San Rafael Jacked

by Tom Ellis

  SAN RAFAEL JACKED

  By Tom Ellis

  ISBN 978-1-944476-38-0

  Copyright ©2016 Tom Ellis

  Published by Loose Cannon Enterprises

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author and/or the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental, unless stated otherwise.

  Kindle Edition

  Cover image: The San Rafael Valley, Arizona

  by The Old Pueblo

  Print & Ebook design by Loose Cannon Ent.

  Dedication

  For the Ranchers of the San Rafael Valley, you are the keepers of one of God’s most beautiful creations.

  And as always

  VJRSSP

  Author's Notes and Acknowledgements

  Nothing in this book is true. It is a novel, fiction, and there is the usual disclaimer in front of the book about any resemblance to persons living or dead so on so forth. The government entities mentioned are real, their employees and those employee’s conduct is fiction. I have spelled FBI correctly, and the rest is, you guessed it, my imagination. For the reader to navigate the FBI terms used, I offer the following explanations: SAC, Special Agent in Charge, ASAC, Assistant Special Agent in Charge, HRT, Hostage Rescue Team, sometimes called Super Swat, they are the gold standard of the SWAT world. CI, Confidential Informant that is a snitch that is allowed to remain anonymous. Credentials or Creds, the name given the identification folder agents carry. Bu-car, Bureau car, an FBI agent’s assigned government vehicle. Another term, RPG, Rocket Propelled Grenade, a common third world weapon.

  The geographic locations in this story are real. If anything the descriptions of the San Rafael Valley are understated. The history of this Valley is correct. There is a sign near the forest service road gives the names of ten ranches in this valley. The three ranches in this book, the Rocking H Bar, the Double B and the CRM are fictional. They are all products of my imagination. Lochiel Arizona is real and accurately described. The closed customs house was there in 2002. I did not mention the bull walking around the dirt streets. There is plenty of livestock in this story.

  In the 1962 Movie, How The West Was Won, Debbie Reynolds sang a song titled Away. This tune uses the music of Greensleeves. One section of the lyrics, ‘I’ll build you a home in a meadow,’ came to mind the first time I laid eyes on the San Rafael Valley. There is one thing about American West you can’t miss seeing, and that it is the grandeur of it. There are many meadows in our Western States. I would like to believe the lyricist for Away once saw the San Rafael.

  I lived in southern Arizona from 2000 to 2003. I was able to explore Cochise and Santa Cruz Counties. The San Rafael Valley is off the beaten path. One has to be going there; it’s not like you drive by and see it. I found it by accident once and explored it several times from different directions. A friend of mine out for a visit rode along on one of these trips. He made a comment as we passed the Parker Canyon Ranch. ‘If you aren’t a list person when you move out here, you will be real soon.’ It’s not the kind of place you can run down to the convenience store and pick up what you forgot on the trip to town!

  I attended a ‘Spring Fling’ one windy weekend in the San Rafael. Ms. Sidney Spencer, one of the five lady ranchers in the valley hosted this event at her Lazy J 2 Ranch. This visit allowed me a first person view of a San Rafael ranch. Sidney introduced me to some guests as a writer and horseman. Her kindness for that introduction was much appreciated. My being either one is subjective. Fifteen years later I remember that visit and the beauty of the San Rafael Valley. I offer many thanks to Sidney Spencer for her review and comments on this manuscript.

  The problems on the border between the US and Mexico are valid. I have seen these with my own eyes. My penchant for roaming around the desert alone on horseback was noted by other members of the retired law enforcement community where I lived. One very pointedly reminded me to travel armed. The danger of encountering a drug smuggler was genuine.

  The basic plot of this book is an old one; some nefarious person has stolen an innocent person’s ranch. A prerequisite was the crook obtain the deed in some immoral manner. SAN RAFAEL JACKED is set in 2008-09 and has all the requirements above. Plus a few more just to make it interesting. Enjoy.

  Tom Ellis

  St Clair County, Alabama

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  Lyon Hamilton sat astride a magnificent stallion. The blue eyed honey buckskin was registered as Don Cameron of Lochiel. With a long black mane and tail of the same color, identical black stockings on each leg contrasting with its honey color and black blaze face, the horse turned heads wherever Hamilton rode it. Lochiel was named by an early settler of the San Rafael Valley, a Scotsman named Colin Cameron. Located in Santa Cruz County on the US border with Mexico in southern Arizona, Lochiel was once a port of entry into the United States. A sun-bleached customs house still remains on the dirt main street. There was likely a Cameron in Lyon Hamilton’s family tree. He lived and worked on the same ranch several generations of Hamilton’s had worked before him. Now, he maintained a small herd of cattle and trained a few horses. Stud fees from Cam, as he referred to the quarter horse, helped pay the bills and the salary of one hired hand.

  Hamilton’s sister, his only sibling, could tell you who was who in the family tree. She had daughters, while Lyon and his late wife were childless. What would become of the Rocking H Bar ranch and its registered brand were one of the things on Lyon Hamilton’s mind as he and Cam rested on a ridge overlooking the ranch headquarters and the evening visa in front of him. He enjoyed sitting up here on the horse and surveying his domain. It reminded him of an old John Wayne movie in which the Duke’s character would ride out to a hillside and sit his horse while he pondered the problems of the time. A black and white Border Collie with one blue eye named Jazz sat next to them. Jazz’s pedigree was from a championship line of herding dogs. The canine knew his business well and was extremely protective of everything in his purview. Hamilton could see the dust from a vehicle traveling south on the closest farm service road it was probably a Border Patrol agent. The never ending flow of illegals crossing into the USA wasn’t usually a problem in this valley. Cochise County to the east and the area west of the Patagonia Mountains bore the brunt of this traffic. A new drug lord south of the border was escalating violence trying to bring Tucson street gangs under his control. The San Rafael Valley, one of the least known and most beautiful places in Arizona was on its way to being trashed by the illegals heading north for entitlements the United States offered them without question. Lyon Hamilton was not pleased with the long-term prospects for his ranch and his home. A home
whose deed could be traced back to a Spanish Land Grant.

  Chapter One

  Carson Bell sat on a bar stool in the casino lounge. It was a small quiet bar where winners and losers came to unwind. Bell was on his monthly overnight trip to Tucson. Ranch business complete he’d stopped in and played blackjack for a few hours. He was up a hundred bucks when he quit. The news played on a TV screen behind the bar. America’s President was assuring the country that the border with Mexico was secure. Working on his second drink, the seventy-something rancher was far from being drunk.

  “Horse hockey!” He said to no one in particular. “Bartender either change the channel on that TV or turn it off! I can’t abide by that lying SOB any longer!”

  “Yes sir,” the barman answered and promptly used his remote to switch the TV to a sports channel.

  A man of average build wearing a black blazer and tan trousers with an open collar shirt spoke to Bell. “I can’t say I’m surprised at him saying that. It was the handout crowd that put him in that office. I guess you see your share of that border mess?”

  Bell was wearing a western cut jacket and shirt with a bolo tie. His trousers covered a pair of handmade Paul Bond Boots. His dress Stetson hat rested on his head. He looked like a rancher.

  “We don’t have trouble in the San Rafael. Or should I say trouble known to us? I have plenty of friends in Cochise County that have been dealing with wet backs and drug smugglers for years. Their property gets trashed, fences were torn down. You name it; it has happened over there. The Tohono O’Odham Nation west of Nogales has problems too. And they’ve got some top-notch trackers on that res. And they find a lot of drugs. But like Cochise County they only get a small percentage of what comes through.”

  “Why is the area you live in; the San Rafael I believe you called it free from border smuggling?”

  “The San Rafael Valley is in Santa Cruz County. The valley is high prairie grass. That sort of terrain doesn’t work well for smuggling. No washes and arroyos to hide in on your way north. The Border Patrol works the area all the time. It almost seems like they put them there so they won’t catch anybody.”

  “So your valley is pretty safe then?”

  “I suppose so. One of my southern neighbor’s is a border ranch. Lyon has cut back his operation a good bit. Just him and one hand run the place. There're several ranches down there single handed by women. Don’t think I would mess with any of them. That would be a good way to get shot.”

  “It sounds like a neat place. I’m new to this area. I don’t know my way around. Where is your valley?”

  “Take I-19 south to Nogales. Turn left toward Patagonia before you cross the border. When you get to Patagonia, turn right and go south across the mountains. You can’t miss it.”

  “You make sound like it is right down the street.”

  “Not quite.”

  The second man laughed and got up from his stool. “It’s been nice talking to you. Good luck if you’re gambling. And for the record I didn’t vote for the son of a bitch either.”

  “Thank you,” Bell said smiling and raised his drink toward the stranger.

  A few minutes later the man in the black blazer was standing in front of the casino. The parking valet raised his hand and moments later a dark SUV pulled to the curb. A dull thuggish looking forty-something man with the face of a boxer who failed to duck more often than not got out of the large vehicle and opened the rear door. Once the passenger in the black blazer got inside the truck, the thug closed the door and got back in the right front.

  “Where to boss?” The driver asked.

  “Take it home Pauli.”

  “You got it, boss.” Pauli Dumas answered as he put the SUV in gear. Dumas aka Porn Dude was a former actor in X-rated films. He was known for his exceptionally large penis and violent temper and banned from the industry after injuring several actors of both sexes. Despite poor table manners, the sexual appetite of a male lion and perpetual hard on, Porn Dude was a computer genius, a talented hacker fluent in Spanish. He typically dressed in too small sweat pants sans underwear to show off his appendage. After an incident in a nice restaurant involving his jumping up from his seat and hunching a bent over server wearing a mini skirt. The boss seldom let him come in any place with women in revealing attire.

  The guard thug, Nate Norman aka Numb Nuts was the real muscle if you wanted to call it that. His alias came from his having been kicked in the balls a disproportionate number of times and his lack of intelligence. Numb Nuts was loyal and followed the boss’s orders instantly without question. His being foolishly brave helped as well.

  As they stopped for a red light, Dumas glanced in the rear view mirror and said, “Looks like a car jacker coming our way boss.” A BMW Sedan was in front of the Suburban.

  “Run the light Porn Dude. Get us out of here.” The boss replied as he drew a pistol from a holster mounted under the rear seat. Numb Nuts was unlimbering a sawed-off shotgun. Dumas shifted the transmission into reverse and backed up enough to go around the Beemer. Dumas drove the Suburban 4X4 to the right of the BMW and turned right onto a side street. Pauli checked the review mirror as Numb Nuts and the Boss watched out the back. A young Latino male stepped up to the BMW and jerked open the driver’s door. Brandishing a pistol, he ordered, and half pulled the driver out of the car. Dumas made a left turn putting the SUV back in the direction it was heading.

  “When we get back to the house Pauli, I want you to get online and find out all there is to know about the San Rafael Valley.” The Boss said as if nothing transpired.

  “Sure thing boss, what’s up.”

  “We are going to jack something bigger than a car.”

  Ransom Carter, Special Assistant to the FBI Director, knocked on his bosses’ door frame. Carter entered when the Director looked up from his desk and nodded.

  “I have an interesting intelligence report, Sir.”

  “Have a seat and share it.”

  “A first office agent out of Phoenix was visiting Nogales Sonora Mexico on his off time last Friday night. He went into a very popular eating establishment and during his meal, the server came by and told him his check had been paid, and would he please leave. He was given a chit for a free meal because of the inconvenience. Everyone in the place got the same treatment. Our man asked what was going on, and the server said a very important person wanted the restaurant for a private meeting. Our guy asked the waiter if perhaps he could get this person’s autograph and was told, El Jefe does not give autographs.

  “Once all the customers were outside, our agent crossed the street and watched. Our man recognized W. Ashton Bradford from his academy training and observed Bradford enter the restaurant.”

  “So we have a credible report of Bradford meeting the most dangerous drug lord in Mexico. Who is our agent?”

  “Ernesto Smith.”

  “I remember that guy from his academy graduation. All his names took up a whole line on his diploma. I commented about that when I handed it to him. He gave me the biggest grin and said, ‘Si my father was a gringo.’ I almost cracked up in front of the whole room. I checked with the Assistant Director over the academy and found out Smith was in the top ten academically tough as nails and perfect marksmanship scores. He was also known for a wicked sense of humor.”

  “That would be Ernesto Roberto Xavier Collazo Smith.”

  “Sharp kid, I suppose he is a native Spanish speaker.”

  “Yes, his home is Cochise County Arizona.”

  “Where that Sheriff is on the soapbox about our borders not being secure.”

  “One and the same. That is why I brought this to your attention. Ashton Bradford meeting with El Jefe does not bode well for law enforcement in this country. The President likes to say our borders are secure. And I believe that Sheriff is right. And Ass Bradford being down there taking advantage of it is something we don’t need.

  “I checked with Homeland Security and either Bradford has a bogus passport, or he crossed the
border illegally. There is no record of his passport being used in the past ninety days to leave the country or reenter.”

  “Professional Responsibility screwed that one up period. The US Attorney would not even take their case to a grand jury. All we could do was fire that bastard. I don’t know how we hired him, to begin with.”

  “He slipped under the radar. We are our worst enemy with that sort of thing. The IRS couldn’t say he was shaking down taxpayers during audits. They were just beginning to look at him when he caught wind of the internal investigation and resigned. With him being a CPA and a law school graduate, complete with bar membership, our people probably peed on themselves to hire him.”

  “At least we fired him. Glover and company almost let him resign.”

  “Bradford has been seen in the Tucson area where he frequents casinos looking for high-end prostitutes. I suspect he is involved in human trafficking. I think we need to start an investigation on him. It is justifiable with him being in the company of El Jefe.”

  “I agree. Assign it to the Tucson Field Office.”

  “Sir, I believe we need to get a serious undercover operative involved with Bradford. Someone who can make a case against him. I think we should assign Ron Kroll the project.”

  “Kroll is another one of Professional Responsibilities screw ups. He doesn’t need to be an FBI agent, but he keeps squeaking by every time we try to fire him. Ransom you better have a good reason for even bringing that man’s name up in this office.”

  “Yes Sir, what I have in mind will allow us to get rid of Bradford and Kroll both.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “We terminate Kroll, on paper only. And send him to Bradford as himself. Ron Kroll terminated FBI agent. They will be kindred spirits. Kroll is a rogue, but he is without a doubt the best deep cover man we have. Ernesto Smith studied Kroll in the academy.”