Shane made a connection in his mind and said, “So that’s why you had Taco get a commercial driver’s license.”
“Yep. And you’ll be his shotgun. The contact is on the American side at the customs holding area. All we have to do is get it across, then take the entire thing to a linkup for payment. One giant drug deal.”
“Wait, wait, you want me to go into Mexico? That’s not my thing. I’ve never been there, and customs is the biggest risk. I’ll drive it to the broker, how about that?”
“You’re not going into Mexico. That’s Taco’s job. You’ll pick it up in the trans-load facility on the US side of the Nogales crossing. Anyway, the broker has an in with a fertilizer manufacturer. Comes and goes across the border all the time. Already has the paperwork as a legit transfer. All we have to do is pick it up on the Mexican side and drive it to the American side. Taco will handle that part. He’s from Nogales.”
“Who is this mysterious broker? Has he done this before?”
Flynn glanced at him, then looked out at the men lounging on the ground. Shane said, “What, you trust me to drive the apache, but don’t trust me knowing who I’m going to meet?”
Flynn said, “They’re Arabs. Some Turkish syndicate. They pipe most of the heroin in Europe.”
It was another twist Shane didn’t see coming. “Arabs? What the hell are we doing working with ragheads?”
Flynn glared at him and Shane felt the temperature rise. He backed down, saying, “Okay, okay. Your deal, I get it.” He paused a beat, then changed the subject, hoping to cool the temper flaring in his boss. “Want me to give Taco a call? Check in?”
Flynn glanced out the window again, saying, “Yeah, go ahead. Make sure that fucker didn’t fall asleep.”
Shane dialed his cell phone, hearing, “Yeah, what’s up? We breaking this down tonight?”
“No. We’re staying. Just looking for an update.”
“Same thing as before. The lights are on inside the station, but nobody’s moving. Maybe today wasn’t the day.”
“Flynn says we stay until morning, so keep an eye out.”
“Wait, wait, I got movement. Back of the facility. Headlights just came on.”
“Is it the prison van?”
“No. It’s a pickup truck. Civilian, no paint, no rockers.”
Shane looked at Flynn and said, “He’s got a pickup, but it’s not an official sheriff’s vehicle.”
Flynn said, “See how many are in it.”
Shane relayed and put the phone on speaker, waiting. A minute later, Taco said, “Two men in the cab. That’s it.”
Flynn said, “Follow them as planned. If they take 143 into the national forest, then we stop ’em.”
Shane said, “What if it’s not them?”
“Then someone’s going to have a bad night for nothing.”
Chapter 8
Flynn exited the van and gave instructions. The chase team lined up their motorcycles on both sides of the road, turned on the ignition, and straddled the seat. The Stinger man opened a case and crouched down, holding the end of the matrix of spikes, preparing to throw them across the road. While that was happening, Shane backed the van into a dirt road, hiding it from the highway. He killed the lights just as Flynn reentered. Five minutes later, Shane’s cell phone flashed with a text,Entering National Forest.
He said, “They’re still coming this way.”
Flynn said, “That’s them. That’s the target.”
There were a couple of easy ways to leave the small town of Panguitch, Utah, and reach an interstate to the east or west for onwards travel. Going through the national forest on Highway 143 was not one of them. The only people who used the highway were tourists searching for a campground or RV park and people like him looking for routes that were off the beaten path—away from roads that were regularly patrolled.
Flynn’s contact had only told him the date of the movement and the fact that the transfer vehicle would want to leave the town clandestinely. He’d studied the map and gambled that 143 was the most likely route. Everything else was either a main thoroughfare or would require four-wheel drive.
Flynn rolled down the window and shouted, “Get ready. About a minute.”
