Border Crossed - Chapter 10

Taylor was dead asleep, sprawled across the lumpy hotel mattress with one arm dangling off the edge at the elbow. The drawn curtains did little to block the bright afternoon sunlight filtering into the room, not that it did anything to keep Taylor and Whitaker awake. The motel they’d found wouldn’t be considered nice, but it had the benefit of being close to the warehouse where they’d had the shootout with Matthews. The pair had been so tired the night before, neither wanted to spend time looking for accommodations.

It had been almost dawn when they’d finally passed out six hours ago, so it took almost ten rings before the sound of his cell phone broke through to his consciousness.

Whitaker must have been feeling the same because she sleepily mumbled, “Shut up.”

Taylor reached for the end table, his hand slapping faux wood several times before finally finding his cell phone.

Taylor cleared his throat and answered, “Yeah.”

“I talked to a friend in the Mexican federal police,” he heard Solomon say. “He’s agreed to work with you to find Matthews. He’ll meet you at the Stanton-Lerdo crossing in an hour.”

“Excellent,” Taylor said, sitting up.

“They’ll work with you, but you’re there as liaisons only, so you’ll have to take your cues from Captain Ruiz. Catch Matthews, but don’t cause any international incidents.”

Taylor knew Solomon was mostly tweaking his nose, but he knew the director meant it as well.

“I’ll do my best,” Taylor said dryly.

“Uh-huh,” Solomon said, and hung up.

“Get up,” he said, slapping Whitaker on the rump. “We’re going to Mexico.”

Forty minutes later, they were slowly making their way through the busy border crossing. Smaller than the still shut down Paso Del Norte crossing, which was still closed, it was clogged with nearly twice as many people as normal. After showing their badges a few times, they were directed into an emergency lane and were able to bypass the rest of the traffic, finally breezing through. Two patrol cars sat on the other side of the border, three brown uniformed men were leaning on the cars. One had some kind of star on his shoulder lapels, marking him as the highest-ranking of the three, and probably Joe’s guy.

As they pulled their SUV up next to the cars and got out, the man with the shoulder insignia straightened up and stepped forward, hand extended.

“Captain Ruiz,” he introduced himself in accented English. “You must be Agents Taylor and Whitaker.”

“That’s us,” Taylor said.

“I’m grateful for the information you provided about the tunnel. My team was able to seize over two tons of cocaine and make several arrests. It will be a great boon to my career,” Ruiz said, his face breaking into a grin.

“We’re happy to help,” Whitaker said. “Did Director Solomon tell you what is happening?”

“Some,” Ruiz said, becoming more serious as they got down to business. “You are chasing the criminal involved with exploding the Cordova Bridge of the Americas, and he has fled into my country, seeking protection from the Vargas Cartel, yes?”

“Yes,” Whitaker said. “He was also involved with protecting the existence of the tunnel you saw. We discovered his connection last night, but were unable to apprehend him. Considering the number of federal resources in El Paso at the moment and the focus on the multiple bombings he’s been involved with, it seems unlikely he’ll stay in the US. He also has the cartel to think about. Besides failing to protect the tunnel and costing the cartel the cocaine you mentioned, he also killed one of their people in El Paso last night to try and protect the knowledge of his involvement. We believe, in addition to getting outside US Federal jurisdiction, he’s going to come here to explain himself to the Vargas Cartel, since their reach is a lot less limited than ours.”

“It is, at that,” Ruiz said, nodding thoughtfully. “Yes, your thought process does sound reasonable. Unfortunately, we checked our recordings of the major border crossings in the area and saw no one that matched the photograph Director Solomon sent me. Of course, there are many ways to cross the border, all known to the Vargas Cartel, so he would not necessarily need to cross at a place we monitor. In fact, if he knew he was being pursued, he most likely would not. Yes?”

“Probably not,” Taylor agreed. “In that case, if someone was coming here to talk to the cartel, where would they go? Where is the cartel based here in Mexico?”

“They could not go directly to the cartel. Their main operations are actually in Sonora, and they have only extended their reach into Chihuahua within the last several years. If they have close ties to the cartel, they would go directly to Sonora to whoever their contact is, but that would only apply to very high-level people. The Vargas Cartel is currently in a war with two other groups, and is very careful who gets through, so everyone has to go through intermediaries. Right now, they do most of their street-level interactions at the El Escorpión Dorado, a nightclub near the center of town. There, intermediaries determine if the person is safe and worth dealing with. If they are, someone higher up is sent out to talk to the person and either deal with whatever they need or evaluate whether they get to go higher up the chain.”

“Even though he was working on their tunnel, he’d still have to go through some hoops?” Taylor asked.

“Yes. Everyone is kept at arm’s length.”

“So if he was coming here, he’d have to go to this club?”

“Correct,” Ruiz said.

“And you can take us there?” Taylor asked. “I’d like to set up some kind of surveillance, see if he comes through. Assuming he hasn’t beaten us here and already gone there.”

“We can try. Unless you think he would delay, we can keep an eye on it tonight, or we can … how do you Americans say it? Lean on the manager and find out if he’s been in.”

“Works for us,” Taylor said.

Ciudad Juárez was not a huge city and it only took about fifteen minutes for Taylor and Whitaker, following Captain Ruiz, to make it to a fairly plain-looking building with what was probably an impressive sign when it was lit up all the way.

“Our best bet is to talk to the manager,” Ruiz said, climbing out of his patrol car and walking over to Taylor and Whitaker as they climbed out of their SUV. “He doesn’t work for the cartel, as far as I know, but he harbors them and takes their money. He might know where else we can look.”

“Your call,” Taylor said.

They followed Ruiz to the front of the building, and found that the main door was locked. The club might be a popular spot at night, but right now, it was just a plain building and they clearly didn’t want anyone coming inside. It took several minutes of Ruiz banging hard on the front door before it opened, revealing a man in a fairly tight t-shirt whose appearance practically screamed “bouncer” to Taylor. The man was forced to take a sudden step back as Ruiz pushed past him.

The guy was apparently smarter than he looked, because instead of trying to do anything to stop them, the man skittered back before turning and hurrying into the dark room. Without windows and with all of the lights turned off, it was indeed fairly dark inside the club, with the only light coming from behind the bar and from an open door in one corner of the large room.

They were halfway through the large and garishly decorated room, with a large DJ booth against the back wall, when a weaselly man emerged from the open door, looking concerned as he took in Ruiz and the other two officers’ uniforms.

“Soy Javier Ruiz de la Guardia Nacional,” Ruiz said brusquely before switching to English and holding up a photo of Matthews. “We’re looking for this man. Have you seen him?”

The man, glancing at Taylor and Whitaker, said, “No.”

“We know he was here,” Taylor bluffed.

“That may be,” the man said in a heavy accent. “But I have not seen him.”

Ruiz stepped closer. “Your club is a hub for the Vargas Cartel in this area, and they use it to conduct their business. Under Ley Antilavado, everything here can be confiscated by the Guardia and you can be held until we work out what your part in cartel business might be.”

“That’s not necessary,” the man said, holding up his hands defensively. “I run a clean business here.”

“Then I guess you have nothing to worry about. Of course, it could be months before we confirm that, while you are shut down, held in jail, with all of your money frozen.”

The manager licked his lips nervously, glancing between the officers, “Look, I don’t want any trouble …”

“Then start talking,” Whitaker said.

Licking his lips, the man said, “I … I think he was here last night.”

The man’s eyes kept sweeping the room, probably concerned that someone might overhear him. Telling anyone the cartel’s business could be fatal, not that Taylor felt any sympathy for him. He’d made his choice by taking money to provide a safe space for murderers and criminals.

“Did he stay?” Taylor asked.

“He … for a little while. He then left with several men, which was the last time I saw him.”

“Cartel members, right?” Whitaker asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t grow a spine now,” Taylor said. “You know who the cartel members in your club are. These guys aren’t subtle, and you know who’s buttering your bread.”

“They might have been, yes,” the manager said grudgingly.

“Where would they have taken him?” Ruiz asked. “And we know you aren’t some innocent in this, so don’t try saying you don’t know.”

For a moment, Taylor thought he might balk. Confirming someone was a cartel member was a far step from giving out the location of other cartel facilities. Not that he was being given a choice. Ruiz gave one of the officers a nod, prompting the man to pull out a set of handcuffs. The loud metallic click of the handcuff hinge opening was enough to get the manager talking again.

“There’s an old warehouse they use sometimes. They stopped using it for almost six months, but last night, I heard some things … about it being in use again. It’s on the south side of town, just off the highway. Big metal building with no signs or markings.”

“So you’re just guessing that’s where they’d take him?” Whitaker asked.

“No. I mean, it would be a good guess, but … I overheard some of the men talking about it.”

“Was that all they said? ‘Take him to the warehouse’?” Taylor asked. “They didn’t say anything else? And you’re sure which warehouse they’re referring to?”

“Yes, I’m sure which warehouse. It used to be their main place for years, where they did … whatever they did. Six months ago, they switched to somewhere new, and apparently important, because no one would even describe it, let alone give it a name. They would just say ‘the place’ or some other very generalized description. Then suddenly, yesterday, they were talking about the warehouse again, and not just when talking about this man. They mentioned moving to the warehouse, being back at the warehouse, and so on. So yes, I’m sure which warehouse.”

Since their best guess was that they started using the tunnel six months prior, which was the impetus for Sullivan’s taskforce to start up, it wasn’t a surprise that they’d been so secretive about their new base or that yesterday they’d suddenly started talking about using their old one.

“And is that all they said about this man?” Whitaker asked.

“Pretty much. There was something about a shipment, but the other men shut down any conversation about that very fast. That’s all I know, I swear.”

“Arrest him,” Taylor said, jerking his head toward the nervous manager. “We don’t want him making any calls to his cartel buddies at the warehouse.”

Ruiz nodded and turned to one of his men, barking out an order in rapid Spanish. The officer stepped forward, yanking the manager’s arms behind his back and slapping cuffs on his wrists.

“You can’t do this!” the manager sputtered, eyes wide with fear. “I told you everything I know!”

“And we appreciate your cooperation,” Ruiz said dryly. “But we’d prefer if that cooperation remained between us for the time being.”

He nodded to his man again, who began marching the cuffed manager toward the exit. The manager cursed and struggled the whole way, his shouts echoing through the empty club, drawing out some of his employees who’d made themselves scarce when Ruiz and his men had first shown up.

“Let’s move,” Taylor said once the manager was gone. “I doubt Matthews is still there, but I don’t want the trail growing any colder.”

It didn’t take long for Ruiz to get things moving. Fifteen minutes later, they followed Ruiz into a parking lot, where three unmarked SUVs sat. As soon as Ruiz’s cruiser pulled into the lot, six men in tactical gear with the word ‘Policia’ in bold letters across their chests stepped out.

“The warehouse is on the other side of this one,” Ruiz told them as they all met by the SUVs. “They aren’t great about keeping much of a watch, but they’ll have cameras around the building, so it’s best if we stage here.”

“If they have cameras, we’ll have to move in fast.”

“That’s the plan,” one of the men in tactical gear said, with an accent even thicker than Ruiz’s.

“Fernando here is one of our tactical squad leaders and will take the lead. I’ll accompany them, but you and my guys will wait here until it’s taken care of. Once Fernando has the area cleared, we’ll call you to come join us.”

“The hell I will,” Taylor said. “I’m not just going to sit out here while you go after Matthews. I want him.”

“Agent Taylor, we cannot allow a foreign national to participate in this kind of action.”

“Matthews killed a lot of our people, more than he has of yours. We all know how things go down here, and how much influence the cartels have. I’m not going to give someone working for them a chance to let him go or put him down so he can’t tell us anything. I want to be there when he’s apprehended.”

“I do not think I care for what you’re implying,” Ruiz said.

“I’m not implying anything. I’m straight out …”

“Captain,” Whitaker said, interrupting. “I think what Taylor is trying to express is that, while we appreciate your cooperation so far, we all know that this is a very informal arrangement. Both of our governments are keen to put an end to the spike in violence that has happened over the last several months, and both want it to be done as quietly as possible. I’m sure any irregularities that might occur with letting Taylor and I join in this raid will be made up for by this being taken care of between us in the field, without the need to involve anyone else. I think you’ll agree with me that the best work gets done when our bosses stay out of our way.”

Ruiz looked back at Taylor for a moment, eyeing him hard, before saying, “Fine, you can join, but you will stay behind Fernando and his men, and do exactly as he says.”

“Agreed,” Whitaker said. “And don’t mind Taylor. He can be a bit of a dick when he thinks he’s about to get left out of the fun … and Matthews screwed him over, so it’s become personal for him.”

“Sure, I get it,” Ruiz said, slapping Taylor on the shoulder. “No hard feelings.”

“Thanks,” Taylor said.

As Taylor and Whitaker went back to their SUV to retrieve their vests and gear, Taylor said, “Thanks for throwing me under the bus.”

“You threw yourself under there,” Whitaker said. “I just made sure it only ran you over a little bit. Remember, they’re doing us a favor by being here, so try to keep from actively pissing them off. Okay?”

“I’ll try,” Taylor said.

After everyone was geared up and had their weapons checked, Taylor and Whitaker followed Ruiz and Fernando’s team toward the neighboring warehouse. Despite its remote location, the building was surprisingly large, though clearly run down and dilapidated.

As they approached from the side, the tactical team stacked up alongside a rusted metal door. Fernando tested the handle and found it unlocked. With a quick hand signal, two of his men swung the door open, allowing the rest to swiftly enter, weapons raised.

The inside was dimly lit and dusty. They cleared a few empty offices and storage rooms before reaching a cavernous main area. The space was filled with rows of wooden crates and cardboard boxes stacked almost to the ceiling.

Fanning out, they began sweeping down the rows of crates. When they were about halfway through the room, a shout in Spanish rang out from their left. Taylor spun to see a cartel gunman appear from behind a stack of crates. As Fernando’s team engaged the threat, nearly a dozen more cartel members emerged from hiding, weapons blazing.

The firefight was beyond chaotic. Muzzle flashes lit up the shadowy corners as bullets ricocheted wildly. Fernando barked orders as his men flanked the cartel members, attempting to surround them.

Slowly advancing a row or so behind the officers, Taylor spotted a cartel gunman peeking around a corner, apparently trying to do the same thing the officers were trying to do to the cartel. As he was slightly behind the group, Taylor found himself with a clear shot. Firing twice, he hit his mark center mass, sending the man crumbling to the ground.

Taylor’s shot was a magnet, drawing the attention, and fire, of several cartel members in their direction. Bullets peppered the crates around them as Taylor and Ruiz dove for cover.

Whitaker, who hadn’t seen the cartel members swinging their weapons in their direction, didn’t move as fast. When she finally began to retreat for cover, a round caught her in the vest, spinning her sideways before she dropped hard next to a stack of crates.

Ruiz, who was closer to Whitaker, quickly crawled over and dragged her motionless body further behind the crates. Taylor laid down a burst of cover fire, not hitting anyone but putting their heads down enough to keep Ruiz safe as the captain retrieved Taylor’s wife.

“How is she?” Taylor hollered at Ruiz, trying to have his voice be heard over the cacophony.

He’d seen the round hit her squarely in the vest, but he’d seen plates fail and specialty bullets punch through the ceramic and steel vests before. Thankfully, this time, it seemed to do its job. Whitaker answered for Ruiz by sticking her middle finger up at him while still lying on her back.

If she had her sense of humor intact, then she was fine, Taylor reasoned. She’d still be out for most of this fight, though. The vest might keep you alive, but the bullet still hit like a kicking mule, and at the moment, she was probably gasping for air.

Leaving her in Ruiz’s hands, Taylor stuck his head up, and dropped back down as a man up on a catwalk nearly shot it off. Moving left, Taylor popped up again. Unlike Taylor, the man on the catwalk didn’t have cover to hide behind and could do little about the two bullets Taylor sent ripping into him. At that range, it had been a tough shot, but Taylor had made harder ones, and nodded to himself in satisfaction as the man tumbled over the railing and crashed to the warehouse floor below.

Sliding the magazine out, he replaced it with a firm slap, working the slide to ensure he had a round in the chamber. Although he’d lost track of how many shots he’d taken, as sometimes happened in a fight like this, he knew he was running short, and the last thing he wanted was to turn a corner and end up face-to-face with a gunman or two, only to have his weapon run dry.

Whatever Taylor had planned to do next was interrupted as an explosion suddenly rocked the building. Debris rained down as a plume of smoke billowed up near the center of the room. Taylor wasn’t sure if someone had thrown a grenade or had just hit something that they weren’t supposed to hit, but it was enough of a blast to send waves of smoke and dust rolling through the rest of the open room.

Ducking his head to try and avoid taking a face full of whatever was in the dark cloud, Taylor spotted movement in his peripheral vision. Turning, he saw what he’d been looking for. Matthews was running across the room in a low crouch, moving alongside two other men. They were fleeing around a corner into what looked like a small office space at the rear of the warehouse.

“I see him,” Taylor yelled at Ruiz.

Not bothering to wait for a response from Ruiz, he pushed up into his own low crouch, to stay below the boxes he’d been using as cover, and immediately gave chase, sprinting after them through the haze. The room definitely looked like some kind of an internal office and not an exit of any kind, and for a moment, Taylor wondered why Matthews might allow himself to be caught in a dead end like that. Not that it mattered to Taylor. He was going to get his former friend one way or another. Coming around the corner hard, weapon in front of him, ready for whatever he might encounter, Taylor drew up short.

Where he’d expected to find Matthews and a few cartel thugs ready to shoot it out with him, instead, he found an empty office. While it held the normal things you’d find in a room like that: desk, bookshelf, and the like, it, disappointingly, didn’t hold any people.

Taylor couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of the door once Matthews went through it and was positive they didn’t double back when he wasn’t looking. He didn’t know how the man did it, but once again he had slipped through Taylor’s fingers.

Cursing under his breath, Taylor returned to the main room after one last futile glance behind him. The smoke was clearing, revealing a scene of carnage and destruction. As with all firefights like this, it had been quick and short, the whole thing ending in under three minutes. Fernando’s team was combing through the area, their weapons still ready, but they weren’t finding any further threats.

Taylor had to hand it to the Mexicans; they knew their business. Ruiz’s men were as effective as most of the FBI teams he’d worked with over the last few years. Sure, they weren’t up to the standards of the men he’d served with in the service; but then, few were. Even still, they did their jobs, and they did them well. Although not without a price.

It looked like three of Fernando’s men had been injured. Two would live, one with superficial wounds and one with a bullet to the ankle that would heal in time. Unfortunately, the third would never get up again. A lucky shot had gone in between his shoulder and the vest, from a shooter somewhere above, traveling down into the man’s body. Taylor didn’t know if it had been painless, but at least his death had been quick.

Thinking of casualties, Taylor went to check on Whitaker, who was now propped up against one of the crates.

“You okay?” He asked, kneeling next to her.

“I’ll live. Don’t think it broke anything, but Sweet Jesus that hurt.”

“Gotta move faster next time,” Taylor said with a grin.

“Bite me,” she said, giving a brief smile that quickly turned into a grimace. “Did you get Matthews?”

“No. Bastard slipped away again, although I don’t have any clue how.”

“Where?” Ruiz, who’d stayed with Whitaker, asked.

Taylor jerked his head toward the small office, “In there. I saw him go through the door with two others and followed them, but when I got in the room, they were nowhere to be seen.”

As he described it, Taylor led Ruiz into the office. It was nondescript, just as he recalled, with no hint of Matthews or his compatriots.

Ruiz slowly paced the room, looking here and there, before saying, “There has to be a hidden passage. The cartels love their tunnels. I’ll radio for a forensics team to tear this place apart. If they disappeared here, we’ll find their escape route.”

“Yeah, I know about the tunnels.”

“I guess you do,” Ruiz said, giving Taylor a tired smile.

“Even if you guys find the tunnel, he’s going to be long gone.”

Before Ruiz could respond, an officer poked his head into the office and said something rapidly in Spanish.

Ruiz nodded and said, “We need to get back out front. My men are gathering up anything relevant.”

The three of them returned to the main warehouse, where Fernando intercepted them, a string of rapid-fire Spanish spilling out of his mouth. After the officer gestured to several boxes, Taylor walked over to them, finding some of the lids already pried off, probably by Ruiz’s people when they started to go through the warehouse.

“They don’t know what this is, but they are finding a lot of it,” Ruiz said from behind him.

“I know what it is,” Taylor said dryly. “We found a lot of this in the warehouse in El Paso when Matthews got away the first time. I swear, this is getting old.”

“What is it?” Ruiz asked.

“Something he shouldn’t have,” Taylor said, giving the stealth material one last glance before turning to face Ruiz directly. “I’m not going to tell you how to do your job, but you’re sitting on a potential international incident. None of this stuff should be in civilian hands, let alone in another country, and I’m pretty confident in saying the US Government will go to great lengths to get it back. If it was me, I’d ask a team from the US to come and retrieve their property; but again, I’m not going to tell you how to do your job. What I will say is I need to find Matthews, and I need to do it fast. He’s going to start causing a lot bigger problems for both of our bosses than a few bodies.”

Ruiz looked thoughtful at this. Taylor had considered trying not to draw any attention to the materials in the boxes, but Ruiz didn’t strike Taylor as a fool. This stuff was here for a reason, and Ruiz would consider it to be important. Without prompting, he would look into it, and eventually, someone with enough experience would recognize the material for what it was.

“There are some people I can talk to who might know where they have taken your friend,” Ruiz said after a long pause.

“Great, let’s go.”

“I’m sorry, but this time you cannot come with me. Some of these men … they will not have a good reaction if I show up at their door with two gringos in tow. I will have some of my men lead you back to the station. It’s mostly my people and generally well-run. Wait for me there, and I will see what I can do.”

Taylor hated the idea of being shuffled off while someone else was making things happen; but this wasn’t his turf, and one of the things he’d learned in the Special Forces was that when you're working with locals, listening to them was the best thing a soldier could do. You had to listen past their biases and the chance they might be feeding you what you wanted to hear, but dealing with that was always better than coming in with preconceived notions of what you thought should happen. That was the way the brass treated Afghanistan, and it hadn’t worked out so well for them.

“Fine,” Taylor said.

Of course, agreeing to go wait for Ruiz didn’t mean he would wait for long.