The Territory: A Novel (26 page)

Dooley asked Bloster, “Does that driver know he’ll be taking rival gang members?”

Bloster looked at him blankly. He felt as if his brain could not process any new information.

“These three are from the Medrano cartel. They were the three that crossed the border to blow this one out of jail.” Dooley turned and pointed to a prison cell behind him, where Gutiérrez stood watching from behind the bars. “I figured they’d send two vans. One for these three, and one for the La Bestia dirtbag behind us.”

Bloster could think of nothing to say. He just knew he needed all four prisoners out of the jail by midnight. “Let’s get these three loaded. We’ll get their hands and feet locked into the bars on the van. They should be safe enough.”

Dooley raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Whatever.”

Each of the three prisoners’ hands was handcuffed separately to a bar behind their lower backs. Each of their feet was shackled in a similar manner to the floor of the van, and a chain was wrapped around their waists like a belt and attached to another hook behind their backs. Under some circumstances, Bloster would have thought the setup was overkill. Tonight, he thought it was a good idea. Bloster didn’t know what might be in store for the four prisoners, but he suspected Gutiérrez was in trouble.

Back at the cell, Dooley held his nightstick in one hand and the handcuffs in another as Bloster unlocked the cell door. Dooley rocked back on his heels, jutting his large stomach out farther and tapped his nightstick on his palm, letting the handcuffs dangle from his finger.

As the door opened, Gutiérrez moved to the back of his cell, his face stricken. “You can’t take me with them! They’ll kill me!”

Dooley smiled at Bloster. “Get a load a this. This guy thinks it’s okay for him to kill people, but it’s not okay for people to kill
him
. He didn’t watch
Sesame Street
when he was little.”

Bloster ignored Dooley and turned Gutiérrez around, twisting his arm in the sling until he cried out in pain. Bloster gritted his teeth and snapped the cuffs on. Finally in enough pain, Gutiérrez submitted to Bloster and Dooley and made the trek to the transport van, walking between the two of them.

The driver was standing at the back of the van, guarding the three prisoners when Bloster opened the side door and pushed Gutiérrez in, locking his hands and feet to the bars. He faced forward, and the three prisoners behind him immediately started with barbs, spoken in Spanish, but the intent was clear. It would be a long ride for all of them.

Bloster had no idea who the driver of the van was or how he had obtained federal papers, but the way Bloster saw it, he was in the clear. If he was questioned by Sheriff Martínez, he would say the feds called him, stating he needed to come into work to take care of the prisoners, the paperwork was in order, and he had followed orders. The whole transaction took less than an hour, and aside from the suitcase of money, it felt like a dozen other transports he had worked over the past few years. He could not believe his luck.

*   *   *

By eight thirty, Josie had paced around the perimeter of the observation deck a dozen times. There had been no movement toward her house, and Scratchgravel Road was empty. Dell had asked Josie if she’d considered what kind of retaliation she might receive when Medrano discovered the prisoners were released but moved to a maximum-security prison. She had no answer, though she thought of little else.

At 8:45
P.M.,
Josie noticed a line of four cars on the Mexican side heading westbound toward the access road along the Rio. She pointed them out to Dell, who was already standing up from his chair.

“They’re headed toward Flat Rock,” Josie said.

“Can they get those cars through the river?”

“It’s wide and shallow enough. That’s how they’ve been crossing.”

“Wouldn’t you think they’d realize police and Border Patrol use this tower to watch them?” he asked.

“Imagine how many times they’ve crossed unnoticed. We use this only when we have confirmed suspicions. We don’t have enough manpower to make good use of it.”

They watched the first car make a turn at the river, and there was no doubt about their intent.

“That’s it. Let’s head out before we lose them,” she said.

Dell’s duffel bag was already packed back up, and he slung it over his shoulder and took off down the steps. Josie threw both guns in her bag and followed Dell. About twenty feet from the bottom, her cell phone vibrated. She slowed, fished it out of her shirt pocket, and answered, hanging on to the stair railing with her other hand and feeling for the dark steps below with her foot.

“This is Escobedo. Everything is in place. Bloster’s in the jail preparing the prisoners. We should be on the road within fifteen minutes. He’s seen the money. I’ve got two agents outside ready to make the arrest once he takes possession.”

Josie blew air out. “We have trouble. I’m at the watchtower. I just watched one of four cars cross the access point they’ve been using on the river.” Josie heard a string of profanity and went on. “I’m just getting off the tower. I’ve lost the visual, but I hear them. They’re northbound on River Road, headed toward town.”

“So they’re either illegals, or Medrano’s clan come to break the prisoners free,” Escobedo said. “Call me back when you’re on the road and have a visual.”

“This isn’t a transport of illegals. They don’t work this way. Not out in the open with this many cars together. We need to prepare for the worst.”

“Bloster’s coming out the door now. How far away are you from the jail?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Get DPS and Border Patrol on the phone to work with local dispatch. I’ve got to square up with Bloster and get on the road. I don’t want a shoot-out at the jail. I want as many patrol units as you can find to escort this van out of town and stop those cars. Just keep the sheriff’s department out of it.”

Within minutes, Josie had caught up with the four cars and made visual contact. Dell was sitting quietly in the passenger seat beside her, but she knew he was watching for anything that could cause them problems.

She called Escobedo back to confirm she had them in her sights; his phone went to voice mail. They were driving the speed limit, and Josie hung back a safe distance with the headlights on her car still off. The moon and a sky full of stars provided just enough light for her to see the road.

Josie and Dell both rolled their windows up as dust started to fill the car. Josie’s eyes had begun to water and her throat felt caked with dirt.

Dell pointed out the front windshield. “Look how much the wind has picked up just since we were on the tower. I can see the dust swirls on the highway even in the dark.”

Josie said, “I think Escobedo is making a big mistake, Dell. There’s no way you and I can pull over four cars, but if we called in the sheriff’s department right now, we might get lucky. We need these cars stopped before they reach that van. We just don’t have enough manpower.”

“Was that a direct order?” Dell asked. “Can you call the Sheriff’s men in yourself?”

Josie gripped the steering wheel, realizing every second counted against them. “It was an order. I can’t even call the Guard out, because I can’t reach Moss. We better get some help soon or we’ll all end up dead.”

*   *   *

Bloster locked the last prisoner’s handcuffs to the handrail in front of his seat in the transport van. He was sweating, his heart racing. He was about to accept two hundred thousand dollars and had to make the decision to trust the process the driver had explained, or to leave his home tonight and start a new life in Mexico.

The driver called Bloster to the front of the van, where the man once again presented the briefcase. Bloster nodded, took the case, and walked toward his patrol car in the back of the employee parking lot, trying to keep from running.

As he reached his car, two men in navy suits exited a dark gray Crown Victoria parked three cars away from his patrol car.

The taller man stopped walking and pointed a gun directly at him. “I’m Detective Marcus Hammond with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is my partner, Bill Smithers. You are under arrest. Set the case on the ground and raise both hands in the air.”

The shorter of the two men wore a grim expression and continued toward Bloster with his badge held up for Bloster to inspect. Bloster saw the driver of the van standing in the parking lot, taking pictures.

Bloster looked back at the agent.

“Put the case on the ground and raise your hands in the air. Now!”

His hands were numb, his body in shock. He slowly sat the case down beside him. What he had taken for luck was a setup by the feds. He noticed several National Guardsmen across the street watching his arrest and feared he might vomit.

The shorter agent took the case and walked away while the taller man cuffed Bloster and turned him around toward the van. The agent read the list of crimes he was being charged with and mirandized him as he watched the driver enter the van with the prisoners and drive off. Bloster realized he had just prepared an actual transport for the feds. That was why it had looked legitimate. Because it was.

*   *   *

Josie was driving sixty miles per hour in the dark with her lights off on a road that was paved but pockmarked and washed out down to gravel in some areas. She was three miles from the courthouse in Artemis when Escobedo reached her on his cell phone and said he had just pulled out from the jail.

“The four cars are probably five minutes from you. They have to have a lookout posted next to the jail, watching for the transport van,” she said.

“I just hope it wasn’t someone in the sheriff’s department.”

Josie blew air out in frustration. She thought he was wrong about Sheriff Martínez being involved.

“I think we need the sheriff’s men out here. We can’t handle four cars,” Josie said.

“Absolutely not. There’s too many unknowns with him. You’ve got DPS and Border Patrol on their way. Correct?”

“I’m afraid they won’t make it in time. If you stay on River Road, you’re about thirty minutes from Highway 67. We need to get these cars stopped before we reach the highway. Are you familiar with the Arroyo Pass?”

“I’ve taken it a few times,” he said.

“You think your van could make it?”

The Arroyo Pass was a dry gully that could flow like the Nile during heavy rains and flash flooding. It led from River Road in Artemis to Highway 67, and cut off about ten minutes of drive time. The dirt road was no problem for the locals, but it was rough without four-wheel drive, and the blowing dust would make it harder to navigate at night.

“I don’t know. These vans are about worthless on anything but paved road.”

“The arroyo has quite a bit of rock in the bottom of it,” Josie said. “I think you’d be okay. And it might throw the Mexicans off your trail.”

“Might be worth the risk,” he said, his tone doubtful.

“We’d be isolated if things turn bad. If you made it all the way to the highway before Medrano’s men caught up to you, we’d be home free,” Josie said.

“I can make it. Get dispatch to set up a roadblock before we reach 67. Call Presidio PD and see if they can send officers. We need every car they can find. I’ve got only one deputy with me in the back with the prisoners. Any idea how many people are in the cars?” he asked.

“I can’t tell. I’m about a half mile from them. When we drive through Artemis, I’ll catch up and scope them out under the streetlights in town.”

She shut her cell phone and gave Dell the phone number to the police station.

“Call Lou and have her tell Otto and Marta we need them at the Arroyo immediately.”

Josie called Don Steele, the Presidio chief of police. He said he had one car already on 67. He promised two more units within ten minutes. Lou, over at dispatch, signaled Josie on her portable radio and said DPS and Border Patrol were en route to destination, but she couldn’t tell Josie how many cars or how soon.

River Road passed through the center of Artemis, directly past the jail, and connected with the Arroyo two miles out. Escobedo called and said he had turned off, and the dust and wind were causing poor visibility. He was worried about staying on the road.

Josie pulled behind the four vehicles at the lone red light in downtown Artemis. Under the streetlights, she discovered each of the cars appeared to carry at least four men.

She told Escobedo, “We’re talking at least sixteen men, most likely armed, coming up against three officers,” she said.

“I hope we didn’t make a mistake coming down this pass. I’ll check back in. I need to focus on the road. The wind is really picking up.” Escobedo, clearly unnerved, disconnected again.

Dell unzipped the duffel bag on his lap. “Count me in as a fourth, Josie.”

“You can’t use those guns. You’ll end up in jail over a fight that’s not yours. Just stay in the car and cover me if things go wrong.”

Josie could feel Dell staring at her from the passenger seat. “The last standoff with the explosives? They lost that round. Those boys don’t intend to lose this one. You better use every resource you have.”

Josie’s stomach was on fire. It would kill her if something happened to Dell. She never should have brought him with her.

Once through Artemis, the four cars picked up speed dramatically until they reached Arroyo Pass, then slowed down abruptly, trying to decide which route the van had taken.

The dust was blowing so heavily now that the van’s tracks had vanished. Arroyo Pass was visible only because of the green sign that designated it a road. The pass was approximately twenty feet wide, and it ranged from three feet to about five feet deep, making it very hard to drive up and out of the arroyo once a car was in it. The bottom was covered with small rocks and sand, which Josie hoped would be easier for the larger van to navigate than the cars the Mexicans were driving.

Apparently familiar with the area, the two lead cars headed straight into the Arroyo and the two behind them veered off down Highway 67. Josie followed the cars down into the Arroyo, but within minutes, the other two cars had turned around and were behind her.