It Ain't Paranoia if... Pt. 02 Ch. 01

This is an action-adventure-fantasy. While the settings are largely realistic, the events and the people are more akin to those you see in action adventure movies, like Robert Rodriguez's El Mariachi series. Perhaps like Once Upon a Time in Mexico, or A Clear and Present Danger, if it had been directed by Sam Peckinpah.

The MC is a hundred millionaire with almost unlimited financial and human resources available, and powerful connections on both sides of the Texas-Mexico border. His family has been kidnapped, is being held for ransom, and being abused. No help is forthcoming because of the international nature of the events.

His anger knows no bounds, as yours might in the same situation. There is violence, there is retribution, and there is sex, both consensual and forced, but only between those 18 and over. It's X rated for both graphic violence and descriptive sex. If you are under 18 or offended by violence or sex, do not read any of the stories in Part 2!

I write and edit my own work; therefore, you may encounter misspellings, missing or misused words, or grammatical errors. I hope not, but I also find them in edited stories on this site; we're all amateurs here.

If any of the above -- violence, retribution, sex - offends you, please do not read this story or 2.2. If you want realism rather than fantasy, then hit the back button; this is fantasy.

If you decide to read it anyway, you need to read the five chapters of part 1 before you do. Although I rehashed more than normal because part 1 was posted back in December, I don't rebuild the characters from story to story; I build on previous chapters.

If you're still with me, I hope you enjoy this convoluted concoction of a first chapter, and the more straightforward chapters that follow. You constructive comments are welcome, but please don't complain about the forewarned items above. Just so you know, I do edit comments, and I do ban trolls.

It Ain't Paranoia if... 2.1

Hit Below the Belt

The dim green glow of my watch said it was still T-102 minutes until H-Hour. Lowering the binoculars and laying them aside, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the countless stars in the moonless sky. We had chosen the night of the new moon for a reason.

Everything we had done to get ready for tonight was for a reason, and we were only 101 minutes from executing our plan. We had done what we could do, we had accounted for those things for which you can account. Although, barring divine intervention, we would be badly outmanned and outgunned, we were nonetheless as ready as we could be for what had to be done.

We knew the odds were bad -- our plan required too many things to come together at once, flawlessly, for us to have a chance. We also knew that the world hadn't stood still since we went incommunicado a little more than three days ago, but we had no idea what had changed.

There were an impressive number of people at all levels in Mexico and the United States committed to thwarting our plans; a smaller but still potent number were committed to helping us achieve them b. Without communication we don't know what has changed in the past three days, or what awaits us.

So we cling to our plan and hope for the best.

The immensity of our problem goes beyond winning the skirmish and freeing the hostages. If we somehow succeed in rescuing them and no one is badly injured, we still have to get them safely out of Mexico and to safety in Texas, most likely while being hunted by our enemies! Did I mention the odds of success were slim?

Odd's don't matter, though, because we learned that Kaitlyn's new owner intended to keep her as his personal whore, share her with clients and friends until she was worn out, and then sell her to a brothel somewhere. She was nothing special to him; just the latest woman contracted for this Russian oligarch/crime boss.

My 8 and 10 year-old children had also been purchased by foreigners, and, based on what we learned about their new owners, there was no doubt that their fate would be far worse than death.

The $10,000,000 ransom being demanded for their release was subterfuge; the gang had already collected on the contract for the three of them, so their fate was sealed. They just wanted me to contribute $10m to their cause, and they wanted to show myself so they could collect the bonus for killing me.

I played along, hoping to buy enough time to rescue them; I was willing to pay far more than $10 million for their safety.

So... it is what it is.

****

What it is right now, lying on this ridge in lightweight camo, is cold. Oh, the temperature has been much colder in some of the higher mountain passes on our journey, but we were climbing, descending, walking, using the limited natural light offered by the stars and the last slivers of the waning crescent moon or our night vision goggles, depending on the situation. Moving as we were, on high alert, the night chill wasn't problem.

Tonight was different. Even at this modest elevation the high desert cools off as quickly when the sun goes down as it heats up with the sunrise.

The first night of our journey we crossed the Rio Bravo del Norte / Rio Grande into Mexico just after dark, at an isolated river crossing south of Redford. We clung to the valley of the Nogal River when we could, but walked cross country when it took a big dip to the south, before again meeting it ten miles further west.

The highlands were largely barren, rocky, and uneven; the floors of the valleys were sandy, rocky, and uneven, but with vegetation. Covering ground rapidly was easier on the flatlands, but the danger of walking upon someone and losing the element of surprise for our mission made us cautious, so the going was slow, regardless of geography.

Our first day camp was under an overhanging rock ledge near the headwaters of the Nogal River south of Portero del Llano. The first tendrils of light were on the eastern horizon as we walked the last 100 yards in the shallows of the river, spotting some of the little traps we had been told to steer clear of up on the banks. They were there to alert us if someone came while we rested.

There was also a 3' high mesh snake fence across the front of our shelter, and the combination of fence and traps meant we didn't need to take turns on guard duty. That was critical, because we badly needed our rest.

Our unknown benefactors had stashed food, water, and blankets along the back wall of the shelter. It was only a few dozen steps to the water, so we slipped down and bathed after we ate, but put the same clothing on.

We made our beds in the sand under the overhang, and slept the sleep of the fatigued. It was the best sleep I'd had since my family was taken.

The second night we made just less than thirty miles, and we were again exhausted due to the many climbs and descents. We spent the day in a box canyon north of Chilicote, behind a wall of dense brush and prickly pear encircling two large mesquite trees. Our hidden, well-stocked camp was grassy, and the mesquite trees offered a bit of shade for our snake-fenced sleeping area.

There was a flowing spring against the base of the rock wall, so we washed our clothes and bathed twice; once before we went to bed, and again before we donned our 'clean' clothes.

We only had to make 25 miles the third night, and less than five tonight. If you think those aren't impressive distances, keep in mind that the section of the Chihuahuan Desert we had to cross lays within the Altiplano Mexicano, the central highlands of northern and central Mexico.

Most of our route was between 4000-6000 feet above sea level, but some mountains within the Altiplano were over 11,000 feet in elevation; thankfully, none were along our route. We skirted all mountains, even small ones, but the passes along our route were still higher than the elevation of Denver, "The Mile High City," meaning the air was thin.

The elevation, rocky terrain, treacherous trails, climbs, and descents, and the need to travel at night under the last vestiges of the waning crescent moon made it impossible to carry enough supplies, weapons, and ammo to serve our ultimate purpose.

Fortunately, our friend and compatriot, Carlos, aka El Chaparral, was able to arrange for anonymous confederates to stock caches of food and water at three pre-set locations.

It wasn't actually that far from the Texas border to our destination... if you traveled in a straight line. It was the need to remain unseen by those in villages, working on ranches, or working/guarding the opium poppy and marijuana fields, while avoiding highways and dirt roads, mountains, canyons, rivers, dangerous trails, and being skylined that made our route longer and more trying.

****

There were three in my group: brothers Clay and Claude Edwards, and myself, Robert Roy Macgregor. I'm usually called Rob, but lately my female companion/ex-wife has taken to calling me RR.

Clay and Claude are owners of the Ultimate Solutions security group that I initially funded, and which provided security for me and mine.

They would have come anyway, because we are close friends and they love my family, but the failure of Ultimate Solutions personnel to prevent the kidnapping weighed heavily. Add the execution of two of their favorite employees by a new employee, Miroslav Popović, and this mission was intensely personal.

If we were fortunate, a half-dozen others from Ultimate Solutions would join us at H-Hour for the assault on the compound. They were coming was from the north, we were coming from the southeast.

It was more pipedream than likely, but if we were REALLY fortunate, an unknown number of indigenous tribesman and Chihuahuan freedom fighters would also join us. However, even the friend who endeavored to make that happen was skeptical that they would actually show up and fight.

Being oppressed since the Spaniards arrived had turned them into passive-aggressive peoples more likely to hide in the Sierra Madre Occidental mountains than to fight back. Fortunately for us, maybe, their people had been hounded, beaten, and forced to work by the cartels for decades, and there were rumors that warriors from each tribe were being trained to fight their latest oppressors.

They were said to be ready and willing to fight, but lacked adequate weaponry. We hoped that was all they lacked, because Raymundo was willing to arm them under certain conditions, and those conditions were not odious or onerous.

Had he armed them? Would they join our fight? We had no way to know.

More likely, it would be nine of us against forty-five, maybe fifty, of the gangsters/cartel wannabes. But it has to be done: my family is held captive in that compound, and their future is bleak if we aren't successful.

****

They say your life flashes in front of your eyes just before you die; perhaps it's my time, because tonight I can't keep my memories contained.

On the other hand, the innumerable shades and colors of the Milky Way on this first night of the new moon are hypnotic; perhaps the heavens are the cause of my compulsive reverie, not my impending death.

Understand, I'm not afraid of dying. I am afraid of dying before my daughter Grace, my son Logan II (Dos), and my ex-wife and current living companion, Kaitlyn, are freed from the desperate and violent gang that kidnapped them.

The watch says there are only 88 minutes remaining until H-Hour; if I'm going to 'dig up bones', I need to do it now. I settle back against an upright rock, look to the colorful heavens, and let my mind roam.

My ex-family coming back into my life disturbed five years of tightly controlled existence. From the moment they got out of Kaitlyn's silver SUV and approached me, my 'Solitario' existence began to transform. They excitedly accompanied me on excursions into the sparsely populated but geologically and geographically rich lands of the Big Bend and the Davis Mountains, they stood fearlessly beside me when troubles arose, and they charmed my curmudgeonly friends. They had been ideal companions.

After spending five years trying to hate Kaitlyn and forget the children whom I believed chose another over me - five years of focus on becoming a rich man while living emotionally numb to avoid the pain of my losses - their sudden return to my life a little more than a year ago overwhelmed and frightened me. They had the means to make my life joy-filled again, or to destroy it.

Their presence -- combined and individually -- broke down the carefully erected and maintained barriers I had spent five years building and shoring up.

It was easier to forgive the kids; after all, they were two and four when they rejected me without understanding what they had done. Forgiving Kaitlyn was more difficult; in fact, she understands that is an ongoing project.

Yet, lying here on this chilly ridge in the middle of the Chihuahuan Desert, surrounded by rocks and thorny scrub brush, under skies that can't be seen anywhere else in North America, I know she owns my heart, in spite of my best efforts to keep it safe from her.

****

The aftermath of the battle at Carlos' Rancho del Chaparral resulted in more than a score of indictments, including three US senators, two US representatives, and a handful of state officials. There were changes at the highest levels in three federal law enforcement organizations, and even more at lower levels of those organizations. Two federal judges are facing trial next year, and already-rocky relations with North Korea and Venezuela took another hit.

There were ramifications in the White House itself, with the president re-staffing key elements of his cabinet following a slew of resignations "to return to... private business... my practice... my family, etc."

And there were ramifications for me.

I consider myself a worldly man, but I learned I had been played almost from the moment Robert became CEO. His successful seduction of my wife was part of a much larger scheme involving international criminals, foreign heads of state, and terrorist organizations, including two drug cartels.

I foolishly believed he had repeatedly sent me abroad in order to allow him the opportunity to seduce Kaitlyn and embarrass his rival; I learned the true purpose was to have me killed.

The cartels, terrorists, crooked businessmen, and unscrupulous politicians from this and other countries considered me an impediment to their realization of incalculable profits using the company.

Yes, Robert wanted my wife and children for his own, but more than anything he wanted me dead so he could move his daddy's proud business into money laundering and unscrupulous partnerships with criminal and terror organizations.

My unexpected affiliation with Claude had thwarted their earliest murder attempt in the Baltic Basin, where Chechen mercenaries were unsuccessfully deployed. Had I not then funded Claude's startup security firm, Boko Haram almost certainly would have killed me in central Africa a few months later.

In both cases, we were well armed, adequately prepared, and able to fight off the assassins. But from them we learned the importance of deep intelligence gathering before venturing into dangerous places.

Quitting the business and selling my shares to Robert unknowingly bought me some time, until the dogs I set loose by my disclosure to the board chairman and the FBI brought Robert down.

The subsequent investigations unearthed pieces of seemingly unrelated information. The alphabet agencies decided I had the knowledge and ability to put together; in reality, I did not, but that supposition was enough for Robert's partners to set the dogs on me.

In spite of their conclusions, I did not have the ability to put the puzzle together, but Kaitlyn did; when she recovered the hard drive hidden in a china safe, the shit truly hit the fan.

The sad truth, as I now know it, is that I handed Kaitlyn into Robert's clutches. My own arrogance and pride, my stubbornness, and my inflated ego prevented me from doing what I knew early on I should do: sell my stocks, resign, and move on.

There was no question I was being sent on unnecessary and unproductive trips, nor that Robert was sending me into dangerous places and situations that bore little expectation of reward for the company.

I knew his attempts to arrange meetings with terrorists as well as corrupt states and organizations would either get me killed or arrested by the US government, and yet I persevered.

It was my company, dammit! I was a critical player in building the company from locally successful to a worldwide player in oil and gas production and transport, and I would be damned if I would turn it over to the owner's ignorant, immoral, and crooked son to destroy!

And then I was, in fact, damned: I lost my precious family to that SOB!

Looking back, telling Kaitlyn to suck it up because she's the one who insisted I take the job with all the travel, was likely counterproductive. For certain, telling her it wasn't her beauty and body he wanted was counterproductive. She knew better; therefore, my warnings that his seductive efforts were based in his desire to humiliate me only made her more stubborn.

Kaitlyn was 24 at the time, but she was a very young, very naïve, very sheltered twenty-four. I was a grizzled, hardened, skeptical, and worldly twenty-six year old. The lenses through which we viewed the world and other people were vastly different. I understand and acknowledge that now; I didn't then.

The six days since they were taken by armed men outside the elementary school in Fort Davis have forced me to remove the filters I had relied on. In the bright, unaltered sunshine of reality, it's easy to see my own foibles and how they led us to this place.

Will I ever get to see her again, to tell her that I'm willing to forgive her weakness if she will forgive my hubris? It's unlikely; I'm far more likely to be buried with my shame.

Even worse, she may already be dead or gone - Grace and Dos too. How do I live with that?

****

We spent last night in a well-hidden cave just above the waterline where the Rio Conchos wends its way through the mountains just northeast of El Granero, a substantial lake that provides irrigation for food crops, and for cash crops like opium poppies.

It's a dangerous area. The states of Sonora and Chihuahua are controlled by the Sinaloans, who expanded into Chihuahua after a long and bloody war with the Juarez Cartel that previously ruled the state with a bloody iron hand.

States further to the south and east are still under the Escamilla cartel, but this barren section of south-central and southeastern Chihuahua hasn't drawn much attention from the Sinaloans, whose main interests lie in the heavily populated areas further north and west, in Sonora.

In this sparsely populated borderland between the Sinaloa and Escamilla cartels, elements of the defeated Juarez cartel, which was perhaps the bloodiest of the bloody bunches, have combined with disgruntled members of the Escamilla cartel. They have quietly and inobtrusely taken a small piece of the action out here, far away from the more lucrative areas nearer Ciudad Juarez, El Paso, New Mexico, Arizona, and California, and they were strengthening.

Raymundo Escamilla had stuck to his promise to divest the cartel he now heads of its most shameful activities, including making and exporting fentanyl, sex trafficking of young men and women / girls and boys, kidnapping for ransom (which commonly ended in the murder of the hostages after receipt of the ransom), and murder for hire.