Part 51 (1/2)

His partner still had the binoculars pressed against his eyes.

'For what?'

'This.'

Angel reached down to his ankle, pulled up his trouser leg, and retrieved his backup weapon. He stuck the barrel to his partner's head and pulled the trigger.

'f.u.c.k!' Dwight yelled. 'He just shot him! One of the good guys shot the other good guy! What the h.e.l.l is going on?'

The shooter flung the weapon far downriver then took the dead agent's binoculars and put them to his face. Then he put something to his ear. A phone.

Billy Bob Barnett inhaled the line of white powder then leaned back in his leather chair and waited for the drug to take effect. To take his mind off the pressures that threatened to push him over the edge.

He had always lived life on the edge.

And if a man lived in Texas and wanted to live life on the edge, he played the oil and gas game. He wildcatted. He punched holes in the earth. He hoped he hit oil or gas or both. When that drill bit is digging deep and nearing the producing zone-what you prayed would be the producing zone-man, your heart is pounding and your adrenaline is pumping and your nerves are firing and you've never been so alive. If your geology and your hunch play out, life is good. And you are rich. If not ...

The thrill of victory or the agony of defeat.

He had enjoyed many thrills and a few defeats. But no defeat like this one. His frack wells had hit gas, a mother lode of gas; but so had everyone else's. Consequently, the market had glutted and natural gas prices had plummeted. As had Billy Bob's emotions. He now wallowed in the depths of depression. And as each time before, he had turned to drugs for respite and relief. Marijuana in college, cocaine in business. It was a daily dose now.

First, the glut of gas. Then, the plunge in prices. Followed by the collapse of the stock value. And the pressure-the constant, pounding pressure-from the a.n.a.lysts, the board, the shareholders ... and then his own lawyer. Nathan Jones had learned the truth and had threatened to go public with company doc.u.ments. That would have been the end of Billy Bob Barnett.

The cartel had taken care of Wade Chandler. He would take care of Nathan Jones. But a car wreck did it for him. A stroke of luck. A sign that his luck was changing. He would hold out for the futures market to move back up, as it surely would. Drill more, frack more, stockpile more gas for the inevitable rise in prices. He was saved. Until a law professor rode into town on a Harley.

His cell phone rang.

Angel waited for Billy Bob Barnett to answer. When he did, Angel said, 'They're coming, the professor and Carla. What do you want me to do?'

'Don't let them back on this side of the river. It's like Vegas, Angel. What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico.'

'You're the boss.'

Angel disconnected, replaced his cell phone, and returned to the vehicle. He got the AR-15, snapped in a full clip, and grabbed the night-vision goggles. He walked across the dry Rio Grande and waited for the professor and Carla to arrive. And arrive they would. There was no place for them to go but north to the river. The wall of fire would chase them right into his kill zone. All he had to do was wait.

Dwight could see the pickup truck speeding directly at the Border Patrol agent.

'He's gonna kill those two people in the pickup truck,' Lance said.

'I know.'

A Border Patrol agent had gone over to the dark side. It wasn't the first time, or even the thousandth time. There was just too much easy money to be made. Look the other way and collect a million bucks. That was bad enough. But killing a fellow agent, that crossed a law enforcement line that no officer can cross. Ever.

The agent Dwight was now staring at on the video screen had to die.

He had to die that night.

On that river.

Before he killed those two people.

While there was still time to control the story.

But who could he call? Other Border Patrol agents would be in Presidio County, maybe near enough to arrive in time, but what if they had been corrupted, too? He needed a law enforcer in Presidio County who was incapable of being corrupted.

He grabbed a phone and dialed.

Chapter 37.

Sheriff Brady Munn had the Presidio County SUV running eighty miles an hour with the lights flas.h.i.+ng but no siren on Highway 67 just north of Presidio when his cell phone rang. Better not be s.h.i.+rley telling him she was seeing the Marfa Mystery Lights. He answered.

'Sheriff Munn?'

'Yep.'

'This is Air Interdiction Agent Dwight Ford, at the Predator Ops center in Corpus Christi.'

The Predator boys must've spotted some Mexicans coming across the river.

'Agent, I don't have time to chase wets for you-'

'Sheriff, I'm sorry to wake you up but-'

'I'm already awake. I'm hauling a.s.s to the border. We got something strange going on-'

'With tanker trucks?'

'How'd you know?'

'We've been tracking them with the Predator. They drove into Mexico and dumped some kind of liquid.'

'Frack fluid.'

'Frack? Like from gas wells?'

'Yeah. Like from gas wells.'

'Anyway, there was a shootout. We're following two individuals, a male and a female-'

'The professor and Carla.'