“In my world, you are either the hunter or the prey, and I am the hunter. Vegas was my prey. I tell my crew: Vegas makes it, Vigoa takes it.”
–Jose Vigoa[pg. 37]
When it comes to violent crime, the Las Vegas cops and casino owners thought they had seen it all. But they had never witnessed anything like Jose Vigoa.
Born in Cuba, a child of Fidel Castro’s revolution, Vigoa used his quick wits and quicker fists to trade a life of poverty and desperation for one of danger and adventure as a Soviet-trained special forces officer. Battle hardened in the killing fields of Afghanistan and Angola, Vigoa won a reputation for toughness, bravery, and coolness under fire. A brilliant military career lay ahead of him.
Then, in 1980, Castro opened Cuba’s floodgates in the Mariel boatlift, and Vigoa, like so many of his countrymen and -women, braved chaos and hardship to start a new life in America’s promised land. But involvement with the drug trade brought his dreams crashing down. Years of prison followed.
On his release, Vigoa was determined to take revenge on what he perceived as the corrupt power structure of Las Vegas. On September 20, 1998, the former Spetsnaz lieutenant launched what would be the most audacious and ruthless series of high-profile casino and armored car robberies that Las Vegas had ever seen. In a brazen sixteen-month-long reign of terror, he and his tightly disciplined crew would hit the crème de la crème of Vegas hotels: the MGM, the Desert Inn, the New York-New York, the Mandalay Bay, and the Bellagio. They struck hard and fast, then vanished without a trace. Millions of dollars were stolen. Two brave men were gunned down in cold blood; others were wounded. And yet the robberies were so well planned and executed that the police–“the stupids,” as Vigoa contemptuously referred to them–were all but helpless.
Not Lt. John Alamshaw. The twenty-three-year veteran, in charge of robbery detectives, was not giving up so easily. For him, Vigoa’s rampage was a personal affront. And he would do whatever it took, even risk his badge, to bring Vigao down.
With exclusive access to all the major players, including Vigoa and Alamshaw, veteran journalist and network producer John Huddy is the perfect man to tell the gripping never-before-told story of this harrowing true-crime drama that will leave readers breathless.
From the Hardcover edition.
Share your thoughts on the Storming Las Vegas General Fiction eBook with others!
|Title of eBook: Storming Las Vegas|
|Release Date: 02-19-2008|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Random House Publishing Group|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||Storming Las Vegas|
|Devices||Samsung Tablet, Apple Ipad & Iphone, Barnes & Noble Nook, Kobo eReader, Aluratek Libre, Iliad, Nokia, Blackberry, Hanlin|
|Note||ePub, short for electronic publication is one of our favorites and should be yours for a couple of reasons. ePub offers reflowable text giving you flexibility to manipulate how the content is presented. Moreover, lots of cool features are now being developed for the reader like advanced video and audio. ePub is now an industry standard, so all of the "non-propreitary" hardware manufacturers are now supporting it.|
Storming Las Vegas
GUNFIGHT ON LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD
Chapter 1 FIRST BLOOD
It is June 28, 1999, 9:52 a.m.
Pedro Sandoval tosses his empty plastic water bottle into the wheel well and double-checks his paperwork as the moving van threads its way down the Strip to the Desert Inn Hotel and Casino at 3145 Las Vegas Boulevard. It's going to be a long, hard day. The blistering heat rises from the desert, eventually reaching 110 degrees by midday. The crew is scheduled to drop off twenty-four electronic slot machines, each costing $15,000, weighing six hundred pounds, and featuring stars like Pat Sajak whooping and hollering on the sound track. Lots of bells and sirens for the fanny-pack and flip-flop crowd.
At 9:54 the eighteen-wheeler pulls up to the south side of the hotel, next to the Desert Inn Race & Sports Book.
After manhandling five of the machines onto a forklift, Pedro wipes the sweat from his brow and glances toward the Sports entrance as an off-duty showgirl pedals by on her red bicycle. Beyond the casino doors is a strip of landscaping about thirty feet long and twenty feet wide; there, something catches Pedro's eye. On a morning devoid of breeze, it seems odd that the rosemary plants in the mini-oasis appear to be moving. Pedro looks again. The thick shrubbery shakes vigorously and then, to Pedro's amazement, expels two dark shapes. Pedro blinks. "What the fuck?"
As a second, smaller truck-gray and boxlike, with blue striping on its side-turns off Spring Mountain Avenue and approaches the casino entrance, the shapes from the shrubbery come into focus: two men dressed in bla