Chuck Barrett
The Toymaker
This book is dedicated to my parents,
Charles and Doris Barrett,
who have always been in my cheerleader section.
EPIGRAPH
Some people say, “The devil is in the details.” The truth is, the small difference between successful and failed missions is equal to the sum of the unattended, minuscule, seemingly trivial details. The Toymaker keeps you on this thin line as the story unfolds.
Wasted with no vision of a future
Dying futile in a land of dreams
Vision of what once might have been
Fade into another day
CHAPTER 1
Francesca Catanzaro drummed her fingers on the command console. Tonight’s mission should be straightforward — get in, make the kill, and get out. Yet she still couldn’t shake the first-time jitters. She looked at the two operatives sitting across from her and feigned a smile. “Picture of your wife?” she asked the eldest, a large black man who had introduced himself as an ex-Marine called Johnson.
He held up the photo for her to see. “No, my daughter. She’ll be a teenager tomorrow.” He slipped the photo inside his black jacket.
She glanced at the much younger man sitting next to him, legs bouncing with the energy of a teenager while he was putting on black face camo paint.
“Nervous?” she asked.
“Hell no, ma’am. I have no family.” He motioned with his head. “Came along to cover grandpa’s ass.”
“Shut up, Aaron,” Johnson said. “Just keep painting that crap on your face, pretty soon you'll look like me.”
“Don’t call me ma’am.” She smiled at Aaron then turned to Johnson. “Any idea who's pulling the strings on this one?”
“The father of one of Director Bentley’s new recruits.” Johnson said. “I guess they go way back. Bentley called your boss for his…technical expertise.”
She laughed, opened the rear door to the black van. “Good luck, gentlemen.”
The two men jumped out and slipped into the darkness.
She closed the door and looked at the tall, carrot-topped man sitting next to her. He was leaning back in his seat with his hands clasped behind his head, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. His cocky demeanor was not something she cared for.
“I thought you said they were cousins.” Matt said.
“To be so smart you can be so naive. Cousins is another word for CIA.” She pointed at the metal case. “Launch Jasper.” Francesca nicknamed the electronic drone Jasper after the British slang for wasp.
Matt toggled two switches and a three-inch replica of a wasp came to life.
The miniature drone was the invention of her employer, a man she affectionately called The Toymaker—given his business was providing specialized equipment for the world of espionage — or ‘technical expertise’ as Johnson put it.
Jasper was an advanced, miniaturized spy plane that was a replica of a wasp. Equipped with an infrared video camera, microphone, and weighing less than a small AAA battery, the electronic wasp was powered by three small watch batteries with a useful life of 45 minutes. Just like a real wasp, the drone was propelled by flapping its silicone wings allowing it to hover, climb and descend vertically, move sideways, and travel at speeds up to eleven miles per hour.
Operating a unit resembling a radio control for a model airplane, he brought the wasp to life, hovering it between them. “Ready, boss.”
Francesca opened the door. “Okay, you’re on.”
The drone flew out while she watched the monitor. The drone started its half-mile flight toward the lakefront mansion, flying overhead of the two operatives as they jogged up the steep hill. Five minutes later the home came into view on the monitor. As the drone approached the mansion, Francesca was able to distinguish the architectural details of the stone masonry. The building looked dark and empty, but she knew it wasn’t. Somewhere inside was the assassin Ian Collins.
“Take Jasper around back.” She instructed Matt.
He maneuvered the drone around the side of the house capturing video of the densely wooded lot surrounding the manor, then behind it, the lake and a two-level boathouse a hundred feet below. The drone panned the rear of the property. A long sloping backyard ended at a stone wall which plunged thirty feet to the lake. Stone steps, the same stone from the house and the wall, led to the boathouse.
“Take a look in the windows.” She said.
Matt guided Jasper toward the back of the home. “Only a couple of lights on. Maybe he already went to bed.”
“Maybe.” She said. “Johnson, how far out are you?”
“We just got to the driveway.” Johnson’s voice in her headset.
She motioned to Matt. “Put their helmet cams on three and four.” The two screens lit up with night vision views from the two operatives’ video cameras. “Johnson, can you get a visual through the front windows?”
“Negative. Blinds are all closed. Front door locked.”
“Jasper’s in the back yard. Couple of lights on back there. Check it out.”
“Roger that.” Johnson said.
“Matt, pull back. Let’s make sure no one’s watching.”
The view from the drone zoomed out from the rear of the house. “Back yard looks clear. Be careful.” She said to the operatives.
“Roger that, mom.” Aaron said. “Glad you’re watching our backs.”
She watched while Matt held the drone’s position steady. The drone’s camera picked up the operatives coming around the corner of the house. She scanned the video feeds from the drone and the helmet cams on her monitors, studying every detail from each viewpoint.
She’d been in their shoes when she worked for Italy’s External Intelligence and Security Agency. Her reputation for successful operations in Italy earned her respect in a male dominated field. She’d loved her job, but, as with any government job, there was too much bureaucratic red tape. It was a year ago when she met the eccentric old man she called the toymaker. He recruited her into The Greenbrier Fellowship a week later. Six months specialized tradecraft training, followed by six months fieldwork, and now she had her first assignment as mission leader.
“Johnson, what do you see?”
“Initial assessment. Two lights on downstairs. Looks like the glow of a TV upstairs. No movement detected. Get this, though, the alarm light is green. It’s not armed.”
“Check the door.” She said. “See if it’s locked but don’t open it.”
“Unlocked.” Johnson’s voice. “I repeat, not locked.”
“You and Aaron check the other doors. Maybe we can find an unlocked door that doesn’t open into a lighted room.” She watched the monitors as the two men separated, each checked doors and reported them locked.
“All locked but the one.” Johnson said.
“Let’s take Jasper inside for a look.” She motioned to Matt. The view in the drone’s monitor zoomed in as it flew toward the house. She watched as the drone approached the door. “Johnson, let Jasper in then take cover until Matt can sweep the house.”
“Roger that.” Johnson said.
Francesca watched while Matt guided the drone from room to room. Five minutes later she concluded the lakefront mansion was empty. She told Johnson to let the drone out and return to cover while Matt scanned the rest of the property with the drone.
“Where do you want to start?” Matt asked.