Chris stared at the water's standing carefully. It was silent. His heart was pounding and his eyes wet. He was breathing heavily. Chris stood taking a step forward into the water. His trousers and boots soaked.

"Kathy!", he yelled.

His head darted and his eyes were staring at everything. There was nothing. Just the continuous shouting of other officers down along the Rio Grande.

"Kathy!", he cried again this time in more of a panic. His voice cracked as he cried out trying to project his voice.

"Klein!", called Rogers.

"Kathy!", yelled Chris going farther into the water.

"Hey!", called Rogers as Chris was suddenly already chest deep.

"Kathy!", yelled Chris ignoring Rogers. He wasn't in the right mindset to be listening. Chris was shivering he had goose bumps on his arms and he kept yelling and calling. But there was no response other than other officers shouting the same thing in the distance down along the border. There was a boat parked a ways down.

But they had no intention of moving after that fire fight. It was too dangerous. But even with the large light traversing over the water and glimpsing the other side. Nothing was found.

"Kathy--!", "Stop it!", yelled Rogers grabbing Chris.

"Get off me!", yelled Chris thrashing and shoved Rogers away.

Rogers didn't like the response he got. He understood but he snagged Chris again pulling him with three large overwhelming tugs out. Chris slapped his hand away.

"Stop it! Get off of me!", yelled Chris angrily.

"Shut up!", yelled Rogers.

Both men were rallied up now. Fists clenched. Rogers pointed a finger at him pissed off.

"I'm just as pissed as you are about what happened! But you are not going over there after that fucking gun war we just had!", yelled Rogers.

"She was dragged over there! And heck knows what is happening! I'm not going to let her-!"

"I know what happened!", yelled Rogers cutting Chris off.

"I know what happened okay!", Rogers repeated angrily.

He turned frustrated and angry. He was infuriated. His hand went up to his hip and the other scratched his beard as he looked down at the ground. Chris turned staring out over the water. He swallowed. He wanted to go. He wanted to go. But.....Rogers was right.

Chris couldn't go after that gun fight. There was no telling how many there were. There was no telling what they had. But there was no doubt that the weapons these people did have were military grade. Which meant this wasn't some little gang. This was a cartel branch. Chris swallowed.

'Please, please, please.....come back, come back', he thought just staring out and waiting.

Both Rogers and Chris were at a stand still. They had no idea what to do. The closest form of help was likely only several minutes away. Chris and Rogers had only been seven minutes away when the whole radio commotion happened.

And still....still when Rogers had cut it down to four by going eighty miles an hour down that dirt stoney road. Still it wasn't enough. It pissed them both off that they had narrowly missed them. If Rogers had gone ninety or even one hundred maybe then! Maybe then they would have made it.

But it wasn't Rogers fault. There was no way he could've controlled the car at that speed on this terrain. Heck both were beyond lucky to have made it at eighty miles an hour.

Yet it wasn't enough.

"What do we do?", asked Chris quietly.

"We fuck'in figure out how the heck this happened", said Rogers.

"I'll get the chief", said Rogers, "Come on, you know swimming isn't going to help her", snapped Rogers already knowing what Chris was thinking.

"You're willing to just walk away from what happened!? Every second counts!", yelled Chris.

"I know damn it! I know!", yelled Rogers angered.

He clenched his fists, "Hell I know!", hissed Rogers.

"How would you know!? You clearly are doing what is irrational!", yelled Chris.

"As irrational as this seems, it's the most rational thing to do! Believe me! I want to jump in there and swim on over and find Klein as much as you! But I've been through this! My high school friend was kidnapped in Afghanistan! But this is how we do this shit here! In Afghanistan hell we had to plan and politicians argued while my....while my....while he had to get beaten and tortured! Now shut up and let's get shit done!", yelled Rogers.

Chris's jaw tightened. He swallowed, his throat dry.

"Come on, let's nail this bastard before I change my mind and go swim with you", muttered Rogers.

He hated this. He hated waiting. But he had no choice other than to wait. For now he could start examining the scene and gathering information. Chris hated this too.

Yet if he went over there, he'd either drown trying or get shot trying, and being dead wouldn't do any good. If anything it would make matters much worse.