The Western Front: Parts 1-3 Part 20

"Let's go to my office for a few minutes."

They walked down the hall in silence, the weight of the broadcast still hung heavy on the two men. He shut the door behind him and sat down across from the governor.

"How did it feel, killing me that is?"

"It felt rather strange, staring at you and all."

"It'll buy me a lot of time, get Was.h.i.+ngton off my back. I'm sure by now they know I'm the one that's responsible for the secession."

"You're not responsible Reese, they are."

"I know, but tell that to them."

The governor leaned back in his chair and contemplated the future during the lull in the conversation. He retrieved the bottle of scotch and poured it into two gla.s.ses.

"What you did in Afghanistan, do you think it's repeatable on the border?"

"With the right people, most definitely."

"I believe I have the right people, they just need someone who has the experience. I've been here a long time, Reese; talked to a lot of community leaders across the border over my years. They despise these cartels and their do-nothing government as much as we do. We started out with a conventional war down there, but I don't think we can win it like that. If we do, we'll lose a lot of lives in the process. That's why I need you."

"Tell me about how you've been fighting them so far."

"Well, we bombed Matamoros."

"That's going to complicate the situation tremendously."

"Get some rest; I know you haven't slept in days. You can strategize later."

"I'll go get my stuff together; I can sleep on the way."

i i Barrett stared down into the vast expanse of nothing in front of him. The distant sounds of a flock of sheep could be heard somewhere beyond the horizon. The valley below them was blanketed with yellow and white wildflowers, and dotted with p.r.i.c.kly pears. The occasional Mexican-olive and mesquite tree towered over the barren surroundings.

He climbed out of the Humvee and walked to the front. He leaned against the hood and continued to survey the South Texas plains. Barrett watched a family of Mexican prairie dogs scamper to and fro, searching for an evening meal.

"What're you looking at amigo?"

"I don't know, maybe a year, maybe more."

"No lo entiendo, amigo."

"Alex, do you know where we can get some horses?"

"S."

"We'll probably need about twenty, maybe more; I don't know yet."

"For what motivo, amigo?

"We're going south; how far, I don't know. For how long, I don't know. We need smart, sure-footed, long-distance horses."

"Is no problem, amigo; I can get. You know, eh, how do you say, Araloosa?"

"Appaloosa?"

"No, Araloosa. Is what you want; I can get."

"I need one more thing; I need a translator, someone who can speak to the locals and explain that we mean well."

"S, I can get that to."

"No, I mean-"

Alejandro laughed at his friend's nervous response and replied, "I will go; desde luego."

Barrett chuckled at the humor and smiled at Alex. They watched at the low hanging sun rapidly approached the end of its daily ritual. The comfortable silence of two old friends felt good to Barrett, almost like home. It had been far too long; he was glad the old grudge seemed to be fading away.

"How bad will Matamoros hurt us?"

"Is bad, but los carteles do much worse to pueblo. Acciones, no palabras"

"Actions, not words?"

"S, is what I say."

The conversation lulled until the sun sank below the distant hills. As darkness began to envelop the plains, Barrett walked back to the Humvee's side and climbed in. Alex followed suit and did the same. As they began the long drive back to Port Mansfield, Barrett asked, "Do you still miss her?"

"S, todos los das."

"Do you ever think it'll ever get easier?"

"No. Do you still miss her?"

"S, todos los das," Barrett replied.

"Do you think it get easier?"

"I don't expect it does, friend. I don't expect it does."

i i i The crisp, October weather could not have been more perfect. The combination of the cool wind and the warm rays of the sun felt rejuvenating to Jake. He was perched in the bow of the boat as Clayton navigated the flooded logging road with deft skill. They had spent the last hour or so tying and baiting the lines, but now came the fun part.

They pa.s.sed by the first few lines without event. Jake, unhappy with the slow start, turned and shot a scowl at Clay, but he only laughed and shouted, "Give it time, son; you're too impatient."

"Always have been."

As they rounded the next bend, Jake watched the braided line that hung from the oak limb. The line was tied to a point on the branch about three feet from the top of the water. It continued down into the murk another foot or two before terminating at the heavy hook.

At first the line looked like the others, hanging at ever so slightly an angle from the tug of the current. When they were several dozen feet away from the line, Clayton slipped the motor in neutral and revved it loudly. The limb suddenly disappeared below the water. Jake let out a roar of approval at the sight. Clayton eased him closer so he could retrieve the catch.

Jake plunged his hand into the water and searched for the submerged branch and line. Finally, he grasped it and began to pull it out of the water. The lack of resistance surprised him. Without warning, the line tugged him with unexpected force. Jake momentarily lost his balance and almost fell out of the boat. Clayton laughed at the predicament as he watched his son.

"Quit laughing and throw me the net, old man."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, but I can't help it here!" He tried in vain to restrain his laughter.

Jake pulled the line up again, this time with the net in the other hand. When he saw the slimy head through the muddy water, he scooped the net towards it. As the ma.s.sive catfish struggled to escape, he flared his tines, only entangling himself further. Jake had committed himself and leaned halfway out of the boat. He had seen the size of the beast and refused to let it escape. Clayton quit laughing as he saw the giant tail swirl the top of the water.

"Get over here and give me a hand!"

"Okay, okay! Just don't lose him!"

"Grab the back half; be careful!"

"Okay! On three!"

They heaved the thras.h.i.+ng beast into the boat on three and stepped back to avoid getting pierced by one of the fish's pointy tines. They stared in awe of the giant fish.

"Wow! He must weigh what, sixty, seventy pounds?"

"Maybe more; he's a big one."

"What do we do with him? There's no way he'll fit in your ice chest."

"Let's let him go."

"What?"

"Maybe I'm getting soft, but I have a sort of respect for the big ones. They're survivors; they've made it through a lot. I don't feel like it's my place anymore to take that from them. Besides, the big ones don't taste as good anyway."

"Kate'll never believe me if I tell her we let a seventy pound catfish go."

"That's why they're fish stories, son. Besides," Clayton winked as he continued, "in the story, he can be a hundred pounds. Now, help me get this thing back in the water."

Moses' barking awoke Kate from her nap on the secluded sandbar. The recent floods had nearly submerged it, but a small finger remained. Her skin was warm and pink from the sun's rays. Great, sunburnt in October; just my luck. She grabbed a bottle of water from her pack and stood to stretch.

Kate called out to Claire, "Do you need anything while I'm up?"

"Oh no dear, I'm fine. Ooh, you're going to be burned."

"I know; just my luck."

Sasha padded after Kate as she strolled across the beach to Moses. She scratched him behind his ears while he continued to bark.

"How's your shoulder feel today?"

"It's better. It hurts a little when I cast, but other than that it's as good as new."

"That's good. What's Moses barking at?"

"He thinks I've got a fish. He hates fish well, he hates fish that aren't deep fried at least."

Kate laughed, "I think by the time we leave this place, we'll all hate fish."

"You know what?" Geram smiled and said, "I do believe you're right."

Kate sat on the bank beside him as he continued to work the spinner bait through the water.

"What happened that night; how'd you get shot?"

"I lost focus for just a second, and the next thing I knew I was. .h.i.t. I guess it just wasn't my lucky night. If it hadn't been for Jake..." his voice trailed off.

"I think you were very lucky that night."

"Maybe you're right."

"Have you ever been shot before?"

"Never."

She sat in silence for a while as he occasionally cast the rod and began the cycle of reeling it anew.

"It gives you some perspective, doesn't it?"

"It does. I've had several dreams about that moment where I stared at his barrel. I wasn't ready to die on so many levels, I wasn't ready to die."

"I had a dream the other night about my mother. It's the only dream I've had about her since she pa.s.sed."

Geram placed the rod on the bank as he sat down in the sand and faced her.

"What was it about?"

"We were in this beautiful restaurant at this beautiful table. There were candles and the reflections of the flames danced on the silverware and china. We were the only people in the place. Mom looked angelic, like I'd never seen her before; her face was so radiant. She never said anything; she just smiled at me with the most amazing smile. Behind her was this sculpture. I don't remember what it was, but I remember being in complete awe of it. The detail was indescribable, the curves and lines were perfect; I couldn't take my eyes off of it.

I asked her who made it, but she didn't answer. She just kept smiling at me like an angel. It made me feel so warm and safe to see her smile like that.

I never saw who it was, but when I asked her again, a hand reached across my shoulder and pointed at Mom. I was like, 'Mom! You made this?' But she never said a word; she just kept smiling back at me like she'd never been happier."

Geram thought for a while, before asking, "What do you think it meant, Kate?"

"I'm not sure. I know of all people, Mom was not an artist," Kate smiled at the memory of her mother.

They sat in silence as they waited for Jake and Clayton to return, the distant sound of their motor was barely audible.

"Maybe," she said, "maybe it was supposed to mean that there's something more."

"Maybe it was."