Crossed Arrows 3 Page 8

  He became well-known in local society and reached a point where he was not only able to generate favors for himself and his employer, but to dispense them as well. All this was done through a complicated network Harrigan built up singlehandedly. It was during this period of his life that he was named Ministro sin Carpeto—Minister without Portfolio—in order to facilitate his responsibilities in all financial and political matters.

  The ambitious man eventually married the boss’ seventeen-year-old daughter Carmela. The marriage was personally arranged by Quintana for two reasons. Firstly Quintana had become slightly uneasy about the power that Tim Harrigan had built up, thus he wanted to avoid any internal rebellion that might prove disadvantageous to himself and the bank. And secondly there was his desire to breed the Indian out of his family’s bloodline. Light-complexioned people did better in Mexico than their darker countrymen.

  Carmela, being properly raised in a wealthy household, had always known that her chance to marry for love was slim to nothing. The young lady was a classic Latina beauty. Harrigan thought she closely resembled the ancient illustrations of Aztec Indian women he had seen in the local museums.

  Despite the difference in their ages, the couple grew to love one another. Carmela eventually gave birth to five children—two sons and three daughters—who showed the best physical characteristics of the two bloodlines that coursed through their veins. All married well, but before settling down, the two boys lived the lives of reckless playboys. The Harrigan brothers caused a lot of scandal and embarrassment to their father and grandfather. Only a threat to send them to a distant monastery in desolate Baja California, brought them around to accepting responsibility in the family enterprise. They obediently married handpicked wives to use as baby factories as was customary in Mexican high society. This was a pseudo-royal practice to create lasting commercial dynasties.

  The decades rolled along pleasantly and Harrigan was able to retire to a life of ease in his extravagant mansion. But the Irishman maintained his business contacts and was called many times to take part in various commercial dealings because of difficulties such as legal issues and other complications.

  This latest one, the financing of organizing the sons and grandsons of the Patricianos to avenge their father’s executions, had brought him into a military environment.

  ~*~

  San Patricio was no longer a village. It was now an official but secret garrison of certain Mexican Army officers. All the easy-going informality of the villagers’ lives had faded under strict rules enforced by the professional soldiers of the Guardia Nacional. Colonel Valenzuela had cracked down hard on dealings with nearby villages. The practice of fraternization with outsiders was forbidden. On one occasion, when a repeat offender was arrested, the farmer was given a dozen lashes. As the alcalde Tomas Orayly told the residents, “We have no worries regarding the necessities of life, so let us accept that as a blessing and be obedient to our benefactors. Do not forget they are making it possible for our fathers and grandfathers to be avenged.”

  But the parents in the village had began to worry about their daughters with the twenty guardsmen. The young women thought the military men handsome in their fancy uniforms. This was fine with the soldiers since they had no access to women and could turn their combined attention to the pretty young Irish-Mexican girls. Furious fathers had no fear of punishments in the protection of their family honor. After some complaints, the colonel wisely made arrangements for a few of the guardsmen at a time to go into Vista Montaña to visit the whorehouse there.

  ~*~

  Eventually the vengadores were ordered to pack their gear for a move to an area closer to the international border. If they kept operating out of the village, it wouldn’t be long until they would be trailed back to that location. The two spies Lieutenant Roberto Gonzales and Sergeant Humberto Sanchez had found a good spot called La Cupula—the Dome—a mountain in an isolated area of the Chihuahuan Desert. It was 50 kilometers north of San Patricio, and had a good source of water as well as excellent concealment provided by a thick growths of trees.

  At dawn the next day, the two Vengador teams mounted up for the trip to the new encampment.

  Fourteen

  Ministro sin Carpeta Tim Harrigan stepped from the carriage that had just drawn up in front of the Embassy of Imperial Germany. The conveyance had been sent to his residence after he accepted an invitation by His Excellency Dietrich von Wurthardt the German ambassador to the Mexican Republic.

  Harrigan, followed by the faithful Fidel, walked to a gate in a wrought iron fence where an elaborately uniformed guard stood. The soldier opened the entrance, gesturing for Harrigan and Fidel to continue to a massive front portal. The large door opened and a dapper young gentleman, bowed respectfully. “Welcome, Minister Harrigan. The ambassador is awaiting you.”

  “Thank you,” the guest replied. “I was rather surprised at the invitation.”

  “His Excellency will provide a full explanation,” the diplomat assured him. “I am afraid your man must remain here.”

  “Understood,” Harrigan replied.

  Fidel worriedly watched as his patron was escorted out of sight across the foyer. Harrigan was taken up a flight of stairs, down a hall and finally to the ambassador’s office. His escort knocked and led the Irishman inside. “Minister Harrigan has arrived, Your Excellency.” With that curt announcement, he turned and retraced his steps down the hall.

  Ambassador Dietrich von Wurthardt got up from his chair and walked around his desk with an outstretched hand. “I am most pleased to see you again, Minister Harrigan” he said in English.

  “Likewise,” Harrigan replied. “I must admit I’m a bit curious about your kind invitation.”

  The ambassador gestured to a tray bearing a bottle of German Riesling wine and four glasses. “First things first,” Von Wurthardt said with a friendly smile.

  Harrigan counted the glasses. “Is someone going to join us, Your Excellency?”

  “Yes,” Von Wurthardt replied. “I want you to brace yourself to be astonished, Minister. You are about to be informed of a situation most secret. And I guarantee it will shock you to the core of your soul.”

  “Well!” Harrigan exclaimed with a slight smile. “I cannot wait to be shocked to the core of my soul. Just what—“

  He was interrupted when two men stepped into the room. One was a stern looking individual. He was not in uniform, but displayed a decidedly military bearing. He sported a carefully trimmed mutton chop beard and his hair was thinning slightly. Heavy eyebrows arched over blue eyes and the expression on his face was something between arrogance and impatience.

  The second man was Colonel Juan-Carlos Valenzuela.

  Harrigan was confused by his presence. “You’re a long way from San Patricio.”

  “Indeed I am, Tim.” He indicated the other man. “I have the honor of introducing Major General Karl von Richtberg of the Imperial German Army.”

  “I am honored, sir,” Harrigan said.

  Valenzuela turned to the general. “I am pleased to introduce you to one of the most important men in the highest financial circles of the Mexican Republic. This is Timothy Harrigan.”

  The ambassador poured the wine into each glass. “I shall be the waiter this afternoon since we must have only authorized persons in this part of the embassy. There are even guards at each end of the corridor outside to ensure our privacy.” He picked up a glass and held it high. “To the war against the United States of America.”

  Harrigan gazed in wide-eyed surprise. “I…I don’t understand.”

  The ambassador interrupted. “Let us resume our seats while I bring you up to date, Minister Harrigan.”

  Harrigan glanced at the somber general then back at the smiling ambassador. “How did you find out about the Mexican Army’s plans to invade America?”

  “Ha!” General von Richtberg snorted.

  “My dear Minister Harrigan,” Von Wurthardt said. “The Mexican Army knows absolute
ly nothing about any planned conflict with the United States. The Mexican Army also knows absolutely nothing about the raids being made by the sons and grandsons of veterans of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion. The Mexican Army knows absolutely nothing about…well, absolutely nothing.” He turned to Valenzuela. “Would you care to divulge the facts to Minister Harrigan?”

  The Mexican colonel declared, “It is the Army of Imperial Germany that is planning a war against America. There are certain elements in the Mexican military that are included in the grand plan, but not the upper echelons. Obviously I am part of the plot.”

  General von Richtberg said, “There is a German invasion force in Spanish Cuba that will be secretly transported to Mexico when the time is right.”

  “My God!” Harrigan exclaimed. “When will the time be right?”

  “As soon as the American Army sends some detachments to deal with the raids on the border,” the general informed him. “Certain members of the Mexican government—whom we have bribed most generously—will claim the Americans are violating this nation’s sovereignty and His Excellency here will offer military aid to Mexico. That is where the invasion force comes in. It will be a sudden, overwhelming attack that the small U.S. Army cannot defeat.”

  Harrigan was skeptical. “The American Army isn’t large, I admit, but how will you get enough German soldiers over here to defeat them?”

  Von Richtberg laughed. “We have conscription in Germany. The one thing we do not have to worry about is strength in numbers. And German lads make good soldiers. They obey orders faithfully. Even blindly, I might add. When told to attack; they attack!”

  Harrigan was still dubious. “You cannot possibly conquer the entire United States of America.”

  Ambassador von Wurthardt chuckled. “We don’t expect to take over all of the United States. Just those lands they took away from Mexico. I am speaking of Texas, New Mexico, California, etcetera, etcetera.”

  “When that is done,” said the general, “and a significant force of the German Army is occupying the area, His Imperial Majesty Kaiser Wilhelm the Second will declare Mexico a protectorate of the German Empire. Thus, we will have a strong presence in the western hemisphere.”

  “Indeed we shall!” the ambassador exclaimed. “And our good friend Colonel Valenzuela will be declared governor-general of Mexico by the Kaiser.”

  Tim Harrigan was stunned and speechless.

  Major General Karl von Richtberg actually smiled at the old Irishman. “There will be a high office for you in the colonial government as well. The title in German is Schatzkanzler. In English it is Minister of the Exchequer.” He shrugged. “I do not know the Spanish title.”

  Tim gulped audibly, then cleared his throat. “Ministro de Hacienda.”

  “Well, well, well,” Ambassador von Wurthardt said after a sip of wine. “Let’s settle down for a long conversations of surprises, revelations and—“ He winked at Tim. “Financial matters.”

  Tim suddenly wished the German Riesling wine was Irish whiskey.

  Fifteen

  Another raid by the enigmatic bandits on a small town had occurred. The target was an unnamed farming community located on a tributary creek that flowed into the Rio Grande. This time the raiders rode directly into the town in the middle of the night, shooting right and left into buildings, before returning to Mexico immediately after the short incursion.

  Captain Mack Hawkins heard about the incident while on patrol along the river bank from a traveling preacher on his way to his next church. The location was only five miles away, and Hawkins wasted no time in heading to the scene of the assault.

  The townspeople were happily surprised to see the detachment. There was some concern about the scouts, but Ludlow did his usual thorough explanation about the Indians being enlisted in the U.S. Army.

  When both Hawkins and Jesse Buford made inquires about the raid, none of the citizens could give them much information. According to the local blacksmith, the bandits were only in the town for ten or so minutes. None of the citizens were harmed since all were in their beds, but most had been frightened out of their wits.

  An irate old timer snarled, “Cain’t y’all catch them damn Mezkins? It ain’t gonna be long before they kill somebody.”

  Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley, deciding not to reveal the deaths that had already occurred, put on his diplomatic hat. “I understand your frustration, sir, but it is hard for a single detachment to patrol the hundreds of miles along the Rio Grande.”

  The old timer snarled again. “Y’all got a Texas Ranger with you, ain’t you? Turn him aloose on them bandidos.”

  Ranger Sergeant Jesse Buford patted the galoot on the shoulder. “It ain’t that cut and dried, old timer. We’re packing ten pounds of trouble into a one pound poke. The young lieutenant is right. We’re doing our godamndest!”

  “Well,” the oldster conceded. “I reckon you are at that.” But the two army officers and the ranger could see the man was still frustrated.

  Hawkins, sinking into a mood of his own aggravation, led the detachment out of the town to renew their patrol.

  Unknown to the captain, the inspector general of the Military Department of the Gulf had traveled to Fort Duncan near the town of Orilla Vista. This was the same community where the scout detachment had arrived to begin the deployment.

  The officer, a stern major by the name of Thornton, wanted to meet with Captain Hawkins to discuss the raids and his actions involving the outrages. Since the inspector general had no idea where the Kiowa-Comanche Scout Detachment might be, he sent out a barrage of telegrams to every town along the Rio Grande ordering the unit to return to Fort Duncan.

  Hawkins was finally given a telegram shortly after arriving in the town of Rosario. That was the first place raided by the bandits and Ludlow suggested they visit the community since it might have been attacked again. The local sheriff informed them they had been left in peace, then told the captain a telegram had arrived for him.

  Hawkins read it, then glanced at Ludlow and Jesse. “It looks like a higher echelon is sticking its nose into this bullshit expedition we’re on.”

  “I suggest we immediately head to Fort Duncan, sir,” Ludlow advised. “Perhaps we’ll be given some efficacious assistance.”

  Hawkins stared at his second-in-command. “Well now, Mr. Dooley, I’d be happy to follow your advice as soon as you explain ‘efficacious’ to me.”

  Jesse Buford interjected, “What he’s saying is we should get over to Fort Duncan damn quick on account of there could be some right helpful assistance give to us.”

  Hawkins gave the Texas ranger a look of pure puzzlement. “You understood that?”

  “Yep. Not the words exactly. But I could tell what he meant.”

  “All right then,” Hawkins said. “Let’s get underway immediately if not sooner.”

  ~*~

  It was twenty-four hours later before the detachment arrived at Fort Duncan to meet with the staff officer. Hawkins, Ludlow and Jesse went directly to post headquarters while Sergeant Eagle Heart took the scouts over to the post trader’s store. The eats they had purchased at Fort Lone Wolf had run out three days before and it was time for a replenishment. The Indians experienced a bit of trouble when they first entered the store. The trader was unaware of the U.S. Scouts and was dismayed by the sight of Indians in uniform. However, since Michael Strongbow and Charlie Wolf spoke perfect English and did not sport braids like their comrades-in-arms, they were able to straighten things out so that purchases could be made.

  The reception Hawkins, Ludlow and Jesse received at headquarters was just as unfriendly. Major Benjamin Thornton was in a bad mood after waiting almost two weeks for an answer to his telegrams. He took over the fort commander’s office, sitting down behind the man’s desk. He did not invite his three guests to take seats as he opened the proceedings.

  “The Army has been receiving complaints from a senator and several congressmen about this situation along the Rio Grande River,”
he snapped. “What’s the problem?”

  “The problem,” Hawkins began in a strained tone of voice, “is that we don’t have a crystal ball.”

  Thornton glared at him. “Don’t you get sarcastic with me, Captain!”

  “What I mean, sir, is that we have no way of finding out where the bandits plan to strike next. The bastards hide out over there in Mexico between attacks, so we can’t locate them. I figure they always know our exact location along the Rio Grande, then raid a town far away.”

  “Then you must develop a method of finding them,” Thornton snapped. “Concentrate on the circumstances and put yourself in the bandits’ shoes. Surely you can do that. After all you’ve been down here for awhile.”

  Ludlow spoke up. “There are no similarities in their targets, sir. This last attack was on a little farming settlement that didn’t even have a name. And all they did was show up in the middle of the night, fire a few shots then gallop back to Mexico.”

  Thornton snorted. “Maybe they don’t go back to Mexico. Did that ever occur to you?”

  “Of course they go back to Mexico, godamn it!” Hawkins snarled. “We’ve found places where they enter the river to the American side and cross back to the Mexican side.”

  “You watch your choice of words with me, Captain or I’ll bring up you up on charges of insubordination.”

  Ludlow quickly spoke up again, fearing that Hawkins would go berserk. “There are a lot of unanswered questions about the bandits. For example, we’ve discovered they all carry the same sort of rifles. They are European military rifles. In places where they’ve lain in ambush we’ve discovered eight-millimeter cartridge casings. And that’s the only kind of weapon indicated.”

  Now Sergeant Jesse Buford entered the conversation. “I’m a Texas Ranger. And it’s been my experience that outlaws all carry differ’nt sorts of shooting irons. There’s something about this bunch that don’t add up. And get this. They ain’t stole a godamn thing during these raids. Now what d’you have to say about that, bud?”