A Matter of Lex Talionis
Send in Lt. de Avilés
by
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If it were not for his military training, Munoz would have melted into the bush and disappeared. He always kept the phone turned low. Turning the volume down before tucking it in his belt was a simple habit he had acquired. Reluctantly, after placing the butt of the AK-47 on the ground, he yanked the phone from its clip and flipped it open. It was Ramos. Jorge Ramos was beginning to worry when his call was not answered immediately by Munoz. When the connection was finally established, there was only silence. "Ruben? Are you there?" "I cannot speak now, Jorge. What do you want?" "Are you in the house? Is everything okay?" There it was again. Munoz was not an idiot. Ramos had asked if they were in the old house four times now—even before inquiring about the police activity. "Not at the moment, but I am on my way back there as we speak. Wait a minute or so, and I'll return your call from inside." Ramos relaxed, "Okay," and cut off the call. Munoz took one last look down the street. He was shocked to see armed men stealthily making their way toward Medina St. Even more surprising, the Levis and business suits he'd seen a few minutes before were gone. Each figure now sported some type of special uniform. He could still pick out those in white crime-scene jump-suits, but the others were wearing two kinds of SWAT garb. The only thing in common, the weapons they carried—shotguns and automatic weapons, and protective vests that made any chance for quick kills more difficult. With his confidence deteriorating rapidly, Munoz came close to making another, near fatal, error. Leaning even more over the chain-link fence—to sight-in the AK-47 on the advancing group . . . he was stunned when he heard the whack, whack sound of bullets smacking into a tree on his right. Munoz swung the AK toward the threat. It was a lone police officer he had seen walk by his position a few minutes earlier. He fired off a ten round burst, which flew through empty air where Jimmy Collins had been standing. Munoz pivoted fast, sending ten more toward the other approaching lawmen. In the seconds he had taken to fire at the lone gunman, the group had split into three teams of two. Smoke from the AK wafted in the heavy, humid air—unable to gain much height. When he peeked again, Munoz couldn't pick out a single figure. Zug Island Rd. appeared to have swallowed his enemies. The silence lasted but two or three seconds at most, and then loud explosions from 12 gauge shotgun blasts mixed with the distinctive sound of M-16 or AR-15 rifle fire and small arms gunfire. Munoz was on the ground before the fusillade began. He knew it would come as quickly as it did, because he would have reacted in a similar fashion. Crawling with the AK in his arms, he closed the gap fast. And, by the time the inevitable pause came—he had already slid behind the wheel of the Sentra. The key was in the ignition, while the driver waited until the next volley. This one would be much shorter, but just as deadly as bullets probed the bushy area. He was oblivious to the sound when it began, but did catch a glimpse of tree branches, leaves and strips of bark flying around in the glare of his headlights. Munoz didn't take the time to maneuver the rental car out of the thick foliage. He simply aimed the front end for the rear of the lot and stomped on the gas pedal. Jorge Ramos and Hector Gómez were three blocks away, but the unmistakable chatter of an AK-47 easily cut through the damp morning air. Ramos had already dialed the first six numbers for the phone inside the house where his henchmen were staying. As-soon-as he heard the shotgun blasts, military weapons and the pop, pop of small arms, he spoke to Gómez. "Head back to Jefferson, then make your way back to I-75, Hector." Ramos pushed the seventh number on his second cell, and started wiping down the phone with a silk handkerchief. He would wait before he tossed the burner onto freeway traffic up ahead. Just then, Ramos heard a tremendous explosion coming from somewhere behind their car. Turning in his seat, he had no trouble seeing the flames shooting high above the residential neighborhood. "Spectacular, Hector! I believe that was louder than the blast at the restaurant the other evening." "Si, creo que tienes razón, Jefe. Sorry," he added quickly in English. "You're right, boss." "That's okay, Hector . . . this time anyway. Our business in Detroit is finished, my friend Hector. Let's head south on I-75—get some breakfast on the way. I want to stop in Chihuahua Tuesday, and then to Villahermosa Thursday."
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About the Book
A violent bombing in Detroit’s Mexican community kills a number of people, while leaving many more severely injured. DPD Lt. Andre De Avilés witnesses the incident while working a lone surveillance. Known for his nightly outings… de Avilés skillfully gathers his own tips and leads. Tonight, the Intel Duty Officer and Andre has put together a lengthy surveillance package on a potential smuggling operation.
After the bomb detonates, the investigation moves a quickly as beautiful ATF supervisor, Jocelyn Otxoa, joins Andre and his squad. An ATF National Response Team (NRT) arrives the following morning. After a shaky start, Jocelyn and de Avilés are soon involved in separate criminal violations… that they must tie together. In the meantime, their personal relationship ignites with a sensual frenzy that must remain tempered and out of view of their respective offices.
Case momentum accelerates rapidly as Mexican cartels begin to snipe at each other, fighting to erase their competition. Former ETA assassins . . . in Basque Country and Quebec, try to reconstitute their renegade group. After stealing powerful Torpex explosives from World War II stockpiles in Britain, they are in the testing phase before their all-out assault on Spanish authorities. In America, the man from Quebec pressures his corrupt Federal sources—crooked government agents and supervisors, for goods and services not covered in their job descriptions.
About the Author
In this new career as an author, I have relied on my experiences as a police officer, special agent, supervisor, and manager in my chosen profession. My first three novels take place in many of the localities where I served as a law enforcement officer and special agent. Detroit was my hometown, and the city where I began my career in the profession in 1962—as a Detroit Police Officer. Nine years later, I became an Investigator with Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms. Charleston, West Virginia would be the first of thirteen assignments that required a transfer. Firearm and Explosive's crimes were rapidly surpassing moonshine violations in West Virginia, which necessitated redeployment of special agents. After passage of the Explosives Control Act, I transferred to Los Angeles California as a member of ATF's new Bomb Scene Investigation Team. Two years later, a promotion as the Resident Agent in Charge in Phoenix was my first supervisory assignment. Two years later, I transferred again as the Group Supervisor of the Los Angeles Metro squad. In Southern California—and at every other assignment—I sought to focus each squad . . . and later, those Field Divisions I headed . . . toward investigation of complex investigations. Emphasis is always best-placed on case initiations of criminal activity involving multiple violators and offenses. Case-quality, intricacies of the criminal enterprise, and significant impact on crime were predominant factors weighed before case initiation. Complicated conspiracies usually breed cooperative defendants. Armed with turned sources—conspirators flipped at various stages in those types of cases—it proved much more productive and worthwhile. Working on organized criminal groups that pose the most serious threat to society was a rewarding endeavor. Beginning in 1977 with a transfer to Washington, D.C., I eventually served as the Special Agent in Charge in New Orleans, Kansas City, Detroit (twice), Phoenix, and Los Angeles . . . where I retired in 1998. As a member of the Senior Executive Service (SES), broad exposure to other branches of government: Congress, CIA, Customs, IRS, Secret Service, U.S. Marshals, INS, Border Patrol and the Departments of Treasury, State, and Justice. Contact with these organizations proved valuable, and helped me add even closer relationships at the field level. I worked closely with Federal, state, and local representatives on joint task force efforts. These experiences have led me to a new career as a writer of detailed thrillers. After retirement in 1998, I was asked to assist ATF executives in 2001 as an Advisor/Consultant to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. The issue concerned the development of a strategy for ATF’s enforcement initiative, entitled, National Instant Criminal Background Check System (NICS). The objective of the strategy was to enable optimal application of both special agent and administrative resources. A streamlined method was developed and approved. The new procedures saved money, and permitted redeployment of special agents toward more critical investigative endeavors and priorities. 2001 to 2007, I developed a detailed method for the close examination and evaluation of all crime gun traces in Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, Utah and Wyoming. I forwarded thousands of referrals to ATF offices, and to other agencies in America and foreign countries. Those investigative leads dealt with falsified gun purchases, domestic and international trafficking in guns and narcotics, terrorism and other violent crimes. In 2010, I published my first book, Shadow Partners - A Law Enforcement Story. Then in 2011, a second novel In the Red Dragon's Shadow - Come the Jackals, went to print. A Matter of Lex Talionis – Send in de Avilés, will be available in 2012.