by JT Sawyer
“That’s…uhm…” Von paused then looked up at her. “That’s very considerate of you, ma’am.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “There’s just one matter I need clarification on.”
“By all means.”
“So, this hit squad that Crenna sent to the lab—their attack provided you and Schueller with enough of a distraction to escape and get out on the helicopter which you then flew to Jakarta?”
“That’s right. Redstrom must have had the entire lab rigged to blow. We barely made it out of there alive.”
“I see.” She slid her reading glasses back on and flipped through the last few pages of his report again.
“And there weren’t any data files retrieved from the lab in the jungle—from Crenna when he died—no other witnesses who could be a security risk?”
Von squeezed his fist again and slid back in his chair. “No. As noted, we had to make a hasty exfil under fire. There was little time to stop and gather intel or items from the base.”
Quint removed her glasses, dangling them around in her fingers. “You do realize that if anyone was privy to what happened in Sweden and Indonesia they could expose the agency. There’d be no safe haven for a person like that no matter how far they ran.”
“Yes, ma’am, they would need to be hunted down without question.”
The silence sliced through Von’s psyche and he moved forward, resting his hands on his knees. Quint turned her chin up slightly, her eyes scanning the ceiling then shooting back down at Von. “Tell you what, why don’t you take the week off and rest up. We can discuss the details of your new position next Tuesday before you relocate.”
He nodded and stood up, twirling his fingers to release the cramps. “I will do that, thank you.” She reached out and shook his hand, gripping it for a long moment with a considerable squeeze. Quint walked with him to the door, opening it, the immense logo of the CIA on the wall in the waiting room shining before him. “And Von, mull over some of the things we talked about.”
“I certainly will.”
Epilogue
At the end of the week, Mitch was sitting in his favorite sushi restaurant in downtown Tel Aviv. He had just gotten off the phone with Marco, who was lying low back in Kuala Lumpur and waiting for the right time to go back in and retrieve his plane from the remote jungle airfield.
Mitch had another round of mantracking courses to teach for the Israeli military before his contract was up and he was trying to find a way to enjoy the urban setting, though the large city, throngs of people, and grating sounds were beginning to wear thin.
Mitch was dining at this particular restaurant today for a meeting and he had his back to the wall, facing the entrance as he always did out of habit. Looking up from his plate of futomaki, he saw a lanky figure enter and move in a straight line towards him then sit down at the table next to him. Though the man was clad in a long coat and low baseball cap, he recognized the gait pattern instantly. Even though he was expecting the visit, Mitch shifted slightly, making sure the tactical blade on his right side was accessible for a quick draw.
The man held up a menu, staring blankly at the words while speaking. “I was always told eating uncooked fish was a health hazard,” Von said.
Mitch lowered his hand towards his knife. “I’d be worried about other bodily concerns to be honest. There are just too many other things which can kill you in this world.”
“After all we’ve been through and you still don’t trust me.”
Mitch took a toothpick out of its wrapper and needled out a piece of fish from between his teeth. “I trust you plenty, kid. It’s your employers that worry me.”
“I was just passing through and thought we could catch up on old times,” he said with a chuckle.
Mitch shoved a wad of food from his chopsticks into his mouth, never taking his eyes off of Von. He removed a padded manila envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table to Von.
“This kind of work will eat you up and I ain’t just talking about your body,” said Mitch. “Our government doesn’t give a shit about you or me. Their concern for you only extends as far as their agenda demands.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He tucked the envelope in his jacket and nodded at the petite waitress who was approaching. “I’m afraid I have to leave. I just got an unexpected call.” She turned around and walked away as Von got up, straightening his rumpled sleeves. “I doubt we’ll ever see each other again but I will not forget what you did.”
“You’re a good man, Von, whether you know it or not.” He smiled and waved two fingers. “I don’t care what my friends say about you.”
Von returned to his blue Audi with the dark-tinted windows on the third level of a nearby parking structure. He scanned his surroundings before getting inside then unfurled the manila envelope and slid out the device. The encryption on Jessica Yin’s cellphone would still be able to be hacked and provide him with the server address that he needed to wrap up this final leg of his objective. Using a stolen laptop, he used a cable to connect the phone then slid in a disk that uploaded the malware necessary to crack the code. A few minutes later, he had the routing number and then he pulled out Redstrom’s flash drive that he had removed from the jungle lab. All of the files implicating Crenna, Redstrom, and Yin were uploaded to the phone.
Von routed the phone’s server identification through the darknet linkup on the laptop and typed in the GPS coordinates for a Russian yacht, which was anchored in the Mediterranean Sea near Malta. He took a deep breath and then pressed the send button, the message being delivered to the editor of the Washington Post courtesy of Anton Tokarev.
***
Mitch finished his meal and swigged down the rest of his water then paid the bill at the counter. He walked out, glancing both ways before getting on his motorcycle. He looked up at the skyline around him and shook his head while putting on his helmet. “God, I hate big cities.” As he merged into traffic and sped off, he thought of the mesas and canyons of Arizona. Just one more teaching gig here and then I’m free for a few months. Then maybe I can convince Dev about opening a U.S. branch in Arizona.
He rode through the streets, his motorcycle gliding along the winding pavement that led towards Haifa and Mount Carmel National Park, inhaling the sweet fragrance of cedar trees and enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face.
THE END
The Kill List
A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Story
By JT Sawyer
Copyright
Copyright June 2016 by JT Sawyer
Boxed Set, Copyright April 2017 by JT Sawyer
Edited by Emily Nemchick
No part of this book may be transmitted in any form whether electronic, recording, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction and the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, incidents, or events is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Prologue
Denver International Airport
No one could have guessed that Anton Kruger would get shanked through the stomach nineteen times in the hallway outside the prison cafeteria. He was too well connected; his ties to organized crime in Eastern Europe and the western U.S. were without match. Still, he bled out in under sixty seconds while the attacking inmates slipped away. There would be retribution but such plans are not undertaken hastily.
These were the things running through Alaric Mondragal’s mind as he grabbed his two leather shoulder bags from customs and proceeded to the terminal exit. He walked down the escalator to the second floor where the restaurants and cafes were located. He had a few minutes to spare. There was still time in his day to linger. Time to think. Time before his assignment began.
It had been several years since he’d been to the United States and he relished the thought of seeing the mountains after so many months stuck
in the city of Prague during his last assignment. He stopped at a small coffee kiosk to get a plain double espresso to help ward off the after-effects of jet lag. Reaching into his tailored wool sports jacket, he removed his tan wallet and flipped through the different currencies, his scarred fingers eventually settling on a U.S. five dollar bill.
Once he had his drink, he walked over to an immense cement pillar and placed his bags on the ground. He sipped the unsweetened, tarry elixir while studying the river of human traffic around him. His eyes settled on a shapely blonde woman toting her bulbous carry-on bag as she walked past him towards the departure area. Mmm, the women in the States are so appetizing. I may have to find a nightclub in Denver when this job is over. His eyes flitted to another woman floating by on her rush to the tram then he glanced over towards three stewardesses in their blue skirts and heels.
For Alaric, being in the presence of so many beautiful women was sensory overload and he imbibed the visual delights as hastily as his espresso. The past five weeks had seen him confined to a blacked-out apartment across from the old town square in the Czech Republic, observing the comings and goings of a political candidate. With the exception of a few radio communications from his boss, Roan Kruger, who was Anton’s father, he hadn’t left the apartment the entire time. He had done the surveillance drill before but this one went on longer than normal and his well-stocked cupboards and supply of fresh clothes had run thin by the end. Finally, last Wednesday, he was given the green light to eliminate the target. A new opportunity in the States had presented itself and Alaric’s services were needed in Colorado.
Despite being one of Kruger’s top mercenaries for the past twelve years, Alaric’s forty-two-year-old body was feeling the effects of his job. Physical decline was something no one in his industry ever spoke about and rarely admitted even to themselves. Most professional killers were either dead by the time they were his age or had found some other employment. Wet work was a young man’s game and Alaric had had his share of cunning moves across the chessboard. Kruger had seen to it. He was puzzled by his mentor’s lack of communication during the past month, most of which had been through encrypted emails or texts.
Roan Kruger was always an enigmatic figure, and Alaric marveled at the elder man’s endurance at performing for so long in such a high-stakes occupation. Hell, ten years in East Germany’s secret police and then decades of taking on kill assignments for the highest bidder—sounds like the life to me. If I make it to his age and I’m still in this trade, then I’d think I was fuckin’ immortal.
It had been several months since he’d actually seen Kruger and he was excited to get another assignment, though this time they’d be communicating strictly through email. This mission involved abducting seven individuals, some of whom were in Denver and the rest all the way across the state in Durango. Alaric knew that this particular assignment had personal significance for Kruger—it was a reckoning of sorts for what had happened nearly a year ago to Kruger’s son Anton during his trip to Colorado.
Alaric could see the first rays of sunlight creeping over the Rocky Mountains outside the large windows to his right. Should be a good sightseeing trip with all the driving. At least I’ll have plenty of time outdoors.
He finished his drink and left the paper cup on the rim of a planter then glanced down at his watch. He walked to the escalator, checking the incoming text which revealed the location where his two accomplices would be waiting in the parking garage. Then he trolled over the photos of each victim, making a mental note of the order of their forthcoming abductions. With each glance at the images on his phone, he rattled off their names in his head.
He studied the faces one more time, his eyes focusing on one individual’s name in particular. Mitch Kearns—the one who brought Anton down. The corner of Alaric’s lips crinkled into a faint smile. A world of pain awaits you, Mr. Kearns.
He sent the images to his fellow cohorts and indicated he’d be at their vehicle alongside the curb in ten more minutes. First, he wanted to enjoy the eye candy in the lobby before embarking on another grueling job.
Chapter 1
Four Days Later, Southwest Colorado, near Pagosa Springs
The cold mountain air was rife with the pungent aroma of conifer needles and a heavy mist clung to the tops of the ponderosa pine forest. Mitch knelt down and studied the damp soil while Dev peered over his shoulder. The soft substrate revealed a large animal track that was over three inches across and had four toes.
Mitch picked up a small twig and used it as a pointer. “The only large animals that have four toes like this are either in the dog or cat family. Since this has a bi-lobed anterior on the heel pad and there are no claws showing, it’s a cat. Given the size, I’d say a large male cougar.”
Dev arched up and shifted her eyes around anxiously. “And we’re miles from the truck.”
“Don’t worry—if he’d wanted to, he could have dropped us already. You spend enough time hiking in the wilds, you’ll have put yourself within striking distance of a cougar sooner or later.” He looked up at her, tilting his hat and smiling. “Lucky for us, they mostly like deer, elk, and California joggers—most cougar attacks happen along the West Coast.”
“Your wilderness in the U.S. is unlike anything we have back home or even in Europe. All of our large predators are gone, except the two-legged variety.”
Mitch rubbed his bewhiskered chin. “Those are the worst, in my opinion. There aren’t too many species that hunt or maim their own for pleasure.”
Mitch looked around the old-growth forest, scanning for the tracks of the hooved animal they were in search of, then glanced up at the darkening clouds.
“This storm system couldn’t have waited until next week to roll in. Hell, this limited-hunt permit I have is only good for another three days.”
“And we’re gonna find some elk soon, right, so I can stop hearing you say those same words over and over.”
Before he could answer, the first raindrops began to cascade down upon them. Within a few minutes, it intensified, washing away the fine message of animal tracks written across the ground.
Mitch slung his 30-30 scoped rifle and pointed behind Dev, indicating they should head back to their canvas wall tent by the truck. “We’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe the weather gods will spare us.”
She gave him a playful smile and then nudged him with her elbow. “I can think of some things we can do back at camp while we wait out the storm.”
He grinned and interlocked his hand with hers as they walked along the muddy trail. “Well, if that’s how you want to spend your time then I guess I can oblige you.”
She turned and punched him in his arm. “Oh, will you, now—how polite.”
Dev straightened the lapel on her wool coat and turned her chin up. “Besides, I was talking about playing cards. I’m not sure what you had in mind, Mr. Kearns. I’m not that kind of lady.” Dev took off running, laughing over her shoulder at him while sliding along the muddy path.
“That’s too bad, ’cause I’m that kind of guy,” he said, chasing after her as they both cackled, occasionally stopping to kiss before Dev trotted off again.
Despite the chill of the rain, Mitch couldn’t remember being so warmed inside. During the past three months of living near Dev in Israel, their relationship had blossomed. Any spare time in between their work duties was spent with each other and Dev had, on more than one occasion, expressed her love for him. As much as Mitch was taken with her, he couldn’t let himself completely reveal his deepest feelings. His contract teaching mantracking courses with the Israeli military had just ended and he was about to find himself adrift. He was missing the wilds of the American Southwest and wanted to spend time in the backcountry for a while to think about his career options and how the two of them might make a long-distance relationship work. Dev was everything he desired in a woman but he needed to get settled in some line of stable employment before he could even consider committing to someone.
&n
bsp; With both of them free of work commitments for a few weeks, Mitch had returned to his friend’s ranch in Arizona briefly to borrow a truck, camping gear, and to retrieve his rifle for a spring elk hunt in southwest Colorado. Mitch had applied for the hunting permit the previous autumn and Dev agreed to join him for an adventure in the Rocky Mountains.
Mitch had hoped to introduce her to the finer points of luxury camping—or at least, what he considered luxury: a ten-by-twelve canvas wall tent with a propane heater; a double cot with down comforter; an outfitted kitchen with a camp stove and cast-iron cookware; and a cooler full of steak, eggs, beer, and bratwurst. What he hadn’t anticipated was the torrential rain that was putting a halt to his plans to bag an elk. His five-day hunting tag was only valid for a few more days and then he had plans to visit with a friend near Durango after Dev departed for home.
***
After two more days of torrential rain and a lot of time spent basking in each other’s arms in the tent, Mitch could see that Dev’s spirit for enduring the weather was fading fast.
“I could sure go for some cashew chicken with rice or a cheeseburger. How about we drive into Pagosa for the afternoon and eat there?” he said, sitting back in his camp chair under the canvas awning of the tent opening as a steady trickle of rain poured off the flaps.
“I think there are only about three restaurants in that little town. Durango seemed to be much larger.”