Rogue Op II Read online

  Rogue Op II

  A CHUCK BRANDT THRILLER

  ROGER WESTON

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, dialogue, and plot are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Weston Publishing Enterprises

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 1

  Apurimac Canyon, Andes Mountains, Peru

  Chuck lugged himself along the ancient Inca trail. Rain smashed against his face as he followed the path that twisted next to the river’s edge. The other side of the small, but roaring river was flanked by a soaring cliff. Determined to stop the man who had harmed so many, Chuck continued through the thrashing rain towards his destination. His feet felt heavy as he moved deeper into the muggy jungle. The smell of rotting vegetation and smoldering wood from a tree that had recently been shattered by a lightning bolt filled his nostrils. He hiked into a patch of thin fog that swirled in his wake. Adjusting the strap of his M16, he glanced up at the towering mountain before him. Its peak was buried in angry-looking clouds.

  Chuck knew he was facing impossible odds going up against General Ivan Lazar. He knew that the man surrounded himself with highly-trained operatives, and that meant only one thing. It meant that it would be one man against a pack of trained killers…and that one man was him.

  Chuck stopped cold in his tracks. He dragged the back of his hand across his forehead and wiped the rain off his brow as a strange sensation flooded through his veins. It was the same feeling he’d had that day in the jungle of Guatemala…the day when Froy Gonzales had breathed his last. Chuck pressed on with extra caution now. He was about to enter the wolves’ den.

  CHAPTER 2

  Two Days Earlier

  Lima, Peru

  After a short, but bumpy flight from Manaus, Brazil, Chuck hailed a taxi and went straight to the office of the National Superintendence of Tax Administration (SUNAT). The office was located on the 19th floor of an aging twenty-story skyscraper. Arriving at 10:05 a.m., Chuck waited endlessly in a lounge with a number in his hand.

  It seemed like an excessive wait time considering that there were only two other people ahead of him. Meanwhile he watched a lot of coffee drinking and gossiping among the staff in a back office with an open door. This is almost as bad as the VA, Chuck thought. Finally, after forty minutes, his number was called.

  He approached the counter where a tall, high-browed bureaucrat with a perfectly sculpted nose and fake eyelashes awaited him. The woman had dark shoulder length hair, perfect skin, and red lipstick. She looked at Chuck with skeptical brown eyes.

  “Hello, I was wondering if you could help me. I’m trying to find the address of a certain corporation.”

  She batted her eyes, and pursed her crimson lips. “I’m sorry, we don’t give out that kind of information.”

  “Please, hear me out. Fifteen years ago, I gave up my daughter for adoption. I’ve been trying to find her for ten years. Finally, I’ve tracked her adoptive family to this corporation. I’ve come all the way from North America to find her.” Chuck wiped away a tear. It was a real tear. Even though it was a bogus story, it felt real to say it, and it was real for many people. The thought of it made him feel sad. He was also thinking of the children that he’d never had because of his wife’s death years ago. He wished he had a daughter or a son that he could find and meet. He did not. He had nobody. He wished he could spend just one hour with his lost wife. He could not. He missed her every day.

  “You poor man,” she said as her eyes softened. “I wish I could help you. I really do.”

  “Please, ma’am. You’re my last hope. My wife has died, and I want to tell my daughter about her mother … and her regrets.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to see you?”

  “I have to try.”

  “I would love to help you, but unfortunately I cannot. It’s against regulations.”

  “I understand, but I’m willing to compensate you for any inconvenience,” Chuck slid an envelope across the counter. “That’s four hundred Nuevo Sol.”

  She batted her fake eyelashes and took the envelope. “What was the name of the corporation?”

  CHAPTER 3

  Next day

  Cusco, Peru

  Chuck’s flight from Lima to Cusco took fifty minutes. Cusco, the old Inca capital, situated at 11,000-feet elevation, was located near the Urubamba Valley in the Altiplano, the Andean high plateau, of Southeastern Peru. This was a wind-raked expanse, surrounded by foothills where few trees survived, and the dominant vegetation was grass and shrubs. Chuck walked to a cab that was waiting in front of the Alejandro Velasco Astete International Airport. The cabbie had a row of very yellow teeth, and he never stopped smiling.

  “Downtown,” Chuck said as he sat down on the cheap vinyl seat of the old sedan.

  “Bad timing,” the cabbie said as he smiled broadly and looked back over his seat. “There are protests in Cusco. It’s very dangerous.”

  “I’m always careful,” he said.

  “Good. I would stay off the streets. Where are you staying?”

  “Don’t know, yet.”

  “How long you here for?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “You American?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I suggest you stay in your hotel room for a couple of days until things settle down,” the cabby continued, tilting his head back, showing his buttery teeth. “This isn’t like America. You could be kidnapped or beat up just because you’re American. You have to be very careful here. You have to pay attention, especially when the protests are going on.”

  “I appreciate the advice. You can pull over here.”

  The man frowned. “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  The man no longer smiled. “Okay, but I warned you.”

  Chuck got out of the cab near an old vacant junk lot on the edge of town. Several burnt-out cars had been abandoned there, including an old mail truck.

  Chuck started walking. At Plaza de Armas, he paused to look at the massive cathedral, Basilica de la Virgen de la Asuncion. His thoughts drifted back to the monastery in Spain, but he had seen too much hell since then, and it had to be stopped. It would be too easy to turn away, but when the wolf is on the rampage, someone has to protect the people. It was time to pay Lazar a visit. Due to the ongoing riots, he could tell that just getting to Lazar’s building was going to be difficult. Riot police were lined up at various intersections and it was starting to get ugly. The protesters began hurling rocks at the police. Others miscreants were vandalizing the buildings and shops that lined the road. Chuck changed his course three times to avoid the ongoing strife. Turning a corner, he felt broken glass crunching under his hiking boots. Other than a few motorcycles, there were no moving vehicles on Avendia del Sol.
Rather, the wide avenue was filled with angry people.

  He was confronted twice by protesters, but they cooled off when he told them his story. He stopped by a street vendor who was packing up his cart to go home.

  “What is it all about?” Chuck said.

  The man shook his head. “Here in Cusco, nobody knows why they protest. Any reason is good. One day it is government corruption and incompetence. The next it’s the work conditions in the mines or the salaries of the working class. Who knows? Today it could be the price of gas. Or the cost of entretenimiento. Some have a desire to spark a communist revolution, but most are unemployed. After they quit looking for work, they have time for protest.”

  Chuck bought a gray and white woven poncho from the merchant and thanked him. After pulling the garment over his head, Chuck continued walking towards his destination, looking for a street without protestors. Finally, he found a quieter street that had just a few vendors stretched along the two-lane road. The road was broken up by thin cobblestone lanes that spread out into a residential community. Those streets were lined with Spanish-style colonial buildings that were built atop walls. The walls were made from rectangular slabs of perfectly-fitted stones. Chuck had been told that they were the remnants of the Inca empire that had once called Cusco home.

  Chuck walked slowly, noticing every detail. He was scanning generally without focusing on any one thing or making eye contact with anyone. He noticed faces, mentally imprinting facial features upon his subconscious. He noticed men with loose jackets that might conceal weapons. He noticed baseball caps and fedoras that shaded eyes.

  As he walked along the ancient cobblestone street, the smell of burning rubber began to fill the air.

  An old man wearing a brown Chullo hat with large ear flaps brushed by Chuck. The man stopped and turned to look at Chuck. Reaching under his gray poncho, Chuck unsnapped the thong on his shoulder holster. Keeping his peripheral vision on the old man, he quickly glanced up at the rooflines. Open doorways caught his attention. He made a few overt glances at the produce stalls that lined the street as if he was shopping. Warily, he moved on.

  The closer he got to his destination, the more the streets became populated with everyday folks. Pedestrians in bright colored sweaters walked by. Women in colorful skirts and hats shared their beautiful smiles. Little kids with hand-knitted caps helped their parents carry groceries. Chuck passed a lovely woman leading a llama around the old town. One little girl was carrying a lamb in her poncho. Chuck marveled as he recalled that these people were the descendants of the once mighty Incas.

  The open-air farmer’s market occupied the whole block. There were piles and piles of produce: oranges, grapes, potatoes. There were big steaming pots of food behind lunch counters. Beyond the food market, there was another open street market that was filled with hats, wool sweaters and other items that stretched on for a couple more blocks.

  The sidewalks were busy. Walking alertly down the cobblestone paths, Chuck passed women with top hats. Apparently, it was a popular style here.

  Some ladies were selling flowers. One said, “Buy this for your sweetheart. You’ll make her happy.”

  Chuck smiled at her, but felt sadness. This was not the time for him to be thinking of his late wife.

  Chuck glanced at his map and slowly approached a long office building. As was the case with many of the buildings in Cusco, it was a one-story structure built in the Spanish colonial style on top of the ancient six hundred-year-old stone-block Inca walls that filled the city. The building had a red-tiled roof and an alley that ran along one side. It stretched for a full city block. From what Chuck could tell, there was no security team guarding the joint. That should have been a relief, but it made him even more alert. Better an enemy you can see than one that is hiding and watching.

  Oddly, the front of the building featured no street sign or company logo. The building was unmarked. The front door was locked. Looking through the glass door, Chuck saw a large reception area, but there was no receptionist at the desk.

  The sign on the door said Cerrado. Closed.

  That didn’t seem right because this was a large office building. It could easily accommodate a hundred workers. Then again, this was owned by General Lazar, who was not your typical businessman. According to the clerk at the tax office, Lazar owned twenty more buildings around town. Chuck hoped he could get the answers he was looking for at his first stop.

  He checked his map again to verify that he had the right place.

  Then he circled the whole building again, looking for another way in. The building featured some windows, but they were small and up high because the Inca foundation rose ten-feet above the sidewalk elevating the structure. There was a door around back, but it was locked, too. Up front again, Chuck noticed a small black buzzer. He rang it several times. It took a couple of minutes, but finally a heavyset man in a leather jacket emerged into the lobby. His curly black hair hung below a leather ranchero hat.

  Leather arm tassels quivered as the man shook his hand at the sign on the door. “Somos cerrado.”

  As he waved his hand, Chuck noticed that he was wearing a leather bracelet and a thick leather belt. He also noticed a small tattoo of a snake on his trigger finger. The mark of the Black Cobras.

  Chuck pounded on the door.

  Now the man looked angry. He stared at Chuck like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

  “I was sent by Lazar,” Chuck said, rapping on the door. “Open up!”

  The big man reluctantly opened the door a crack and slanted a threatening look at Chuck. He said, “We’re closed. What do you want?”

  “I have a message from Lazar. Let me in.”

  “An Americano? I was not told about this.”

  “I’m telling you now. It’s an emergency.”

  The door came open, and Chuck slid past the man.

  “Who are you?” the thug demanded.

  “Lazar told me to come here,” Chuck was just fishing. “He said you would take care of me.”

  “I said, ‘Who are you?’ I do not know about this.”

  “My name is Paul Ramos. I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “I will have to call for verification.”

  “You do that—and make it fast.”

  The man gave Chuck a hostile glare as he went through a door into the next room. Chuck followed him.

  The big guy turned. “What are you doing? Wait out there.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The thug reached for a weapon. As he did, Chuck grabbed his weapon hand with both of his own hands. He applied pressure against the elbow joint, which brought the attacker’s upper body downward. Chuck then delivered a knee to the side of his face.

  As the brute crashed down, Chuck made a quick glance around the room, which was an office with travel posters on the wall and lots of leather furniture.

  Even though the man had just taken a painful shot, he scrambled on hands and knees and grabbed a metal wastepaper basket, which he threw hard.

  Chuck ducked the flying projectile. A second later, he ducked a wood and leather stool, which hit the wall and fell in pieces.

  Now the man assumed a fighter’s stance and surprised Chuck with a head kick that dazed him. Chuck dodged the second head kick and responded by kicking the thug in the stomach. As the man buckled forward, Chuck kneed him in the face, creating the sound of crunching bone in the nasal passage.

  As the Lazar goon began to fall, he grunted in pain.

  Chuck delivered a swift upper cut to the thug’s jaw, followed by a reverse chest kick. The thug catapulted backwards, smashing into a gold-painted sunburst giltwood mirror. Glass rained on the floor. The giltwood frame smashed into pieces.

  Impressively, the killer struggled up onto his feet.

  “You want more?” Chuck shook his head. “No, I think you’ve had enough.”

  Chuck helped him into a leather wingback chair, the man groaning in pain, blood pouring out of his nose.
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  “You have not been helpful,” Chuck said. “I hope that’s going to change.”

  The man grunted.

  Chuck picked up the fighter’s ranchero cowboy hat and put it on his head. “There you go. You see, I can be friendly if you are cooperative.”

  Chuck looked around. “What do we have here?” Travel posters were plastered all over the walls. A brochure rack sat across the room. “Is this a travel agency? Why would you have a travel agency with no sign out front?”

  The man mumbled an answer.

  “What?” Chuck said. “Speak up.”

  “Private service.”

  “For who?”

  “The wealthy.”

  Chuck nodded. He walked towards the man and said, “I think you’re lying.”

  Then he face smashed him, crushing his nose. The man rocked back and forth in the wing back chair. He began to moan in a way that built up into a scream.

  Chuck cocked his bloody arm as if to let him have it again.

  This got the thug’s attention, and he quieted down.

  “You don’t want me to get any more blood on my hands,” Chuck said. “I won’t like that.”

  The big guy eyed Chuck as he lifted his arm and dragged the leather sleeve of his jacket across his face, smearing blood all over it.

  Chuck walked over to a file cabinet and opened up a leather trunk that was on top of it. He found that it was full of more travel brochures. As he scanned the contents of the trunk, he noticed a jaguar figurine decorated the floor next to the cabinet.

  Keeping an eye on the troublemaker, Chuck kneeled down by the filing cabinet. He put one hand on the stone jaguar and opened the bottom drawer of the file cabinet with the other. He found the file cabinet was full of customer files. He flipped through them.

  Frowning, Chuck stood up and looked at the Black Cobra brute. “Looks like Lazar’s clients are dignitaries from small countries around the world. What’s going on here?”

  The Cobra was too caught up in his own pain to answer.

  Chuck moved towards a large cedar credenza that stood against the wall behind a desk. He noticed that the man on the wingback chair began to wave his free arm.