Read Online Good Intentions (Samogon 1) by Eric Gilliland - Free Book Online
Authors: Eric Gilliland
Ads: Link
bootleggers.”
Again, Rochelle was not aware of what she was saying. Months to make thousands of gallons? Bootleggers? Mikhail could rule out Luke Gentry as her “friend.” Gentry could easily make thousands of gallons in no time, and you wouldn’t refer to him as a bootlegger. Maybe it was the farmhand.
“Okay, for now, you get me the fruit brandy in your car.” Mikhail handed her $800. “Have your friend get me a schedule of how much he can produce at one time, and how often he can make it. Then you have him outline how much of it he can transport and how far he is willing to take it.”
“I can do that later in the week when he comes back into town,” Rochelle said, again not paying attention to what she was saying. “I’ll call you Friday.”
Mikhail knew now that all he had to do was drive out to Rochelle’s farm today, tomorrow and the next day to see if the farmhand was there. If he wasn’t there, then it had to be him. If he was there, back to figuring out who her friend was.
-9-
Saltillo, Mexico
It wasn’t yet ten in the morning and the heat was already unbearable. Her ghillie suit was becoming quite uncomfortable under the heat of the morning sun—not to mention from all the sweat and dirt from the night before. Gnats and flies were starting to buzz around her face, irritating her, but DEA Agent Kelly Reed had to remain still and hidden in the sun-burnt grass.
The ambitious Reed was no upstart. DEA plucked her straight out of the Army Ranger’s 75th Regiment where she was a second lieutenant in intelligence and counter-intelligence. She spoke fluent Spanish and Portuguese. She made her name in painstaking hours of operations, sweating in the field with no complaining, except when higher authorities would bind her hands for political agendas. What impressed the federal agency and made them realize she was their next prodigy for the war on drugs was her success on joint-task-force operations with the military’s SOCOM and DEA for trans-Atlantic intervention of South American cartels shipping cocaine into the ports of Portugal and southern Spain.
Reed had been given a small team to work in conjunction with larger operations in Mexico and Central America. Being the maverick she was, her team was soon working independently with their eyes on the Ochoa cartel. In just a matter of three months she had established an entire network of human assets in and around Matamoros and Monterrey, and up through Brownsville, Texas—which was still an easy border crossing since the post-9/11 security enhancements. She even had assets in Port Arthur near the Louisiana border, where the Ochoas would occasionally smuggle drugs and guns on oil tankers traveling up the channel from the Gulf of Mexico.
Reports had been coming in at the last minute indicating that Raul Ochoa’s captains would be meeting at a hacienda outside of Saltillo this morning. There wasn’t time to put a plan together and assemble a team to capture Raul Ochoa. It was, however, a chance to get these guys on tape, score mucho points with her superiors, and maybe add a few more big fish to their catch list.
Raul’s oldest brother and right-hand man, Manuel Ochoa, would be heading the meeting. Manuel was very good at managing the cartel for his brother and overseeing counter-intelligence. He had an outstanding arrest warrant for the kidnapping of two DEA agents from ten years ago. Both agents were presumed dead after so long of time. Somehow, Manuel always managed to avoid being arrested in America. California, Arizona, Texas—they all failed to grab him. And by the time DEA learned he was stateside, the sonofabitch had already slipped back home to Mexico.
Reed wanted to get some last-minute intel on the Ochoas before she had to fly into Dallas-Ft. Worth. Earlier intel suggested that Manuel would be traveling with the Ochoa family when they were going to help Raul’s youngest son move to Ohio State University. Her team was planning
Again, Rochelle was not aware of what she was saying. Months to make thousands of gallons? Bootleggers? Mikhail could rule out Luke Gentry as her “friend.” Gentry could easily make thousands of gallons in no time, and you wouldn’t refer to him as a bootlegger. Maybe it was the farmhand.
“Okay, for now, you get me the fruit brandy in your car.” Mikhail handed her $800. “Have your friend get me a schedule of how much he can produce at one time, and how often he can make it. Then you have him outline how much of it he can transport and how far he is willing to take it.”
“I can do that later in the week when he comes back into town,” Rochelle said, again not paying attention to what she was saying. “I’ll call you Friday.”
Mikhail knew now that all he had to do was drive out to Rochelle’s farm today, tomorrow and the next day to see if the farmhand was there. If he wasn’t there, then it had to be him. If he was there, back to figuring out who her friend was.
-9-
Saltillo, Mexico
It wasn’t yet ten in the morning and the heat was already unbearable. Her ghillie suit was becoming quite uncomfortable under the heat of the morning sun—not to mention from all the sweat and dirt from the night before. Gnats and flies were starting to buzz around her face, irritating her, but DEA Agent Kelly Reed had to remain still and hidden in the sun-burnt grass.
The ambitious Reed was no upstart. DEA plucked her straight out of the Army Ranger’s 75th Regiment where she was a second lieutenant in intelligence and counter-intelligence. She spoke fluent Spanish and Portuguese. She made her name in painstaking hours of operations, sweating in the field with no complaining, except when higher authorities would bind her hands for political agendas. What impressed the federal agency and made them realize she was their next prodigy for the war on drugs was her success on joint-task-force operations with the military’s SOCOM and DEA for trans-Atlantic intervention of South American cartels shipping cocaine into the ports of Portugal and southern Spain.
Reed had been given a small team to work in conjunction with larger operations in Mexico and Central America. Being the maverick she was, her team was soon working independently with their eyes on the Ochoa cartel. In just a matter of three months she had established an entire network of human assets in and around Matamoros and Monterrey, and up through Brownsville, Texas—which was still an easy border crossing since the post-9/11 security enhancements. She even had assets in Port Arthur near the Louisiana border, where the Ochoas would occasionally smuggle drugs and guns on oil tankers traveling up the channel from the Gulf of Mexico.
Reports had been coming in at the last minute indicating that Raul Ochoa’s captains would be meeting at a hacienda outside of Saltillo this morning. There wasn’t time to put a plan together and assemble a team to capture Raul Ochoa. It was, however, a chance to get these guys on tape, score mucho points with her superiors, and maybe add a few more big fish to their catch list.
Raul’s oldest brother and right-hand man, Manuel Ochoa, would be heading the meeting. Manuel was very good at managing the cartel for his brother and overseeing counter-intelligence. He had an outstanding arrest warrant for the kidnapping of two DEA agents from ten years ago. Both agents were presumed dead after so long of time. Somehow, Manuel always managed to avoid being arrested in America. California, Arizona, Texas—they all failed to grab him. And by the time DEA learned he was stateside, the sonofabitch had already slipped back home to Mexico.
Reed wanted to get some last-minute intel on the Ochoas before she had to fly into Dallas-Ft. Worth. Earlier intel suggested that Manuel would be traveling with the Ochoa family when they were going to help Raul’s youngest son move to Ohio State University. Her team was planning
Similar Books
