Tanya Anastas DEA Agent, Wounded in Battle: The Scourge of Fentanyl Abuse

By Ernest Hunt

Tanya Anastas, an American DEA agent who is of Ukrainian heritage, bravely leads agents into a US battle against foreign drug criminals and is wounded. When she recovers, she is promoted to a leadership position in an international DEA headquarters in Belgium, which allows her to try to save her Ukrainian relatives from the Russian invasion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Feb 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781977272867

Ernest Hunt

The Very Rev. Dr. Ernest E. Hunt, born in Oakland, California, is a Stanford University graduate with a BA and MA. He graduated from the Episcopal Seminary of the Southwest, Austin, Texas, MDiv and DD. He is also a graduate of Princeton Seminary, DMin. He has been married to Elsie Beard Hunt for more than sixty years and has one son, a daughter, and four grandchildren. He served in the Salinas Valley, California, for seven years, in West St. Louis, Missouri, for six years, and in New York City, Manhattan, at the Church of the Epiphany, for sixteen years. He also served in Dallas as dean of the Cathedral of St. Matthew for four years, then dean of the American Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, Paris, France, for ten years. He retired in 2003. He served as Army Reserve chaplain for ten years and is a Knight in the Order of the Priory of St. John of Jerusalem.  

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Tanya Anastas DEA Agent, Wounded in Battle

The Scourge of Fentanyl Abuse

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2024 Ernest Hunt

v1.0

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Previous books

by E. E. Hunt

Sermon Struggles, The Seabury Press, 1982

Paris Under Siege, 2005, 2015

Paris on Fire, 2007

A Death in Dallas, 2008

Terror on East 72nd Street, 2009

Terror on the Border, 2011

Terror in the City of Lights, 2013

Aristocrats of the Spirit, 2015

Isis in the City, 2016

The Eagle on Grosvenor Square, 2018

Naples, Florida COVID-19 Terror Tale, 2020

Cling and Wait, 2021

Fentanyl, Earthquakes, and Ukraine, 2022

Tanya Anastas, An American Goes to Ukraine, 2023

Tanya Anastas, Back to America from Ukraine, 2023

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Earthquake Heaven

Chapter Two

I Love My Sig

Chapter Three

Supervisor Longstreet

Chapter Four

Malacca Straits

Chapter Five

Fixalaxyl Horror

Chapter Six

Tanya Anastas the Lioness

Chapter Seven

God Writes Straight with Crooked Lines

Chapter Eight

Tanya Anastas and Her Ukrainian Heritage

Chapter Nine

The Red Mandarin

Chapter Ten

The Blue Pagoda

Chapter Eleven

The Shanghai Maritime Express

Chapter Twelve

Earthquake, Religion, and a Vision of Ukraine

Chapter One

Earthquake Heaven

I was rudely awakened by a deep rumble of noise and a sudden shaking of my bed. Tremors shook my whole apartment. Windows rattled, and the walls moved floors. I was shaken as if I were on top of an erupting volcano. Then I realized that this was just another earthquake that I had forgotten occurred regularly in this part of California. But it was scary, and, in my imagination, it made me feel terribly helpless, as if the earth beneath me became so unstable that it seemed the whole foundation of human life was about to fall apart. Earthquakes can be as destructive as hurricanes and tornados, but often, they don’t last long, thank heaven. But when they do … watch out!

Sometimes, an event like this makes one think about the shortness of life. That kind of thought reminds me of that terrible book written years ago that pictured a great California earthquake, where the state slipped away from the rest of the United States into the cold Pacific Ocean. The writer described in detail how the major local earthquake faults all worked together to break California from the rest of the states, leaving them behind to float away to a tragic, isolated, watery doom.

Now, some people believe that California might wash away. The cost of living is high in the state. Here, perpetrators walk away with goods from stores (called by too many now, smash and grab). There is also a loss of police who are unable to control crime at large, like homicide and rapes, due to that crazy defund police protest. Then there is the high cost of gasoline and diesel for cars and machines, the horrible uncontrolled fires with PGE shutting off water at the wrong times, and that damned load of high taxation. So, instead, people move inland, to Utah or Arizona, maybe even New Mexico or Texas.

After reviewing all the crime and then this earthquake, some wouldn’t care much about my early past in this city, but I do, and I want to share it anyway. I was born in Oakland in this state many moons ago, but I left because of college, work, and many other tasks that are too numerous to go into now.

So, you may know I am an FBI agent, and my name is David T. Roberts. The T. stands for Theodore. I grew up in East Oakland and was born in the hospital of that name, which used to exist but is gone now. Well-known boxer Max Baer was also delivered there as a baby. Then I attended Manzanita Grammar School, Alexander Hamilton Junior High School, and Fremont High School, all in the East Oakland area.

It’s funny how one remembers traumatic but eventually successful occasions in one’s past. As a baseball fan in grammar school, I played softball with a friend by hitting the ball against a paddle handball court divider during recess. If it flew over, it was an out, unlike hitting it to the top of the divider for a home run. One ball I hit accidentally hurtled way over the top and fell right on the head of a leader of Pachucos. That boy, the boss of his little gang of Latinos, and very embarrassed by my ball landing on him, came around and fiercely asked, Who hit that ball?

Being small as he was and also relatively simple, I replied nervously, I did! Then he slugged me, and when I got up from the ground, he dragged me to the back of the divider, where we had a fist fight. A teacher rescued me, thank heaven, but later, when I grew up to be more than six feet tall and president of my senior high school class, we became good friends. That made me happy because it’s good to know that people can outgrow hatred and race fixation. Perhaps that’s why I’m in the FBI.

After high school, I went to college, followed by a stint in the Army Reserve. I remember the long training period that came next with the Federal Bureau of Investigation at the academy located on Quantico US Marine Base grounds. That was a prolonged, tough time, but my training stayed with me all these years, even though my first wife did not. She left me