CHAPTER 1

Day 1

The inexorably rising, early August sun, already intense and firingup the Tucson landscape at seven in the morning, broke through thebedroom blinds as Rusty Powell finished his shower and was shavingin the bathroom before heading down to the kitchen for breakfast.Another 100-plus degree day was in the offing.

An early riser, Melinda Powell was up at six, had already made apot of coffee and was finishing up a couple of scrambled eggs when herhusband walked into the kitchen and from behind, gently planted acouple of kisses on her neck.

"Ouch, you stabbed me with your badge again, mister!" All Melindahad on was a thin, black, lacy negligee, with little protection fromRusty's Border Patrol ID badge hardware. "Sit yourself down. Juiceis on the table. The eggs are just about ready to go on the plate. Howmany slices of toast, sir?"

"Two's fine. I have to get going. There's a meeting at eight. Everybodywith second shift duty has to be there. What's your day look like?"

"I'm meeting Cindy for lunch. We're going to decide on the datefor her garage sale. She has a boatload of stuff to get rid of before themove. The rest they are going to donate to their church and some toGoodwill. Scott just learned that he has to start the new job in SanDiego on September 1."

"That's pretty quick", Rusty said, as he climbed aboard the bar stoolat the island in the kitchen and swallowed a gulp of hot coffee. "I'll givehim a call to touch base. Let's try to get together with them for dinnerSaturday night."

"I'll ask Cindy, but they're obviously up to their eyeballs trying toget everything done before the move."

Scott and Cindy Kendall were the Powells' closest friends. LeavingTucson, where Scott was a district sales manager for Kraft Foods wasgoing to be an emotional experience for the two couples. Melindawas already anticipating the loss of her best buddy. As gregarious andpopular as Melinda was, it was invariably Cindy that she leaned on foremotional support.

Rusty inhaled his eggs and toast, gulped down what remained inhis coffee mug, and kissed Melinda goodbye. "Have a great day, honey.Say hi to Cindy." He grabbed the holster that housed the Berretta 96D"Brigadier" pistol, assigned to all Agents, clipped it to his belt andheaded for the garage to get aboard the heavily traveled 2010 HondaCivic and hit the road.

The drive to Nogales from the Powells' ranch-style home in WestTucson, a little over 60 miles, was less than an hour drive, mostly alongInterstate 19, a barren, boring run of highway, and the only direct wayto get from Tucson to Nogales. The majority of Border Patrol agentsassigned to Nogales made the drive every day. Tucson was far and awaythe more desirable place to hang their hats.

Randall Powell, known as Rusty to everyone but his mother, Rose,and a few aunts and uncles, was a 29-year old U.S. Border Patrol Agent,assigned to the Nogales, Arizona station, one of most active, heavilystaffed, and notoriously dangerous border crossings in the country.

Rusty and Melinda made the move to Tucson in 2010, when Rustyaccepted the Border Patrol position after a five-year tour of duty in theMarine Corps. His career choice had always been law enforcementsince the age of twelve. A hair over six feet, solidly built, with buzzedauburn hair and brooding soft green eyes, Powell was a handsome, butrugged looking native of Joplin, Missouri. His dry sense of humor andgregarious personality endeared him to men and women alike.

Melinda met him at a University of Missouri football game inColumbia, where they were both juniors at the time and dating otherclassmates. That first meeting did it. They were inseparable from thatday on.

Rusty's father, Lloyd, was a career Marine officer, retiring aftertwenty years of service. Thanks to his dad, the Corps was in Rusty'sblood. Marriage waited until he finished officers training at Quantico,Virginia three years later. The couple was married in a small church inMelinda's hometown of Poplar Bluff, Missouri.

After two long tours of duty in Afghanistan, Powell easily concludedthat he was not going to follow in his father's footsteps and make theCorps a career. A few months after his discharge, he applied and wasaccepted to attend the Border Patrol Academy in Artesia, New Mexico.The 58-day course was grueling, both physically and mentally. Havingjust left the Marine Corps, he was in excellent shape. Nevertheless, theBorder Patrol training was a true test. And Rusty, not even close tobeing fluent in Spanish, was required to learn the language, managingto struggle through the Academy's additional 40-day task basedprogram.

During the three months of Rusty's training, Melinda waited at herparent's home until Rusty could be assigned to a Customs & BorderPatrol station, immediately after graduating from the Academy in lateApril 2010.

CHAPTER 2

Gary Childers was assigned to work with Rusty that day. For obviousreasons, agents rarely worked alone. Childers was a six-year Border Patrolveteran, a California native, serving his first three years at a station in ElPaso. He and Rusty functioned well together. When out in the field as ateam on patrol, which was frequently the case, Powell did the tracking,while Childers provided security when on the move. He was an excellentmarksman and comfortable with a variety of firearms.

That morning, there were 45 Agents on duty. The Patrol Agentin Charge, Carroll Page, entered the Nogales station meeting roomfollowing muster call. Page, a ten year Border Patrol veteran, hadpretty much seen it all. Prior to the major buildup in the size of theforce, implemented during the George W. Bush administration, theorganization was grossly understaffed and stretched to the breakingpoint. Agents were often forced into making dangerous, risky decisions,often working alone. Carroll Page was a seasoned, tough customer, andknew the drill. A native of Fresno, California, he served as a staff sergeantin the Army and was decorated for his service in the first Gulf War. Talland wiry, his closely cropped blonde hair was receding at the forehead.He sported a wide, graying moustache that completed the tough guyimage. He was rarely seen without his aviator-style sunglasses.

That morning Page looked even more serious than usual. "This isshaping up to be one hell of a day", he said, scanning the room full ofAgents.

"We brought in 122 undocumented last night. Seems like the boysin Altar were particularly busy yesterday, shipping folks up here bythe bushel via the Highway." Page was referring to the rugged roadknown as Devil's Highway...