Brig

By Roger B. Rector

He's had enough of the cartels. It was time to take action, and Brig was just the person he needed to get it done. Brig's character had been forged in the atmosphere of a small town on the Oklahoma plains and sealed by the tragic death of his sister and parents. His training prepared him to become a Navy SEAL. His experiences in Afghanistan and Iraq had earned him two Silver Stars, two Bronze Stars, and three Purple Hearts. His loyalty and leadership caused him to be asked to leave the navy. Why? This novel contains action, sprinkled with politics, drugs, religion, taxes, racism, morality, and even offers a common-sense solution for border security and immigration.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499076332

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Roger B. Rector.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4990-7634-9

                eBook         978-1-4990-7633-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/29/2014

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

677431

Contents

Foreword

Acknowledgments

Prologue He Couldn’t Fly

Chapter One Never Been Asked To Wear A Hood

Chapter Two I Suggest Brig

Chapter Three Why, Brig, Why?

Chapter Four What The Hell Do I Do Now?

Chapter Five I Joined The Navy

Chapter Six A Seal Was Being Part Of The Best

Chapter Seven The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday

Chapter Eight The Men With Green Faces

Chapter Nine The Ones Who Did This His Will Hear From All Of Us Soon

Chapter Ten This Kids Got Some Kind Of Guts

Chapter Eleven They Never Knew They Were Dying

Chapter Twelve Are You Freaking Crazy?

Chapter Thirteen You Thought You Could Be Judge, Jury, And Executioner

Chapter Fourteen I Did The Right Thing

Chapter Fifteen Did He Chicken Out?

Chapter Sixteen My Days As A Seal Were Over

Chapter Seventeen It’s Tim O’rourke

Chapter Eighteen Jesus, Keep Them Up

Chapter Nineteen I Wasn’t Likely To Forget This Place

Chapter Twenty You’re Under Arrest For Murder

Chapter Twenty-One Sometimes Life Just Isn’t Fair

Chapter Twenty-Two Some Of Them Were Angry

Chapter Twenty-Three Mr. President, I’m All In

Chapter Twenty-Four I Intend To Stomp On These Bastards

Chapter Twenty-Five Now We Get Down To The Crux Of It

Chapter Twenty-Six I Want You To Assassinate The Leaders

Chapter Twenty-Seven Don’t These Guys Ever Sleep?

Chapter Twenty-Eight We’re Going To Pull It Off

Chapter Twenty-Nine You Were The Seven That I Asked For

Chapter Thirty No Booze

Chapter Thirty-One You’re Going To Be My Information Bitch

Chapter Thirty-Two He Goes By The Name Of Charro

Chapter Thirty-Three You Redneck Son Of A Bitch

Chapter Thirty-Four It’s Time To Earn Your Keep

Chapter Thirty-Five I Talk To God

Chapter Thirty-Six Holy Mother Of God

Chapter Thirty-Seven I Could Give You A Kiss

Chapter Thirty-Eight That’s Ben The Butcher

Chapter Thirty-Nine It’s Fine, Except For One Major Problem

Chapter Forty Four, Three, Two, One

Chapter Forty-One I Decided To End It

Chapter Forty-Two This Is Homeland One

Chapter Forty-Three Someone Betrayed Us

Chapter Forty-Four I Shed Some Tears

Chapter Forty-Five Prepare Yourself

Chapter Forty-Six The Giuliani Rule

Chapter Forty-Seven The Traitor Has To Be One Of The Two Names

Chapter Forty-Eight It’s Time For My Surprise

Chapter Forty-Nine He Had No Idea He Was About To Die

Chapter Fifty "Oh My God!! It’s You!’

Epilogue

FOREWORD

North Junior High School, Waco, Texas. Mrs. Blankenship, my eighth grade English teacher advised me to become a writer. I can’t remember why, but I must have written something.

It is now sixty-eight years later and I have decided to take her advice and to try. Since I am eighty-two and not in great health, I feel that I should perhaps hurry. Canceling my funeral is not an option so I have decided to postpone it as long as possible.

Those who decide to read my efforts may discover that I am not a writer. I consider myself more of an idea person. Nevertheless, I intend to try my best to attempt to write as interesting a book as possible.

I first thought of a neat idea about a senior golfer aided by a maybe angel. I made a lot of notes but just never got around to writing it. I still may try.

I thought of writing about my life as a lingerie salesman. I know lots of funny stories. I even thought of a title. Sorry, can’t tell you yet. I even wrote the first two pages. Maybe I’ll get back to it if I have time.

Recently I wrote a fun story for my grandson, Brennan, who had a broken collarbone. I sent him a chapter each day for nine days. It was a wild story with his sister, Cassie, taking over Houston with her gang. Kevin, the dog, became Kevin, the Bengal Tiger and his teachers became dope dealers. He enjoyed it (or said he did). What surprised me was that so did his mother, his brother, Andrew, and his sister and her high school friends.

They said I should write a book. So I am.

So I’ve finished it. What do I do now? I don’t have the slightest idea about getting it published.

Oh, what the hell. If I ever write a lingerie book, I’m going to title it SLIPS ARE UP, PANTIES ARE DOWN, BRAS ARE HOLDING THEIR OWN.

Hope you enjoy BRIG as much as I enjoyed writing it.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

If you are planning to read ‘Brig’, let me begin by saying a big thank you. If you are planning to give ‘Brig’ as a gift, let me say another big thank you.

I would like to be able to say thanks to everyone in person, but, of course, I am hoping that the sales will be so great that I won’t be able to meet and thank everyone.

‘Brig’ is my first attempt at writing a novel. All my life I have enjoyed reading what seems like thousands of novels but is probably only hundreds. Many of them two or three times.

I have read Vince Flynn’s novels twice. Yes, every one of them and I enjoyed each time. I am sad that he won’t be writing for us in the future.

Wilbur Smith is my favorite. What an imagination. ‘Eagle in the Sky’ would make a great movie but no one has been smart enough to make it. I think three of his other books have been made into movies. He may have gone over thirty novels now and I don’t think there’s a bad one.

‘The Source’ by the great James Michner is my favorite. I have lost count of how many times I have read it but probably five or six. I always learn something new.

Now that I have thanked you for reading this, I would be remiss if I did not thank some others.

First, my wife, Liz, who had to listen to me read each page and always came through with praise even if it was undeserved.

Second, my daughter, Karen, who patiently edited my many errors and kept me on track.

Also, my son, Craig, who helped me wade through the many complexities of this darn computer. He knew that I was computer illiterate but was always patient.

My special thanks to Manuel Jackson. Only he and I know how important he was in the completion of this novel. He was the first to read the first few chapters and say keep going. The first to say where’s the romance and the first to say you’ve got to get this published.

And last, but not least, thanks to those friends and, yes, some strangers who read the manuscript and said it’s good.

Wow!!! I almost forgot Cassie, my granddaughter. She did the cover illustration but now she’s working on fourteen illustrations for my next novel ‘HOW THE ANIMALS FOUND OUT’.

PROLOGUE

HE COULDN’T FLY

He had a smirk on his face, one of those with a little half-smile, like he was enjoying this immensely. It didn’t last long. In the next three seconds, I imagine it changed to surprise, confusion, fear, then terror, as he flew off the small balcony of the eighteenth floor. I heard him scream all the way down until it was cut off abruptly at the end.

I couldn’t hear him hit as I had already turned to confront his boss, Miguel Andoza. He had made himself comfortable in the only chair in that small hotel room. He was not comfortable anymore. His face was pasty white and his arms had tremors like a man who had just witnessed his future. I decided to make it a little worse.

He must have hit head first. Sounded like a watermelon bursting on that pavement. I’d hate to be the guy who has to scrape that up. I hadn’t heard anything but the screams, but he didn’t know that. He looked so damn smug I thought sure he could fly. What about you, can you fly?

He didn’t say anything but I saw that his lips were starting to tremble, like he was on the verge of a crying jag. It was hard to believe. Here was one of the captains of one of the most vicious cartels in Mexico, about to cry. I took my cell phone, untraceable, out of my pocket and dialed the local police. I just saw a man jump off the roof of the Palacia Hotel. It was horrible. Please come quick. There may have been another man up there with him in a dark suit. No, I don’t want to get involved. I’m just a tourist across the street. I hung up.

Now I could turn my attention to Mr. Andoza without fear of the Mexican police banging on the door. I had a lot of convincing to do and I probably needed time to do it.

They had come to my room expecting to find a rich American tourist that wanted to invest in a large amount of coke. I’d been nosing around Monterrey for the last three days, pretending to be cautious, but letting it be known that I had a million dollars and needed the goods and would pay for help in smuggling it into the states. I knew the amount would eliminate the lowlife thugs. It sure had. Here was Andoza, one of the top captains in the cartel, maybe next to the big man himself.

Andoza got right to the point. Don’t say anything. I’ll tell you how it is and how it’s going to be. You’ll tell us first exactly how much money you have, and where it is and we’ll tell you how much it will buy. If you don’t have a million, or if you are playing a game, or if you are some sort of police agent, we may not even hurt you. No, we will find your family in the states, or your parents, and we will kill them. But before we kill them, we will hurt them really bad, you comprehend?

He had barely gotten the last word out before I was on the move. I didn’t go for Andoza. I needed him. I had the left wrist of his goon with my left hand and his coat collar with my right before he knew what I was up to. I ran him right out the open balcony doors and over the railing. I couldn’t see his face during those three seconds but I wish I could have. He had probably done plenty of killing just as his boss had described; only in Mexico, the killings would have been more horrible than could be described.

Andoza had expected a tourist, a soft Anglo. He had come with only one enforcer; I had expected at least two. I hadn’t checked him but he didn’t appear to be armed. Talk about getting soft. In the last few years, he must have become more and more dependent on his immediate guards and the knowledge that he could call out several hundred of his private army on short notice, especially inside his home base in Monterrey. He probably had dozens of the police on his payroll to call on if he felt his thugs weren’t enough.

Now, within a minute of entering the room, he had just seen his top bodyguard killed and killed rather easily. Andoza had seen hundreds, maybe thousands, of killings. He had done a lot of them himself but his top man had done most of them on his orders. If he had had a little time to digest it, or prepare for it, maybe he would have handled it better. Instead, he just sat there in shock, knowing that he could be next.

CHAPTER ONE

NEVER BEEN ASKED TO WEAR A HOOD

The whole story had started seven weeks ago. I had just opened a beer and was headed outside to piddle around in the yard, maybe pull a few weeds, sit in the swing, and probably have a few more beers. Hell, I’ll admit it. I was getting damned bored. Retired life for a thirty-nine year old can be harder work than work ever was. And it had only been a few months. Well, Florida is beautiful this time of year and especially Jacksonville Beach. I had bought a small patio home within walking distance from the ocean. I sure couldn’t afford one of those big places down by the beach.

As I started out the back, I heard the chimes from the front. Surprising, since I really hadn’t met anyone to speak of since moving in. Maybe a beautiful neighbor, coming to check out my manly charms.

When I opened the door I knew it wasn’t romance. It was trouble. Two of my CIA friends were there, and from their expressions, I knew this wasn’t a social call.

Come on in guys, I’ll get you a beer.

Sorry, can’t stay. This is on the official side, maybe next time. Right now, we have a request for you to come with us to see someone and we don’t even know who that someone is, just that it must be damn important. You better change clothes because we need to hurry.

That’s all you know or that’s all you’ll tell me.

You know damn well that we’d give you at least a hint if we knew anything. Just being who you are and what you’ve done means you deserve anything we can do, but man, we don’t know anything. I can tell you a plane is waiting for you now. Where you’re headed is above our pay grade.

I had known these guys from early Afghanistan days. They had been dropped with my unit into Northern Afghanistan with a few suitcases of good old American dollars, several million dollars to be exact. Dollars are good all over the world and soon we had our own private army to fight al Qaeda and the Taliban. We had been through too much for them to bullshit me.

I headed to the bedroom to change after a quick shower. Better make it a dress shirt and tie and my better sport coat. I don’t care who it was, I wasn’t going to wear my navy suit. That was for weddings, funerals, and, on occasion, church.

On the drive to the plane, we gabbed about old times, what was going on with some of our mutual friends. I knew better than to speculate on where we were going. I had made my pitch and been shot down. I would find out soon enough.

It was one of those fancy Gulfstreams, the kind the top executives of middle size companies use but also the kind the CIA uses with the companies they own or borrow. I had been on one of these a few times in the past, but had always known where I was going or why. I decided to relax and enjoy. The steward fixed me a ham sandwich with iced tea. I would have preferred a beer but decided that wouldn’t be a good idea. Who can enjoy only one beer?

I figured we were headed to Washington, probably to Langley to see some CIA bigwigs. Wasn’t too hard to figure. I was on a CIA plane with a couple of CIA agents. What else could it be? I leaned back, relaxed, and too soon someone was shaking me awake.

I was right. We were already landing at Andrews. But then I got a surprise. Instead of jumping in a car for Langley, I was taken across the field to a waiting helicopter. Its blades were already turning as I boarded. Within a couple of minutes, we were airborne, and I got a second surprise. A young sergeant, the co-pilot, leaned over and asked me to put on the hood he handed me. I could tell he was nervous about even asking, and he should have been. I had been on dozens of secret missions and had never been asked to wear a hood.

I almost told him what he could do with the damn thing when he tried to explain. Sir, I was told to say it had nothing to do with trusting you but with protecting you and another person in the future. That person will explain everything to your satisfaction when you meet. It will only be fifteen or twenty minutes.

I kept my mouth shut and sure enough, soon we were dropping down into a forested area. As we landed, I sensed the heavy trees all around us. I had dropped into dense trees before.

They helped me down the ramp but asked me to keep the hood on for a few more minutes. I was walked down a path and into some sort of building and then guided into a big easy chair. Then suddenly I was alone.

CHAPTER TWO

I SUGGEST BRIG

I heard a door softly open and close. I sensed someone was moving across the room. A chair moved back, a body dropped heavily into it. Finally, I was about to find out what the hell was going on.

You can take that stupid hood off now. I’m sorry we had to ask you to do that but I hope you will understand why we thought it was necessary.

The voice was soft but I could tell it was comfortable with giving orders. I removed the hood and looked toward him. I couldn’t see him except for his arms and upper body. The room was dark but a small desk lamp highlighted his coat. It looked like a checkered sport coat. Thank God, I had guessed right. His head was in the shadows but I could tell he was tall, slender, maybe had been athletic, maybe still was. I hope he didn’t think he was fooling me. I would have had to be an idiot not to know that he was probably the most powerful man in the world.

Do you know where you are?

I think so, sir.

But could you swear to it in a court of law?

No, sir.

Do you know who I am?

I think so, sir, but I couldn’t swear to that either.

Good, good, lets keep it that way. I know your name, of course, but I had rather find you a new one for this mission. Got any ideas? No. Well, I have one, if it’s OK with you. In going through your files, I saw you spent a couple of nights in the brig when you were younger. That is what the navy calls jail, isn’t it? So I’m going to suggest ‘Brig’ as a name for you, if that’s OK, and then we have to find a name for me.

Sir, Brig sounds fine for me but I think I would rather stick with ‘Sir’ for you. If that’s alright with you.

That’s fine for now. Before we get started, would you like anything to eat? There’s water and coffee on the table beside you. You only have to ask for anything you need and I’ll have it brought. No? Well, here we go.

Brig, I know more about you than anyone in this world, excluding my family. For the past five months we have been going over your life, everything you’ve done or said, good or bad. We’ve talked with every teacher, every school chum, every coach, every Sunday school teacher. We’ve talked with every superior, every agent you’ve worked for, or with, or over. Did any of this get back to you? No? Well, I’m not surprised. We broke the law a few times with some pretty drastic threats if anyone repeated what we were asking. Scared the hell out of a few people. The more we found out, the more we became convinced that you were the one person we wanted. This is the last step. I would like to go over what we know and see if you disagree with anything or want to add anything we may have missed. Is that alright with you?

Sir, anything you want to do is fine with me.

"The first part is rather routine: born, Norman, Oklahoma to middle class but hard working parents, parents with high morals, church-going Baptists, highest character, which they passed to you, and from our reports did a good job of it. Four