Courtesy of Hamed ParhamThe RODINA PLOT is a political thriller about the overthrow of the Russian government. In this chapter, an assassin hired to kill the Russian premier is picking up his custom made weapons, designed so he can conceal them and smuggle them into Russia. Thanks for reading! - Michael Gerhardt
The pistol looked as if someone had started to manufacture a conventional weapon but had been interrupted before he could apply the cosmetic touches. Gant picked it up from the table and turned it over in his hands. The barrel was smooth and completely unadorned. Not even a bead for a sight protruded from the polished surface. The grip was conventional size, but was a skeleton that Gant could see through.
“It certainly won’t be worth much as a blunt instrument.”
“Herr Gant.” responded Haydl softly. “You can purchase a bludgeon at any well equipped merchandiser. Besides, I have the distinct impression that you require very little assistance in hand to hand combat.”
Gant nodded at the compliment and handed the weapon to Haydl. “Break it down, please.”
Haydl took the weapon from Gant. His old hands moved deftly across the gun, and within seconds it was in four pieces on the table. The weapon consisted of a pistol grip, a trigger, a barrel and a silencer. Each piece looked quite harmless lying by itself on the table. Gant picked each piece up one by one, examined it and replaced it on the table. The barrel of the weapon was actually one tube inside the other. The firing pin was welded to the inside back of the larger tube. The weapon would fire when the trigger released the spring-loaded outer tube, allowing it to slide forward, forcing the firing pin into the bullet lodged in the smaller tube. He looked at Haydl and nodded. Haydl put the weapon back together, demonstrating how each piece snapped together. He handed Gant the assembled weapon and a small package wrapped in oilcloth.
“What’s this?”
“Something that I have been working on for quite some time, and have finally perfected. I believe that you will be very pleased. Instead of a standard magazine clip for housing the ammunition, I have designed the guidance system right into the frame of the grip.”
He paused and pointed at the oilcloth. “The package contains your ammunition. Each bullet is spot welded to the next one to form strings. The welding is a polymer that disintegrates as each bullet is fired. When you have finished, you have no magazine to dispose of.”
“Quite ingenious, Herr Haydl. But without a magazine, how are the bullets driven into the chamber?”
“A spring attaches to the bottom of the string and to the top of the grip. The pressure created drives the bullets in and catches on a protruding piece of metal when the last bullet is fired, keeping it from flying off, so it can be re-used.”
“Where is the spring?”
Haydl produced a small spring from a drawer. “It is the same spring that works the throttle on your tractor.”
Gant smiled. “My compliments.”
“Do we have sufficient ammunition to test the weapon here?”
“Of course.”
Gant opened the oilcloth and removed a string of five bullets. He looked at Haydl. “It is the largest amount that the spring can pull without stretching out of shape.”
Gant nodded his understanding and slipped the string into the guidance tracks inside the grip. Haydl handed him the spring, and he quickly attached it at both ends. He pulled the cylinder surrounding the barrel backward and turned it slightly until it caught on a small indentation, priming the weapon. The action would not occur automatically, which would slow down rapid firing.
Haydl moved aside, allowing Gant to walk to the small target range he maintained in the cellar for the use of his clients. Gant stepped up to the faint white line on the floor. He stood motionless for several seconds, facing the target exactly twenty five meters away. He concentrated, allowing the weapon to become an extension of his body. He slowly raised his left hand and pointed it toward the target. The weapon remained motionless for several seconds, and then a soft spit echoed through the cellar as Gant squeezed off a round and let the weapon drop back to his side. Haydl peered through a small telescope pointed at the target. “Ten o’clock. Two centimeters.”
Gant acknowledged and Haydl pressed a button. The large target disappeared and four small targets appeared in its place. They were flat, round clay discs, each six centimeters in diameter, suspended from wires at various distances and heights. Haydl pressed another button and each disc began to move at different speeds and in different directions. Gant closed his eyes, took a deep breath and spoke. “Whenever you are ready, Herr Haydl.”
Haydl waited for several seconds and pushed a third button. The sound of a 357 magnum crashed through the target range. Gant dove to his right, hit the ground and rolled over. He came to rest on his stomach, holding the weapon in both hands in front of his body. His right hand flashed back and forth after each shot, working the next bullet into the chamber. In less than three seconds, all four clay discs had exploded. Gant rolled over again and stood up. Haydl shivered visibly. It always gave him a rush of excitement to see one of his instruments used to perfection. And none of his clients was as good as Gant.
“Excellent, Herr Haydl.”
Gant handed the weapon back to Haydl. “Thank you, Herr Gant. It is always a pleasure to construct instruments for someone so talented.”
Haydl continued to speak as they returned to the workbench. “Are you ready to examine the second instrument?”
“Certainly.”
Haydl reached across the table and opened a large box sitting near the back. He reached inside and removed a rifle, offering it to Gant with a proud look on his face. Gant accepted it, cradling it in his hands as he examined it. The barrel was one meter long and highly polished. Like the pistol, it had no bead for a sight. The trigger housing was very compact, and the stock was a skeleton, much like the pistol grip. Gant brought the weapon to his shoulder, nestled the stock against his cheek and sighted down the barrel. He brought the weapon back down to his side and handed it to Haydl. Without being asked, Haydl disassembled the weapon. He quickly finished and immediately reassembled the weapon.
“You wish to try it?”
“No, thank you. I’ll practice later. I will require six rounds please.”
Haydl nodded and turned back to the table. He opened a smaller box and extracted six matching bullets. “How many for zeroing and how many to travel with you?”
“Two and four.”
Haydl separated the ammunition accordingly. “If I may, I will now demonstrate how I have provided for the concealment of both of the weapons.”
He pulled a large oilcloth away from the table, exposing a menagerie of spare parts for a tractor. Haydl quickly broke the pistol down and added items from the table to each piece. The pistol grip quickly became a handle and lever assembly for the parking brake. The barrel and silencer became part of the gear shift apparatus. The trigger housing snapped inside the gas gauge. He looked up at Gant. “Any questions?”
“None. Please continue.”
Haydl picked up the larger weapon and quickly went to work on it in the same manner. The stock came apart in three pieces that became the spokes of the steering wheel, while the trigger housing was concealed inside the hub of the steering wheel. The barrel slipped inside the shaft of the steering column. Haydl stepped back from the table. Even a trained eye would find nothing more ominous on the table than a collection of spare tractor parts.
“The gas cap is attached to the body of the tractor by a small chain so that it cannot be lost. I have designed this chain to attach to that chain. The two strings of bullets for the pistol will be suspended from that chain inside the pipe that leads to the gas tank itself. They will be out of sight, yet dry.”
“What about these?” Gant pointed toward the four bullets on the table.
“The ammunition for the larger instrument fits inside these.”
He held out a handful of lug nuts. “There are a total of five on each wheel. The ones with the tiny tractor logo on them are the ones that I have hollowed out to hold the rounds.”
Haydl pointed toward a small box on the table. “This box holds the remaining sixteen lug nuts, all fashioned out of the same material as the carriers.”
Gant did not speak, so Haydl continued. “If everything is satisfactory, I shall pack it into the carrying case for you. I have assumed that I will not be able to assist you in modifying the actual tractor to be used as the carrier, so I have provided a complete set of drawings for you.”
“Herr Haydl, please accept my compliments. You have exceeded your reputation in this endeavor.”
Haydl bowed and swiftly packed everything into the case he had designed for this purpose. The case was slightly larger than a briefcase, and was covered in rich leather. When he finished, he closed the case, locked it, and handed the case and keys to Gant. He placed the rifle barrel inside a walking stick and gave it to Gant.
“Thank you, Herr Haydl.”
Gant pulled a small leather wallet from his breast pocket and placed it on the table. “I anticipated that you would outdo yourself, just as you anticipated that I would need four rounds for traveling. I have included a substantial bonus for you.”
“You are too kind. I always enjoy working for you.”
Gant picked up the case and began to climb the stairs.
“Could you let yourself out, Herr Gant? I would prefer to stay down here and clean up.”
“Certainly. Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Haydl.”
“Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Gant.”
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bikracerValentine rose early for his prayers. The night was still holding itself against the break of dawn, but there were a few streaks of red in the eastern sky. He would walk from his small abode and set forth for the open woods outside of the town. Everyone was still asleep and he enjoyed the solitude and peace. He would walk slowly through the town and bless each door as he passed. He always chose a different route for his Morning Prayer and would cover all the houses in a week’s time. His stature was not tall and he was thin, so if an old woman were to peer from her window in the early morning dusk, she would perhaps think the figure of Valentine was a ghost. This was especially true today because the fog was coming thick with the day and the mist swept across the small streets and alleys rising only to the top of the houses.
