“Come.” Asadullah pushed Riffey out of the house and down the road to the abandoned adobes and the hidden pickup. “You will drive,” he said to Riffey.
“Where to?”
“The place where you will lead me across the border.”
“Okay, okay.” Riffey started the engine, put the vehicle in gear and maneuvered it onto the road towards Ojinaga. The night sky was full of stars, and the air cool, almost cold this close to the river. Riffey drove slowly, figuring it might add precious seconds to his life.
“Go faster.” Asadullah said. Riffey increased his speed and kept his eyes open for any chance to escape, or find a weapon with which to kill the madman in the passenger seat. He didn’t see either, and drove below La Estacion, then north of the feedlots to the river where the railroad tracks used to cross from Texas to Chihuahua, until the bridge burned and service was discontinued.
He looked at the terrorist, “This is it.”
“Get out.” Riffey did, and stood by the door. Asadullah continued, “Get the equipment out of the truck bed. It will cross with us.”
Riffey hadn’t noticed anything while he drove, but he looked now, and his stomach lurched at the sight of the small tank. “Oh,…no, no.” he said.
Asadullah waved his pistol, telling Riffey to do it. Riffey did, but his hands shook when he touched the cold metal surface of the tank. It was as if he felt the icy skin of the green monster inside. “The bag, too,” Holland said. Riffey reached into the bed and grabbed the handles of the small sport bag, swung it out and put it down beside the tank.
“Where are we going?”
“The Activities Center.”
Riffey swallowed. Tied up on the couch like he had been, there was nothing to do but watch television, and that included the news about dignitaries coming to Presidio. He had no choice, though, and lifted the tank and sport bag in his hands, then led Asadullah toward the river.
They walked through short brush to reach the sandy shore, and Riffey stopped to double-check his location for the crossing. “Okay, here,” Riffey said, and waded into the gradually deepening water. He deliberately let the tank and the bag dip into the water, hoping that the act would somehow ruin the makeshift chemical bomb.
“Stop,” Asadullah said. “Give me the bag.” Riffey handed it to him and the terrorist opened the bag to feel inside for wetness.
“What’s in it?”
“Keep going.” Riffey started across again, and when he reached deeper water, he used the tank as a floating device to make swimming the last short distance easier. He glanced back once. Asadullah held the bag out of the water with one hand and dogpaddled with the other through the deep part of the river.
The two men crossed in less than three minutes. Riffey led off again, relieved that the river water had washed most of the dried urine out of his jeans and off his body. He stayed at the edges of the fields, hoping a night-working Border Patrol Agent or police officer would see the tracks.
Asadullah said, “Is this the most direct route?”
“Yes, and the one that’ll keep us hidden.”
The terrorist pointed to his left, “What about there? The brush is taller and thicker.”
“That’s the brush line paralleling the old railroad tracks.” He thought fast, “Border Patrol has sensors along it. I think they figured that all the brush would be a good hiding place for the illegals, that the cover would draw them there.”
“All right. Keep going, then.” Riffey began a slow angle to his right, cutting diagonally across the fields, shuffling his feet in the dust and stepping over rows. It slowed them, but he kept the pace so Asadullah wouldn’t tell him to speed up.
They came out of the fields where the train tracks crossed Highway 170. They were closer to neighborhoods now, and dogs barked when they saw or smelled the two men.
Riffey sat the tank down on the ground and rolled his shoulder. “Thing gets heavy after a while. I just need a minute.”
“You may rest your arm until you are ready.” Riffey hadn’t expected that. He would take a little more time than he needed, but not much.
“The Governor and those others are going to be inside the building, right? How are you going to get inside tonight and set this up?”
“You sound rested. Get going.”
Well, hell, Riffey thought. He said, we’ll need to cross 170 and angle to the right to find some cover that’ll shield us from passing cars and trucks.”
“I have seen no traffic.”
“And we may not. But I want to be sure. I want to get you there without a soul seeing you. I want to stay alive.”