Chapter 21

Crossing the Border

"…and authorities in Red Leaf are searching for a suspect in the brutal slaying of Martha and Robert Gardner. Mr. and Mrs. Gardner had been brutally shot to death on their small farm just north of the city. Police believe robbery may be the motivator for this crime. If anyone has any information on the suspect or suspects, they are asked to come forward. Again, police are…"

Big John switched off the radio as the battered Chevy trundled down the highway. He was deliberately keeping the speed five under the limit, and slowing on the hills. Of course, the truck could easily outstrip the shiny SUVs and sports cars on the road, even with the trailer. The vehicles looks were deceiving. He wanted people to believe what they saw, that the truck was on its last legs and unlikely to be going far. His plaid coat and striped overalls were part of the illusion that the truck was taking a cargo of horses across the border. He and his accomplice had been driving all night and well into the second morning without stopping. They had already left the north-eastern states, and were passing Maryland. Big John hoped to be down around Mexico with another day of travel.

The cab's occupants drove in a silence all the way down. No words were passed between the two, none were needed. The handler had been Big John's right hand man since the anti-terrorist mission in the Afghan war. He had come with Big John when Nightshade had made his offer, and he helped in doing the dirty work. Big John had been glad of his assistance. It had come in handy with that total botch-up at the farm.

Big John was known as a meticulous planner. He had known the layout of the entire farm thanks to the girl in town. He had studied the habits of the old couple, and knew they had retired early. He also knew, that the centaur girls…what had Nightshade called them? Centaurettes? ...were prudently kept sequestered in the barn. He had accounted correctly for the interior of the barn. He had planned on how to get the centaurettes out quietly and without anyone being the wiser. He had counted on a bigger lead and better cover. He had not counted on the disappearance of the two from the barn. He quivered in anger as he remembered going into the barn with the hypodermic needles to keep them quiet only to find them missing. That had necessitated either a complete scrub or alternate planning. He didn't think he could hide the tires tracks well enough in the soft and muddy ground, not without leaving some trace. So, he had broken into the house and seized the couple. They had not known anything either. Big John saw his chances slipping away every second when the two had walked right back into the barn. He had told her the truth. His original plans had not included the couple's deaths. He knew that would launch a large manhunt after him and his confederates. A few careful words from the Police Chief, and they would be looking for a truck and trailer. That would have to change his time-table a bit. He hoped to have dodged them for a few hours by smuggling them south, instead of north through Canada. They would have to check there, since that was closer to Red Leaf, and might give them a few more desperately needed hours.

A car honked noisily as it passed them on the left, its driver yelling through the window of the shiny red mustang. Big John mentally killed him four times before the car raced ahead and began weaving through traffic, narrowly missing a minivan and its occupants. Ben shook his head in wonder. Combat was far less scary and by far less dangerous than driving down a highway! No wonder there were so many fatalities on the road.

An hour till sunset, Big John finally pulled off the Interstate and turned onto one of the smaller state highways. Outside, the distant, glimmering sheen of the Gulf of Mexico beckoned. Big John had an alternate plan in place. There was a drug runner that owed him a favor for eliminating a rival some time back. He ran a delivery service that motored back and forth between Mexico, Cuba and Florida. He liked to brag about how many times the Coast Guard and FDA task force had stopped his boat, only to turn away empty handed. He was also good at avoiding attention when needed. He would be perfect for this operation.

They made it to a small dive near the city of Miami. It was far enough away that it wouldn't attract too much attention. There, the handler paid for the rooms while Big John changed clothes and stashed the truck. By now, they might have a description of the vehicle. Better play it safe. Still, they wouldn't be able to sneak the centaurettes in by simply driving up in a convertible. Big John dressed in casual shorts, loose t-shirt and flip-flops. By wearing tinted contacts and using hair dye, he could pass as someone else. From the truck he pulled his black canvas bag he had brought to the hotel. Inside was another ID, driver's license and a large wad of cash. Peeling off a couple of hundred, he tucked the bills into his wallet, secured the ID and license, and left the hotel.

He returned a couple of hours later in a common white delivery truck. They would be able to squeeze the cargo in, drive to a secluded beach where his smuggler had already promised to meet him, and the deal was done. Big John expected to be sipping tequila in Mexico by tomorrow afternoon, with a big payoff from Nightshade. Life was good.

The handler came out of the room with two large bowls of oatmeal. Big John nodded. No sense in delivering the girls in poor condition. There was little chance of them being discovered here, but just to be on the safe side, he grabbed his Ruger automatic. He had deep-sixed the other in the lake, a costly detour, but worth it if it prevented fingerprint analysis. He left a round unchambered and walked with the handler outside. The pair had scouted earlier, and had parked the trailer in a blind spot of the hotel's sole security camera. This was the perfect place for a mugging or killing, and Big John had no doubts that this place had had plenty of both in its time. Business had to have been slow lately, though. There were almost no loiterers about to overlook.

The handler opened the human door on the left and Big John grabbed the food from him. The man nodded and took up a position in the shadow of the hitch. He would be able to see anyone coming. Inside, the trailer was completely black. The harsh breathing of the two told him that they were not feeling well after their ride. Using a small lamp, he illuminated the scene. The smaller, red-headed one was standing in her stall. Blood trickled down from her legs and arms, where she had apparently been rubbing the bonds, hoping to fray them. She had guts, he had to hand that to her. She had detected his approach and was staring defiantly a few paces to the right of him. The other was standing dejectedly in her stall. The set of her body and the slump he could see in her shoulders told him all he needed to know about her.

Big John moved silently a couple of paces to the right, near the wall. The red-headed paint turned her head to follow. Interesting, it seemed that their hearing was far more sensitive than he had thought. It would make things interesting. He had no doubt that they would try to escape, and eventually succeed. He would no doubt be called on to bring them back, so all the information he gathered now would greatly aid in that. He took another step to the left, she overcompensated slightly and was staring at the spot over his left shoulder. Big John nodded in satisfaction.

Walking up to the paint, he placed the barrel of the gun on her temple. She shivered slightly but otherwise didn't react. Good, he mentally nodded in approval; she was brave but not stupid.

"I'll point this at your friend." He whispered threateningly. "You make a sound, scream for help, and a bullet goes through her brain. Understand?"

She nodded, and Big John released the ball gag. When it got outside her mouth, she began flexing her jaw. Pops and snaps from her tendons showed how stiff it had gotten. John grabbed the spoon and began spooning the gruel into her mouth. She ate the food in a stiff silence. She was very careful in eating, not spilling a drop. The gentle scrape of the spoon against the bottom of the bowl told him it was empty. He carefully took the bowl and set it on a tool locker he had installed the day before the op. Inside was few water bottles. He grabbed two of them and carefully watered her. She greedily drank them down, not spilling a drop. Big John was a bit surprised at her thirst, but reasoned that with her extra body mass, she probably needed more water. He mentally ticked off a note to get more water for the crossing over. He took a step back. And a shovel. He cursed; these had been a good pair of sandals. Wiping the bottoms off on the side of the stall, he replaced the ball gag and made sure it was fairly tight.

The second one was just as easy as the first. At the threat, a muffled sob, quickly suppressed, came from her. Taking the gag off, he fed and watered her. Just like the other, there was no spilled food or drop of water. She softly groaned in disappointment at the last one, and he replaced the gag. Her entire posture admitted defeat, but Big John would keep an eye on her anyway…just in case.

Leaving the trailer, he locked up tight. The handler drew first watch, and he settled back against the trailer. Big John would come out and relieve him in a couple of hours. Everything was proceeding smoothly. Sunrise was about six hours away. They would meet the smuggler that night, and would be in Mexico to following day. From there, he would go wherever Nightshade was. He knew a bit about Nightshade's plans. Heading south towards some of the larger towns in South America was risky, but worth avoiding attentions from police. Besides, some of the cities were quite prosperous and could be bilked for a lot of cash. Big John smiled as he contemplated all the money he could possibly make. Nightshade was generous with those he trusted, very generous. The profits from this caper alone would make him wealthy enough. Quitting never crossed his mind, however. More than the siren call of a lucrative payoff kept him going, past when all others had quit. The chance to prove himself, to beat any situation he was called on to solve was most of his drive. The money was always good though. Big John fell asleep, dreaming of what he could accomplish with all the money.

It was almost full dark again before Big John Okayed the transfer. The reasoning was simple; pattern recognition goes down in full dark and twilight. People are more willing to believe it's a trick of the light and not something else when seen at night.

The handler went into the trailer and grabbed the toolbox that Big John had restocked earlier that day. It went into the front of the cavernous load bay of the truck. Next, the handler carefully undid the ropes securing the red paint to the wall. She gave a muffled groan as her legs were unshackled. Callouses had formed where she had struggled against the bonds. Big John sighed, that was going to have to be treated. He dared not do it now; it would have to wait until they were down in Mexico. The weakened girl twitched as she tried to fight her bonds, and Big John decided to step in before she tried to make a break for it. Walking casually up beside her, he grabbed her arm and rammed the muzzle of his pistol in her ear. She gave a muffled cry and stilled. The handler forced her to mount the ramp into the truck and tied her to a ring installed in the left side. Then he went to do the same for the dark-haired one. Moments later she was out of the trailer and was halfway to the truck. Her legs gave out half-way and she fell heavily to the ground.

Big John snarled in anger, shoving the pistol into her back. "If you don't get off the ground and walk forward, I will kill your friend and leave you behind!"

She quickly regained her feet and meekly followed the handler into the back of the truck. Big John realized that it had been an act, a way for her to get a clue as to where she was at. His estimate of her abruptly rose. She would be more of a worthy foe than the red one. Still, it wasn't like she would be able to do much. The beach was secluded, there was no chance that they would be seen tonight, and the runner knew to keep his mouth shut.

The other man ran down the back of the truck and the two closed the door. Hopping into the cab, Big John started the engine and the semi pulled softly away.

In order to avoid detection, Big John used the backroads and switchbacks to his advantage. Occasionally, he used gravel roads to help confuse his pursuers. He hadn't heard of any warrants or warnings to be on the lookout, but it was better to play it safe anyway.

Because of the detours, the truck bounced over potholes and ruts in the road. He could hear the shifting of his cargo as the unexpected turns and swaying slammed them around. He felt a pang of sympathy for the girls, but he did not reduce his speed. He would be cutting it fine as it is. He did not want to miss that rendezvous with the smuggler.

The beach was at the end of what had to be the worst road in America. It rated barely more than a trail, and was just wide enough for the truck to squeeze down. Big John kept a steady hand on the wheel and a keen eye on the road. Many places in the world, this would be accounted a highway and perfectly acceptable. He had driven on some of those roads, and knew some tricks to keep the truck from tipping or stalling. It wasn't easy however, and he was sweating form the workout by the time the truck had made it onto the sand. The cove was barely a hundred yards wide, and covered with smooth white sand.

He steered to a large black lump on the beach that resolved itself into a cabin cruiser, about thirty feet long with a cabin. The smuggler was barely visible as a smudge on deck, moving around the bow. Big John stepped out of the truck and ran a practiced eye over the hull. She was a good one, he admitted. Her lines were clean and her hull ran in a deep-V, capable of slicing through the waves in the gulf. He expected a decent turn of speed out of her, although her main disguise was as a charter boat. He glanced at the name on the bow, the ANDROMEDA. Fantastic.

Big John kept his pistol at the ready as they opened the back. The heads swiveled towards them, and Big John was stunned to see that they settled directly on him. How was that possible? He was sure he hadn't made any noise to give away his position. Unless they were able to hear him through the metal walls, came the nasty voice in his mind. Big John felt a chill go down his spine, just how sensitive was their hearing? If they could identify his walk in the sand through the back of a truck…best not think about that yet. Gesturing to his man, he waited while the handler jumped in and secured the lead rope to the long black haired one. He led her out of the van and onto the sand. Big John jumped in after she had cleared and fastened the rope on the red-head. Giving a slight tug, she followed him without fuss. Something that John found instantly suspicious. Where was the fire? The effort to escape? She had to be planning. Best secure her onboard and then sterilize the vehicle.

The two men led their charges across the beach and to the gangplank that had been hastily assembled. The smuggler met them at the top. Big John had a moment of pleasure to watch the clean-cut face bulge in shock at the sight of the centaurettes. For a moment Big John wondered if he would have a heart attack, but the smuggler was made of sterner stuff and pulled it back together.

"The cabin's ready, I pulled out all the furniture like you asked." He said, staring at the shadowy shapes in front of him.

"Good." John said, tugging on the rope to make the paint follow. She stepped tentatively off the gangplank and onto the deck. Her head kept swiveling around, trying to determine where she was. Big John led her into the narrow confines of the cabin. He moved her closer to the bow and then reached into his vest pocket. Inside were several syringes loaded with happy juice, enough to keep her sedated for many hours. When the needle pricked her skin, she jumped and tried to get away, but Big John roughly pulled her back and pushed the needle back in quickly and hit the plunger. Her muffled screams gave way to moans as she slumped forward. Within seconds, she was fast asleep.

While the handler dealt with the other one, Big John stepped out on deck. The smuggler came up beside him and stared into the cabin. "Are they for real, man?" He whispered. The muffled scream inside made him instinctively step forward before restraining himself.

"Yes." Big John replied casually as the screams died off to quiet moans. He headed for the truck. "They are."

It was the work of just a few minutes to pull his duffel and the stuff from the barn out. He had deep-sixed all but the most valuable; a change of clothes, a mirror, and a couple of pictures was all that was left. Then he bleached the interior of the truck destroying DNA evidence. He grimaced in disgust at the droppings in the back. He borrowed a shovel and quickly removed them, then bleached the back for good measure. Sterilized, he left the truck behind. It would most likely be discovered tomorrow, but it wouldn't matter, as the truck had been bought with false ID and cash. Untraceable.  

It was now after midnight. The smuggler fired up his engines and threw the boat in reverse. The water churned behind the fantail, turning brown from the sand and dirt kicked up. Minutes later, the suction around the hull gave up, and the boat slid smoothly off the beach and into deeper water. The smuggler turned onto a course that would take them to Mexico, Big John finally let a smile cross his face. He had eluded his pursuers and accomplished his mission. While a lot could still go wrong, he was fairly certain his lead time would allow him to make a clean getaway. Big John let the Gulf breeze blow his worries behind him as the yacht raced west.