Vulcan Eye

by Roger Weston

  A few unopened 12”-disk records in a Pan Am carry-on bag caught his attention. He quickly flipped through them, surprised to find they were of American musicians including Glen Campbell, John Denver, and Johnny Cash. Evidently, the guest had been a country fan. Maybe he brought the records as gifts for a friend that he never got a chance to see.

  Chuck almost stepped on a passport on the floor. Opening it, he saw the last stamp was in 1974, for a person named Tom Lockyer. American. He also had passport stamps in Greece and Italy.

  Chuck tossed the passport onto a filthy mattress. He glanced at his watch then left the room. It was time to get busy.

  He had two goals. First, he had to find Vulcan Eye. Second, he had to find the Hood and bring him to justice. He knew that Vulcan Eye was mounted on a tracked, tank-style vehicle, which was last seen on the back of a flatbed semi-truck, so he figured he’d find it in some place like a garage or the fire station. As for the Hood, he could be anywhere. Since Varosha covered 2.3 square miles, it could take a while to find him. He would have to clear miles of buildings—all alone. It seemed like an impossible chore, but Chuck figured that to do the impossible, he would just adapt his approach until something worked.

  He didn’t walk into every abandoned house because he needed to work smarter than that. He only had three hours until the Hood had promised to shoot down three airliners, killing over a thousand people. Maybe he would attack them from Varosha, or maybe from another location, but Chuck had to take down the Hood to foil the plan.

  Back outside, Chuck walked slowly down the weed-infested street. He looked for signs of recent activity—mainly beaten down grass or footprints because he hadn’t seen any updated buildings or modern cars. This was truly a ghost town. It looked like nobody had been in the neighborhood for decades. But a few blocks down, he noticed grass that had been recently disturbed from someone entering a Catholic church. He kneeled down and studied a foot print. It looked like that of a grown man.

  And it looked fresh.

  CHAPTER 9

  Slowly, quietly, Chuck crept into the church. The inner sanctuary was beautiful even if dust had moved in. A peaceful, serene atmosphere filled the abandoned building. The church had blue, arched, gothic ceilings. By some miracle, the stained glass windows were mostly intact, and the Mediterranian sun beaming through them created an awe-inspiring mosaic of light and color. But Chuck was focused on something shocking. In fact, he could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck.

  A man was kneeling in the pews, praying. Chuck’s first thought was to turn around and leave quietly. This could be one of the Turkish guards. The only problem is that this was a Christian church, and the man was up front kneeling before the cross of Christ. Christians were a very small minority in Turkish-controlled territory.

  The man suddenly looked back over his shoulder as though his instincts had told him he was being watched. He stared at Chuck without saying a word. Chuck realized that the man was scared. Fear lit up his eyes.

  It was a comical moment because the man had the biggest handlebar mustache that Chuck had ever seen. It was a big bushy mustache that stuck out two inches off his cheeks.

  “Why are you here?” the man said in Greek.

  “Urban explorer. Who are you?”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” the man said, switching to English. “This is no game. They shoot to kill here.”

  “Why are you here then?”

  He stood up and crossed himself then turned and walked to Chuck, carrying a large, apparently-empty knapsack. He had lively brown eyes that were even deeper brown than his mustache.

  “My father used to live here. He evacuated in 1974 when the Turks invaded. He left some things behind and was never allowed to come back. That is why I’m here.”

  “I’m Chuck Brandt. What is your name?”

  “Demetrius.”

  “Let me give you some advice, Demetrius. The guards on the perimeter are not the only ones you have to worry about. They are the least of your concerns. There are others in Varoshsa. They are more dangerous than even the guards. They will kill you and make sure you disappear. It’s time for you to get out of here while you still can.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “They call him the Hood. He leads a band of Turkish-Russian killers. I’m telling you right now, if you value your life, it’s time to go.”

  “How do you know so much about these men?”

  Chuck glanced at the cross. “The Hood and his men ambushed and wiped out a US Navy SEAL team—at sea. Nobody does that and lives. These men are highly-trained killers. They stole a top secret weapon. I am here to find it.”

  “Then you’re the dead man. Who do you think you are that you can go up against such killers?”

  Chuck shrugged. “There’s a good chance I won’t get out of here alive, but I’ve dealt with such men before. I’m on a very tight schedule. They’re going to shoot down three airliners in less than three hours. I need you to leave the city now.”

  Demetrius was quiet for a minute then said, “No.”

  Chuck looked into his eyes for a moment and saw utter determination. “Why not?”

  “I came here for a reason.” His comic-book handlebar mustache moved when he talked. “I won’t leave until I accomplish it.”

  “To collect some old mementos? Are you even listening to me?”

  “Not some old mementos. My father died broke, but he told me that he’d lost his life savings when Varosha was evacuated… He left behind half a million dollars in gold coins, silver coins, cash, and gems. It’s all hidden.”

  “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “I’m no joker.”

  “That was a long time ago, Demetrius. Maybe there is no treasure anymore. Maybe the Turks found it back in 1974.”

  “No, I don’t think so. It’s still there. I could use help getting it, though. If you’ll help me, I’ll help you with whatever you’re doing.”

  Chuck shook his head. “The last thing I need is to have to carry a body out of here. Give it up, Demetrius. Half a million dollars is chicken feed compared to your life.”

  “What if I told you it was a million dollars?”

  Chuck thought about that for a moment. “Is it?”

  “It might be.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. Money’s no good to a dead man.”

  “I’m going with you, Brandt. I help you, you help me.”

  “No, sir. You leave now.”

  “I came for my father’s fortune, and I’ll not leave without it.”

  “This is the last time I’m going to warn you, Demetrius. You may die within the hour.”

  “Yes, I know. They bury trespassers here. I saw the unmarked graves. Dozens of them. Each is marked with a stone so that they don’t accidently dig it up next time.”

  “And you still want to come—just for money?”

  “This isn’t just about money. My mother lives in Brazil. She needs help. I’m moving to Brazil to be with her. Chances are I’ll never get back to Cypress.”

  “You can’t help your mother if you’re dead.”

  “I like you, Brandt. You’re willing to die today. Let me tell you something.”

  “Yeah, well make it fast. I have to get moving.”

  “Sure. In Exodus, the ten spies said that the Jews could never enter the Promised Land because the defenders were too powerful. Two spies said they could take the land, and they were proven right. If you’re going in, so am I.”

  Chuck heard footsteps at the entrance. He turned as two men in cammies and tactical vests entered. One had a long, swarthy face and a long, black scraggly beard. The second was small-headed, bald and clean shaven. Violence filled their eyes. Assault rifles filled their hands.

  CHAPTER 10

  Two hours, forty-five minutes till shoot-down

  The thug with the long, swarthy face and a long, black scraggly beard aimed his AK47 at Demetrius and said, “We were listening. You tell me where the money is
right now, and I won’t kill you.”

  “You murderer,” Demetrius said.

  “You should have listened to the dead man there and cleared out. You wanted to stay. Now you either pay up or you stay forever.”

  “I’m just a librarian. I don’t want any trouble.”

  Chuck shook his head.

  Long Beard said, “Then take us to your father’s stash.”

  Demetrius nodded. “All right. I don’t want to die.”

  As they were leaving, the church, Chuck stumbled on the stairs and fell.

  “Get your ass off the ground,” Long Beard said.

  “I hurt my shoulder.”

  “Hurry up.” He cursed in Russian. “We don’t need you. Looks like I’ll just kill you now.”

  As Chuck started to get up, he put his hands on an old board, a two-by-four. His fingers wrapped around the end of the board. As he stood up, he swung the board swiftly, tagging Long Beard in the side of the head. He dropped like a rock. Clean Shave—the bald thug with little skull—was about to respond with his AK47 when Demetrius tackled him. They rolled awkwardly on the ground until Clean Shave got on top and started strangling Demetrius. Then Chuck swung the board again—another head shot. Clean Shave was out cold.

  Chuck said, “I think your prayers were answered, my friend. We’re lucky to be alive. That was fast thinking. Not what I expected from a librarian.”

  “Yeah, well, before I was a librarian, I was special forces.”

  Chuck smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Will you help me now?”

  “Let’s get moving.”

  “Let me tell you something, Brandt. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that my father died seven days ago and that I met you here today. Everything happens for a reason. I saw armed killers an hour ago. That’s why I was praying. I was praying for help for my mother’s sake. Then you showed up. I’m going to help you, and you’re going to help me. There’s nothing more to say about it.”

  Chuck kneeled down, grabbed two ankles, and started dragging Clean Shave. “Let’s get these guys tied up. We’ll leave them inside.”

  After they stripped down and tied up the unconscious thugs, they took their guns and walkie-talkies. They put on their combat vests with bullets and grenades. Chuck keyed the walkie-talkie. “Hood, are you there? Hood, are you listening? This is Chuck Brandt. I just neutralized two of your men. They were poorly trained.”

  Chuck waited…Then a voice crackled over the airways.

  “I’ve heard of you, Brandt. Yes, I have. You’re going to die today.”

  “That’s what your goons said.”

  “I’ve got plenty more. If you’re in Varosha, you’re doomed. Hunting season is about to begin.”

  Chuck put the walkie-talkie into a pocket in his new tactical vest.

  “You just blew the element of surprise,” Demetrius said.

  Chuck shrugged. “I also narrowed down their location. I came to find them, not hide from them.”

  He studied the radio direction finder instrument that he held in his other hand. “Let’s go. That way.” Chuck started walking but stopped. “Hold on a second.” He took off his flak jacket and handed it to Demetrius. “Put it on.”

  “What about you?”

  “You have your mother to think about. I’ve got nobody.”

  “I don’t know, man. This doesn’t feel right.”

  “It doesn’t have to. Put it on. We have a party to go to.”

  CHAPTER 11

  On the outskirts of Varosha, Angela walked through an abandoned school. Despite Chuck’s orders, she had only stayed with the boat for half an hour. She could not stay away. She wanted revenge on the man who had hurt her so badly.

  She walked down the long school hallway with all the open doors and empty classrooms. There were no children, no smiling faces, no laughter, and no joy, nor were there any teachers. Nor was the Hood anywhere in sight, but she knew he was somewhere in the empty city. Just as surely as an operative like Chuck Brandt knew to be on alert for snakes and killers, Angela knew that a predator lurked in the shadows and nooks of Varosha. Chuck was right. Getting in was easy. Getting out would be hard.

  But she had a mission, and not just revenge. She had to find Chuck and tell him that she had finished the creating the computer virus right after he left. If she couldn’t find him, then she had to find Vulcan Eye and upload the virus onto the weapon’s software herself. Either way, she now had to search one of the world’s largest ghost towns.

  Debris littered the floor of the decrepit school—mostly crumbled panels from the ceiling. The floor tiles curled from water damage. The smell of mold filled the long corridor. Angela remembered telling Sebastian about what it was like teaching school in Russia, but she put that out of her mind. There was no looking back. The only thing comforting about this school was that she figured the Hood’s men would have no business in here, but she also knew that they were nearby. She could sense it. She could feel it just as she had once been able to feel the shadow of his evil before he’d even arrived and entered her cell. An evil spirit hung over this town. A place like this would attract the Hood just as sure as bugs always hid under rocks.

  She walked past a chair that sat alone in the school hallway. She shuddered. She felt her skin crawl. She had wanted so badly to get revenge against the Hood, but now that she was here, she had flashbacks of him tying her into a chair, beating her, and leaving her there for two days and nights. He had left her shaking in a chair, terrified, always wondering when the evil man would return next and what he would do.

  She turned away from the chair. She stood there, trying to make herself look at the exit door. She walked toward it slowly. She reached for the door handle, but froze. She pulled her hand away. Thoughts raced through her mind: What if they caught her? What would the Hood do to her? She didn’t have to wonder. Horrific memories flashed in her mind but she shut them out. Because of the Hood, nightmares and day terrors had become her ongoing battle.

  She knew she had to face her fears before they destroyed her.

  She had a gun—and she would use it. She began to cry. She dropped to her knees and leaned against the door.

  “You sick bastard. I will make you wish that you’d never met me.”

  She steeled her nerves and stood up. She gently pushed open the dirty door and emerged into sunlight. On shaking knees, she walked across an overgrown playground. Halfway across, she stopped and wiped away tears. She wondered if she and Sebastian would have ever had children. She shook her head fatalistically. She had once dreamed of that. Now it could never be. She was no longer the woman that he once loved. Every time she thought of that—at least a hundred times every day—it angered her more and more. The thought of him angered her … because they could never have what they once had. She would never see him again—ever—ever. It would be too painful. He was history. What she would do was get her revenge against the Hood.

  Then she heard the sound of an approaching truck. And she was standing out in the open playground.

  CHAPTER 12

  Two hours, thirty minutes till shoot-down

  Chuck and Demetrius continued on down the overgrown street between rotting shells of structures that were under attack by wild vines. They left the residential area and entered a commercial area. Chuck had to admire the class that the place showed. Even though the buildings were deteriorating, he could see that the area must have had a lot of appeal back in the 1970s. The street he was on was not fully overtaken by grass and weeds. He was walking on pavement. Architecturally-appealing two-story neoclassical buildings lined the street on both sides of the road. With the Mediterranian sunshine beating down on him and birdsong filling the trees, it would have been easy to forget that a sniper could drop him at any time.

  “You seeing any signs of recent activity?” Chuck asked.

  “No.”

  “We’re headed towards the lions’ den. If you see anybody, run for the nearest building and take cover.”
>
  As they continued on, Chuck was amazed at the scenery. They walked past more cars that had been parked since 1974. Never moved. Never broken into. The abandoned city was virtually untouched by vandals in this area. They passed an old Mercedes, a red Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale, a classic BMW, an orange Austin Mini, and a VW Rabbit that was dirty but without a scratch. Behind it was a vintage blue 911 Porsche Targa. They passed a car dealership with cars still on the lot. A classic car buff would have been drooling, but Chuck was more concerned about the Hood’s assassins. He was also more interested in spotting garages than cars. He passed a gas station, but the garage was too small for a semi truck sporting a massive laser weapon on the flatbed. It seemed unlikely that such a truck could even fit in a fire station, so he started looking down every street. That’s where he figured he would spot the eighteen-wheeler. On the other hand, the weapon itself could drive down the ramp off the flatbed on bulldozer tracks and possibly fit into a fire station or another really large building.

  Except this had been a tourist town, and Chuck wasn’t sure what sort of buildings like that would be around here. He slanted looks down every street.

  They patrolled through a couple of stores that had been fully looted. Most likely, fleeing people had been reduced to their lowest animal instincts when faced with the terror of the approaching Turkish army. People who would not normally steal had desperately needed supplies to survive a trek to the south.

  Chuck and Demetrius walked through an upscale furniture store, however, that was fully stocked with dust-caked furniture.

  At a new street, Chuck pointed. “Look.” The weeds were run down. A track ran down the road.

  From there they walked across the street to a large auto repair shop.