West of Laredo by Tom Armbruster (epub e reader txt) 📕

you're older. The Foreign Service, sooner or later, will break your heart."

"Eat your donut!" Lee laughs. "Next time I'll bring J.O. He's less philosophical."

"Yea, probably a better consular officer too. Even if he is a Junior Officer."

"I don't know about that. If you had been there last week you might have helped me prevent all this."

"Forget about it Lee. You're doing your best. You learn from every case and you get better. That's all there is to it."


About 100 miles north of Laredo they see some illegals crossing the road and heading east. "We'll tell them in Uvalde." Sinclair says. "Those guys are in a seriously remote area and it's going to be 112 today." Sinclair's opinion of the Border Patrol is very high. In his view, they are life savers, more than a green wall against illegal aliens. Lee isn't convinced. She thinks they are intimidating.


At the Uvalde checkpoint Sinclair gives the Border Guards the particulars. "Two guys. A red t-shirt and a green button shirt. Not much else to say. They were at the 269 mile marker, 269 miles from Brownsville."


The Border Patrol officer thanks them. "Yea, we've seen that stretch getting busier. It's bad 'cause the water holes are contaminated. They get the runs in the desert and dehydrate pretty fast. Thanks for the tip. Jerry, call it in will you." The other guard takes a few steps away with his radio.

"Otherwise quiet?" Sinclair asks.

"Yea," the Border Guard laughs, "But we had Civil Lib Bill today."

"Oh?"

"Yea. We ask the usual, "Where you coming from?" He says, 'back that a way.' "Where you going?" He says 'Up this a way.' "Kills me every time. The boss hates it, but I kinda like it. Seems the American way, you know?"

"Alright, buddy." Sinclair says, "We're heading up this a way, see you soon."

"Be safe."

"You too."


Crossing back into Mexico, Lee and Sinclair get quiet. This part is never good. The body is in a morgue. Sinclair goes in while Lee waits in the lobby. Paces. Starts to go in to the morgue and stops herself. Sinclair comes out looking a little tired. "Marker was indeed kicked in the head. Steel toed boot."

"Let's go see the Warden."

"The appointment is with the Deputy. You'll never get the Warden on a Saturday." Sinclair sees Lees expression. "But we can try."

They try for three hours. No luck. They get the Deputy for a five minute interview. Marker's cellmates have already been tranferred to Monterrey. He says they are being dealt with "administratively" and he can't release their names.

"Well that's bullshit." Sinclair says.

"I thought you were a diplomat." The Deputy says.

"Oh, excuse me. That's fucking bullshit Senor Antonio."

"Yea. I know." The Deputy hangs his head. Then the Deputy changes tact. "Look, what do you care, he was a nobody. A druggie."

Lee moves in to the Deputy's face. "He was still somebody's little boy."

As they walk out of the prison Lee says, "So which one of us was supposed to be the good cop today?"

"Good cop, bad cop. It's not like we can arrest anybody. We're diplomats, even if it seems like we're Sheriffs. I was just trying to be persuasive."

"Nice."

"Look, what's going to happen? We're going to do a cable to Washington and the Embassy. We'll complain. We'll demand a dipnote be delivered to the Mexicans expressing our outrage at their inability to protect an American prisoner. I'm just delivering the message a little early and in person. That's all. Without all the frilly... and we present our compliments stuff."

“Your temper ever get you in trouble in the Department, Sinclair,” Lee asks.

“Yea, once I was working in the Ops Center and I had a paper to get to the Secretary. It was urgent, a message on the assassination of Ambassador Dubs in Iran and who we thought was behind it.”

“And?”

“And the Secretary’s line person looked at the memo and handed back to me. He said, ‘I can’t take this.’ I said ‘why the hell not?’ He said ‘it has a staple injury.’ Yea, the paper had been restapled when a third page came along, but you can imagine. I hit the roof. Told him where I would be sticking the stapler if he didn’t take that paper into the Secretary immediately. Got it done, but that’s when I knew I was more of a field guy than a Washington guy. I wasn’t cut out for Star Fleet Command, just the Enterprise. Not long after I retired since I had some health problems and I couldn’t get a Class One medical clearance.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” Lee says. “You would have been a good Ambassador.”

“Thanks.”

They ride south quietly on the Mexican side. A roadrunner crosses the road, just missing Lee's front bumper.

"Be careful Lee, you see the Mama roadrunner, the Dad is usually right..." Lee feels a slight bump as the second roadrunner is killed... "behind."

"Damn!" Lee says.

They have the windows down. The heat and dust feel good. A trickle of sweat rolls down Lees back.

"So Sinclair, they say the Laredo book club is going to open to men. Are you in?"

Sinclair smiles wryly. "Oh yea, well you know Farrington and I already have a men's book club."

"Really." Lee smiles back.

"Oh yea, we met yesterday. Want to hear about it?"

"Sure."

"Well, meeting started, I said, 'hey Lou, you read that book about Pompeii?' He said, 'yea.' I said, 'Like it?' He said, 'yea.' I said, me too. OK club adjourned, see you next week."


Back at the Consulate they start trying to find Marker's family. It's four o'clock. There are 17 Markers in Dallas. By 6 p.m. they have ruled out 13. By Monday morning all 17 have been ruled out. The dead man in the morgue in Cuidad Acuna is clearly not named Marker. Meanwhile, the Mexicans are anxious to bury him. On Wednesday, Lee asks the authorities for one more week before they bury Marker in a pauper's grave. The Mexican authorities grudgingly agree.

**


Weeks go by. With no news on Marker, Farrington assigned Lee the latest American citizen case. She’d been working the phones and now is waiting outside the Nuevo Laredo hospital. The morning still cool and flowers in the planter still fragrant before morning rush. The boy is wheeled out onto the hospital sidewalk. His head is lolled against his shoulder, his green eyes don’t follow the people or the movement of the wheelchair. But there is a slight smile on his lips, Lee Penny wonders if the reports she heard are true, that Jose is brain dead. She figures the computers don’t lie and that Jose was simply a happy 12 year old boy when the bullet stopped his brain from functioning, and this is just how he looks. In any case, her telephone calls paid off and a hospital in San Antonio is willing to give Jose one last shot at life.


The family, while Mexican, decided to try the Consulate for help since they remembered Jose was born in Laredo and had American citizenship. The Mexican doctors had said nothing more could be done. So Lee made some calls. There would be no helicopter, but an American ambulance was allowed to cross into Mexico and take the boy back to San Antonio to a Catholic hospital.


Jose’s father never showed up. His father, a Zeta, was targeted by the Tecos. When his car showed up in Teco territory after a carne asada barbeque one Sunday afternoon, enterprising Teco soldiers spotted his car and took it upon themselves to open fire. Of 17 bullets, five struck the Zeta driver, two struck Jose’s mother, one entered Jose’s skull through his forehead, and the rest missed. Jose’s father wasn’t touched by the hail of bullets and his mother was treated and released.

Lee quietly talks with the family, shakes hands with the ambulance attendant and driver and asks the family to call when they hear something from San Antonio.

Seven hours later Lee is just leaving the Nuevo Laredo gym where she was power cycling. “Penny here.”

“Jose didn’t make it. No miracle today.”

“Thank you for calling. I’m very sorry.” Lee’s gym bag feels heavy and getting to the car is an effort. She drops into the front seat and takes a deep breath. From the parking lot she looks out at the desert sunset, listens to the deep quiet of the scrub, then she says a quick ‘God rest his soul’ to herself and heads home.


**


There is no respite the next day. The American woman is sober, disheveled and distraught, but her mind is clear. Her allegation is against a Nuevo Laredo policeman. First he took her to an ATM and had her draw out the maximum, then he took her to the desert, held her at gunpoint, then raped her and told her if she told anyone he’d kill her.