Unfinished business in Old and New Mexico.

Unfinished business in Old and New Mexico.

The ramblings of Drew.

Chapter one; The message.

As all good adventures begin we have our hero and their trusted sidekick. I was most definitely the sidekick following blindly the hero trusting he knew what he was doing. It all began shortly after I had returned from New York. My neighbor had gone above and beyond while I was gone. This guy did everything I asked him to do as well as hang that light fixture I had been putting off installing! Only reasonable thing to do was have him over for dinner. So here we were, having enjoyed steaks from the grill, sipping scotch on my back porch when he brought up a strange email he had received that afternoon from a company associate he had worked with.

He explained how after our previous dealings with the “company” I was the only one he knew who could help with this sudden “company” business. He continued that the email he received was from one of the operators who had worked the same operation as his pilot friend. He asked if I would like to see it and I did, so we went inside and I fired up the puter. He pulled up his email and shared with me the message. It read, “Hey Boy scout. If you want to avoid being a company scapegoat, call me.”. With the signature of Red 2 was a phone number. I took advantage of this to show off my geek cred by asking who Red 2 was other than Wedge Antilles, one of the few survivors of the battle of Yavin. My neighbor replies; “A real jackass.”. He continued with how this guy who had been a crop duster in Colorado joined up with Air America for as he put it; “A steady paycheck and a quick few bucks. He picked up Red 2 because he needed to be repeatedly reminded to “Cut the chatter.”. I had to rib my friend so I said; “Boy scout? Really!”. My neighbor explained how he had been a little “by the book” when he first started out with the “company” also when it came to the equipment he had worked with his attention to detail was accused of bordering on OCD. I found it amusing that my neighbor, this engaging older gentleman that had led a far more interesting life than I had, had been known as “Boy Scout'' by the folks he had worked with.

I asked him if he had called the number and if not, suggested that would be a good place to start. My neighbor agreed. He put the phone on speaker and dialed the number. Three rings before being answered with; “Hey Boy scout.” My neighbor, clearly a bit rattled by all this, simply said; “You have reason to believe the company has something on me?”. This invoked laughter from the other end that was followed by; “ As if they need anything more than being royally pissed at you. Which, by the way, they are Bud. You created quite the shit storm when you found Space cadet.” My neighbor, I guessed by his defeated expression, had an idea where this was going. He asked; “So what do you suggest?”. The response was; “Meet me ASAP where I tell you. I will send you where, This is not something we can talk about on the phone.” At that the call ended with the other end hanging up. My neighbor’s email was still up and a few moments later he had a new message. All it contained was directions from El Paso to a cantina near Chihuahua Mexico. My neighbor reminded me of a funny video I had shared with him and asked if I remembered it. I said I did to which he says; “Heeyyy Charlie, wanna go on an adventure?” Only answer was; “Sure, as long as I do not leave a kidney at candy mountain.” We both laughed, albeit nervously. My neighbor asked me how soon I thought we could be there. Thinking about it for a moment, I suggested we take a couple days to prepare and leave on the third day from today. So the response he sent told Red 2 that we would be there on the evening of the third day from tonight.

Next morning we headed into town to pick up a few things for the trip and swing by the post office so they could put a stop on our mail while we were gone. My neighbor dropped me off at my place and told me he had things to do at home and would be in touch. I spent the next evening and part of the next day getting the camper ready. This involved first cleaning it out, after the New York trip it smelled like an indigent family had been living in it. Appears I missed some laundry and a couple food wrappers and that was causing the funk. With that corrected I began packing the van making sure I had at least twenty gallons of potable water with us. Also cleaned the cooler I would pack with snacks later. I called my neighbor and asked him what time he wanted me to pick him up. When he said 5:00 AM I groaned. His response was laughter and; “Suck it up you poor nocturnal creature.”. I had enough beef spread left so I made sandwiches for the trip. With my expanded culinary talents I had picked up a food processor. I found this gadget lets me make a fair facsimile to my mother’s beef spread. All it is, is ends of roast beef chopped up in the food processor with a little mayo, pickle relish and onion. Pardon my getting a little distracted there. The sandwiches would be first in the cooler in the morning to be joined by fruit snacks, cookies and a couple different kinds of bottled beverages. That was how I spent the rest of the day. Went to bed early since I was getting up at four. Awakened by the alarm and to quote Dolly Parton, “I stumbled to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of ambition.”. I had set everything up the night before so all that there was to do was merely to pack the cooler and get it in the camper. Then double check I had everything. It was little before five when I pulled up in front of my neighbors. He was leaving extra food and water for the feral cat that comes by. He refers to it as; “The quadrupedal self propelled rodent elimination system of the felis variety.”. I simply call it; “The stray cat.”. Once he had his stuff in the camper and stored he climbed in and we were off. Cue Willy Nelson, cause I was “On the road again.”.

Not quite 2 hours later we were in El Paso and with little complaint from my neighbor, stopping for breakfast. He had figured this would be the case so he had not had breakfast either. We hit a little diner near the border as much for the food as for the facilities. With breakfast and bathroom needs out of the way, it was time to “feed” the camper. I found a station whose brand I trusted and filled the camper. We crossed the border with no problems. From here it was a simple matter of getting to Mexico Highway 45 and heading south. Once through Ciudad Juarez, it was mostly desert with a few small towns. About three hours later we came to the little town of Sueco. We stopped to stretch our legs. We had stopped at Grupo Carvel Gasolinera and were sitting there, each of us munching on a sandwich, minding our own business when we were approached by a Policía Federal Preventiva officer, closest equivalent in America would be a state police or highway patrol officer. My neighbor greeted him in Spanish which surprised the officer while also making him a bit more cautious. My neighbor had a quiet conversation with the officer I did not hear most of. Did not matter anyway since I only know enough Spanish to get a meal or get my face slapped. The officer made a phone call. When he had hung up he was most cordial to my neighbor and wished him a good day and the officer hastily left. I asked him what that was all about. My neighbor explained how “Gringos” are considered criminals who are guilty until proven innocent here. This far south, able to speak Spanish and driving a camper, they think we are smuggling drugs, people or guns. “So how did you fix it?”. I asked. “Simple, I had him call the consulate, verify a code word and that makes us U.S. diplomats on official business.” He told me. Looking back on it, that was quite the handy “get out of jail free card”. A little over two hours later we were in Chihuahua. My neighbor suggested a detour and since it was early afternoon, why not. I followed his directions and parking when he told me to. We had arrived at the Metropolitan Cathedral Church of the Holy Cross, Our Lady of Regla, and St Francis of Assisi, or La Iglesia Catedral Metropolitana de la Santa Cruz, Nuestra Señora de Regla y San Francisco de Asis. My neighbor shared with me how It is considered perhaps the finest example of colonial architecture in northern Mexico and it was built between 1725-1792. He told me as long as we were here it was worth the stop as he did not think I had been here before. I had not and thanked him for bringing me here. We did not go in the cathedral, only strolled around The Plaza De Armas. I was amazed at the incredible beauty of it all. We spent about an hour enjoying the sights around the cathedral. We agreed we better get to the cantina and find Red 2. We found the cantina about twenty minutes from the cathedral. I parked and we went in. What my neighbor was asking the bartender I was not sure, all I caught was something about a; “Gringo loco.”. I watched my neighbor give the bartender some cash, get an envelope in return then we were leaving. Back at the camper my neighbor opened the letter upon which he muttered; “that sly son of bitch.”. My neighbor gave me directions to Mexico Highway 16 and we headed out of town. About 40 minutes out of Chihuahua we turned off the highway onto a farm road. My neighbor explained this had been a “safe house” where there was an airstrip. Here pilots could refuel without any nosey customs agents or land in case of an emergency. The gate was open so we headed up to the house. Red 2 was waiting for us. As I got out and came around the camper he asked me; "Let me guess, he took you to the cathedral?”. I nodded. As he turned to go into the house I heard him laugh while saying; “Same old Boy Scout!”.

Chapter Two; Getting down to business.

As we came into the house, Red 2 told us his housekeeper, an older local woman, would show us to our rooms where we could freshen up before dinner. Directed more at my neighbor he added; “I seem to remember you have been here before, mind keeping your sidekick from getting lost?”. He said with a chuckle as he walked away. My neighbor muttered under his breath; “God what an asshole.”. I smirked and left it alone. We each had our own room, my neighbor informed me the bathroom was down the hall. I had brought my bag in with me so I took a quick shower leaving my dirty clothes draped over a chair in the room. About an hour later, the housekeeper came to collect us saying; ”La cena está lista.”. My neighbor told her; “Gracias” I looked at my neighbor who informed me; “Appears dinner is ready.” So we followed the housekeeper to the dining room.

Already seated Red 2 waved us to sit down. Pitchers of ice water with sliced lime were on the table. Our host informed us the water was safe as it came from a well on site and had been through the home's reverse osmosis system. I helped myself to the water. After we had all been served chilled cerveza tecate and hot sopa de albóndigas with plenty of warm fresh tortillas de maiz. I thought the food in New Mexico was amazing, this was on a whole other level. When I commented on the food Red 2 informed us that he had kept on most of the original staff. Through the years some had left for various reasons and so there was some new staff. The “company” had mostly hired older local women as cooks/housekeepers, as much for their skills as their ability to be trusted. This was why the locals referred to this place as Rancho de las abuelas or “Ranch of grandmothers' “. As far as the ranch itself other than growing everything the household needed, the local farmers that tended the fields were free to grow whatever they wanted. After the soup, frijoles refritos, arroz, and chili verde con cerdo were brought out and we helped ourselves. The refried beans were incredible, the rice was perfect and the green chili pork was simply amazing. My neighbor however was less than impressed, asking Red 2; “Do the ladies know any other recipes?”. Red 2 replied with; ``What can I say, we grow chilis, tomatillos and they raise a lot of pork around here.``. My neighbor grunted and went back to eating.

I took the opportunity to point out that the movie “Red 2” came from was released in the mid/late seventies and asked if that was when Red 2 joined the “company”. Our host chuckled at that and replied; “No, I started out at the end of Air America in Thailand, not quite a year and we were done there.” My neighbor pointed out he was not involved with any of that. Red 2 continued that at that time he was a naïve hayseed kid from Colorado who tended to talk a little too much so he was known at that time as “motormouth”. Red 2 went on how he had gone from flying Piper Pawnees spraying crops in Colorado which was feast or famine since it was seasonal work to flying Pilatus Porters in Thailand for a more steady paycheck. After coming back to America he had kept busy with the “company” which provided him occasional jobs. Those jobs filled in the gaps when not spraying crops. This let him have a fairly comfortable life. I saw Red 2 become a little more serious then say; “Then that fucking movie came out.” Turns out what had happened was when he had signed on for this Central American operation in the late seventies his reputation preceded him because some of the folks he had worked with in Thailand were involved as well. So all it took was being greeted with; “Cut the chatter Red 2.” A few times and he went from “Motormouth” to “Red 2”. By this time dinner had been cleared and we were served sopapilla drizzled with honey. Also brought out were fresh glasses and a couple bottles of Tequila. My neighbor took one look at the tequila and said; “Oh joy, fucking cactus juice.”. To which Red 2 responded with; Terribly sorry we do not have any of that oak briquet flavored lighter fluid you like.”. Now that everyone had eaten and while we dawdled over dessert, my neighbor asked; “So what the hell is this all about that brought us all the way down here?”.

Red 2 replied; “Long story short, the company is cleaning up any evidence of the Central America operation and looks to blame you for the aircraft lost.”. My neighbor bristled at this angrily asking; “So just how in the hell do they plan on doing that?”. Red 2 explained why they could not do that with Space cadet’s plane as they were under the impression he had found it and would have evidence of the fault that had brought it down. With his aircraft it had gone down under mysterious circumstances and if the “company” found it first their plan was to blame my neighbor’s surveillance equipment installation for the loss. That plane or what was left of it, is lying out in the Mexican desert waiting to be recovered. My neighbor was dumbfounded by this saying; “Not a goddamned thing wrong with the equipment or how it was installed.”. Red 2 replied with; “You and I both know that, so calm down.”. Red 2 went on with; “Thing is, the company is not a group who will accept that it was whatever forces at play in the Zona del Silencio that brought my plane down.”. “I had heard of this, the Zone of silence where most modern electronics do not work.” I said. “Yeah, that place.”. Red 2 replied. To make his point, Red 2 called over a housekeeper and asked her; “Háblame de la zona de silencio.” She went pale and crossed herself saying; ``Es un lugar de maldad, Dios nos proteja.”. It was clear that any mention of this area had really spooked her to the point she scurried from the room. My neighbor asked for details of the crash as it had happened after he had left the operation.

Red 2 began with how he was coming back north with cargo and all he wanted was cold beer and a hot shower. Red 2 had started off leaving Coban Guatemala early that morning with an uneventful flight to Santiago de Querétaro, Querétaro, Mexico where he refueled and had lunch. From there he was headed to this safe house to refuel and spend the night. After the loss of “Space cadet” the company did not want their pilots flying after dark or flying an excessive amount of hours. Red 2 became rather somber and said; “Space Cadet warned us, warned all of us to stay away from that area.”. He went on how Space Cadet had collected local legends and first hand accounts of all kinds of general weirdness in and around there. “Did I listen? Oh hell no.” Red 2 went on “Would have only added 30/40 minutes to the flight and I would not have shown up here in a truck a couple days later.”. Red 2 related how he was only a couple/three hours out watching the sun getting ready to settle on the Sierra Madre’s off to the west when he decided to take the direct route instead of skirting around the zone. He had made it most of the way through when his plane went dead, as he put it; “Like a switch had been thrown, one minute everything was fine, next nothing, engines out, no electrical at all.”. What really freaked him out was instruments that should not have been affected were. As Red 2 tells it; “Watching your magnetic compass start lazily rotating when just a moment before it was fine or the artificial horizon just floating all over is incredibly sobering.”. My neighbor asked Red 2 what shape the plane was in when this happened. Red 2's response was; “Excellent, you know how those aircraft were treated, here was a Beechcraft Baron only a couple hundred hours from her last major inspection and the engines coming up on 700 hours since their last overhaul.”. My neighbor said; “Yeah I can see why the company would not believe some real X files shit like that.” We all sat back for a moment, processing what we had heard. My neighbor spoke up first with; “So what is the plan?”. Red 2 said; “Plan is simple, we beat the company to the plane, I know where it is and from what I heard all their high tech toys are not working so they are having a hard time finding it.”. “When do we go?”. My neighbor asked. “In the morning.” Red 2 replied, tuning to me he asked; “Mind bringing your camper?”. “Not at all.”. I told him. Red 2 said to my neighbor; “Looks like you found a good sidekick.”. We chose to ignore that. At this point it was getting late and the decision was made to call it a night.

The next morning we were awakened by the housekeeper with; “El desayuno de buenos días estará listo en breve.”. My clothes from the day before had been washed and were hanging on the back of the door. I was shocked and surprised by this. We came out to the dining room where we were greeted with a breakfast of chilaquiles, refritos, huevos fritos and plátanos fritos. Also on the table was a carafe of strong hot coffee. This was a glimpse into a whole other culture and I relished it. My neighbor however took one look and said; “Glad to see the tortillas from last night are still not going to waste, let me guess you grow plantains here as well?” Red 2 just smiled at that. For those who are not familiar with chilaquiles, that is pieces of corn tortilla fried till crispy then covered with a red chili sauce. These were served topped with shredded roast pork. My guess is in Mexican culture there is no wrong time of day for refried beans, rather akin to grits in the American south. This was my first time trying fried plantains. I have to admit, I like them. I had seen them in the store before and never gave them a second thought. I had no idea what you did with them. My neighbor’s opinion of breakfast was merely; “Ahhh I see the Guatemalans are at work this morning.”. I learned later that the Guatemalans are who makes the fried plantains. Over breakfast Red 2 brought out a map and showed us where we were going. Red 2 told us it would take about six to six and half hours to get to the wreck. Easy part was getting to El Socorro, from there we would leave the highway. Red 2 told me he would show me where to leave the camper. From there we would take the truck out to the wreck. Depending on how long it took getting to and how long spent at the crash site would determine if we needed to spend the night. Red 2 asked my neighbor if he had brought the gear to read the recorders and he informed Red 2 that he had. Red 2’s truck had been packed since he knew we were coming so it was just a matter of getting on the road after breakfast. My neighbor and I made sure we had everything we had brought in with us and we were ready to go. On our way through Chihuahua we stopped and filled both vehicles with Red 2 putting it on the “company” card. He explained that he had been led to believe he had bought the house and property here in Mexico when in reality he was the long term caretaker. When red 2 found this out he told the company he expected them to cover some of the operating costs so they provided him with this card. With both vehicles fueled it was on to El Socorro. About three hours down Mexico Highway 45 we came to Ciudad Jimenez where we switched to Mexico Highway 49D. Another hour and a half and we were coming up on El Socorro. As we were getting off the highway instead of turning towards El Socorro we turned east heading into the desert. A half hour up the road was La Flor and it’s visitor center. We parked near the visitor center and had the lunch packed for us by the house staff. They had packed us tortas de chilorio, or adobo-braised pork sandwiches. Yes they were really good. Over lunch we discussed the next step which was to leave the camper here and take Red 2’s truck to the crash site.

Chapter 3; Mysteries of Zona del Silencio

Having finished lunch we loaded up what we would need into Red 2’s truck and headed out. Red 2 told us it would be at least a couple hours to the wreck site. We went south on a dirt road for about forty minutes. From there it was goat trails and washes. Eventually we came to an alluvial plain. If you did not know what you were looking for or where you were going it would be easy to miss. From a distance what was left of the plane looked like a dark smudge on the desert. As you got close enough to make it out as something manmade you could see the carnage. From just behind the cockpit back was burned pretty much to the ground. My neighbor told Red 2 that it was a good thing the fire stopped where it did or there would have been no way of recovering any of the data from the recorders. My neighbor grabbed his gear and headed to the still fairly intact nose of the plane. He opened an access panel and plugged in what looked like an original “brick” cell phone. After a few minutes he unplugged the device and closed the access panel. When he got back to the truck he said; “Let us see if we got anything.” My neighbor proceeded to plug the device into his laptop and whistled softly after a few moments. I asked him; “That good huh?” He called Red 2 over from wandering around the wreckage and asked; “You want to know what happened?” Red 2 told him that he would, I was just as curious. My neighbor told us that Red 2’s plane had been hit with a magnetic pulse, not just any magnetic pulse this one had the signature of coming from a gamma burst. My neighbor told us that was what it looked like however he would need to examine the data more closely to be sure. I asked what the significance of a gamma burst was since I knew nothing about atomic physics. My neighbor explained that about the only way to get a gamma burst on earth was to have a helium poisoned fusion reaction. That is when an H bomb detonates to fast and creates enough helium in the reaction that it actually impedes the explosion resulting in a burst of gamma radiation and a small explosion instead of a blast measured in kilotons. Red 2 added that gamma bursts in nature only occur when a star collapses. With that bombshell of information, My neighbor pulled out an old school 35mm Nikon camera and proceeded to photograph all the surveillance equipment and the aircraft. We had what we had come for so we headed back to the camper.

On the ride back I asked Red 2 why the aircraft burned. His response was a chuckle and; “Asset denial.”. My neighbor laughed at this and said; “Translation, destroying the evidence and keeping anyone from recovering something useful.”. He said to Red 2, “Our friend here is an IT guy and has never been in or around the military so he does not speak the jargon.”. Red 2 laughed and said; “Lucky guy.”. He went on with how after the crash he had opened the gas caps and shot a couple flares from the flare gun into the wreck mostly to destroy the drugs he was carrying. Red 2 after a moment shared with us that after he had recovered anything of value from the aircraft he performed the “asset denial” action. With that done he rested waiting for it to get dark. He had three gallons of water and a couple candy bars so he knew had to get to civilization in the next day or two. Armed with his air chart of the area and a compass that was not working he followed the moon west. By morning he had reached a road, not much of a road however a road nonetheless. He checked his compass by habit forgetting it had not been working earlier, and low and behold it was working now. He dozed by the road until he heard a vehicle coming. It was a simple matter of flagging them down and offering them cash for a ride into town.

Once in El Socorro he found a phone and called the contact number. He was informed they would come get him first thing tomorrow. So flash a little more cash for a place to stay and a meal. It was around noon the next day when his ride showed up. When he got to the safe house he was informed that; “No plane no job.”. Next day he hitched a ride back to the states with another pilot that had stopped for fuel. Red 2 heard nothing from the company after that. The fact Iran Contra went down shortly after that explains a great deal as to why that operation abruptly ended.

Red 2 asked if we wanted to know how he ended with the safe house. We did, so he told us how he picked up the safe house when through the grapevine he heard the “company” was looking at unloading a few assets. This was around the late 1999 and early 2000 time frame. Disgusted with how things were going in America he made enquiries into picking up the ranch. A deal was made and he was buying a ranch in Mexico. He moved there permanently after 9/11. Red 2 looked at my neighbor and said: “Can you believe they let that happen?” My neighbor’s reply was; “That was absolutely disgusting all the how's and whys behind that.” I knew better than to pry so I kept my mouth shut and we rode in silence after that.

When we got back to the camper, Red 2 stopped long enough for us to grab our gear before telling us he was going to head back to the ranch and we could follow if we wanted. We declined since we had food and water with us and we planned on spending the night and heading home in the morning. With a; “Suit yourselves.” He was gone. Fortunately for my neighbor and I, I kept a few cans of what not in the camper in case of an emergency. Dinner was canned chili on Fritos, it could have used some shredded cheese and minced onion. Oh well guess that is why they call it roughing it. After dinner we enjoyed the evening munching on cookies and drinking bottled tea. Neither of us said much, not much to say and we were both still processing everything that happened over the last few days. We both turned in, kinda early for me and a little late for my neighbor.

The next morning we were awakened by a knock on the window of the camper. It was a stern looking young lady with a badge. So we both got up and headed out to see what the fuss was about. She I did not recognize, her partner however I did. It was my old friend Agent Grunt! Agent Grunt looked at the two of us and all he said was; “Oh great, look who we have here, Philo and Clyde.” I bristled a little at the Clyde crack, thinking to myself how I may be a sidekick but I am better than an orangutan! Agent Grunt said to my neighbor; “Way to tell us where you are, having that cop call the consulate. I had a hunch you would be looking for this one, so we have been keeping tabs on you.”. My neighbor upon seeing who it was merely snorted and walked over to what vegetation there was and promptly started taking a very noisy piss. When he was done he sauntered back over making a show of adjusting his trousers. Sooo I take it you two know each other?”. I asked my neighbor. “You could say that.”. My neighbor replied. He explained how “College Boy” here was a brand new agent back in the day and why he went from diplomatic parties in Washington to living out of a suitcase traveling the western US supervising the intelligence gathering aspect of the Central America operation. He went on with how he was not alone, many of the seasoned agents at that time went from “valued assets” to “unable to adapt to the new dynamic”. My neighbor asked Agent Grunt; “So who is the femme fatale with you? She looks a little young to be your squeeze.” This was replied to with; “Same old pain in the ass. Is it Tourette's or something akin to it why you are like this?”. Agent Grunt continued; “At any rate, she is you, only able to follow orders and better looking.”. My neighbor looked at her and asked; “Takže ste lingvisti?” She replied with; “Áno som. Moja poľština je však lepšia ako slovenčina.”. I looked at Agent Grunt with a “See what you have started” look. With this I excused myself to find a bush and relieve myself. My neighbor, who was just getting warmed up, switched it up by asking her; “אני מניח שפות המזרח התיכון מבוקשות יותר משפות מזרח אירופה, מה שמעניק. הגיאופוליטי הנוכחי לאקלים. Her answer was; “ أنا أفهم العبرية لكنني أتحدث العربية.”. “Ah, gotcha, in my case it is I understand some Arabic however I speak Hebrew.”. My neighbor told her. He went on to ask her how many years at college she had spent learning languages and she told him that she had a knack for learning languages and she had been an Army translator. He told her to avoid speaking formally, she should spend time visiting the country and learn how the locals speak if she wanted to make it as more than a translator. She asked him if that was what he did. He laughed and told her he learned Slovakian because that was what his father had screamed at his mother, who by the way screamed back in Hungarian. He had learned Hebrew from helping his friend and neighbor with his Hebrew homework and Spanish from the Puerto Rican bodega. Like her he had a knack for languages. I thought to myself how I needed to hear some of his stories from his childhood! Agent Grunt interrupted with: “If you two are quite finished, shall we get down to the business that brought us here to begin with?”. My neighbor looked at Agent Grunt and asked; “Let me guess, you are starting with where the transponder cutout and when you get near that area your equipment goes haywire?”. This was met with a grunt. My neighbor asked to see a map and he would show them where the wreckage is. When asked about whether or not he had been to the crash, he said he had not, only been told where it was. I could tell Agent Grunt did not believe him, however accepted his answer. Bottom line was my neighbor was here so it went without saying that he knew what the “company” was up to and had taken steps to cover his butt. The female agent produced a map of the area and my neighbor marked the route we had taken to the crash site. My neighbor told me later that in spite of a fairly accurate route to the wreck it still took them almost a month to find it and when they did the wreckage had to be trucked out because they kept having problems with the helicopters when they got near the crash site. With the map in hand the agents simply got in their vehicle, a stereotypical black Tahoe this time, and left without a word. My neighbor and I looked at each other, shrugged and started stowing everything for the trip home. After some instant coffee, fruit snacks and cookies we hit the road. Fuel and lunch in Chihuahua then dinner in El Paso, finally home. I dropped my neighbor off at his place, went home and passed out in the camper as I was too tired to go in and shower and do any of the going to bed rituals.

Epilogue; Many unanswered questions.

My neighbor and I spent most of the next day recuperating from the trip. That evening I had the energy to clean out the camper and put everything away. This time I double checked I had all the trash and laundry. The following day I took my neighbor out to breakfast when we headed into town to go shopping and pick up our mail. I took to him to IHOP remembering his reaction to chilaquiles. Over breakfast my neighbor told me about a tech who had been an analyst reviewing collected surveillance data. He was now almost a doctor of astrophysics. My neighbor planned on asking him if he would look at the data collected. Also he was going to send the film off to a guy he trusted to develop it. This guy was who my neighbor got his film from as this guy had a cache of Kodachrome bought from the military when they went digital. Over the next week not much happened. Around the same time my neighbor received word back from the former tech and got the developed pictures in the mail. Word from the former tech was that what was recorded should not have been able to be recorded on earth. Yes the data showed classic gamma burst energy signature with identifiable Hawking radiation undertones. It was the Hawking radiation that was the strange part. Hawking radiation is thermal radiation that is theorized to be released outside a black hole's event horizon because of relativistic quantum effects. It is named after the physicist Stephen Hawking, who developed a theoretical argument for its existence in 1974. You are not supposed to be able to record it on earth. The pictures were almost as strange. They showed classic radiation fogging of the film. This indicated that the wreckage was to some degree radioactive. Both the guy who developed the film and the former tech wanted to know what the hell my neighbor had been up to. The guy who developed the film wanted to know what my neighbor was doing taking pictures of radioactive plane crashes. The former tech wanted to know how an aircraft traveling at 6000 feet had recorded Hawking radiation. The former tech and my neighbor put a report of their findings together. Copies of the photos were included with the report. Their report was sent to the “company” who acknowledged receiving it. Only further word about any of this was a rumor floating around the grapevine that the recovered wreckage had to be treated as; “Low level radioactive waste.” The former tech was able to use “sanitized” information from this in his doctorate thesis. He hypothesized that a variation of Hawking radiation could cause time dilations through its relativistic quantum effects. In the end the best anyone could come up with was there must be something about that part of Mexico, whether it be the geology or some unique chemical property in the groundwater that attracts and focuses galactic gamma radiation. On the one hand this confirmed a recordable phenomena in the Zona de silencio. A phenomenon that makes absolutely no sense at all.

Fin.