Grand Old Time

The truck’s engine roared as Brent pushed the accelerator to the floorboard. He looked in the rearview mirror, and although he could no longer see the vehicle pursuing him, the cloud of dust made it clear that the chase was still on. 

I can’t believe this is happening, he thought. 

Brent looked at the flatscreen in the dashboard. 

The GPS told him that the border was eleven miles away. He should be crossing back into the US in thirteen minutes. 

What was supposed to be a simple exchange turned into a disaster. 

Brent Carter worked as a mid-level State Department official in the US embassy in Mexico. He had a good reputation with the Mexican and US governments. Brent was preparing to take a much-delayed vacation and then transfer to Spain. 

That plan was sunk when his superiors approached him about participating in a sting operation. Brent was to hand over a list of names in exchange for ten million dollars. He was understandably hesitant, but his superiors assured him he would be in no danger. Armed federal agents would swoop in within seconds of the transfer. After some consideration and a promise of hazard pay and extended vacation, Brent agreed. The meeting was arranged to take place at a resort. He walked across a bridge over a lake toward a cluster of bungalows. Brent checked his phone and found the number of the bungalow where the meeting was to be held. Brent entered and was immediately searched for weapons and a wire. Brent sat at a table across from a well-dressed Mexican man. He introduced himself as Michael Rayez.  After some small talk, Brent handed over the files. After looking through the papers, Michael handed Brent a backpack and a thumb drive. 

Brent opened the bag and saw bricks of cash, two million dollars. The remaining eight million was in an offshore account accessible through the drive. Everything was going according to plan until a man entered the room and yelled, “We’ve been set up!”

The room erupted in chaos.

Michael cursed and reached into his jacket.

Brent acted on instinct and swung the backpack, striking Micheal and knocking the pistol out of his hand. That was when the first shots rang out. Brent dropped to the floor and took cover behind a fallen table. A man fell in front of him, his eyes wide and unblinking. Brent took the man’s pistol and pulled two magazines from the shoulder holster. Brent looked frantically for an escape. His chance came when a window was shattered by gunfire. Brent kept low and ran toward the window. He leaped through the window, rolled to his feet, and ran for his life. 

The gunfire caused panic among the tourists and hotel employees, and people were running everywhere. Brent hoped to lose himself in the crowd running across the bridge. 

I need a vehicle, he thought. I have got to get out of here!   

He headed for the parking lot and followed a couple to their Toyota pickup. 

Brent pulled his undershirt under his eyes in an attempt to conceal his identity. He approached the couple with his gun drawn.

God forgive me for what I am about to do, he thought. 

“Give me the keys right now,” he demanded. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The man tossed Brent the key fob, saying, “It’s all yours. I don't want any problems.” 

Brent nodded his thanks and got in the truck. Before he drove away, he reached into the bag and tossed a stack of money out the window. The man caught it, his eyes wide in disbelief. 

“Thank you,” Brent said as he drove away.

Brent continued to speed through the desert. The road he drove on was barely worthy of the name. Potholes and ruts forced Brent to swerve and sometimes leave the road to avoid bursting the tires. He looked in the rearview mirror again. 

The Mexicans were still on his trail and were gaining ground. He looked at the GPS once more. It told him that the border was four miles away. Brent reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He called his superiors and told them what happened.

“Where are you,” his boss demanded.

“I’m just over three miles from the border. Ping my phone and have the border patrol meet me at the closest checkpoint.”

“It’s already been done. Are you injured?”

“No,” Brent replied. “and would really like to stay that way.” 

His boss's reply was lost as Brent swerved to avoid a huge crater in the road. The sudden movement caused the two left-side tires to leave the road.

“Damn it,” Brent yelled as he tried to keep the truck on the road.

His effort was futile as the pickup crashed onto its right side and slid for nearly twenty feet.

 Brent shook his head to clear it, then flexed his arms and legs.

Nothing was broken, but he was sure he would be sore later.

“Better sore than dead,” he said to himself as he gathered the backpack and gun. Brent got out of the truck and began to run toward the border. His pursuers were nearly on top of him. 

Brent fired a few wild shots at them but knew there was no hope. He slowed his pace, accepting his fate. 

The Mexicans slowed their vehicles as they approached him. Michael Rayez got out of the lead truck. He ordered him to drop the bag and gun. He did so and then raised his hands over his head.

“Take him, but don't hurt him,” Michael said. “We can make a lot of money in a trade for his life.”

“Isn't this wonderful,” Brent said under his breath. 

As the men approached him, helicopters could be heard approaching from the north.

The Mexicans panicked and tried to get in their trucks to flee. More vehicles converged on them from the south and east. They bore the symbol of the Mexican federal police.

Brent sank to his knees in relief.

“It’s about damn time,” he said.