Trail of the Chupacabra

uncuffed Avery.

“And a straw!” Avery yelled after the sergeant. “Watch and learn, amateurs.” Avery cracked his knuckles. “Now, at first I was perplexed. Of course, that hardly ever happens to me, what with my overwhelming intelligence.” He stared at Morales. “But, when faced with adversity, I improvise. It all happened like this…take notes as appropriate…anyway, it all happened like this…”

• • •

Bullets and explosions rocked the farmhouse as Avery curled up under the Padre’s desk while he admired the cartel leader’s computer. He coveted it. It made him viciously angry that anyone should have such a magnificent machine, except him. Avery had spent the greater part of his life accumulating spare and broken parts to design his personal network. Dirty old monitors and secondhand hard drives were the backbone of his system. His longest-standing gripe was with his Internet service provider and the agonizingly slow speeds they offered. His numerous letters to the company had been unanswered. As a self-proclaimed “hacktivist,” he’d shut down their servers on several occasions out of spite. This gorgeous piece of state-of-the-art technology held a special place in his heart. He must possess it. With it, he could shut down everyone’s servers, even if he didn’t have a good reason to. It would be hysterical.

“Piss off,” he said as another roar from Esmeralda’s hand cannon sounded from outside the office filled with artifacts and valuable guns. Avery noticed the stuffed peacock with its colorful plumage in the corner. Its glass eyes seemed to mock him. “Screw you, cocky bastard.” Avery flipped the peacock the bird. He began to type a password into the computer as the roar of gunfire intensified.

“I’m working in here!” he yelled. It was answered by gunfire that splintered the mural-covered doors to the office. “Idiots,” Avery said as he tried a password. “Nope, the password is definitely not PASSWORD.” It wasn’t “12345,” either. Avery stuck his head out from under the desk and looked around the office. This guy definitely has some kind of weapons fetish, Avery thought to himself. Must be overcompensating for repressed sexual issues. The display case closest to the desk was clearly the most ornate. Avery got up to take a closer look. He examined the contents of the case intently. Why would these be together? The top shelf contained an Aztecan atlatl. It was a stick with a hook at one end and a handle at the other. A small spear or dart was placed against the atlatl’s hook. A flipping motion was used to launch the projectile downrange with far more force than a man could throw one with his bare hands. Avery had made one when he was a kid. He’d nearly poked his eye out when trying to use it. Next to the atlatl was a modern handgun. It was a SIG-SAUER. The pistol’s grip was encrusted with diamonds. The next shelf down contained a heavy four-foot-long oaken war club. The edges of the weapon were embedded with obsidian. Avery knew what it was. It was a macuahuitl, another Aztec artifact. Avery had tried to buy one online once, but the seller wouldn’t accept Diners Club. Avery had written Diners Club a long letter about that one. Next to the macuahuitl was a Remington shotgun. The entire firearm had been intricately painted with the distinctive Louis Vuitton pattern. I should get Bennett one of those for Christmas. That’d really cheese the old doctor off. Avery flinched as more bullets slammed into the door of the room. There was also an old British pistol of Enfield design inside the display case. Every metal part of the gun was plated in gold. At the bottom of the display case was a long thrusting spear with a wide stone blade at the tip. It was called a tepoztopilli. Avery had long theorized that this was one of the main weapons the ancient indigenous people of Mexico had used to fend off chupacabras prior to the invention of the flamethrower.

“But what does it all mean?” As the gunfire outside intensified, Avery scratched his gnarly beard and climbed back under the desk. An atlatl, a SIG-SAUER, a macuahuitl, a Remington, an Enfield, and a tepoztopilli, he thought to himself. Modern guns and ancient weapons stored together. It doesn’t make any sense. Or maybe it does. Maybe it makes sense by not making sense. Why, you sneaky bastard. Avery typed the first letter of each weapon into the laptop. ASMRET. Access was still denied. Avery rearranged the letters in his head. He typed in STREAM. It didn’t work. He tried TAMERS. It didn’t work. Avery could only think of one more anagram that would fit. Into the password dialog box, he typed MASTER. This time it worked — he was in.

“How did I ever get to be this good-looking and brilliant at the same time? It’s almost not fair,” Avery said as he searched through the files on the computer. Some were simple to open. They mainly contained spreadsheets and graphs relating to a complex global drug business. Others files were more difficult. Additional passwords were needed to access the encrypted data…

• • •

“So, losers, that’s how it went down,” Avery said as he placed his hands behind his head and kicked his feet up onto the table in front of him.

“Off,” General Morales said as he knocked Avery’s feet from the table. “How much of the data did you access?”

“Enough to get the general picture, General.” Avery giggled.

“Colonel Beltran, have your men start to download and organize the information.”

“Right away,” Cesar said.

“Oh, it won’t be that simple.” Avery finished his Mountain Dew. “Hit me again, General.” He crushed the aluminum can in his hand and belched. “The really good stuff is still encrypted. Of course, I can access it, but I’ll need my other computer.”

“Where is it?” asked Cesar.

“In the bus.”

“Where’s the bus?”

“Not far from the compound,” General X-Ray said.

“Is there a reward for this so-called Padre?” Avery asked.

“Naturally,” General Morales replied. “Up to ten million U.S. dollars, depending on the level of involvement.”

“Well, I can help you get your man. I know where he’s heading. Take me with you, and I can work on the rest of the computer files on the way.”

“Colonel, do you want to take him with you?”

“If he can help me track down the Padre, yes,” Cesar said.

“Then take him.”

“Where’s the Padre headed?” Cesar asked Avery.

“I would say we should head toward Monterrey. His calendar shows a meeting regarding methamphetamine production will take place there soon. I also noticed something about a secure communications network. It explains the transmitter in the desert that I executed. I may be able to tap into it for you.”

“How?” General Morales asked.

“General, here’s the deal. I could try to explain it to you, but the process is so incredibly complex it would most likely cause blood to pour out of your ears.”

“General Morales,” Cesar said, “that may explain why we suddenly lost all trace of communication with the Padre’s cartel through the traditional cell phone networks a few months ago. This man could be useful.”

“Take him with you, then.”

“Okay, I’ll get our men ready to move out. We can be in the air in less than thirty minutes. General Morales, what do you want me to do with the rest of these people?”

“Let the woman and the wrestler go with the understanding that everything that happened here last night, never happened. I don’t want the press to find out the Padre evaded us again. As for the Americans, take them to the border and turn them over to the U.S. authorities.” General Morales turned to face the men of STRAC-BOM. “You should feel very lucky I don’t charge you for being in this country illegally. You’re not welcome back in Mexico. Ever.”

“Fine by me,” said Private Zulu. “This place is crazy, and the food sucks. Goddamn plastic chickens.”

“What about Ziggy?” Avery asked.

“Your missing friend,” said General Morales. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have the resources to look for him right now. I need every available asset focused on the Padre. If we don’t move fast, he’ll disappear forever. Your friend is on his own for now.”

A worried look crept across Avery’s face. He knew Ziggy wasn’t very good on his own.

• • •