Harris looked impressed. “It might come to that, but not today. What we have here, however, is a double murder. Sometime early this morning, either somebody or a group of somebodies murdered two border guards. Shot them in the back and then in the back of the head just to make sure. The bodies are on ice in town and, unless you have a strong stomach and a devout wish to see them, you can take my word about the shootings. The bodies are in terrible shape after being swollen by the sun and chewed on by a host of animals.”
Dane grimaced. “I’ll pass, thank you. I saw enough torn up bodies when the
Harris was clearly impressed, then recognized the Purple Heart Dane had thought to wear. “You’ll have to tell me about that some time. I had a cousin on the
Harris shook his head. “In the meantime, here’s what we do know. The two men were likely first shot in the back and then in the head to finish them off, and their bodies dragged into the brush. We don’t know how many people were involved in the shooting, and we have no idea how many vehicles they drove, or how many went by the border afterwards and just drove by since nobody was in the post.
“Finally, some good citizens got curious about the buzzards congregating off a ways and seeming to have a good time, and checked it out. They tried to call on the post’s phone, but the line had been cut. They went into town and called the sheriff, who called me since it was federal property and federal agents have jurisdiction. I got here an hour ago. The sheriff says it was Japs trying to sneak in. We found some tire tracks where somebody had tried to erase them and we think they came from a truck. What do you think?”
They walked to the border and looked around. The tracks in question were barely visible. He’d take the agent’s word that they came from a truck. Dane stared in disbelief at the shack. “Do people actually work in there?”
“Yeah, and for damn little pay, which makes it worse. They were good guys. Each was married and had kids.”
Dane looked around and tried to think. Japs? It just didn’t seem right to him.
“Agent Harris, I think the sheriff’s wrong about it being Japs and I think you know it. It just isn’t logical. If the guards were shot in the back, that means they had turned away from their attacker or attackers and they wouldn’t do that if they were dealing with Japs, even ones born in the U.S. National paranoia’s just too deep for border cops to let that happen. I also think there was only one person, and likely a man, since the guards didn’t seem concerned enough to split up and keep an eye on somebody else. I also think it was a white guy and someone who probably appeared to be an American. Anything other than a white man, even a Mexican, would have set off alarm bells.”
Harris grinned, “Damned good. I’m almost impressed. Now, do you think it was a smuggler?”
Dane gave it some further thought before replying in the negative. “I had an uncle who was a cop in Texas and he liked to tell a lot of stories. Once he told me that smugglers tend to be locals who know all the back trails and how to avoid problems with border crossings like this. He told me that driving right up the road to a customs post is something you do only if you absolutely have to. Given the openness of the border, real smugglers wouldn’t have been caught. I think the killer isn’t from here and very likely not smuggling in anything more than himself.”
“And the contents of the truck,” Harris added. “And they all had to be worth killing for. I’ve got a local doctor pulling out the bullets and he’s said they might have come from a Luger. However, he’s more certain that they came from the same weapon. We’ll know for certain when run a ballistics check.”
Harris walked to his car and popped the trunk. A cooler was inside. He opened it and handed Dane an ice- cold bottle of Coke, taking another for himself.
“Not bad thinking for a navy guy,” Harris said. “I’m glad they sent you. I was afraid they’d ship me the least qualified person they have just to say they were trying to help out.”
Dane took a swallow and belched lightly. Coke always did that to him. He thought he might still be the least qualified person in the office for this kind of work, but kept quiet.
“How come nobody heard gunshots?” Dane asked.
Harris shrugged. “They probably did and thought it was either hunters or something else, like a backfire. Either way, people don’t get involved in somebody else’s business down here. I’ve asked around and a couple of the local yokels think they maybe heard a truck driving off about the right time we think this happened. Nobody saw it, of course. It wouldn’t surprise me if a lot of people around here did some periodic smuggling, so they’d all believe in live and let live.”
Dane took another long swallow and controlled the belch. “Now where do we go?”
Harris shrugged. “I guess you go back to your normal duty while I try to figure out what this guy is planning. My guess is sabotage. And unless he does something truly stupid that makes him stick out like a sore thumb, we’re going to have a devil of a time finding him before he strikes.”
“Firebells in the night” was a term Farris remembered from a history class he took in college before he left to join the army. He thought it was Thomas Jefferson who said it but couldn’t remember when or why. Maybe it had something to do with a possible slave rebellion in the American south before the Civil War?
Since there wasn’t a quiz coming up, he really didn’t care. His real concern was the burning oil tanker that was clearly visible a couple of miles offshore and closer to Captain Lytle’s headquarters than to Farris’s position. The explosions had awakened everyone and the entire platoon was armed and ready. This was the first time any of the many ships passing in front of their post had ever been attacked and the first time carrying a rifle was serious business. People were being killed out there on the ocean and it was a sobering experience.
A second explosion sent another cloud of flames billowing into the night. Oil was burning on the water and Farris thought he could hear screams as people burned to death. He prayed it was his imagination.
“That ship’s gonna take a long time to die,” Stecher said. “Maybe it’ll give the crew time to get away.”
“God, I hope so,” Farris said.
They had binoculars and were looking for lifeboats as well as the submarine that had torpedoed the tanker. Trying to find the sub was futile; the roaring, billowing flames had destroyed their night vision. They’d only see a sub if they picked up its silhouette, although just maybe they’d be able to spot lifeboats in the light caused by the fires. Farris commented that the spilled oil was going to leave a mess on the shore and kill a lot of wildlife. Stecher replied that war was hell and that he was more concerned about the crew than the seals. Farris agreed.
A distant pair of lifeboats came into view. The bulk of the dying ship had hidden them from sight, but now they were backlit by the flames. They were rowing toward shore and Farris thought they would come close to his position, but more to the south and closer to Lytle’s spot. He told his men to be ready with blankets and water and to stack their weapons. The Japs weren’t going to invade this night. He radioed his company commander for more blankets and water and for medical help as well, and the call was acknowledged. Farris wondered if that meant Lytle would actually send more help or was just noting the request. On a positive note, people from the little town of Bridger were arriving with all kinds of first-aid equipment. Sullivan, the store owner, was organizing the efforts. Apparently shipwrecks had occurred before. Farris wondered if the locals also scavenged for valuables that washed up on the shore.
“Jesus,” yelled Stecher. Tracers from shore-based machine guns south of them snaked out toward the burning ship, which was well out of their range. What the hell were Lytle’s men shooting at?
“Did you see a sub?” Farris asked Stecher with a feeling of dread.
“No, sir, just those lifeboats and the bullets are coming damn close to them. Aw shit, sir, you don’t suppose that our beloved captain ordered his men to shoot at the survivors in the boats, do you?”
Farris didn’t know what to think. Finally, the firing stopped. The two lifeboats had veered north and were now definitely heading right toward him. As they crashed through the surf, soldiers ran out and grabbed them, pulling them onto the beach. Other soldiers and civilians helped crewmen out and onto the sand. Many were unhurt, but others had broken bones and suffered horrible-looking burns. A few were covered with oil and were shivering uncontrollably. One crewman didn’t have an arm from the elbow down, and a buddy was trying to keep him from bleeding to death with a tourniquet. From the way the wounded man’s head was lolling, it was a losing battle.
Farris’s men laid the injured on the ground and tried to administer first aid. Vehicles were arriving, including still more civilians from Bridger. One man, clearly the tanker’s captain, strode up to Farris. He was livid with anger.
