CODE NAME: The FOX

Hal Bradley

Description

Making things right was drug-lord-turned-contractor/minister Harold Brandon's new purpose. But he soon finds out that changing sides comes at a steep price.

Harold's Harley roars across asphalt and dirt toward a meeting with DOJ agents and a few informants.

It's been eight years since he decided to do the right thing and take on the cartel he once served, and five since he became one of the Department of Justice's most prized undercover operatives.

While he's good at what he does, Harold still teeters between love and hate for his job – for each assignment draws him closer to the life he now despises.

And yet, even when every mission feels like his last, Harold can't bring himself to turn his back on his double life. May it be for adventure or simply for retaliation, he doesn't quite know.

What he is sure of, however, is that he has a yearning to make things right.

But, as soon as Harold starts a new mission, sinister forces connive against him and seek to teach him a lesson.

How they were going to go about it, however, remains to be seen.

Find out for yourself in "Operation Tucson Cartel: Harold Brandon's War Against the Cartels," the first installment to the bestselling "Code Name: The Fox" series by prolific author Dr. Hal Bradley, DD!

If you're looking for a roller coaster of blood, betrayal, and vengeance, then get ready to meet your next favorite book!

Sujets

• True Crime
• Organized Crime

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 12 mai 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456639242
• Langue: English

Extrait

CODE NAME: “ The FOX ”
 
Book #1
 
 
Operation: “ Tucson Cartel”
 
 
A Harold Brandon, “ The FOX ” series
 
An action/adventure series novel by
Dr. Hal Bradley DD
 
Former smuggler, Retired DOJ Contractor, US Army Veteran, Pastor, & multiple near-death survivor. Author of: Crisis Victory, A Fox in the Lion ’ s D en & Surviving a Double L ife
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-3923-5 (paperback)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-3924-2 (ebook)
 
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
R ecognizing Victor and Lisa and Brian Mojica. For almost forty years I ’ ve been privileged and honored to be as close a family member as one can become.
The love of friendship is the greatest form of love God gives us, for we are not born into it; We grow into it, through a period of experiences shared together as we go through the decades of life in the knowing of one another.
To Victor: You are the best friend, the best man, I have ever known, and I thank God every day for you.
My Son, Alexander: I love you more than any other person on this earth, and I always will. Thanks for always having my back. Dad.
Shelly: For bringing love back into my life, as God had designed man and woman to be for one another.
I thank all of you for inspiring me to write …
DEDICATION
To the headless bodies in the ditches. To the acid bath queens turned into liquid while still alive and screaming. To the kidnapped victims ’ being tortured, trafficked, buried in the Sonoran Desert, or shoved in a 55-gallon drum to forever travel an endless journey. to the mutilated bodies burned and cut up hanging from the overpasses … and let us not forget their grieving families, who will never get their answers …
 
JUSTICE IS COMING,
so help me GOD!
Pastor Harold Brandon DD,
DOJ Contractor
“The Fox”
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE: “ON THE ROAD AGAIN”
CHAPTER TWO: THE TEAM
CHAPTER THREE: TENT REVIVAL PICAYUNE, MISSISSIPPI
CHAPTER FOUR: THE EXCHANGE, CHANDLER, ARIZONA
CHAPTER FIVE: BACK IN THE LION’s DEN
CHAPTER SIX: BACK IN THE BADLAND
CHAPTER SEVEN: “CANYON FALLS,” N.E. OF GRANITE FALLS, WA
CHAPTER EIGHT: THE CALL FROM SONORA, MEXICO
Epilogue: Vicente Guerro, Durango, Mexico
 
PROLOGUE
Everett Washington, Summer of 2002… Bedroll and backpack are loaded on the back of my Heritage Softail as I’m gearing up to head southeast to a Tent Revival meeting, I’ve been invited to back in Picayune, Missouri. The phone rings. D**n, the number’s blocked…. “Yeah, who’s this?”... “It’s Special Agent John Saxton, Harold.
ATF picked up a call from Enrique Puentes’s cell… He’s got an underboss leaving Sonora and he’s Tucson bound”. “Roger that John… I’ll be there”.
Looks like I’ve got a bump in the road already and haven’t even pulled out of the driveway…. Back in the lion’s den…
CHAPTER ONE: “ON THE ROAD AGAIN”
Everett, Washington, 4:30 AM. “ Should be through Portland by ten…” mumbling to myself. Throttled up, pipes chugging the familiar sound only a Harley Davidson makes, and the vibration of my sled feels natural and hungry to eat up the pavement that lies ahead of me. I jump off 41st street and get on I-5. The cool breeze starts the all too familiar resistance that tells me I ’ m alive. I love it!
My thoughts are on my mission now. No phones ringing to break up my thought chain, and only the cars on the freeway I’m breezing by keep me company for the journey ahead of me. I figure I can make it to the Red Lion Motor Inn in Redding California by nightfall. Damn, ten years earlier I could have made it all the way to Sacramento. Such are the limitations that accompany the age I’m now living at.
I was hoping to retire a couple years ago but each time the phone rings I don’t know how to say “ No ” to the world I owe so much too. It’s been eight years now since the day I walked in to forever end my career in smuggling and distributing weed, then later, cocaine. It’s been about five years since I came out of Leavenworth Federal Prison, thanks to a couple of Feds who brought me back before the ninth circuit Judge who sentenced me to eight years originally. They got the Judge to release me early so I could become operational as a contractor for the DOJ.
Countless missions, in several countries south of our borders and still alive to tell the tale and blessed by the God I serve to have been alongside the countless agents I’ve worked with in harm’s way.
Well, I’m through Portland and gassing up just outside of Salem Oregon when I remember a familiar stop site I used to pull in at when I’d be running money south to the bosses I answered too. Yep, still there, a Mexican food truck right alongside the gas station I need to pay a visit too. The smell of gasoline from the pump and carnitas from the “gut truck” bring back memories of days gone by.
A quarter to ten. I should make Redding by seven or eight tonight, a perfect time to get rested well and back on the road to the next leg of the journey. But I need to make a short stop in San Jose’ first. Then on to HI way ten which takes me in the direction of Arizona.
Bikes running good, the Percocet’s kicking in keeping my pain level tolerable, weather holding steady and comfortable, a great day for a ride.
My next gas stop in central Oregon prompts me to check my messages. DEA agent John Saxton has instructed me to touch bases once I cross into Arizona so my team awaiting me can guide me to the “meet site”, more commonly known as a staging area, to meet my team and receive further instruction.
San José, California
Tooling down interstate five when I see a familiar sign. It’s interstate five-o-five cutting over to my friend Victor’s house in San Jose’. Next jump-off is on interstate eighty taking me to downtown San Jose’s freeway seventeen exiting on Camden Avenue…. And to their home.
Victor hears the thunder of my bike and is already standing in his driveway when I pull in. “Hey Harold, what brings you to California?” “Same old story brother, got a call” .
We ’re sitting out back in his patio area reminiscing about earlier times when the phone goes off, again a blocked number. “This’ s Harold. ” “Hey dude, it’s Mack, heard about this thing you’re working on. Giving you a heads up that I’ll be representing customs on this meet, so I’ll see you there” . “Sounds good brother, glad you’re on board” .
Mack and I have serious history. Back in “ 93 ” when I walked in, he was the agent I was officially assigned to representing US Customs. Over the course of several years, we jumped off on a lot of missions together and a bond of sorts formed between us. Without question, the best agent I ever worked with. I also knew John Saxton almost from the beginning. In the DEA John was my principal “ handler ” and was always traveling abroad with Mack and me. These were great men to have covering your “six” and always giving me the freedoms necessary to accomplish the work set before us. Great guys, both heroes.
“So, Victor, do you remember meeting Enrique and Reuben back in “ 94 ” when we were opening the nightclub in Mazatlá n? ” (Victor) “Yeah, I do” . “Well Enrique has Reuben heading stateside for a meet with their associates in Tucson Arizona; sounds serious. ATF did an intercept on a CI’s phone in Tucson and a voice ident picked up Enrique” .
“Be careful Harold, you know how unglued Enrique gets. Gotta be serious if Reubens’ brought on board” . (Harold) “yeah…. Yeah… I get it” , “ I ’ll be rolling out of here in the morning. got another cerveza?”
We spent the rest of the night talking about conquests and failures as old friends do. The fire logs in the pit are turning to an ashen grey, and the beer bottles line the rocks along the pits edge. Time to call it a night.
It’s still dark out but there is a thin line of orange forming on the mountains to the east . 5:30 a.m. a perfect time to burn rubber and get some miles in before it heats up. Hi-way 101 south, to Hi-way 152 West, which takes me back to I-5 and close to Bakersfield, then down the road to Hi-way 10 which takes me in to Phoenix Arizona, My staging site.
The mission… the mission, all that’s on my mind. In the next ten hours I’ll know what kind of firestorm I just dropped into.
CHAPTER TWO: THE TEAM
As I cross the border from California, I pull over to get gas and a bottled water. It’s early evening and still hotter than hell. At least here I can take my helmet off and catch a nice breeze to Phoenix. Love the Arizona air and the fragrances emanating from the desert floor on each side of the Hi-way. The mountains herald sculpted monoliths stretching several hundred feet about the deck. The evening sun lights them up in an eerie light of glowing reds and oranges with darkness in the shadows of their shapes. Magnificent.
Cruising past Avondale and coming up on Tolleson when I see a familiar face pulling up alongside of me in a UC Car. It’s Mack and John! They signal for me to follow so I slide in behind them as we enter the city of Phoenix.
They lead me to a place called the “ Barrio Caf é’” right downtown Phoenix and escort me around to the back of the restaurant to park. Mack runs up and lifts me off my feet as John’s laughing at the scene as it unfolds in front of him. I take notice of several individuals by the bar’s backdoor seating area so after handshakes and comments we drift in their direction and grab a seat under an umbrellaed table. John speaks; “Hey fellas, this is Harold” .
“Sergeant William Borden, squad leader, nice to finally meet you. Heard a lot of crazy things about you. Let me introduce you to the team you’ll be working with” . “This is Curt, squad sniper; Greg & Norman, surveillance and backup; Ellis, our CI’s controller, and Phil, ou