He turned and continued leading her toward the helicopter in the distance. “Agent Via oversees the Albuquerque office. She’ll be at the staging area. Interesting woman. She’s one of those New Mexico Indians—”
“You mean she belongs to one of the indigenous tribes?”
“Ahh, you’re one of those new politically correct types. Nothing wrong with that. Anyway, yep, she’s a native.”
Sarah was glad the man was in front of her as the look of disbelief washed over her.Is he for real? Who talks like this anymore?She realized she’d stopped dead in her tracks and hurried to catch up. “Any idea which tribe she belongs to?” Sarah asked.
“The New Mexico one,” Agent Davis said.
“You realize there are twenty-three recognized tribes in New Mexico?” Murphy had researched all the key players in the tri-state area when she’d agreed to take over the Houston Office. Unlike ‘Big D,’ which Murphy was beginning to think stood for ‘Big Dumbass’, Murphy knew that Agent Via was a member of the Mescalero Apache Tribe, which had their reservation just south of Ruidoso.
Agent Davis kept talking, but Murphy just tuned him out. He was clearly a man who liked to hear himself speak. Thankfully, the pilot had seen them coming and had already started prepping the copter for takeoff. In minutes, they were in the air and flying over the West Texas landscape to the small town of Perico, Texas. Agent Davis explained that Perico was an actual ghost town.
“Perico was once known as Farwell. The town was built in 1888 as a Fort Worth and Denver City Railway shipping point. It grew as a center for supplies and education by the turn of the century. Bu-ut”—he drew out the word with his Texas drawl—“with time and highway improvements, the railway stopped coming this way. By the mid-1980s, Perico had dwindled to two residents and one operating business, a grain elevator. Now, it’s just a husk. Kind of perfect staging point for us, though.”
The helicopter descended a couple hundred yards from other vehicles to avoid creating a dirt storm around the agents on the ground. Before they were out of the helicopter, a woman in her early fifties approached and extended her hand, yelling, “Agent Sarah Murphy, I presume. I’m Agent Euphrasia Via.”
Sarah shook the woman’s hand enthusiastically. Murphy noticed how Via didn’t bother saying anything to Agent Davis. Agent Via led Sarah to an FBI mobile command center. The FBI mobile command center was an impressive sight—a technologically advanced and fully equipped operational hub on wheels, the FBI’s seal blazoned the side of the large truck. There was no questioning what its purpose was. Sarah followed Agent Via into the command center. Inside, three different agents sat at laptop terminals. Small and large monitors were on the truck wall before the agents. A giant digital clock sat above it all with the current time. The truck had a slide-out, which created a little alcove where two more agents were pouring over real-time satellite images.
“Damn,” Sarah said. “I’m going to have to get me one of these.”
“I was lucky enough to get one of the first of this newer model,” Via explained. “It’s state-of-the-art. It features secure communication systems, three built-in computer workstations that can expand to five and it’s equipped with onboard Wi-Fi and satellite communications technologies. There are even a couple of fold-out cots in one of the undercarriage storage compartments. They thought of everything.”
Sarah let out a low whistle as she took it all in. “So, where are we with the infiltration?”
“Honestly, we were just waiting for you to get here. We can infiltrate both ranches in under ten minutes.”
“Movement at the ranches?”
“Nothing. It’s been silent at both places.”
That worried Sarah. If there was no movement at either ranch, that possibly meant the owners had already vacated the premises, so who knew what type of intelligence would still be there?
“Let’s get this show on the road,” Sarah said.
Via immediately started barking orders. Sarah heard vehicles leaving their location, the sound of their wheels spinning on the dirt and gravel as they drove away. Then drone footage overhead followed the convoys in both states as they sped toward their targets in single file.
The infiltration was textbook. The vehicles spread around the complex, and teams of agents slowly picked their way from the outer rims of the properties inward toward the major structures. Periodically, you’d hear a mobile unit say, “Barn is clear.” Everything was perfectly smooth.
The New Mexico ranch was smaller, so the infiltration team reached the main house faster. The largest monitor picked up the feed from that team leader. Over the intercom system, Sarah heard the team leader yell, “FBI! Search Warrant! Open up!” Nothing happened. The team leader motioned to one of his team members, who held a tactical breaching kit, and the agent smashed the battle ram into the door. The monitor cut out.
“What just happened?” Via asked.
“Switching to drone footage.” The screen filled with a different viewpoint, and nothing happened. The monitor was black. “I’m maneuvering the drone to a higher altitude.” As the drone rose, the image of tendrils of black smoke filled the screen. The ranch house was a blazing inferno.
Via didn’t wait. She grabbed the team. “Alpha team, stand down. Repeat, stand down. Bravo team’s target was armed. Repeat, Bravo team’s target was armed.”
“This is Alpha Team Leader. Please repeat orders.”
“Alpha Team Leader, this is the nest. Donotenter the main house. I repeat, donotenter the house. We’re sending in the bomb squad.”
* * * *
The next couple of hours were a lot of standing around and taking phone calls explaining to everyone from the White House Chief of Staff to the Director of the FBI what had happened in New Mexico. Thankfully, the bomb inside the house imploded rather than exploded. Essentially, everything inside the home was turned to ash. The agents only suffered cuts and bruises from the fragments of shattered glass, wood and concrete being forcefully propelled in all directions. The paramedics were on the scene, and a couple of agents were carted off in ambulances to receive stitches for more severe lacerations.
“This could have been a lot worse,” Sarah muttered.
“What was that?” Agent Via asked.
