The Territory A Novel

THIRTEEN



Pegasus Winning stood in the stockroom in the back of Value Gas, sneaking a cigarette. She was the only employee on duty, and the store and lot were currently empty. From her vantage point, looking out the square window in the stockroom door, she had a clear shot to the front entrance. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, and she didn’t get off until two in the morning. She was bored out of her mind and had already restocked the chips, her only chore for the night, outside of running the register and locking up. Sundays were torture.

She had time to finish two cigarettes before she heard the buzz of the front door and saw her brother lope inside. He scoped out the aisles and walked the perimeter of the store, looking for either Pegasus or trouble, probably both.

“Hey,” she called, stubbing out her cigarette on the stockroom floor.

“You here by yourself?” he asked.

She nodded and walked to the front of the store to stand behind the register. He followed and threw a bag of cookies and a pack of gum on the counter. She thought he looked tense.

“I’m taking off soon. I’ll try and stop by tomorrow. Just in case, though, I wanted to let you know. Tell you to watch your back. Be safe. Remember to knock the safety off if you have to use it.” He smiled, a half grin, and chucked her on the chin. “Be careful, sis.”

She didn’t speak. She could not force the words out, so she just smiled and nodded her head at his back as he turned from her. He didn’t do good-byes, and his effort to see her now made her nervous. She usually found out he was leaving through a note or phone call after the fact. She watched his car pull out of the lot, and the loneliness felt like a thousand pinpricks through her heart.

The tears had just begun to roll when a sheriff’s deputy walked into the store. He glanced at her and then gave her a second look as if assessing the situation. She wiped her tears off with the backs of her hands and sniffed to stifle the flow. The cop walked quickly around the store, as if he wanted something specific but couldn’t find it. He didn’t bother to ask questions, and she didn’t offer to help. He finally grabbed a Mountain Dew and set it on the counter.

He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and stared down as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. “Son of a bitch.”

“No money?” she asked.

“What a day.”

“What a life,” she said.

He shook his head and smirked as if understanding completely.

“Just take it,” she said. “Pay me back another day.”

He started to protest, but she scooted the Mountain Dew across the counter toward him. “You’re good for it, right?”

* * *

Hack Bloster sat in his squad car and twisted the plastic cap. He stared at the girl behind the counter through the window. He had almost refused a dollar-and-fifty-cent soft drink because it felt too much like stealing, yet he was headed to work to break four murderers out of jail in exchange for money. What had happened to him? He stared at the girl, remembering the tears running down her face when he walked into the gas station, and he wondered if it was too late to change things.

* * *

Warden Escobedo had called Sheriff Martínez and filled him in on the setup at his jail. Josie had been right about Martínez: he needed to know what was happening at his jail, not because of misguided interoffice courtesy, but because he could make an off-duty stop at the jail and blow the entire operation wide open. At this point, if Martínez did anything to sabotage the operation, he effectively implicated himself as well as Bloster. Martínez was instructed to remain at home and talk to no one until he received further notice. Escobedo knew the sheriff was furious at being ordered to stay away from his own jail, but he was respectful and agreed to the terms.

Two local employees, jailers Maria Santiago and Dooley Thomas, were on duty inside the jail that night. Escobedo had already briefed both of them on their roles, the confidential nature of the prisoner transfer, and the volatile, life-threatening situation they were facing that night. After talking with them, he felt confident that both would handle their roles professionally.

Escobedo was sitting in the white prisoner transport van waiting on Bloster to make contact. Escobedo had changed out of his suit and dressed in a jailer’s uniform from the federal prison in Houston. When the National Guard caravan drove past the jail and continued on another mile to Main Street, he pulled binoculars out of the glove compartment and watched a man dressed in black jeans, cowboy boots, and a denim-style shirt riding a white Harley Davidson Super Glide escort the unit around the courthouse square. Escobedo watched in amazement as the caravan of four Humvees and two covered trucks wrapped the block twice like a parade route with the man waving to the pedestrians like a grand marshal.

He hadn’t planned on the addition of the National Guard to the equation and had no idea how they would fit into the scenario, or if they were staying around the courthouse or moving in around the jail. Escobedo called Sheriff Martínez’s cell phone.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had National Guard troops arriving tonight?” Escobedo yelled.

“What are you talking about?” Martínez asked.

“It’s like a city parade around the courthouse. Some crackpot on a white Harley is leading them around the block, waving.”

“That’s Mayor Moss.”

“The streets are filling up. People are cheering on the guardsmen,” Escobedo said, reaffirming his hatred for small towns, confirming his love for Houston. “Do they not realize the guard is here to protect them from mass murder?”

“Last word I heard from the mayor was that the guard was on hold until further notice. Let me give him a call and—”

Escobedo cut him off. “You don’t call anyone. The only phone call you answer is from this cell phone. Understood?”

Escobedo noticed the hesitation before Martínez answered, “Yes, sir.”

* * *

Bloster parked his cruiser behind the jail as a white transport van pulled in the back lot and drove toward the prisoner transport area. All the pieces were fitting together, which did nothing to calm his nerves.

He watched the continuing parade of National Guard trucks file around the courthouse. They added yet another variable to a night full of them. He worried some of the guard members might fan out to check the area and question him about his purpose, but as a deputy, he should be in the clear.

He shut his car door and felt as if every eye in Artemis were trained on him, his hypocrisy laid bare for the world to witness. He had reached the lowest point in his life, and he imagined his deceit and dishonor glowed from his skin like radiation.

After being buzzed into the jail, he signed his name on the sign-in clipboard Maria handed him and asked how she was doing.

“Not bad,” she said. “You doing okay?”

“Not so good. I had a shift change. Wasn’t supposed to work tonight.”

“It’s no good coming in on a day off,” she said, and turned back to her paperwork.

“I got assigned the prisoners. I’ll be organizing transport later this evening. The sheriff asked if I’d take care of this. I’ll get the paperwork all filled out and get it back to you before I go.” With his nerve endings on fire, he shut his mouth, aware he was explaining too much.

“No problem. We’re down a man tonight, and I’m stuck here at the desk.” Usually cheerful and talkative, she seemed busy and preoccupied.

He looked down at the clipboard in his hand. “What’s going on with the National Guard?”

“I’m not sure. I guess the mayor organized it.”

“Are they stationed outside, or are they coming inside the jail?” he asked.

“No one told me anything,” she said.

Bloster nodded and wondered at her attitude. She was usually one of the friendliest employees at the jail. He hoped he was just being paranoid.

“Can you buzz me back? I need to check in with the guard about the transport.”

Maria buzzed him through to the center of the jail, where the inmate pods were located. As the door locked behind him, Bloster slowed his breathing and took measured steps down the short hallway. He pressed a red button on the wall, and Maria buzzed him into the day space.

Just inside the door, Dooley, the day-shift guard, sat at a desk, watching three inmates who were lounging at a metal table, watching a TV on the wall. Dooley was a giant man who barely fit into the folding chair he sat in.

Seeing Dooley at the guard desk caught Bloster by surprise. “How come they have you working night shift?”

“Sheriff called me in tonight.”

Bloster broke out into a cold sweat. He had told Maria the sheriff had also called him in, which was a lie. What if Dooley and Maria talked and decided to call the sheriff to check on the schedule mix-up? If everyone remained quiet tonight, Bloster knew he could cover his schedule with the sheriff and explain it as a mistake.

“You here to cover me for supper break?” Dooley asked.

Bloster was starting to panic. He needed time to sit down and work through his plan again. He had to check in with the transport driver first and make sure it was set up as a legitimate prisoner transfer.

“Give me ten minutes to run an errand,” Bloster said. “I’ll be right back.” He pressed the intercom. “Maria? I need back through again. Then I’ll relieve Dooley for supper break.”

The door buzzed and the lock clicked loudly. Bloster maneuvered through the series of locked doors, with each step expecting disaster.

Once outside, he felt a rush of adrenaline and a tinge of hope that he might actually accomplish the prisoner exchange without becoming one himself. He avoided eye contact with the guardsmen, now standing outside their trucks and talking in small groups in front of the jail. Bloster took the sidewalk beside the brick building to the back parking area, where the van and his own patrol car were parked.

The driver of the van wasn’t in the driver’s seat, but his head appeared after Bloster knocked on the window. The van was running and the driver lowered the window. He was a middle-aged man dressed in the uniform worn by jailers at the federal penitentiary. Bloster had never been to the jail, but he recognized the federal patch below the man’s name on his pocket.

“You here for the prisoner transport?” Bloster asked, his blood pounding like a hammer in his head.

“You got four for me to take back?”

“Yes, sir.”

The driver passed Bloster paperwork through the window, and he was shocked to see that it appeared legitimate, with signatures and times and the names of the prisoners. With the paperwork in his hand, Bloster realized he was making what would look like a legitimate transfer. He couldn’t believe the Mexicans had that kind of access to the inner workings of their prison system, but at that point, he was glad they did.

“You need help with the prisoners?” the driver asked.

Bloster said no, that he would bring them out to the loading dock on the basketball court. He had started to walk away when the driver called him back to the van.

“Let’s do this now before the prisoners are out here,” the man said. He reached down between the driver and passenger seats and picked up a briefcase, which he laid on his lap. He flipped the latch and opened the case to reveal stacks of twenty-, fifty-, and hundred-dollar bills.

“You want to count these?” the driver asked.

Bloster shook his head and attempted to keep his paranoia in check, forcing himself to face the driver and not look over his shoulder.

“You get all four prisoners in the van, I give you the case, and I’m out of here. I don’t like that convoy of National Guard sitting out front. The faster we get out of here, the better.”

“What happens to me when it’s discovered these prisoners were never received in Houston?”

“The paperwork is done. As far as your jail is concerned, the prisoners were taken as planned. These men get erased from the system, and you made a good day’s wages.”

Bloster directed the driver to pull the van to the gym entrance, where a large garage door would open via Maria in the central hub. The van entered, the door was shut again, and the basketball court was secure now for a prisoner exchange. The van turned around and backed up to the only entrance to the jail from the court while Bloster went back around the front. Maria buzzed him in, and he moved directly to the pod of prisoners again. Dooley, who was supposed to get off for supper, grumbled, but he helped Bloster handcuff the first three prisoners.

Dooley asked Bloster, “Does that driver know he’ll be taking rival gang members?”

Bloster looked at him blankly. He felt as if his brain could not process any new information.

“These three are from the Medrano cartel. They were the three that crossed the border to blow this one out of jail.” Dooley turned and pointed to a prison cell behind him, where Gutiérrez stood watching from behind the bars. “I figured they’d send two vans. One for these three, and one for the La Bestia dirtbag behind us.”

Bloster could think of nothing to say. He just knew he needed all four prisoners out of the jail by midnight. “Let’s get these three loaded. We’ll get their hands and feet locked into the bars on the van. They should be safe enough.”

Dooley raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Whatever.”

Each of the three prisoners’ hands was handcuffed separately to a bar behind their lower backs. Each of their feet was shackled in a similar manner to the floor of the van, and a chain was wrapped around their waists like a belt and attached to another hook behind their backs. Under some circumstances, Bloster would have thought the setup was overkill. Tonight, he thought it was a good idea. Bloster didn’t know what might be in store for the four prisoners, but he suspected Gutiérrez was in trouble.

Back at the cell, Dooley held his nightstick in one hand and the handcuffs in another as Bloster unlocked the cell door. Dooley rocked back on his heels, jutting his large stomach out farther and tapped his nightstick on his palm, letting the handcuffs dangle from his finger.

As the door opened, Gutiérrez moved to the back of his cell, his face stricken. “You can’t take me with them! They’ll kill me!”

Dooley smiled at Bloster. “Get a load a this. This guy thinks it’s okay for him to kill people, but it’s not okay for people to kill him. He didn’t watch Sesame Street when he was little.”

Bloster ignored Dooley and turned Gutiérrez around, twisting his arm in the sling until he cried out in pain. Bloster gritted his teeth and snapped the cuffs on. Finally in enough pain, Gutiérrez submitted to Bloster and Dooley and made the trek to the transport van, walking between the two of them.

The driver was standing at the back of the van, guarding the three prisoners when Bloster opened the side door and pushed Gutiérrez in, locking his hands and feet to the bars. He faced forward, and the three prisoners behind him immediately started with barbs, spoken in Spanish, but the intent was clear. It would be a long ride for all of them.

Bloster had no idea who the driver of the van was or how he had obtained federal papers, but the way Bloster saw it, he was in the clear. If he was questioned by Sheriff Martínez, he would say the feds called him, stating he needed to come into work to take care of the prisoners, the paperwork was in order, and he had followed orders. The whole transaction took less than an hour, and aside from the suitcase of money, it felt like a dozen other transports he had worked over the past few years. He could not believe his luck.

* * *

By eight thirty, Josie had paced around the perimeter of the observation deck a dozen times. There had been no movement toward her house, and Scratchgravel Road was empty. Dell had asked Josie if she’d considered what kind of retaliation she might receive when Medrano discovered the prisoners were released but moved to a maximum-security prison. She had no answer, though she thought of little else.

At 8:45 P.M., Josie noticed a line of four cars on the Mexican side heading westbound toward the access road along the Rio. She pointed them out to Dell, who was already standing up from his chair.

“They’re headed toward Flat Rock,” Josie said.

“Can they get those cars through the river?”

“It’s wide and shallow enough. That’s how they’ve been crossing.”

“Wouldn’t you think they’d realize police and Border Patrol use this tower to watch them?” he asked.

“Imagine how many times they’ve crossed unnoticed. We use this only when we have confirmed suspicions. We don’t have enough manpower to make good use of it.”

They watched the first car make a turn at the river, and there was no doubt about their intent.

“That’s it. Let’s head out before we lose them,” she said.

Dell’s duffel bag was already packed back up, and he slung it over his shoulder and took off down the steps. Josie threw both guns in her bag and followed Dell. About twenty feet from the bottom, her cell phone vibrated. She slowed, fished it out of her shirt pocket, and answered, hanging on to the stair railing with her other hand and feeling for the dark steps below with her foot.

“This is Escobedo. Everything is in place. Bloster’s in the jail preparing the prisoners. We should be on the road within fifteen minutes. He’s seen the money. I’ve got two agents outside ready to make the arrest once he takes possession.”

Josie blew air out. “We have trouble. I’m at the watchtower. I just watched one of four cars cross the access point they’ve been using on the river.” Josie heard a string of profanity and went on. “I’m just getting off the tower. I’ve lost the visual, but I hear them. They’re northbound on River Road, headed toward town.”

“So they’re either illegals, or Medrano’s clan come to break the prisoners free,” Escobedo said. “Call me back when you’re on the road and have a visual.”

“This isn’t a transport of illegals. They don’t work this way. Not out in the open with this many cars together. We need to prepare for the worst.”

“Bloster’s coming out the door now. How far away are you from the jail?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Get DPS and Border Patrol on the phone to work with local dispatch. I’ve got to square up with Bloster and get on the road. I don’t want a shoot-out at the jail. I want as many patrol units as you can find to escort this van out of town and stop those cars. Just keep the sheriff’s department out of it.”

Within minutes, Josie had caught up with the four cars and made visual contact. Dell was sitting quietly in the passenger seat beside her, but she knew he was watching for anything that could cause them problems.

She called Escobedo back to confirm she had them in her sights; his phone went to voice mail. They were driving the speed limit, and Josie hung back a safe distance with the headlights on her car still off. The moon and a sky full of stars provided just enough light for her to see the road.

Josie and Dell both rolled their windows up as dust started to fill the car. Josie’s eyes had begun to water and her throat felt caked with dirt.

Dell pointed out the front windshield. “Look how much the wind has picked up just since we were on the tower. I can see the dust swirls on the highway even in the dark.”

Josie said, “I think Escobedo is making a big mistake, Dell. There’s no way you and I can pull over four cars, but if we called in the sheriff’s department right now, we might get lucky. We need these cars stopped before they reach that van. We just don’t have enough manpower.”

“Was that a direct order?” Dell asked. “Can you call the Sheriff’s men in yourself?”

Josie gripped the steering wheel, realizing every second counted against them. “It was an order. I can’t even call the Guard out, because I can’t reach Moss. We better get some help soon or we’ll all end up dead.”

* * *

Bloster locked the last prisoner’s handcuffs to the handrail in front of his seat in the transport van. He was sweating, his heart racing. He was about to accept two hundred thousand dollars and had to make the decision to trust the process the driver had explained, or to leave his home tonight and start a new life in Mexico.

The driver called Bloster to the front of the van, where the man once again presented the briefcase. Bloster nodded, took the case, and walked toward his patrol car in the back of the employee parking lot, trying to keep from running.

As he reached his car, two men in navy suits exited a dark gray Crown Victoria parked three cars away from his patrol car.

The taller man stopped walking and pointed a gun directly at him. “I’m Detective Marcus Hammond with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is my partner, Bill Smithers. You are under arrest. Set the case on the ground and raise both hands in the air.”

The shorter of the two men wore a grim expression and continued toward Bloster with his badge held up for Bloster to inspect. Bloster saw the driver of the van standing in the parking lot, taking pictures.

Bloster looked back at the agent.

“Put the case on the ground and raise your hands in the air. Now!”

His hands were numb, his body in shock. He slowly sat the case down beside him. What he had taken for luck was a setup by the feds. He noticed several National Guardsmen across the street watching his arrest and feared he might vomit.

The shorter agent took the case and walked away while the taller man cuffed Bloster and turned him around toward the van. The agent read the list of crimes he was being charged with and mirandized him as he watched the driver enter the van with the prisoners and drive off. Bloster realized he had just prepared an actual transport for the feds. That was why it had looked legitimate. Because it was.

* * *

Josie was driving sixty miles per hour in the dark with her lights off on a road that was paved but pockmarked and washed out down to gravel in some areas. She was three miles from the courthouse in Artemis when Escobedo reached her on his cell phone and said he had just pulled out from the jail.

“The four cars are probably five minutes from you. They have to have a lookout posted next to the jail, watching for the transport van,” she said.

“I just hope it wasn’t someone in the sheriff’s department.”

Josie blew air out in frustration. She thought he was wrong about Sheriff Martínez being involved.

“I think we need the sheriff’s men out here. We can’t handle four cars,” Josie said.

“Absolutely not. There’s too many unknowns with him. You’ve got DPS and Border Patrol on their way. Correct?”

“I’m afraid they won’t make it in time. If you stay on River Road, you’re about thirty minutes from Highway 67. We need to get these cars stopped before we reach the highway. Are you familiar with the Arroyo Pass?”

“I’ve taken it a few times,” he said.

“You think your van could make it?”

The Arroyo Pass was a dry gully that could flow like the Nile during heavy rains and flash flooding. It led from River Road in Artemis to Highway 67, and cut off about ten minutes of drive time. The dirt road was no problem for the locals, but it was rough without four-wheel drive, and the blowing dust would make it harder to navigate at night.

“I don’t know. These vans are about worthless on anything but paved road.”

“The arroyo has quite a bit of rock in the bottom of it,” Josie said. “I think you’d be okay. And it might throw the Mexicans off your trail.”

“Might be worth the risk,” he said, his tone doubtful.

“We’d be isolated if things turn bad. If you made it all the way to the highway before Medrano’s men caught up to you, we’d be home free,” Josie said.

“I can make it. Get dispatch to set up a roadblock before we reach 67. Call Presidio PD and see if they can send officers. We need every car they can find. I’ve got only one deputy with me in the back with the prisoners. Any idea how many people are in the cars?” he asked.

“I can’t tell. I’m about a half mile from them. When we drive through Artemis, I’ll catch up and scope them out under the streetlights in town.”

She shut her cell phone and gave Dell the phone number to the police station.

“Call Lou and have her tell Otto and Marta we need them at the Arroyo immediately.”

Josie called Don Steele, the Presidio chief of police. He said he had one car already on 67. He promised two more units within ten minutes. Lou, over at dispatch, signaled Josie on her portable radio and said DPS and Border Patrol were en route to destination, but she couldn’t tell Josie how many cars or how soon.

River Road passed through the center of Artemis, directly past the jail, and connected with the Arroyo two miles out. Escobedo called and said he had turned off, and the dust and wind were causing poor visibility. He was worried about staying on the road.

Josie pulled behind the four vehicles at the lone red light in downtown Artemis. Under the streetlights, she discovered each of the cars appeared to carry at least four men.

She told Escobedo, “We’re talking at least sixteen men, most likely armed, coming up against three officers,” she said.

“I hope we didn’t make a mistake coming down this pass. I’ll check back in. I need to focus on the road. The wind is really picking up.” Escobedo, clearly unnerved, disconnected again.

Dell unzipped the duffel bag on his lap. “Count me in as a fourth, Josie.”

“You can’t use those guns. You’ll end up in jail over a fight that’s not yours. Just stay in the car and cover me if things go wrong.”

Josie could feel Dell staring at her from the passenger seat. “The last standoff with the explosives? They lost that round. Those boys don’t intend to lose this one. You better use every resource you have.”

Josie’s stomach was on fire. It would kill her if something happened to Dell. She never should have brought him with her.

Once through Artemis, the four cars picked up speed dramatically until they reached Arroyo Pass, then slowed down abruptly, trying to decide which route the van had taken.

The dust was blowing so heavily now that the van’s tracks had vanished. Arroyo Pass was visible only because of the green sign that designated it a road. The pass was approximately twenty feet wide, and it ranged from three feet to about five feet deep, making it very hard to drive up and out of the arroyo once a car was in it. The bottom was covered with small rocks and sand, which Josie hoped would be easier for the larger van to navigate than the cars the Mexicans were driving.

Apparently familiar with the area, the two lead cars headed straight into the Arroyo and the two behind them veered off down Highway 67. Josie followed the cars down into the Arroyo, but within minutes, the other two cars had turned around and were behind her.

Josie was starting to panic. The red lights were barely visible in front of her now, and the white headlights were directly behind her. It was a terrible position to be in, sandwiched between the four cars. She had miscalculated.

“Hang on, Dell. None of them have four-wheel drive. I’m going to peel off and circle back behind them.”

Josie heard Dell cock the gun he held. “Just give it plenty of gas or you’ll slide backwards.”

Josie cut a sharp right into the desert just ahead of where the arroyo cut deep into the earth. She shut her headlights off so the other cars wouldn’t know her location. She knew the area well but inched forward, driving in complete darkness, turning her car to follow the brake lights of the others, barely visible in the blowing dust. The lights of the cars stopped, but she knew without four-wheel drive they could never make it up the embankment as she had. She wouldn’t be followed, and for a moment felt relieved. Then she heard the gunfire.

“Get down!” she yelled to Dell.

Dell leaned below the dashboard, his hands covering his head.

Josie bent down as well and focused her attention on getting her tires to grab hold of something. She didn’t dare drive straight into the desert, where the sand was hilly and treacherous. Without lights, she could easily flip her jeep. The gunfire faded as the cars took off again, struggling to keep up with Escobedo’s van. They were obviously more interested in the prisoners than in her.

“Call Lou and find out where Otto and Marta are.”

Josie turned her headlights back on and slowly drove over the edge of the embankment and down into the arroyo, the jeep rocking from side to side as it bottomed out. The red taillights were about fifty feet in front of her, and she turned on her flashing lights and turned her headlights on bright to disorient the driver in front of her. “This time, they made the mistake,” she said.

Dell used his own cell phone to call Lou, who said Otto and Marta were both driving their jeeps and were both just entering the pass behind them.

“Let me talk to her.”

Dell handed his phone to Josie.

“Lou, I need you to get the National Guard contacted. Tell them we need backup ASAP. We’ve got big problems. I tried to reach Moss several times, and he isn’t answering. I can’t wait on him to be the contact. You call and get them here now.”

Her cell phone rang. It was Escobedo. “I can see their lights. They can’t be more than half a mile from me.”

Hearing the worry in his voice, she hesitated, and then explained they had already fired at her.

“Whatever you do, don’t let them stop your van. You’ll be a dead man. Lou just called and said Otto and Marta are both right behind us. In four-wheel drive, they ought to be up with us in three or four minutes,” Josie said.

“I figure I’ve got about two miles before I’m at the highway. Presidio called and said they have four cars set in a roadblock with DPS and Border Patrol ETA in five minutes. Their cars are on Highway 67 headed south. The wind is blowing so bad, though; I can’t even tell if I’m on the road or not anymore.”

Josie heard gunshots, and Escobedo cried out. “They’re hitting the back of the van!”

She tried to ignore his panic. “You have to stay in the pass no matter what! Keep pushing through. You’ll be able to tell if you’re veering off the pass. From where you are, there’s about a three-foot incline on either side until you reach the highway.”

He began to reply, but the gunshots were so loud, they distorted his voice. All she could hear was static. The line went dead.

Headlights appeared in her rearview mirror, and she called Otto. He confirmed he was behind her.

“They’re shooting at Escobedo,” she said. “I’m going to try and get up top and catch up to the lead car. I’ll try and shoot out their tires. Be prepared if I do, though. They could come out shooting. Escobedo said he’s only about two miles out, then we’ve got help from Presidio PD and hopefully Border Patrol.”

“Get up top. I’ll call Marta and tell her we’ve got the back two cars. Think you can take out both the lead and the second car?”

“I’ll give it my best.”

She put the jeep into low four-wheel drive and attempted the embankment to her right, having to take it at an angle instead of straight on, which would have been safer. Her front right tire spun and spit dirt. She stopped and backed up a few feet, taking the bank head-on. From behind her, Otto’s headlights lit up the sandy bank, and she gunned her engine. The front tires lost contact with the bank and almost flipped the jeep backwards. Josie gave it full gas, and the back tires propelled them forward. She and Dell instinctively leaned toward the dash, trying to push the jeep up out of the pass by sheer will. The tail of the jeep spun left, then caught on a rock and spun them up onto the desert floor. The ground wasn’t as sandy as the dunes, but it was strewn with rocks and boulders.

“Are you okay with using a gun as we drive?” she asked Dell.

“You bet,” he said. He held a semiautomatic Luger up to show her.

Josie called Escobedo and was relieved to hear his voice. He said the lead car had slowed behind him, bogged down by the sand, but was still pushing forward.

She explained the plan to Escobedo as she drove around a boulder that was now surrounded by swells of dirt moving like ocean waves.

Escobedo yelled into the cell phone, “They’ve shot up the back of the van!”

Josie listened to static and commotion in the background for over a minute. Finally Escobedo came back on the line. “An officer in the back of the van said one of the prisoners was hit but he’s alive. They don’t dare stop me. They’d never get a car around the van. The road’s not big enough. They’re waiting for the Highway. You call me back when the lead car is stopped. I’ll let you know as soon as we see the roadblock. I have to be close now.”

Josie had turned her flashing lights off and was now making better time on top of the arroyo than the cars below her, which were bogged down in sand. She spotted the headlights of the lead car and second car as they bounced and swerved along the arroyo below her. Dell was a good shot, but the odds of him hitting the tires from a hundred feet in near brownout conditions were slim. Driving five miles per hour, Josie had about thirty feet of visibility.

Dell climbed into the backseat to use the driver’s-side back window. The lead car was just in front of them to the left. It gave him a cleaner shot than sitting in the front passenger seat. Josie was worried about return gunfire and the possibility of the back two cars catching up with them.

“Are you set up yet?” she called back to Dell.

“I’m ready.”

Her cell phone buzzed against her chest, and she answered. Otto said, “We got number three and four cars stopped! I got one tire on the number three, but it was enough to get them buried in the dirt. Marta left her jeep with her lights and siren on directly behind them. The National Guard knows her position. They’re just a couple minutes behind but will provide backup. Marta is with me. We’re coming on top of the arroyo, headed—” His voice cut out, and the call was dropped.

Josie shut her phone and hollered back to Dell. “The third and fourth cars are dead. Two left. Otto is coming up top.” Her car was full of dirt and dust, and the wind howled through the window in the backseat, making conversation almost impossible.

She tried to steady her driving as much as possible. She was now five feet behind the lead car and about the same distance above it. The car was a dark brown lowrider Mercury. The second car was within ten feet of the first. She could see Escobedo’s brake lights just ahead. Her fear was that once Dell started shooting and the Mexicans discovered her location, they would fire back and it would escalate into full-on war.

Within a half-dozen shots, Dell had taken out the right rear tire and then shortly after hit the front window on the passenger side, blowing out the glass. Once the car stopped, the driver immediately turned his headlights off. The second car did the same.

“Way to go, Dell!” Josie shouted.

Her excitement was short lived as her right front tire got hung up on a large rock. Josie felt her jeep lurch forward and then stop. Gunshots were fired, and they felt bullets ring the back end of the jeep.

“We have to get out of here,” Josie said. She shut the engine off, and she and Dell got out of the jeep and ran to the back for cover. It was pitch black except for the headlights of the car in the arroyo. Behind the jeep, Dell placed his duffel bag between them and they both huddled together, trying to block the sand from their faces.

“They could be circling around our car right now.” Josie pointed into the darkness. “I don’t want to get out in that dust storm, but we can’t sit here.”

Dell dug through his duffel bag and handed her a pair of goggles. He found another pair for himself. “I knew the way that wind was blowing earlier, this was coming. At least you’ll keep the dirt out of your eyes.”

Josie pointed behind Dell. “We passed a large boulder before the jeep got hung up. It’s about fifteen feet back. Stay behind that boulder until backup gets here. I’ll take cover on the other side of the jeep, where I can see their car.”

Dell reached over and squeezed Josie’s arm before she stood up. “You be careful out there.”

Twenty feet away from the car, Josie crouched behind a large rock. From there, she could see both her police car and the car below in the arroyo. The second and third cars were both stopped now, unable to move between the car that Otto shot out and the car that Dell had disabled. Marta was parked in the pass. Josie and Otto were both parked on top. In order to keep from drawing fire, all the officers and Dell were now taking cover in the desert until the Guard arrived to light up the area. All four of the Medrano cars were empty. The cartel members were either hunkered down in the desert as well, possibly waiting for reinforcements, or had already taken off on foot. The standoff had reached a critical impasse.