Michelle Gagnon - The Gatekeeper

“Yeah? I’ve never seen anything like it.” Taylor shook his head. “Who else?”

“Bunch of skinheads in Arizona.”

“ Arizona? That connected to the Morris killing?” Taylor ’s eyebrows knit together. He was in his early forties, dark hair gelled back and a suit that had seen better days.

“We think so, but we’re not sure,” Kelly said.

“What’s with the float?” Taylor jerked his head toward it.

“The Mexicans said they were supposed to ride in the parade next week, then slip off into the crowd.”

Taylor shook his head. “This pair has Minutemen written all over them. Can’t figure out why they’d be running illegals.”

“We can’t, either,” Kelly said. “Have you had any trouble with them before?”

Taylor shrugged. “ICE will be here soon, they’ll have more information. There have been scattered reports here and there, bodies found in the desert, rumors that some of these guys have gone vigilante. But nothing solid.”

“Nothing you’ve pursued, you mean,” Rodriguez said.

Taylor narrowed his eyes. “Like I said, that falls to the folks at ICE. But you know how it is down here. Locals are complaining that the fence isn’t enough to stop them. But it’s harder to make it across now, so more illegals try the desert. The number of them who die out there has skyrocketed. They found ten young girls this week, they’d been dead a few days so there wasn’t much left. And there’s less and less money to do anything about it. I got a pal works the border, he’s supposed to cover three hundred miles a night on his rounds. He stopped driving an ATV after nearly losing his head running into a trip wire the coyotes strung up. Then, if he catches anyone, he’s supposed to stop them himself. Half the time they scatter or throw rocks at him. Maybe he gets one or two.”

“And I thought we had a shit job,” Rodriguez said.

Taylor nodded. “No kidding, they should get combat pay. And God help them if they stumble across drug runners, some of those gangs carry UZIs. So folks around here turn a blind eye to people doing something about it. The Minutemen refer to themselves as true patriots, claim they’re keeping America safe for Americans.” He jerked his head in the direction of the office. “My guess is these boys fall in that category.”

“But their side business is running people across the border? That doesn’t make sense.” Kelly’s brows knit together.

Taylor shrugged. “Nope, you’re right. And what’s the connection to the Morris case?” She and Rodriguez didn’t answer. He eyed them, then said, “So what’s your next step, barring these guys talking?”

“There’s another place to check in Texas,” Kelly said. “Outside Houston.”

“You got enough for a warrant?”

“Maybe, based on this bust. We could claim linkage, say we suspect a similar criminal enterprise is taking place since they’re both owned by the same shell corporation.”

“I know a friendly judge in that district. You want me to make a call?” Taylor offered.

“That would be great,” Kelly said.

“Guessing you’ll need backup, too,” Taylor said, glancing at Rodriguez. “I gotta say, you look like hell.”

“Thanks,” Rodriguez said wryly.

“There are some good people in the Houston office, I’ll see about getting them to tag along.” Taylor glanced at his watch. “You catch the next flight, you could be there in a couple of hours. I’ll try to have everything ready by then.”

“Listen, we really appreciate the help,” Kelly said, scrambling to her feet. “You sure you don’t need us here?”

“Nah, it’s all over except for the paperwork. But next time you kick up a shitstorm like this, I’d appreciate a heads-up first.”

“Will do,” Kelly said, neglecting to add that hopefully there wouldn’t be a next time, at least not for her. “And if you wouldn’t mind waiting a few hours to process our friends, we’d appreciate that.”

“You want to make sure they don’t warn their buddies in Houston, huh?” Taylor grinned. “I think it’ll take some time to get them to a telephone.”

“Perfect,” Kelly said. Taylor shook her hand, then headed back inside.

“So I’m guessing this means we don’t get to sleep?” Rodriguez asked, stretching his arms above his head and yawning for dramatic effect. “Or have a decent meal?”

“Later. We need to jump on this before anyone gets wind of what happened here.” Kelly felt a rush of adrenaline. They were onto something, she could feel it. And whatever was in Houston might provide the final piece that explained everything.

“Yeah, yeah. Duty calls.”

“You don’t have to come, you know.” Kelly eyed him. In spite of his joking tone, he looked exhausted and there was a thread of pain in his voice. “I’ll have backup.”

“And miss out on seeing Houston? Never,” Rodriguez said. He lurched clumsily to his feet, wincing. His limp seemed worse as she followed him back inside.

As they walked past the processing table that had been set up, Kelly avoided the pleading eyes of the illegals. They were being taken to a detention center, then in all likelihood would be shipped back across the border.

“Señora!” one of them called out. “Por favor!”

Kelly ignored them and kept walking. She tried not to think about all those bodies in the desert, the ones who had failed. In a few weeks, some of these people might be facing the same obstacles again, undertaking the long, deadly trek through the wilderness. Jethro glared as she passed him. He and Jim were shackled to chairs, a couple of agents standing guard over them.

Kelly’s phone buzzed, the caller ID reading ASAC McLarty. Kelly hit the ignore button. She’d have to call her boss soon to get approval for marshaling Houston field office agents, and for the warehouse search warrant. It was a conversation she wasn’t looking forward to. In fact, there was a good chance that by this time tomorrow, she would officially be out of a job.

“Motorcycles,” Jake said. His voice was muffled, shirt pulled up over his mouth to filter the smoke. They were still a hundred feet from the house, but rolling clouds of soot swept through the trees, stinging his nose and tightening his chest. There was a line of bikes parked a few feet away. “Maybe that Stockton gang Dante hung with. You think the Grants were in there when it lit up?”

“I doubt it,” Syd said, fumbling with her radio. “Otherwise the bikes would be gone. Dangel must’ve drawn them off with the van so that Maltz could get the others out.”

“God, I hope you’re right,” Jake said, watching the fire lick the nearest trees. “This whole place is going to be destroyed if the fire department doesn’t get here soon.”

“Not likely. An area like this, it’s probably all volunteer. Might take them an hour, minimum.” Speaking into her radio, she said, “Maltz, this is Syd. Do you read?”

They both listened. Static poured out. Then the sound of Maltz’s voice, choked and garbled.

“Can you make that out?” Jake asked.

Syd shook her head. “Nope, they must already be over the hill.” She squinted past what remained of the house toward the river. On the farside, foothills lined the horizon.

“But on the plus side, it sounds like they’re still alive,” Jake said.

“Maltz, at least.” Syd walked briskly back toward the car. “We need to find a road close to where they’ll come out. Let’s check the map.”

Suddenly, she bucked forward. Jake heard the concussion a beat later. He instinctively dove to the ground and scrambled for cover behind the nearest tree. Syd lay facedown ten feet in front of him. She wasn’t moving.

“Syd!” he hissed.