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

by JT Sawyer

  “No, but I’ve been pursuing you since hacking into the security feed at the Munich Airport. You do like to globetrot it seems.” Kyle raised his eyebrows and offered a crooked smile. “Oh, and then there’s that other connection we share—our mutual friend—my dear old mentor, Darren Crenna. Surely he must have told you about his comrade in arms, Kyle Redstrom.” He raised his palm to his mouth. “Oops, did the villain really say his real name, my bad. I’ve crossed a line. I’ve told you something personal about myself. Now, it’s your turn.”

  “Von Harut is my name. I’m a relief worker with UNICEF. I don’t know why I was kidnapped but the United Nations office here will be looking for me.”

  Kyle raised his index finger and pressed it to Von’s lips. “Shh…come, come now. We are both professionals. It doesn’t have to go this way. I know you have to foist your cover story and then when we break you down a few notches, you’ll pretend to yield, delivering a more polished secondary cover story about a fictitious company you work for, hoping to buy some time while we check things out.”

  “I’m not sure who you are but I’m a foreign aid worker. Please let me go.”

  Kyle grabbed Von’s right arm and squeezed it. “My, you are a fine specimen. I was once so robust. A few years in a Chinese prison changes a person though. Lack of nutrients, daily beatings, nerve damage from electric shock—you know how it goes. Oh, wait, no you don’t because Crenna still has a use for you. Well, that’ll change one day. Then he’ll see to it you have an accident or suffer an unexpected allergic reaction to some food or slip false intel to the country you’re stationed in.” Kyle moved around Von and punched him in the kidney then pressed his face against Von’s ear as the man was groaning. “Or Crenna might even send an operative to snipe a woman in a fucking airport for instance.”

  Kyle snapped his fingers to his man at the door and then motioned to the crack in the wall.

  “But I apologize for such a violent outburst like that, it’s not like me to lash out with such pugilistic fury—so primitive and uncouth. Not something befitting professionals such as us.” He took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and padded the sweat on his forehead. “All of these different torture methods that we humans have refined over the centuries, even the ones in the agency manual which call for waterboarding and the use of drugs, they’re just so crude. There are so many alternative, more efficient methods that come from the natural world that work far better.” Kyle turned and looked at his brutish guard near the door. “Now my man, Carlos, he likes the corporal punishment. That leather whip of his can remove a dime-sized patch of skin wherever he chooses.”

  “UN workers have rights. You must have me mistaken for someone else. I’m just a foreign employee here for three months to assist with famine relief efforts in remote villages.”

  “My sweet boy, you’re still so young, probably at the top of your physical game with so many skills and achievements handed out by the same agency who trained us both. I’m really not surprised Crenna didn’t tell you about me. He didn’t want you to lose faith in him—in so upstanding and fatherly a figure.” Kyle flailed his arms in the air. “What a good daddy, always looking out for his children. You are just another agency puppet, though I’d hoped you’d extend me the courtesy of skipping the bullshit façade.”

  Von tried to turn his head and see what the guard was doing but Kyle redirected his attention by tugging on his hair. Von exhaled and shot a hard glare, his outward demeanor of innocence suddenly replaced by a fierce rage. “I make my own choices. No one pulls my strings, not even Crenna.”

  Kyle tapped him on his cheek and smiled. “That’s what he’d have you believe. Even now you think you’re doing the agency’s bidding but you are really cleaning up his mess. A mess he can’t afford to let out. What do you think will happen to you once you’re finished here? Return to Langley and start a new assignment? Not likely, my friend.”

  “We’re no friends. You’re listed on the files as a traitor and psychopath.”

  Kyle leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Hmm, maybe a hint of the latter—who wouldn’t be after living in your own filth in a cell and having to kill your fellow inmates for food.” He strode around Von. “But a traitor—a traitor.” His voice changed to a deep bellow at the latter word. “No, sir, I was a patriot who served my country with honor even in the weeks after Crenna disavowed me.”

  “Then why hide out in the jungle, kidnap a U.S. citizen, and commit atrocities?”

  “Crenna sent you to remove me from the equation so there’d be no trace of the bioresearch that the agency funded. Research which I originally obtained from the Chinese and passed along to him before he cast me aside as a traitor to cover his own betrayal. Did he mention that he later sold the secret files?” Kyle stopped dramatically and stared into Von’s eyes. “I’m guessing you don’t know about that shady little deal he made for a few million dollars.”

  Von gave him a startled look then clenched his jaw. “I’ve got nothing that can help you. Crenna has always kept me in the dark about his doings.”

  “We’ll see.” Kyle hooked a finger inside Von’s lower lip, tugging it down forcefully. “Careful, don’t resist too much or this soft tissue by the mouth can tear. It’s very painful and it never heals up very well, causing you to slur your words for the rest of your days like some bumbling child.” Kyle ran his other hand over Von’s hair as if caressing it.

  He moved up an inch from Von’s trembling face. “The red centipedes here just love nutrient-rich tissue filled with warm saliva. Normally they sting their prey only once to paralyze them so the more you thrash around and try to remove it with your tongue, the more they will teach you to remain still.”

  Von’s eyes were so wide that the whites seemed to occupy his entire tan face. He started to groan but the grip on his lower lip tightened. He tried kicking his toes away against the damp floor but Kyle just grabbed his hair and held him close.

  “Put it right there,” Kyle said to Carlos while he pulled the gum line back enough to allow the man to drop a centipede from his gloved hand into Von’s cheek.

  Von screamed in pain and began gagging while his entire body shook violently. Kyle had stepped back a few feet and massaged his own cheek with a finger while directing his intense gaze at the suffering figure before him. Then he went to the wall and peeled off two more centipedes with his bare hands, holding them by the tails.

  “Now, Von Harut of the CIA, let me begin the questioning anew. I would like to know everything about Crenna’s current operational protocols and what he’s told you about your righteous mission.”

  As Redstrom inched forward with the centipedes, Von knew he would be brutally interrogated and then killed. If he did manage to escape he would be escaping through miles of green hell on his own. And if he made it back, what then? Would he confront Crenna, demanding to know the truth about Beijing and his cover-up in Redstrom’s disappearance and subsequent torture? Was Crenna even coming for him or was he now deemed disposable? Surely the man knew of his location with his implanted GPS microchip by now. As these thoughts ran through his foggy brain, he smelled the acrid odor of the approaching arthropods, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing for the coming agony.

  Chapter 27

  At dawn, when the jungle seemed to be fighting off the advances of the sunlight which struggled to pierce the dense foliage, Mitch and the others downed a hasty meal of MREs and packed up their hammocks. Marco led them down the ridge towards the river whose rapids could be heard gurgling above the chaotic blend of monkey calls and birdsongs.

  They made their way to the edge of the waterway, concealing themselves in a grove of young palm trees. The humming sound from upriver was increasing as a narrow wooden boat came into view. It contained five men clad in camouflage clothing amidst stacks of rectangular wooden crates. The weathered vessel was propelled by a large diesel engine at the rear which frequently coughed out black smoke. The boat continued up another half mile before pulling over be
side a cleared out swath on river right. The men secured the bow to a tree and then got out and began passing the items in a fireline onto the muddy embankment.

  “Those guys don’t look like birdwatchers,” said Petra. “Thought you said the old Japanese base was a few miles up still.”

  Marco rubbed his whiskered chin. “That’s the information I got. This could be another way in or maybe they’ve just got a secondary location.”

  “Or a supply depot apart from their main quarters like that place we hit south of Kandahar once,” said Mitch, recalling a previous mission with his unit.

  “Yeah, what a cluster-fuck that was, eh.” Marco pulled up the binoculars around his neck and scanned the small group then handed them to Mitch who began studying the distant ground for tracks.

  “It looks like there’s been a lot of activity here in recent weeks given the trail erosion from foot traffic and the amount of canopy that’s been cleared.”

  “That’s a pretty swift current. How far down did you say that bridge was?” said Dev.

  “Too far to make it worth our while. We’ll need to cross there,” Marco said, pointing upriver to a distant bend. “That should give us enough distance to swim across to the other side without getting swept away in the rapids.”

  Marco motioned them to follow him as they walked the river’s edge, heading away from the boat. He walked for a half mile up and then paused beside a large logjam of bamboo. “This stuff was blasted down here during the last flash flood.” He slung his AK, shoving it over his back, and then started grabbing calf-thick sections of bamboo and removing it from the pile. Marco laid three stout pieces on the ground and then pulled out his parang. He walked in a circle around the group, examining the array of trees before selecting a nearby patch that had copious amounts of finger-thick vines dangling from the upper reaches. He swiftly hacked down a dozen and carried the lengthy strands over to the pile of bamboo. “Grab three six-foot pieces of bamboo like I’ve got and then wrap both ends with a few clove-hitches or whatever the fuck lashing you know the best. Then we’ll use these to float across.” He stopped and studied the river for a minute then looked back at Dev. “Just hope there’s no alligators out this early.”

  “Shut up. Besides, they’d go after you first with that big mouth,” said Dev.

  Marco chuckled and beat his fist against his massive chest. “Marco eat gators for breakfast.”

  Dev and the others got busy with assembling their makeshift rafts and then dragged them down to the river’s edge. Watching Marco and Mitch cross first, the three Israeli warriors followed in procession. The swift current shot everyone a quarter mile down the river but Marco had selected the launch point with that in mind and he intercepted each floater before they hit the rapids just beyond his location.

  Stowing their improvised vessels in the bushes, the group made their way in a half-crouch through the thick foliage, keeping their vision fixed on the ground for any pit vipers. Marco’s keen eye had already spared them from a few near encounters and his jungle navigation skills became more evident as they proceeded along the torturous route. Thirty minutes later, they made it to the edge of the palm trees near a wide trail that the men had taken from their boat.

  Out of habit, Mitch scanned the muddy substrate for signs of tracks and what they indicated. In addition to the five men from the boat, he saw the boot prints of three other men who had walked down to the river to assist the crew. Two of the men bore a short stride with a wide straddle, indicative of someone who was either very stocky or carrying a heavy load.

  “I count eight meat-bags,” said Marco.

  Mitch nodded in confirmation. Hmm…guys with lots of mysterious crates—wonder what the hell they’re scheming up back at their base camp? Mitch thought. And how many more dudes are there? As he squatted, he pondered their predicament—it was just the five of his friends and the weapons they carried. No backup to support them and no helicopter to whisk them away if things turned ugly. This had to remain a reconnaissance operation. There was no way they could engage the enemy with their limited firepower. He looked over his shoulder at the thick jungle around them and hoped they wouldn’t have to do any escape and evasion moves through such nasty terrain.

  Mitch could see a glimmer of a weathered concrete structure poking out from the thick foliage around two hundred yards down the trail. The building was old and covered in vines but its right angles stood out amongst the natural features of the forest. He motioned to it with his fingers and then gave the signal for moving through the jungle on a parallel route to the trail. As he went to stand, he noticed a unique tread pattern in the mud amidst the others. It was identical to the boot track he had seen around the Austrian estate and later associated with the mysterious figure at the Munich Airport. The track was older than the rest that were just made, its edges more rounded, and there were some rain pock marks present. This fuckin’ Charlie Brown guy again! How’s he tangled up in all this? Is he running this outfit of mercs here?

  Before they moved, he whispered to the rest of the group huddled beside him, their AKs slung at a low ready, “We go in, recon the area, then get the hell out. Clear?”

  Everyone nodded and then he led the way, pushing slowly through the thick undergrowth. He heard the patter of raindrops on the canopy while several drops pelted his face. Mitch knew that feeling in the air from time spent in the tropics—that a doozy of a storm was rolling in and they’d soon be hammered. Then an hour from now the sun would probably rear its head again, turning their surroundings into a sauna. For now he welcomed the cool rain, especially given the sound concealment it provided to their foot travel.

  A few minutes later, they arrived at the cusp of the semi-developed area. There were four cement buildings situated around a central courtyard that was overgrown. The farthest structure to the rear was dilapidated and had a large palm tree growing through the collapsed roof. Beyond it was a small airfield that contained two old Huey helicopters next to a cluster of fuel barrels.

  The other buildings were intact, a testament to the Japanese engineers who constructed them over half a century earlier. Marco had mentioned that the area had been used briefly as a jungle survival training center during the Vietnam War which explained why many of the windows were still intact. Near the back side of the main building was a large array of corrugated tin that was suspended on knee-high posts. At the lower end of the sloped tin was a gutter system for collecting rainwater. This led into a bulbous cistern that was half-submerged in the ground.

  Mitch could smell the characteristic odor of diesel from a generator which was humming in the background near the main building. Beyond the structures, opposite their location, was an aerial antenna that was painted two-tone green. Mitch nearly missed it so clever was its disguise. So they’ve got power, comms, fresh water, and a waterway to travel on. Pretty self-contained, it seems—but for what purpose?

  The sun began slicing through the canopy again followed by a few sprinkles of rain. The dark clouds to the east indicated that they would be drenched again shortly. As the generator cycled off, he could hear the faint shrieks of a man coming from the building to the right. He reached back, asking with his fingers for Marco’s binoculars, then he peered into the large window at the rear. Strung up from the wooden rafters was a thin man with a dark complexion whose shirt revealed red streaks running from the shoulders to the waist. His head was slumped down and he was semi-conscious by the sound of his groans. The large man encircling the captive was chewing on an unlit cigar, his taut black t-shirt revealing his muscular figure. In his right hand was a crimson-stained bullwhip whose tail was slung over his shoulder.

  Mitch grimaced and his heart raced. He passed the binoculars back to the others so they could witness the horror show that he knew they would have to put to an end.

  Dev moved forward, elbowing Marco aside as she moved between the two men. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” she said.

  “Yep.”

  Mitch glanced
down at his vest, taking a mental note of his AK and pistol mags, hoping it would be enough. Shit, so much for lying low and doing just a recon mission.

  Chapter 28

  Mitch gathered the group together a hundred yards away from the main compound. “I want you two to flank out to the right and left and cover our infil,” whispered Mitch to Dave and Petra, who nodded in response. “Dev, Marco, and I will skirt around the back of the first building and head inside.” He looked over his shoulder towards the airfield. “If things turn to shit, we’ll meet up over there. Send a few rounds into the diesel canisters by the generator if things get really bad to buy us some time getting out of the building.”

  After they all performed individual weapon checks, the trio broke off from David and Petra, who split up and took positions near fallen trees while covering their friends. Mitch led the way, habitually scanning the ground for any tripwires or buried trail alarms like he’d done in Afghanistan. Making his way to the edge of the forest, he squatted low and studied the route ahead for movement. The mercenaries were concentrated around the front, still moving the crates and sorting through the newly arrived goods. There were two entrances to the L-shaped facility and Mitch used hand signals to indicate he would take the door on the right while Dev and Marco would proceed to the left.

  Mitch bolted across the muddy expanse surrounding the entrance, making it to the rusty steel door. What I wouldn’t give for some flash-bangs right now and about twenty more soldiers at my back. He twisted the handle and opened the creaky door slowly, squat-walking as he moved inside. He made his way along the damp floor, centipedes creeping out from the fissures between the old cement flooring.

  The door was slightly ajar on the first room on the left and he could see the captive figure still suspended from the ceiling while a guard in camouflage clothing leaned against the wall, his back to the entrance. Mitch rushed through the door, grabbing the man from behind and driving his blade into the back of the neck, piercing the cervical region. The short fighter collapsed instantly in his arms and he lowered the figure to the ground. He moved to the strung-up man, whose eyes had widened with interest, and cut him loose. He fell forward, Mitch catching him before he hit the concrete.