Notice:  Includes adult themes and violence not suitable for young readers.

Chapter 3 (Excerpt)

January 12, 2001 -- Tucson, Arizona

For Maggie Lopez, marriage and motherhood could wait awhile.

Her short black hair set off her naturally light-brown complexion and hazel eyes.  Her nose was more Anglo than Mexican.  

In high school she had been captain of the tennis team and helped win the state title.  Voting her “class clown,” the yearbook also stated that she would likely succeed in “show-biz.” 

Maggie worked out three times a week, jogged every day, and loved it.  Her job required that she take a tough physical test every year.  She was a proud member of the U.S. Border Patrol, Tucson Arizona Sector covering the port of Nogales.

Maggie was much content with who she was, how she looked, and where in life she was headed.

(Paragraphs omitted)

            It was almost midnight and time to check with the assignment desk.  Maggie refilled her coffee cup, then she and Marty left the cafeteria together. 

            Maggie remembered Marty’s earlier comment, and asked him, “What was so tough about tonight?”

            “Shooting at Organ Pipe.  Park Service rangers contacted us about eight.  They spotted unusual activity on Puerto Blanco Drive.  When we got there, found one dead -- two wounded.”

“Let me guess,.  A coyote shot a mule,”

Maggie knew all the street names for the bad guys long before she joined the Border Patrol. The term drug mule, or mule, was slang for a human smuggler, carrying a load of drugs on his back across the desert.  A coyote smuggle illegal aliens into the U.S. for a fee.

“Not this time -- family from Guatemala.  Mother’s dead.  Father shot in the stomach, may not make it.  A seven-year-old female got dinged in the leg,”

“Dolce Dio en cielo.”  Dear God in heaven.  “What went down?”

“As best we can piece together, eight illegals were being led through Organ Pipe.  Bandits attacked them.  Shots were exchanged.  When we got there the bad guys were gone and the illegals were huddled together trying to stay warm.  Injured and dead woman were choppered out -- rest taken to Customs.”

Maggie reached the end of the hall and started to head toward the assignment desk.

“No, this way.” Marty grabbed her by the collar.  “You’re riding shot-gun for me tonight.  Already cleared it with Stacy.”

“Alright!  Where we going?”

“Back to Organ Pipe.  I have a theory and you can help me to prove it.”

January 13, 2001 -- Organ Pipe National Monument, Arizona

The two left the building and walked to the motor pool where they found their assigned Ford 250 truck.  Marty drove fifty miles due west of Nogales about as fast as the truck could go.  An hour later, Marty pulled off to the side of the road and stopped.  He powered all the windows down.

“Where are we?” asked Maggie.

Marty shut down the engine, turned off the lights, and unbuckled his seat belt.

“Puerto Blanco Drive, about a hundred yards from where it happened.  We’re just north of the border.  Can you make out the fence over there?”  Marty pointed straight ahead. 

“My theory, since you didn’t ask, is that finding those illegals may have been a set-up.  We were supposed to find them here; then after we leave, they use this same spot for a drug crossing.  If I’m right we should see some activity before daylight.”

“Not a bad theory.  So – want ah play strip poker?  Brought the cards.”

“No wise-ass, I need some rest.  Working a double, you know.  Take the first watch.” 

He handed Maggie a pair of night vision goggles.  “Here, stick your head out the window, and make like an owl.  Wake me in a couple of hours.” 

An hour later, Maggie heard the faint sound of a vehicle approaching.

“Marty, wake up.”  She shook his shoulder gently.  “I think I hear a truck.”

Marty was instantly alert.

(Paragraphs omitted)

Maggie grabbed for the radio mike to call for help, but fumbled and dropped it.  As she reached down to retrieve it, rounds hit the truck bed. The side panels rattled.  The sound of metal tearing metal reverberated inside the cab.

Traveling too fast on the rutted dirt road, Marty lost control, swerved and hit a boulder.  The left front tire blew and the truck started to roll, but righted itself.  It lurched forward for a few agonizing yards, then died in a shallow wash just as the rounds reached the cab.

“Get out!”  Marty screamed.   

Maggie didn’t need a second invitation.  She bolted, crouched low, ran ten yards and dove onto the ground behind a huge bolder.  Marty wrenched open the driver’s side door and did likewise.  The brilliant explosion blinded them and shook the surroundings.  The back of the Ford truck rose six feet into the air; then flipped over back-to-front.  It returned to earth in a fiery jumble of broken glass, melting plastic and twisted metal.  Maggie screamed.  She watched Marty thrown forward by the blast.  She cringed when his head hit a rock.  Over the fire’s roar she didn’t hear the sickening smack.

"Shaded Magnolia"   16" x 20" oil on canvas

Note:  All art in this website by my wife Judith Redner,
please visit www.jdiart.com for more of her work.

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Copyright ©2009 Charles J. Redner
Manuscript excerpts provided for review purposes only and may not be reproduced without  written permission from the author.