“Engines, all stop, General.” Avery opened the back door of the bus and jumped out on the bank. He fell on his side when he landed.
“You all right?” Fire Team Leader Charlie asked, leaning out the back of the vehicle.
“I did that on purpose in order to break my fall. It’s a technique they teach in the Russian Special Forces.” Avery lay on his back and held his ribs.
“Yeah, whatever…you all right?”
“No.” The men of STRAC-BOM and Ziggy all piled out of the bus while Fire Team Leader Charlie helped Avery to his feet. The militia wandered around the riverbank, pondering their good fortune. General X-Ray planted a small paper American flag in the riverbank. Ziggy climbed for higher ground.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Flying Burrito
El Barquero made his through the streaming crowd of people wearing brightly colored jerseys. The sun was out in this part of Coahuila, and it was hot. People were singing and chanting in the streets around the large complex. Drums and horns played loudly as the soccer fans poured into one of the newest and finest stadiums in Mexico. Police stood guard all around the arena. There had been shootings here before. Recently, one even stopped a match in mid-progress. Barquero made his way to a small stand in the concourse. He stood out of the way and waited. A few minutes later his friend Cesar appeared out of the crowd.
“Walk with me,” Cesar said, slipping back into the flow of people walking to their seats for the game’s kickoff. The two men walked toward the far end of the stadium. They both scanned the crowd as they walked. El Barquero dropped the flyer he was holding and looked back as he picked it up. “Anything?” Cesar asked.
“No.”
“Good, I have men out there. If you can’t see them, no one can.”
Barquero clinched his jaw. “Over here. Follow me,” Barquero hissed. Cesar followed him. They stood next to the wall near a restroom. Fans poured by. Cesar reached up and touched his earpiece.
“We’re good. I’ve got six of my men in the stadium. They don’t see anything.”
“What do you have for me?”
“The Padre, he’s moving a shipment of weapons tomorrow. Your guns, the ones you stole.”
“Where?”
“North of here. Hundred miles or so.”
“Who gave you the information?”
“I know a girl. A stripper. She’s really good, she’s got these fantastic…”
“How’s he moving it?”
“Uh, by truck, a large truck. It’ll be heavily armed. The Padre likes to armor-plate them and builds in firing ports for his security detail.”
“How many men?”
“At least a dozen, maybe more, probably in several vehicles with some men inside the cargo area of the main vehicle. After his cargo ship sank, the Padre’s not taking any chances. By the way, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“What about Carnicero?”
“I don’t know, but I would assume he’ll be there.”
“Prepare for the worst…”
“…and expect it.” Cesar touched his earpiece again. “Okay. We’re still clear,” he said.
“I’ll take care of this,” Barquero said as he scanned the concourse. “Have your men ready. You can take all the credit.”
“Okay, I like all the credit.”
“After I take care of this, I’m done. Can you help me disappear?”
“What?” Cesar asked incredulously. “You don’t want to come around for the holidays?”
“I’m serious,” the intimidating man said as he looked down at his friend.
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
Carnicero walked with one of his men outside the stadium. He smoked a cigarette and watched the late- arriving crowd through his dark sunglasses. Cheers lifted through the air as the match began. The home supporters were already singing loudly for their side. The two men watched Cesar and Barquero leave the arena and head off in different directions.
“We can take him, boss. Right now.”
“No, we can’t,” Carnicero said, running his hand through his long hair. “Not yet.”
“Should we follow him?”
“No.”
“Why not, boss? He’s right there,” the man implored.
“It’s not the right time.”
“What? With all these people around, we could be gone in an instant.”
“With all these cops around, we could be caught.”
“I don’t know, boss, it’s El Barquero right in front of us. You want him, the Padre wants him…” An enormous roar rose from the soccer stadium as the home team took an early lead.
“No, the time will come. I want some food,” Carnicero said as he turned, flicked his cigarette to the pavement, and walked away. “And a girl. Find them both for me.”
Ziggy sat on the dry, cracked bank of the river. It was an ancient river, one with a history that spoke of long-extinct prehistoric animals, indigenous natives, foreign explorers, and mad conquerors. His bare feet soaked in the river’s cool, muddy water as he tossed small rocks into it. They made splashes. Rings formed. He loved how one splash made a small ever-expanding circle, and then another rock thrown into the middle of the first circle made another wake, pushing the first one along even more. Rock upon rock, building more and more rings. More and more circles. It reminded him of the universe and its solar systems, constantly expanding and overtaking each other with wave upon wave of star systems overlapping in an ever-expanding infinity of nothingness…or ever- expanding infinity of everything. It really depended on what type of mood Ziggy was in. After surviving the river crossing, he was in a rather good mood. He was on an adventure with his best friend, Avery. Ever-expanding infinity of everything it was, then. He’d save the ever-expanding infinity of nothingness for another day. Rocks and rivers, stars and the universe, infinity and everything. He was a happy lizard.
“It’s, like, a really pretty river, man.” Ziggy tossed another rock.
“He loves nature,” Avery, from the riverbank, said to the General, “despite what it did to him.” Avery ate from a box of dry cereal as he scanned the American League box scores in the newspaper he’d stolen from the hotel. The Yankees lead continued to slip. “Who the hell is this Jeter character?” Avery wadded up the sports page. “And why the hell do they even bother playing him? Hasn’t had a hit in a week.” The General watched as the men of STRAC-BOM used a series of ropes and pulleys to haul the school bus out of the river and up the bank. Some of the men pushed branches and sticks under the rear wheels so they could find traction as the bus tried to back out of the water. All of the men complained loudly.
“Sir.” Fire Team Leader Bravo wiped his muddy hands off on his fatigues. “I’m not sure this is going to work. This bus must weigh at least ten tons.”
“Goddammit!” the General cursed. “If I tell you to lift an elephant with one hand, you’ll do it! Now, get my transportation dry, Fire Team Leader!”
“Where we going to find an elephant with one hand?” Private Tango whispered to Private Zulu. “I thought they only had feet.”
Zulu stared blankly. “That’s a really good point.”
The men stopped their complaining and went back to work.
It took some time, but after a while the bus was on high ground. Once the bus was free, the men loaded up
