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

See the warnings in 2.1. It gets rough in this chapter; you are forewarned.

The watch showed T-70 minutes. I didn't see anyone moving in or around the massive, rectangular house, along the floor of the canyon, or on the horseshoe-shaped mesas surrounding the house on three sides, even with the night vision binoculars. I knew at least two men were somewhere to my left, because Claude and Clay came with me, but they were far too crafty and experienced to be moving around unnecessarily.

The three sentries posted around the mesa on our side were dead, dispatched soundlessly with Clay's knife before he waved us up; it's good to have a special forces veteran on your side. There were supposed to be more sentries scattered around the horseshoe mesa, but I saw nothing moving. Hopefully, that meant our allies were had taken care of the others.

The briefest moment of hope flared up, before I forced it down and returned to staring at the heavens.

During my second week back at the Mountain Lair, we finally got to go stargazing at the nearby MacDonald Observatory. The injuries I suffered during the kidnapping postponed our first attempt, but it couldn't have been better than this one, which featured the Comet Swift-Tuttle and the 'falling stars' it shed across the night sky.

That outing had spurred a second; our vigil at the old air base in the dessert near Marfa, where we waited patiently to see if the Marfa Lights would come out to play. They did, around 11 pm! Sometimes they blinked on and off while moving along the horizon; sometimes they flew straight up like rockets; and sometimes they flew directly toward us before veering up into the night sky. We watched as they were climbed until they were lost among the canopy of stars.

That experience had spurred deep discussions about unexplained phenomena, just as stargazing had led to discussions about the vastness of the universe and phenomena like comets and black holes. My kids may be young, but they are highly intelligent, and I don't say that solely because I'm their proud father. Their proud 'uncles' agree, though they may also be a bit biased.

Our exploration of an old mine that was being restored by the owner at Shafter Ghost Town was both frightening and enlightening; it's hard to imagine what the miners endured working in those hot shafts a century or more ago.

We spent a day at the Museum of the Big Bend at Sul Ross, coming to know and understand the history of this enormous area. Our five guides added details and information at practically every exhibit, and soon everyone in the place was following us from stop to stop.

We even made new friends, and so did Grace and Dos -- although Grace's captivated new friend was far more interested in her then the history. He was at least 12 or 13; she's only nine (I'm nearly 10, Daddy!), and my frown drew an elbow and giggle from her mother, who should have been as appalled as I was!

Instead, she whispered, "Get used to it, Honey -- she's gonna be a looker!"

"She already is," I mumbled, "and I'm not happy about it!" That drew a more pronounced giggle and a pinch.

It was bad enough that Kaitlyn had to wear a short floral sundress with red sandals so every male on campus would ogle her wherever we went, but I'm used to that! My Grace is still a baby!

We spent much of another day at the Chihuahuan Dessert Research Center learning about the flora, fauna, geography, and geology of the immense Chihuahuan Dessert. Our guide wanted to defer to Doc, but he told our guide to inform us, and he would add information he might use when guiding others.

We learned that the dessert is the largest in North America, covering more than 250,000 square miles and extending from Albuquerque, New Mexico, to just north of Mexico City. He told us about the Altiplano Mexico in Chihuahua, and about the Sierra Madre Oriental and Occidental mountain ranges that border the desert to the east and west.

At the time, those were just fun facts; after hiking within it for three days, its immense size, geographic and geologic features, and the inherent dangers had become much more personal.

If this excursion goes badly, we'll all be buried in unmarked graves in this dessert. If we all survive, we still have to escape back through it to Texas, likely while being hunted by armed men. Sigh.

T-57 minutes. To avoid thinking about my body spending eternity in an unmarked grave in this barren land, I search for more pleasant memories to explore.

Kaitlyn had listened, learned, and practiced her 'nursing skills' during my hospital stay, and, once back at home in the mountains, she became an adept and demanding caregiver. No slacking off was allowed on the physical therapy I had to do on my own, or when the occupational and physical therapists worked with me in my home gym.

I did it all under her watchful eye -- sometimes glare -- and she also insisted we go for long walks around the ranch. At the time, I was a bit irritated at her insistence I recover my strength and stamina as quickly as possible; now, I appreciate her efforts.

Unfortunately, business does not take sick leave, so I did plenty of business on the phone, but not in lieu of doing what had to be done to recover completely.

My overseer ensured I drank lots of fruit juice and not much beer, and I ate fresh fruits, vegetables, and lean protein until all I could think of was a plateful of greasy, rat-cheese covered enchiladas! We had to come to an understanding, though, when I was filling my second cup of coffee cup at 7 am and she started telling me the doctor said more water and less caffeine.

Clay, Claude, 'the uncles', even the kids, shied away when she cut those green eyes at them if they attempted to interrupt my workouts. She was a tyrant!

But at night, the sex kitten came out to play! She was considerate of my injuries, meaning she made love to me rather than fucked me, as I could tell she sometimes wanted to do sometimes. Come to think of it, that may have been why she was so single-minded about my speedy recovery!

Regardless, when we flew to Midland and Dr. Wang released me, we joined the mile-high club with the pilot pretending he wasn't watching! He probably couldn't see much anyway, with her long, flowing skirt draped over our legs while she rode my cock and moaned into my mouth. She got off so quickly I didn't, but she promised tonight would be special.

Once in bed, she climbed on top and seated herself as usual, but then wrapped her legs around me, rolled us over, and said, "Your turn on top, and you better give me the fucking of the decade after all the work I've had to do to get you to his point!"

She wasn't pleased when I laughed and broke free of her leg lock, but she was singing my praises for the third time when I crawled back up from between those powerful thighs and stuck my juicy tongue in her mouth.

Challenged though I may be have been by my condition, I tried to pound her through the mattress. I don't know about 'the fuck of the decade', but I had to cover her face with a throw pillow to reduce the volume of her screams. If I hadn't been worried about the ultra-high def video cameras and potential porn stardom, I'd have taken her into the bunker and tried to destroy her cocky, over-sexed self! But I did okay anyway, or so she babbled when I finally gave her a break forty minutes later.

Early the next morning we left the room with arms wrapped around one another, headed to the coffee shop. Clay and Claude were waiting outside our door holding wiring and electronic gear. We both gave them puzzled looks, and Kaitlyn asked, "What is all that?"

"Don't worry about it, Little Buddy," Clay responded, "You'll never know they are there." He held up a box with Ultra-High Definition Miniature Camera written on the box. They smirked at her and started toward our bedroom door.

I was successfully suppressing my laughter until Kaitlyn turned me loose, cut them off from the door, and warned, "Oh no you're not!" in her toughest, most certain voice.

She slipped inside, locked the door, and came out the second door, down the hall. "Tomorrow I'm installing deadbolts! No more taping!"

The three of us collapsed in laughter at the hands on her hips, the determined look on her face, and the adamant sound in her voice.

When Clay finally got under control enough, he managed, "Then we're going to have to move the kids' rooms to another floor; we're worried they have been scarred for life by your antics, Chica Cachonda Insaciable!"

She managed a blush before protesting, "You're lying again - I wasn't loud at all!" She said that declaratively, but gave me a questioning look. We burst out laughing again, and she turned the prettiest shade of pink!

Head held high, defiance in her carriage; she took my arm and pulled me toward the stairs, "Come on! I need coffee and I need to get away from these... these... mean boys!"

She sounded ten years old, and we all collapsed in laughter again!

She left us there and strutted away from the gales of laughter with her chin in the air and a definite sway to that delectable derriere.

Just before she disappeared down the stairs she flipped a bird over her shoulder, and we lost it yet again.

We each took a cap off the rack at the bottom of the stairs and proceeded to the patio, where she stood with her coffee cup talking to Doc and Coyote. We walked over to her, with hats in hand and heads bowed, and contritely recited, "We're sorry! Please forgive us! We didn't mean to make you mad."

The old men were grinning, and Kaitlyn was fighting a grin while trying to look mad. Finally, she giggled; we encompassed her in the center of a group hug and continued to beg her forgiveness for being meanies. That lasted for about twenty seconds before she started laughing and pushing on us, trying to escape.

"ENOUGH- you're forgiven! Now let me go!"

We did, and then returned to the 50-cup digital coffee maker to get a mug full.

When we returned, she had her hands on her hips again. "There's something else! I want to know what you're calling me! That chica thing! And don't try to tell me it's something like 'cheating slut wife'!"

The grins were insuppressible as Clay answered, "Oh, you mean 'Chica Cachonda Insaciable?' You need to ask Coyote; that's his handle for you."

"Ah ah," he cautioned with the shake of his head, "I didn't add the Insaciable part... although, after last night, I think I know where it came from!"

Coffee cup still on table, hands still on hips, Kaitlyn turned on him. "Well, what does it mean?"

He ventured, "Ummm, something like 'needy girl'?"

She looked puzzled for a second, until we all started laughing again, joined by Doc.

"No! I know that's not what it means! Tell me the truth!"

When Coyote blushed and the rest of us kept laughing, she turned her supposed fury on me. "Tell me, Rob! Right now!"

"Hon, your Jumano name is given based on your state of being, your essence. You know, like they called me Solitario when I was living alone, and Grace is La Mariquita because she flits around like a ladybug. So, are you sure you want me to tell you what your Jumano name means?"

She made a face at me, and declared "YES! Tell me!"

She sounded certain, but there was a trace of concern too.

"Well, okay. It means something like 'insatiably horny girl', although there are other interpretations."

The redness rose out of the little tank top toward her neck, and spread down her thighs from those little white short shorts. We each held our breath, awaiting her response; after all, the name was playfully given, in good fun, not meant to humiliate her.

She said nothing; and then she took two quick steps into my arms, hid her face against my shirt, and clung to me. Quietly, still clinging to me thirty seconds later, she quietly asked, "So that's what you see as my essence?"

I couldn't tell if she was offended or really asking, so I remained quiet, as did everyone else.

Finally, I began trying to unwind the damage. "Well, we could change it to 'Chica Valiente', meaning 'brave girl', or to 'Chica Guerrera', which means something like 'warrior woman' in recognition of your bravery in combat, or..."

"No," she said quietly, "the original is probably the best."

Her response was mystifying. Was she crushed, angry, or...?

I raised her chin so I could see her face, and found playful emerald eyes and a smirk on her beautiful face.

She suddenly turned, pressed her hard little ass against me, and faced the others. "Okay, I'll accept that. I am what I am, and I'm not ashamed of it! And since you gave me that name in recognition of my 'essence', I'll expect the early morning teasing to end! As you know, I can't help myself, being an insatiable little slut and all!"

Coyote took the bait, "Kaitlyn, that doesn't mean 'slut'; you're anything but! In fact,..."

"Nah hah!" she told him, while wagging her finger in his face. "Chica means girl, cachonda means horny, and insaciable means insatiable, right? So 'insatiable slut' would kind of be the slang version!

"I can't argue with that, as long as everyone understands I'm Rob's insatiable little slut and no one else's!"

With that, she rubbed that hard little ass against me again and asked, "Right, Rob?"

I grinned, kissed her on top the head, and replied, "Absolutely true, Darlin'. And if you don't quit rubbing that fine little butt on me, I'm going to take you back upstairs and see if you're truly insatiable!"

"I don't think you understand the concept of 'threat', Robbie. You're supposed to be scaring me, not turning me on!"

God, she was so adorable that morning!

I pray that three mornings from now she's back in my lap, sitting on the patio sipping coffee!

****

T-48 minutes; in three minutes I have to initiate the first 'call' of the night. It won't tell me/us who is in place, but it will inform any others that WE are in place. The response will come five minutes later, at the -40 mark, from the mesa on the other side of the canyon.

Mine is the irritating call of the Killdeer; the response is supposed to be a Barred Owl. A Killdeer? Yes, as a kid they were all over our farm. I practiced until my dad couldn't tell the difference, although he assured me he'd never seen a less useful imitation.

But tonight it would be useful; Killdeer are up and about all night, and I'd already heard a few calls. A call precisely at -45 would be understood to be me... assuming we have allies to hear.

I sat cross-legged, cupped my hands, and gave the shrill, irritating cry.

Silence.

I laid back down and re-reviewed the plan for the next (last?) 44 minutes of my life.

Radio silence was necessary due to the danger of intercept, but damn it was difficult not having a clue about support we may have, or not have! Likewise, we knew where the hostages were being held five days ago, but were they still there?

We were assured they were being held in the rock dungeon at the rear of the house by our informant, but was he reliable? Had they been moved? Was Kaitlyn being raped in the bed of one of the monsters right now!

Would we be slithering down the face of the mesa into a trap? Would the armory and the bunkhouse where the soldados slept be hit by the RPGs on time? Would I even be in place when those things happened, if they did?

Fuck! So many chances for things to go wrong and we're depending on a three-day old plan that was most likely overripe!

Oh well... a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. You can ponder and equivocate, but it still got to get done.

Precisely at -40 a Barred Owl hooted from the other ridge, and I released a breath I didn't know I was holding. 'Thank God!' At least we have some help!

It was still too early, but adrenaline was flooding my bloodstream. I had repressed my senses to allow the time to pass, but now they all came online with heightened perception.

My awareness and acuity were finely tuned; I could hear, see, and smell the night creatures, even though they amounted to a pear rat, a couple of field mice, and a large, stinky but harmless bullsnake that was hunting the mice, or the rat.

I shifted to a prone position, took up the binoculars, and scanned the mesa top across from me, the valley below, and the house. No movement.

Or was there? I trained my night vision glasses on the valley floor, along the small creek and saw something move. A deer? Coyote? Bird? No, something upright, like a human!

Then more movement! This was a pretty large group of shadows I was watching; perhaps theTarahumara, Tepehuán, Mixteco and other disgruntled 'native peoples' were joining our effort after all!

There are almost 100,000 of them in the state of Chihuahua alone, and they certainly had cause to take up arms.

The kidnapping of my family and the purported plans to sell them into slavery made media headlines and cries of indignation in the US.

Here, and throughout Central America, though, that was a story told countless times in the homes and villages of the indigenous peoples of the region. In fact, it was told so often it was deemed unworthy of notice by the media. Or perhaps it was the death of those who did report the abuses that stifled the reports and indignation.

That many others were taken and forced to work the poppy fields and the processing rooms was well known, but unreported and uninvestigated, and the silence wasn't all about fear. Money talks far louder than human rights to elected officials, on both sides of the Rio Bravo del Norte.

No, 'Los Indios' had just cause, but they had heretofore been passive in their resistance. Rather than fighting back against the cartels and their government lackeys, they simply retreated deeper into the mountains and valleys of the Sierra Madre Occidental.

If they were now organizing and taking up arms, it was a paradigm shift of epic proportions! If they were here, prepared to fight, it was even more monumental!

If so, who was responsible? Carlos, who had relatives in the area and friends in the tribes? Did Raymundo reach some sort of agreement?

Oh, hell -- who cares? We'd certainly take their help!

T -18 minutes and counting!

My conscious focus was on the valley floor, but my senses were spread out in all directions. I felt rather than heard something behind me. I stealthily slid my knife from the scabbard; this had to be handled silently or I'd screw the goose.

At the last second I rolled over and thrust the knife toward a silent shadow standing a foot behind my feet. My thrust ended when I saw his empty hands held toward me, but he lithely hopped back a step anyway.

I quickly stood, and found I was facing not one man, but three. They were smallish, and appeared to be shadows because they wore balaclavas and dark clothing made of a strange material.

They were carrying assault rifles and had spare magazines secured to their pants, perhaps by something like Velcro. Grenades were also affixed to the clothing at the chest level. Nothing shown or reflected, at least in the darkness of the moonless night.

The one in standing directly in front of me gestured for me to follow, and they melted into the brush without a sound. My heartrate had to be over 200, but I followed, moving as quietly as I could. I was bred, born, and raised in the country, and I consider myself a superior woodsman, but I was noisy and clumsy compared to them.

When we came to a dry watercourse, they waited with empty hands facing me. I stopped a few feet away, but the leader signaled me forward.

When we were inches apart, he whispered in broken Spanish-accented English. "We're friends of Carlos. They have listening posts and sensors up here and in the valley; I do not know if they have been disabled.