Rogue Op II Page 2

  “Shut up and be quiet,” Chuck said as he grabbed the decorative stone jaguar from the floor and stepped toward the big man, who began to cower.

  Setting the heavy stone jaguar on the desk, Chuck reached for a briefcase that was on the credenza. Walking back to the desk, he sat down and opened it.

  Inside he found several stamped and sealed envelopes. One was addressed to a man from Surinam. Chuck opened the letter and read its contents. It contained a hand signed note from Lazar inviting the man, a dignitary, to join him for an incredible weekend in Peru. It gave an address on the outskirts of Cusco where the dignitary was scheduled to spend the weekend next month.

  The travel itinerary made clear that the location was a multi-million-dollar estate, complements of General Lazar. Chuck figured that Lazar was also the owner of the home.

  “Whose estate is this?”

  “I don’t know. I just do bookings.”

  “You’re a slow learner. It’s Lazar’s, right? Or do I have to remind you that I expect answers.” Chuck stepped toward him, jaguar in hand.

  “Yes, it’s his.”

  “Is there security?”

  The thug grinned. “Of course, there is. If you’re planning on going there, you’re a dead man.”

  “Give me specifics. What kind of security does he have?”

  “Video surveillance, reinforced doors and windows, armed guards. That sort of thing. I hope you do go. You try what you did here and you’ll pay for it. Your body will be found in the gutter the next day.”

  Chuck lifted the jaguar and the man shrunk back in the chair. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Chuck got no response. He shook his head and set the stone animal down. “Now, tell me, why is Lazar bringing dignitaries to Cusco?”

  “He is an important man with many business interests. He meets with them all.”

  “What business interests?”

  “I’m just his travel agent. I don’t know.”

  “Where can I find Lazar?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re lying to me.”

  Chuck came at the man with the carved creature, but before it came crashing down on his skull the man screamed out, “I don’t know. Really, I don’t.”

  By the sound of his scream, Chuck believed him. “Get up,” he said as he lifted the jaguar once more.

  The thug’s eyes opened wide and he obeyed Chuck’s command. Chuck tied the man’s hands behind his back with his belt. Then he got him in a full nelson hold and cranked his neck and held it forward until the brute passed out.

  Chuck grabbed the briefcase from the desk. As he headed towards the back exit, he scouted out the rest of the building. He checked several doors to office suites. They were all vacant. No one was around. He kicked open a locked door and found a cot in the room along with a kitchenette and a mini fridge. No one. It was like a large hotel room—unoccupied at the moment.

  Chuck left the building by the back door.

  He thought of the thug’s warning: “You try what you did here and you’ll pay for it. Your body will be found in the gutter...”

  Chuck recalled the heavy security described by the thug. Trying to infiltrate Lazar’s estate sounded like a bad idea, but possible. The Black Cobra was probably correct in saying that failure would be rewarded with swift death. However, Chuck knew that failure was not an option. He decided to try another one of General Lazar’s buildings first to see if he could get some information on where he might be. The property Chuck decided on appeared to be a smaller villa type house in a residential part of town. He hoped this one wasn’t as heavily guarded as the estate on the outskirts of Cusco. Chuck made his way to the villa using the map that the lady at the tax office had given him. Once at the home, he spent some time scoping out the residence and its surrounding environs. It looked like a secure facility. Chuck would need a few things to get inside.

  CHAPTER 4

  At a market near Mercado Santa Ana, Chuck entered a small hardware store where he bought a pair of overalls, a mini crowbar, sheet-metal scissors, and a hard hat. With purchases in hand, he walked around the area for a while. The protests in the streets of Cusco appeared to be gaining steam. The sound of malcontents was growing louder and louder. Chuck peered down one of the side streets and noticed a group of people spraying graffiti grievances on a brick wall. A throng of shouting men torched a coffin with a photo of the Peruvian president on it while they screamed out communist propaganda to anyone that would listen. Police in riot gear kept their distance as the cobblestone lane filled with smoke from several burning tires.

  Chuck headed in the other direction. A few blocks later, he ran into another group of protesters that were turning to vandalism. Several of the young men were throwing rocks, smashing out the windows of a cafe. When a car screeched around the corner, one of the men pelted it, leaving a dent in its side before the driver escaped the area. No police were in sight.

  Chuck approached the protester who had nailed the car with stunning accuracy.

  “Hey, you want to make some money?” he asked.

  The man’s hair was long and messy and covered half of his face. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I have money. If you’ll help me, I’ll give it to you.”

  “How much you got?”

  “Two hundred nuevo sol.”

  The guy stepped toward Chuck. “Maybe I roll you,” he said.

  “You can try, but if you help me, you get easy money; if you try to roll me, you get the hospital.”

  “Hey, nobody talks to me like that. What did you say your name was?”

  “Paul. Paul Ramos.”

  Long Hair stared at the stranger for a minute then shook his head.

  “No problem,” Chuck said as he started to walk away. “I’ll get one of those other guys to help. This is easy money.”

  “Woah, hold on there. What do you want me to do?”

  “Get a couple of your friends. Then I’ll tell you.”

  ***

  Later on that afternoon, Chuck watched from a block away as his hired rioters directed their anger at the house next door to General Lazar’s residential property. At first they spray painted propaganda on the exterior wall of his neighbor’s house. Then they climbed the stone fence that enclosed the property and began screaming and throwing rocks at the home. Windows shattered. This went on for a couple of minutes before Lazar’s security guards emerged from their stations with menacing looks on their faces. They converged at the front of Lazar’s house to keep an eye on the rabble rousers. Now that his distraction was in effect, Chuck backtracked around the block and approached Lazar’s house from a side road. The security guard that had been stationed in back was now upfront with the other guards keeping an eye on the protestors.

  Wearing the jumpsuit and hardhat that he’d purchased earlier, Chuck approached a decorative manhole cover that was on the sidewalk that ran along the back of Lazar’s property. Using his mini-crowbar, he pried the lid off the manhole and climbed down the ladder, replacing the lid over his head. Pulling out a flashlight he shined it into the darkness. The smell was horrendous, but at the moment he wasn’t worried about such things. However, he was very relieved when he saw the raised walkways that ran parallel to the slushing sewer water. Chuck followed the thin footpath, which ran underneath the street by Lazar’s building.

  After he’d gone about fifteen meters, Chuck saw a thin steel bridge that extended at least three meters over the filthy rushing waters. Carefully he crossed the steel beam. On the other side of the expanse there was an arched doorway that led to a stairway. Walking up the stairs he flashed light on a thick wooden door that was at the top of the staircase. Using the mini-crowbar, he pried open the locked door, which opened into a dark chamber. Shoving the door open, he entered the room and shined his flashlight around. Big ventilation ducts ran through the space. Chuck brought out sheet-metal scissors and cut open one of the ducts. Once opened, he crawled through the square metal duct
for several meters until he got to a place where he noticed light shining into the duct from air vents. The vents were spaced about every five meters. When he calculated that he was at the right spot he kicked out one of the air vents. His guess was right. He exited into a storage closet. Now he only hoped he was in the right villa. As soon as he entered the small space he heard voices and didn’t move.

  In addition to dim voices from within the villa, Chuck could hear yelling out in the street. The protestors were doing a good job. He moved fast. Maybe Lazar was within these walls. Chuck reached for the door handle with one hand, and for his pistol with the other.

  Carrying his gun in his right hand, he moved down an immaculate hallway through the ornate villa. The halls were lined with fine statues and carved arched doorways. He opened up the doors and looked into opulent rooms—perfectly made up rooms that clearly were not being used. Another dead end. He opened up ten doors and eight of them were bedrooms, two lounges.

  Then the eleventh door opened just as Chuck reached for the handle. He was suddenly facing a handgun. His response was as fast as lightning. He pushed the gunman’s arm to the side. The thug got off one shot but missed and was rewarded with pain as Chuck twisted and wrenched the arm. The sounds of popping tendons and tearing ligaments filled the momentary silence after the gunshot. Then came a hair-raising scream as the Black Cobra killer dropped to his knees.

  Chuck bent the pistol back until a finger broke and he stripped the gun away. He let the arm go and kicked the shooter in the mouth. The killer’s arms flew up. His spine arched, and he landed on his back.

  A male voice yelled.

  Chuck crouched and turned as another guy charged him. Chuck sustained the impact but twisted away. His back slammed into the wall, but the brute’s shoulder hit the doorjamb with full force. He collapsed to the floor and didn’t even try to get up. Chuck had no doubt that the man’s collar bone was broken.

  Three more thugs were coming at him now—none of them armed but closing in from three different directions.

  Chuck pivoted and side-kicked the first one, blowing him back. The next one tried to grab him from behind, but Chuck planted a flying elbow between his eyes, putting him out of the fight. By then, more Black Cobra fighters had shown up. Four surrounded him and attacked all at once. The first one ran into trouble and neck trauma. The other three wrestled Chuck to the floor and pinned him down. Chuck tried to get loose but they had him.

  “He’s loco,” one yelled. “Muy loco!”

  The pistol was stripped from his immobilized hand.

  After he calmed down, Chuck was led to a room with barred windows. An ice-cold professional Black Cobra mercenary told him, “Game over. Say your final prayers, bro. You’ve got minutes to live, not hours.” They dead bolted the door.

  ***

  Chuck was angry that they had locked him in a room, but was relieved that at least it wasn’t like the green hell hole he’d been trapped in the last time he was locked up by Lazar and his men. This room was amazing, a picture of Colonial opulence. Twin queen size beds took up very little space in the six-hundred square foot suite. The furniture was startling beautiful. It was gaudy and classy at the same time. His eyes drifted over to a stunning lacquer chest of drawers, probably hundreds of years old but Chuck wasn’t sure. At first he thought it might have been Russian, but then looking at the scene inscribed on the doors, he leaned toward English. Upon it rested a green lacquer bracket clock, probably eighteenth century. The chest itself sat on a Turkish rug that was stretched out on lush wall-to-wall carpeting. He sat down on a wood settee with decorative carvings and painted panels. Probably Victorian...certainly, not Peruvian in style. From there his gaze wandered over to a mahogany desk with cock-beaded drawers and carved gilt handles. A gold candelabra rested on its polished surface.

  There were other delights to behold, but what really caught Chuck’s eye was the barred windows on the other side of the room.

  As he eyed the bars on the windows, it was not an encouraging sight. They looked thick and solid. But as he got a closer look, he noticed that Lazar’s men had made a hasty choice in putting him here. They had misjudged the window. Yes, the bars were big, but it was an arched window with antique ironwork. The decorative grates had probably been preserved because this was a vintage building, not because this room was ever meant to hold anyone against their will.

  Chuck grasped the hand-hammered wrought iron and shook the thick metal bars. They hardly budged, but the upper right corner had a little bit of play, maybe a millimeter. That was good.

  Chuck got a couple of throw pillows from an eighteenth century laminated rosewood settee that sat against the opposite wall. These he stuffed between the bars for padding and also to muffle any noise. He then began a workout, practicing shoulder-high kicks at the pillows. For the first five minutes, the bars held fast. Then they began to loosen a bit. Then a solid kick ripped the big screws out of the wall. The iron grates smashed down on the bricks below, making far too much noise.

  Chuck cursed under his breath. He hadn’t expected the grills to bounce out of the little strip of garden below the window and crash on the brick path that lined the garden.

  No time to worry about it now. He leapt out the window and glanced around. He was trapped in a large rectangular courtyard in the center of the villa. The courtyard was surrounded by a ground level walkway that was enclosed by large brick arches and pillars. Across the way, a second-floor balcony was also lined and supported with smaller red brick arches and pillars. The center of the courtyard was all grass. A life-size statue of Francisco Bolognesi, a nineteenth century military commander and Peruvian hero, stood tall in the center of the lawn atop a round brick base.

  Unfortunately, two other life-size men ran into the courtyard as well. Chuck had no gun, so he picked up the wrought-iron grill. The bars were topped with decorative spear heads, and Chuck thrust these at the first thug, warding him off. While he did this, he kept the other tough in his peripheral vision. When that one tried to flank him, Chuck swung the grill, knocking him down. Chuck followed up by slamming the base of the grate on him, eliciting a crude groan.

  Trying to catch Chuck off guard, the other guard charged him. In self-defense, Chuck quickly pushed the top of the grill downward, angling it toward the attacker. The other Black Cobra assassin couldn’t stop his momentum fast enough and impaled himself on three of the decorative tips.

  Just then Chuck saw a shooter in a shadowed doorway.

  Chuck ran and dove through a window that didn’t have any protective bars. He crashed down onto a soft rug along with a shower of glass.

  A woman screamed.

  Chuck got up on his knees and found he was looking into a gun barrel.

  “Don’t move,” she said, sidestepping to the smashed-out window and slamming the wooden window doors.

  “I know who you are,” she said.

  Chuck nodded. He knew who she was too. It was Maria’s mother. He had met her briefly back in Costa Brava.

  “Where is the general?” Chuck said.

  “He left this morning,” Mrs. Lazar said.

  “What?”

  “He’s headed to El Fronton Island. He’s meeting with the Alcaraz brothers. He said something about a shipment arriving this evening.”

  There was pounding on the door. “Señora, open up.”

  “Stay away,” she said. “Do not come in here.”

  To Chuck she said in a hushed voice, “I know you’re trying to stop him.”

  Now she rolled back an antique piano that was on wheels and a track. It moved easily revealing a secret door, which she opened.

  “Go,” she said. “It will lead you to the roof. There is a fire escape.”

  “You must come with me, for Maria’s sake.”

  “No,” she said. “He would hunt me down. I’d never have any peace. As long as he is alive, I am a prisoner. Get out of here.”

  “What will you tell them?”

  “There is another
door leading into an alley. I will say that you went that way. Go now!”

  “Gracias, Mrs. Lazar.”

  “Leave. Now!”

  “I will be back for you.”

  “My husband will kill you if you come back. Please give my love to Maria. Take care of her. Protect her. I beg you.”

  “I will,” he said knowing that he would do so even if it meant losing his life.

  Maria’s mom gave him a kiss then pushed him into the passageway.

  As Chuck entered the dark walkway, the door closed behind him. He followed the stairs to the roof then climbed down the fire escape with no resistance. He ran for a couple of blocks into a back alley. Then he heard sirens, and a police car flashed by the alley. He ran in the opposite direction.

  CHAPTER 5

  Lima

  La Punta, a serene, peaceful peninsula at the end of Lima’s much rougher Callao district, reached out into the Pacific like a bent fishing pole. It was peaceful and quiet, even on a stormy afternoon. Rain showered the mansion-lined streets. Flags rippled and fluttered in the wind. Little cables clanged on flagpoles and yachts’ masts.

  Walking along a clean sidewalk, Chuck still had Maria’s mom on his mind. He hated to leave her a prisoner… prisoner of her own husband, but also, he couldn’t stop thinking about Maria. How awful to think that her father kept her mom under lock and key and wasn’t above killing his own daughter. He was frustrated that he’d missed Lazar by just a couple of hours. Chuck told himself that a man had to adapt and go back to fight another day. Life was a marathon, but much more brutal. Oh, it was peaceful in La Punta—so peaceful with the soothing rain and the waves on the beach. Everything was clean. People smiled. It was a wonderful world.

  Rain dripped from the bill of Chuck’s baseball cap. A short, stocky man passed him and tipped up his umbrella. For just a moment, Chuck thought the shaded face belonged to General Lazar, but then he realized it was just a friendly local.