Roswell Fanatics

"Michael...trade me tickets.."

"You can't always have the window seat, Isabel."

"You are just going to fall asleep anyway..I might as well sit there."

Max watched the banter with good natured amusement. He and Isabel had long joked that every trip was the same length for Michael. They'd get in the Jeep to go somewhere...he'd be asleep by the end of their driveway. He'd wake up when the Jeep got to the destination, ... but rarely before. Even his mother and father had commented on it.

When he and Isabel had brought Michael home...when they'd told them he was also an orphan..they'd accepted him readily enough. When they'd seen the trailer he was living in...met old Hank Guerin...they'd never objected to him being there..no matter how many meals he ate..nor what odd hours he arrived there. When Mom had seen the bruises on him...it had been like she was a mother bear...protecting her own cubs. Max had almost feared for the old drunk's life...not that he deserved one...before his father had pulled her off Hank Guerin. His father had arranged the emancipated minor petition almost a year ago. The state check now went in to a checking account that Michael controlled....although it barely covered the rent for the small apartment. Of course, that really didn't matter...Michael spent most of his nights in a sleeping bag in Max's room, ate most of his meals with them. 'Too bad you weren't with Max and Isabel,' his Mom had said, We'd have adopted you too Michael.' And they no doubt would have.

Michael eventually gave in...trading her the window seat for her aisle seat...and a bottle of Peach Snapple. He loved Isabel, loved her like a sister. And he was grateful to Max and Liz, and grateful to their folks.

His life now was better than it had ever been...and maybe he should be content. A few years ago he would have been...three squares...no beatings...a brother and a sister...and two adults who cared for him...as much as humans could care for an alien. But sometimes when he'd fall asleep on those Jeep trips he'd dream...and it was always about that same day...

One year ago

"Michael Guerin...that is SO LAME..."

"What do you mean, lame..it's your turn. I took care of it yesterday.."

"You took care of it??? And how did you take care of it? That's not even the same egg, Michael.."

"Yes it is..."

"It IS NOT. The egg was white, ...this one is brown."

Michael knew that. The first one was white...but Hank had poached and eaten the damn thing...they wouldn't sell single eggs at the Safeway, he'd had to buy a half dozen...and the brown ones had been cheaper.

"It is too the same egg...it just got a tan."

"A tan? This is more than a tan, Michael. Somehow our child has just become mixed-race."

It had hit him then...if it had been their child..it would be mixed race...and if she'd never said it...if she didn't always look so beautiful when she was angry...perhaps he would still be content with a brother and a sister and a mother and father who loved him...perhaps that would have been enough.

He'd never really spoken to her after that class...just a nod to her in the halls at school as he passed her sometimes...but he'd never forget that memory...not for his whole life...

The trip to Cabos was going to take about two hours, and even surrounded by 118 friends, that can be a lot of time sitting, thought Alex. He looked over by the single jetway that Roswell airport possessed, noting that there was still a lot of milling and bunching...but no boarding as of yet.

"I think I'm going to go get a magazine for the trip," he said. "Anyone else want one?"

"I'd take a People Magazine, if they have one," Maria said quickly.

"A Scientific American...unless it's the April issue...I already read that one..."

"A Scientific American, Liz...?" Maria asked, somewhat in disbelief. "This is ROSWELL... we'll be lucky if the magazine stand has the El Paso Times..."

Alex smiled and quickly said, "I'll find you something, Liz." Liz was about to be treated with a replay of Maria's old familiar refrain, 'There's got to be something better than Roswell...' And while there was some truth in that...well, he'd heard it often enough over the years that he knew it by heart.

The selection in fact was NOT good. There was one People magazine, he got a USA Today for himself, and looked long and hard for something for Liz. He finally found a Popular Science....it'd have to do...he paid and hurried back to the gate...only a few students and two of the chaperones had yet to board. He earned himself a disapproving glance from the Vice Principal as he arrived, but he made it to the gate just in time. He was the last student to board.


It was chaos in the cabin as Isabel worked her way toward 14F..but she stopped dead...causing an instant logjam in the students...when she saw the occupants of 14 A and B. That was all she needed...those two. The boys would be ogling them...all the way to Cabos. And it would start again...they'd start to wonder if they couldn't maybe just hang with them once or twice...it wouldn't get serious, Max and Michael would say...but she knew better.

She really did believe Max had loved Liz Parker since the third grade...she could see it in her brother's eyes. But it couldn't be....it just couldn't be....

Michael was looking for an overhead bin for his carryon...he had two six packs of Snapple in it, he'd heard you couldn't trust the water down there...when Isabel stopped abruptly...and he ran in to her.

"Hey..what...what's the matter, Isabel?"

"Michael...give me my ticket back..I want the aisle seat after all."

"You argued with me for ten minutes for that, Izzy..."

"It doesn't matter, Michael..just give it to me."

"Well, OK...but I'm keeping the Snapple..."

Isabel went on ahead...letting Michael and Max take the window and middle seats, knowing that she would then be between them and the two girls. This would work out...no one talked to the Ice Princess, there would be no casual conversation going on between Max or Michael and either of them....and someone would be sitting in the empty seat as well, that was even better... two layers of insulation between the guys and the girls she wanted most to keep away from them.

Isabel started to relax...to take out her Cosmopolitan and start to read...until she saw the last student board the aircraft...come down the narrow aisle, and plop himself into 14C.

'Omigawd,...' she thought.

Four days earlier

He was getting out...he'd served his time. He'd be deported, of course...back to Mexico. He was just a coyote...small change to the government of Los Estados Unidos, the sentence hadn't been long...only three months. Miguel had never hurt anyone...never run drugs, but he knew the man in the exercise yard by reputation, and when he walked up to him...told him he needed a favor...he knew it meant his life if he didn't do it.

Manuel Velez was very unhappy. He was used to luxury...only the finest of clothes...food...women. None of that in the detention center. And he was facing life, he knew. You don't get to be one of the largest narco-traficante's in the hemisphere without breaking a few laws, ..without enforcing your territorial boundaries. He'd killed a number of people in the US...mostly just competition. But a few others had gotten in the way as well...it was nothing personal, just business. He didn't share his territory...not with anyone. He did share...with his brother. They'd split the territory fairly...at the Rockies. He had the East Coast..his brother the West.

"I want you to take a message for me, Miguel.. a message to my brother Roberto. He needs to get me out....to make a deal with these people...do you understand me?"

Manuel knew that Roberto would do it..not just for brotherly love, but because he was the only one Roberto trusted, and Roberto would want someone available to make the same arrangement for him someday, if he were someday captured.

Miguel looked at the man, fighting back his terror. "Si...Patron," he said, "Whatever you say....., Jefe."

It was only after he had sat down in the seat and handed the magazines to Liz and Maria that he had looked across the aisle...and then the blood had drained from Alex's face. 'Omigawd,...' he thought.

He'd wondered, sometimes, if his obsession with her didn't border on insanity. It had started back in middle school...just a dream...he still remembered it. And for a somewhat geeky early teen, whose only talents were computers, music, and being double-jointed, it had been the height of madness to fantasize about the prettiest girl in the class. But it hadn't just been the one dream, it had gone on for the whole year...just dreaming of dancing with her...dreaming of being friends. But after the year...after their first dream kiss...the obsession had really set in.

In four years of High School, he'd barely talked to her...went out of his way to avoid taking any classes she might be in...afraid that he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off of her...that he'd make a TOTAL fool of himself. But their nightly dances together...and the tender intimacies that he would experience in those dream...they were really what he thought about every free moment.

But there she was...and he was almost paralyzed with fear. He'd never been this close to her....other than that time he'd collected tickets at the school play...except in his dreams of course. There he was with her every night.

He found himself sweating...fidgeting...unable to get comfortable...afraid to look...but not being able to help himself.

'My God, she is lovely...,' he thought to himself. 'More lovely in reality than even in all my dreams..'

She really hadn’t expected this…hadn’t even considered it.

She had been just as assiduous at avoiding him during the day as she had been about being with him at night. He was, she knew, her guilty pleasure…the dreamwalks with Alex the one thing that made an otherwise hopeless and lonely life worthwhile.

She’d actually touched him once…her fingers lingering on his as she’d handed him her ticket…almost as if they’d had a life of their own. She ached to feel his arms around her…to dance with him, to burrow her head into his shoulder and feel the warmth of him…the beat of his pulse in his neck as her lips touched him there.

How many times had she been held in his arms in his dream-orb…a thousand…two thousand? How many times had she felt the warmth deep within her as she’d held his hand…looked into his eyes…how many times had she wished it could go farther…or that it could be….real.

Sharing his dreams was the solace that made her otherwise barren life possible….but not here…not sitting next to her…not being so close…but so entirely forbidden..and most of all not being able to talk to him…to even acknowledge him. Alex wasn’t just her obsession…it was far beyond that. He was the very purpose of an otherwise empty life.


Two years ago…

They had danced for hours, on the outdoor dance floor under the stars. He wasn’t sure why he so seldom told her…Lord knows he’d thought it frequently enough…but even if it were a dream…he wanted her to know. He took his right hand and reached softly under her chin, gently raising it until her eyes met his.

Isabel felt his hand gently lift her chin…she smiled knowing what was coming…the kiss was soft…tender...Alex’s kisses were always like that. Had anyone been there to look, they might have thought it lacked passion…but Isabel knew better. She could tell in his eyes what his feelings were…eyes that seemed to sparkle and laugh when they were together.

When he broke the kiss he pulled slightly away…

“I love you Isabel…” came the words…”I wish this dream could last forever..”

She knew that he really didn’t love her….just the dream of her…and that should have made a difference somehow, but it apparently didn’t. For if it were only a dream…why did her breathing come so quickly…why did her heart skip a beat…why did her soul sing with joy when he said it?


Philip had been married to her for twenty-six years…he could tell it was coming. Diane hadn’t just been upset with Isabel today at the terminal…nor was it just that she’d practically had to force both children to go on the trip. At the core of it, he was sure, was that her role was changing.

He remembered the early days of their marriage, before children were really an issue. Then the hard times…the fertility workup…the pain…the guilt she’d felt, when she discovered she was infertile. Finding little Max and Isabel, walking down that road that day, had clearly saved their marriage...saved Diane from the guilt that was threatening to tear the two of them apart.

Philip hoped that her depression was just because of the transition…the thought of sending two kids off to college in Albuquerque, … the emptiness of a house that had once held the sounds of tiny feet running and playing, and the laughter of children. But he knew it was more than that. She was blaming herself, and that wasn’t fair.

Two kids couldn’t have asked for a better mother, even if she hadn’t actually given birth to them. The kids really weren’t all that bad…sure they weren’t perfect, but they were good kids…they’d never gotten in trouble with the law…never used drugs..he doubted if either of them had ever gotten drunk. They weren’t bad kids…there was time for them yet to become the kind of people that their parents wanted them to be, and even if they weren’t…it wasn’t like Diane should blame herself.

But as they sat in the car in the parking lot, watching the big Mexicana jet takeoff and start a slow turn to the southwest, he could tell she was upset, even before he saw the tears start to trickle down her cheeks.

“They’ll be OK, Diane,” he said.

“Will they Philip? Will they really?”

He tried to change the subject…knowing it wasn’t what she really meant, but hoping he could avert what he was almost certain was coming.

“They’ll have great fun, dear…and the chaperones will keep them out of trouble.”

“Hmpph!”

Philip winced at the sound..she wasn’t going to let it die…

“That isn’t the problem, Phil,… you know that. The problem is that I’ve failed them.”

“You haven’t failed them, Diane. Max and Isabel are great kids.”

“They are great kids that want no part of living, Philip. Both of them hold the world at bay…Max, by just not engaging…hiding behind his shyness, Isabel by not really engaging…being aloof and arrogant and…and a frosty bitch, if the truth be known.

When we brought them home…when they couldn’t speak..weren’t even potty trained…God, I loved those days... Every day was a marvelous new adventure. I didn’t want them to go to third grade, it was selfish, I know, but I simply didn’t want to share them. But I did it anyway, sent them to school because if they stayed at home they were never going to get socialized…never be part of human society. So I gave them up, Phil, I packed their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into their little lunch boxes and sent them off, because that’s what was best for them. But look what’s happened?
I
sabel never socialized…she became a pretentious stuck up unemotional sociopath who treats the other girls like crap, and that’s even better than she treats the equally arrogant snooty bastards that she does date. She doesn’t care for them…it’s all some elaborate game with her and that terrible clique she runs with…the girl who attracts the most high school campus royalty…and then most cruelly dumps them must win the icy tiara or something. The only saving grace is that the guys she does this to are equally obnoxious and arrogant…at least she’d not breaking the heart of some nice boy.

And Max…it’s like he’s allergic to life…like he is going to spend his entire life hiding behind some tree somewhere…never participating in the real world. He’s almost in college, Philip, and he’s never had a date…never really had a friend, except for little Michael.

Both Izzy and Max are going to have lonely, miserable lives, Phil…and I somehow can’t help but believe, that it’s all my fault.”

“That’s nonsense, Diane, and you know it. You’ve given your heart to those two sincve day one…we both have. And they ARE great kids. Sure, Isabel is going through a phase right now..”

“Philip…the phase has lasted since sixth grade. That’s not a phase, that’s the way she is. I don’t know if we should take her to a psychiatrist…see if she has some sort of diagnosis. She’s so damned depressed. I read a magazine article about depression… one major symptom is anhedonia…The absence of pleasure or the ability to experience it.

That fits Isabel to a ‘T’, Philip,” said Diane, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks.
“Max isn’t any better…not really. It’s almost like he endures every day…not lives it.”
“Diane, it’s not that bad. They are young, they’ll have time to grow out of it.”

”They are almost graduated, dear, … almost adults. But nobody wants them…and they don’t want anyone… It’s like they are trying to keep themselves separate from the entire human race…”

Philip held her, feeling her body shake with the sobs, comforting her as best he could. He looked up at the big jet, now starting to make contrails in the New Mexico sky as it climbed to the southwest..

“They aren’t finished yet, dear. There’s still time for them to grow up…for them to realize the promise that life has for them. Maybe this trip will be the start…maybe they’ll make some friends…start to understand what’s really important in this world.”

She grabbed the Kleenex from her pocket, and wiped the tears away. “I sure hope so, dear. I’d give anything for them to each make just one good friend.”

He opened the car door for her and helped her in. As he walked around to the drivers side he made a mental note to call Isabel in two days. He was finally putting his foot down. Izzy wasn’t going to that obnoxious sorority…he was sure of that.
And although there was much that Philip Evans did not know about his daughter, that, at least, would eventually prove to be correct…

The archencephalon is what biologists call the “old brain.” It is embryologically the part from which the forebrain and midbrain form. Romantics talk about thoughts of love coming from the heart. That is true only metaphorically. Most thoughts, be they of love, or much of anything else, come from the cerebrum, a late evolutionary adaptation of the forebrain.

Not ALL thoughts come from the cerebrum, however. A sufficiently primitive animal may have only a very rudimentary forebrain, but that doesn’t mean it will become extinct. That’s because the midbrain takes care of one essential part of not becoming extinct,…reproduction. Thoughts of reproduction …and the actions to prepare the body for that act, are mediated by the midbrain.

Alex’s midbrain wasn’t particularly a horndog as midbrains went,…but in fairness, midbrains go rather far in that direction. His midbrain hadn’t exactly paid close attention when his father had given him the talk about what proper boys do and don’t…, but it had at least listened politely. That was more than Alex’s cerebrum had done…it was busy fantasizing about lsabel. And while midbrains aren’t particularly bright, being creatures of feeling rather than intellect, it was bright enough to understand about dancing.

Dancing between the sexes is, and has always been, a stylized mating ritual, much akin to a roosters show of strutting for the hen, a peacock displaying it’s plumage for the peahen to check out, and in the extreme…such as tangos and other close dancing…the equivalent of sexual foreplay.

Alex’s’s midbrain had been, as midbrains go, incredibly patient. It had sat there quietly the first year that he had dreamed about, content to just have her as a friend. It perked up a little at their first dream kiss…five years ago. And as they continued to dance…night after night…and they continued to kiss…the embraces getting just a little more passionate with each year, it had continued to take things slowly…perhaps only due to the fact that it may have known it was only a dream…after all. But all that had just changed.

Over the last six years Alex’s midbrain had felt his body against hers 2,190 times, performing an act the midbrain considered foreplay. Now it knew she was there…saw her close…smelled the pheromones her body was releasing, and it decided…it had been patient enough. It wanted her…now.

Alex felt his body start to flush involuntarily as the memory of those 2190 nights spent with her intruded upon his attempts to read his USA Today. He tried his best to get his body to stop doing the things the midbrain was trying to get it to do….to make the appropriate preparations for what the midbrain had decided it was time to do.
As his body continued to flush, he felt the erection rising…. He felt the moisture start to spill slowly from the tip…as his testicles slowly elevated, and his scrotum thickened.

Alex’’s cerebrum became instantly disconcerted…cerebrums are always control freaks…especially the cerebrum of someone who considered himself somewhat of a geek..someone who was shy and embarrassed easily. But the situation was spinning quickly out of control, just sitting there across the aisle from her.

Alex looked straight ahead…trying to pretend she wasn’t there..forcing himself not to look at her…but even so, the ventilation system carried her pheromones to him.

It had been warm in Roswell…75 degrees. The temperature in Cabo San Lucas was going to be almost ninety. He’d worn only bush shorts and a T-shirt, and the tenting in the bush shorts was becoming quite disconcerting.

Alex stood up, carefully not looking at her, and got a pillow and blanket down from the overhead bins. He reclined the seat, wrapped himself in the blanket, and tried his best to go to sleep, not daring to look at her.

“You can’t be serious,” said Maria, “It must be eighty degrees in this cabin.”

“I’m really tired, Maria. I didn’t get much sleep last night…too excited about the trip…I’m going to get a nap now so I’ll be ready to go when we get to Cabo. Wake me when we get there….”


Isabel’s midbrain wasn’t particularly a horndog as midbrains went,…but in fairness, midbrains go rather far in that direction. Her midbrain hadn’t exactly paid close attention when Diane had given her the talk about what proper girls do and don’t…, but it had at least listened politely. That was more than Isabel’s cerebrum had done…since it never really expected to have to use the information at all. And while midbrains aren’t particularly bright, being creatures of feeling rather than intellect, it was bright enough to understand about dancing.

Dancing between the sexes is, and has always been, a stylized mating ritual, much akin to a roosters show of strutting for the hen, a peacock displaying it’s plumage for the peahen to check out, and in the extreme…such as tangos and other close dancing…the equivalent of sexual foreplay.

Isabel’s midbrain had been, as midbrains go, incredibly patient. It had sat there quietly the first year that she had dreamwalked him, content to just have him as a friend. It perked up a little at their first dream kiss…five years ago. And as they continued to dance…night after night…and they continued to kiss…the embraces getting just a little more passionate with each year, it had continued to take things slowly…perhaps only due to the fact that it may have known it was only a dream…after all. But all that had just changed.

Over the last six years Isabel’s midbrain had felt his body against hers 2,190 times, performing an act the midbrain considered foreplay. Now it knew he was there…saw him close…smelled the pheromones his body was releasing, and it decided…it had been patient enough. It wanted him…now.

Isabel felt her body start to flush involuntarily as the memory of those 2190 nights spent with him intruded upon her attempts to read her Cosmopolitan. Even when she was successful at ignoring it and reading..she found the article she had turned to was 12 great ways to bigger and better orgasms…hardly something that was going to get her body to relax…get it to stop doing the things the midbrain was trying to get it to do….to make the appropriate preparations for what the midbrain had decided it was time to do.

As her body continued to flush, she felt her breasts engorge first…becoming noticeably more sensitive. She felt the moisture gather as her body lubricated itself for his entry…her opening itself swelling….the labia reaching out as if to embrace him.

Isabel’s cerebrum became instantly disconcerted…cerebrums are always control freaks…especially the cerebrum of an Ice Princess. But the situation was spinning quickly out of control, just sitting there across the aisle from him. Isabel looked straight ahead…trying to pretend he wasn’t there..forcing herself not to look at him…but even so, the ventilation system carried his pheromones to her.

It had been warm in Roswell…75 degrees. The temperature in Cabo San Lucas was going to be almost ninety. She’d worn shorts and a tank top, both rather brief and revealing. And now they were revealing the flush of her skin…and she was even getting worried about the shorts revealing the moisture that seemed to be accumulating at an ever increasing pace.

Isabel stood up, carefully not looking at him, and got a pillow and blanket down from the overhead bins. She reclined the seat, wrapped herself in the blanket, and tried her best to go to sleep, not daring to look at him.

“You can’t be serious,” Max said, “It must be eighty degrees in this cabin.”

“Shut up Max, and leave me alone. I didn’t get much sleep last night…I’m going to make up for it now.”

After fifteen minutes, Alex was convinced it wasn't going to work. His every thought was of her, and the physical condition of his bush shorts was becoming increasingly obvious. He had to get away from her...put distance between the two of them, or he was going to embarrass himself badly....in front of the whole damn senior class.

He unbucked his seatbelt and used the pillow to cover the front of his shorts as he left the aisle seat...being careful to not even give her a glance that might further arouse him, and proceeded toward the back of the aircraft. The first restroom he came to said 'unoccupied', and he quickly entered, pulling down the toilet seat, turning around and just sitting there on the lid.

'I'm not going to make a fool of myself,' he told himself. 'I'll fly the whole damn trip to Cabos sitting on the can, before I'll do that....'

After seventeen minutes, Isabel was convinced it wasn't going to work. Her every thought was of him, and the moisture in her shorts was threatening to make itself obvious. She had to get away from him...put distance between the two of them, or she was going to embarrass herself badly....in front of the whole damn senior class.

She unbucked her seatbelt and used her purse to cover the front of her shorts ...just in case..as she left the aisle seat...being careful to not even give him a glance that might further arouse her, and proceeded toward the back of the aircraft.

'I'm not going to make a fool of myself,' she told herself. 'I'll fly the whole damn trip to Cabos sitting on the can, before I'll do that....'

The first restroom she came to said 'unoccupied', and she quickly entered, looking back down the aisle as she did so to see if anyone had noticed anything.

As the door closed behind her, she tripped over the feet in front of the toilet seat...falling forward.

When the restroom door opened, Alex was surprised...remembering only then that he'd forgotten to lock it. As he looked up and saw her he froze...unable to even warn her before his feet tripped her and she came falling toward him.

There was a moment...just a short one, when he might have been able to catch her...arrest her fall before they collided, but the thought of actually putting his hands on her chest to hold her back...his brain locked up...he couldn't do it.

As Isabel fell forward she looked up...seeing the curved ceiling of the restroom coming toward her. As she followed it down she saw Alex...sitting there...and her cerebrum seemed to freeze...distracting her only briefly..but long enough.

Alex found himself pinned in place, the wall against the back of his head...one breast on either side. His midbrain went wild.

As she bumped her head, she tried to sit down, succeeding mainly in straddling his lap...one leg on either side. As her body felt the fullness in the shorts he was wearing her midbrain went wild.

One day ago

The airstrip was a small one, and using it involved some risk. It had been carved out of the terrain of the Baja desert as a refueling station for syndicate aircraft enroute from their base near Bogata to their dropoff points north of the border. It ended at the base of the hill requiring takeoffs to be made in one direction and landings to be made in another, regardless of the hot wind that blew through the desert..at least for most planes.

There was one small aircraft based there…an ancient Piper cub, that was used to check the area for intruders in the evening before the drug-laden planes would land… the only plane the syndicate had actually based there. And that little Piper cub…despite it’s weak 65 horsepower engine, could take off in either direction.

Roberto Velez would have preferred to fly in one of the syndicate jets, rather than the older turboprop, but the high wings and wing mounted engines of the old Mitsubishi MU-2 were more suited to the dirt and gravel airfield in Baja where he was going to personally instruct the personnel there on his needs.

The aircraft itself the syndicate…little more than he and Manuel back then…had obtained from a competitor…after his death. Roberto had no personal dislike for the man, and he had certain qualities Roberto had even found admirable. He was industrious and innovative, they had even offered him a job with the syndicate…but ultimately he’d proved stupid.

He had refused their offer…tried to continue to compete. Even after they’d sent him two very strong messages..the abduction and rape of his young daughter…the car-bomb that had killed his wife…, still the man had refused to join them or leave the business. After his death, they had folded his organization into theirs…and the aircraft had been part of that. They still employed his daughter…Roberto was almost sure, in one of their brothels along the border.

The brothels themselves were of only marginal economic importance to the syndicate, but the influence they bought was considerable. They made a small but steady profit from the efforts of the children they addicted to cocaine like the daughter of the man…how many years had it been…could it have been six? The girl must be sixteen by now…how quickly time passes.

No, the real purpose of the brothels was to use the young girls to buy influence with those men…and some women…who used them. Even for the Norte’ Americano officials along the border, a discretely delivered videotape of their night spent with a thirteen year old girl or boy could often buy their cooperation when giving them money or even drugs would fail.

There were only the five men that normally worked at the refueling station, but that would be enough. The job was simple…and it wasn’t as if the local Federales would cause them any trouble, Roberto certainly paid them enough. But although simple, the job was very important and he wanted to instruct the men personally for the freedom of his brother depended upon it.

As his pilot landed on the bumpy desert runway, Robert was already thinking of the message he would send to the US government.

Isabel started to push back away from him…but the feel of him against her..the smell of his hair…the softness of his cheek against her breast…they triggered something deep within her mind…memories first of twelve years of solitude…loneliness…broken by only those lovely interludes with him. Two thousand times they had held each other in those dreams…and somehow he had claimed her soul in these last six years. She couldn’t pretend his face was unwelcome against her breast…it wasn’t.

She cupped his head gently with her left hand, pulling her tank top and bra down with her right…exposing her breast fully to his face…his mouth…his tongue. She breathed slowly and deeply at first, but as his lips found her nipple... suckled her, as his tongue rasped wetly across her areola, ... she found her breaths coming faster…faster.

The shock of her closeness at first overwhelmed Alex…then the smell of her closeness. He was surprised at first, that it didn’t seem more unnatural..but it didn’t. Even when she did something his mind would have never believed would happen…even when she pulled her top down, turned to offer her breast to him….even then it felt…right. He nuzzled her breast hungrily, feeling the passion grow inside him as the wetness of his tongue evoked soft guttural moans from Isabel.

One year previously

The Overseas Advisory Council is a small government agency that puts out reports to US government agencies such as the state department concerning threats to US Foreign Service and other personnel working or living in other countries. The annual Mexico report contained the following statements:

• Kidnappings
  
  Kidnapping for ransom is an established criminal activity in Mexico. Most incidents go unreported to police. Unofficial estimates of kidnapping levels vary wildly, from 600 to 3,000 per year nationwide. In most cases, the ransom is paid and victim set free. The usual victim practice is not to notify police authorities, as the popular belief is that the police may be involved in the crime or certainly are unable to resolve the situation.
  
  Express kidnappings are a common type of abduction and are based on the 24-hour industrywide withdrawal limit placed on ATM cards. The victim is generally held for 24 to ­48 hours and is forced to withdraw funds from a series of ATMs. Official Americans have not suffered this type of crime in over a year, but, anecdotally, most Mexican employees of the embassy either have been victimized themselves or personally know a victim. The term "express kidnapping" is also still applied to the kidnapping of random victims held for brief periods where only small ransom amounts are demanded. A typical scenario may last for several hours and be settled for the peso-equivalent of a few thousand dollars.

• Drug Violence
  
  Mexico is well known for its illegal drug trade and the violence and corruption the industry fosters. Mexico is the primary route for bringing illegal drugs into the United States. Drug-related violence in Mexico City is for the most part confined to those involved in the drug trade. Along Mexico's northern border with the U.S., the violence is far greater, and has injured and killed innocent bystanders, but is for the most part confined to those involved in the drug trade. Mexican security forces and police have been ineffective in maintaining security in these cities along the U.S.-Mexican border. Many have been corrupted and are working for the drug cartels as enforcers, body guards, and mules.

• Police Response
  
  Police corruption and police involvement in criminal activity is both legendary and true in Mexico. Consequently, citizens are often indifferent to police authority, adding to the sense of lawlessness in Mexico City. The general perception is that the majority of crime victims do not report crimes against them due to fear of reprisals by the police, the belief that police are corrupt, or the feeling that nothing would come from such reports. Mexico City police are widely considered to be underpaid, poorly trained and corrupt. From senior police in league with narcotraffickers and/or organized crime elements down to the routine bribes paid daily by motorists, Mexican police enjoy little respect from the general population. Reporting crime is an archaic, exhausting process in Mexico, and is widely perceived to be a waste of time except for the most serious of crimes or where a police report is required for insurance purposes.

‘Oh God, this is wonderful…’ she thought, giving up on any pretense of trying to control herself…of trying to deny what she knew she wanted. A lifetime of denial was put aside in an instant as she made her decision.

She pushed him back slowly, regretting even the few seconds she was separated from him as she peeled her tank top and bra off in one fluid motion. She brought him to her breast for long seconds, savoring his closeness..before again pushing him away…pulling his T-shirt over his head in the close confines of the small cabin. Beside her the mirror started to haze over as the humidity rose with their passion.

Alex had never known such beauty…such wonder. She belonged to him…he could tell. Somehow in those hundreds of dances, their bodies had each claimed the other as their own. They’d touched thousands of times, and this beauty was the natural extension of that process. It seemed so right…but yet..as he felt her hand slide down his sides…grapple for the buckle of his belt…the awe of what was about to happen was starting to overwhelm him.