Emancipation Expedition

By Ron Lee Jones

Where can you hide when the bad guys with guns are also with the FBI? While out on a hunting trip, Tom Stanton witnesses a murder. The murderers are corrupt FBI agents working in a secret combination with a drug cartel, and the victim is an employee of the Border Patrol. Tom is discovered and defends himself in a gun battle and escapes. Tom and his wife know he will never receive a fair trial, if he even lives that long, and they decide their only hope is to escape from the control of the federal government by disappearing into America’s heartland. They become separated and each must make their own way to a predetermined meeting place in a distant state. Their love for each other, their trust in God, and their determination to survive keeps them going. Along the way, they must rely on sharp wits, quick tactics, and help from God and others, but will that be enough to escape from the corrupt government officials and members of the cartel who seek revenge? Emancipation Expedition appeals to both men and women and contains no sex or swearing. If you love your freedom and your family and want a good, clean thriller, this book is for you. The sequel is already in process.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ron Lee Jones
• Release date: Mar 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311971883

Ron Lee Jones

Ron Lee Jones is an Arizona native. He grew up in Mesa, a suburb of Phoenix, in a loving home as the youngest of eight children. He learned at an early age to work hard and to love the outdoors, hunting, and fishing. When he was young, his family worked for years on a ranch near Rico, Colorado, and he spent many hours riding ponies and horses among the pines and aspens of the Colorado Rockies. Ron has worked on other ranches in Utah and Wyoming and worked one season as a hunting guide. Ranching, horses, guns, hunting, and the outdoors are in his blood. Ron believes the United States Constitution was divinely inspired and that adherence to the Constitution will provide the greatest degree of liberty for Americans.

Book preview

Emancipation Expedition

Ron Lee Jones

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 Ron Lee Jones

Cover design created by and used under license from www.selfpubbookcovers.com/LadyLight

All rights reserved. No portion of this work or its cover may be reproduced in print or electronically, other than brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews, without written permission of the author.

This is purely a work of fiction. Descriptions of locations may not be completely accurate or may be completely fictional.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Chapter 1 – Execution

Chapter 2 – Perspiration

Chapter 3 – Preparation

Chapter 4 – Confrontation

Chapter 5 – Destruction

Chapter 6 – Expedition

Chapter 7 – Complication

Chapter 8 – Frustration

Chapter 9 – Salvation

Chapter 10 – Insinuation

Chapter 11 – Observation

Chapter 12 – Extrication

Chapter 13 – Perambulation

Chapter 14 – Reservation

Chapter 15 – Resurrection

Chapter 16 – Determination

Chapter 17 – Protection

Chapter 18 – Seduction

Chapter 19 – Education

Chapter 20 – Transformation

Chapter 21 – Desperation

Chapter 22 – Destination

Chapter 23 – Jubilation

Chapter 24 – Alteration

Chapter 25 – Emancipation

Chapter 26 – Satisfaction

Chapter 27 – Revelation

Chapter 28 – Termination

Coming Next From Ron Lee Jones

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Contact the Author

Other Books Coming

e·man·ci·pa·tion

noun

the process of becoming free from someone else’s restraint, control, or power

ex·pe·di·tion

noun

a journey, especially one taken by a group of people for a specific purpose

Chapter 1 – Execution

Fourth Saturday of April, Mica Mountain, Arizona

Hwuuaaaaaa . . . Hwuuaaaaaa . . . Hwuuaaaaaa. The sound was eerie in the morning stillness.

Tom Stanton was on a shrub-covered hillside near the base of Mica Mountain in southern Arizona. The sun was just coming up and it was chilly but not cold. He was armed with his AR-15 .223 caliber semiautomatic rifle, and he was in full camouflage.

He had seen a flicker of movement out ahead of him, but he hadn’t yet pinpointed the exact location of the motion. He was using a plastic, handheld varmint call to imitate the sound of a dying cottontail rabbit. The goal was to fool a coyote or bobcat into coming close enough for Tom to get a good shot before he was detected. For the moment, however, Tom the hunter was actually the hunted.

He waited patiently. Varmint calling required a few critical skills. Among those skills were complete motionlessness and incredible patience. Sometimes he sat for five or even ten minutes, literally without moving one muscle in his body except to breathe and blink his eyes. If the predator was looking right at him, but he didn’t move and was well camouflaged, he could remain undetected.

Suddenly, right in front of Tom about forty yards away, there was a coyote. There was no better way to say it—suddenly it was there. He had not seen motion, nor had he heard a sound. It was just there. Had he looked at it before and just not seen it?

Then, as if Photoshopped into the picture, another coyote was suddenly next to the first one. One of the thrills of varmint calling was how silent and stealthy predators could be at times. One moment he was looking at a hillside covered with brush and cactus, and the next moment there was a coyote or bobcat right there in front of him. He couldn’t imagine how the predators he hunted could get so close without him seeing them walk into the picture.

The coyotes had not seen Tom, and they were trying to zero in on his position from the sounds they had been hearing. They turned to Tom’s right to start circling in order to get uphill and upwind of his location.

They went behind some low, bushy trees, and Tom turned his head as they went out of view. At the same time, he carefully but quickly lifted his AR-15 and swung the barrel toward his right, where the coyotes would come out from behind the trees. He was pretty confident they could not see him while they were on the other side of the trees, but he didn’t shift his sitting position for fear that his feet or legs would scrape on the ground or on the brush and make noise.

As the coyotes came out from behind the trees, thirty yards from where Tom first saw them, his face was pointed right at them, the AR-15 was in his hands, and the barrel was pointing toward the front and right. However, now he would have trouble throwing it to his shoulder for a shot. He’d have to figure that out in the coming minutes. As close as the coyotes were, he could still be five or ten minutes from even firing a shot.

But the situation suddenly changed. As the coyotes came out from behind the trees, they weren’t looking toward Tom as he expected they would. Instead, they stopped and looked up and to his right. Something else was up there—something significant enough for them to completely change their focus away from the dying rabbit. Tom imagined a bobcat or maybe even a mountain lion.

Because he could see they weren’t looking at him, he turned his head slowly to the right, but he made enough motion to give himself away. There, about twenty yards to his right, was a fox standing on top of a boulder. The fox had detected Tom’s motion and was staring right at him, trying to figure him out. Apparently the fox saw movement but didn’t know what he was due to the camouflage.

There was no way Tom was going to get the AR pointed at the fox, and with three hunters now after him, he couldn’t see a smooth ending to this situation. He finally decided he might as well start shooting.

He threw his AR toward his shoulder and fired six quick rounds toward the coyotes. One reason Tom liked varmint calling with the AR was because he could throw lead so much faster than with a bolt action, lever action, or pump.

When he started shooting, the coyotes turned and took off so fast that all he saw were two tails. He jumped up and ran to the little hilltop beyond where they had been just moments ago, hoping he would see them running up another hillside, but there was no sign of them. That was one more reason why varmint calling was so challenging. He knew the predators were there, but they were so smart that they could remain undetected or get away so quickly.

Tom walked back to where the coyotes were when he started shooting, but after a few minutes of searching, he saw no sign of blood or hair. He didn’t think he had hit them, but there was always the hunter’s hope.

With the animals gone and with all the noise and commotion he had made, there would be no more hunting right here for an hour or more: time for a break. By now the sun was up, and Tom sat down on a big flat rock for a snack. He would eat a little and then hike a mile or two to another location to try varmint calling again.

He had crunchy granola bars (he didn’t do chewy) and a couple of water bottles, and as he ate he thought back over the past twenty-four hours.

Friday morning as he got up and got ready to go hunting, his wife, Elena, had an uneasy feeling. She had had premonitions before and was usually right about something bad happening. One time was when her brother had been severely injured in a boating accident. Another time she made Tom suddenly slow down as they approached an intersection—and, as a result, they had narrowly missed a car that ran a red light.

This time she said she felt like something bad was going to happen on his hunting trip. Tom was going with a friend, Jerry (yes, Tom and Jerry were best buddies, unlike the cat and mouse who fought all the time), and he assured Elena that they would be extra careful. She was unhappy, but she relented. He had been planning this trip for a long time.

After breakfast on Friday, Tom had made his final preparations for his hunt, and the family prayed together, as they always did, morning and night. As they knelt, each parent held one of their children. Amanda was four and Jennie was nine months. Amanda folded her little arms and bowed her head and tried to close her eyes for a few moments.

It was Elena’s turn to lead in prayer, and because of her uneasy feeling, she prayed differently than normal. Bless Tom to be safe while he is hunting and to make wise decisions.

Elena paused for some time. Tom even looked up and opened an eye, and he saw that Elena’s brow was furrowed and her expression was intense and thoughtful. She continued, And bless us all to be safe and do what is right with whatever the coming days will bring.

Tom noticed the wise decisions and the coming days language. He appreciated her prayer and her concern. He loved her for her faithfulness and desire to do what was right. He did not take her premonition lightly, but he assured himself he would be extra careful.

As he was getting ready to head out the door, she hugged him and kissed him and wouldn’t let go. He enjoyed the extra affection, of course, but he looked into her captivating eyes and said, Thanks for letting me know; I will be extra safe. And you should too, my Ellie. I’ll see you tomorrow night, but I’ll call you before then. Besides, Jerry is going with me and we’ll be fine.

After one last hug and a long kiss, Tom left those gorgeous dark eyes and flowing black hair and climbed into his truck.

As it turned out, Jerry couldn’t go on Friday morning as planned because his three-year-old, Ricky, fell and cut his lip pretty badly. Jerry assured Tom he would catch up to him in a couple of hours after they went to an urgent care center. Tom decided not to tell Elena because he knew Jerry would be there Friday afternoon.

As it turned out, Jerry couldn’t be there on Friday after all, but he told Tom he would come early Saturday morning.

Friday evening, Tom called Elena to check in, but the call just went to voice mail. Hi, my lovely Ellie. I’m just checking in. Everything’s fine. I’ll call you tomorrow sometime. I love you.

Tom spent the night alone, sleeping in his sleeping bag next to his quad near the trailhead on the north side of Mica Mountain.

Now that it was Saturday, Tom texted Jerry between bites of granola bar. Coming?

Jerry texted back, Sorry, not going to make it. Flat tire, and Patricia isn’t feeling well.

That was enough for Tom. Without Jerry here to be with Tom, and after Elena’s premonition, Tom decided to call it quits for this trip. He would go carefully home.

Tom called Elena, but her phone went straight to voice mail. Odd. She would have been expecting him to call. He decided to try again when he got to his quad.

Instead of going back up to the Arizona National Scenic Trail, which skirts the northeast corner of Mica Mountain and would lead right to his quad, Tom went straight north. He dropped down off the hill to the flats and headed due west toward his quad. He kept the AR ready, reloaded of course, in case he came upon a coyote or fox.

As Tom walked, he thought more about the day before. As he had unloaded the quad up on San Pedro River Road on Friday, he had noticed a big black Hummer 2 sitting in the gravel parking area. The H2 had a push bar and winch on the front, and the front license plate said Zorro. There was a huge Hispanic man standing by the door of the Hummer. Tom had said hi but the man didn’t reply. Maybe he was just having a bad day.

After Tom had unloaded the quad on Friday, he rode down the hill on an extremely rough road to the area called Italian Trap. It was named for some early Italian settlers who fashioned walls or fences to guide animals into certain areas to make them easier to hunt. The tiny road coming from the parking area skirted Italian Trap on the north, on the west, and also on the south, forming a sort of box about a mile square with the east side of the box open. Tom had camped Friday night near the southeast corner of the box and had hidden his quad under a big bush so that any hikers on the National Scenic Trail would not see it.

But now on Saturday, after an unsuccessful hunt and a final decision regarding the warning from his wife, he was headed home. He wasn’t far from the quad, and he would just head carefully home and tell Elena that he was glad for her premonition, but now all was well.

Tom got to a place where the wash made its last curve around a long ridge to his left. To his right was a fairly high hill, with a rocky ridge running parallel to the wash. Just at the point where the wash and hillsides opened back up into the flat was the southeast corner of that box made by the road as it skirted Italian Trap, where his quad was.

To Tom’s great surprise, as he came around a bend in the wash, there was the black Hummer that he had seen the day before. He could see the Zorro license plate and the winch on the front of the Hummer, but he couldn’t see the driver. Tom quickly decided he didn’t want to be seen and he jumped behind a large bush. Here around the bottom of the hill near the wash the bushes were thick, which had allowed him to hide the quad on Friday.

The green grass was lush and soft, and he was able to quietly and carefully creep from bush to bush, trying to get closer to where his quad was, but not wanting to alarm the man in the Hummer. He heard voices, but couldn’t make out anything that was being said. He kept moving closer from bush to bush.

As he came around a bush, he caught a glimpse between some other bushes and noticed another black SUV. It was behind and off to the side of the Hummer. He then noticed a white and green US Border Patrol SUV slowly coming east up the wash toward the other two vehicles. Tom didn’t know what was going on, but he hoped he could quietly find out and stay out of trouble at the same time. He worked his way closer so he could hear. They were far enough from the quad that he reached it without being seen. In hindsight, Tom realized he should have worked his way the other direction and gotten clear away, but with Border Patrol nearby, he felt safe.

When the Border Patrol vehicle pulled to a stop behind the Hummer, Tom heard some exchanged greetings, some in Spanish, some in English. One voice said, in perfect English, You’re late, Eugene!

A deep voice, apparently Eugene, replied, Sorry, Norman. It took longer to sneak away than we thought.

A third voice with a strong Hispanic accent joined in, Let’s get this done. I want to get out of here pronto.

Norman added, I agree with Paulo. Let’s get this done.

A new voice asked, When is this sting gonna happen?

Norman said, Actually, Patrick, we aren’t planning a sting. We are conducting an execution. Your number’s up.

The new voice, apparently Patrick’s, replied with panic and anger, What do you mean my number’s up?

Norman said, Patrick, you let us down. You know you didn’t follow through, and a couple of our best guys are dead. What do you think Paulo paid you so much for? You didn’t cover that evidence like you were supposed to. The media got hold of it and now they are breathing down on us and could blow the lid off of this. Everyone’s still remembering Operation Fast and Furious, and now this is about to get out of hand. If it wasn’t for some great work from Robert, this project would have been history.

A different voice jumped in. Yeah, I had to cancel an Alaskan cruise with my wife because of that!

Patrick’s voice said, Hold on now. A Border Patrol agent doesn’t just ride out with his partner, and then the partner drives merrily back alone.

Robert’s voice said, We’ve already got that figured out. You get snuffed. Paulo and I beat up Eugene, and your SUV gets shot full of holes and then burned. When the smoke brings someone to see what happened, Eugene gets a nice life flight to the hospital and tells them some guys from a drug cartel caught you both and drove you here to do the job.

Paulo’s voice cut in with a laugh. See—the part about the drug cartel is true.

A new voice with a slight Hispanic accent came in now: Paulo, I’m glad you are enjoying this, and you even get to help Robert with the evidence.

Robert’s voice said, I won’t relish pounding on Eugene like Paulo will, but Eugene knows it’s nothing personal. It’s just something we have to do. Tino’s right, Paulo, you’ll have great fun with this job.

That brought a hearty laugh from all of them. Tom had heard enough. He decided to leave the quad and get as far away as he could, and he carefully and silently moved one bush further away from the group. He glanced at the path he wanted to take and started planning his retreat. His camo gloves would not hide him now, so he quietly pulled them off and squeezed them into his back pocket.

The voices started again, with Norman saying, Go right over there across the wash. We don’t want to just do it right out in the open.

Eugene said, What difference does it make, Chief? No one’s around. Paulo watched the road since yesterday. That one guy drove in, but then later drove back out, and he’s somewhere on down toward the San Pedro River. We passed his yellow quad as we were coming up the road and it was parked off to the side with him standing next to it. There’s no one else here.

Norman, apparently the Chief, said, OK. Let’s just get it done.

Patrick started pleading for his life, but apparently no one cared. Moments later a few shots rang out, and Paulo said, OK, let’s get started on Robert.

Robert said, You’ve got to shoot the truck too. We can’t do it with our guns in case they check ballistics.

Tino said, Oh yeah. Right. But while Paulo’s getting more ammo, I have to turn a bush into a baño.

Tom was already shocked due to the execution, but now to his horror, he heard the crunch of footsteps in the sand and gravel coming his way. He tried to press back into the bush without causing a disturbance, but suddenly a Hispanic man walked around the bush and flicked a cigarette into the sand. He was just as startled as Tom and jumped back and started yelling. The others couldn’t figure out what he was yelling at first, but he dashed toward the vehicles.

Tom figured the fastest way out of there was on the quad, and he had already gotten the key out. He slung the AR onto his back by its strap, right on top of his backpack. He jammed the key in the quad, fired up the motor, and took off as fast as he could, right across his rolled-up sleeping bag and pad. He could hear lots of yelling and car doors and he knew he had seconds to get out of there. He headed north because that was the quickest way to the road, but he knew there was a barbed-wire fence in his way somewhere ahead of him.

He heard shots and bullets ripping through the bushes and trees around him. He looked ahead to find the fence because he had to find a way through it without slowing down. He was also dodging bushes, hoping to make himself less of a target.

Then he heard a sound that made his blood run cold: a burst of machine gun fire. Someone either had an Uzi or they had flipped the fun button on their M-16 and gone from semiauto to full auto. Fortunately for Tom, sometimes when people shoot machine guns, they don’t really aim, they just point. This was the case at the moment, which meant the burst of bullets was just flung wildly in his direction. He didn’t think he would be so lucky the second time.

Ahead he saw the fence and quickly found a place where the top wire was down. The bottom three wires were left, and the stays on each side of it looked weak . . . he hoped. He hit the fence and the momentum of his big tires lifted the quad a little, and the weak rusty fence gave way. Just then he heard a couple of shots smack into the quad, but they must not have done much damage because he felt nothing and the quad kept going.

A short burst of machine gun fire erupted, and then he heard a crash and a lot of what he thought was swearing in Spanish. The machine gun fire stopped. In his Spanish classes, he had learned a few curse words that he never used. The ones he heard now were words he had never learned, so he assumed they were pretty bad. Whoever was holding the machine gun must have tripped over something, perhaps saving Tom’s life.

He had a good start and was out of range now, so the shots stopped. However, he heard engines revving and knew it was going to be a race to get out of there. He flew across Italian Trap, thinking of the trap he was, ironically, in. He got to the fence pretty quickly, but the fence along the north edge of the box was in better shape. He turned right and quickly looked for a way through. He thought about getting off to try to cut it with his Leatherman, but he knew that would take too much time. Barbed wire was a pretty heavy gauge wire, and Tom wasn’t sure his Leatherman could do it—and he knew it certainly couldn’t do it in the time he had.

By this time, the black Hummer, probably with Paulo and Tino inside, had gone up the far north-south road, had turned east, and was coming to where he was trying to find his way through the fence. Hummers were designed for just this type of maneuver: they had high clearance, four-wheel drive, big tires, and lots of power. However, Tom could maneuver better on the quad than Paulo and Tino could in a Hummer. Like that’s going to do any good against machine guns out on that washed-out road as I head for my truck.

Then he had another idea. Tom jammed the throttle on the quad, turned southwest and shot back across the flat toward the stock tank, just a large puddle, really, that was designed to catch rain water and hold it for cattle and other animals to drink. Tom was dodging mesquite trees and clumps of cactus and going as fast as he dared. The brush was thicker on the other side of the tank, but he hoped he could find a way through. The road skirted the tank in the three-sided square, and the southwest corner of the square was near an old corral. Not far beyond that, the wash and all the drainage from the area at Italian Trap went between the north slope of Mica Mountain and a rocky hill. The wash narrowed and Tom thought it might turn into a rocky wash with drop-offs that the Hummer wouldn’t be able to handle. Tom hadn’t really seen that area, but guessed its features by the way things looked as he had driven by.

Tom managed to find a way through the brush until he could see the fence and the corner in the road by the corral. He could also hear the Hummer, which had followed the sound of the quad and had turned around and was heading back toward the west. He also realized that Chief Norman, Robert, Eugene, and a dead Patrick were still back to his left. Norman and Robert seemed to him to be US law enforcement, probably the FBI, and maybe had more at stake than the guys from the cartel. He expected at any moment to hear shots from his left.

The brush became too thick for the quad and Tom bailed off, letting it roll into a bush. He ran flat-out through the mesquite brush, being torn by thorns and feeling the branches slap at his face and rifle and backpack. One limb raked across his face and throat and hurt like crazy, but he knew he couldn’t stop to evaluate the damage.

When he came to the barbed-wire fence, he had to slow down to climb over. He knew he couldn’t go too fast or he risked getting caught on the barbs and could be completely stopped. He did hear and feel his pants tear a little as he climbed over, but it didn’t stop him. He could see the Hummer coming south on the road not more than 150 yards away.

Tom made it over the fence and saw an open area by the corral. He was going to be in the open for a long time. Suddenly he heard a crunch, and the sound of the Hummer changed. He glanced toward the Hummer as he ran and saw that the driver had gone so fast that he had lost control, drifted off the road into some sand, and plowed into a mesquite tree. That bought Tom a little time. He hoped it would be enough!

As Tom ran the last few yards across the clearing, he heard a burst of machine gun fire. Paulo or Tino hadn’t even tried to get the Hummer back onto the road, but instead had jumped out to let the machine gun do the work. Tom dove down behind a clump of mesquite as a