Miami War Zone (M.I.A. Hunter, Book 10)
Bill Crider, Stephen Mertz
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Cocaine Kill Squad!
Ex-Vietnam vet Jack Wofford was fighting a new kind of war. The battlefield was Miami. The army was the D.E.A. And the enemy was the lowest form of drug-dealing scum ever to profit from human suffering.
Now, Jack Wofford is missing. And M.I.A. hunter Mark Stone is mad as hell. Wofford saved his life back in 'Nam, and Stone is ready to take on every damn pusher and kingpin in the city to find him...
Crooked cops, dealers, mobsters -- no one is safe from the savage, avenging fury of...
Stone: M.I.A. Hunter
And rubbed his hands together. "I worked on a cattle ranch for a couple of summers, and I had to learn how to do what they call 'cutting calves.' That's a nice way of sayin' they castrated 'em. There was one guy that always brought a little brown paper sack when we did that. He saved all the calf balls and fried 'em up for supper. Mountain oysters, he called 'em." Stone listened to the performance in silence. For all he knew, it might have been the truth. "Now you bein' so old, I expect your.
Agency what it is." "Tell that to his wife," Stone said. "I know it would be a comfort to her right now." "I think the man has a point," Allbright said. "I think we all know what really happened here. After all, we were on our way here, too. It's just another action in the drug war, just another action like we've seen too many of." Rosales agreed. "I don't think Stone and his team are guilty of what went down here. This is retaliation for whatever occurred earlier tonight. But we can't allow.
Something behind him. He turned, the M-16 already throwing lead at seven hundred rounds a minute. He was firing at the place where the ground had raised up behind him, at the top of the head in the tunnel. The head shattered, the tunnel mouth slammed shut, but others began to open all over the village. The VC began to fire their weapons—French, American, whatever they had been able to "liberate" over the years. The trap had been sprung, but it was too soon. Stone and his men were safely out of.
Other animals in the swamp besides himself, and they were also survivors. Some of them had been at it for a long time. The gator suddenly disappeared without a sound, as if he had heard something. Stone strained his ears, and then he heard it too. The sound of a helicopter. Within minutes Hog was just above him, the chopper's blades stirring the water and whipping the lily pads into a frenzy. Hog dropped a line, and Stone climbed aboard. They flew back to the island and waved the all-clear.
And beard, looked like just about what he was, a good old boy who knew more about automobile engines and stock-car races than high finance. Loughlin, his hair as red as Hog's was black, looked like an aging rugby player, one who always came out of the scramble a little better off than the others. And what do I look like? Stone wondered. An old linebacker for the Dolphins who's played a down or two without his helmet? "Hey," Hog called across the aisle. "Whatcha lookin' so serious for, Sarge?.