Across the Border - Jim Bullard, Scott Schuff

Across the Border (eBook)

Jim Bullard, Scott Schuff (Autoren)

eBook Download: EPUB

2022 | 1. Auflage
336 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-6678-2316-4 (ISBN)

'Across The Border' is a gripping and action-packed novel about America's mission to destroy the Sinaloa-Durango Cartel (SDC). Deeply relevant and filled with historically accurate insight into America's self-proclaimed War on Drugs, this must-read novel will appeal to readers of historical fiction and those with an interest in Military History. The cartel is profoundly threatening to the United States, and taking it down requires intelligence, commitment, and ferocity. Is Jason Maines, Former Navy SEAL, and CIA covert operative, up to the task? Find out in this heart-pounding story.

"e;Across The Border"e; is a gripping and action-packed novel about America's mission to destroy the Sinaloa-Durango Cartel (SDC). Deeply relevant and filled with historically accurate insight into America's self-proclaimed War on Drugs, this must-read novel will appeal to readers of historical fiction and those with an interest in Military History. The cartel is profoundly threatening to the United States, and taking it down requires intelligence, commitment, and ferocity. Is Jason Maines, Former Navy SEAL, and CIA covert operative, up to the task? Find out in this heart-pounding story. Last year alone, more than a hundred thousand Americans died from overdoses or drug-related crimes, four billion U.S. dollars were funneled into the coffers of the Sinaloa-Durango Cartel, and a hundred times more than that was spent trying to stop the tidal wave of death from crashing across the southern border. The cartel's informants everywhere in American government and law enforcement keep the SDC a step ahead of the Americans. With public outcry at a fever pitch, the American president must act decisively and has issued a classified executive order to the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA). In this story, Jason Maines, former Navy SEAL and CIA covert operative, is brought in to form a clandestine, off-the-books DEA team with a single objective: destroy the SDC. He recruits Mindy Sinclair, a brilliant FBI analyst and SDC expert along with Raul Vega, a trusted and capable cartel persecutor to form the core of his team. But Jason soon learns that honor in warfare has no place in the fight against the cartel. Instead, he must operate with the same vicious ferocity as the SDC, and do so in such a way that the cartel will destroy itself.

Chapter 1

FROM HIS PERCH ACROSS the canyon, Jason Maines watched a small group of deer slowly make their way down to the stream that meandered through this lonesome part of southern Arizona. He was dressed in camouflage, matching the desert oak he was hiding in, with camo paint on his face. He had hiked into the area and was sitting on a low hill toward the east side of the stream. He was ostensibly hunting deer, but in reality was on assignment with his current employer, the Drug Enforcement Administration’s (DEA) Special Response Team (SRT). Prior to his career in SRT, Jason was a Navy SEAL, followed by an eight-year stint with the CIA’s Clandestine Service. Twelve years of overseas fieldwork had established him as an elite operator but, like many others in his line of work, had severely strained his marriage.

Jason saw the deer’s ears perk up. As if on cue, they bolted in a dead run, back up the hill they had come down. He scanned the area below, looking for whatever had spooked them. He was camouflaged and motionless, with the breeze in his favor; he knew he had not been discovered. Perhaps it was a mountain lion since there were plenty of those in the area or even a jaguar that may have wandered up from Mexico.

The location he watched was only a half mile from the Mexican border. The landscape was thick with oak and littered with granite boulders. Below him ran a small stream, and he could faintly hear the water breaking over the rocks in the stream bed.

Jason’s binoculars slowly scanned the trees and the bottom of the stream, yet nothing moved. He watched as the sun began its final descent downward, its last warm rays soon to be replaced with a cool breeze coming down the canyon. The desert’s autumn colors were highlighted at this time of day. The sun’s last rays shimmered through the tens of thousands of needles on the Saguaro cacti that dotted these hills, illuminating them like a mini light show. The scattered oak leaves were slowly changing their colors, and the rusted blond granite boulders, laced with quartz and iron, sparkled in the late-day sun. These were the desert’s fall colors, and he loved the sight of each display he could see.

He first heard the crackling sounds of footfalls on the rocks and the distant sound of voices that grew louder as the minutes ticked by. This was not the first time he had run into illegals since this part of Arizona was an ideal transit route from Mexico. But he expected smugglers, who transport people or drugs, make money off the poorest of the poor, and bring death with the drugs they moved into America. What was odd, Jason thought, was that the voices were coming from the north and heading south, not the usual direction the illegals came from.

Soon, they came into view: two weary men stumbling along. Each man wore dark jeans, camouflage hats, and brown shirts and carried heavy packs on their backs. The sound of their boots on the rocks and the occasional snap of a dried branch grew louder as they approached.

As they headed south, adjacent to the stream bed, Jason figured they would pass within forty yards of his location. These days, all drug runners and traffickers carried cell phones, allowing them to be in contact with the scouts who guarded the hilltops around the areas where drugs or human cargo were moved. If there were border agents in the area, the scouts knew and warned the transporters, ensuring a high percentage of the drugs and the people ended up in the United States. This surveillance network had required Jason to be especially careful to avoid detection when hiking in.

When the two men reached about sixty yards upstream from Jason’s position, they stopped, took off their packs, and sat among the rocks. Lighting cigarettes, they spoke in Spanish. Jason had grown up in a well-todo home and had a Mexican nanny who taught him the language. From the age of four until his parents divorced just after his sixteenth birthday, he spoke nothing but Spanish to the nanny, so he was bilingual. During his time with the CIA, he had also learned Farsi and a passable Arabic. Knowing four languages had helped him with the Agency.

As he listened, he barely twitched his eyes. He was so close that someone with the proper background and training could pick him out. He was also glad that he didn’t smoke, since even the stench of cigarette smoke on his clothes could easily blow to them if the breeze changed.

He heard them talk about how long they thought they would be waiting until they were met by someone, no doubt coming from the opposite direction. Then the talk turned to their families awaiting them in Chiapas, down in the heart of Mexico. Eventually, conversation ceased, and it became quiet as they sat in solitude.

A light breeze blew toward him from the west, and he could smell their sweat and their cigarettes. Time seemed to freeze, each man seemingly lost in his own thoughts, and the only sounds were the quail calling from up on a hill to its mate and the soft burbling of the water in the streambed.

After what seemed an eternity, Jason heard a distant cough and footsteps coming up the stream from the south. Soon another person materialized. Jason knew this was the man meeting up with these two smugglers. As he approached his comrades with a smile, they stood excitedly, knowing they would soon be making their way out of here and on their way back home to their families in Mexico.

As this new man approached, he waved to the two men and smiled. He walked up the hillside opposite of Jason and motioned for the two men to follow. They started to pick up their packs, but their contact told them to leave them where they lay. Then, as Jason watched, the man drew a hidden weapon and put a bullet into the chest of each smiling man and into their heads to make sure they would tell no tales. The gunshots echoed in the canyon, followed by an eerie silence as the birds and the breeze quieted.

As Jason struggled to understand the reason for the murders he had just witnessed, his finger found the trigger of the rifle he was carrying as his training took over.

The killer stood on the opposite hillside at about the same elevation as Jason. Slowly, he made a complete turn, momentarily looking straight at Jason but not seeing him. He kept turning and looking as if he had a feeling that he was being watched. Jason figured, correctly, that this man was not trained in Special Forces tactics. He was just another sicario in the long line of sicarios that Mexico had produced over the past fifteen plus years. These sicarios, or hitmen, were hired by the hundreds by the cartels as they fought each other to monopolize the best smuggling routes into the US.

The sicario walked over to the backpacks, opened the first one, looked inside, and pulled out a sheet of paper. He looked at the note for what Jason felt was an eternity and then moved to the second pack where he did the same. Once satisfied, he closed both packs, hefted the first one, and angled up the hill toward where Jason was laying.

Jason tensed as the man made his ascent, not turning his head to follow him to ensure no movement caught the sicario’s eye. He knew that once beyond his peripheral vision, he could be the victim of a bullet from above if the man had detected him.

Descending to the second pack, the man passed several yards closer to Jason’s prone position and carried it back up the path he had taken with the first pack. Jason eased and shifted his gaze to watch as the man hid both packs behind a large boulder, lit a cigarette, and withdrew a handheld GPS unit to record the exact position of the packs. Soon, the man left, following the same route he had taken on his way in. As Jason watched him walk away, he noticed the sky becoming a somber pink, announcing the end of a day marked by two more deaths, courtesy of the cartel and America’s insatiable appetite for drugs. An eerie silence once again settled over the landscape.

Twenty minutes later and under cover of darkness, Jason used a red lens flashlight to find his way to the boulder where the packs were stashed. The red lens aided night vision and helped hide one’s position. He needed both if he were to avoid becoming a target in case the man doubled back in this direction.

Opening the first pack, his breath caught in his throat as he shone the light on more money than he had ever seen. He picked up pack after pack of counted bundles of hundred-dollar bills. He had once read that a million dollars in hundreds weighed about twenty-two pounds, and after hefting the pack, he figured it was a little over sixty pounds. A quick search of the second pack confirmed he was dealing with the same amount. He realized that he had over six million dollars in cash at his fingertips. He was pleased that he had uncovered evidence of a major operation, but he lamented the loss of the two Mexicans.

A distant coyote howled. The stars were out now, and, satisfied that he was alone, he replaced the red lens flashlight in his pack and extracted a more powerful white mini light that he attached to his hat. He did not intend to remove the packs; instead, he needed to prepare them for the journey ahead. After fifteen minutes of working with the backpacks and erasing his footprints, he felt his job was done for the night. The temperature was dropping with each passing minute as the mountains...

Erscheint lt. Verlag	3.1.2022
Sprache	englisch
Themenwelt	Literatur ► Lyrik / Dramatik ► Dramatik / Theater
ISBN-10	1-6678-2316-7 / 1667823167
ISBN-13	978-1-6678-2316-4 / 9781667823164

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