on the fishing line.

The thin line tightened, pulling Zach’s package into the flames. Inside the paper bag was what the lady at the fireworks stand called a “multi-stage artillery shell.”

Zach closed his eyes and covered his ears.

It took the fire another few seconds to burn through the paper.

A throbbing white fireball erupted in the canyon, the strobe of blinding light accompanied by an ear-splitting crack of overwhelming noise. The rock surrounding Zach vibrated for a moment, the searing flash visible through his clenched eyelids.  

The fireworks had been designed to be launched skyward and then explode in the brilliant spread of white, thunderous starbursts, quickly followed by secondary poppers and fizzling streaks of color. When the nearly two pounds of powder exploded in the fire, the effect on the agents and their equipment was devastating.

Zach knew modern night vision and infrared devices were equipped with automatic shut-off, “auto-gated” mechanisms. These circuits were meant to protect the sensitive tubes from sudden bursts of light. And that’s just what happened to the CBP equipment.

The human brain suffered a similar condition. While Zach’s surprise, combined with the 3-sided fire pit, didn’t throw any shrapnel, the agents were still disabled. It was if they had been hit with a flashbang grenade of massive proportions.

Blinded, stumbling, and deaf, the border patrol team was completely dazed, none of them noticing Zach sliding out from his hide and running like hell toward the valley below.

He was a good 70 yards behind them, moving as quickly as possible through the rough terrain. He broke out onto the flat valley floor, the smoother ground allowing the lanky Texan to take advantage of his stride.

That’s when Zach spotted the three official-looking SUVs sitting alongside the path. He could clearly hear one of the radios through the otherwise calm, desert night.

With a grunt, the ranger detoured toward the government vehicles, hoping all of the agents had made for the canyon. Sure enough, he found the three SUVs idling unattended.

Zach couldn’t help but grin as he opened the first vehicle’s door. He studied the radio for a moment under the dome light’s glow and then pushed a quick series of buttons. He depressed the microphone’s talk button and wedged the device between the seat and center console, careful to keep the unit transmitting.

With the keys still in the ignition and the broadcasting radio blocking the primary communications channel, Zach closed and locked the door.