Chapter 6

08:45 Monday, May 27th, 1991
US Border Patrol El Paso Border Patrol Sector
8901 Montana Avenue
El Paso, TX

Sandy and Ben dressed in Class-B's, the short-sleeve variant of the Class-A uniform. This was a uniform unfamiliar to, and uncomfortable for, both. Each wore "garrison caps", Sandy's the female version which reminded her of what English Bobby policemen wore.

Ben and Sandy checked everything again this morning. Almost all was In Accordance With (IAW) Army Regulation 670-1, Wear and Appearance of Army Uniforms and Insignia. Ben and Sandy both wore Expert Marksman Badges, Sandy with Rifle and Pistol, Ben's with only a Pistol bar hanging beneath it. Though AR 670-1 directs one to wear every medal one is entitled to wear, together they reasoned it was best not to display to the world Ben's woeful marksmanship with the rifle during his Basic training.

Together, they marched into the new-appearing building just south of the airport grounds. The receptionist at the desk asked them to wait in the cafeteria until Agent Munoz arrived in the building.

They bought coffee and breakfast pastry, and sat down to eat. Sandy considered their reception. Agent Munoz was no stranger to the building, though he was from another sector of the Border. He had left a message for them and apparently kept an office here.

Ben made a choked sound and started to rise from the table, but froze before he'd moved an inch. Sandy, startled, reached for him. When she realized he was staring at the general direction of the cashier, she turned to look as well.

A fairly-pretty young girl of Spanish features, though a tad on the heavy side, fought to stuff a wallet into her purse. Sandy saw she wore a Border Patrol uniform, and was attempting to balance two coffees in the pressed cardboard tray with her left hand while replacing her purse on her shoulder.

She glanced over at Sandy and Ben as she turned for the door. Sandy noted her startled reaction to Ben's presence. The girl positively fled out the door.
Sandy turned back to Ben, questions at the tip of her tongue. Ben was white and shaking.

"Sandy, that was her!" he hissed. "The girl in the desert, the one I let go, and Silverman gave me such shit for!"

"Ben? What are you saying, Ben?" Sandy's answering whisper was no less quiet for its urgency.

"I'm saying I saw her in the fucking desert with another man, and she told me some bullshit story about being forced to cross the desert." Ben was as angry as Sandy could ever imagine him, she felt the heat from him radiating at her side. "She was acting..."

"Ben. Ben! You have to calm down ... we're way far from home, Ben. Look at me." When he met her eyes, she said, "Ben ... we need to be very careful. I don't think we should let on that we saw someone you'd seen in the desert. Ben, she was wearing a Border Patrol uniform. What does that tell you?"

Ben calmed visibly, his voice still tight. "It tells me we were set up, and I was stupid enough to buy it."

Sandy made an impatient gesture. "But I don't think it was you they wanted to fool. I bet it was the First Sergeant, and the people who make decisions in the Army, as far as they could tell. But why?"

Ben nodded, almost calmly, though he was still shaking. "'Cui bono?' Who benefits? We're here because of it, but I doubt Munoz was doing us any favors. We're here to report on the mission ... but I bet it's supposed to get us to take more border patrol into the desert with us, to keep us on the mission. No, that's not right..." He snapped his fingers. "To get the Border Patrol a much bigger force, to use our gear over a wider area – Sandy, it's the two-way radios. Remember how interested Munoz was? How things started really happening..." he broke off, matching Sandy's look of wonder. "They wanted more feet on the ground who could call Border Patrolmen quickly when something was found. And we talked the First Sergeant into it. Oh, shit, Sandy, what are we doing here?"

Sandy took his hand from across the table. "Well, we are here, mister, and you and I will find our way back out. But we need to act like we don't know anything about it ... like what Munoz thinks we are: bright, but young and inexperienced soldiers."

Ben nodded. His eyes widened as he focused behind her. Sandy grabbed her coffee and raised it to her lips, so she'd have an extra second of concealment to compose her features.
Munoz walked across the cafeteria dining area toward them.

"Sandy, Ben," Munoz spoke as they walked up a flight of stairs, headed toward a conference room. "I'm going to give a briefing on the general state of this program, where we're going and what the plans are. You two should be prepared to answer questions. Just answer them, if someone wants more information, they'll ask. There's nothing unexpected going to happen, I think. The people in the room will be a few counterparts of mine, one from the El Paso region, one from San Diego, and an Intelligence guy."

Rey ushered them into a plain conference room, with pastel colors and a plain carpet. The furniture was utilitarian, but what struck Sandy was the newness of the room. Rey supplied that the Chief Border Agent for the region used the office for meetings of 'less than Congressional-level interest'.

A moment or two later, as Sandy and Ben took seats halfway down the table, three other men entered. Munoz introduced them as the El Paso and San Diego region 'Forward Presence task leaders', and 'Agent McFarland, Intelligence'. Agent McFarland wore civilian rancher's clothes, and looked similar to Ben's father, hard and weatherworn, like a rancher.

For the next hour or so, Rey droned on, referring to notes he took from his briefcase, pre-positioned at the table. Sandy and Ben gave intermittent responses, confirming a point or making a clarification. The other two 'counterparts' recorded the occasional note, and the Intelligence agent never took any.

McFarland left the room for a moment, then returned, taking a different seat. Rey paused while pouring a cup of water from a pitcher on one of the side cabinet/drawer units in the room. The second door in the room, at the far end of the table, opened.

All the men in the room stood up, so Sandy and Ben did as well. The newcomer was a shorter, heavyset man with thick Hispanic features. "Good morning, gentlemen, lady," he said, nodding at Sandy. "I'm Chief Agent Rojas." He scanned Sandy, then Ben. He gave Rey a quizzical look, which Munoz returned with a shrug and a smile. For some reason, the San Diego agent gave a bark of laughter.

Sandy observed the byplay. Munoz is working for Rojas, but not entirely. He's independent of Rojas, but they share a goal.

Aloud, she said, levelly, "Chief Rojas, perhaps you expected someone more senior?"

The Chief Agent smiled. "Specialist..." he read Sandy's nameplate, "Sparks, I'm an Army vet, twenty years. I wasn't a Chief Master Sergeant." He sat. "In that amount of time, I've learned to judge a person by their actions, not their rank. Agent Munoz reported he'd brought the people who best knew the operation and could best interpret the Border Patrol's needs and translate that into the help we can expect. Munoz reported nothing but competence on your side, and I trust Munoz."

Sandy felt the calm slip upon her. We're being soft-soaped, she realized. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ben seemingly relax, and give a small half-smile.

Sandy sat down. Ben and the others followed suit.

Rey spoke up again. "Chief Agent, Specialist Sparks set up the sensor perimeters and the first telemetry net. PFC Collins has been instrumental in getting the logistics and the organization out into the field. Both are able to fill the other's shoes at need."

The Chief Agent beamed at them for a moment. "Well, Rey says your organization is in full swing over there. He says we have some Joint Staff force up and ready to give us telemetry notification, I guess when someone crosses the sensor line. I hear that you've got essentially a whole company ready to deploy out into the field?"

"Yes sir," Ben answered. "I don't think you'll be disappointed, sir. We have four platoons ready to rotate through, depending on how many agents you can pair with them."

Sandy listened to Ben sounding eager to please. She supposed that was better than her cool reserve. She was under no illusion that the Chief Agent would find her anything but bitchy.

Rojas seemed content to query Ben for twenty minutes. Ben answered questions on telemetry nets, distances, support of the links, monitoring, contacts for the Border Patrol, skills and disposition of soldiers with Agents, and the like. Just as they'd discussed, the conversation eventually drove to the number of two-way radios the soldiers could obtain.

Ben turned to Sandy to answer this question. "I requisitioned eighty radios, Chief Agent. Twenty four-man teams, five deployed over a linear mile, two linear miles of sensor maintenance or installation, thirty hours' standby battery, less with use. Half the radios on a charger would give you more than four linear miles of sensor placement or maintenance daily over the 24 hours, with some margin for overuse or equipment failure."

The Chief Agent regarded Sandy with sudden respect. "I see what Munoz reported is correct, Specialist. Both of you have it on the ball. I'd been worried that we'd not get enough cooperation from the Army. You were right, Specialist, I expected to have an officer show up to explain how the Army wasn't going to help us as much as we'd requested. Instead, I got two very competent people who have put into motion more than I could have hoped. Three weeks from now, we'll have twenty-two Border Patrol agents report to you at Huachuca for a sixteen-day field exercise planting and maintaining the sensor line. Two weeks after that, we'll have twenty replacements to maintain the emplaced sensors.

"Please bring back my regards to your company commander, and, if he should mention it, my respects to the Battalion Commander. I'll convey my gratitude to the Defense Liaison Committee, and suggest that this be shown as a model of interagency cooperation."

Ten minutes later, in the hallway, Rey Munoz touched Sandy on the elbow. She fell back to talk with him, wondering what he could want.

"Sandy, this thing has gotten big. Chief Agent Rojas is getting what he wanted, but I'm a little worried, this probably won't stay in your hands much longer. Are you going to be all right?"

Sandy looked across at him, and searched his eyes and face for a moment. He did seem genuinely concerned, now, even though she suspected strongly that he'd played her, and Ben, and others, to get something that would make Rojas and the Border Patrol come out ahead somehow.

"Rey. I'll be fine. I can defend myself down at the Coronado Forest. I'll be with a lot of other soldiers. If you're asking me if I'll stay behind while the rest of them go put themselves at risk for some Border Patrol political game, the answer is no."

Rey closed his eyes at the words 'political game', and bowed his head slightly. "You're too smart, Sandy, Ben too. But you'll see this through, to the end, won't you? I'll probably be there, too, most of the time. Rojas won't. The other two are going to watch and take notes of what works and what doesn't. We're going to go to Congress next year and ask for a lot of money to position a lot of Border Patrol up against the border, and aggressively interdict smuggling and illegals crossing. I..."

Sandy interrupted him abruptly. "Okay, Rey. Cards on the table, as my First Sergeant would say. You come brief us fully on the dangers. Heck, my company's so stir-crazy, they'll probably look forward to the excitement. You tell them exactly who and what they'll face, and how you'll protect them if things go wrong. That last part, Rey, that's the part that'll keep the men in the field. You'll have to convince my First Sergeant and the Company Commander each week we send someone out. When things go wrong, it'd better be minor, or Chief Agent Rojas will find the Army's cooperation drying up."

Rey watched Sandy, with a rueful look on his face. "Jesus, Sandy, why the hell aren't you working for me?"

"Rey, I read about situations like this, these politics. In novels. I didn't think I'd ever live one. Ben is pretty much the best thing in my life, then the Army, which says my life isn't very much. I feel kind of like both are in danger somehow, and somehow it's your fault. I like you, but not very much right now." Sandy clamped her jaw shut so she wouldn't say anything more.

Rey stopped in the hall, and Sandy kept walking.

"I'm so mad, I could spit," Ben said as they drove down Montana Avenue back towards the downtown area. "We're not even important to them, just a means to get what they fucking want."

Sandy was driving, still wrapped in her calm. Almost distractedly, she said, "Ben, I love you, and so does your family. And I think the people we work with like us a hell of a lot. I don't want any of us hurt." She drove for a minute or two more, pulling into a parking lot.

She slipped out of the truck, and Ben followed. On the way into the restaurant, Sandy told Ben, "Wednesday morning, we're talking to the First Sergeant, and then the Captain." Ben just nodded.

11:55 Monday, May 27th, 1991
L&J Cafe
3622 E Missouri Ave, El Paso, TX

Ruben was having an enchilada for lunch. He'd just hauled himself up from bed, having gotten into town around 2 AM last night. The damned Cat turbodiesel whistled in his ears, the ratty cab of the truck leaked air and highway noise all night long.

He'd been fighting the fucking truck the whole way, with a compressed-air leak, something fucked up in the steering box making it notchy, and a trailer dragging brake shoes on the front axle driver's side. After a few hours fucking with it at a truck stop in Kingman, he'd just disabled the damned thing and hoped he wouldn't get pulled over for inspection. This afternoon, he'd get it looked at.

He was supposed to meet Joaquin tomorrow in Juarez, with a load of empty pallets for the southbound trip. Then it was drop the trailer off and have a siesta while Joaquin did business. When the business was completed, he'd return with Joaquin in a car, then pick the tractor-trailer up in Paso again, and drive back to LA.

But until then, he was free, left to his own devices. He'd come in for an enchilada, to take a load off in the dark, air-conditioned cave of the restaurant.

He was watching people, the local businessmen and such, here in this place in the middle of the day. Two young soldiers in short-sleeved green uniforms drew his attention. They stood out, not a part of the normal ebb and flow of a crowd in a place like this. The two sat down at the next table over.

Idly, Ruben watched them out of the corner of his eye. The blonde was fucking beautiful, he decided, trim, fairly tall, and poised. She looked pretty damned sturdy, too. And pissed off at something.

The boy she was with was just leaving that long-assed stage, starting to put on muscle, Ruben thought. He seemed pissed as hell at something too.

"Damnit, the platoons rotating through should have MP coverage with them. I don't trust the Border Patrol to not leave them hanging if there's trouble."

"You'd think that was what the radios are for, Sandy. So that they come swooping in, and take the credit for any bust or whatever. That's why they're important."

The blonde looked at him darkly. "You hope. But I'm worried, Ben. If there's something bad enough ... A gunfight, a soldier gets shot, I bet the Border Patrol is nowhere to be found."

Ruben agreed with the blonde. It'd be just like those assholes, just like when Sammy was gunned down. They'd left it to the fucking Imperial County Sheriff's office to take the heat, but Ruben knew it was a Border Patrol asshole who did it.