Chapter 37

Ian stroked his way madly down the river; his head scanning the water. The gunfire on the bank suddenly exploded, and he glanced sideways to see Garcia step from behind a tree, firing with both barrels. He could hear the warlike scream, and he knew that Gerardo was making a heroic last stand. He felt a surge of pain at the sight, of sadness, awe and respect together; then turned his face back to the river swirling in front of him, his face impassive. Many thought that he didn't have emotions; it was true that he tried to repress them, but he did have them. He simply never showed them – to anyone.

Stray bullets were still splashing around him, and he grimaced as the water took him over a shallow area, with barely submerged rocks. In the shallower water he felt even more exposed, and as the current dragged him through the boulders, some of them struck him with bruising impacts. He twisted in the water, trying to avoid them. One in particular hit him in the side just above the hipbone with enough force that it took his breath away, and he sighed with relief as he made it past them into deeper water, trying to breathe through the pain.

There was still no sign of Charlie, and he felt anxiety begin to rise as he searched, his eyes casting about as he swam, looking for a glimpse of yellow. He swirled around a bend, away from the last of the bullets, and there he was. About twelve feet from the U.S. side, a huge boulder protruded from the water. At some point, a dead tree had been pinned against it, and the branches projected out into the current toward the middle of the river. Like the tree, Charlie had been swept against the rock. The force of the current had pushed his upper body part way onto the boulder, and his legs were tangled in the tree branches next to it.

He lay limply, and even from a distance, Ian could see blood on his face. He stroked furiously toward him, and braced himself as the current pushed him into the boulder. He gasped with fatigue for a moment, he was winded, and his feet scrabbled underneath him, searching for bottom. Charlie still lay partially in the water; the current was pulling at him, and he was slipping downward, off the rock. Ian planted his feet on the rocky bottom; one arm still braced against the boulder, and worked his other arm under Charlie's shoulder, then pushed off toward the U.S. side.

The water was waist deep in front of the boulder, but the river dropped off between it and the bank, and it took all that Ian had to pull them toward the side. Finally, he reached a section shallow enough for him to stand, and dragged Charlie onto land. He immediately dropped to his knees, felt for a pulse and found one, to his great relief – it was weak, but it was there.

He put an ear to Charlie's chest and felt a gentle rise and fall, but he could also hear a faint gurgling with each labored breath. Charlie had obviously taken in a little water, but not enough to fill his lungs. Ian sat back and quickly scanned him, searching for the source of the blood. It was streaming from a split scalp and an ugly swelling on the side of his head, up and behind his ear, probably from contact with the boulder. He was alive, however, against all odds.

Ian sat back on his heels, suddenly overcome with a surge of emotion that was more intense than any he had felt, except for the guilt he experienced after Los Padres. The feeling was something akin to what a parent might have for a child; a fierce protectiveness. It was unexpected, and sobering.

He changed positions to a squat and pulled Charlie over his shoulder, staggering as he stood with him, and wincing at the pain in his side. Charlie felt inexplicably heavy, and Ian realized how tired he was – even wet, Charlie should not have felt that much heavier than when Ian had carried him down the apartment stairs, just two hours ago. Now he was a dead weight, and Ian gasped for breath, his legs wobbling underneath him, as he headed for the path along the riverbank. He ignored the fatigue and the pain, his mind focused doggedly on one thing - to get Charlie Eppes to safety.

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Megan watched Don anxiously as the EMT's examined him. The wound in his thigh was still bleeding heavily whenever pressure was removed, and Don appeared ashen, and a little breathless. The side of his face and his torso were covered with fresh, livid bruises, which contrasted sharply with the paleness of his skin. Border guards were standing around the perimeter, keeping watch, although the gunfire had ceased on the other side of the river. A second ambulance came rolling up slowly, bouncing and lurching from the uneven dirt track.

Weeks had just called her, and told her that they finally had the go-ahead to send their men over the border, and he was ordering teams to the river bank on the Mexican side. She informed him in turn that they had one of the team, and were working on retrieving the others. Some of the guards at her location had gone downriver to look for Ian Edgerton, and to hopefully, help him find Charlie.

There was a shout, and some of those guards came trotting up the road. Megan, David and Colby looked up just as figure appeared behind them around the bend; it was Ian, and he was carrying Charlie over his shoulder. A few of the guards ran toward the second ambulance to help the EMT's and another jogged up to Megan as she ran forward to meet Ian. "He wouldn't let us help him," the guard panted, as Ian pushed past him toward Don, who struggled up on his elbows despite the EMTs' admonitions.

Don's face went even paler at the sight of Charlie's limp form over Ian's shoulder, dripping blood. He gasped something – it might have been Charlie's name – as an unreasonable terror took hold of him, consuming all other thoughts. He could see the expression of pain on Ian's face, and he pushed harder against the EMT's hands. He had never seen Ian express emotion, show pain – there was only one explanation for it - Charlie was gone. "No," he moaned, as a strange roaring began in his ears. "Charlie…"

He struggled for a moment, but the roaring increased, and he slumped, his eyes rolling back in their sockets. One of the EMT's barely caught him in time; keeping his head from striking the ground, as he passed out. "We've got to get him out of here," he said, as he rose to help his partner ease Charlie from Ian's shoulder.

They laid Charlie gently on the ground next to Don, and Colby, Megan and David stared silently at him for a moment, taken aback by the frail figure, his face covered in blood. He doesn't even look like Charlie; David thought sadly as he took in the thin, drenched form. Megan tried to swallow the grief rising in her, and looked at Edgerton, who was staring at Charlie blankly. She laid a hand on his arm, as the EMT checked the inert figure for a pulse. "You did the best you could, Ian," she said softly, and he turned toward her, his expression unreadable.

"He's alive!" exclaimed the technician, and words jolted them out of their sad reverie.

"What!" exclaimed David, as Colby motioned for the second set of EMT's, who were coming forward with another gurney, to hurry.

"My God, Ian, you did it!" exclaimed Megan, grabbing his arm with an incredulous grin. To her shock, he staggered backwards, his eyes glazing, and tottering, fell hard on his knees, swayed, then slumped sideways, unconscious. An EMT scrambled over to him and hurriedly checked his pulse, then pulled on his blood-stained shirt. As he lifted it, Megan gasped at the sight of the bullet hole in his side, streaming blood. "He's hit!" yelled the EMT. "We've got another one – get another gurney!"

"Let's move!" yelled the other technician, who was busy checking Charlie's pulse. "These two are both shocky, and I think I've got an arrhythmia here!"

Megan caught her breath, sobering as the scene suddenly hit her, and she stared, momentarily stunned, at the three lifeless bodies in front of her, as the EMT's bustled and swirled around her.

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Paulson and Mahir surveyed the damage as their last man, Avilar, came up the riverbank. Mahir was down to two men, Abdullah and Abboud, and Paulson had only Avilar and Kirtland remaining – the rest were dead, victims of the bloody battle.

Paulson looked at Avilar hopefully as he approached, but he shook his head and shrugged. "I got downstream just in time to see an agent with a body over his shoulder, disappearing into the brush. The body looked like the professor – he appeared either unconscious or dead. I would bet on dead – it was doubtful that he survived the river by himself."

Paulson looked at Mahir. "We need to get out of here, and cut our losses. I'm sure either U.S. or Mexican authorities will be here soon." He glanced at Mahir's two remaining men, and lowered his voice. "It will look better for our story if one of your men were to die from a bullet from one of my team's guns."

Mahir's gaze traveled to the two remaining men, without expression. Abdullah, the young man who had handled the professor's computer at the warehouse, was too valuable. His intelligence and computer skills were a much-needed asset. "Take Abboud, then," he murmured.

Paulson nodded and pulled his own weapon, advancing to a point slightly left of the two men, closing the gap between them. He appeared to be focused on something else, and they watched him curiously. Suddenly, Paulson whirled and without warning, put a bullet into Abboud's chest. The man gasped with surprise and shock, and then, clawing at his chest, toppled over with a sickening thud.

Abdullah reached automatically for his weapon but Mahir raised a hand. "Stop," he commanded. "You are not chosen today. Abboud has made a sacrifice for Allah." Abdullah stared at him, and then down at Abboud, with a slightly green face, then fell in behind the others as they moved out, putting away his weapon.

Paulson spoke tersely to Mahir as they hiked the trail back to the vehicles. "You should take Conway's SUV and one of the sedans to the edge of town. Ditch the SUV, we will allow them to find it – it will look like Conway left it there. Take the sedan, drive back to Monterrey, and find yourself a new vehicle, then wait for my instructions. If we are sure that Eppes is dead, you can proceed to leave the country. If not, we will discuss what must come next."

"What will you do?" asked Mahir.

"Kirtland, Avilar, and I will wait here for the authorities," replied Paulson. "Here is the story: we followed Conway and fought hard in the gun battle, but we were outnumbered by your group and Conway's. We managed to help defend the FBI team, but could not prevent your escape. Sadly, some of my men were killed by friendly fire from the FBI."

Mahir nodded. "If Eppes is still alive, he will be much harder to get to, now."

Paulson nodded grimly. "Let's just hope he's dead." They climbed the embankment back to the vehicles, and Mahir and Abdullah climbed into the sedan and the SUV, and turned out onto the road, headed back toward town the way they had come, away from the riverbank.

Moments later, the first border patrol units appeared on the portion of the road that ran along the riverbank, and Paulson watched as Kirtland stepped forward to wave them down. Paulson dropped the impassive, cold, expression and assumed a more appropriate one – a look of chagrin, defeat. He was a conscientious public servant, who had just lost some good men. He began to pace a bit, with just the right touch of agitation. It was show time.

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Alan sat on the edge of the hotel bed in McAllen, flipping through the channels abstractedly, impatiently. He had expected somehow that upon arrival, he would find out something, anything, about was going on, but he was still in the dark. The only difference was the location of his ignorance, instead of being clueless in Pasadena; he was now clueless in McAllen.

Megan had called him that morning upon learning that he was there, and told him that she and the team would be tied up for most of the day in meetings with the border guard. However, she promised that she, Colby and David would talk to him that evening, and let him know what the plans were for the following day. It was now about 1:30 in the afternoon, and Alan was contemplating trying to find some lunch, when a knock came at the door.

He opened it to find Megan, who looked sweaty, disheveled and tired. "Megan," he said in surprise, pulling the door aside to let her in. "I thought you were in meetings all day."

She didn't move. "I came to get you," she said. "They're here – they're being taken to a hospital - McAllen Medical Center."

Alan stared at her, frozen, not sure if he'd heard right. "They came over the border? Today? But -,"

She cut him off, gently. "There was a change in plans. I'll tell you on the way, we should get going."

Alan grabbed the room key and darted toward the door, closing it behind him. His stomach clutched in apprehension. 'Why do we need to hurry?' he thought, and put his anxiety into words. "What's wrong? Why the hospital?"

She waited until they were in the car to reply, and began speaking as she drove. "I didn't know a lot of this story myself until this morning. Merrick put together a team to look for Charlie, as you know. Don was on it, along with Ian Edgerton and an agent named Gerardo Garcia. They found Charlie in a hospital in Hermosillo – no one knows how he got there, or how he got away from the terrorists."

She glanced at Alan sideways, gauging his reaction as she continued. "Apparently however, there were still people trying to kill Charlie; we're not sure why – maybe they think he can identify them. They had found him in Hermosillo, too, and Garcia's team had to take him out of there. They've spent the last few days trying to cross the border, but they were being pursued. They had to change plans several times, and this morning was one of them. I guess they had holed up in Monterrey to get Charlie some medical attention, and were found. They decided they needed to make a run for it. It didn't go well – we weren't prepared yet, and couldn't find the man in charge of the Mexican border agents until the crossing was already underway."

Alan was pale, trying to control his agitation. He interjected, "But they got across, anyway. You said they were here."

"Yeah," said Megan with a compassionate glance. "It was rough though, Alan. They got trapped on the Mexican side, near the river. Don and Charlie tried to swim for it, but they ran into trouble. Ian went in after them. Garcia stayed on the bank to hold off their attackers – I just got word from Weeks that he was killed. Don, Charlie and Ian all made it across, but they were all injured – that's why the hospital."

Alan stared at her. "How bad?"

She glanced at him. "Don looked pretty banged up, and was shot in the leg – his thigh."

"Shot!" exclaimed Alan, his heart lurching in panic.

She nodded. "They were shooting at them in the water as they tried to cross. Don got one in the thigh, and Ian was shot in the abdomen."

Alan sat speechless, as the picture that she described began to sink in – his sons swimming for their lives in a river, while being shot at… He was gripping the armrest on the door so tightly his hand hurt, and he released it, flexing his fingers absently, staring out of the window, his brain incapacitated by horror. He took a deep breath, and tried to impose reason on his racing mind. "Those sound like manageable injuries, not life-threatening then, except for possibly Agent Edgerton's?"

Megan opened her mouth to tell him that there was more, that Don had been taken from the scene unconscious; that Charlie had a head injury and…she realized that she couldn't even begin to know what was wrong with Charlie. Instead, she looked out the windshield. "We hope so," she said quietly, as she pulled into the hospital parking lot. They would find out, soon enough.

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End Chapter 37