Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Series Boxed Set, Volumes 1-3: Dead in Their Tracks, Counter-Strike, The Kill List

by JT Sawyer

  Petra paid the driver while everyone removed their backpacks, clutching them closely as they headed inside. Pushing past the haze of smoke, Mitch led them upstairs to the rooftop bar where his friend had told him he’d be waiting. His boots crunched over discarded beer bottle caps and peanut husks as he made his way past the medley of twenty-something ex-pats swaying to the karaoke music. A young Asian DJ with a bowl haircut was standing on a wooden crate while a throng of women yelled song suggestions at him.

  Upon emerging on the third floor, it wasn’t hard to spot Marco Rigby with his refrigerator-wide girth which nearly took up two seats at the back of the bar. The setting sun reflected off his bulbous bald head, making it seem like his neck had inflated a balloon. He was wearing a rayon blue shirt with green palm trees and sat before a sweating glass of amber ale. The man’s narrow eyes widened at the sight of Mitch and he shot up from his rattan chair.

  “Mitch, Mitch…you old dog,” Marco said, clutching Mitch in a vice-like bearhug then patting him on the shoulder with his shovel-like hand, which nearly knocked him into the table. “Shit, it’s been too long, bro.”

  Mitch sucked in a breath of smoky air and gave the man a handshake. “You’re as fit as when you were in the unit.” Mitch could see Marco had gained weight but didn’t think flattery would hurt. The hulking figure could probably still move like a puma and flatten anyone in his way with just a single punch.

  Marco motioned to the diminutive waitress at the bar to bring a round of beers then his gaze shot over to Dev. “Whoa—you said you were traveling with a fine lady but you didn’t mention she was a beauty queen.”

  Dev rolled her eyes and smirked. Marco moved past Mitch and grabbed Dev’s duffel bag, placing it under his chair, and then slipped his hand out over hers, leading her over to the table. “Please, come and sit. You’ve all had a long flight and we have much to discuss it seems.”

  After a few minutes of small talk between Mitch and Marco, the scantily clad waitress arrived with the drinks, her youthful appearance revealing someone who was probably no more than sixteen. “Just put it on my tab, darling,” said Marco, who winked at her.

  “So, what brings you to my tropical paradise?”

  “More than just sightseeing I’m afraid.” Mitch leaned forward and spoke in a quiet tone. “What can you tell me about the Suma Tigers?”

  Marco stopped drinking in mid-sip and slowly lowered his beer. He rested his meaty arms on the table, scooching his chair forward and whispering, “I take it you don’t mean the big cats on the endangered species list?”

  “We encountered a few of their mercenaries at a site in Austria,” said Dev.

  Mitch gave him a look of urgency. “I know they hail from these parts but if you could provide a location, that’d be a big help. I figured Sumatra, of course, but that’s a helluva lot of territory to cover.”

  Marco continued hunching over, speaking in a low tone. “They are not on the big island here. You are correct that Sumatra, next door, is the location of that mercenary group though they are rumored to also be sprinkled along many of the smaller island chains west of Sumatra with their own little factions.”

  Marco rubbed his chin and looked at Petra and David then back at Mitch. “You lads in need of some work and wanting to join up with the Sumas or what?”

  “Remember Professor Bob Schueller from the cold-weather testing labs we went to in the army?” said Mitch.

  “That old fuck with the bifocals who kept me in that hypothermia chamber for two hours while he and his pasty-faced assistants scribbled notes on my body’s response to his punishment?”

  Mitch shook his head and smirked. “Yeah, that guy—that ‘old fuck’ is a good friend of mine. We kept in touch after that research project. Anyway, he’s gone missing and our trail led us to a safe house in Austria that had a bunch of dead Suma guys sprinkled around the lawn.”

  “Yeah, I remember you being interested in the old man’s research stuff and hitting it off with him. Sorry to hear about his predicament.” Marco drank the last of his beer and licked the white froth from his lips. “I’ll check with a few of my contacts to see if they’ve heard anything unusual going on around town here and on Sumatra. I know a few former Indonesian spec-ops guys here who can be trusted.”

  Marco stood up, his hulking frame dwarfing the table, and threw down some bills. “For now, let me show you my city.”

  Mitch finished his drink and got up, peering at the cityscape below. He caught a glimpse of a man in a green t-shirt sitting on a rooftop bar across the street. He was certain the guy was looking his way. A second later, he felt Marco’s hand on his shoulder and turned around. “You gonna gawk at the eye-candy on the street or are we gonna hit the town?”

  Mitch swung his head back to the opposite roof and noticed that the man was gone, his full beverage still sitting atop the rickety wooden table. “Yeah, sure, let’s go. Let’s go.”

  ***

  Von hastily made his way down the steps of the restaurant across from Mitch and the others. The photo that he had sent to Crenna had pulled up Mitch Kearns’ files, a man who seemed like a worthy adversary. It also indicated that he had a previous connection with Schueller, which was probably why he had been pursuing Yin. He wondered if Yin had revealed anything before her death that could fill in the blanks about this globe-trotting search that Crenna had sent him on.

  He sent a text message to Crenna on his location and then shoved it back in his pocket before heading out the rear exit. He scanned the alley in either direction, making his way towards his moped. Hopping on, he felt a sharp prick in his neck and quickly turned around, his pistol in hand. There was no one in sight, only the loud music from the nearby street corner resounding off the walls of the buildings. He slid his fingers up to a burning patch of skin below his ear. He removed a one-inch needle just as his vision began blurring. He crawled off the moped, clutching his weapon. It felt like his brain was draining out from his ears and the music was growing muffled. He tried raising his pistol at the two men approaching but his limb was unresponsive, like it had turned into a chunk of waterlogged driftwood. His breathing slowed and he spiraled to the ground, his head smacking a trash can before resting on the silty pavement.

  Chapter 19

  Natalie Quint was standing with her arms folded, scanning the sidewalk below her office in Langley, Virginia. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just letting her mind float over the river of pedestrian traffic as she contemplated the events of the past twenty-four hours. The emergence of former operative Kyle Redstrom coupled with the sudden disappearance of two of Crenna’s field agents gave her cause for concern.

  Quint had been deputy director for four years and had worked both field operations and intelligence gathering over her twenty-six-year career. She’d dealt with her fair share of bullshit both in the field and in-house at Langley. Her instincts and gut feelings had served her well in keeping her alive and in climbing up the largely male-dominated ladder at the world’s largest covert agency. Those same instincts were causing her stomach to churn like a blender as she mulled over the connections and odd circumstances surrounding Crenna. She knew of his reputation within the agency for being old-school and had heard rumors about his off-the-books operations back in the early 90s. It was the stuff of legend, things that most operatives dreamed of doing before there was so much senate oversight. The thrill of the chase and working undercover is what had first led Quint into working for the agency. But she had learned over the years that even the most meticulous operator can’t cover their own tracks forever. Accountability to something other than your own rule book was essential. There was a chaotic hurricane brewing and she suspected Crenna was at the eye of the storm. Hopefully it could be rectified before it tarnished the image of the agency that Quint had fought so hard to uphold under her watch.

  Her secretary knocked and then entered, walking to Quint’s oval desk. The slender redhead handed her a tablet which contained the image of a dar
k-skinned man in his late twenties. “Everyone else at Crenna’s office is accounted for except this man, Von Harut. He was last traced to Munich.”

  Quint gave the woman a concerned look as she was handed the tablet and began scanning the man’s files. “Munich—there was just a notice that came out of our substation in Germany about a woman at the Munich Airport who was shot. She was apparently involved in dozens of espionage incidents over the past ten years—an Asian woman.”

  Quint thrust the tablet back to her secretary and sat down at her desk, frantically typing on her laptop. “Gather everything you can on Harut, Crenna, Redstrom, and the woman who died in Munich. Cross-reference their case histories and field assignments and see if there’s any overlap then have a team meet me in the situation room in fifteen minutes.”

  The assistant left as Quint pored over an old internal document about Redstrom’s disappearance in Beijing three years earlier. She accessed the agency’s employee database, looking up past members assigned to Crenna’s outfit who were involved in the search for Redstrom.

  As the files pulled up, she leaned back in her chair, her neck tensing while reading each line on the list. Two of the field operatives associated with the case were marked as deceased: one was killed in action, another died in a car accident, and the other, an Asian woman named Jessica Yin, was MIA. Each within six months of the disappearance of Redstrom. Shortly afterwards, Crenna was reassigned to Malaysia as a station chief. Quint studied the files and the facial images. What is the connection here? Are Crenna and Redstrom working together, and if so, where is the money coming from? Was Redstrom’s death fabricated and he’s been working off-the-books for Crenna all this time along with Yin? And now it looks like Crenna is eliminating any potential ties back to him, especially since two of his own people have gone missing.

  Quint scanned the files again, reading and re-reading the pertinent details. “This is looking like the mother of all shit-storms that could bring a lot of unwanted attention to the U.S.,” she whispered. She arched her shoulders back, narrowing her eyes into cat-like slits and focusing her gaze on Crenna’s image.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning as the sun shone over the bustling city, Mitch pried his eyes open and sat up on one elbow on the cheap couch in their shared hotel room. Dev had stayed in the small bed in the corner near the porch while the other men sacked out around the main room. David was already awake, the ever-vigilant warrior standing like a Greek statue near the patio door. Petra was still asleep, lying on his back on the couch across from Mitch. The young man’s fingers were interlaced on his chest like he was meditating.

  Mitch looked over at the bed but saw that Dev was absent and heard her soft footfalls as she emerged from the bathroom, her lush wet hair draped over her shoulders. He sat up, his eyes widening at her alluring image as he rubbed his temples.

  “Too many brews last night?” she said.

  “Whew—I haven’t drunk that much in a long time. I think I’ve lost my acclimation.”

  “How late did you guys stay out after we left?” said Petra, who had suddenly emerged from his slumber.

  “We hit three more bars and then I had to yank Marco away from a brawl that almost broke out when he accidentally stepped on a bouncer’s foot.”

  “So, you became babysitter for Mr. Charming,” said Dev, leaning over and shaking her hair before going upright again.

  “Yeah, you may have noticed he has a way with people,” said Mitch, standing up and pulling on a t-shirt.

  There was a knock on the door followed by Marco’s voice. David strode over and let the man in while peering both ways down the hall.

  Marco’s bloodshot eyes were still glassy and Mitch wondered if he’d stayed out all night bar-hopping. He dragged a beat-up suitcase on wheels behind him which he unceremoniously dumped in the center of the floor before Mitch’s feet.

  “Just a welcoming gift,” the burly man said, grabbing a mango off the table. He was unshaved and smelled like a school bus after a wrestling tournament, causing Dev to step back as he approached.

  Mitch unzipped the stuffed suitcase and removed the stolen hotel towels that served as padding while everyone gathered around like they were staring at a plundered treasure. Inside were a dozen tarnished pistols ranging from FNs to Makarovs to Glocks along with assorted magazines and a half-dozen tattered boxes of ammunition. Interspersed with these were several fourteen-inch parangs in leather sheaths. These were the curved blades of choice in Malaysia, with a more sleek design than the linear machete. In a side pouch of the duffel bag were six walkie-talkies with accompanying earpieces and spare batteries.

  “I’ve got some AKs and jungle gear stashed at the plane.”

  “We going on a trip somewhere?” said Dev.

  “You’ll have to tell me.” Marco plunked down in a sofa-chair, his weight causing the sides to groan. “My contact in Sumatra told me that the Suma Tigers have several encampments high up in the mountains. This much I knew,” he said, taking a bite out of the succulent fruit he’d peeled, some juice dripping onto his dusty boots. “What came as a surprise was what he told me next—that there’s a rumored fringe group of Suma fighters who’ve defected recently and are living in the jungle in the Beuton region. That’s in the north-central part of the island. Not enough people in their little group to draw attention from the military so they’ve gone unnoticed except by a handful of locals.”

  “That’s not much to go on,” said Mitch.

  “And a long way to go on a hunch,” Petra said, slipping on his boots.

  “Yeah, except there’s talk of a white guy living amongst them. He’s probably the reason they’re heading up there.”

  The four of them huddled in closer to Marco, who continued chomping away on the fruit. He pulled out a folded map from the cargo pocket of his shorts. He tossed it onto the open pile of weapons and pointed at a red circle he had drawn.

  “That location may not look like much, in fact there’s probably nothing there but a shit-ton of monkeys and endless miles of jungle but that’s where the Japs had a small base in World War Two. They were training Indonesian youths to serve in their resistance forces against the Allies. And that, my swarthy friends, is where your little party is going on, I suspect.”

  Chapter 21

  After his private jet landed in Kuala Lumpur, Schueller accompanied Kyle and his Suma mercenaries in a helicopter which took them across the Malacca Strait to the island of Sumatra. After an hour of flight over the dense jungle, they arrived at the small outpost that Kyle had been using as his base of operations. The former World War II encampment still had enough infrastructure in place to act as an off-grid fort to serve his band of twenty-one mercenaries along with a small laboratory for refining the viral pathogen in his possession.

  Now, with the arrival of Schueller, the final pieces of his plan were falling into place. He had briefly explained his fascination with the professor’s research in virology, citing his papers and breakthroughs while tying in his knowledge of Chinese bioweapons undertakings. With the proper incentive, he would get Schueller to weaponize the strain in his possession.

  After disembarking the helicopter, Kyle showed the facility to Schueller, explaining each improvement or modification to the existing structure as if he were a realtor speaking to a prominent client who should be impressed.

  After pointing out the rain-water catchment systems near the main building, Kyle walked him to the laboratory while two of his armed men followed behind them. The cement structure was nearly obscured by vines and looked more organic than manmade.

  “Ah, World War Two was such an amazing era in our history, wasn’t it?” Kyle said, raising his outstretched hand up to a tree trunk that had insinuated itself into a crack in the wall. “The first war where men and machines worked together as one. All of those amazing tanks, aircraft carriers, and submarines doing our bidding.” He spun and held Schueller’s arms, staring intently into his eyes. “So much more civilized than
previous wars where men bayoneted or hacked each other up in trenches, don’t you think?”

  Schueller’s face tensed as he tried to pull back. “Who the fuck are you again and what do you want with me?”

  Kyle released his steely grip and brushed the wrinkles out of the older man’s sleeves. “All in good time, Professor.” He laughed, raising a hand to his mouth. “Actually, I’m running out of fucking time, so we should get you started on your little science project.” He raised his fingers in air-quotes at the latter words.

  Kyle motioned him to follow. Schueller feigned slipping on the muddy ground, grabbing a handful of the soil and flinging it into the two guards’ faces. He pivoted to the right and bolted around the building, running for fifty feet.

  Schueller stopped in mid-sprint, sliding on the wet ground as a sickening wave of stench pierced his nostrils, bringing him to a halt. The small clearing in the jungle ahead was peppered with close to thirty bodies. The tangled limbs of monkeys and humans were interspersed throughout the bloody heap, their orifices and eyes filled with blood while thousands of flies swarmed over the pus-covered sores on the bodies. Schueller felt bile racing up into his throat as his eyes watered from the horrific odor. He backpedaled, cupping his hand over his mouth and nose, then felt the body of someone behind him. He pried his eyes away from the carnage, staring into the face of Kyle.

  “Nasty virus they came down with—but don’t worry, the subjects were all sterilized prior to being laid to rest here in the bosom of the jungle.”