The Handler

by Roger Weston

  ***

  Mika trudged on under the shade of the scrub forest. Earlier he’d seen Lazar’s helicopter hover and deliver Alexi and two more mercenaries to the scene. The thought that Alexi was here infuriated him. Brandt was his. Mika picked up his pace.

  Then he heard a loud thump and a couple of screams.

  He stopped at a pine tree and rested against its rough bark. Pulling a walkie-talkie out of his pocket, he tried to make contact with his comrades. “Boris, Uri. Report in. Over.”

  “This is Uri. No sign of target.”

  “Boris here. No contact yet.”

  Mika rubbed his chin for a minute then whispered into his walkie-talkie. “We’ve got to find this bastard. Head higher in the foothils. Get above him and then flush him back down here. Once you do, I’ll take care of him.”

  ***

  Boris poured on the gas, and his dirt bike tore up the ground as it ripped up the trail. He smiled to himself. He was covering more ground in three minutes than Brandt could cover in an hour. If Brandt had taken this direction, Boris would shoot him without hesitation.

  Boris had his gun strapped over his shoulder and beneath his jacket. The moment he saw Brandt, he would slow down and draw his pistol. It would only take a few seconds. Brandt was unarmed after all. Then he would take care of the job. Why should Mika be the one to get all the glory? Boris wouldn’t hesitate to kill the man.

  As Boris came around a corner, his back wheel hit some rock rubble and he slid. The roughage threw the treads of his bike into a rut, and Boris lost his balance. He hit the bushes and rolled on a soft mat of pine needles. He lay on the ground for a moment, stunned. His bike was still on its side idling. Boris got back on it and continued down the trail. He rode a little slower now and warily scanned the forest for any sign of his target. One thing he knew for sure was that Brandt was around. He was close by and had slim chance of escape. This portion of the forest was crisscrossed with trails and surrounded on two sides by deep canyons. The tree canopy covered the hillside up to the base of the precipitous Pyrenees mountain range. If Brandt kept going up the hill they would spot him on the mountain and get him there. If he stayed in the forest, he would be spotted, and Boris would drop him on sight. Either way, he was a dead man.

  Boris continued to rake the hills on his motorcycle. On one particularly steep section of the trail he hit a rise, gunned it, and got some air. As his wheels touched down, he cranked on the handle. The rear wheel bit into the dirt, rocketing him down the straight section of trail. This was the seventh trail he’d been down, and he was getting tired of dead ends. Where was Brandt hiding? Boris hoped this was where he would find him because he was getting tired, and he was eager to get the job done so he could move on. He enjoyed Spain. He enjoyed the beaches and the sun and the women. He could get used to a life like this. It was much better than what he knew back in Chechnya. Boris thought of these things as he rode along in pursuit of Brandt.

  When he came to a fork in the trail, he veered left, twisting the throttle grip. The bike picked up speed and raced down a straight section of trail. Then, as the trail turned up a slope, he saw something hanging from a tree branch. As he got closer he noticed that it was a bloody rag. Impulsively he cranked the motorcycle’s throttle and got air on a natural rise in the trail. He flew fifteen feet through the air and was soaring between two trees when a branch swung out from behind one of the trees and hit him in the neck. The last thing he remembered was flipping backwards off the bike and catching a glimpse of Chuck Brandt.

  ***

  “Uri. Boris. Where are you? Come in.”

  Mika waited. He was about to key his mic again when he got a response.

  “This is Uri. Boris is down. I found him unconscious on the trail. His bike is gone.”

  “Stand by,” Mika said. He took a deep breath. Brandt now had a weapon and a bike. He scanned the forest around him. Then he heard the whine of a motorcycle. Mika squinted his eyes and looked in the direction of the sound. He caught a glimpse through the openings in the trees.

  Then he saw it.

  Down in the valley, a rider on a motorcycle did a wheelie as he hurled down the dirt road. Brandt was heading back toward the ranch.

  ***

  The Eurocopter X3 hovered over the hacienda’s helipad for a moment than landed on the cement pad. Nicolay signaled to General Lazar, who stood at a safe distance, his wife and daughter at his side. Lazar’s hands were gripped tightly around each of their arms. The general escorted the two women under the spinning rotors and into the Eurocopter. Then two men hurried over and collected the three duffle bags and black attaché case that rested on the ground. The men loaded the baggage into the helicopter’s fuselage and shut the door.

  Heads Up: Thank you for reading this far! The next book in the series, ROGUE OP, is now available on Amazon. Grab a copy today. Now back to THE HANDLER.

  CHAPTER 20

  Chuck raced down the dirt road at high speed, dividing the valley with a line of dust, an Uzi strapped to his back. He twisted the grip and gunned the hog through the ancient Romanesque village he’d passed through earlier. When he saw an old man wearing loose white linen pants cross the road, Chuck skidded and just missed hitting him. He quickly righted the bike and continued on past the old castle. He rode by five miles of orchards and vineyards before he got back within half mile of Lazar’s property. He scanned the hacienda as he rode towards it. To the left a large rotating cloud of dust appeared. Chuck saw that a helicopter was kicking up dirt from its rotating blades, creating a brownout. It was the same helicopter that had dropped off the armed thugs at the base of the foothills earlier. He let off the gas for a moment as he watched the helicopter lift into the air. As the copter lunged forward through the sky, Chuck looked into the window of the cabin and got a glimpse of Maria gazing down at him with sad eyes. Her hand was against the window as if reaching out to him.

  He stopped his bike and yelled out in frustration. He’d failed her once again. Lazar was taking her away to an unknown fate. Chuck should have believed her when he’d first met her years ago, when she had told him that her father was a cruel man. If only he had helped her back then, she could have escaped from him, from the life that he had subjected her to. If he had helped her when she was just a teenager she would probably be happily married with a couple of children by now. He was sure that she would have raised her own children with love and kindness, not control and intimidation. Chuck couldn’t believe that a father would have so little regard for the well-being of his own daughter.

  The sound of distant motorcycles pulled him out of his sorry state. He turned to see two motorcycles heading down the road towards him. Chuck guessed they were probably four miles away and doing thirty miles-an-hour. Further behind was a white pick-up truck barreling down the road. He needed cover fast.

  He kicked his bike into gear and took a shortcut by smashing through the pristine white fence that encircled Lazar’s spread. As he came upon the outbuildings of the ranch, he slowed the bike and drove it into the barn that earlier had served as his torture chamber. Then he turned off the iron hog and dismounted.

  He looked out the barn door toward the house. A black bull snorted impatiently in the open air bull-holding ring that was between him and the house. The beast paced and pawed at the parched dirt of the corral. Chuck could tell that it was still angry from its earlier humiliation. Chuck continued to scan his surroundings. He noticed a Range Rover parked alongside the house. The van was gone. He looked around. Other than the sound of the approaching posse, the place was dead quiet.

  As he took in the scene, he formulated a plan through the fog of pain that filled his body. He realized that he was going to be forced to fight like a wounded animal. Justice was nice, but sometimes a man just wanted to survive to live another day. However, it didn’t always go that way. Sometimes a man had to die and join the long gray line of those who’ve given their lives so that others may live. Chuck’s own life hadn’t amounted to much, bu
t at least he would die fighting for his brothers and sisters and the stars and stripes. That was something special. His own blood was the greatest gift he could give. If he died today, at least he would die with honor.

  He figured that the men on motorcycles would be upon him in minutes. He scanned the red-tile roofs of Lazar’s ranch. He looked at the centuries old church just beyond the main house. It appeared that Lazar really had turned an ancient countryside village into his hacienda.

  After another minute of assessing his surroundings, Chuck decided that he would use the layout of the hacienda to his advantage. The bell tower would be a good place to start. At least he would have a height advantage up there. The risk was that he could get trapped. He sighed. It didn’t matter anymore anyways. Maria was gone. At that moment, he didn’t care how it all played out. Sure, he was probably going to get killed, but he was going to be sure that he wasn’t the only one. He held the Uzi in one hand and walked to the tower.

  Passing the main house, he peered in the windows. No one in sight. Where was the housekeeper? Did Lazar take her too? What about the rest of men? He moved on.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a thug step out from behind the tractor with a long-barreled AK-101 assault rifle sighted on Chuck’s skull.

  “Don’t move!” the man said. He motioned to Chuck’s Uzi. “I’ll take that.”

  Chuck set the gun on the dirt and faced the brute.

  The man gestured with his AK-101. “Now back to the barn.”

  Chuck obeyed, and a few ugly memories lashed through his mind.

  As they walked by the outdoor bull-holding corral, Chuck spun and delivered an ax hand chop to the side of the thug’s arm, temporarily rendering his hand useless. The man’s gun dropped to the dirt. The guy started to run, but Chuck was faster. He pushed the killer from behind, and the thug crashed against the corral’s wooden fence cracking the top railing. The agitated bull pivoted and snorted and swung its horns menacingly.

  The henchman buckled over and reached for his ankle holster. As he withdrew a small handgun, Chuck’s foot impacted his chest sending him through the corral’s wooden railings splitting them in half. The man landed on his side inside the corral.

  Seeing the broken fence, the bull ran for the opening. Chuck jumped to the side and watched as the bull ran over the gunman, stampeding him to death on his way to freedom.

  Then the massive beast flashed past Chuck and ran toward a distant fence. A hundred yards out, it stopped and swung its head back toward Chuck, but it stayed where it was.

  Chuck grabbed the Uzi off the ground and limped for the church, but it was locked. He slammed his shoulder against the door. The old hinges gave way and the door crashed down on the floor inside. His ribs throbbed in agony and pain seared through his thigh as he climbed the stairs of the bell tower. From the top, he had a good view of the valley.

  And of the road with its dust clouds and unwelcome visitors.

  Chuck stayed low and watched as Mika and the other assassins approached the compound. They parked next to the house and got off their bikes, guns palmed. Without saying a word, they spread out and began to case the old village. They had obviously come to kill. After another minute a beat up white pick-up truck with patches of rust pulled up. A wrinkled farmer tied up in the back of the bed looked on with worried eyes. A blond man dressed in black and carrying an AK-47 got out of the driver’s seat. Chuck had seen his kind before. He looked like one of the thugs who’d rappelled out of the helicopter. Chuck knew that he was fully committed now. The cards were dealt. There was nothing for him to do but respond.

  ***

  Mika lurked in the shadows of a tree watching the truck. After Alexi got out, Mika signaled to him to take the rear section of the compound. As Alexi moved in that direction, Mika and Uri headed to the main house of the hacienda.

  ***

  Holding his rifle in front of his chest, Alexi flattened his sweaty back against the corner of one of the rear buildings. He was scheming how to take down big game since he was about to bag his kill. Many years had passed since he had shot Stanislov Bolshov in the face. Over the past eight years, Alexi had moved on to bigger things. He’d personally assassinated a handful of men. All of them dangerous men. Now it was another day, just another opportunity to bag another man.

  He entered the house and walked calmly down the hallway, swinging his gun around corners.

  Once he cleared the house, he moved into a second building.

  As he peered around one corner he knew that he was getting closer. He could smell death. Brandt was here somewhere. There was no question. Death was in the rafters and in the heat, and he had the advantage. There was a time to kill, and now was that time. Alexi had killed twenty men. Now he was about to make it twenty-one, which was his lucky number.

  Palming his gun, he exited the building and ran to another. Behind the safety of the structure he glanced up at the dark opening of the bell tower on the old stone church. Framed inside of the open-air cavity, an ancient brass bell hung still. Alexi looked for a man, or the tip of a sniper’s rifle in the opening, but didn’t see either. Alexi crouched and ran for the stone church. He moved to the door of the building. When he found the door had been kicked open, he entered with extreme caution. He swung his gun left and right. He walked up the aisle of the church, and then he started up the steps of the bell tower, cautiously, quietly.

  ***

  Mika entered the main house on the hacienda. He moved slowly through the home. Brandt was nearby. There was no question about that.

  As Mika eased down a hallway, he heard a noise to his left. He swung his weapon around and squeezed off a burst of gunfire. A cat screeched. It ran through the doorway and down the hall.

  Mika took a deep breath. He was being a little too jumpy, but at least he was still alive. That was good, because that meant he could still kill Brandt. And then Maria would be his. He made his way to another room.

  ***

  Chuck heard movement in the church below. He leaned his rifle against the wall just under the open-air window of the bell tower. Then he removed the horse reins that he had been using as a tourniquet for his leg. He wrapped one end of the smooth leather around the base of the bell. The other he grasped tightly in his hand.

  ***

  Alexi moved carefully up the steps of the bell tower, a vacant look on his face. His plan was to sneak up on Brandt and put a bullet in his back.

  Silence was the key to success, so Alexi took one step at a time up the spiral staircase. He moved slowly. Each step consumed thirty seconds. Climbing the tower at that pace took the patience of a skilled hunter. Finally he approached the upper landing. As he came around the final turn, he got his first view.

  The bell tower was empty except for an Uzi leaning against the stone wall of the little room. Alexi stepped over to the submachine gun. Then he heard a soft sound. He ducked and turned, and the three foot metal bell swung inward towards his eyes. The edge hit his forehead, which was the last thing he remembered.

  ***

  When Mika heard the bell ring, he ran to the window. The bell was swinging, but he didn’t see anything else. He stood back from the window for a couple of minutes and scanned the premises. It was all clear.

  He continued to search the main house. He was creeping through the guest quarters when he heard the hinges of a door squeak. He inched his way down the hallway in the direction of the sound. A door opened then closed.

  He edged up to the door of the room and swung his gun into the void.

  Target sighted.

  Mika squeezed the trigger, but at the last second, released the pressure and lowered the weapon.

  “You damn near killed me,” Uri screamed.

  Mika ignored him. He turned his head to look through the bedroom’s window and saw the high rock wall of the graveyard. The opening to the enclosed space was just across from the bedroom beyond a stretch of grass. An enormous oak tree grew above the wall of the graveyard. Then it dawne
d on Mika that here they were searching the houses, nearly killing each other while Brandt was probably hiding behind that wall. That is where he and Uri needed to go.

  Mika motioned for Uri to follow him. At the door, Mika said, “Go. Check it out. I’ll cover you from here.”

  While Mika kept his gun handy, Uri sprinted across the small open area to the wall. At the opening he looked in and saw the massive oak tree surrounded by headstones. Before he entered, he slowly scanned the walled-off area. Dozens of gravestones filled the space, but there was no Brandt. Both hands on his AK-47, Uri stepped into the walled area and walked among the stone monuments. Then he noticed another opening on the other side of the graveyard. He called for Mika and told him that the area was clear.

  “Okay, come on back,” Mika said.

  Then Uri heard a quiet voice say, “Drop the gun.”

  Realizing Brandt was perched in a tree, Uri opened fire into the branches of the massive oak.

  The sound of Brandt’s silenced gunfire was barely heard among Uri’s non-stop volley. Then a searing pain pierced Uri’s chest. He spun and fell over a tombstone.

  ***

  Alexi lay motionless on the wood surface of the bell tower. Then he stirred. When he opened his eyes, he saw the bronze bell hanging silently. He rubbed his forehead. What happened? Then he heard sounds coming from below. He stood up. His head throbbed with pain. He stepped over to the opening and looked out. He steadied himself for a moment while holding on to the stone wall and saw one of Mika’s men draped over a tombstone in the graveyard below. He looked for his gun, but it was gone.

  ***

  When Mika heard the shots his hands began to shake. In all of the jobs he had done, he’d never panicked, but now he felt the raw fingers of fear scratching at his heart. Mika had never failed, but then again, he’d never faced someone with a reputation like Chuck Brandt’s. Mika eased back into the house, and with his back against the wall of the bedroom, he slid down to the floor. Anyone who tried to enter would be cut down like a corpse from the gallows.