Patriot: An Alex Hawke Novel by Ted Bell

Author:Ted Bell [Bell, Ted]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Crime, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Literary, United States, Thrillers & Suspense, Spies & Politics, Espionage, Suspense, Thriller, Literary Fiction, Thrillers
Amazon: B00QQN844Y
Publisher: William Morrow
Published: 2015-09-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 40

Miami

Stokely Jones Jr. had the top down on the GTO crossing MacArthur Causeway. Not so much for the blue sparks zinging off the wave tops to either side, or the salt air and the South Florida sunshine, as for the throaty exhaust note on his precious metallic black raspberry 1965 Pontiac GTO.

If this wasn’t music to beat the blues, he didn’t know what was. He downshifted to third, whipping back the shiny 8-ball atop the chromed Hurst shifter and double-clutching, just to hear the street-legal deep burble and pop of the heavily modified bored and stroked V-8.

“Sweet,” Sharkey said, dark eyes straight ahead. “And street legal!”

“Ain’t it just, brother?” Stoke said, looking over at him and smiling his trademark megawatt white smile at the little guy. Not that Luis Gonzales-Gonzales, a.k.a., the Sharkman, was really all that little. Besides, he was a tough guy, wiry, but wires of woven steel. But, still, when you personally tip the scales at three-hundred-plus pounds and stand over six foot seven like Stoke did, everybody seems little.

Sharkey, a one-armed Cubano, formerly a fishing guide down in the Keys, was Stokely’s sole employee over at his small office across the water in Coral Gables. Tactics International, founded and funded by Stoke’s best friend in the world, the British espionage cat named Alex Hawke, was a cover operation. They pretended to be helpful to companies planning to shift operations overseas, mostly to Latin America. But what they really did was travel to the four corners looking for bad guys and playing whoop-ass m’lady all day.

Once located, Stoke’s mission was to blow their shit to hell and do it completely off the radar. His number one client, and the bane of his existence, was his partner. He was a CIA field officer, name of Harry Brock. Harry, who caught a lot of shit from Stoke for growing up in a gated golf community in Southern California, was one of those guys who was absolutely convinced he was the toughest and funniest white man alive. The fact that he was neither never seemed to occur to him. Still, if you’re a small operation, pretty much running on a shoestring, the U.S. government and the CIA are pretty good clients to have on your roster.

But, hell, save that stuff for Monday. Here it was Friday evening and they’d had a tough week at Logistics. Some enterprising young Colombians had set up a meth factory to hell and gone out in the Everglades. Los Hermanos, they called themselves, the brothers. They were hooked up with MS13, baddest of all the Latin drug gangs in the country. Pretty bad bunch of gators, Stoke had warned his man Sharkey while they were suiting up in their ass-kicking gear.

Miami Dade PD, another VIP client, had hired Tactics to go out there at night and do their dirty work for them. Go in there in the wee hours aboard two airboats with mounted .50-cals and shut those boys right down. What the local

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