by Roger Weston
Chuck took his board off the sawhorses and started back inside the tug’s housing. At the door, he stopped and glanced down the wharf. The cop was gone. Chuck narrowed his eyes, wondering where he had gone.
“Hmph,” Chuck said. It didn’t matter. He knew he was no safer with a cop around. The people Chuck was dealing with would let nobody get in their way. He went inside. In the cabin, he opened the port hole so that he could keep an eye on the dock. He wasn’t expecting trouble, but then again, he would keep his eyes open.
Then his phone rang. “Chuck, it’s me, Lawrence. I just learned of an intercept of Black Cobra terrorists. I leaned of a meeting between Lazar and a British banker in Lima. There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“The meeting’s at the Coral Suites Hotel in an hour.”
“What’s it about?”
“I don’t know, and it’s not been verified. It may be a waste of time. In the old days, Lazar was known to put out disinformation.”
“Alright, I’ll check it out anyway.”
“Look, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“We’ve picked up chatter on militant and underworld websites, referencing “BC’s,” meaning Black Cobras. Something involving mass casualties is going to happen in four days.”
“Where?”
“We don’t know. You’ve got to find out, Chuck. You’re our best hope.”
Chuck pocketed his phone and watched the ripples on the ocean. He thought of Lazar and wondered what the devil he was up to.
In the galley, Chuck glanced at a clock on the counter.
He had an hour to get across town. His peaceful afternoon was over. He got his Glock handgun from its hiding place in the engine room. If Lazar was in town, he would be surrounded by Black Cobra terrorists.
CHAPTER 7
Four days, twenty hours till WMD attack
Wearing orange earphones on account of the noise, General Ivan Lazar was seated in the custom fuselage of his Sikorsky MH-60T Jayhawk helicopter. Across from him sat four Black Cobra bodyguards. They were fully suited up in body armor and weapons. Their assault rifles reflected their preferences. Lazar saw a Luigi Franchi LF57 Caliber .30 M1, a Russian AK-9, an Armenian K-3 assault rifle, and a Swiss SIG 556 SWAT SB. They had high morale, and he felt very safe.
The helicopter landed at a private airstrip where three black SUV’s were waiting. Lazar transferred to the middle SUV. Then the motorcade headed for his building in San Isidro.
He would only be in town for a few hours. Then he would return to the carrier. Everything was set. The world was about to get one of the greatest shocks in history. For now, he had to meet with a British banker, who would act as a handler, directing key US politicians in Washington D.C. on a few last-minute details on how to sell out America and make themselves a fortune in the process.
CHAPTER 8
Four days, twenty hours, till WMD attack
After checking into the Coral Suites Hotel in Miraflores early under a false name, Chuck looked over his luxury room. He wandered the halls and found a dour-looking maid.
“Perdon, habla Engles?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My room has no toilet paper. Would you please put some in there?”
“I can give you some now.” She turned to her hall cart.
“I’m sorry. I’m just leaving. That’s why I wanted you do take it there.”
She frowned. “Of course. What is the number?”
“It’s room 716.”
“Okay, I will take it there now.”
“Gracias, Señora. Please knock first. My wife may still be there.”
Chuck did not leave, however. He stood at the end of the hall, peaking around the corner, watching the maid as she approached Room 716 and knocked. Nobody answered, so the maid used her key card and delivered the toilet paper. After she left, Chuck picked the lock and entered the room, which the banker had reserved. Chuck knew he was not there because the maid had used her cardkey to enter. Chuck plugged a two-way adaptor into the plug behind the desk and plugged the light into the adaptor. Then he returned to his own room next door and turned on the special mini audio receiver in his smart phone, which collected audio from the mic in the plug adaptor.
Lawrence had told him that the banker had checked in and intelligence suggested that he would be meeting with General Lazar at the hotel. The banker was a major donor to political campaigns in the US and he had tremendous influence on certain swing votes in congress.
For now, Chuck enjoyed his view of the vast Pacific far below. The hotel was situated high above on the sea cliffs of Lima, and views were panoramic.
He picked up a western novel he’d brought with him and read for an hour. Then he put on his shoes and left for a short walk.
Miraflores was an upscale shopping district south of downtown Lima. It was the nicest area in Lima. Walking around, the area had a very good feel. It was a lively place where colorful old homes coexisted with modern multi-story buildings. He passed hotels, cafés and banks. He walked by Club Tennis Las Terrazas and by the Costa Verde ("green coast") area.
Back at the hotel, he read for another hour before he finally got sound from his receiver. The banker had arrived, but his wife was with him. After about twenty minutes of listening to the couple talking about a new home they might buy, Chuck learned that Lawrence was half right. The former banker was going to meet Lazar, but at another location, a building owned by the general. When the banker called down to his driver and told him to be ready, Chuck left his room and exited the hotel.
Outside, he was looking for a cab, but amazingly, there were none around. Something else caught his eye, however, a little golf-cart size vehicle was parked a block down. It was similar to the Tuk Tuks Chuck had once seen in Thailand, but the Peruvian Tuk Tuks had "sealed" enclosures, which made them even better for surveillance. Chuck got in and hotwired the little road runner. This was perfect because due to its small size, it could go places that cars could not. He drove a block down, turned the corner and waited. Within a few minutes, he was following the ambassador’s limo. After they’d left Miraflores, he saw more of the Tuk Tuks, so he blended into traffic even better. When he got caught behind a red light, he was in danger of losing the limo, so he drove the Tuk Tuk on the sidewalk, cut through an alley, and resumed the surveillance.
He followed the limo to San Isidro, another one of the safer neighborhoods of Lima, home to many upper-class families. He also passed synagogues and Catholic churches.
Chuck thought that San Isidro was an interesting place for Lazar to own a building because the district was the home to thirty-eight embassies. It was also a major financial quarter, and Chuck motored past many bank headquarters.
The Limo stopped in front of a beautiful colonial-era building with picturesque Moorish enclosed balconies. It was a three-story stone building with Gothic arch doorways and several Inca statues along the rim of the roof. It looked like it might have been some kind of old government building that Lazar had purchased.
Two bodyguards got out of the limo and scanned the street as if they were on high alert. They wore tactical assault gear, holsters, body armor, and sunglasses. They carried their assault rifles like professional violinists whose instruments were practically part of them. By their decisive movements alone, it was clear that these dudes took pride in their work.
Chuck parked over a block away. One of the bodyguards gazed down the street at the Tuk Tuk a little longer than he should have, enough to make Chuck uncomfortable. The other gunman had a few words with two of Lazar’s Black Cobra enforcers who were standing by the doorway. One of the Black Cobras let the bodyguard and the banker enter the building.
Chuck was pushing his luck with his improv surveillance, so he drove back to Miraflores and left the Tuk Tuk a few parking spaces from where he’d found it. After checking out of the hotel, he took a walk on Costa Verde. He needed time to think. He had suspicions about why a British
banker who meddled in US policy would be meeting with Lazar, but Chuck had other concerns for the moment. He had a purpose now. Despite Lazar’s armed Black Cobra security team, Chuck would have to break into the general’s building and neutralize him. To even attempt something like that was to make himself into a target of sadistic Black Cobra terrorists who would be very happy to kill him.
CHAPTER 9
Four days, sixteen hours, three minutes till WMD attack
Chuck stepped off the bus by Fisherman’s Wharf at the Malecón de Chorrillos. He stood by the overlook above Playa Agua Dulce Beach. The Malecón was set below the city, which was perched up on a plateau above the sea cliffs. The beach was down below the overlook. He was glad to be back here. He could hear the waves on the beach. The smells and sounds of the ocean made him feel at home in the same way that a dolphin felt at home in an area infested with sharks. The danger was great, but a dolphin was not harmless against predators. They had tricks and had been known to defeat sharks.
The Malecón at night time was a wonderful place if you wanted to see the Pacific Ocean, but Chuck noticed many things. Presently, a police car with flashing lights had his attention. The cop was apparently dealing with a traffic violation. It had pulled over a car beneath the sky-bridge that allowed pedestrians to safely cross over the busy road. Things were not always what they seemed to be, so this raised Chuck’s alert level. He scanned for irregularities. A young couple was enjoying a late-night stroll. They looked innocent enough, but were they really a young couple—or were they assassins? A man had to expect anything at any time.
Of course, he knew that regular people came here for legitimate reasons. The Malecón de Chorrillos was a popular and scenic place to be. The coast had a curve here so people could not only take in the city lights along the coast; they could also watch the reflections of the city lights on the rippling waters beyond the beach. Even at night you could see all the little open boats moored offshore. The coastal road was divided by a wide median that featured a line of fountains. Extensive flowerbeds covered the garden areas. Cars followed a circular road around a great statue. The area was lively and pulsed with energy.
The people are what interested Chuck. A few night owls stood over by the view railing. A young woman was oblivious to her surroundings. Her eyes were glued to her electronic device. She looked legitimately distracted. The two young men with her were taking in all the sights—or were they just pretending? Chuck would have to keep an eye on them. They wore t-shirts and didn’t appear to have concealed-carry, but ankle holsters were possible. They could have even stashed guns in the flowers for quick access. Nothing could be taken for granted.
Chuck walked out on the wharf and approached the tugboat, Matacancha.
He unlocked the side door and stepped into the galley. He flipped on the light and gasped. There was a man sitting at the galley table, a man with a slightly-graying beard, a lean, rugged man—and pointing a handgun at Chuck.
“Stay cool, Brandt. My name is Stuart Wilson. I know who you are. I’m a friend. I’m going to lower my gun. I just want you to hear what I have to say, alright?”
Chuck took a deep breath, but otherwise didn’t react much. With something like electricity in his adrenaline, he stared at the intruder calmly. He was a lean, bearded man with hard, rugged features sculpted by the natural forces of air, water, lean diet, and a hard physical regimen. His eyes were intelligent and measuring; Brandt knew by instinct that he was a professional.
“What’s this about?”
“I have a proposition for you, an opportunity.”
Chuck narrowed his eyes. “You break into my home and tell me that? Are you nuts?”
“You’re not exactly the kind of guy that I can look up in the phone book, are you? Anyway, I thought Lawrence Roberson told you I’d be getting in touch.”
“Get out before I do something I’ll regret.”
“Alright, I’ll leave, but hold on a second partner. You need me. I understand that you’re mad right now, but this is business. It’s not about personal emotions.”
“Get out—or it’s gonna be about personal pain.”
Stuart stood up. “I’m gonna lower my gun. I want your assurance that you won’t do anything.”
“I assure you that you’d better lower that gun, and then you better leave.”
“I know your background, Brandt. I’ve read your dossier. I know I took a risk by coming in here. I also know that I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“If you have something to say, you’d better say it fast.”
“I know that you’re thinking of going after General Lazar.”
“Lawrence told you that? I don’t think so.”
“Lawrence trusts me; after all, I’m his brother.”
“His what?” Chuck looked at him slant-eyed. “Long ago, I learned not to trust my brother.”
“I know about that, too, Brandt. I know what happened between you and your brother in Columbia and then on Jin Mountain, but I can assure you that I am your friend.”
“What else did Lawrence tell you?”
“Just that you’re going after Lazar.”
“That’s why I don’t need you.”
“Chill out, Brandt. I know that you and Lawrence are old friends. I know you saved his life once. By sending me, he may be saving yours.”
“That’s debatable. I can see why he never talked about you. I know nothing about you, and I already don’t like you.”
“That may change. Here’s what can tell you. I run an off-the-grid intel corporation with a huge budget and no government oversight. We’re patriots, Brandt. We only work with the best.”
“Are you finished yet?”
“Hell no. You have no idea what you’re getting involved in.”
“You’re starting to get on my nerves.”
“Then why don’t you relax and listen to me for a few minutes. There are people who care, Brandt.”
“They’re hard to find when you need them.”
“I’m right here, and I can help you.”
“You break in here and expect me to trust you? I don’t think so.”
“I’m going to lower my gun now, Brandt. I’m doing this as a gesture of peace, but I can defend myself without it.” He put his gun away but kept his eyes on Chuck. “I know what you did in the Amazon. I know about your career with RUMAN. I know the price you paid in Costa Brava. Believe me, you have my respect, but every man has his limits. Let me ask you something: why don’t you quit?”
“Why does a lighthouse keeper stay on the job?”
“A lighthouse keeper can work alone. You can’t, not this time. Surely you learned that much in Costa Brava. You know that from the Amazon. It’s a miracle you’re still alive, but let me tell you something, Brandt. You don’t know what you’re getting involved in. So far, you’ve just been scratching at the surface. You’re after the head of the snake, but you’re about to step into a den of cobras. You can’t do it alone. I run a top-secret organization, committed to the cause of freedom. We can help you.”
“I work alone.”
“Look, Brandt. I know what happened to you with RUMAN. I know what happened with EREBUS. We’re different. Lawrence would never have sent me here if he wasn’t worried about your chances of survival.”
“How thoughtful. I’ll be sure to waterboard him next time I see him.”
“He’s your friend. That makes him more valuable than gold. Now here’s the deal. You work with me, and I can back you up with people and equipment.”
“Do you have a hearing problem?”
“Come on, Brandt. You go up against Lazar and his Black Cobras alone, and you’ll be ensuring your own death.”
Chuck shook his head. “Who are you anyway, besides being Lawrence’s supposed brother?”
“Former Navy commander. You and I have something in common, Brandt. We’ve both seen how the establishment has been corrupted. We’ve seen our leaders sell us down the river.”
>
“Exactly, and as far as I know, you’re just another gear in the rusted-out engine.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. My organization is nothing like RUMAN or EREBUS. I’m not with the government. My organization is privately funded by some extremely wealthy people who share the same values as we do. These are people who love America and who love freedom. The only tax dollars we get are from a top-secret CIA black fund. No strings attached.”
“There are always strings attached.”
“Certain players like our work. When that changes, the funds dry up. I have contacts and resources. I have what you need if you’re to have any chance of staying alive.”
“I’m not joining any group.”
“That’s alright. You don’t have to. I understand you’ve got issues. Fine. I’ll help you anyway.”
Chuck shook his head.
“Guess we got off to a bad start.” Stuart put out his hand to shake. “I hope we’ll in time we’ll become friends, Brandt.”
Chuck smiled warmly. He stretched out his hand—then tagged Stuart in the mouth with a left hook. The intruder crashed against the bulkhead. Laying on the deck, he spit blood.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Brandt.”
“You got off light, buddy. Nobody breaks into my boat. Nobody!”
***
After Stuart left, Chuck got a call from Lawrence.
“Hey, buddy. Stuart said you were a hard case.”
“What about it?”
“He was there on my reference.”
“I work alone.”
“You really think you can do it all alone? Maybe you better open your mind a little bit, Chuck.”
“Last time I did that, I got stabbed in the back.”
“That wasn’t me, Chuck. We have to move forward. These are desperate times. We’ll be saving lives. I’ve verified from intel that Lazar is going to unleash a major attack on an American city four days.”
“What kind of attack?”
