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

by JT Sawyer

  “Something like that. He was affiliated with the U.S. government at one time but then was tossed into a Chinese prison for two years after a deal went south.”

  “So he fucked up an op and his employers threw him to the wolves. Now he’s out for payback.”

  Von didn’t answer but continued to dab gauze on his laceration. “I need to get to some comms so I can relay a message out about a potential attack Redstrom is planning.”

  “Where—where’s the attack going to be launched?”

  “I have a strong hunch that Jakarta will be the target. That is where the Trans-Pacific Trade Delegation is going to meet tomorrow. Even POTUS will be there. That’s where I’d hit.”

  “You seem to know a lot about how a guy like this would think.” Mitch clutched his AK and canted his head. “Yeah, you’re a CIA or NSA guy or with some division within a division that has no nameplate on its office door. Is ‘Von’ even your real name—or have you forgotten what that is by now you’ve been lost in the shadows for so long.”

  Again, Von didn’t answer but just gave a nod towards the canopy below. “We shouldn’t delay if this rescue session is to have any meaning beyond saving your buddy and me.”

  Mitch lowered his pack and dug into a side pocket then handed him a satellite phone. “I want that back so call your boss or whoever you need to alert them about the threat.”

  While Von moved a few feet over near the door where the satellite phone would have reception, the rotor wash drowned out his voice to the others as he vehemently relayed his message. Mitch kept his rifle fixed on the man, feeling a tug on his belt loop. He turned and saw Dev trying to force out a faint smile.

  “I have to agree with your suspicions about him being a covert operative,” said Dev in a low whisper.

  “It takes one to spot one, eh.”

  A few minutes later Von handed the phone to Mitch. “What did Langley say?”

  Von smirked then put his hands on his hips. “They agreed that Jakarta is a good bet. They’ll have some support there shortly after we arrive.” Von was about to sit down but instead extended his hand. “Thanks for coming along when you did. I owe you one.”

  Mitch responded with a hearty handshake. “I wish you and Interpol a world of luck,” he said with a frown as he leaned forward to check on Bob. Schueller was groaning as his eyes fluttered open. He creaked out a welcome grin at Mitch then reached out his hand and patted his friend on the arm. “Let me guess, my wife sent you. She worries too much.”

  “Somebody has to.” The two men chuckled.

  “What was Redstrom brewing up back there?” said Von.

  Schueller looked at the man with raised eyebrows, then at Mitch. “Don’t worry, he’s with the government,” said Mitch with a wink.

  “He had me working on the final strand of a deadly viral load that he had acquired from the Chinese somehow. He needed me to weaponize it.”

  The men all shot nervous glances at each other. “And did you?” said Von.

  “Yes and no.” Schueller cleared his throat and sat erect. “I completed the viral strain. It is definitely weaponized but the current form will remain dormant in the carrier for forty-eight hours, not six hours as he was led to believe.”

  Dev moved closer. “So, anyone exposed to it won’t become contagious until long after they’ve disembarked from their flight, assuming he’s going to the airport still.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I bought us some time to stop the spread if people actually become exposed but we need to prevent it from becoming airborne in the first place. He also injected himself with the same strain so he could become a carrier though all he got was a modified chickenpox virus that I made up from his samples.”

  “Is there an antidote for the lethal pathogen?” said Petra.

  “Not here. Back at the CDC in Atlanta, maybe. I don’t know, this is a little-known virus that our Asian counterparts developed, though Redstrom may have one that he obtained with the original sample he had.”

  “For Redstrom, I’ve got the cure right here,” Mitch said, patting his AK.

  ***

  While the others were attending to their injured friends, Von huddled close to the door and stared out the window. The call he made had been to the CIA’s Pacific Command in Singapore. Upon entering his agent code and the password, he was immediately routed to CIA Headquarters in Langley. The voice of Natalie Quint came on, informing him of Crenna’s disappearance and asking for an update on his location. He’d only seen Quint a few times on weekly Skype briefings during inter-agency meetings. Von recalled their phone conversation, her words still bouncing around the foggy chambers of his mind.

  “It has been recently divulged that Crenna has been involved in treasonous acts that could compromise the agency. Are you in touch with him still?”

  “No, but I believe he is headed to Jakarta to kill Redstrom.”

  “Bringing both of them back for questioning…it could be very ugly for everyone involved. Will you be able to do what is necessary to stop them?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I’ve studied your files. You’re known for your exceptional ability to improvise to get the job done, regardless of the cost. Am I right?”

  Von took a deep breath, trying not to let his exhalation filter into the speaker. “What are your orders?”

  “I’m not giving any. Did it sound like I was? You’re an experienced operator and highly trained to determine the best course of action when our country, our government is facing a severe threat. I trust you will make the right decision.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And Von?” She paused for a long moment. “Never underestimate an older agent in a profession where most die young.”

  The phone went silent and he powered it off. He felt the agency’s hands reaching around his throat. His entire being revolted at what he had become under Crenna’s tutelage and now what Quint was requesting of him. He tried to think back on the person he had been before the agency but the memory eluded his grasp like sand in the wind. Now he was going to be Quint’s bitch until she saw a need to discard him and cover her own tracks. With his background in anti-smuggling, he knew how to get out of a country and then disappear and the thought crossed his mind briefly. But he knew he’d spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulders. Beyond the imperative need to stop Redstrom from spreading the virus, Von knew he would have to tread carefully with anything he did from here on out. He ran his finger over his pocket, feeling for the flash drive that he had extracted from Redstrom’s computer then sucked in a deep breath, moving back towards the weathered ex-soldier who had rescued him.

  Chapter 35

  Soekarno-Hatta International Airport was located on the northwest edge of Jakarta near the Java Sea. It was the largest airport in Indonesia and considered a mega hub in Asia, ranking as one of the eight busiest airports in the world. It ran over capacity during most weeks and typically had around seventeen thousand travelers a day. Kyle ran through all these statistics again as he rubbed the injection site on his arm and fixed his eyes on the approaching tarmac near the outer edge of the airport. He tapped his pilot, Carlos, on the shoulder, pointing to an abandoned parts warehouse. Next to the building was one of Kyle’s men standing beside a green Hyundai. He looked to be around nineteen and had an anemic goatee.

  He glanced back at the eight men in the cabin, each of them staring pensively at the main terminal in the distance. Resting in their laps were identical blue backpacks that contained a single canister of the aerosolized pathogen. Each canister was set with the same timer and dispersal system, calibrated to release the virus in exactly two hours. This would allow his men enough time to place the devices in separate terminals throughout the airport and permit them time to escape the region. He assured them that they would be paid their remaining funds after the attack, when their service was complete. Kyle shook his head as he turned around. I remember the days when you could get assets to subscribe to a cause through the u
se of religious ideology or political unrest. Now, everyone wants something in a Cayman Island account.

  When the Huey set down, he disembarked and motioned his men to follow him over to his car.

  “There is a vacant tour bus waiting for you two hundred meters to the west of here,” he said, pointing over his shoulder to a distant row of buildings. “Carlos will drive you all to the main terminal where you will then separate and go to your respective locations outside of the boarding area. From there, place the canisters in the air ducts within the restrooms and then you’re done.”

  He put his hands on his hips and circled around the men as if looking at prize stallions. “You men are the best of the best and have served me well. You shall be well compensated once you’ve completed your tasks. My hat goes off to you for your service.”

  Kyle moved towards the front of them again and raised his hands. “Now go and congratulate yourselves on being a part of the new world that is about to be ushered in.”

  The eight mercenaries walked in a cluster behind Carlos, who led them between the buildings towards the tour bus. Kyle motioned to the young man who had driven his car to get inside and head to downtown Jakarta. In the back seat, Kyle opened a metallic suitcase and removed a police officer’s uniform—the standard blue shirt and black pleated pants used by patrolmen in the city. He pulled of his sticky cotton t-shirt while the driver’s eyes up front widened in the rearview mirror at the sight of so much scar tissue covering his employer’s upper extremities.

  Nearing the edge of the first cluster of hangars, Kyle finished buttoning up his new shirt, his fingertips fumbling the last button as his face tensed at the sight across from them. He whispered in Malay for the driver to stop while he studied the almost surreal figure of Darren Crenna entering a warehouse. Kyle held his breath like a sniper before a long-range shot, his heart nearly punching through his chest as he confirmed to his doubting vision that his old mentor was in his crosshairs. He looked down at his watch. “Four hours left.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” said the driver.

  “Nothing—just talking to myself about an appointment with destiny that I had only now it seems I’m going to have a pleasantly full schedule.”

  Chapter 36

  Marco flew around the periphery of the Jakarta Airport looking for an inconspicuous place to land where they wouldn’t be immediately greeted by airport security for setting down an unregistered helo. Spying a small hangar near the southwest corner, a mile from the main terminal, he circled and set the Huey down beside a large Quonset hut. As the rotors wound down, Von and Mitch hopped out onto the tarmac, their noses assaulted by the smell of hot asphalt. A slender man with gray chin whiskers stepped out from the shade of a service bay and walked over. Wiping a greasy hand on his stained coveralls, he looked at them with curiosity while studying the antiquated helicopter.

  “This area isn’t for helo service. You’ll have to move that bird.”

  Von trotted up to him. “I’m with Interpol. We’ve got an emergency and need to leave it here.”

  The man looked at Dev, who was being escorted off by David and Petra. He glanced at her bloodied side and then yelled to one of his men inside the hangar to bring the jeep over.

  The mechanic raced over to the helo in an olive-drab jeep with a cracked windshield. They helped get Dev inside then drove the group into the shade of the hangar.

  “Just saw another bird like this one set down a little ways off from here. What’s going on?” said the older man, pointing to a distant set of hangars to his right.

  After lowering Dev onto the cool cement of the bay, Petra retrieved some water and clean rags.

  Von pulled Mitch aside from the crowd and walked over to the entrance. “I’m gonna trot over to where the other Huey was supposed to have landed and see if there’s any sign of Redstrom.”

  “If I can help, you know where to find me.”

  Von nodded and ran off across the airfield, keeping close to the supply crates next to some small planes and then disappearing between the distant buildings.

  As Mitch turned to walk back inside, he caught a glimpse of eight men boarding a dilapidated school bus to his left, a hundred yards away from the hangar. Each man was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and all were carrying identical blue backpacks that resembled the type he had seen back at the jungle lab. He watched the door close and the struggling vehicle sputter off towards the main airport terminal a mile away.

  Chapter 37

  Mitch moved back towards Dev’s location, seeing that she was stable, then patted his fist on Marco’s shoulder, nodding for him to follow him to the jeep. The two men tossed their packs inside and Mitch took the passenger’s seat while he indicated he wanted Marco to drive the open top rig. They backed out of the hangar, squealing the tires while the older man ran at them, waving his fists and yelling. Marco did an abrupt turn and shifted the stick into first gear, speeding off towards the bus.

  “We need to ensure that tour bus has a one-way ticket. Take us out beyond them a few hundred yards then spin this jeep around.” He rummaged through his pack for the grenade he had retrieved from one of the dead mercenaries and placed it on the passenger’s seat alongside his pistol. He checked the magazine and realized he only had two bullets left.

  “Any rounds left in your Glock?” Mitch said.

  “Nah, I’m dry.”

  Marco drove the jeep alongside the bus, while Mitch hunched over, trying to get a glimpse of the faces inside. He could make out a few of the mercenaries who were giving him puzzled looks as they pressed their faces into the dirty windows. Glancing back at him in the sideview mirror of the bus was the large man who had been flogging Von earlier. The man saw him and started to turn the bus into the jeep. Marco swerved and sped up, overtaking the cumbersome vehicle while racing past an abandoned garage. He put it in fifth gear and gained a few hundred yards then turned abruptly, coming to a screeching halt. Mitch stood up, sitting back on the headrest of his seat and aiming his pistol sights on the right front tire of the bus, waiting until the distance closed enough at the fifty yard mark to fire off a single round. The resulting blowout caused the vehicle to careen sideways, crashing into a cluster of fifty-five-gallon barrels beside a small refueling station.

  Mitch slid back into his seat and yelled at Marco to punch the ignition, speeding towards the front of the bus. Yanking the pin from the round grenade, he held onto the windshield frame and stood up, lobbing the grenade under the driver’s side of the bus while Marco immediately arced the steering wheel to the right, frantically shifting the gears and grinding the engine from his efforts as he raced away. The men, their deadly payload of canisters, metal girders, and luggage were all embroiled in flame.

  The shockwave from the explosion shattered the windshield glass in the jeep, sending a spray of shards outward while the jeep fishtailed as Marco tried to prevent it from overturning. Both men lurched forward, turtling up their shoulders. For a second, Mitch thought the jeep was going to get airlifted as the explosion rippled through the air. The sides of his skull were reeling from the blast and his vision blurred for a moment.

  When he had gained enough distance, Marco disengaged the clutch and brought the jeep to a rolling stop. The two men stepped out, flicking the glass splinters from their shirts while looking at the orange mushroom cloud in the distance. The bus was completely enveloped in the conflagration as fuel from the gas pumps roiled like an orange python into the cloudless sky.

  Chapter 38

  Crenna was standing under the cooling fan in the bay of an air-parcel delivery company. It was one he had used in the past for running small arms to rebels in Burma and he had made sure that the area was cleared of personnel for the next hour while he awaited transportation. He was sure Redstrom was going to launch a bio-attack in a heavily populated area like the airport or perhaps at the trade delegation which was unfolding that afternoon. If he could head him off and remove him from the equation, he’d be hailed as a hero and could r
etire in glory while silencing the one man who could be his undoing.

  Crenna was hunched over his cellphone, glancing with irritation at the voluminous number of messages from Quint. “Fuck her and the feminist face of the CIA. I’ll go over her head on any allegations she tries to stick on me. The Senate Oversight Committee would love to get some dirt of some kind on that bitch and I’m sure she’s got plenty.”

  He heard the steel door to his right open and pulled his eyes up quickly. “This area is under a secure lockdown for now,” he said to the officer in the shadows who was walking towards him.

  Crenna looked down at his phone again, waiting for the call from his driver to come through. “Your services aren’t needed here, Officer. I’m in charge of overseeing this warehouse for Interpol so everything is in good hands.” He removed his fake identification and flippantly held it up to the approaching figure.

  The officer came into the light and flung a bloody knife on the ground near Crenna’s shoes, some wine-colored droplets landing on the polished brown leather near the laces. “Your driver and the two men outside won’t be coming to your rescue, I’m afraid.”

  Crenna slowly depressed the off-switch on the phone and moved his eyes along the knife and across the cracks in the cement until he traced his sight up the creased black pants and buttoned shirt of the man whose face he’d hoped would provide a different match from the dreadful voice he was hearing burst through the cobwebs in his head.

  Kyle Redstrom was standing with his hands on his hips, his gaze penetrating through Crenna’s cranium like a diamond bullet. “You can’t imagine the joy I experienced when I saw you enter this building. I can honestly say that that’s the first time in years that I’ve felt an honest-to-God emotion.” He snapped his fingers and blinked hard. “I mean, a real heart-tugging emotion at seeing an old friend like you.”

  Crenna began brushing his left hand across his jacket to access his pistol but the younger man closed the distance instantly like electricity had surged from under his feet. Kyle struck him in the throat with a spear-hand, causing the windpipe to buckle. Crenna collapsed back on the slate-gray table, gagging for air while Kyle remove the pistol from the older man’s waistline and slammed the butt of it against the delicate bones in the man’s hand. Crenna emitted a wheezy shriek, still trying to breathe in between his agonizing groans.