Aztec File

Rio Grande Valley-3

“Well, most of you are veterans, I guess, so it won’t surprise you to know I need to think this thing over before I launch across the line of departure.” He got the smiles and nods he expected from that. “What was it George Patton said? Make plans to fit the circumstances but do not try to create circumstances that fit the plan?”

Manny Chavez pointed a finger at Shake and winked. “I also believe General Patton said a good plan violently executed now is better than a perfect plan next week.” That drew some shouts and whistles from the crowd and Shake distinctly heard a couple of loud Marine Corps “ooo-rahs” in the din.

“I made a call earlier this evening,” he said when the noise subsided. “I’m trying to determine if my contacts are still solid anymore. You can probably understand from your own experience with this thing that the key is to convince someone who has the clout—and the balls—to take effective action. Given all we hear from various law enforcement and security agencies and the stuff that’s happened lately in Paris and Berlin, I’m a little shocked that they aren’t paying more attention.”

“Let me give you some thoughts on that…” Carlotta Valdez hooked an arm around Shake’s elbow and led him up to the front of the crowd next to Sutler. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m gonna hold a little school here. Shake’s new to Texas so he likely don’t know what we do about the border and such.”

Manny Chavez stood and handed Shake a full glass of whiskey. “Better have this at hand, Gunner. When she gets on a roll about this, it takes a while before you see daylight.”

“I was briefin’ generals while you were out chasin’ camels in the Sandbox, Manny.” She pointed a stiff finger at Chavez like she was aiming a handgun. “When it comes to intelligence more is better.” Carlotta gently pushed Shake down onto a seat on the hearth and then sat beside him. There was some comfortable heat from the mesquite fire at his back and some slightly less comfortable heat from Carlotta’s thigh that was pressed tightly against his. Shake just crossed his legs, sipped his whiskey, and tried to pay attention as she started to speak.

“There’s a complicated situation down here.” She held up her left hand which was adorned with big silver and turquoise rings, none of which suggested it might be a wedding band, and began to make her pitch. “Number one is a fixation on what they’re callin’ domestic terrorism. Y’all know what that means. Homegrown, radicalized Muslims who set off an IED like the Boston Marathon bombers, or shoot up some gathering of folks like what happened in Orlando or San Bernardino, right?” When she got the nods of understanding she expected, Carlotta rattled the ice in her glass and continued.

“The powers that be tend to look at that stuff as the new—or most immediate—threat which takes the focus off the long land border with Mexico. In a way, that’s understandable. You deal with today’s problem today and worry about next week next week. That said, I believe there’s a fairly steady flow of trained jihadis comin’ into the country from Mexico while ICE and Homeland Security and everyone else is solid focused on the airports and seaports that handle international traffic. And I’m bettin’ those people who just walk across the border down here are the stick-stirrers, the facilitators for the so-called homegrown or lone-wolf stuff we’ve been seein’ lately. ISIS or AQ gets their folks into northern Mexico, slides them across the border into some friendly mosque, and then they got free rein to teach local recruits all the necessary tactics, techniques, and procedures.” Carlotta pointed at Chavez again. “You ought to recognize that drill, Manny. It’s what our Special Forces do all over the world, right?”

She got a sober nod from the ex-SF trooper and continued. “That’s one thing. And it wouldn’t be so damn scary if we had any kind of effective control of our border with Mexico, but y’all know how that goes.” She drew an affirmative rumble from the crowd. “The border is leaky as hell every place you look—California, Arizona, New Mexico—but the longest and leakiest stretch is right here in south Texas. The previous administration made all kinds of promises and didn’t do a damn thing down here, mainly because they just believed in open borders and all the folks comin’ across illegally were just poor Mexicans lookin’ for a better life or refugees runnin’ from one tyrant or another and claimin’ political asylum. No news in all that, especially for us who live down here. You can’t swing a cat anywhere in the Rio Grande Valley without hittin’ an illegal. Hell, we hire them for damn near everything because they’re mostly cheap, reliable labor. But that ain’t all they are. They’re also a diversion, a smokescreen for the jihadis who join the crowd and slip into the U.S.”

“Let me break it down for you, Gunner.” Manny Chavez leaned forward in his chair and set his glass on the floor between his hand-tooled boots. “We know how come FBI and Homeland Security and all the rest ain’t taking us seriously. It’s pretty simple when you live down here near the border. Somebody from these parts complains about terrorist threats from south of the Mexican border and everyone immediately thinks we’re bitching about illegals taking away jobs or gang-banging or running drugs, which is something we’ve seen for decades. And we know how to deal with that stuff. That ain’t what we’re talking about here, but everyone seems to believe it’s just us south Texans blowing smoke. I’ve even heard that there are people who think we’re just crying wolf, you know? Maybe we’re just using the terrorist threat to get some action on the border situation in general.”

“That’s about the size of it, Shake.” Joaquin Sutler held out his glass for a toast. “I know I’m speakin’ for everyone here when I say we’ll give you all the support you need. And the folks here pull a lot of weight all across the valley, believe me. If we can just get you to go take a look for yourself and get this situation some attention with the proper people, we’ll be grateful, Hell, the entire nation will be grateful.”

u

Shake was working on a huge platter of chicken-fried steak and eggs the next morning with Joaquin Sutler, Manny Chavez, and Carlotta Valdez all gathered around a big table in downtown McAllen’s Longhorn Café. Sutler drove him down for breakfast shortly after Shake called home to check with Chan. She was OK but a little leery about what was being proposed by the Texans he’d come to meet. It wasn’t that she pitched a b***h or tried to guilt him into coming home. They were mostly past that kind of stuff. And Chan had enough time on the inside of the national security establishment to know that if her husband was considering some sort of cross-border reconnaissance trip, he most likely had sufficient reason to take the risk involved. Shake knew that didn’t mean she wouldn’t worry, but Chan wouldn’t make a full-blown domestic crisis out of it—at least not yet.

They were in the middle of discussing what sort of equipment might be needed for an excursion into northern Mexico, talking about things like cameras, night-vision gear, and vehicles. Manny Chavez insisted he could safely get what was needed into Mexico indicating the border in some areas was as leaky going south as it was coming north. Joaquin Sutler seemed sure that he could get all the navigation and surveillance gear that might be required. Shake was about to ask about weapons when his phone chirped. It was the man who calls himself Bayer.

“I need to take this,” he said, standing and eyeing the noisy crowd in the diner. “I’ll be out in the parking lot for a little bit.” He connected the call on the move and asked Bayer to hold while he maneuvered his way outside.

“Think he’ll do it?” Manny Chavez buttered toast and watched Shake head out the door.

“Hard telling.” Joaquin Sutler poured coffee from the plastic jug in the middle of the table. “He ain’t one to go off half-cocked.”

“I believe I can talk him into it—given a little time with that boy.” Carlotta Valdez grinned and ran a hand through her hair. She’d hoisted most of it up into an attractive pile and went a little heavier than usual on the make-up for the morning session.

“Jesus, Carlotta. He’s a married man,” Joaquin grumbled.

“Ain’t they all?” Carlotta smiled and attacked a large pile of pancakes.

Shake pulled open the passenger side door of Sutler’s pick-up and sat inside to get out of a drizzling rain that was currently wetting the Rio Grande Valley area. Bayer apologized for interrupting Shake’s breakfast. He’d been pouring over the photos and needed some more information before he began working his contacts.

“So, you think we’re looking at jihadis training south of the border?”

“We might be—or we might not be. How did you come by the photos?”

Shake explained what he’d been told about the origin of the photos and added some information about what the little group of south Texans was trying to do about it. “They seem to think if I go down there and see this kind of thing personally—assuming I do and assuming I can find something similar going on—that I can make the case with the right people who will do something about it.”

“And I would be the happy sap that gets you in front of the right people so you can plead the case. Is that about right?”

“Affirmative on your last, and frankly I don’t think these people are flakes or a bunch of paranoids. They live down here and that means a lot. You know, I tend to believe they saw what they saw and that it’s an ongoing problem. This guy Chavez I told you about says he heard them speaking Arabic, for Christ’s sake.” Shake shifted the phone to his other ear and watched a couple of trucks splash through the parking lot.

“Listen, Shake, there’s no doubt in my mind about the problem. What’s missing is a focus on it. It could be a trusted operator—or two of them if you’re willing to count me in the mix—might get something done to stop this stuff before it detonates somewhere in our country. Or maybe we could get the FBI to gin up a task force with the Mexican national police, something like that. But it’s gonna take more than the photos you sent me. I mean, they could be photo-shopped or taken during a session with survivalists out in the Sonora or somewhere like that, you know?”

“I know. The thought occurred to me. It’s what’s pushing me toward taking this on.”

“Well, if you do, try to get some sort of reference into any photos you take. You know, like when they put a ruler or something into a photograph to give perspective, right? You can’t ask the bad guys to pose in front of a road sign or anything like that, but we’ll need something that definitely says they are in Mexico.”

“And something that indicates that they are definitely jihadis, right? Maybe I could take some long-range sound recording gear and pick up some of the conversation or instruction.”

“Anything that will help build a case, Shake. You get that kind of stuff and I think I can get us into the executive suites at FBI or Homeland Security. I’m gonna start making some feeler calls this morning.”

“Good deal. I’ll let you know what I decide. Anyway, I’ve got to go back home before I do anything definitive. Maybe I’ll call Mike in on it if I decide to head south and check it out.”

“You damn sure don’t want to try something like this on your own. I’d also try to recruit that Chavez guy you told me about. He knows people down there and he’s gotta look more like a native than you or Mike.”

“OK. Thanks for the call. I’m here tonight and then back to Lockhart in the morning. I’ll be in touch.”

Shake wandered back into the café and found his seat. The waitress had removed what was left of his steak and eggs. He reached for the fresh coffee Sutler was pouring into his cup. “That was my guy in Washington,” he told the group. “Retired now but still well-connected at some very high levels. He’s seen the photos.”

“What’s he got to say?” Manny Chavez wanted to know.

“He says he’ll front me with serious people, but…”

“Do we like the sound of that?” Carlotta Valdez picked up a fork and moved home fries around on her plate. “But what?”

“But we’re gonna need more than we’ve got. We need to get some better photographic evidence; something that definitively shows these guys are in Mexico and that they are definitely jihadis and not just some drug cartel hitters on a training exercise.”