Chapter 5. On the 64 West...

That morning, down at the free breakfast buffet, which wasn't itself worth trying as the mice had gotten into the Cheerios and Frosted Flakes and Cap'n Crunch, the fridge was unspeakable and the freezer unexamined, but they fried up a can of Spam or two and some mesa-cake tortillas, thank you Wal-Mart at Aztec, and coffee, of course.  And they brought sugar - and of course those little Mini-Cremers at the buffet never go bad, having been through a plague and a couple months of room-temperature.  One or two were gnawed into - but the rodents preferred the cereal fare, it was clear.

They all sat around and had what would be called a Breakfast Power Meeting in the old days, and had breakfast for sure.  Power, either electrical or personal, wasn't much of that.  The blinds were open, and the day was already warming up.

"Well, as Eve said to Adam, what the fuck do we do NOW?" offered Jack.

They turned to Judy, who did the unexpected.  She shrugged, and said "Any ideas?"

It was a fine move in Team Leadership, but it made everyone nervous.  There was only one thing to do, though.

"Well," Seth suggested, "we just have to drive out to the border there and get out and wait.  I wonder how long we'll have to wait?  Should we send up a signal or some such?"

"I figure they'll probably let us stand around for a half-hour or so, let us declare our intentions, and then come down with the greeting party."  Tom, pretty insightfully.

"Everybody got some identification?" Judy asked.

Surprised, they checked.  They all had billfolds.  Seth opened his, and a badge flashed.

"You sworn?" Asked Judy.

Seth grimaced.  "Yeah, I'm a back-deputy up in Gunnison County, in case they run out of regulars.  Hey!  Guess what, they did!!  I'm a regular deputy now!  I expect, that even makes me sheriff!!  I'll sure as hell vote for myself!"

Ben Martinez pushed back from the table.  "Let's get started, before he turns into the fucking Governor of Colorado,"  Laughs.

"One thing now," Judy said.  "By the way, who's a veteran here?"  They all raised their hands.  "Army."  "Marines."  "Air Force," said Walsh.

Locklear, Marine, looked at him. "Ah.  A gentleman's alternative to military service."

"Fuck you, Marine." said Walsh, kindly.  "Mickey's little hand is on the eight, time to go.  Do you know what time that means?"

"Almost every Navajo's a veteran.  And we've got a sworn officer here.  Listen.  What I want to do here is to meet with one of the leadership - not the politicians, but the old men of the tribe that might understand what it means to set up a connection with the Free Zone."

"Not every Navajo's going to like hearing command from a twenty-year-old female.  When we cross that line, Seth will be in charge, and then in turn, by military rank.  What was your highest rank?"

"First Sergeant.  First Lieutenant.  Chief Petty Officer.  Gunny.  Squadron leader. Airman."

Everyone looked at Ben Martinez.  He hadn't said a lick.  "Marines.  Vietnam."  Then a long pause. "Major."  He stared at his feet.

If the military had command for "Stare with your mouth open, look stupid, HUT!" they all could have passed for a drill team.  Ben looked up and looked around at everyone.  "s'right.  Major.  Went in as private.  I don't want nothing to do with command."  His look of sad agony was enough.  Ben wasn't part of the command structure, here or on the Big Rez.  None of the Navajos would hear about this Colonel who served in Vietnam.  They all felt a private, tender spot for Ben, to be watched out for.  "Got your back, soldier," said Sandoval.  That was that.

They jammed all the perishables into the back of the car, took another pickup for the rest of the folk, and drove up to the border.

The border sign was down a little way, on the slow sweep of a hill rising West maybe fifty feet, out maybe a mile or two.  They all left the vehicles back about a hundred yards.  Everyone was dressed Western in jeans and boots, except for Judy.  She wore a cowgirl-style long skirt that went down to her boot-tops, and a tastefully-embroidered button shirt.  

The Ram was still parked there.  Judy walked around it.  Nothing seemed touched.  But she had left three greeting cards on it - in the cab, under the wipers, and stapled four-corners to the tarp.  All were gone.  The staples were even taken out, and the handle polished to remove any smudges.  The tarp was pulled down tighter, tight as a drum.

"They don't know what to make of us.  No surprises.  They inventoried our stuff.  Well, they sure do seem mistrustful,   see'n as how they've been screwed with for, four hundred years, maybe?" Judy.

And they waited.

Blue and gold, blue and gold are the colors of the West, especially in wintertime.  Come spring and summer, a little green peeps up and disappears, but it's a camo green, an olive green.  Angels who painted the West, must have been colorblind, or the Easterners used up all the red and green.  The wind rushed by a little, not bad - not kicking up the dust.  Desert or grasslands, not a tree to be found, but little shrubs speckled the hills, set apart as though by a gardener, measuring the distances.  Each one stayed a respectful distance from its neighbor, so as not to fight over water.  If some new shrub tried to come up closer, it just wouldn't make it during the dry season.

Some small puffs of cloud came up from behind the hill.  They were coming.

A brown patrol Jeep crested the hill about a hundred yards off to the left of the road.  About another minute, its twin brother, a few hundred yards to the right.

About a thousand yards out, they stopped.  Two men got out of each one, went around to the shadow side on the north of the Jeeps, sat down and started fiddling with something.  After a few minutes, one lay prone in the shadow, with another one behind the back wheel.

Ben put his head down, hands up to cover his face.  "This sucks." he said.  "I hate this."  He sat down in the roadway, his face covered.

Doc, came over and asked, "Something I can do for you, Ben?"  He shook his head 'no.'

Seth whispered to Doc, "Those are long-range snipers.  They're taking no chances."

Two more, and these were patrol cars - white, Navajo Police four-wheelers - came up in sequence, one after another, pulled over at about 250 yards out into the brushy grass.  They were not subtle - you could see the glint off their scopes, and one got the shadow, one got the dog duty lying on the sunny side, on a blanket.

Two patrol cars came up and stopped about fifty yards from the border where the Ram was parked, and got out and stood in front of the car.  Four of them.  They didn't seem all that worried.  No surprise. Six snipers on seven men - or six men and a girl.

One lifted a bullhorn and called out, one word - "JUDY."

Judy marched up the yellow line at a brisk pace.  The man with the bullhorn said "Stop.  Arms up.  Turn around.  Proceed with arms up." She stopped about halfway there, put her arms up, and pirouetted slowly around; then followed with her hands raised.  Wasn't armed - anyone could see that.  All of the four had sidearms, anyway.

She stood and talked with the officer with the bullhorn - and talked, and talked.  And talked.  Fifteen minutes on a desert road with nothing to do, trying one's damnedest to look un-threatening - well, it gets boring after a while.

They were called down in sequence, first was Seth.  He walked all the way with his hands up.  They could see him slowly drop his arms after a pat-down (the Police didn't pat down Judy, they noticed.)
He fished out his billfold, and was clearly offering his ID.  Even though they couldn't hear a thing, they must have seen his star, because all of the stress seemed to pass out of the four officers; they stood relaxed and started to engage in evident small-talk, and then stopped.  Seth gestured down the road.  Calls and responses on the radio went on for a bit.  The dog-duty snipers in close got to stand down and sit in the four-wheelers.  Judy and the officers walked down the road toward the little Free Zone platoon.

The officers shooed the men off to the side, and one knelt down by Mr. Martinez, his face still covered.  The officer said, "Sir, I'm Officer Kenny Nez of the Navajo Police, and this here's Mike Yazzie.  We'd heard you were feeling poorly.  Can we give you a ride up to Shiprock?"

Ben uncovered his face; he'd been crying a bit.  He shook his head, 'no.'  Officer Nez suggested that they ride up in the Ram, Ben and Officer Yazzie.  Ben nodded yes, got up, and the three of them walked over to the truck.

Nez called for the patrol car to move out of the left-hand side of the road up ahead, and they helped Ben into the passenger's side of the truck.  Yazzie started it up and they moved slowly west until the truck disappeared from sight.

 That left the five, back standing around.  Nez asked them for names, and driver's licenses.  He took the licenses, and radioed in the five names.

"Down the road, one at a time, on the yellow line, arms up.  Start when I call your name."

Doc Tony fretted. "Can we just leave the car sitting on the road?" Nez looked at him very seriously, and said "We never ticket on weekends."