Stephen Randel - Trail of the Chupacabra

“In the bus.”

“Where’s the bus?”

“Not far from the compound,” General X-Ray said.

“Is there a reward for this so-called Padre?” Avery asked.

“Naturally,” General Morales replied. “Up to ten million U.S. dollars, depending on the level of involvement.”

“Well, I can help you get your man. I know where he’s heading. Take me with you, and I can work on the rest of the computer files on the way.”

“Colonel, do you want to take him with you?”

“If he can help me track down the Padre, yes,” Cesar said.

“Then take him.”

“Where’s the Padre headed?” Cesar asked Avery.

“I would say we should head toward Monterrey. His calendar shows a meeting regarding methamphetamine production will take place there soon. I also noticed something about a secure communications network. It explains the transmitter in the desert that I executed. I may be able to tap into it for you.”

“How?” General Morales asked.

“General, here’s the deal. I could try to explain it to you, but the process is so incredibly complex it would most likely cause blood to pour out of your ears.”

“General Morales,” Cesar said, “that may explain why we suddenly lost all trace of communication with the Padre’s cartel through the traditional cell phone networks a few months ago. This man could be useful.”

“Take him with you, then.”

“Okay, I’ll get our men ready to move out. We can be in the air in less than thirty minutes. General Morales, what do you want me to do with the rest of these people?”

“Let the woman and the wrestler go with the understanding that everything that happened here last night, never happened. I don’t want the press to find out the Padre evaded us again. As for the Americans, take them to the border and turn them over to the U.S. authorities.” General Morales turned to face the men of STRAC-BOM. “You should feel very lucky I don’t charge you for being in this country illegally. You’re not welcome back in Mexico. Ever.”

“Fine by me,” said Private Zulu. “This place is crazy, and the food sucks. Goddamn plastic chickens.”

“What about Ziggy?” Avery asked.

“Your missing friend,” said General Morales. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have the resources to look for him right now. I need every available asset focused on the Padre. If we don’t move fast, he’ll disappear forever. Your friend is on his own for now.”

A worried look crept across Avery’s face. He knew Ziggy wasn’t very good on his own.

Back in the desert, an ancient Aztec pyramid filled Ziggy’s dreams. Not a tall pyramid like the ones found in Egypt, but lower and flatter. It was symmetrical and perfectly alabaster, as if geometry and art were as one. Ziggy thought it was beautiful. He thought it was perfect. Unfortunately, there were two problems with this image for Ziggy: One, the steps of the pyramid were lined with canine creatures made of stone, and two, their eyes seemed very, very, real. They all seemed to be staring right at him. In his sleep, Ziggy began to sweat and toss. The red eyes of the beasts looked right into him. They looked right through him. He tried to get up and run, but he couldn’t move. Slowly, in his dream, the clouds in the night sky parted to reveal a perfectly full moon. It began to turn red. Ziggy fought his paralysis. Slowly, very slowly, he made it to his feet, but it was as if he was moving in quicksand. His mind was completely awake. It screamed at him to run, but his body wouldn’t respond. On the pyramid, the creatures slowly began to move. One by one, they began to climb down the levels of the pyramid. Ziggy tried with all his might to turn and run, but his limbs wouldn’t respond quickly enough. By the time he’d taken his first step, they were on him…

“Like, Jesus Christ, man!” Ziggy screamed as he woke from his nightmare. Leaping into the air, he ran around in circles and waved his hands over his head. “Shit, like, shit, like, shit, like, shit, man. I don’t, like, need this hassle!” Ziggy looked around. He was in the middle of a canyon. The sun was bearing down on him. Scattered around his feet were the tarot cards. Suddenly it all came back. The trip to Mexico, the firefight at the farmhouse…all of it came back. Ziggy sat down and tried to meditate. It didn’t work; it was too hot, and he was too thirsty. He tried again.

“Ohmmmm, ohmmmm,” Ziggy hummed as he sat in the lotus position with his thumb and index finger pressed together. “Ohmmmm, ohmmmm,” he continued, until it gradually began to feel cooler. Slowly, his thirst diminished. Little by little, his body began to relax. Progressively, his mood improved, and the pain in his bloody knees subsided. Then he heard something. At first it wasn’t clear. Then, slowly, it came into focus. It was coming from inside his head. He strained to understand its meaning. Bit by bit, it became clearer. Then, as if someone had turned the volume on the stereo up to eleven, he could make it out perfectly.

They can come in pretty handy when you don’t know what to do , the voice said. Ziggy was confused.

They can come in pretty handy when you don’t know what to do , the voice inside his head repeated itself.

That’s, like, so familiar, man , Ziggy thought to himself. Like, where did I hear that before?

They can come in pretty handy when you don’t know what to do .

“Mae Mae!” Ziggy screamed, leaping to his feet. He ran around the canyon floor, scooping up the loose tarot cards.

Outside the Mexican Army’s mobile operations area, two helicopters began to spin up their rotors. Commandos refitted with fresh weapons and ammunition climbed into the choppers. General X-Ray looked on enviously as he and his men were led to a military truck for transport to the border. He wanted one of those helicopter things, bad.

“Colonel,” General Morales said to Cesar, “what happened to your man on the inside?”

“I don’t know, General. I followed him into the tunnel myself. When I got there, it was only the body of Carnicero. Nothing else.”

“Is this man a mercenary?”

“He never asked for money.”

“Then why would he help you?”

“I guess it was personal.”

“With the Padre and him, or you and him?”

“General…”

“It’s okay, Colonel.” Morales put his hand on Cesar’s shoulder. “Look, Colonel, I know who he is. I know who he was. This fight we’re in the middle of is so upside down, you don’t know whom you can or can’t trust anymore. I promise you this, as long as he can help us apprehend the Padre, I don’t care who he is. I never will. I won’t ever come after him for things he did in the past if…if we can do this. But I need to know, can you handle him? Can you trust him right now?”

“Yes, sir,” Cesar said as he stood at attention and saluted.

“Good, then.” The General returned the salute. “Now, what about that one?” General Morales pointed at Avery, who was busy arguing with a soldier as he tried to load a case of Mountain Dew onto an army helicopter.

“I don’t know. I can’t decide if we really need him or not.”

“Should I be worried about this mission?”

“About the American?”

“No, I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about El Barquero,” General Morales said. “I don’t know what he is going to do.”

“I trust him, sir. He can help.”

“Okay.” General Morales paused for a second. “Get on your helicopter, Colonel. Bring me the Padre…dead or alive.” Cesar turned toward the helicopter, which was spinning up for takeoff. “Colonel.” Cesar looked back at his superior. “Don’t let the American get killed. I’ve got enough paperwork to deal with already.” Cesar nodded and boarded the chopper just as it took off.