can’t fully understand (for more information on this topic, please reference my website, where I debate whether WOW is a paragon of capitalism or socialism). Nevertheless, the economy of WOW is a model of efficiency and productivity. Aligning the U.S. dollar with the WOW Gold Standard would be a courageous but no-risk decision. In WOW, the intelligence of the elves, the industriousness of the dwarves, and the sweat of the humans power their economy. And by “humans” I mean the human avatars in the game, not your orc-like colleagues over at the Federal Reserve fumbling around with the discount rate and presuming it actually does anything they actually mean it to. Bunch of monkeys humping a football in a boardroom, that’s all they are. Additionally, in WOW, the trolls and their deviousness offer a natural counterbalance to the rest of the society to avoid reckless social and charitable decisions in roughly the same way the old Republican party used to in ours. In summary, WOW is the perfect economic model of guile, ingenuity, and deceit. It’s efficient, brutally fair, and extremely stable. Sound like ours? Of course not, you read the papers. Tell me I’m wrong. If your bureaucratic mandates require a commission to study the issue, I’m happy to volunteer as the chairman. Obviously, I would require the appropriate travel vouchers and lodging/meal per diem. Nothing more than the average senator receives. I’m not a greedy man by nature.
P.S. — Any information you can send me regarding how to exchange Fred’s significant WOW gold balances for nonsequential, unmarked twenty-dollar bills or bearer bonds would be greatly appreciated.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It Wants
The large white delivery truck headed north toward the U.S./Mexican border. Originally, it had been a beer truck, and it still looked vaguely like a beer truck, but in reality it was more like a tank. The glass in the driver’s compartment was bulletproof, and the run-flat tires were designed to continue operating even when shot with large-caliber ammunition. The gas tank was armored and self-sealing, and the cargo bay was reinforced with steel plate armor. It had horizontal firing ports that could be opened to allow gunmen inside the truck’s storage compartment to fire on assailants. A trap door on the roof of the cargo bay opened to allow a fifty-caliber machine gun to be raised via electric motor and employed against other vehicles. The modified truck was extremely heavy. A customized, more powerful engine and stronger, more durable shocks and brakes offset the increased weight. The truck was closely followed by two black SUVs with tinted windows. The three-vehicle convoy barreled down the highway.
Cesar had contacted El Barquero early that morning. Cesar’s sources said that the Padre wanted a shipment of weapons, mainly heavy arms, moved closer to the border, and Cesar had a description of the delivery vehicle and the route they were taking. The only problem was they didn’t have much time.
The weapons were to be used for fighting with the rival cartels that threatened the Padre’s precious smuggling routes into central Texas. The other cartels had recently become more brazen. Everyone knew what had happened in the Veracruz harbor. They thought the Padre was becoming weak. In the wars between the different drug cartels of Mexico, weakness was always exploited as an opportunity to expand. Turmoil within the leadership circle of a cartel created a vacuum that had to be filled quickly. This was the first time in many years that anyone could imagine challenging the Padre in his own territories. However, the other cartels were not working together as they should have. They were just racing forward individually to test the Padre’s vulnerability. The Padre needed to teach them a lesson, and he planned to use the latest military-grade weapons manufactured by the United States to do it. His enemies would be outgunned. Once their men had pulled back from his territory, he could get back to rebuilding his narco-empire.
Ten miles ahead of the armored truck, El Barquero stood on the southbound access road of the highway. The access road led down from an overpass across the route the weapons shipment was taking. Its elevation gave him the ability to see for miles across the pancake-flat terrain to the south. With a high-powered sniper’s monocular/range-finder, he scanned the horizon and watched. The highway traffic was light. According to Cesar, the shipment would pass this way soon. Cesar’s men were to follow the vehicle at a distance. Cesar himself would be trailing a few miles back in a helicopter. The news of the shipment had come so quickly that Barquero and Cesar didn’t have time to coordinate communications equipment. Barquero barely had time to gather his weapons and find suitable transportation for the mission. He was going to be on his own to stop the transport initially, but that was okay with him. Cesar and his men would be close behind, and Cesar had never let him down. In fact, Cesar had bailed him out of a number of tight spots back in the old days. Barquero wasn’t worried; Cesar always brought the cavalry in right on time.
Through Barquero’s monocular, a large, white delivery truck appeared on the distant horizon. It was almost two miles away. He didn’t have much time. He ran for the truck parked alongside the road. The dump truck he had stolen from a construction site was still full of gravel. Putting the vehicle in gear, he pulled onto the highway. The heavy load of crushed rock made gaining speed difficult. He stood on the accelerator, slammed on the clutch, and shifted through the gears with urgency. He could see the delivery truck approaching from the south. The divided highway had two lanes running in each direction. Between the north- and southbound lanes was a small median. It was made of concrete and was the height of a street curb. Barquero pulled into the left-hand lane and continued to accelerate. The armored truck was two hundred yards away. Barquero tightened his seatbelt and pulled on a race-car driver’s crash helmet.
Barquero pulled off his helmet and unfastened his seatbelt. As he climbed down from the cab of the dump truck, he realized he must have fractured several ribs during the impact. Wincing from the pain, he pulled an assault rifle from the cab with him. Chambering a round in the HK417 battle rifle with attached under-barrel grenade launcher, he approached the SUV that his dump truck had clipped. The vehicle was on its side. Barquero fired a burst into the front section of the car. The driver he was aiming at stopped moving. The men in the back were already dead. To his right, past the armored delivery truck, three armed cartel soldiers were climbing out of the second SUV and spraying automatic rifle fire in his direction. Barquero fired a forty-millimeter grenade at the vehicle. It exploded, sending all three men flying into the road. Barquero chambered another grenade into the launcher before firing it at the bulletproof windshield of the delivery truck. The window exploded. Barquero filled the cabin with a long stream of automatic rifle fire. Nothing inside moved. Gravel dust continued to swirl and cover the roadway. Traffic behind the wreckage slid to a stop. Horns blared.
Swapping out the magazine in the HK, Barquero strode to the rear of the delivery truck. There were most certainly men inside with the shipment, but even his grenade launcher wouldn’t open the reinforced rear doors of the truck. Reaching into his black fatigues, he pulled out a shaped charge of plastic explosive. He placed it on the doors. Just as he was about to arm the charge, he heard the sound of something rolling across the top of the truck. Looking up, he caught the image of three cylinder-shaped objects rolling off the top of the truck as they
