“What are you doing?” Crystal shouted.
The Grand Cherokee gathered speed, and when it crossed the smooth drag road, Asadullah said, “There’s a large sand bar in the river, with shallow water on this side, and a more narrow, and deeper channel near the Mexican side. We will drive across into Mexico.”
“Samir said, “What if the channel’s too deep?”
Holland said, “Be ready to swim.”
“What do we do after we cross? They’ll be hunting us, too.”
“Yes, they will. Find transportation, get to Cancun, the Ritz Carlton, and blend with the tourists as cover. I will find you.” He looked at Samir, then in the rear view mirror at Crystal, “Remember to keep your faith and our mission. Continue to eat and drink what these infidels do, and wear their clothes. This will disguise you, and it is Allah’s will for our jihad. This mission is not over.” He turned his attention back to driving.
Everyone braced as the Jeep hit the first water and sent a spray out on both sides. It wallowed in the wet silt, caught and jerked forward onto the sandbar and spun mud and droplets into the air as the wheels churned.
The noise of mud striking the inside fender wells was so loud that Asadullah had to yell as he pointed to his right, thirty yards upriver. “There!”
Samir saw an elderly man and a young boy about twelve, fishing in the river, and staring open-mouthed at them. Behind them was an old, rusty Ford pickup with no front bumper.
The front of the Grand Cherokee went into the deep channel and dropped lower as the rear wheels continued to spin, sending it across the water until the front hit the bank.
The bank was flat-faced, like a three-foot high bluff, and the front wheels couldn’t find purchase. The Jeep’s front turned with the current and pointed downriver. The rear wheels slid into the deeper part of the river and the Jeep floated steadily lower as it took in water.
Asadullah exited first, but Crystal and Samir were close behind. They struggled to find a handhold on the Mexican bank, finally managing to grasp enough grass on top to pull them out of the water.
The old man and the boy hurried in their direction, and Asadullah saw the concern in their faces just before he shot them.
He dug through the old man’s pants, finding keys and sixty pesos. He took them. They trotted to the old Ford, with Crystal’s arms over their shoulders because of her leg wound. It was a 1970 model with a single seat, no console or split divider. Samir helped Crystal onto it and she scooted to the middle. He took the passenger side as Asadullah put in the key and turned the ignition.
The engine started fast, and idled without missing. He put it in gear and they drove across the grassy river vega toward the outskirts of Ojinaga. Asadullah said, “They will be coming. I will drop you off at the Alsuper for your pickup. Get out of town, and we will meet in Cancun as planned.”
Samir said, “See you there.”
Asadullah kept his pistol in one hand while he drove, just in case someone unexpected tried to stop them.
***
When Riffey first slipped out of Hunter Kincaid’s pickup, he ran into the slow-moving southbound traffic to use the vehicles for cover as he and another dozen pedestrians walked fast among the cars and trucks, seeing Mexican Customs people wind-milling their arms in circles, telling everyone to hurry and get off the bridge. The officials didn’t check papers or question anyone, and even from forty yards away, Riffey could see the fear in their eyes.
He slowed as he passed the end of the bridge. Guereca sat in the red pickup three vehicles in front of him. Both people and cars moved at a walking pace, so Riffey sidled left and trotted to the far side of a white van, using it as cover from the killer. Every thirty seconds or so, Riffey peeked around the rear fender of the van, hearing music coming from the red pickup and seeing Guereca singing along, off-key.
Every other person on the bridge, and everyone within ten square miles was terrified of dying, yet here was this tattooed criminal singing and tapping his hand on the steering wheel to keep time. Riffey watched Guereca check his wristwatch, then laugh and continue singing.
He knew how much time remained. Riffey breathed deep and felt the fear lessen. He wished he had a weapon, though, because he would trot up behind Guereca and put a bullet behind his ear.
But he didn’t have one. The traffic began to accelerate, so he worked his way to the side of the road, all the while keeping Guereca in sight. He had to stop suddenly when reaching Calle Fronteriza when a car, driven by a man as handsome as a movie star crossed in front of him and entered the traffic stream, maneuvering his way forward until his car was behind Guereca’s red pickup. Riffey watched them for a minute longer, and then walked southwest, deeper into Ojinaga’s busiest section.
Minutes ticked by, and he thought of La Sombra and the monstrous yellow-green cloud. He licked his lips and hurried his pace, looking for someway out of town. His pocket contained six dollars, all ones, no change, no credit cards, no weapon.
Riffey felt fear creep into his stomach again, nibbling like a small rat. After five long blocks and being turned down a dozen times when he tried to hitch a ride, Riffey turned off the main highway, hoping to find a parked car somewhere that he could steal.
One-half block later, providence smiled. A dark green Buick passed him to pull into the parking lot of a small, banana-yellow building thirty yards ahead.
Several signs decorated the building: Super SIX in red letters, Tecate, on a small blue sign, and painted on the large picture windows were the words copias y fax. A Volkswagen-sized white box was outside the entrance door, with Heilo on it. Ice.
The man exited the Buick as he talked in an excited, nervous voice on the phone held to his ear. He said, “Si, Si, voy a comprarlo,” and hurried into the store.
Riffey noticed small puffs of white smoke emitting from the tailpipe. The guy left the car running. Riffey trotted to it, opened the door, slammed the Buick in Drive and got the hell out of there.
He couldn’t believe his luck, and checked the rearview mirror constantly, but there was no pursuit. Staying off the main roads, he worked his way out of town, farther and farther from the tanker rig on the bridge.