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JUAN FRANCISCO BLANCO
working, Tital could see. Within seconds the Highway Patrol
caravan had successfully passed the jackknifed eighteen-wheeler
and all the stopped traffic.
“I’ve never seen traffic clear a path that way in all the time
I’ve been driving,” came an officer’s voice over the radio.
“I told you this was an ultra top-secret Mission. Get with the
program!” Officer A.J. Parker radioed to the other police officers.
“I still need the highway kept clear, we’re coming through.”
“We’ve got the left lane clear through to the town of Grants
all the way to Mesita. That’s your turnoff point going south,”
reported an officer over the radio. Tital decided to stay up on
top of his Ford truck, once he realized the power of his staff
might be needed again. It was easier being up here able to
control traffic than to wait for a problem to occur. With the last
time check with Jonathan, Tital was glad when he announced to
the crew it was less than ten more minutes to Los Lunas.
“Start slowing down, we’re coming into our stop,” Officer
Billy Bob radioed. “I can see the place from here; it’s just off the
highway. There’s their sign, Southwest Livestock and Auction.
There’s dozens of horse trailers in the parking lot, must be a lot
of people inside. It looks like all the corrals are full of horses and
burros.”
“Turn the lights and sirens off. No need to advertise we’re
here,” Tital yelled out as he still sat on top of his truck’s cab.
“Pull around to the back of the place, along that alley to the
east.” Tital floated himself back to the ground once his truck was
parked. “Ek Chuah, you see that back gate, set the bridge portal
to open on the north side of the gate. We will start funneling
everything to you there.”