The dust devil was moving towards us in the predawn darkness. Navajo held a flashlight, one of those long black ones, like cops use. This devil was not a mirage, it blinked its lights one, two, three times. A large bus-like vehicle emerged from the cloud, it was painted black with hooded headlights. Navajo answered the signal with three blinks of his own.
This was a transfer, our mule would deliver us to a distributor who did the training. These girls had never been in bed with a man. The Interpol training videos had given me a good idea of what to expect. My life as a covert agent living in deep cover was about to begin.
This wasn’t a bus, it was a large RV with mirror tinted windows, the kind you could look out but not in.
It slowed and moved towards us with caution, the driver wore sunglasses in spite of the predawn darkness.
He stopped a safe distance away ready to escape if this was a sting.
Navajo handed the shotgun to the Mexican and walked to the driver side window, the glass slid back and words were exchanged.
He moved back to the pneumatic door, it hissed open as he approached, this was business, the transaction would be completed in privacy and Navajo would be on his way back to Mexico and another consignment.