The Warlords Read online

  Luis Vasquez would lead his last raid.

  San Benito was thirty miles northwest of Brownsville. The bridge outside town spanned a wide arroyo, which was dry except during spring rains. Tonight, under a full moon, the wooden trestles of the bridge stood out in bold relief.

  Pizana led eight men and a packhorse down the dusty bank of the arroyo. The bridge, which was fifteen miles north of the border, was the main artery for military goods shipped to Fort Brown. Pizana’s mission was to totally destroy the bridge, and close off resupply of the army quartermaster a week before the invasion. The packhorse was loaded with two crates of dynamite.

  The moon flooded the arroyo with light. The raiders had crossed the river shortly after dark and slipped through the cavalry patrols without incident. Dynamite was usually stable until fused, but the packhorse had slowed their ride from the border. By the cast of the moon, Pizana judged the time at almost midnight, and he figured two hours to place the charges and blow the bridge. He thought they would be back in Mexico well before dawn.

  The latticework of timbers beneath the bridge suddenly erupted in gunfire. Twenty carbines and two shotguns lit the night with muzzle flashes, and a cyclone of lead whistled through the arroyo. The raiders were blasted from their saddles, tumbling like rag dolls to the ground, and the packhorse bolted west along the dry wash. A slug struck Pizana’s horse in the head, and the horse reared, toppling sideways, and pinned his right leg to the ground. The back of Pizana’s skull bounced off the hard-packed earth, and stars exploded before his eyes. He went limp as his horse shuddered and died.

  The Rangers of Company A moved out from beneath the bridge. Captain Ransom, flanked by Gordon and Maddox, walked forward with their weapons at the ready. They watched as the Rangers approached the sprawled, motionless bodies, checking for wounded. In the moonlight, the rebels lay twisted and bloody, arms and legs akimbo, pocked with bullet holes. The arroyo looked like a charnel house, littered with men and horses brought down in the hail of gunfire. Then, abruptly, a Ranger to the front called out.

  “Cap’n, we got ourselves a live one!”

  Ransom, followed by Gordon and Maddox, hurried forward. The Ranger stood over the unconscious form of a man whose leg was trapped under a dead horse. The man groaned, his swarthy features contorted, as the Ranger relieved him of his holstered pistol. Maddox, assisted by Ransom and the Ranger, freed the man’s leg from beneath the horse. Gordon shouted over his shoulder.

  “Manuel, up here!”

  Manuel Vargas stepped from the shadowed timbers of the bridge. Gordon had brought him along in the hope he might be able to identify those killed or wounded in the ambush, particularly the leader. Martinez, who was now their chief source of intelligence into the rebels’ plans, had been left behind for fear of endangering his life. Vargas quickly moved forward and stopped beside the dead horse. Gordon pointed to the man slumped on the ground.

  “Is this Vasquez?”

  “No,” Vargas said without hesitation. “That is Aniceto Pizana, one of Garza’s field commanders. I have seen him many times in Matamoras.”

  “Pizana?” Ransom said with a scowl. “Sonovabitch stood Joe Scrivner and his boys before a firin’ squad. We’ll just give him a dose of the same.”

  “Not tonight,” Gordon said in a deliberate tone. “He’s my prisoner and I intend to talk with him. I need some answers.”

  Ransom’s features knotted in a mulish frown. “You’re not gonna get anything out of the sorry bastard. He’d bite his tongue off first.”

  Pizana moaned, rubbing the back of his head. As they watched, he sat up, his eyes glazed, and slowly came to his senses. He glanced around at the bodies of his men, and then at the Rangers. His mouth set in a stoic line.

  “I’ll make him talk,” Maddox said. “Either that or we’ll leave him for the buzzards.”

  Gordon made a sharp gesture. “Hoyt, I won’t let you kill him. Don’t even think about it.”

  “You want information or you want a prisoner? What he knows could save a helluva lot of lives.”

  There was a prolonged silence. Gordon balanced the life of one man against the thousands who might be lost in an invasion. His moral aversion to cold-blooded execution was offset by an instant of hard, newfound pragmatism. He finally nodded.

  “All right, do what you have to do.”

  Maddox knelt down beside Pizana. “Hombre,” he said with soft menace. “You will answer my questions or I will kill you. Comprende?”

  “Hijo de puta!” Pizana grated the curse. “You are all the sons of whores. I have nothing to say.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “I am certain.”

  Maddox pulled his Colt six-gun. He thumbed the hammer and placed the snout of the barrel to Pizana’s temple. “Want to change your mind?”

  Pizana stared straight ahead. Maddox waited a moment, then lifted the muzzle slightly and fired. The slug parted Pizana’s hair crosswise and scorched the top of his skull. His eardrum burst and a trickle of blood leaked down over his earlobe onto his neck. His bowels involuntarily voided and the crotch of his pants went dark with a noxious stench. A single tear scalded his cheek.

  Maddox again thumbed the hammer. “You’re all out of chances, hombre. Got anything to say?”

  Pizana talked. His voice was scratchy, the residue of courage eroded by a visceral fear. He told them of the training camp at Monterrey, three thousand cavalry and a thousand infantry, all to be transported by train. Then, with the pistol still at his head, he described the camp outside Reynosa, where the troops would be bivouacked near the border. He finally told them what they most wanted to know, the invasion date. September 15.

  “Goddamn,” Ransom said when it was over. “I only half believed it till now. The bastards are gonna do it.”

  Gordon looked at him. “Captain, I need your assistance on something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Garza has to believe Pizana was killed here tonight. We can’t let it leak that he talked.”

  “So what are you sayin’?”

  “I want you to hide him out until he can be brought to trial.”

  “Save a lot of trouble just to shoot him now. Who’d know the difference?”

  “I would,” Gordon said pointedly. “Do I have your word?”

  “Yeah, I reckon,” Ransom grumbled. “We’ll get him tucked away somewheres.”

  A detail of four Rangers was assigned to transport Pizana to Austin, where he would be held incommunicado in the county jail. Gordon convinced Ransom and the other Rangers, over their strenuous objections, to dig a mass grave on the plain above the arroyo. The bodies of the raiders were interred that night.

  Aniceto Pizana, so far as the world knew, was dead.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Gordon and Maddox returned to Brownsville early the next morning. Stores were opening for business along Elizabeth Street, and they had a quick breakfast in the hotel dining room. Then they walked toward Fort Brown.

  Neither of them took time to shave. Their faces were dark with stubble and their clothes were rumpled and soiled. But the information they’d gathered last night was of a critical nature, far more so than their appearance. They hurried on to the post headquarters.

  Sergeant Major O’Meara was an astute judge of character. He read the looks on their faces and knew immediately that it was not a time for pleasantries or small talk. He led them into the commanding general’s office, announcing their names, and quietly closed the door. Parker was seated at his desk.

  “Good morning,” he said, motioning them to chairs. “How did things go at San Benito?”

  Gordon had informed him of their plans late yesterday afternoon. As he and Maddox seated themselves, he forced a tired smile. “We hit the jackpot, General. Killed all the raiders except one, their leader. Aniceto Pizana.”

  “Are you saying you captured him?”

  “Yes, sir, took him alive and Sergeant Maddox persuaded him to talk. It’s been
quite a night.”

  “I imagine it has,” Parker observed. “When you say Pizana talked, what does that mean exactly? How much did he tell you?”

  “Everything.”

  Gordon briefed him on the interrogation. When he finished, Parker nodded solemnly. “You’re satisfied he wasn’t lying? September 15 is the date?”

  “General, that’s the straight dope,” Maddox replied. “You might say Pizana got religion. He wasn’t lying.”

  “It all fits,” Gordon said. “We suspected a recruiting center at Monterrey, and Pizana confirms it. Four thousand men, a reinforced cavalry brigade.”

  “With the trains ready to roll,” Maddox added. “They’ll be assembled at that camp outside Reynosa by the fourteenth. The day before the invasion.”

  “Four thousand and more,” Parker said, his features stark. “Have a look at the latest issue of Regeneración.”

  The newspaper, mailed September 1 from California, had received wide distribution along the border. Maddox translated the lead article on the front page, which was set in bold type. The article decried racial discrimination in Texas and stressed social equality for all people of Mexican heritage. The term “revolucionarios” was again applied to those who fought against Anglo injustice, and Tejanos were urged to support the Army of Liberation. The article ended with a call to action.

  “Blatant propaganda,” Parker said. “The publisher is the most radical anarchist in America, and he’s clearly in league with the Germans. What this does is confer legitimacy on the rebels and their cause.”

  “Just in time for the invasion,” Maddox noted. “Only a week to go and Regeneración’s given them a stamp of approval.”

  “Exactly my point,” Parker said. “When Garza and his army invades, Tejanos will revolt by the thousands. We will be faced by a frontal assault from Garza and God knows how many guerrilla actions at our rear. Probably in the hundreds.”

  “What happens then?” Gordon asked. “Do you have sufficient forces to contain a general uprising? Or will it spread to the interior?”

  “Mr. Gordon, it will spread like a plague. By then, of course, Congress will declare war on Mexico and our army will be on the march. All of South Texas will become a war zone.”

  A strained silence settled over the office. Gordon stared out the window, lost in a moment of personal deliberation. Everything he’d just heard confirmed what he had been thinking since Pizana’s confession at the San Benito bridge. Four months ago, Director Holbrook had charged him with the mission of stopping a war from starting, and he’d failed. Until now, he had played by the rules, reacting to raids and German intrigue, and the end result, only a week away, was war. He decided it was time to put the rules aside. Time to act.

  “We’re at an impasse,” he said, as though thinking out loud. “Do nothing and we’re certain to have a war. I can’t let that happen.”

  “How can you prevent it?” Parker said wearily. “What’s left that we haven’t tried?”

  “I was ordered to use whatever means necessary to stop a war. I think it’s time to try something extralegal.”

  “By extralegal, do you mean something outside the law?”

  “General, I won’t answer that,” Gordon said. “At this point, the less you know, the better. We never had this conversation.”

  Parker stared at him. “I will not condone illegal actions, Mr. Gordon.”

  “By God, I will!” Maddox blurted. “Anything that stops a war beats sittin’ around on your thumb. What’ve you got in mind, Frank?”

  “I’ll tell you along the way.”

  Gordon rose, nodding to Parker, and walked out of the office. Maddox was only a step behind, closing the door as he hurried into the hallway. General Parker stared after them a long moment, debating whether he should notify some higher authority. Then, on second thought, he decided Gordon was right.

  He didn’t want to know.

  “None of this is as easy as it sounds.”

  “That’s why we came to you, Hector. We need your advice.”

  Gordon and Maddox were seated on the sofa. Martinez and Vargas, occupying the wooden chairs, were opposite them in the small parlor. Guadalupe watched from the dining table, where she was feeding Antonio his noon meal. Her expression was one of quiet concern.

  “I do not understand,” Martinez said. “Why do you wish to capture Garza? Why not kill him?”

  “We’re not assassins,” Gordon replied. “What I want is to get him across the border and charge him with murder. The same as we’ll do with Pizana.”

  “Pardon my saying so, but I think you made a mistake there. You should have killed Pizana when you had the chance.”

  “Damn right.” Maddox said with a wolfish grin. “Never know what’s gonna happen with a judge and jury.”

  Gordon had taken a chance on catching the men at Guadalupe’s house. Sometimes, when things were quiet in Matamoras, they took their noontime meal at her table. Today was one of those days, and they’d just finished eating when he and Maddox arrived. He’d quickly explained what he had in mind.

  “Those cabrónes are in mourning,” Martinez said with open disdain. “The way they act, you’d think Pizana was a saint. You were wise to let them believe he is dead.”

  Vargas nodded agreement. He’d already told Martinez about the fight at San Benito, and Pizana’s capture. But now, his features screwed up in a frown, he looked at Gordon.

  “Hector is right,” he said. “In honor of Pizana’s death, they will not raid across the river tonight. Where you find Garza, you will find Luis Vasquez at his side.”

  “All the better,” Gordon said. “We’ll bring both of them back to Brownsville. There’s no problem charging Vasquez with murder.”

  “Yes, there is a problem,” Martinez said soberly. “These men will not allow themselves to be taken prisoner. They will fight.”

  “What’d I tell you?” Maddox said, glancing sideways at Gordon. “One thing to try and abduct them, and it’s another to pull it off. They’re not gonna come along peaceable.”

  Gordon laced his fingers together, considered a moment. Earlier, when he and Maddox left Fort Brown, he’d laid out the plan. Maddox had been skeptical, but entirely willing to violate international law by crossing into Matamoras. His one doubt was that they could take Garza alive.

  “Hoyt, there’s no other way,” Gordon said now. “Without Garza to lead them, the rebels won’t start a war on their own. We have to take him out of the equation.”

  “No argument from me on that score. Just so you understand what me and Hector are sayin’. Garza’s not gonna surrender.”

  “If he fights, he fights. We’ll worry about it when it happens.”

  “How will you do this?” Martinez asked. “You have never seen Garza. How will you know him?”

  “We need your help,” Gordan said earnestly. “Will you come with us to Matamoras? Identify Garza?”

  “Of course, why not?” Martinez said with a shrug. “Where do you plan to confront him?”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “Do it at night. The streets are too crowded during the day. Try to surprise him.”

  “That brings us back to what you asked—where?”

  Martinez looked thoughtful. “The cantina I told you about, on Calle Morelos? They’ll probably gather there tonight to drink to Pizana’s heroic death.” He paused with a crafty grin. “Catch Garza on his way to the cantina.”

  “I will go, too,” Vargas volunteered. “Who knows how many men Garza will have with him. You may need an extra gun. Verdad?”

  “On one condition,” Gordon said. “Sergeant Maddox and I will try to handle it by ourselves. You and Hector stay back unless we’re outnumbered. Agreed?”

  “Hecho!” Vargas said with a jester’s smile. “We are there if we are needed. Muy bien!”

  The meeting ended on that note. Guadalupe put Antonio on the floor with his toys and followed Gordon to the door. She waited until Maddox went ou
t before she spoke. “Promise me something?”

  “I’ll promise you anything.”

  “No, seriously,” she said, her eyes dark with fear. “Kill Garza if he tries to fight. Do not hesitate.”

  “That’s an easy promise to keep. No need to worry.”

  She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Come back to me, caro mio. I will be waiting.”

  “I’ll see you tonight.”

  Gordon left her in the doorway. He wanted to say more, but it occurred to him that he’d probably said too much. Only a fool made promises when he was headed into harm’s way.

  He told himself he qualified on both counts.

  Dusk settled over Matamoras in a bluish haze. Street lamps flickered on around the plaza as shopkeepers closed for the night. Cafés were already crowded with people at the supper hour.

  Gordon and Maddox crossed the plaza in the fading light. Martinez was waiting for them at the southeast corner, where the great square emptied onto Calle Morelos. He explained that Vargas, in his guise as a street vendor, had kept Garza under surveillance throughout the afternoon. Only a short while ago, Garza had come out of the German Consulate and walked to the house on Calle 5. Vargas was watching him now.

  Martinez led them by the consulate, pointing it out as they went past. The street lamps on Calle Morelos were farther apart, and he moved quickly, concerned that two gringos on a deserted side street would attract attention. As they approached the intersection of Calle 5, he motioned them into the darkened doorway of a butcher shop closed for the night. Farther on, they saw Vargas posted outside the cantina, his vendor’s tray suspended from his neck. His eyes were fixed on the house a short distance down Calle 5.

  “We must stay here,” Martinez said. “Many of the men who come to the cantina are Garza loyalists, and you cannot be seen. Someone might sound the alarm.”

  Maddox nodded. “Any idea when Garza will show?”

  “I have no way of knowing. We can only wait.”

  “Hope to hell he don’t take all night.”

  “Si, that would not be good.”

  Some thirty minutes later, Vargas abruptly quit his post outside the cantina. He strolled to the corner, halting beneath a street lamp, as two men crossed the intersection from Calle 5. “Cigarros,” he called out, as though hawking his wares. “Cigarillos. Muy bueno tabaco.”