Chapter One: Two Spies Amid the Reds

                                                      ---The Jungles of the Amazon, 1974---

The Morning dew couldn't calm the loud sounds of machinery entering one of the world's widest greenwoods. Trees and plants were either cut from the earth or stood, shaking as a terrible force of military power rushed beside them. A heavy tank rolled over broken logs before a lit rocket was recklessly fired off into the bright sky, casting a sign that the doors of this greenwood had been unlocked by the will of the presiding commander. 

Suddenly, a dozen trucks were flying through the jungle greenwood of the Amazon forest. Men with dark aviators, carrying heavy weapons, and expressing arrogance with their pressing tongues in their mouths, wasted no time hastening through the wild scene of nature as Janguars humbly looked on to see what was happening. But as the ride continued, the shadows and figures of two American agents were cleverly kept hidden by the many trees present. 

Everything was moving so fast. The inhabitants of the forest couldn't keep track of all that was happening. Shirtless men were speaking in Russian and blasting away any animal or sight of nature that stood in their way. The men codly laughed at their destruction, finding it amusing, but they all fell silent as another figure approached, a man with a dark patch over his left eye. 

He was tall and ordinarily handsome, had there not been a long scar over his right face, and another, at his neckline, and another still, at his forehead. He had faced the beaten path over the years and had faced many amazons, unlike this one. His appearance had decayed over time, and his inner anger hadn't helped him sustain anything better. 

His name was Rasputin Kyiv, and assume that he was as terrifying as the name of it. His right eye turned and looked to all sides of the nature scene, attempting to discover what was occurring. Dark-headed with long, black hair, he was a stranger to his comrades in arms, though still a trusted leader. 

Alexander Lossky approached the strange hermit and began speaking to him. ''Why are you pausing? What have you found, our archeologist ally?'' 

Rasputin inhaled through his nose. ''Your men are blind,'' he said strongly. 

''What?'' Alexander asked, confused. 

''An enemy is in our presence.'' 

Abruptly, the two American agents showed up with pistols drawn and aimed at both Raspurin and Alexander. One was a light brunette and fair; the other, tanned with blonde hair. 

Rasputin laughed, looking at the former especially. ''Titus Lancaster,'' he began. ''I should have known that you and your blonde friend, Matthew Patterson, would come to chase me down here. You are and have always been a threat on my side.'' 

Titus smiled while clenching his weapon. ''You've come a long way since we last met in Kazan. You used to be a stranger hermit with an interest in archeology that no one took seriously. Somehow, you think you are pompous and important now, that the Russian colonel uses you.'' 

''Your degrading language will catch up with you,'' Rasputin returned. ''There is always an American spy in our midst, yet wherever the Eagle flies, a great Bear awaits it.'' 

The Russians lifted their weapons to choose until Rasputin shouted. ''No, it is not worth that so many of us die today!'' he exclaimed. ''Let Titus have his way. I take it that you want our map?''

''Yes,'' Titus returned strongly, while stepping closer toward Rasputin. ''Hand me the map.''

Rasputin reached for his right pocket. His hand was shuffling slowly until he drew a cracked sheet with many geographical sketches across it. ''Here,'' he said, in a voice of fit. 

''The map!'' Matthew gasped at its sight. 

Titus received the sheet from Rasputin. He barely looked at the map as his eyes remained on the archaeologist and Russian soldiers present. 

''Let me see,'' Matthew urged. 

Titus handed the sheet to his friend just as a barrage of gunfire from behind one of the tanks shot toward them. Quickly, both agents rolled through the grass and downhill, before rushing through the greenwood with continual shots after them. 

''Hurry!'' Alexander ordered his men. 

The tank began to roll forward while blasting at various parts of the Amazon, causing numerous trees to fall over and miss Titus by a foot. 

The two American agents soon reached a great waterfall with a dead end of wet and slippery rocks. They began climbing as the Russian troops rushed after them. The presence of the storming flood protected them from the gunfire, hiding their sights as they climbed up. 

Titus reached the top first and felt exhausted from the climb. There was no more water to protect his sight, yet he rushed his hands to help Matthew. 

''Thanks, Titus,'' Matthew returned, as their bodies ascended the top of the hillside. They saw the Russians coming, though they smiled as if the chase was over. 

Then one loud fire sounded. It came from Rasputin's hands. Suddenly, Matthew was falling over in Titus's arms and saying, ''Get out, friend!'' 

The shot was effective. Mr. Patterson was instantly dead. Titus drew to his feet and gathered the map from Matthew's pocket before rushing out of the greenwood. 

Several miles down, he headed into a local village and hid behind one of the walls of a house there. Then the agent dropped to his knees and considered how his duties had taken him to a new, dangerous territory, where his companion was killed. 

The locals had no understanding of what was happening. They faced him, curious about the many thoughts rushing through his mind. 

Titus turned from them and headed to a stable where a hungry face faced him, hoping he'd give it something. Titus, however, felt the tears rushing from his eyes to not only see someone killed, but to see his companion of the past year shot down by Russians. The agent was new to this business of killing, and though clever in the art of spying, seeing those dear to him in danger was a weakness that he had not hurdled over. 

He wiped his tears. Matthew had not just been a co-worker, but someone whom he knew personally. He drew his wallet, looked at a photo of himself with Matthew and the latter's wife and children. Now, the Cold War had stolen a friend and was endangering democracy itself. 

Matthew drew his walkie-talkie and drew it to his mouth. ''Mission accomplished, the map of the Conquistadors has been found,'' he reported. ''Agent Matthew Patterson is dead, however.'' 

''Yes, Mr. Lancaster,'' the secretary said on the other end. ''And what other information do you have?'' 

''Enough that I have called by wiretap instead of casually.'' 

''Will you soon be in Washington?'' 

''Yes, I know that Mrs. Patterson will want to know of her husband's untimely and unfortunate death.'' 

                                                                          *      *      *

The funeral of Matthew Patterson was a terribly depressing day for Titus Lancaster. The latter stood beside the former's wife, Elizabeth, and children, trying to comfort them in any way that he could. The funeral itself occurred in a Lutheran church, of which the Pattersons had been members. 

A large photo of Matthew rested by the altar. The handsome face was mourned over by many. When the service was over, Elizabeth grabbed Titus's hand. 

''You are a good man,'' she spoke to him. ''I always knew that you were. You are a brave man, Titus.''

The agent looked at her, sensing as he always had the feelings that she had long had for him. The crush was apparent in her eyes as he spoke, and she felt close to him in light of his alliance with Matthew. She was quite pretty, he felt, with blonde curls that he couldn't help but notice from a distance, though he never found himself capable of matching her affections in return. 

''Thank you, though I wish I could have saved him,'' he responded. ''He was good and faithful to our causes. Washington always respected him for his morality and loyalty. I'm sorry for you and your children. The loss has to feel great today.'' 

''Oh, it is.'' 

''I'm terribly sorry.'' 

''Thank you, though you have nothing to apologize for.'' 

''Well, I just wish that I could have done more. The Russians have an eye for killing, and you must be careful with them. I wasn't careful enough, apparently. Just when you expect everything to be fine, the devil sweeps again into our lives, causing more havoc than we can bear.''

''Don't blame yourself. It's in your position to carry out your duty as it was his.'' 

''I shouldn't have assumed all was fine when we lifted to the rocks. The Russians were many feet below us and were climbing their way. One of their men---a dark, strange man named 'Rasputin' stood on a local hill as we were climbing and bang---he fired one shot, taking Matthew's life. I'm sorry, the scene is still so graphic in my mind, and I have had a hard time shutting it out.'' 

''Titus, you are a brave soul. Remember what Matthew fought for, as I do too. He loved America and was willing to die for her.'' 

Titus faced the casket while seeing the American colors and flowers near it. He felt more downcast today than he had the day that Matthew had been shot. The death had caught up with him. It hit hard. He was shot himself by his knowledge of all that had occurred, yet he was not externally bleeding. Instead, he was left perpetually wounded at the heart. 

''Tell me,'' Elizabeth began lowly. ''What of the map?'' 

''It has been taken into custody,'' Titus said. 

''And did it lead to anything?'' 

''Yes, the lost Inca treasure of Llanganates. Rasputin was after it to give himself a claim of glory, and the Russians wanted it for domination.''

''Did they find it?'' 

''No, I returned the map to American authorities after my service there. Our troops reached the location first. A few remnants of gold were found, though most of it seems to have melted away by a Conquistador pirate who wanted no one else to ever have his treasure.'' 

Elizabeth looked to the floor as if Matthew's death had all been in vain. 

''For the Russians, I don't think ever was much about the treasure per se,'' said Titus. ''It was all a rivalry between them. Besides Matthew's death, the worst thing to have occurred during this case was the survival of Rasputin. He is out there somewhere and alive, as much a threat against us as he was. Some venture this was for Matthew and me, into a South American jungle as we rivaled against our Russian enemies for a treasure that didn't even matter.'' 

Elizabeth wiped her eyes. Titus looked away, feeling that he had so to much. ''I'm sorry,'' he said. ''Like you, I miss him greatly.'' 

The sight of the Russian tank rolling over the Amazon's forest grounds replayed in his mind. His thoughts returned to the Russian soldiers rushing through the greenwood as he and Matthew followed their company. He recalled them standing before Rasputin and Alexander, and how all seemed to be in their favor until the map was in their hands. 

''Whatever was so important about that sheet is not for me to analyze,'' he thought. ''I leave that judgement to Washington.'' 

As she stepped outside, Titus drew the map from one of the inside pockets of his suit. He saw locations on it, written in Spanish and found the paper to look closely modeled after another. 

Elizabeth and her children faced him while headed to their vehicle, parked out front. 

                                                                             *      *      *

It rained long and hard that day. The ground was soaked with hundreds of rats moving across the sewers below Washington, D. C. 

Titus settled in his apartment. As every heavy raindrop fell over the ceiling above, he recalled the gunfire that killed Matthew. Today, the round sounded no different. It was horrific from him to here. He rolled over on his left side, feeling a sense of sudden guilt that he hadn't been there to defend his friend. The regret was daunting, casting a shadow over his soul, as if he could have done more. The day of action, everything had gone so quickly, but now, now there was time to mourn and consider all that had transpired. 

The agent left his bed and turned on the TV, hoping for optimism. None came. The Watergate scandal was destroying President Nixon's legacy. The year was 1974, and everything was changing so fast. Public trust in the president was fading fast, and what did the allegations concerning Nixon mean in light of the Cold War? Had Russia spotted a weakness in the American ranks, by which they could move to domination? 

Titus dropped into his bed. The flimsy mattress sank as he sulkingly watched the news. His state of loss was painful. Now, he heard More rain fall. The gunfire could still be heard. Matthew had faded, though not his memory in Titus's mind. 

                                                                                *      *      *

                                                                           The Caribbean, 2020s

Several boats suddenly anchored off the coast of Key West. One young man, Luke Lancaster, was thrown to the floor by a gang of men. Looking upwards, he noticed the dark clouds and streaking lightning before the face of Rasputin Kyiv stepped toward him. The latter person held his cane firmly against the wet floor and used his other hand to smack the agent's face. 

''Following in your father's footsteps, I see, Mr. Luke Lancaster,'' Rasputin began. ''You think of yourself as a noble hero just like him. Well, he stepped in my way once, and you aren't going to do it this time. I have lived my entire life for the search of arachological findings and will grasp them when necessary.'' 

''Your stolen cargo ships will never be able to keep the replicas of the inhabitants of these islands all to yourself. You are nothing more than a thief, Rasputin, despite any further titles that you claim for yourself. I have no passion for archeology, only to see justice served for those who believe in Democracy and don't succumb to the barbarity of your pirates.'' 

The old man rubbed his white beard before smacking the agent again. ''Kill him dead,'' he began. 

''Sir!'' one of the sailors shouted. 

Raspuitin's eyes expanded as miliary boats from Florida began firing upon them. Luke instantly lifted to his feet and cast the pirates off his sides before wrestling several of them on the slippery deck, before a sea battle began. 

''Prepare our artillery for defence!'' Rasputin shouted to his men. ''We've been spotted, and I can imagine by whom!'' 

Luke lifted his pistol and fired several shots at Raspitin's men before he leapt into the dark, night waters and swam without any trace for the pirates to follow. The old Russian archeologist rushed by the rails, searching for him as his men made battle. He then rushed to the other side of the boat and drew his pistol by the water. He heard a sound and turned back, then another sound turned him around again, as he began to chill from fear. He began to carelessly fire into the water, as if Luke were underneath the floating machine. He then slipped on the floor before lifting again. 

''This is the end for you, my American friend!'' Rasputin shouted as the thunder grew louder. 

''Sir!'' one of the men shouted. Rasputin turned, before a skeleton figure was cast over the side of the boat. Facing it, he felt doomed by his own fears of its sight. He then turned once more, as Luke's left foot tripped him toward the helm. The archeologist struggled to rise to his feet before being shot to his death by the American agent, who made his final escape over the waters before the pirate float was overtaken by the American forces. 

Fire collided with water as steam filtered the cool, night air. Once on shore, Luke waved to one of the captains of the Cuban ship. Exhausted, he also smiled at the work that he had accomplished. His father had never taken Rasputin down, though he did now. 

An early rain followed. The night air only became cooler as the pirates were captured, and their vessle, sank far into the sea.