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  American Op

  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 © 2018 by Weston Publishing Enterprises

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

  PRELUDE

  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 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  PRELUDE

  June 30, 1908

  Tesla’s Wardenclyffe Plant

  Long Island, New York

  Nikola Tesla was about to carry out the most desperate act of his life, one that would change the world. There would be no going back—ever. Wearing a businessman’s dark suit, he paced back-and-forth inside his laboratory and power plant, which was dwarfed by an amazing 187-foot tower topped with 55-foot diameter dome-shaped cupola. He had dubbed the tower Wardenclyffe. He continued pacing back and forth then stopped and gazed at one of his inventions, the telautomaton. It was the first remote controlled boat and he had created it. He continued walking past various other electrical apparatus that he was working on. Two men stood nearby. One of them was from the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). The other was a physicist under the employ of Westinghouse. Two other men, electricians, worked across the lab. They were running through a checklist for the fourth time. Such caution was not normally necessary, but this was no ordinary day. There had never been a day like this since the creation of the earth itself. This was far more than just the biggest project they’d ever been involved in. In two minutes, the world would never be the same. He felt anxious as he contemplated what they were about to do, but that was not the only reason.

  Tesla was desperate indeed. He had made the monumental error of appealing to J.P. Morgan for funds. Morgan, a financial leviathan, had taken over Westinghouse. In his efforts to control Tesla, Morgan had pushed him to the edge of bankruptcy.

  “This is very exciting,” the OSS man said. “I don’t care what anyone says. This could be the greatest weapon that man has ever seen.”

  Tesla turned and faced him. He was dark with anger. “This is a peaceful demonstration. What is wrong with you people? The day will come when my peace ray will create an umbrella of safety around our country. I have no interest in using my invention for death and destruction.”

  “I understand.” The OSS man nodded quickly.

  Tesla was not so sure that the man understood anything. These Washington D.C. types rarely did. “Good. Then be quiet and let me work.”

  Tesla’s Wardenclyffe tower was indeed an invention of epic power. A massive Tesla coil had been constructed at the base of the tower. The tower was capable of producing 100 million volts of pressure which could generate currents up to 1000 amperes—a power level of 100 billion watts of electricity.

  Tesla paced back and forth. He fumed over what J.P. Morgan was doing to him. The power-hungry man was bankrupting him. Tesla was being ruined by a ruthless banker with misguided and morally-disturbing ideas.

  I will show him, Tesla thought. I will show the entire world what I can do. Every man and woman will soon hear of the amazing power of my tower. It will change the calculus of power and money.

  Tesla was very confident in what he was about to do. After all, his calculations were always arrived at carefully with his amazing, mathematical brain. They were always precise. His inventions always worked according to expectations. The first hydro-electric power plant that he developed using alternating currents at Niagara Falls, worked perfectly.

  What he was about to do today would make Niagara Falls seem petty in comparison.

  He was about to test his peace ray by firing it at the North Pole, a place where nobody would be killed. The explorer Robert Peary was headed towards the North Pole on his second expedition, but Tesla would aim his ray far west of his planned route. He had contacted Peary and wished him well on his journey and cryptically requested that he should take note of any unusual atmospheric phenomena that he might witness.

  He walked around his power plant and past tangles of electrical apparatus. He stopped at the tuning table for a moment then moved on past the two-phase dynamo.

  “One minute,” Tesla said.

  The electricians moved to their stations.

  The OSS man looked at Tesla with fear in his eyes. Tesla saw his fingers shaking.

  Tesla counted the seconds as he walked past various transformers and large spiral coil.

  “Activate,” Tesla said, his eyes lit up. “Activate!”

  As the electricians worked their hands over the various controls, the earth began to vibrate. Tesla felt the vibrations move up his legs. Bolts of electricity filled the air within the power plant. The OSS man made a whimpering sound and sunk down onto his knees.

  Outside, a cloud of light filled the air around the Wardenclyffe power plant and the domed tower. Lightning splintered into the sky. Hundreds of bolts of electric fire ravaged the air. The sky looked like a shattered, illuminated glass. Billions of watts of electricity emitted from the dome atop the Tesla tower. A particle beam shot into the atmosphere and overshot the North Pole. In a remote area of Siberia called Tunguska, a native Eskimo was herding his reindeer when he saw the most amazing aurora borealis lights that he’d ever seen. Indeed, it was the most beautiful thing that he’d ever seen in his life.

  It was also the last thing that he ever saw.

  A bolt of lightning the size of a tornado flashed down from the sky. It struck the earth. In seconds, it incinerated a thousand miles of forest.

  Tesla waited in his Wardenclyffe power plant, but he never heard from Robert Peary because the explorer never saw anything near the North Pole worth reporting.

  Whether due to divine intervention or just a rare miscalculation, Tesla had made a colossal blunder.

  He had created something that could not be controlled. The future was truly now a frightful thing.

  CHAPTER 1

  USS Forrestal, Southern Ocean

  Present Day

  From the ship’s pilot house, General Ivan Lazar’s fierce, excited eyes peered out the angled window at the activity below. The massive warship pulled at anchor in a bay near the Antarctic Peninsula. Big halogen deck lights splashed glow across the rocking flight deck, where dozens of shipping containers were stacked. Deck hands attached by safety ropes were checking cables that were securing three helicopters. There were no jets onboard; none were needed. On thick legs, Lazar paced across the pilot house of the decommissioned aircraft carrier, a ship that was supposed to have been scrapped years ago. Ninety-knot Antarctic winds lashed the windows.

  The former Russian general pulled black gloves off his thick fingers. He tossed them on the pilot’s chair and continued to pace. The pilot house was lit up even though mo
st of the electronics had been stripped out when the USS Forrestal was prepared for the scrap-yard, a final journey which never happened.

  Lazar paced a couple more times across the relatively compact space with lime green paint on walls of perforated metal. When the floor tilted as the ship rolled, Lazar stopped suddenly and shot a look over his shoulders, his eyes furious with excitement. The ocean was a pulsating brew of turmoil and suppressed rage, he thought. Just like him. He was furious at the world because of players who dared to interfere with his plans. One in particular had caused him unusual pain.

  Chuck Brandt!

  The scoundrel would have to die like a rat.

  Lazar scowled. Brandt had turned out to be a major thorn in his side. His unsavory actions had delayed the implementation of Lazar’s glorious plan. The good news was that, at least for now, Brandt thought that Lazar was dead. The fool believed that he had killed Lazar after he threw him off a cliff and into in the Apurimac River in the Peruvian Andes.

  But Brandt was wrong!

  He, Ivan Lazar, the greatest Russian general that had ever lived had not only survived, but was now positioned to carry out the brilliant plan that he had been working on for years. His plan to harness unstoppable power was nearing completion.

  No doubt Brandt thought that he’d put an end to Lazar’s plot of world domination, but Chuck Brandt was wrong again.

  Lazar had crawled out of the Apurimac River unscathed on that fateful day as only a man of destiny could and now he, General Ivan Lazar, would bring his magnificent strategy to its horrific conclusion in just six days. The general clasped his thick fingers together and continued pacing in the pilot house of the old American aircraft carrier and now, not only was he going to execute his plan, he was going to shame Brandt in the process…and on top of that he was going to shock the whole world as he rose to his ultimate destiny which had been denied to him for so long.

  Wind howled around the pilot house—an eerie, moaning, cyclonic wind.

  The general stopped and listened. Then he resumed his pacing. He brooded that in just six days, his name would be burned into the annals of time. He would be universally feared. All the nations would get down on their knees and bow to him. The centuries had begged for a man such as General Ivan Lazar, but they had begged in vain. No man of his genius, capacity, and boldness had ever lived.

  Sure, there had been other great men—Alexander, Napoleon, Genghis Kahn, Frederick the Great, Ivan the Terrible, Stalin, Hitler, Chairman Mao, and others—but none had reached the heights that General Lazar was about to reach.

  Even the great Incan warrior, Pachacuti, had not touched the realm of greatness that would soon be Lazar’s destiny.

  When the hour came, his power would be so complete that no man could touch him. Not even Chuck Brandt. Brandt had nearly doomed him back at the Apurimac, but even he had failed. Now it was too late for anyone to stop him before the unthinkable occurred.

  Only six more days and history would be changed forever!

  CHAPTER 2

  Cedar Creek, Texas

  Jeff and Maria galloped their horses through a large open valley towards Cedar Creek which wound its way peacefully through the grasslands of Texas, just north of the Mexican border. Jeff looked back at Maria. Her straight brown hair blew furiously in the wind around her angelic face. She looked at him with soft brown eyes and smiled.

  They followed the creek through oak groves and hill country. For over a mile, the horses headed upstream, walking right in the middle of the creek, which was less than a foot deep in many places. Sunshine kissed the calm green waters. Warm currents sparkled and flowed over limestone bedrock.

  They dismounted when they arrived at an old line-cabin which was set amid a lush grove of pecan trees. They unsaddled the horses and put the saddles on an old hitching rack. A small shed that was next to the cabin and a horse paddock lay not far away.

  After the incident in Brazil that took the life of his wife Karla, Jeff had taken a job as caretaker and watchman on this 7,000 ranch which was nestled along the Mexican border. He often rode all over the sprawling piece of land, and this cabin was a frequent stopping place. It was a nice change from his place in Costa Rica and wasn’t a constant reminder of what he’d lost that fateful day on the Amazon River.

  Maria, who now lived in Rocksprings with her mom, not far away, was a frequent companion on his long rides because Jeff was her teacher and because he’d promised Chuck that he’d look after her and teach her how to protect herself from those who might want to harm her. For the last six months, Jeff had been training her in self-defense—both in firearms and hand-to-hand combat. Maria worked days as a riding instructor at a local ranch, but after work and on the weekends, she devoted all her time training in mixed-martial arts and target shooting practice. It was a rare day when they didn’t train past midnight.

  Maria brushed her thoroughbred named Hurricane for a minute then hooked a lead rope to the halter. She took the horse into the arena and ran her through some tricks. She’d been teaching her horse tricks that she used to teach her favorite horse when she lived in Spain. Responding to her hand motions, Hurricane put his head down, shuffled sideways, backed up, and reared. When Maria wound her finger twice in a circular motion, Hurricane ran two laps around the arena.

  “Good boy,” she said patting his neck when he returned. Then she pointed at her cheek. Hurricane muzzled Maria’s cheek and then bowed his head.

  Maria smiled. “You are a flatterer,” she said as she tussled his mane. “Look what I brought for you.” In her other hand, she held up an apple, which made Hurricane nod vigorously and show his large teeth.

  Maria held out the apple in her open palm, and Hurricane ate it from her hand.

  Jeff brought his horse over to the paddock. Hurricane obediently stood still as Maria worked the curry brush over his back and sides. Then both she and Jeff let their horses loose in the paddock. The horses playfully ran around the ring as Jeff grabbed two blocks of hay that were stacked next to the shed. He threw them in the arena and the horses started munching them greedily. Jeff grabbed a can full of oats and tossed it in the grain troughs, and the horses switched off between the two sources of food. Jeff turned on a spicket, and water began flowing into a metal trough. The horses were now satisfied.

  “I’ll get the fire going so we can cook up those burgers,” Jeff said.

  “Not yet,” Maria said. “I want to train first.”

  “I knew you’d say that. Have you ever thought of taking a break?” He grinned.

  “Not today.” Maria smiled back at him as she walked to her saddle bag and got out a 9 mm Browning combat handgun. Jeff got her some ear plugs then set up the targets.

  He came back and reached into his saddle bags, which were draped over the old hitching rail in front of the cabin’s front porch. He brought out his Heckler & Koch USP .45 compact tactical handgun.

  For two hours they blasted away. Brass casings covered the ground around them. Then for the next two hours, they worked on intensive self-defense training in hand-to-hand combat. Finally, they were both drenched in sweat, so they sat down on the edge of the shallow Cedar Creek. They rolled up their jeans and allowed the warm river water to run over their legs as their hands clung to the limestone rocks that lined the river bed.

  After a while Jeff got up and lit a fire in the fire pit that was in front of the cabin.

  Maria went inside to make the burgers. As usual, she carried her Ruger P-85 handgun. She liked the extra security it gave her, and she was not afraid of the Ruger’s kick. She also liked the P-85 due to the ambidextrous magazine release, which was appealing to left-handed shooters like her.

  Her Ruger was shoved under her belt and jeans at the small of her back. As usual, she wore a flannel shirt, which she left un-tucked, so it fell loosely over her gun.

  As she exited the cabin, she glanced down toward Cedar Creek and saw a man walking in her direction—fishing pole in hand. Shoulder straps held a wicker fish
basket at his waist. He had short, curly hair. He smiled and waved.

  “Howdy,” the man said.

  Startled, Jeff spun around. “This is private property, mister. You shouldn’t be fishing here.”

  The man gave a puzzled expression. He walked closer. “I thought this was state land. That’s a shame because Cedar Creek has nice-sized trout and bass.”

  “No, this is privately owned, and it’s best you be heading out now,” Jeff said, smoke from the fire pit rising behind him.

  “I caught me a nice one,” the man said as he reached into his wicker fish basket, but instead of fish he pulled out a handgun and pointed it at Jeff.

  The killer looked at Maria with a lean, hungry expression and penetrating eyes. He said, “Your father is alive and well, Maria Lazar, and he wants his daughter back.”

  Maria felt her heart rate speed up. “He’s alive?”

  “That’s right and I’m here to take you back to Peru.”

  “No, you’re not,” she said. “I won’t go with you.”

  “You’ll go alright,” he answered with venom in his voice, “and you’ll do a lot more than that.”

  “Oh no, I won’t,” Maria said as she threw her arms up in the air. Hurricane responded to the command she had taught him. The large bay thoroughbred reared up on his hind legs and whinnied in a high-pitch scream.

  The sudden movement and sound distracted the assassin for just a moment, and Jeff seized the moment. He grabbed a shovel—hitting the killer in the face.

  The killer fell to the ground landing on his back, but didn’t let go of his pistol though he was clearly stunned.

  Maria pulled her Ruger P-85 out and squeezed off a single shot, putting a bullet straight into his left shoulder. The killer twisted on the dirt in agony, but quickly jumped up and ran into the thicket. Then they saw him run into a thick patch of mesquite trees out of sight in a low area behind a huge patch of poison ivy.

  “Darn it,” Maria said. “I shot the left shoulder instead of the right.”