This meeting chamber was a hard change from the relative comfort of the strip club. It was significantly older, more fundamental, and clearly a place specifically for hard conversations and future planning.
“This is where the magic happens,” Hunter explained as he pulled me around to the table. He scrutinized the maps on the table briefly. I could see now that the papers were nailed down, likely to keep a stray hand from dismantling the entire top-down view.
“I see,” I murmured thoughtfully as I glanced over the maps along with him. The markings were in several different colors of ink – scribbles and patterns meant to indicate possible cartel locations, territory lines of other factions, and notices of who precisely opposed who, out here in the desert…
“There’s a bulletproof vest on the hook over there–” He pointed over my shoulder without looking up. “Throw that on.”
I did as he told, tossing the heavy material on and buckling it into place as I studied the tabletop beside him.
“A lot of thought that went into this,” I observed coolly. This table represented a view of the criminal underground any cop worth their salt would drool over.
“Yeah…” Hunter glanced up at me and nodded lightly. “This is what it takes to keep the peace. Even if we see eye-to-eye on outside forces crossing into our prospective territories, there’s still the threat of open war. Keeping the tenuous balance requires diplomacy, foresight, and a lot of grit.”
“I’m surprised you pulled it off,” I dangled in conversation, wondering where Hunter ranked in this outlaw ecosystem.
“A story for another time,” he spoke offhandedly, still studying the maps across the board before him.
Reluctantly, I resisted the urge to pout. I needed to know more about how he had accomplished all of this… and what he had done to enact the balance.
“More importantly…” he spoke, lifting his eyes from the maps and summing up my skill with buckling a bulletproof vest at a glance. “I need to know that you’re prepared for what we’re about to face.”
“I’m not,” I shrugged.
“You’re not?”
“Of course not, Hunter. I know why you’re after these guys, but you haven’t told me a whole lot about what to expect when we get out there.” I hated doubting him, but I wondered aloud: “Do you have any grasp of what’s on the horizon?”
Hunter grimaced. “That’s a fair point.”
“So, enlighten me,” I nudged.
He grabbed a pen and made a small mark approximately ten miles from El Paso, on the edge of the Mexican border.
“This is where we think they’re taking the girls,” he explained quickly. “As you can see, there’s not a whole lot out there. My scout says that he’s spotted a break in the fence here, marked by a small, abandoned farmhouse.”
“What about US Border Patrol? Wouldn’t someone have caught a big hole in the border fence?”
“There’s about seven hundred miles of fence down here, and the cartel pokes holes in it faster than the border agents can fix them… Makes it hard to lock down abductee routes, but if my info’s solid, then this is where it’s going down tonight…”
“When?” I asked.
He glanced at an old clock on the wall. It was a quarter to twelve. “We’re thinking they’ll move the girls at three o’clock. Pretty early in the morning. Less chance of any attention, especially outside of the city…”
“So you’re going to grab a bunch of tired, sobered up bikers and stake the place out until they show up? What if you’re outnumbered?”
Hunter took the criticisms in stride.
“This is our one shot, Sarah,” he patiently insisted. “Víboras Verde is a cartel that either works small, or they just can’t spare the resources. We’re not walking into a Bolivian army out there.”
“You’re thinking it’ll be a small operation?” I crossed my arms, glancing down at the maps. I couldn’t make heads or tails of the information spread out over the landscape.
“It’s probably going to be a couple of vehicles and a single van on the other side of the fence. They’ll run light. Whoever’s out there won’t be expecting any real firepower or resistance, but they’ll come prepared for a quick showdown if they find one. We can take them with less men than we already have.”
I opened my mouth to ask more questions, but the sound of breaking glass down the hall called our attention.
“That’s the signal,” Hunter told me.
“What, a shattered bottle of beer?”