Well in Time (10 page)

“Where did that come from?”

“We keep it here for just this kind of thing. It’s our escape route, Walter. We’ve had it in place ever since I was kidnapped by El Penacho’s henchmen.” She began reeling in the rappel rope. “That’s it,” she said, as the end of the rope came sailing down. She coiled it under the iron ring. “No going back, now—but no one can follow us either.”

“Great,” Hill said, with feigned enthusiasm. “Is there, perchance, also a way forward?” He leaned on his elbow and glanced outward briefly at the yawning red canyon and its airy interior and then reeled back, overcome with vertigo.

“There is.” Calypso took Hill by the elbow. “Just turn toward the cliff and crawl, Walter. Don’t look at the canyon or the vertigo will get you.” Hill turned onto his side and scrambled to his knees, while Calypso extricated herself from the harness and snapped it to its metal ring with a spare carabiner.

“It’s like I’m iron and the canyon is a magnet pulling at me,” he rasped.

“I know. I’ve experienced it myself. Just crawl.”

Hill crept along the ledge, with Calypso walking beside him to guard the drop-off. About twenty feet ahead of them where the ledge widened was a leaning flake of stone, big as a garage door. As Hill crawled under its shelter, the powerful pull of vertigo lessened. Then his mouth gaped in amazement. Hidden behind the stone was the opening to a cave.

§

Hill pulled himself into sitting position, his back to the cliff, and his view of the canyon shuttered by the leaning slab. He found he was panting and over the steam engine puff of his own breath, heard volley after volley of gunfire echoing through the canyon from above. He realized it had been a constant backdrop to his efforts ever since stepping off the edge of the cliff. Somehow, he had interpreted it, in his rattled state, as the hammering and exploding of his own nervous system.

“Gunfire,” he said inanely.

“Yes.”

Something in Calypso’s tone made him look up. Her face was contorted with grief and Hill was instantly ashamed. He struggled to his feet.

“This must be hard for you. Let’s go inside.” He took her by the arm and pulled her toward the entrance to the cave but she resisted, as if she could not bear to leave this last, disastrous contact with home.

“What will come of this, Walter?” Her voice teetered along the ragged edge of breaking. “What if Javier comes home in the middle of this? I can’t lose him, Walter! I couldn’t bear it!” Her eyes met his, wild with anxious tears.

Hill swept her to his chest and held her tightly. “Calypso,” he breathed into her hair, “Javier will survive this. You’ve got to believe it.” He felt her body go rigid and knew she was fighting to control the fear that was overpowering her. Then, with a wrenching sob, she broke. Leaning into Hill’s chest, clinging to him like a drowning woman, she wept.

§

Javier drove straight through for sixteen hours. It took three hours just to extricate his truck from the lattice of barely visible tracks that lead from the Huichol village out of the hills toward the highway. Once on the paved road, he sped through the mango groves of Jalisco where the tall, shaggy trees were laden with ripening fruit. He drove too fast over the Devil’s Spine, a perilously narrow twist of road winding vertiginously atop dizzying cliffs. In crossing the mountains, the road crossed the Tropic of Cancer as well, before descending to the deserts and scrubby hills of Durango.

As he traveled, he knew he was passing through the very growing fields of the cartels, where marijuana and opium poppies occupied every growable space in the near-vertical mountains. The little village where he stopped for gas was hostile with paranoia and secrecy.

Once back in Chihuahua, he wheeled his truck up the Boca del Lobo, the Throat of the Wolf, far too fast, his tires squealing on the steep, looping turns. Once on the high plateau with still almost a hundred miles to reach the ranch, he floored the truck, streaking down the narrow highway heedless of wandering cattle, and slowly lumbering trucks.

Caught in a vortex of worry and dread, it was as if Wind Person were speeding him along. All he could think of was Calypso’s safety. He went over the preparations he and Pedro had made for the defense of Rancho Cielo, looking for any chink in their armor. He reviewed the promise Calypso had made to vacate if trouble should erupt and followed in his mind the route they had set up if she should have to flee.

They had thought things through so carefully, but he had always assumed he would be present if things went bad. What if everything had gone wrong while he was away? The thought maddened him and he drove on into the dawning day like a dark wind howling across the Sierra.

§

Just as the sun rose, Javier passed through the neighboring town of San Juanito with its ambient smell of pine sap and diesel from its sawmills. Outside the vividly turquoise and white church, women in black were already congregating for early mass beneath its square bell tower. The interior of the little corner restaurant where he and Calypso often enjoyed empanadas, a specialty of the house, was invisible behind steamy front windows, indicating breakfast was ready to serve.

Outside of town, he turned at last onto the dirt road leading to Rancho Cielo. His hands felt bonded to the steering wheel and the gas tank was nearly empty. Pushing the truck mercilessly over the washboards in the road, he roared toward the ranch with mixed relief and foreboding.

At last he entered Rancho Cielo property, jolting across the first of several cattle guards of railroad rails welded over concrete pits. Cranking the wheel to the left, he took the road to the house, snaking up the long drive as if devils pursued him.

Ahead, he could see the high defensive walls of the courtyard where, instead of a solitary guard, men were swarming, further raising his sense of alarm. As he slowed for the final, circular drive centered with a tall, three-tiered fountain, the big double gates swung open. He skidded around the right hand arc and swung the nose of his truck through the opening, barely missing the gatepost as the tail end whipped through. He heard shouts as the gates clashed shut behind him.

Slamming on the brakes, he threw himself from the cab. The entire courtyard was frenzied with movement. Men were running, carrying weapons, while the women and children from the workers’ village were being herded through the kitchen door of the main house. He ran toward the house, thinking only of Calypso.

“What’s going on?” he shouted to the first man he came to, a ranch worker named José. Before the man could answer, shots were fired somewhere outside the courtyard and an answering volley came from atop the walls.

“The mafia, señor,” José yelled.

“Where’s Caleepso?”

José shook his head. “
No sé, señor
.”

Javier pushed past him. The interior of the house was a chaotic mass of swarming women and children. He couldn’t make his way through the crowd and shouted, “Where is Caleepso?”

A woman sitting near the door with her two small children nestled against her responded, “Señor Pedro took her away, señor.”

Javier spun through the door and raced along the side of the house toward the cliffs, just in time to see Pedro running up the walkway toward the house.

“Where’s Caleepso?” Javier shouted.

“She just went over the cliff.” Pedro ran up to him, winded. Another burst of gunfire drowned out the rest, and Javier grabbed his arm and dragged him down next to the foundation of the house. “She’s okay,” Pedro gasped. “And Hill.”

“
Hill?
”

“He came yesterday.”

Javier slumped against the foundation stones in relief and reached to give Pedro’s shoulder a pat. “Good work, Pedro. Now, what’s going on?”

“It’s the mafia, Boss. The guard saw them coming. He sounded the alarm. We got everyone in I think. When’d you get here?”

“Five minutes ago. They must have come up from the canyon because I didn’t see them on the road from town.”

“Yeah. We saw them when they were still deep in the canyon or we wouldn’t have had time to get everyone in.”

Their eyes met as the volleys of shot increased. “Let’s get up on the walls and give these bastards hell,” Javier said.

“You got it, Boss.”

They crouched, ducking their heads, and ran.

§

From the walls, they could look down into the road where several black SUVs with darkly tinted windows were clustered, just out of rifle range. Men must have poured out of them, because it looked as if at least forty were milling around the vehicles, throwing occasional shots in the direction of the walls. In between, they were passing plastic bags from which each man pulled a handful of something and then sniffed deeply. The remainder they flung from them and clouds of white powder floated in the damp morning air.

“They’re coked-up to the max,” Perdo hissed. “
Chingada cabrones
. They’re gonna think they’re Supermen.”

“
¡Hideputa!
That
perico’s
worth enough to run the government of Mexico,” exclaimed one of the ranch’s cowboys. He spoke with his eye squinted for his first opportunity at a good shot, his rifle muzzle resting on a crenellation of the wall.

“Shit, man!” Pedro responded. “Cocaine
does
run the government of Mexico!” A shout of laughter went up from the men and that plus Javier’s presence did much to steady and unify them.

The men on the ground must have heard them laughing, because they suddenly looked up at the walls, pointing. Bags of cocaine were shoved into pockets or thrown back through open SUV windows. Suddenly, every hand was wrapped around an assault rifle and one man, obviously the leader, was signaling them to spread out and surround the walls.

“Here they come, men,” Javier said softly. “Wait until they’re in range and then hit them hard.” He crossed himself and the men followed suit.

At that moment, Calypso did not exist except in that sacrosanct place where she always lived in him. He felt his muscles tighten, his heart rate quicken and his fingers dig into the stock of his weapon like steel hooks. Everything he held dear lay behind him—Calypso, the workers and their families, his home, and his ranch. Before him was only death. He took aim. There would be death coming from his direction too.

§

The men on the wall fired first. The response was a blanket of automatic fire from the ground that kept Javier’s men ducking, crouched on the catwalk. Fortunately, Javier had anticipated this during the building of his fortifications and had included gun ports at that level. His men thrust their muzzles through these and sent out a solid wall of lead that dropped several of the invaders in their tracks and sent the others scurrying back out of range, dragging several wounded and dead with them.

They took shelter behind their vehicles where Javier watched them holding an excited powwow, arms gesticulating. Javier used the interim to check his men. “Everyone okay?” he called. Shouts went up along the wall, assuring him that his men were still at their posts.

All the preparations he had made over the years were paying off. His men were all well trained in handling armament. Three had been sent to Ciudad Chihuahua to study to be medics and were well-supplied and ready in case of injuries. Some of the younger teenagers were trained as runners who would bring ammunition up from the armory at the base of the wall and keep ammo clips loaded, supplying their fathers and uncles. He knew that in the house, the women would already be preparing pots of beans to keep their army fed.

The thugs of the cartel were displaying no such organization. Shouting had erupted from among the parked SUVs. Bodies were being loaded in the backs of the vehicles. A fistfight broke out and several men joined in, while others tried to break them up. Then, as abruptly as they had arrived, everyone piled into their vehicles and drove away in the direction of town.

To do so, they had to pass in front of the walls and Javier’s men peppered the cars with shot as they passed. One veered off the road, its driver wounded. There was a hesitation and then the SUV lumbered back onto the roadway and sped away in the wake of the others.

§

Javier’s troops were jubilant. A shout went up, and there was a spate of high-fiving and laughter. Javier held up his hand for silence. The men were instantly quiet.

“I congratulate you!” he said. “Each of you performed just as we trained to do and with real courage. I hope you’re all very proud.” The men grinned and jostled one another with their elbows. “The enemy has left and we are victorious—but…” he hesitated for emphasis, “they will be back. And next time, they’ll be angry and they’ll be prepared. That means we have to be even more prepared. We have to work very hard and very fast. Are you with me?”

A shout went up. “We’re with you, Boss,” Pedro called. “What do you want from us?”

“We have to implement Phase Two. That means getting your families out of the house and up into the crags on the west end of the ranch. Juan, you and Felipe get them organized and get them out, right now. Make sure they have food and blankets from the storehouse.

“Pedro, you’re our demolitions expert. You know what to do.

“It’s time to bring the big guns up. Who’s going to do that?” Several hands shot up.

“All right. Let’s get to it. Boys, you make sure to get the ammo up here and all the extra clips loaded.” The teenagers, eyes wide with their first combat, nodded and skittered down the stairs to the armory.

Javier beckoned Pedro to him. “This is going to get really ugly,” he whispered. “Make sure we can do as much preliminary damage as possible.”

“I’m on it, Boss.” Pedro turned away, stopped and turned back, holding out his hand. “Just in case,” he said.

Javier knocked his hand aside and the two men embraced.

§

“This cave runs for miles,” Calypso said, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, mopping tears. Only twenty feet inside the cave, the light already was growing dim. She dug in her pack for LED headlamps, handed Hill his and shone hers ahead, illuminating a rounded tunnel with smooth, curving walls of red stone.