The Toymaker
THE
TOYMAKER
Also by Chuck Barrett
The Savannah Project
REVIEWS OF
THE SAVANNAH PROJECT
From bestselling authors
“
The Savannah Project
signals the arrival of a new member to the thriller genre. Chuck Barrett. The tale contains all of the danger, treachery, and action a reader could wish for. The intrigue comes from all directions, slicing and stitching with precision. A worthy debut from an exciting talent.”
—Steve Berry,
New York Times
bestselling author
“From the tree-lined streets of Savannah to the mossy stones of an ancient Irish castle,
The Savannah Project
weaves a fast moving tale of murder, mystery and suspense. Chuck Barrett has written a winner here. A must-read novel for thriller lovers.”
—William Rawlings, bestselling author of
The Mile High Club
From book reviewers
“
The Savannah Project
is a bona fide suspense thriller. Rife with abundant mystery and intrigue, author Chuck Barrett’s standout tale takes the reader on a tortuous path of all-engrossing action and adventure. A highly recommended instant classic.”
—Apex Reviews
“
The Savannah Project
is an exciting thriller that will prove hard to put down.”
—The Midwest Book Review
A taut, pulse-pounding thriller.”
—
ForeWord
Clarion Reviews
“Chuck Barrett’s
The Savannah Project
grabs your undivided attention from the very first sentence and does not let you truly exhale until the very last, chilling-to-the core line…”
—Olivera Baumgartner-Jackson/Reader Views
THE
TOYMAKER
A NOVEL OF SUSPENSE
Chuck Barrett
THE TOYMAKER. Copyright ©2012 by Chuck Barrett. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher/copyright owner except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, please contact Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing, Inc., 15115 Highway 36, Deadwood, Oregon 97430,
[email protected]
.
The Toymaker
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Mary Fisher Design, LLC, www.maryfisherdesign.com
FIRST EDITION
ISBN: 978-1-936214-68-6
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011943072
Barrett, Chuck.
The Toymaker: a novel of suspense / Chuck Barrett
FICTION: Thriller/Suspense/Mystery
Published by Switchback Publishing
An Imprint of Wyatt-MacKenzie
This book is dedicated to my parents,
Charles and Doris Barrett,
who have always been in my cheerleader section.
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.
The
REAL
Toymaker
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
Anonymous
CHAPTER 1
Lake Burton, Georgia
March 29—11:30 P.M.
Present Day
F
RANCESCA 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.
