The latest release from JEBWizard Publishing, The Flight of the Westwind by Russ Protentis. Russ takes you inside the investigations of some of the largest cocaine cartels in the world giving the reader a unique perspective of the frustrations, dangers, and politics of the war on drugs.

Don’t take our word for it. Take the word of NYT Best Selling author Howie Carr recommending this book.

“Flight of the Westwind is a fascinating memoir of one of the most decorated agent’s career in federal law enforcement—from the cocaine madness of the Miami Vice-Whitey Bulger era all the way to the War on Terror. Highly Recommended”

— Howie Carr, New York Times best-selling author.

Excerpt from Flight of the Westwind

…I lowered my body, pressing my knee into his tailbone, and told him to place both hands behind his back as I patted him down. He complied, and I put my handcuffs on his wrists.

“Are you armed?” I asked.

“No,”

I did find a knife on the ground near his legs, which I stashed in my back pocket.

“Are you John Novak?”

“No, I am John Joyce.”

 “Are you alone?”

“Yeah.”

 I brought him to his feet, grabbed the handcuffs tightly by the short chain between his wrists, then I realized I had no idea where I was. However, I knew Novak had run straight to that location, so I would retrace his steps. As the fog dissipated, I could see the Holiday Inn sign illuminated in the distance.

I found my Crown Victoria in the mist and unlocked the driver’s side door. Knowing that Novak was facing a twenty-year sentence on his case in California and a possible life sentence for his role in this case, I was not taking any chance he would attempt to escape. I popped the trunk of the vehicle and gently placed him inside.

Starting my vehicle, I pulled over to the public phone in the parking lot, placing a call to Dave McAndrew at the Nassau County State Police Barracks, asking for an update on the case.

He said he was taking “a lot of heat” because Novak escaped, and the bosses were enraged. McAndrew said I would have to call the bosses in Boston to calm them down. I told him I would meet him in less than ten minutes, and I wanted to discuss something with him in person. McAndrew said he would wait for me out in front of the barracks.

When I arrived, McAndrew met me at my vehicle and I told him I had collected some equipment left behind at the Holiday Inn. As I opened the trunk, I watched as he broke into a smile from ear to ear.

“You son of a bitch” he said. “My guys lost him, and you covered our asses.” McAndrew and I brought Novak into the State Police Barracks for prisoner booking. Carbonari, who was smiling for the first time in three months, met us at the top of the stairs. He said my supervisor, Jim Burke, had been calling Mike Nestor for an update on the investigation and wanted to speak with me.

Carbonari and I took Novak into an interview room and read him his rights. I showed him a booking photograph from San Diego. His face fell.

“Sure looks like you, Mr. Joyce.”

“That’s me; I’m John Novak.”

“You are looking at life in prison. Do you want a lawyer?”

“I am done running; I want to cooperate.”

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