Holland continued to drive slowly with the traffic. Crystal said, “Did you hear me?”
“Relax. It was a joke. I was joking. We are fine on the time.”
Crystal looked at Samir, her eyes big. Samir said, “I believe Asadullah.”
They reached the center of the bridge and looked at the flat expanse of river valley, and the small river that marked the boundaries of two nations. Samir said, “Will the gas flow downriver?”
“Not at first. The gas initially will go in all directions, and then when it reaches its highest point, it will flow back down and spread evenly before flowing downriver. The gas is heavier than air and seeks out the lowest places as it flows. But it will also act like water, such as when pouring a pitcher of liquid all at once into a small fish tank. The water is turbulent, splashing high on all sides, then gradually settling to a uniform depth. This will happen with the chlorine gas.”
Crystal was still nervous, “And we will be higher than all of that.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. But I’ll still be glad to get off this bridge.”
Traffic began moving faster, and they crossed the bridge, approaching the Port of Entry. Samir said, “After today, the world will look upon the Islamic State as the killer of giants.”
Holland said, “Allahu akbar.”
Crystal said, “I can’t wait to see all of them die.” Her eyes shone with excitement, so much so that she wiped tears from her cheeks.
They reached the United States inspection booths, and passed through them without difficulty. Crystal glanced through the rear glass and saw the tanker rig at the middle of the International Bridge.
CHAPTER 7
Floyd Riffey left his apartment and drove through town with his windows down, enjoying the open air for the first time since reaching Presidio. It felt good to
be outside. The retired couple he rented the apartment from, the Lermas, loaned him their car, and Riffey told them he would bring back the items on their grocery list in exchange for letting him use the ten year-old Chevrolet Cavalier.
He cruised around town, noticing more traffic and people than usual, even at the super market while buying the Lerma's groceries.
The day was beautiful, and Riffey wasn’t ready to return to his apartment. He took an aimless direction through town and along the streets, cruising through the neighborhoods. Looking at houses and people was a fine way to pass an hour or so before going home. When it was time to take a final circle through town, Riffey took Bledsoe Boulevard east to Ojinaga Avenue, turned south on it, then west at the intersection with O’Reilly Street.
A small crowd was ahead on his right, and Riffey slowed when he passed the parking lot for The Enlightened Bean. Sheriff Danny Montoya campaigned from the back of a pickup, wearing his new Stetson and tooled leather gun belt with matching holster holding a Model 1911 Colt. Montoya looked the part of a West Texas Sheriff, Riffey thought. The Sheriff’s speech had several listeners nodding in agreement. He used his hands to emphasize points to the group, which brought more head nodding. Election campaign signs looked sharp in the sunlight, and placed so everyone driving by could see them.
Riffey continued west, driving below the speed limit and enjoying the day. He passed the Santa Teresa Church and nodded at several people on the sidewalk. While approaching the intersection with Highway 67, Riffey saw a flurry of activity on the International Bridge. It appeared that a tanker rig was stalled.
His attention was on the bridge as he stopped at Highway 67, and only gave a glance to the Grand Cherokee coming from the bridge as it passed in front of the Cavalier. The driver locked eyes with him, and Riffey’s heart caught in his throat.
It was Holland.
***
Holland hit the brakes and the Cherokee squealed to a stop. He turned the steering wheel to come around on Riffey, but the Chevy Cavalier spun gravel and dirt behind it and the tires yip-yipped as they hit highway pavement when Riffey accelerated in the opposite direction.
Riffey was in a panic, and he floored the little car’s gas pedal as he accelerated toward the International Bridge and Mexico. One glance in the rearview mirror showed him that Holland had turned around and now accelerated toward him.
He passed a car on the shoulder, almost losing it when the wheels hit a patch of loose dirt, but regained control. The road narrowed to one-way as it passed by the Presidio Port of Entry, and then shortly before it entered the bridge, the road became two-way again, with traffic going into and out of Mexico.
Holland was thirty yards behind him and gaining. Riffey’s mind raced, and he thought if he could only get into Mexico, he might be able to get away. He glanced at the Presidio Port of Entry as he flew by, and noticed there was no traffic coming from Mexico. The people in the inspection booths were looking at the bridge to see what was the problem.
Riffey saw the stalled tanker rig. The driver’s cab door opened and Guereca stepped out, holding a handgun.
Understanding swept through Riffey. This huge tanker, the test with the small chlorine tank at La Sombra, Guereca here on the scene, and Holland, with Crystal and Samir, all of them right here.
Riffey noticed thin tendrils of smoke wafting off the belly of the tanker, and his heart hammered so hard his hands shook. Images of the terrible, yellow-green cloud filling the valley and boiling over the village filled his head in a flashback so vivid he instantly broke out in a cold sweat. Riffey imagined how much larger and horrific the tanker’s chlorine cloud would be. His bowels felt like water.
They were going to kill everyone.