“I didn’t see.”
Hunter said, “Sam, if those men in the copter were hunting him, you know they aren’t through. Help us out here so we can find Miguel and protect him.”
“I didn’t see. You’re welcome to look anyplace you want.”
Hunter sighed and rose, “I guess we’ll take you up on that, then. Thanks for the tea.”
They found Miguel’s tracks in several places near the house, but lost them after an hour in the rocky foothills behind the ranch headquarters. Raymond pulled off his hat and funneled the brim as he scanned the area and said, “If he’s up in these rocks, we won’t find anything until he leaves them and starts walking where there’s a little dust. What do you want to do?”
Hunter said, “Call it quits for now. We can check again later. How about we go to Presidio tomorrow and talk to Lee Rodriguez, see if he has any idea about who owns that helicopter?”
“I’m for that.”
Hunter said, “Maybe we can meet at the Oasis and grab a bite while we’re talking.”
“You sure you don’t have a tapeworm?”
Hunter grinned as she fished the keys out of her pocket.
CHAPTER 2
Holland put the night vision goggles in the helicopter and said to Floyd Riffey, “We take the quiet gear tonight.”
Riffey said, “So no AKs?”
Holland ignored him.
Riffey said, “We need to get in and out, grab that wetback, get the merchandise and haul ass out of there.”
Holland didn’t respond. Riffey said, “You thinking something else, some other plan?”
“What you said was redundant. It did not need an answer.”
“Damn, Holland, you could have said something just to be courteous.”
Holland stopped loading gear and looked at him. Riffey felt a shot of ice run up his spine. He swallowed, then raised his hands in surrender and walked away, toward the small shack on the rise. Inside were four men, all Mexican, and each one with gang tats covering their arms. The one eating an apple said, “Your dude out there don’t say much.”
Riffey opened a gray metal locker and removed two Colt model 1911s fitted with SilencerCo suppressors. The black nylon shoulder holsters hung on a wooden peg, and he gathered them as well.
The Mexican said, “So we just sit here until the Russian out there tells us what to do, that right?”
“He’s Chechen, but yeah, pretty much.”
“We’re getting bored, Riffey. I’ve got like, half a bar on my cell phone, and there’s no TV. Hell, there’s not even a paperback layin’ around.”
Holland entered and said, “We move back across the river after tonight.”
The Mexican said, “Are we comin’ this time?”
“Yes, get your gear and bring the Hummer. Watch my signals, because we will drive with lights out until we are close to the ranch. Riffey and I will go in the house. Come if you hear trouble or if I call.”
The Mexicans rose, grabbed their AK-47s, the ones the gangs called cuerno de chivo, because the curved magazine resembled a goat’s horn, and followed Holland out the door.
***
Sam Kinney awoke thinking he heard Chula’s low growl, but when he strained to hear, there was only silence. The clock read: 2:36AM. He sat up, found his moccasins and slid them on, using a finger in the heel. Moving in silence, Sam eased through the house. He entered the open kitchen area and felt a presence loom behind him.
A voice said, “Don’t move.” Sam felt something like the end of a small metal tube touch the back of his head. “Where is the Mexican.”