The caravan slowed to less than fifteen miles an hour. All four vehicles, each laden with five 120 pound sacks of Premium Sinaloan Marijuana, representing a king's ransom in street prices, rocked slightly as they hit softer sand. Careful shifting of gears and expert maintaining of momentum avoided bogging down in the loose earth. All four drivers were aware that minutes earlier they had crossed the International Border and were now subject to interception at any moment.

Tension rose measurably as the cloud-cover drifted into a pattern exposing the first rays of the last quarter moon, which cast a pall of indigo blue across the bleak desert landscape, now eerily silent, the song of Chihuahuan cicadas breaking the muffled sound of precision tuned Land Rovers and Izuzus only occasionally.

This band of intrepid souls was connected with a major businessman in the Deming, New Mexico area. A town known for its Annual Duck Race, a Green Chile Festival and a Rail Head served by AMTRAK's Sunset Limited out of Los Angeles en route to Miami. But those two cities had nothing in common, at least on the surface, with the sleepy little community of Deming, which sports a burned out hotel in the downtown sector, an aging K-Mart, now replaced by a more modern structure, and a bevy of shops catering to whims and fancies.

Deming's banker of note, ultimately implicated by association in the laundering scandal which rocked the Land of Enchantment, was actually one of three central figures within the Aguirre Operation, passing intelligence, fending off unwanted probes and attending the Evangelical Services offered at the Four-Square Gospel Church located on the corner of Second and Madero.

Along with Gabriel Aguirre, the generous and amiable Godfather of this organization, the banker was considered a quintessential paragon of discretion. His staff, all recruited from among the ranks of families who had long since learned the "art of compromise", were indisputably efficient, mathematically astute and as absolutely immoral as their profession demanded. Whether the tens of thousands of dollars deposited in twenties, fifties and hundreds smelled of rot and decay, whether the depositors themselves were literally dusting off their chaps from a rough crossing the night before, whether the BMW 320i's, Jag XKEs, or Customized TransAms which graced their deposit windows seemed just a little "obvious", these tellers, thinking primarily of their Max Factor Pastel-Hued Nail Polish, Maybelline Eye Shadow and Coco Chanel Eau de Toilette, accepted each deposit with a graceful smile and a friendly greeting. This is simply a reflection of basic human nature, a replication of primate primping and grooming recognized by Twentieth Century socio-anthropologists and criminal specialists all across America.

Quite naturally, the argument here is: while Mexico, a country capitalizing on its geographic position and God-given resources, may be supplying the commodities in question, the United States is doing virtually nothing to attenuate demand.

The infra-red mercenaries were now approaching a washed out ravine just west of the Alamo Hueco Mountains where two smuggling routes converged.(7) They had instructions to proceed throughout the night at low-speed, avoiding detection by INS blimp-like aerostat devices positioned 7500 feet above the desert, at 200 mile intervals along the border(8), until morning, when, splitting into inconspicuous groups of two vehicles, they would brave a major civilian artery and make delivery to a Cold Storage Facility, off a dirt road, near abandoned rail-sidings at the East End of Deming.

Through an ingenious system of "incentive payments" and loyal informants, the Aguirre Organization had achieved virtual command of all information relating to transportation via freight train, long-haul trucking and private auto traffic destined for a variety of U.S. cities to the North and West, with inter-connections to major Canadian markets in Toronto, Montreal and Winnipeg. An entire generation of truckers, freight haulers and tourists had no moral qualms about transporting a commodity so highly sought, so innocuous and so profitable.

The rationale underpinning their willingness to participate was actually quite simple. Most of the world's countries had considered cannabis a mild, non-addictive herb with a number of redeeming socio-medicinal uses.

As Paul unloaded his fourth 120 pound sack onto the concrete floor of the warehouse, he sighed audibly, relieved that nothing had gone amiss in the last twelve hours since making his connection in Casa Grandes, well south of Palomas deep in Chihuahua State. He was contemplating his next rendez-vous with the unsuspecting daughter of a respectable rancher, who had found his machismo appealing.

During these social opportunities with JoAnne, Paul was able to achieve a number of objectives. The obvious carnal angle was played to the maximum; but intelligence was also gathered on range conditions, fencing, secondary and tertiary ranch roads, Border Patrol movements on her father's property, and the likelihood of semi-permanent camping in certain remote areas. This was the well-known Victorio Ranch abutting the Mexican Border in the extreme southwest of Luna County, with appendages extending into Hidalgo County, southeast of Hachita in the Apache Hills.(9)

The entire Hachita Valley, with emphasis on Sierra Rica and the Big Hachet Mountains, at varying times of the year, depending on Border Patrol Activity and livestock movements, was prime territory for the Organization's purposes. Paul's contacts with the ranch-owner's daughter and his insight into terrain, topography and weather patterns represented rich sources of data, potentially rewarding.

In fact, Paul Alaman's (10) training in the Marine Corps equipped him with a sense of "energetic pursuit of detail" enabling him to succeed where others had failed. He once led a platoon into the dense undergrowth of the Mekong Delta, emerging triumphant with one casualty and nearly two dozen Viet Cong intruders. His skills under pressure had been honed to near-perfection, and were eminently appreciated by Mr. Aguirre's associates.

Now, the last 120 pound sack had been positioned on a warehouse pallet, disguised among several other burlap bags of dried corn-meal destined for livestock consumption. Paul moved toward the main door of the building, only a portion of which was used for cold storage, glancing back at the array of sacks he had stored, contrasting the pattern with past arrangements. Satisfied, he turned his attention to the Daily Headlight, Deming's answer to journalism, and perused the entertainment page for a movie in "Cruces" that might, just might, appeal to JoAnne.