The Handler Read online

  Maria changed positions. Out of the corner of his eye, Chuck watched as she rolled over and stretched out her long legs.

  “I thought your dad didn’t let you out of his sight.”

  “He didn’t know. He thought I was out riding.”

  Chuck stood up and walked to the bedroom window. He closed the shutter and said, “Go back to sleep. I have an errand to run. I’ll be back in the morning. Don’t leave, and keep all the shutters closed. Even after you wake up, keep them closed.”

  Maria nodded her head and rolled over.

  As he waited for her to fall asleep, Chuck thought of what he needed to do. It was a handler’s nightmare when his assets were assassinated. His had fallen like dominos.

  And then there was Maria. How had she gotten mixed up in the middle of all of this? When he’d scoured the ambassador’s residence after the assassination, he saw that she was his only appointment for the day. Why was she meeting with the ambassador? Was it really just to have lunch as she claimed? How did she even know the man?

  He would get to the bottom of that in the morning, but for now he needed to get in touch with Werther and figure out why the security that was promised to the ambassador had never arrived. Why was his asset not protected? Werther had assured him that the ambassador would be safe under his protection. What happened to his promise of security? And what had happened to the professor? Was he still alive?

  Chuck adjusted the gun at the small of his back and turned to walk out the door. As he was about to close the door, Maria jumped out of bed and ran to him.

  “I can’t stay here,” she cried. “I need to go back to town. I need to get my briefcase at the café.”

  “Forget about your briefcase. We have bigger problems.”

  She seized his arm. “I have to get it back.”

  “Why? What’s so important about it?”

  “That’s why I was meeting with the ambassador. He had contacts who were interested in its contents. I needed the money.”

  “What contents?”

  “It’s filled with priceless relics from Peru. I was trying to get away from my dad, but this time I was going to take my mom with me. The ambassador was going to help me sell the relics and get us passports. We were trying to go to America. We were trying to get away from him.”

  Chuck thought about that for a minute. Why would the ambassador get mixed up in relic laundering? It didn’t make sense.

  Chuck turned away from her, then slowly turned around and studied her for a moment. “Look, when I’m in town I’ll stop by the café and see if the bakers are there. If they are, I’ll find out what happened to your briefcase. Most likely the police have confiscated it.”

  “Please, take me with you. I don’t want to stay here alone.”

  “I can’t do that. You’re safer here. Just remember, keep the shutters closed. I’ll be back before daylight.”

  He walked out of the house and up the long driveway. At least he hoped that he would be back before daylight. The first thing he was going to do was make contact with Werther and find out what exactly happened. Why had his asset been left vulnerable? Chuck knew that Werther was currently on a cargo ship that was docked in the port of Barcelona. Werther was running EREBUS operations out of the MV Scorpius. The MV Scorpius operated as any commercial vessel would, only this particular cargo ship served as the headquarters for EREBUS, all the while maintaining its commercial operations. Now, Chuck figured, it was time for Werther to answer for what he had done. No American should be let down like the ambassador and the professor had been.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Volga

  Perched on a chair and hunched over the conference table in the Volga’s salon, General Ivan Lazar closed Book Two of his master plan, a blueprint that had been meticulously organized in ten notebooks, all of which were spread out before him on top of a map of the United States. After hours of study and planning, he was energized by the magnitude of his thoughts and the clarity of his vision. The wheels of his plans for stage one were already in motion. That which had been in development for years was now unfolding. The world would never be the same.

  Just as all great trees begin as seeds in fertile soil, all great events begin as ideas in the mind of a great man. Great trees take years to grow and develop. Long ago when he was a student at the university, Lazar studied how to carry out a successful coup d’état. Once in a speech class, he laid out a plan to seize power in Peru. From the first word of his speech, he spoke like a man possessed. He stalked up and down the aisles. He cursed the current rulers and blamed them for a list of injustices, from the economy to the alienation of the poor. He claimed that he was the only man alive who could solve the country’s problems. He promised to create a New Utopia. He ranted and raved at his classmates. He shook his fist in the air and made wild gesticulations. He wagged his finger at his shocked professor. He put himself on the same level as Joseph Stalin. He swore that posterity would call him Lazar the Great. His classmates and teachers laughed. They thought he was joking.

  In the Russian army, he had destroyed anyone that he considered a rival for promotion. He spread lies about them while he exaggerated his own accomplishments and paid others to do the same. He rejected all suggestions from his peers on the grounds that his own plans were superior. His professor and classmates would learn. History would vindicate him. But first he needed to deal with his daughter and his wife.

  CHAPTER 7

  Barcelona

  Chuck walked through the darkness of Barcelona, capital city of Catalonia, gateway to Costa Brava. He was a lone man in a vast metropolis, and he was taking his time because he was juggling diverse scenarios in his mind like a boatman does when approaching the hidden reefs and rocks of a hazardous coastline.

  As Chuck strolled down a series of dark, winding alleys, he passed shady characters and was surprised that no one attempted to mug him. He was glad because he didn’t want to waste time on small-time thugs and drug addicts. He continued strolling down the boulevard passing closed cafes, flower stalls, and newspaper kiosks. At the port, he spotted what he was looking for.

  The MV Scorpius stood like a centurion along the pier, its generator rumbling loudly. Chuck scoped out the area for ten minutes then walked up the gangway. As he stepped onto the main deck and started down the exterior passageway, a bald guy stepped out of the deckhouse and said, “That’s far enough.”

  Chuck stopped, surprised he’d made it this far. “I’m here to see Werther.”

  “You’re not expected,” the man said with his gun aimed at Chuck’s chest.

  Another guy with a short manicured beard stepped out of the deckhouse with his weapon drawn. He glared at Chuck.

  “Tell him Chuck Brandt is here.”

  The bearded guy looked skeptical. “You really Brandt?”

  “That’s right. Now tell Werther I’m here.”

  The guy hesitated, then said, “If you were really Brandt, you’d know better than to just show up here in the middle of the night.”

  “I said I need to talk to Werther.”

  “Sorry.” He shook his head. “Nothing personal, but I can’t let you in there. I need some proof you’re Brandt.”

  “Either you take me to him now, or we’ll do it the hard way.”

  The two men backed up a few steps. “Just calm down,” the bearded man said. “If you was anyone but Chuck Brandt, I’d kick your ass off the gangplank. Just settle down now, and I’ll make a call.”

  The man stepped into the deck house. Chuck looked out across the port as he felt the stare of the bald man who was still aiming a .44 Magnum Desert Eagle pistol at him.

  Then the bearded man stepped out again.

  “Alright, Brandt, we’ll have to search you first. Then we’ll take you to him.”

  Chuck raised his hand and said, “Glock, shoulder holster. Hunting knife on the ankle.”

  The bald man patted him down and retrieved the weapons. He led him two decks below the ship’s bridge to
the crew’s lounge. As Chuck entered the room, the smell of disinfectant assaulted his nostrils. A steward with a spray bottle in his hand was wiping down the white laminate mess tables that filled the center of the lounge. Blue vinyl couches lined the room and a wall-mounted television was a black spot on the wall. Chuck walked over to a port hole and waited for his boss, Ed Werther. Werther was the head of EREBUS, the super-secret intelligence agency that had recruited Chuck after his previous mission with RUMAN went awry.

  Chuck scanned the room, imagining all the hidden microphones and cameras wired throughout the space. He thought of the goons in the next room, who were probably waiting with silenced guns in their hands. Chuck walked over to a porthole and gazed out across the black expanse of the Mediterranean Sea. The dark surface rippled under the moonlight and reminded him of a bed of coals.

  “Have a seat, Brandt.”

  Chuck turned around slowly at the sound of his boss’s voice. Werther walked across the room. He was a small, half-bald man with wire glasses and a wrinkled suit with a blue tie. He forced a smile as he smoothed into submission what little hair he had. Then he held out his hand.

  Chuck ignored it and pulled up a chair at one of the freshly disinfected tables. Werther dropped his hand and sat down with a flushed face.

  The steward dragged his rag across one last table then quietly disappeared.

  Werther looked at Chuck with bloodshot eyes.

  “Did I wake you?” Chuck said.

  Werther rubbed his face with his hands then looked up at Chuck. “We owe you big-time after the Jin Mountain operation.”

  Chuck winced.

  “Listen, Chuck, we appreciate all you do. You’re a true patriot.” Werther adjusted his tie. “But what the hell happened in Costa Brava?”

  “What happened to the security team you promised would protect the ambassador?”

  “There was a problem.” Werther loosened his tie now.

  “A problem?”

  Werther cringed, then shook his head. “It was out of my hands. You do what you can, then move on.”

  Chuck let that sink in for a moment. “What are you talking about, Werther? This was your call. This was your operation.”

  “There was a delay at the State Department.”

  Chuck narrowed his eyes. “Ambassador Williams had the information we needed. Your job was to protect him.”

  Werther stretched out his arm in an expansive gesture. “There were political considerations. This was bigger than you and me, Brandt. This went all the way to the top.”

  “You gave me your word.” Chuck leaned forward. “I told the ambassador that help was on the way. You told me a security team would be there. He trusted me.”

  “There was a process in the State Department. There were delays. The secretary of state was unavailable.”

  “What do you mean unavailable?”

  “He had more on his plate than just Ambassador Williams.”

  Chuck stood up. “Like what?”

  “Look, we’re pulling out in the morning. We’ve received orders from the top.”

  “Have you lost your mind? My agent put his life on the line in hopes that he could help preserve the freedom that America has offered to her citizens for more than two hundred years. He understood that freedom has to be defended. Now he paid with his life when he didn’t have to.”

  “Things didn’t work out like I expected. It’s bigger than us, Brandt.”

  “What is? Your incompetence?”

  “You’re out of line.” Werther adjusted his glasses. He took off his jacket, which he laid on the couch next to him.

  “He had critical information, Werther.”

  The director raised his eyebrows. “Did you see the documents, Brandt?”

  “The ambassador was dead before I got there. He didn’t tell me.”

  “I’ve been ordered to back off. They don’t want us to pursue this any longer.”

  “Back off? After one of our own was assassinated? Are you kidding me? What about the professor?”

  “Let it go, Chuck.”

  “I think someone is trying to cover their ass.”

  Werther’s face darkened. He pointed his finger in Chuck’s face. “Be careful, Brandt.”

  Chuck gazed down at the floor for a moment, then raised his chin. “You don’t turn your back on loyal men and let them die. Justice always comes in time.”

  “Don’t lecture me, you son of a bitch. You’re out of line, and I’m shutting you down. You’re mission is over.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Werther nodded and leaned back in his seat. “Yes, it is. We’re going home. Ship leaves port at 0600.”

  “No.” Chuck shook his head. “I’m staying here to find out what happened. I still have a man missing. I’m not leaving him behind.” Chuck started for the door.

  Werther rose. “I order you to stand down.”

  At the doorway, Chuck stopped. “You don’t turn your back on him, Werther. I’m going to finish the job I started.”

  “You do this and you’re finished, Brandt. You understand what I’m saying?”

  Chuck started down the passageway. The ambassador and two other agents had trusted him with their lives. He would not walk away. No. He would take action.

  Heading down the corridor, he heard Werther yelling: “You blew it, Brandt. You’re finished, you hear me? You’re done!”

  As he continued down the hall, Chuck passed the ship’s galley. It appeared that the kitchen was ship-shape for the night and the steward was long gone. Chuck ducked into the empty room, slid open a steel drawer and withdrew a small knife. Then he grabbed a large sealable plastic bag and stuffed it into his pocket. Heading down the hall, he stopped at the door of what he knew to be an unmarked munitions closet. Using the knife, he unscrewed the large air grate that was at the bottom of the door. Sticking his hand through the opening he reached up and unlocked the door. Once inside he grabbed a few fragmentation grenades and put them in the plastic bag. Then he tucked the bag into the over-sized pocket of his jacket.

  On the weather deck, he held the knife cupped in his hand, the flat side of the blade hidden behind his wrist, his arm straight at his side.

  As he approached the security shack, the bearded man turned and faced him. “Meeting over already?”

  Chuck took a mental note that the man’s weapon was still in the holster. That was good. “Yeah, came to retrieve my gun.”

  The bearded guy shook his head. He leaned into the deck shack and then handed Chuck his weapons. The Glock felt light, but Chuck didn’t say anything. Using only his right hand, he shoved the gun under his belt. “Where’s your partner?”

  “He’s around.”

  “Yeah? Tell him to stay nearby,” Chuck said. “I wouldn’t want him to get left behind.”

  He brushed past the man and stayed alert of his surroundings as he went down the gangplank. That was too easy, Chuck thought. Werther just let him walk off the ship.

  CHAPTER 8

  Port of Barcelona

  When Chuck reached the shore, he stood behind a row of shipping containers and pulled his gun out of its holster. He ejected the clip from the handle and verified that there were no bullets. Something rattled inside the empty clip. He shook the clip again. It sounded like a piece of broken spring or plastic was inside, but that was unlikely. As he walked under a street lamp, he checked out the clip. It looked intact. What had they done to his gun? He shoved the gun under his belt, but held the clip in his hand. In about five seconds, he disassembled it. What fell out into his palm was an electronic chip no bigger than a metal BB ball.

  “Transponder,” Chuck said. “Nice try, guys.” He put the chip in his back pocket and reassembled the clip.

  He walked slowly through Barcelona’s dark, medieval alleys like a man on his way to his own funeral, only he planned to cheat the undertaker out of a client.

  He strolled past one of the great Gothic buildings in Spain, La Seu. Built on the site of
a Roman temple, La Seu had taken over a hundred and fifty years to build and hundreds more to finish. Its octagonal bell towers soared over 150 feet into the night air. Chuck had seen the interior before, and it inspired him. In particular, the sarcophagus of Santa Eulàlia gave him hope. The central courtyard housed thirteen live geese, one for each year in the life of the martyred Santa Eulàlia. She was just a young girl when she was tortured to death in the 4th century by the Romans for her Christian faith. Eulàlia refused to reject her Christian beliefs and was subjected to thirteen rounds of torture by the Romans. Chuck was humbled by this thirteen- year old girl that had displayed such courage. He was also inspired because he knew there were patriots in America that would not be intimidated by the forces of darkness. They wouldn’t hesitate to stand up for the U.S. Constitution and the freedoms upon which their country was founded.

  Chuck stepped inside and kneeled beneath the soaring Gothic arches. He said a prayer for America. The forces of darkness were hell-bent on destroying the land of the free. He knew that much; he just didn’t know when or where.

  As Chuck rose from the pew, his thoughts returned to his employers. Twice now he’d been betrayed by his superiors—first RUMAN, now EREBUS. What was happening to the people who were charged with defending freedom? What was happening to honor? It appeared jackals were now running the show. They’d sacrificed the ambassador and two others. But why? Was Chuck next on the list? He’d watch his back. No, he’d do more than that. He would do what needed to be done.

  As he left the church, he saw no sign of pursuit. What were they waiting for? Chuck knew the answer to that. They wanted to see where he went, what he did. Yeah right. Just like the ambassador. Of course, he couldn’t pin responsibility for the ambassador’s death solely on Werther. It went higher than that. Still, whatever was going on, good people were dying. Patriots were being killed, and government officials weren’t doing anything about it. They were trying to send Chuck home as if the whole incident didn’t matter.