During the course of the morning briefings at the White House, the sun began to rise over a seldom used airstrip well south of Chihuahua near the small Mexican town of Valle de Rosario. Continuing south from the airspace just inside Mexico when pursuit by the two American fighter jets had been called off, the pilots of the two Cessna Citation Latitude jets brought their total of sixteen passengers in for a safe late afternoon landing. Even while flying in low terrain hugging altitude to help avoid detection at nearly their maximum speed, the fuel range of the aircraft at close to three thousand two hundred miles had not nearly been met. Following a meal of non-perishable rations that had been stowed within the jets a few days earlier in Aspen, and a good night’s sleep for the weary souls, the collective could now anticipate their next rendezvous. If all continued to go according to plan, then the second MIL MI-8 HIP-C helicopter that had been mentioned as available for purchase to Samuel by Mr. Flores in May would soon pick them up.

In conjunction with the one that had been brought into Texas at the border crossing of Laredo, and subsequently used for the training and carrying out of the Colorado aspects of the overall attack plan, Samuel had purchased what he considered to be her sister ship. At that time in May, Samuel made a simple business arrangement with the man who helped make that transaction a possibility. The organization would pay for the simultaneous refurbishing of the second HIP-C helicopter, but the work would be done in Monterrey. Then with the bird remaining in Mexico, the Flores family and their business associates could have free use of it when needed in exchange for a few favors. Those favors would be required in mid-November, and although not privy to the events leading up to said act, Mr. Flores would obtain outright ownership of the helicopter after those favors were successfully carried out. The terms were very clear, and the two business men agreed on how their goals should be accomplished. All Mr. Flores needed to do was assure the safety of Samuel Tillman’s comrades by retrieving them from a desolate airstrip far to the west, and then transport them all back to Monterrey where they would be given shelter from any and all Mexican authoritative agencies. Then after perhaps a week, the eighteen individuals would be safely smuggled over the border into Texas by associates of Mr. Flores without detection.

Now that the morning hour of seven o’clock central time had come, they all prepared themselves for the pending extraction from the desolate airstrip. Mr. Capra and Mr. Fisk listened carefully for distant rotors, and with their well-trained ears, each picked up the distinct sound before others in the group could hear it. While moving forward a few paces and positioning an outstretched hand in front of his face to shield the rising sun, Mr. Fisk then saw the helicopter. Speaking loudly he stated, “There it is now. I can see the black silhouette of the fuselage just to the left of that small rise.”

Seemingly turning in unison, the remainder of the group mimicked his hand position while scanning the eastern horizon. A moment later as the figure grew larger in the distance, one of them replied, “Alright, I see it now.”

Flying low to the ground, the helicopter arrived within the next few minutes, and soon after that, the sixteen men waited to climb aboard the HIP-C while watching the two women who had piloted them to their current location perform one final act of brave treachery. With the cabin doors left open for an expedient and desperate escape, each of the Cessna’s were pushed to full throttle while the pilots stood on the breaks with all their might. Then with the yoke locked into a fixed straight forward position, the first pilot in line released the breaks and scrambled for the exit. With a light load of no passengers or cargo, the jet had already reached a speed of more than twenty miles per hour before she could jump down without hesitation from the open doorway. When hitting the ground she tumbled and rolled several times before coming to a stop, but suffered only a few scrapes and bruises in the process. Then the second pilot followed suit in her plane, and the two women came to their knees while watching the jets roar down the compacted dirt runway.

Given enough forward velocity even a barn door can fly, but controlled flight is another issue. The two Cessna Citations were no exception, and they both rose slightly above the brush while screaming out over the Mexican outback. Then each had an intensely bright flash within, and quickly nosed gently downward to belly land. The Fugas bomb within each had ignited, and smoke began to billow wildly from the melting wreckage. A moment later, after the two women had climbed aboard the HIP-C into tight quarters with the sixteen men, the helicopter lifted off and did a quick flyby to ensure that the destruction of any potentially damaging evidence was under way. Then while flying at no higher than two hundred feet toward the rising eastern sun, and with a need for only one refueling stop along the way, the collective reached the cradle of protection provided by the Flores family and the city of Monterrey within hours.