Reign of Terror

Prologue

The southwestern border into the United States has thousands of illegal immigrants crossing the desert each day avoiding legal Ports of Entry. Less than one third are captured by U.S. authorities. The terrain is classified as urban, rural and remote. The vast majority of the southern border is comprised of remote terrain consisting mostly of mountains and deserts. The topography is rugged raw desert, with deep gorges and ravines, scrub brush, and impassible rock formations. Much of the land is covered with tall brush and cactus. From most ground observation points along thousands of miles of remote terrain, humans are concealed from view over ninety eight percent of the time.

For most of the southern border, there are no roads, electricity or water. The land is harsh with extreme heat, natural predators and cutthroats. At least four hundred innocent people die each year trying to cross the deserts to find work, but the actual number is unknown. Beyond natural threats, outlaws kill innocent people for whatever meager money they might carry. The vast majority of aliens are harmless low-level workers that are filling ten million jobs that U.S. workers have refused. Illegals fill hotel domestic, landscape and harvesting jobs beneath American workers. The vast majority want to leave the U.S. and return to Mexico in less than a year.

Since the end of Prohibition in the 1933, the main function of the border patrol (USBP) has been to stop the inflow of alien workers into the United States. A typical group of aliens trekking through the deserts include families with women and children. When apprehended, they often suffer from exposure, hunger and disease. The USBP agents save lives that would otherwise perish. That role remains today, but is overshadowed by a deadly new mission.

Beginning in the mid 1990’s the USBP mission has become increasingly more dangerous in response to Government pressure to stop illegal drugs entering the U.S. As the War on Drugs has continued over thirty years, the sea and air corridors initially used for transport have been successfully blockaded through astronomical expense and manpower dedicated to this purpose. As a result, the land channels through Mexico have become the dominant distribution route for drugs.

This has bred a new generation of murderous gangsters, more brutal even than during Prohibition. Mexican drug gangs have multiplied over the past decade. The resultant violence means thousands of people die each year to fill American demand for illicit drugs. Drugs in America are figuratively soaked in blood today. The violence along the border towns on both sides has reached epidemic proportions. Juarez and El Paso face each other across a spoiled depleted stream called the Rio Grande River. In 2011, there were more than 5000 gang murders in Juarez alone, and the violence is spreading north of the border. Across Northern Mexico, Drug related murders have been growing at least twenty percent per year since 2006. This is also true in many proximate U.S. cities such as El Paso, Tucson, Albuquerque, Phoenix and San Diego. On the front lines in the war, the USBP has the most dangerous job in American history. Supporting them are the National Guard, DEA and regional law enforcement agencies. America is not winning the war.

On February 8, 2012, the U.S. DEPARTMENT OF STATE,

Bureau of Consular Affairs, issued the following Travel Warning (in part): "The Department of State has issued this Travel Warning to inform U.S. citizens about the security situation in Mexico ... U.S. travelers should be aware that the Mexican government has been engaged in an extensive effort to counter Transnational Criminal Organizations (TCOs) which engage in narcotics trafficking and other unlawful activities throughout Mexico. The TCOs themselves are engaged in a violent struggle to control drug trafficking routes and other criminal activity. As a result, crime and violence are serious problems throughout the country and can occur anywhere. U.S. citizens have fallen victim to TCO activity, including homicide, gun battles, kidnapping, carjacking and highway robbery.

According to the most recent homicide figures published by the Mexican government, 47,515 people were killed in narcotics-related violence in Mexico between December 1, 2006 and September 30, 2011, with 12,903 narcotics-related homicides in the first nine months of 2011 alone. While most of those killed in narcotics-related violence have been members of TCOs, innocent persons have also been killed. The number of U.S. citizens reported to the Department of State as murdered in Mexico increased from 35 in 2007 to 120 in 2011 ..."

In March 2011 The Texas Department of Public Safety issued an advisory against travel into Mexico during Spring breaks. It said, in part... While drug cartel violence is most severe in northern Mexico, it is prominent in other parts of the country as well, said DPS Director Steven C. McCraw. "Various crime problems also exist in many popular resort areas, such as Acapulco and Cancun, and crimes against U.S citizens often go unpunished.

"So far this year [March 2011], an ICE agent was killed and another injured in a suspected ambush near San Luis Potosi February 15. Two El Paso teens were gunned down February 5 in Ciudad Juarez. In January, a Texas missionary was shot in the head when she and her husband ran an illegal road block in northeastern Mexico.

In addition to U.S citizens killed so far this year, preliminary figures show as many as 65 Americans were killed in Mexico in 2010. Kidnapping, sexual assault, robbery and carjacking also are threats in parts of Mexico. Suspects have not been prosecuted in many of the cases. Meanwhile, more than 30,000 Mexican citizens have died [40,000+ through 2011] in drug-related violence since 2006, and the violence shows no signs of abating ...

Last Patrol

Border Patrol Agent Randy Firth was driving down a rugged dirt path in the Texas desert at midnight, patrolling a remote section of Wingo Reserve Road near the Rio Grande River, which was barely a stream separating El Paso from Juarez Mexico. His headlight beams illuminated the dirt road a short distance ahead, but the tall overgrowth on both sides cast eerie shadows disguising ruts and bumps, creating a generally creepy feeling. It wasn’t really flat. There were gentle rises and depressions that limited illumination to no more than fifty feet at times. High beams were useless given the physical conditions and he didn’t want to be broadcasting his position any more than necessary to anyone observing from the mountains a few miles away. Smugglers used spotters to alert them to border agent locations. This part of the border is the most dangerous drug smuggling route into the United States. The night was moonless with few stars visible through the late summer cloud cover. It was a typical cold night in the West Texas desert. The wind was blowing about fifteen miles per hour with gusts much higher. In general, the conditions for surveillance were about as bad as it could be with the darkness and wind noise obscuring people moving through the terrain.

Firth had joined the Border Patrol three years earlier after serving in Afghanistan as a Navy Corpsman with the Marines. He’d seen his share of bloodshed as a young man still in his twenties. As a Corpsman, he was frequently on patrol with small Marine teams searching for Taliban in the mountains close to the Pakistan border ready to provide medical assistance when needed. Since returning to civilian life in Texas, he’d been attending night school to become certified as an EMT and he’d recently gotten engaged.

The border environment in this part of Texas was similar to his experience in the military but more dangerous at night. The desert terrain was more rugged in most ways. To him, this was the only life he’d ever expected, growing up in an Army family. His parents settled near Ft. Bliss in El Paso. This was home.

This night, he was alone in an older government-owned Chevy Blazer. Like all Agency vehicles, it was white with green stripes and large letters, clearly identifying it as United States Border Patrol. He stopped at his assigned outpost on a mesa, giving him a slightly elevated view across the border. It really wasn’t much of a useful view with tall desert brush and ravines everywhere. He parked at the assigned spot and killed all lights. Then he sat motionless for more than a minute, allowing his eyes to adjust. He rolled the window down to listen for telltale sounds. It was silent except for a wind noise through the native brush and some occasional sounds of nature. It was unusually cold, so he wore his green uniform jacket, and he pulled his hat low to his ears when he exited the truck. It smelled like west Texas after a short rain with the scent of mesquite and sage pollen filling the swirling air.

This sector of the El Paso Regional Zone had been used for illegal trafficking since prohibition. It was Firth’s turn in rotation for night surveillance. He hated the night patrols with the desolation anxiety that comes with loneliness in the desert at night looking for armed criminals. He’d been in the mountains of Afghanistan many nights with similar feelings. Walking to the back of his truck in the dark, he opened the tail gate to remove a tripod and night camera system used to scan the area. He could assemble most of the equipment by feel, helping to hide his location. The heavy-duty tripod could raise the infrared camera system almost fifteen feet in the air, giving some measure of surveillance. Still, humans were virtually undetectable if they stayed in low areas and remained quiet. With his portable radio, he called into base, Ysleta Station this is Agent 4267 on location at Point Juliet, over

The response came immediately from the dispatcher, Copy 4267 on location, over.

4267, out.

Having checked in, he set up the infrared (thermal) surveillance camera. The video screen was positioned on the edge of the truck bed by the tailgate and adjusted for minimum intensity. It didn’t take much light to see the video clearly in the complete darkness of this moonless night. Firth adjusted the picture quality, then raised the camera to its maximum height. He panned the cameras left and right with a small motor, looking as far as he could see along the border. There was nothing to see but the brush wafting in the wind.

After setting up, he went to the front seat and grabbed his thermos of coffee and bag of snacks. He would be at this location for four hours and the only break from the boredom was food and coffee to stay awake. He thought about school and his new wife, and the plans they had for the future. They were looking for their first house now that real estate prices were so low. He would be finished with his EMT training in a few more weeks, then try to find something that paid as well, but less dangerous. He kept his mind active to distract from the danger. He was accustomed to the isolation, but didn’t like it — none of the agents did.

Several minutes after settling into the routine for the night and returning to the video screen, he rotated the camera system slowly checking for thermal hot spots that could be people. This time, with nothing along the border, he continued panning the camera in a complete circle. He was alarmed to see several infrared hot spots behind him. Normally, the Mexicans approached from the south, but this group was behind him, coming from the north. Although unable to discern specific details in the infrared video, the characteristic motion was unmistakably human. It looked like several people were approaching his position. Moving away from the display toward the front of the truck, he crouched in darkness, partially protected. It had recently become common for Border Agents to be ambushed and killed by smugglers. For this reason, the Agency had changed procedures and used random positioning of Agents at field locations.

For part of the southern land border, surveillance was done by remotely operated cameras on towers, but most of the task still fell to Agents on the ground who could also detain illegals. Historically, most of the crossings were by people wanting jobs who posed no threat to anyone. Since the end of worker registration programs, such as California’s Bracero Program, Mexican workers could only find work in America by sneaking across the border. But in recent years, drug smugglers have made it more dangerous for law enforcement because sea and air routes were successfully closed by the Federal Government. Also, since 2001, a small percentage of illegal crossings were by foreign terrorists.

Randy keyed his microphone, Control this is Agent 4267. Code Blue, requesting immediate assistance, over.

The response came quickly, Copy 4267, assistance en route, out.

Backup was on the way, but it could take more than ten minutes for support to arrive from the station, where eight agents were on alert. Randy pulled his gun from its holster and listened. He thought about moving into the brush, but almost immediately, there was another radio call, This is Agent 1101 in proximity of Juliet, will provide assistance. Randy was relieved to hear Senior Agent Juan Morales’ voice.

Morales was senior to Firth by four years, having joined the Border Patrol after graduating from San Diego State University. He was raised on the U.S. side of Nogales, New Mexico, and was culturally adept at handling immigrants. He’d been decorated many times for actions against drug smugglers and for apprehending other law breakers.

Randy was nervous, but thankful that Juan would be there quickly. Together, they would have a better chance if this was an ambush. He was unable to use the camera from his location at the front of the truck, but listened carefully. He could hear the sound of Juan’s truck moving cautiously along the dirt road near him without using headlights.

The support team arrived ten minutes later. Eight Agents in two vehicles dispersed into the area near the two Patrol trucks parked close together. The camera monitor still glowed from one of them. Agents pushed through the brush cautiously, calling for Firth and Morales to respond. There was no answer.

After several minutes, the team regrouped near the surveillance truck using Firth’s camera to scan the area, detecting one warm spot twenty yards away in the brush. With weapons drawn, several Agents approached through the growth, announcing US Border Patrol in English and Spanish. They found Randy Firth’s mutilated body, still warm. Numerous large cuts soaked his dark green uniform, and he had been beheaded.

The murder investigation, led by the El Paso County Sheriff’s Office, lasted for ten hours. Helicopters and dogs attempted to locate the killers and Morales. The greatest fear of an agent was being taken hostage, more than dying in the line of duty.

Routine

Major Peter Shields arrived at his office at the National Guard Bureau in Washington before seven in the morning. As a bachelor living alone, he didn’t eat breakfast in his apartment. It was normal for him to be at work early, a habit retained from years of active duty. He generally brought one or two pieces of fruit from his apartment and made coffee in the office. He kept a loaf of bread for toast in the community refrigerator. There were rarely other people there this early.

He’d been at headquarters in Arlington, Virginia, for nine months. His military service had begun thirteen years earlier, right out of high school. It hadn’t taken long for him to decide to be a career soldier. He excelled and became an Army Ranger, which kept him busy and often engaged in special operations against radical enemies. His shift to the Army National Guard resulted from a chain of circumstances, beginning when he lost a squad of men in a counter terror raid in Southern Syria. It wasn’t his fault. They were ambushed and the Army commander of his relief force was too cowardly to help. His notion of camaraderie and mutual support was shattered by the incident and he resigned his commission.

Months later, working as an obscure laborer to clear his mind, the Army asked him to return to service against a terrorist, acting inside the United States. He accepted, and was reactivated in the Illinois National Guard. During this operation, he was nearly killed along with a Defense Department civilian he’d fallen in love with. They both survived and his engagement to Rachael Aston had lasted briefly after his move to Washington--until he carelessly risked his life on an operation inside Iran. She had broken it off because she didn’t want to marry someone, living in constant fear because of his selfish unnecessary risks.

Now, most mornings, he thought about Rachael in her office a few miles away at the Department of Defense (DoD), G2 Directorate, where he knew she also arrived early. From a career perspective, Peter had everything going for him: top promotions, military honors, choice assignments, intelligence, good looks and highest-level recognition. He also had the scars to show for it, both physical and mental. From a personal standpoint, he was a disaster. He had only fallen in love once in his life, and only himself to blame for ending it.

He was in a new position at Headquarters as Deputy Director for Counter Terrorism. It was something created for him by the Director, a Lieutenant General. Peter had led the successful operation to stop a nuclear attack in Chicago and later stopped a treasonous conspiracy between a top official in the CIA and an Iranian. With national attention, he was appointed to help the Guard be prepared to support civilian authorities against terror attacks inside the US. It was a position he felt strongly about, but more of a desk job than he liked.

During his first months, he outlined a training program and curriculum for emergency responders in the State ARNG (Army Reserve/National Guard) that provides detection and logistics support against weapons of mass destruction (WMDs). Peter was an operator and didn’t like office work, but he respected the function and excelled.

Rachael was never out of his thoughts. He’d only allowed himself to fall in love once in his life, and she dominated every thought. She’d broken their engagement after he’d volunteered for another special ops mission. She wasn’t a camp follower -- and he was a career soldier.

They still communicated often and they’d seen each other socially for months after the breakup, but the passion was gone, at least for her. He would think about the brief time they’d spent living together at her townhouse in Georgetown when he first moved to Washington. He knew he made mistakes. Regret dominated most of his days and he was becoming mellow again when his cellphone rang. The display read Rachael. He answered cautiously, Hello.

Her voice melted him, Hey, how about lunch today? I’ve got some news.

Sure, where and when?

How about Morton’s in Crystal City?

He felt a knot form with fear that she might be leaving Washington. The Capitol region is a transient environment with constant changes in administration, military transfers, foreign delegates and the masses of people seeking to influence the processes of Government. Rachael was a lawyer from Connecticut. Her father was a well-to-do New York attorney who could influence many opportunities for her if she came back home. She had gone to Georgetown University for her law degree, and initially taken a local job with the Defense Department, without any plan to stay long. After working with Peter in Illinois, she was promoted, and her career was accelerating. But, Peter understood that Washington would never offer her the same chances that she would have back home. He feared, since breaking their engagement, that she would leave Government to lengthen the distance between them. He said, Wow, this must be something big!

I won’t tell you until I see you.

Okay, what time?

Let’s do 11:30, I want a good table and not to hurry.

Great! See you there.

After hanging up, his apprehension deepened. Would he see her even less? Rachael was from different strata than Peter. She had had a privileged upbringing and a distinguished education at Georgetown, whereas he was a coalminer’s son, educated in the Army. They couldn’t have been more different in cultural background. The rest of the morning was wasted as he shuffled things around, nervous about her big news. She was a favorite of the Administration and could set her star anywhere in Government, but she could also parlay her experience to greater value in civilian practice. He was destined to remain a product of the military, regardless of past exploits.

But then he had another sickening thought. Maybe she had a new man in her life. Peter hadn’t dated anyone since their breakup, but every single man in Washington would be after Rachael. Maybe she was engaged. She wanted time to explain. What could be worse? Whatever simmering embers of hope that he still had for getting her back faded. Oh, Rachael, please, not that. I’ve never given up hope, please don’t kill our chances.

When he arrived at the restaurant on time, she was already seated at an intimate table near a window overlooking Crystal Drive in the upscale steak house. He was almost too nervous to approach. She looked radiant in a designer business suit, while he was wearing his utility uniform. To anyone observing, they made a beautiful young Washington couple. Both were about the same age, tall and in perfect physical condition. People watching them assumed they were married or at least engaged. Only Peter could recognize the invisible wall between them.

She saw him coming and stood, Hi, there.

Peter was perfectly poised to kiss her cheek, which she accepted. She always looked beautiful. They sat and were immediately besieged by a waiter asking to take their drink orders. Rachael had water with lemon and Peter ordered a Diet Coke, which he realized was out of character in this setting, but it was normal fare for him. He asked awkwardly, Okay, I can’t wait to hear what this is about? He wasn’t being completely honest as his leg muscles tensed.

She was animated, without recognizing his anticipation, Well, my boss has recommended me for a job at an Associate Deputy Director level in the CIA. It’s at least a two-step promotion! There’s a reshuffling going on since the Will Lawrence incident. They want some new blood, and General Simmons recommended me. He wants me to move before he transfers to run NSA. I’m excited and apprehensive at the same time.

Peter let out a silent sigh of relief, and stared at her for a moment, trying to compose himself. This was actually good news. Will Lawrence had been the Director of the CIA and had disappeared after being implicated in an extortion scheme, involving more than a billion dollars. The treachery had begun over three decades earlier at Cal Berkeley where Lawrence befriended a wealthy Iranian student. That relationship had helped him professionally by providing intelligence information from Iran as his friend rose higher in the Iranian Government, but it had also led to a plot between them based on terrorizing Americans by destroying airliners in flight with shoulder-launched missiles smuggled into the states. Lawrence had been missing for months; the Agency had not recovered from his treachery. Congressional leaders wanted his head, but it was nowhere to be had. Beyond that, they wanted the old guard supplemented by personnel from outside the CIA. Rachael Aston had a pristine record in the Department of the Army, as an Intelligence Analyst. Through direct counter-terror action, where she met Peter, her credentials were golden at the highest levels in government. Like Peter, she had bled for her country.

The waiter arrived, took their orders, and then delivered small salads. Peter was relieved and excited for her. He was thrilled for her career, but even more excited that she had chosen to tell him in this special setting. Rachael, this is outstanding! What will you be doing — if I can ask?

I don’t know yet. I’m meeting with the new Acting Director tomorrow morning. Simmons pulled strings for this, and he says I’ll get a regional oversight post, responsible for intel operations in the Americas, outside the U.S., of course.

You know (he wanted to say ‘sweetheart’), I’m so happy for you. Your star is the brightest in Washington. You’re still a child by DC standards! I’m so proud of you.

They talked superficially about her new opportunity before the meal arrived. Neither knew enough about the Agency or her future role to