investigation. The shopkeeper, the two policemen, and a third who would be brought in later were of no interest to the Army captain. He did not want to bother with what he considered the crust of the problem. He wanted a target that was both worthy of his efforts and would serve as an example to more than a single shopkeeper. In due course, the lieutenant was arrested, presented with the evidence, and confessed his guilt.
The trial, held at the courthouse the next morning, with the captain serving as the judge, was quick. The shopkeeper involved, present as a witness, was fined and released. The police officers on the list, also present as witnesses, were demoted one step in grade, fined, and released.
The police lieutenant was duly found guilty of encouraging his subordinates to accept bribes, which he shared in, from shopkeepers who were overcharging their customers. He was sentenced to death by firing squad, to be carried out the following day before noon. Without further ado, the court was adjourned and the Army captain prepared to work on his next task.
Before she left, the Army captain asked Jan what she thought of the whole affair. Jan didn't quite know how to respond. She, like the accused, found that the speed of the whole affair had left her little time to organize her thoughts. Her first response, that she thought shooting the police lieutenant was rather severe and cruel, resulted in a perplexed look on the captain's face. 'Senorita Fields, to have shot all the policemen and shopkeepers involved would have been cruel. Besides, we do not have enough bullets in all of Mexico to shoot everyone who, under the old regime, was corrupt. No, instead, we slapped the underlings and shot the biggest fish we could catch, the more influential and visible, the better.
Now all the shopkeepers and policemen in that precinct, and no doubt the neighboring precincts, know what can happen if they attempt to take advantage of their position. No, senorita, a simple and hard-hitting example of what can happen is best.'
Where the investigation and trial had proceeded with a speed that was staggering, the events leading up to the execution of the sentence had been painfully ponderous. Taken from the courthouse, the police lieutenant was held overnight at a prison within the city. That night, with Jan and her crew watching, he was permitted a visit by his wife and children.
In a scene that brought tears even to Joe Bob's eyes, the police lieutenant's wife cried with abandon while his children clung to him, as if this could prevent him from being taken. For his part, the lieutenant stood in stunned silence, overwhelmed by the events of the past two days. Overwhelmed herself with sympathy for the poor wife, Jan chose not to wait for their departure. Instead, she cut the taping and left. The next day, she knew, would be difficult.
She was right. When Jan arrived the next morning, she found the police lieutenant awake. A breakfast served earlier sat next to his bed untouched. Though she suspected that the lieutenant had not slept, he seemed to be fully alert and at peace. In a short interview, he spoke freely, confessing his sins in the same manner that he would to a priest in an effort to absolve himself of his guilt, admitting that it had been wrong for him to encourage his subordinates to neglect their duties and accept bribes. To ignore shopkeepers and tradesmen who exploited the poor, he said, was evil and should be stopped. Alas, he lamented, he was but a weak mortal who, raised in a corrupt system, had done what everyone else was doing. When Jan asked if he thought that the sentence he had received was too harsh, he looked at her for a moment before answering.
'This is, senorita, a revolution, or more correctly, a continuation of that great revolution fought by our grandfathers that has made Mexico the great country that it is today. I am guilty of betraying that revolution and I am prepared to pay the price, like a man, for my sins against the people.'
Though Jan suspected that the lieutenant had been coached before she had arrived, there was no denying that he meant what he said when he told her that he would face his death like a man. In the courtyard there were four groups of people. In the center stood a firing squad. Because the accused was a police officer, the firing squad was made up of ten policemen, all from different precincts. The officer in charge was also a policeman, a lieutenant, just like the accused. The significance of all this did not escape Joe Bob, who suspected that Colonel Guajardo had arranged it. The second group was a cluster of police officers of assorted ranks. They were there to witness the execution and learn. The third group was private citizens, including the old woman who had brought the original charges against the shopkeeper, and the shopkeeper himself, to watch justice dispensed. The final group was Jan and her crew. Though Ted preferred to shoot with the camera on his shoulder, he had it mounted on a tripod that morning. Though it would limit his ability to move around, he knew the extra support was necessary, since he didn't like guns and had a tendency to jump every time he heard one fired.
When all was set, the police lieutenant to be executed, accompanied by a priest, was led to a spot in front of a wall opposite the firing squad. Jan watched the preliminaries without comment as Joe Bob adjusted his equipment so that the tape would pick up every word. There was, after all, nothing to be said at this point. Everything was self-explanatory, readily evident.
As in any B movie, the priest said a final prayer, the officer in charge read the charges out loud, and the accused manfully refused a blindfold.
Only this wasn't a B movie. Jan kept telling herself that. This, she knew, was real. The man standing less than fifty feet from her was about to die and there was nothing that she could do to stop it. All she could do was watch, like everyone else in the courtyard. That was, after all, her job, to watch and report what she saw. She didn't make news, she didn't change it. She only watched events in the making. This, she repeated to herself, over and over, was just another event. No different than a tornado, or a fire, or any other story. It was just a story.
Still, as the officer in charge of the firing squad began to issue his orders, Jan felt light-headed. In response to the officer's crisp, clear, and exaggerated orders, the firing squad brought their rifles to bear and took aim. At the last moment, before the crack of the rifles announced that the sentence had been carried out, Jan turned away and hung her head. This was not just a story. And she knew it.
From a small room overlooking the courtyard, Colonel Guajardo watched the execution below. He observed Jan Fields intently as he listened to the commands. When she turned just before the command to fire was given, Guajardo smiled. Before the first trigger was pulled, Guajardo knew that the firing squad had hit its mark. Once again, through a happy combination of luck and subtle manipulation, he had managed to turn a potentially bad situation into a favorable result. Though he didn't know what she would say, Guajardo counted on Jan's story to do what the Council of 13 couldn't do on its own.
Looking up at the clear blue sky, he ignored the report of the rifles.
Without turning to his adjutant, he mused, 'It is going to be a beautiful day today. Far too beautiful to spend in the city.'
Understanding his colonel's meaning, the adjutant asked, 'What shall it be, sir, flying or riding?'
'Riding, I think.' Slapping his right hand on his chest, Guajardo looked over to his adjutant. With a smile on his face, he grabbed the adjutant's arm and began to guide him down the corridor. 'Come,we will make short work of the paper monsters that threaten to consume us and then we will each find a fine horse that demands to be ridden hard.'
In his fifteen years as a member of the border patrol, Ken Tins worthy had never known a man who could get lost more than his best friend, Jay Stevenson, could. Stevenson, himself a veteran of fourteen years with the border patrol, never had mastered the fine art of map reading. For this reason, the duty roster was always arranged so that Stevenson was paired with someone who could read a map or who knew the area.
The current problems in Mexico, however, had screwed up the duty roster, along with everything else for the men working out of the Laredo office. Though the news reports continued to tell of the popularity of the new Mexican government, the increased flow of Mexicans north, into the United States, told Tinsworthy and his fellow border patrolmen that not everyone in Mexico agreed with that assessment. The big difference with many of the Mexicans coming north was that they were coming from a better class of people than in the past. Former government officials, policemen, merchants, lawyers, and even an occasional priest made up the bulk of the new wave headed north. Increased movement of illegal immigrants north meant increased patrols, which, in turn, meant longer hours and the need to put new and partially trained men into the field as soon as possible. Everyone with over ten years service was paired off with a new man. In this way, the system of putting Stevenson with a proficient map reader got screwed up. Too proud to complain, Stevenson had gone out the night before with the new man, named Mikelsen, driving while Stevenson tried to find the easiest and most obvious route to their checkpoints.
