by Roger Weston
Raiden “Rottweiler” Kurlev said, “You heard him. Let’s go. Get your ass moving. We’ll search the barracks first. Then we’ll move to other sectors.”
CHAPTER 29
State of Virginia, USA
Walmart at 2:00 a.m. was a loon house. As CIA deputy director Seychel sat back in a chair in the furniture section, he stared at some of the people that staggered past, a man holding a mangy dog and lecturing the animal incessantly, a woman with leather boots and paranoid eyes. He watched a man in black jeans with messy hair and a ripped shirt. Seychel could can smell the body odor. In the late hours, the store was like an insane asylum. A babbling homeless dude made his tenth lap since Seychel had started counting. Each time the drifter had one less keystone beer in his half rack. He reminded Seychel of his aunt Felicia, a social worker in Vegas.
Seychel could not believe he had fallen so low. He had no money, no I.D., no credit cards—nothing. Any attempts to regain his life would make him a target.
Hanging out here was like a haunted house in yesterday’s nightmare. Rednecks in pajamas, fluffy slippers, and tank-tops chased each other around, playing tag. Slacker employees asked a gathering of Goths to buy or fly, but the Goths ignored them. Noise of rednecks yelling and playing tag nagged at Seychel like a dog who barked all night long in tortured, pained tones. After a while, Seychel heard a stack of cans crash to the floor. He elected to move to a quieter part of the store to wait out the night. Hunger nagged at him, and he wished he had a few dollars to buy a piece of chicken. He ambled down an isle like a homeless man with no identity. As he walked, his shoes stuck to spilled, half-dried sauce.
He saw employees coming his way, so he grabbed the nearest cart so that he looked like a shopper. His fingers stuck to the handle of the empty cart. He found a quiet corner and sat on the floor. This was a place to be nobody, to be anonymous until morning. The smell of bleach and soap was strong here. Seychel settled in for a long night.
He had a big decision to make. Should he return to Langley? How could he explain the assassination attempt and the death of two DSS agents? How long would it take Cress to take him out?
He would have to think about stealing a phone. He had to contact Belkin soon.
Yes, it would be a long night.
CHAPTER 30
Abandoned Airbase, Kamchatka, Russia
Chuck watched the trucks come to a stop and four men get out and run for cover. They carried assault rifles and spread out, probably so that they would not be easy to take out all at once. Chuck slipped out the back door of the barracks he was in. He crawled through the high grass, but he crawled slowly. He moved a foot each minute until he had the position he wanted behind a pile of old cement blocks. Five minutes later, he saw one of the hunters behind a window on the second floor of the barracks.
Chuck thought of the screams of his dying friend Nicolai. He thought of all the dead men he’d found in the freezer back on the ship in town. He thought of all the rest of the men who he might be yet able to save. He took aim and squeezed the trigger.
Chuck was running before the hunter hit the ground.
CHAPTER 31
Chuck rigged three grenades to doors inside of the third building down. He waited for several minutes until he saw a hunter crawling in the grass. The man was crawling behind a building, but Chuck got off a shot in time and hit his ankle. The report came back loud and clear. He saw the man roll suddenly and scurry the rest of the way out of sight. Now they knew where to look for him.
Since the doors were rigged, Chuck slipped out a side window and crawled through bushes for thirty yards. Then he heard the sound of a door being kicked in.
An explosion rumbled.
Seizing the moment, Chuck sprinted for the trucks. Staying low, he checked them both. Finding no keys in the ignitions, he hotwired one of the rigs in under a minute. It was a 1968 Mercedes UNIMOG S 404.1 Pritsche troop carrier. Chuck fastened his seatbelt as if he was taking a Sunday morning drive to Petropavlovsk.
The engine roared to life. He shoved it into gear and sped down the runway. Although the second truck stayed where it was, he was surprised to find a third truck pulled out from behind an old hangar and pursued him.
The Mercedes troop carrier had decent acceleration, but the pursuing truck had even more. Chuck raced down the runway at sixty, but had to slow down because he ran out of runway. He hit the brakes and was rammed from behind. Then he cranked the wheel over.
The rubber screeched and the truck got sideways. It was still going twenty mph when the rear quarter panel hit a tree. His foot hit the floor. Wheels chirped. The engine roared. The truck soared between a fire station and a fuel center.
The pursuing truck raced up beside him. The passenger opened fire. Chuck ducked down and cranked the wheel. His truck smashed into the other truck so hard that it careened off the roadway and smashed through the wall of the fuel center. A moment later, Chuck heard a massive explosion. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the building go up in a roiling fireball.
He looked where he was going and swerved, but not soon enough to avoid hitting a stack of old tires. It was all rubber, and several tires flew off to the side. The truck made thumping sounds as it rode over more tires.
The Mercedes sped past several stone buildings painted in camouflage patterns. Chuck started looking for signs of recent activity at any of the buildings. He looked for trampled down weeds or late-model parked cars.
Then another truck flashed out from between two buildings at high speed and broadsided his troop carrier.
CHAPTER 32
Pain flashed up and down Chuck’s spine. He tried to stop the shaking movements, but he could not.
Slowly, he regained consciousness. He was confused about what was going on. He was spinning. He was dizzy. He had double vision. He saw four wrecked trucks.
But then his vision came together. The four smashed-up trucks became two. He found himself looking at one of the hunters who’d been tracking him a few minutes ago before he stole the truck. Evidently, they’d ambushed him with the second truck.
“Get up,” the hunter said in English.
Chuck tried to get up, but he was overcome by a wave of nausea and vomited on the street.
The hunters cursed in Russian. Someone grabbed him and pulled him to his feet.
“Start walking.”
When the guy let go of him, Chuck staggered. He walked but could not walk a straight line.
At least I can walk, he thought. “Where are we going?”
“Just walk, or would you rather I shot you dead right now?”
“I’ll walk.” He walked lightly because he had a splitting headache. Before long, he was able to walk a straight line.
That’s progress, he thought. If they don’t shoot me, I’ll be alright in a few hours.
He knew that was a big If.
They walked toward a long three-story rectangle of a building. It was a plain building other than it had a steaming fountain in front of it. Behind that was a trellace of beams above a depression of some kind and metal railings for what looked like stairs. As Chuck approached the fountain, he passed a fallen statue of Lenin. The stone Lenin statue lay on the ground like a forgotten relic of the Cold War. It was a grim sight to see because Chuck realized he might be lying dead in a similar pose within minutes.
They went inside the lobby of the old building. It was full of metal crates of supplies and pallet boards stacked with goods.
“Get down on your knees.”
Chuck didn’t argue. He was about to do it anyway. He got down on all fours and endured another wave of nausea.
“Well, if it isn’t Chuck Brandt.”
Chuck tried to look up to see who it was, but the nausea was too much, and he puked on the ground.
“What did you do to him?”
“He’s probably got a concussion. We rammed his truck pretty hard.”
Chuck didn’t look to see who was talking.
“Stand up.”
<
br /> “Alright, I’ll—” Chuck staggered to his feet. He felt a little better. He was still nursing a bad headache, but he was able to stand without wobbling or swaying.
He immediately recognized the man before him, but was surprised to see him. It was Lenoid Belkin.
“I thought I’d killed you five years ago,” Chuck said. “I’d heard you survived, but I didn’t believe it.”
Belkin made a scoffing sound. He turned to Raiden “Rottweiler” Kurlev.
“Go get one of the prisoners from Warehouse Number Five.”
Kurlev nodded and jogged off.
Belkin turned to Chuck and pointed at his deformed chin. “I lived with this!” he said.
Chuck shook his head. “What’s the difference? You didn’t look so good before either.”
Belkin’s face darkened. “After you’re dead, that’s what I’ll say about you.”
Chuck knew all about Belkin. The international criminal gang leader had made millions by stealing ships out from under the nose of Somali pirates and letting them take the blame. Now he was moving to unspoiled waters.
Belkin got a bottle of Scotch from a stack of boxes. He cracked the lid and walked back towards Chuck. “Look how I live, Brandt. I’ve got all I can drink, and it’s all free. It’s all mine.”
“You’re a plague on society, Belkin.”
“What do I care? I get everything I want. My every desire is fulfilled. The oceans are my treasure chest. The world is mine!”
Chuck nodded.
“Anything I want,” Belkin said, “I name it and claim it. Then I take it.” He took a swig off the bottle. “Millions of people all over the world, the hoards of working stiffs, the workbeasts, the oppressed—they are all defeated by life, yet I dominate. They cringe, but I strut. They obey, but I rage. They fall, but I rise. They spend their whole lives dreaming of living the kind of life that I take for granted. They dream, but I live the dream.”
“I once saw someone like you in a dream,” Chuck said, “except it was a nightmare.”
Belkin smirked. “Do you stay in five-star hotels when you travel? No. Do you drive Maseratis in Monoco and bet on $20,000 hands? No, because you ain’t shit. Do you associate with famous people? No, because you’re nobody. You couldn’t get hired to polish their shoes. Do you wear a gold watch? No, because you ain’t shit. I piss liquid gold.” He raised his wrist. “Look at this watch. It ticks off an hour for both of us, but that’s where the similarity ends. Your hour is a pathetic episode of groveling in defeat, another hour of a wasted life. A lowly servant. My hour is a parade of glory. Tick, tick, tick. You grovel. Tick, tick, tick. I rule. Tick, tick, tick.”
He took a drink from his bottle. “I choose from among fifteen bags of Japanese-made golf clubs and hit balls on my own runway. I own twenty-five dirt bikes. When your typical working slob needs a new part for their dirt bike, he orders the piece or goes and buys it. Then he slaves over the repair. Meanwhile, his life ticks away. Tick tock. If I need a part, I throw away the bike and move onto a new one. The difference is that my time has value. My time is golden. I am golden.”
Chuck shook his head.
Belkin narrowed his eyes—shiny little shadows outlined with black eye liner. “Why are you here, Brandt?”
“Take a guess.”
“I don’t have to. You boarded my ship and killed my brother.”
“Your what?”
“You heard me.”
“I thought he was vermin when he tried to kill me. I guess I should’ve seen the resemblance.”
Belkin took another swig. “It always did fall on me to clean up the messes left by my brother. I always had to finish the job. Oh, I’m going to enjoy killing you.”
“Because of your brother? I had no choice. It was self defense.”
“Then you admit it.”
“Why do you care? You were never the type to get your facts straight before you started filling graveyards.”
“Graveyards? They don’t need graves. I don’t care about that.” Belkin looked over at his men for a second then said, “Can you believe this American? He doesn’t know who he’s talking to.”
“I’m talking to the killer of a lot of good men, of a lot of husbands and fathers.”
“You’re a fool, Brandt. Dozens of men die every time a storm blows. There’s a lot of storms in this world—tropical storms, political storms, business storms.”
“Business? Is that what you call it when you take out a ship and crew?”
“I call it a change in the weather. Change is at the heart of the world. Change is what shapes history. Change is what shapes the destiny of men. Change lifts some men up and throws some others down. It’s been happening for two thousand years. I am an element of change. The tides of the ocean shift every day. When a ship goes down, all that’s left is a flotsam of cargo. For thousands of years beach combers have collected the wreckage and cargo that a new tide brings ashore.”
“It sounds like you’ve been reading Hegel.”
“Him and others. I live by my own rules. I am a superior man—above the conventions of society.”
“You’re not above justice.”
Belkin laughed. “Those are big words for a man about to breathe his last breath.”
“It’s not about me. I am nothing. Justice is a fact of life and death. You can deny it, but that doesn’t make it go away. You are subject to justice.”
“That’s why you’re a small man, Brandt, and I am a powerful man. Bring him.”
Two enforcers grabbed Chuck by the arms and roughly escorted him down the runway to a jet hangar full of cargo containers and tables.
A spectacular display of wealth, weapons, and cargo was spread out on the tables. He also saw numerous art masterpieces in wooden shipping frames, leaning against the metal shipping containers. Chuck saw paintings by Bierstadt and Winslow and others he couldn’t identify, but the one that caught his attention the most was the House of Death by William Blake. It gave Chuck grim memories of the bodies he’d found in the freezer container on the ship in Petropavlovsk.
Belkin stretched out his arm. His long black hair shook as he looked left and then right. “Look around you, Brandt! Weapons, art, electronics--it’s all mine. Millions of dollars in precious cargo. When the common man wants something, he goes to the store and spends money that causes him stress. When he buys a car, he haggles to save a few measly dollars. It is a sad thing to see. If I want something I come here and take all I want.” He gestured toward five Toyota trucks, a Limousine, and three shiny new Mercedes. “It’s all mine. I live a life that others can only dream of.”
“It’s a sad life.”
“I’m getting tired of your comments, Brandt. I just wanted you to see, before I kill you, that the man you shot years ago is a superior man. You are nobody. I am the man of change. As men like you fall, men like myself rise to greatness.”
Raiden “Rottweiler” Kurlev returned with a blindfolded man.
Belkin gave a crooked grin. “Look at that, Brandt, one of the men you came for.” Belkin drew his weapon.
CHAPTER 33
Belkin raised his handgun and fired. He shot the blindfolded man through the heart. The man buckled to the floor of the airplane hangar.
The man landed on his side. He tried to turn over but jerked and pulled his arms to his chest. He went slack and gave up the fight. He was gone.
Belkin lowered his gun and glared at Chuck. “How do you like that, Brandt? You wasted your time coming here. You should have stayed away from Kamchatka. It’s a long way to come for a corpse.” Belkin shoved his handgun under his belt.
“I’m gonna throw up,” Chuck said.
“You shot me from a mile out, but can’t handle blood up close. Is that it?”
Chuck turned toward the man holding his right arm and made sounds like he was going to vomit again.
Impulsively, to avoid getting puked on, the gunman let go of his arm and jumped back.
With his right arm no
w free, Chuck face smashed the gunman holding his left arm. The big man spun and stumbled. Chuck dove at him, tackling him and ripping his gun away. He rolled onto his back firing.
The shooter tried to dive onto him and get his AK back, but Chuck slammed the stock into his face, knocking him out cold. Chuck ripped a spare magazine from the gunman’s tactical vest.
Belkin was already gone, but one of his bodyguards took a couple of bullets for him. Two other gunmen ran for cover but a third fumbled with his weapon. He finally got a hold of it and brought it onto Chuck’s target outline, but a burst of gunfire tore across his chest. His assault rifle flew up in the air as he spun and belly crashed down onto the cement floor.
With shots coming at him from behind the shipping containers, Chuck hoisted the fallen sailor and ran out of the building. Just outside the hanger door, he put down the body, leaned around the corner and gunned down two killers running after him. Two other gunmen retreated to cover before Chuck could get any lead into them.
He squeezed the sailor’s wrist and checked his pulse, but the man was deceased.
Chuck looked over his shoulder at a troop carrier truck.
He ran behind it and looked inside. Keys hung from the ignition.
He fired up the engine and sped over to warehouse number five where the truck smashed through the front door.
CHAPTER 34
Standing in the airplane hangar behind a stack of cargo, Belkin dialed a number on his phone. He was calling Yakov, the capo on his way back to the base with two dozen killers.
Belkin said, “Yakov, where are you?”
“We’re a few minutes out.”
“I need backup.”
“Against who?”
“Chuck Brandt.”
“One man?”
“I need you here now!”
“I can see the base. We’ll be there in a few minutes. Hold on.”
“He’s in warehouse number five.”
