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

by JT Sawyer

  “She’s the friend you’ve mentioned that you’re going to see after you drop me off at the airport?”

  “That’s right. We’ve kept in touch all this time.”

  Dev was rubbing her chin, huffing out a few sighs and darting her eyes at him then back at the fire.

  “What?”

  “I’m curious, Mitch. My father once spoke of a man named Kruger—someone he had heard stories about during his days with the Mossad. He told me that this Kruger was a war criminal in East Germany with the Stasi, the secret police in Berlin. He was responsible for assassinating hundreds of dissident politicians and journalists over several decades. After the collapse of the wall, he disappeared and was supposed to be a hired gun for various organized crime families in Bosnia, Ukraine, and Russia. I’ve only heard rumors that he freelances his services to the highest bidder and surfaces around the world on occasion.”

  Mitch raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s the same family. I’ve heard those stories too. Only the guy I was involved in hunting down was the son, Anton. After we apprehended him and were waiting for the helicopter to take us back to the hospital in Durango, he kept telling me how I’d pay. How he had this bad-ass dad who would set things straight.”

  “The Kruger I heard of has never been identified. He may be dead—there’s been no mention of him for years.”

  “I’m not worried. I looked into him as well. If he did exist, and if he had any clout, Anton would still be breathing today and the counterfeiting plates would have shown up by now.”

  “And Mulhere, the mother, what are you meeting with her for?”

  Mitch nodded his head slowly then interlaced his fingers. “She’s got pancreatic cancer and doesn’t have long to live according to our last phone conversation. She wants to discuss an idea with me and a few others who were connected with her son: creating a scholarship at the local college in honor of him.”

  Mitch stood up and leaned forward to grab some firewood. Dev reached out and took his hand. “It’s late and that’s been a trying story to recount for you, I’m sure. Why don’t we head inside your canvas palace and get the propane heater going instead. One more night close to you would be nice before I head back home tomorrow.”

  Mitch hadn’t felt the weight of his story until now and he realized just how tense he was. He relaxed his shoulders and felt his breathing ease up. He caressed Dev’s hand and pulled her close, staring up at the Big Dipper while the lonely call of a long-eared owl resounded from the still forest.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Dev and Mitch hastily broke down their camp and drove out to Durango so she could catch the afternoon connector flight to Denver, beginning the first leg of her long journey back home to Israel.

  Though the morning departure from the backcountry had been amiable, Mitch knew that there were things he’d left unsaid and it created a mild sense of tension in the air between them. He was torn between wanting to follow her back to Tel Aviv and his desire to linger in the American West. During his months teaching mantracking in Israel, he’d pined for the open wilderness that he’d grown up in and he couldn’t wait to hike in the mountains again. Now, here he was having to say goodbye to a woman he cared for deeply, unsure if he could ever truly dwell in her world of skyscrapers and cramped neighborhoods. He needed a little time alone in the wilds to refocus on what he wanted to do professionally and personally before making any major decisions. She hadn’t pressured him in any way but Dev had made her feelings for him obvious on more than one occasion and she clearly wanted to move beyond a short-term relationship.

  As he neared the curb at the airport terminal in Durango, he got out and helped Dev with her bags before giving her a last embrace. “Call me when you’re done with your meeting,” she said. “I want to hear all about it.” She kissed him and grabbed the collar of his coat. “Actually, I just want to hear your voice again.”

  He could see the sparkle in her eyes and he didn’t want to ease up on his hug. “I’ll try—not sure what reception is going to be like. She’s tucked away in the mountains north of Bayfield.”

  “Then I’ll call you when I get back home.” She grabbed her bags and smiled, turning and walking into the terminal.

  Mitch watched her, staring at her raven hair and athletic figure as she strode away. Then he hopped back into his F-150 and drove north for a few miles to Highway 160, back towards Bayfield, which was nestled between Durango and Pagosa Springs. On the cusp of town, he stopped at a small gas station to fill up his truck.

  He headed inside the convenience store adjacent to the lot and used the bathroom then grabbed a cup of coffee. He looked in dismay at all of the choices for imbibing caffeine and the plethora of flavored creamers. He never understood why people had to ruin plain black coffee.

  Mitch walked to the counter, handing the hefty older woman at the register a five-dollar bill. “Say, you don’t know how the roads north of town are looking, do you—up past Trew Creek Road?”

  She handed him the change and then scratched the back of her head. “Should be fine last I heard. With the recent rains though it could be a little icy in some parts so just watch yourself.” She looked out at the parking lot. “Whatya driving?”

  He nodded his head to the left. “That tan pickup out there.”

  “Ah, yeah, you’ll be good. Just watch them shady patches on the curves.”

  “Many thanks. You take care now.” He raised his cup of coffee up and smiled at her before heading out the door.

  During the next thirty minutes, the traffic on the two-lane secondary road diminished until his truck was the only vehicle for miles. He glimpsed down at his Garmin GPS unit and noted that the turn-off to Barbara Mulhere’s place was coming up. He slowed his rig and turned on a narrow dirt road that looked like it was only maintained intermittently by the county. He could see a number of car and truck tire tracks heading up the incline, the knobby tread pattern and considerable width separating out the larger vehicles from the rest. The online maps that he had studied earlier for the region indicated that there were only three other homes up this road. He figured that the recent traffic was due to the rest of the invitees who were driving up to Barbara’s house as the other driveways were gated and the pathways overgrown.

  He knew she didn’t get out much and had a nurse come to visit her and bring groceries twice a week. He admired her courage for all she’d had to endure during the past year with the loss of her son and her battle with cancer, which had finally gotten the upper hand. In his recent phone conversations with her, he never detected any self-pity for her current struggle, only gratitude in wanting to share her son’s legacy with others. The memorial she was proposing would fulfill that and Mitch would be sure to keep that flame alive any way he could. He had worked a lot of cases as a field agent with the FBI but none had touched him as personally as this one had. Maybe because he had lost his own parents at a young age and it only served to strengthen the bond between him and Barbara. He wasn’t sure why but Mitch felt like he needed to see her one last time and find out how he could contribute to easing her final weeks.

  As the road narrowed through a thick swath of evergreen trees, he saw the two-story log cabin ahead with her name inscribed on the wrought-iron arches over the driveway. Off to the right, at the rear of the property, was a quaint guesthouse tucked into the trees.

  Pulling up, he slowed his truck and scanned the area, noticing two other vehicles parked near the front porch.

  He eased his truck in next to a blue Subaru which bore numerous earth-friendly bumper stickers. While grabbing his small shoulder bag, he noticed that the footprints around the parking area appeared to be weathered—definitely not made in the past few hours. Hmm, maybe it’s been windy as hell up here. That’s about the only thing that could blot out all that tread detail since it doesn’t look like they got much rain up here.

  He got out and walked up the plank board steps to the porch and was about to knock when he saw the door was
already ajar. He started to reach along his hip for his Glock but then heard the disarming laughter of several women inside. They sounded like old friends by their banter and Mitch withdrew his weapon hand and knocked on the door, gently pushing it open.

  “Hello, Barbara—it’s Mitch.”

  The women never broke their cadence and the sound of their voices appeared to be coming from the kitchen down the hallway beside the stairs. He knocked again and entered the foyer, closing the door behind him.

  “Helloooo,” he said again in a louder voice. He could smell a honey-like odor in the still air. Mitch knew something didn’t feel right and now he deftly withdrew his pistol and pressed against the wall, the sweet odor permeating his nostrils as he inched towards the kitchen.

  Mitch glanced up the stairwell then returned his gaze to the hall in front of him, sweeping his Glock into an open bathroom on the right then quickly entering the kitchen with his weapon clearing each corner. The laughter echoed in his head like the voices were climbing into his inner ear. What is that sweet odor? He glanced at the stove but there wasn’t anything on the burners. His mind was searching for the sound of the laughter but it seemed to be emanating from the floor and then the walls as his thoughts became hazy. Shit—this has to be some kind of stun gas or… His thought ceased as he saw a small recording device on the back counter and then several small speakers placed around the room, the laughter reverberating through every atom of air and pressing in on his temples. Mitch shook his head, his eyes watering. He tried to hold his breath and knew he had to get to an exit fast. He forced his mind to remain focused, driving away the panic from knowing that he had fallen into some kind of trap. Mitch pushed forward to the side entrance of the dining room, feeling his lungs growing fatigued. Have to get to the front door. He staggered on the red-mottled carpet and then realized the color was from fresh paint—no, wait, it was something else—blood. Mitch leaned against the couch and found himself staring right into the glassy eyes of Barbara Mulhere, whose head had a bullet exit wound in the side above the right ear.

  “Christ—no,” he shouted but his voice sounded like it was coming from someone else as his speech grew slurry. His hand slipped off the couch and he crashed to the wooden floor, staring at the stuccoed ceiling as the sickly-sweet odor blanketed him and forced his eyelids shut.

  Chapter 4

  Dev was standing impatiently at the departure terminal in Durango after getting another announcement that her flight was delayed due to a storm in the Denver region. She sat down and ran through her list of emails on her phone, trying to catch up on some business matters. An hour later, she put her phone aside and rubbed her weary eyes. She kept rehashing the campfire story Mitch had recounted, going over the details of Kruger and wondering if there was any connection to what she’d heard from her father years ago. Dev stood up and arched her back in a stretch then looked at the Delta Airlines kiosk, which still indicated the flight was delayed.

  Irritated, she grabbed her phone and dialed the direct number for Petra back at the Gideon headquarters in Tel Aviv. She knew her most trusted staff member would be at work early. After some small talk about Dev’s camping experience in the rain, she asked him to run a search on the Kruger family, with emphasis on the reputed assassin in particular. Half an hour later, Petra called back.

  “So, you were right about there being a Roan Kruger who was associated with the Stasi in East Germany. After the collapse of East Germany, he went off the radar. I’ve only got one old photo of someone who is listed as possibly being Kruger but the image is very grainy and the man is wearing a hat. Standing alongside him is a blonde-haired woman who looks to be in her early twenties. No information on her either.”

  “See if you can isolate their faces and enhance them then run it through our facial recognition software.”

  “Will do. Hmmm…” Petra grew silent and Dev could hear him typing on the keyboard. “This just came up on my laptop in response to pulling up anything I could on Kruger. Apparently three German men entered the U.S. five days ago, in Denver. Nothing unusual about that normally but these guys are red-flagged as having ties to Stasi in younger days, though the U.S customs agents are probably unaware of that. All of them look to be in their mid-forties.”

  “That is bizarre,” muttered Dev, turning to look out the airport terminal. Odd that we run into the marshal connected with the Kruger case in an out-of-the-way diner within a day of Mitch going to visit Mulhere. Now three guys possibly affiliated with the mystery assassin show up in Colorado. She bit her lower lip, wondering if she was being paranoid and if the seasoned operative in her was pushing to the forefront after being on vacation. Still, the whole thing made her stomach coil in knots. “I want you to dig up everyone involved with the case of Anton Kruger and cross-reference their information with any unusual events going on in the Denver region since those three men arrived.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Not sure yet but get back to me when you have something.”

  Dev put her phone back in her pocket and paced around the departure area. She walked to a food stand and bought a bottle of water, barely noticing the cold fluid as she chugged it down.

  ***

  When Petra called her back, the Delta attendant announced that all flights to Denver had been cancelled due to the late spring storm that had intensified and was heading their way. Dev hardly noticed the woman’s voice and continued her nervous pacing next to the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the waiting area.

  “I don’t have any information about the three guys who arrived in Colorado other than a security camera at a small town gas station showing them filling up a brown Land Rover. What’s interesting is that out of the list of six primary individuals connected to Anton Kruger’s case, with Mitch being one of them, two of them were reported missing by their family members in the past twenty-four hours.”

  Dev gasped, her heart punching through her ribcage. She leaned against the wall, pressing the phone into her ear. “Who are they?”

  “One is a prison warden named Brian Clark. He ran the penitentiary where Anton Kruger was incarcerated and later died at.”

  “And the other?”

  “Lisa Forgey, an ER doctor. According to these records I’m looking at, she treated Kruger after his car wreck but administered too high a dose of sedatives in his system. She was later relieved of her medical duties in a very public case.”

  “No–no, Mitch was heading up to see the mother of the deputy who was killed by Kruger. I have to contact him.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Still at the Durango Airport.”

  “Durango—that’s where the three former Stasi guys were flagged at a gas station and where Lisa Forgey lived.”

  Dev grabbed her carry-on bag and trotted out of the departure area, running towards the exit. “I’ll call you back in a minute.”

  She speed-dialed Mitch’s cellphone but the automated message indicated that his line was still out of service. She stopped in her tracks and choked down a breath then redialed Petra.

  “I’m heading downstairs to get a rental car. I can’t get a hold of Mitch. I need you to see if you can pinpoint his cellphone location from your end and then get me the number for a United States marshal out of southwest Colorado by the name of Ed Roth.”

  “You got it. How’s he connected?”

  “I need local intel and he may be the best chance for getting to the bottom of what’s going on.”

  Chapter 5

  The faint aroma of crushed spruce needles pierced through Mitch’s psyche as though he had awoken beneath a Christmas tree. A second later, the shrill sound of a Steller’s jay jabbed into his throbbing head. He felt the sensation of the cold ground beneath him, a small, jagged protrusion poking into his right hip. Mitch pried his eyelids open and looked up at an array of cottony cumulus clouds just beyond the distant canopy of evergreen trees.

  What the hell? Where am I? He sat up, feeling a stabbing sensat
ion between his shoulder blades while his head reeled in a hazy fog of memory. That house—what happened? He rubbed his forehead then remembered the last few minutes before he passed out. Barbara Mulhere—she was dead, and that sugary odor in the house... He quickly did a scan of his body for signs of trauma but didn’t notice anything other than the ache in his upper back. He felt around his waistline for his Glock and his knives but they were gone. Groping through his pockets, he found they were devoid of his wallet, keys, and cellphone. Even his personal survival items like his fire starters and signal mirror were gone.

  He bellycrawled over to the massive skeleton of an ancient pine tree, its warped limbs stretching skyward as if calling in vain for a morsel of nourishment from the sun. He looked at the ground, noting the damaged sections of moss and crushed branches where two other sets of boot tracks could be seen. One was a heavy Vibram sole typical of mountaineering boots while the other was narrow with a slight waffle pattern to the tread. Mitch glanced down at his own boots, which appeared to be relatively clean, and then inspected the tread pattern, which was lacking in dirt or debris. Must’ve been carried here by those two—but why? Someone’s playing a twisted game. And poor Barbara. He clenched his fist. I’ll find the animals that did that to you, I promise.

  Mitch reached beside the fallen log and picked up a hefty branch, tapping the arm-length section on the ground to make sure it was solid. He studied his immediate surroundings while trying to drown out the irritating shriek of the Steller’s jay that seemed to be taunting him for his predicament from above.

  Looks like this is a narrow canyon somewhere in the range of seven- or maybe eight-thousand-foot elevation based upon the spruce and aspen trees.

  He craned his head up at the thousand-foot cliffs that were choked with vegetation, trying to surmise any egress routes then back down to the terrain around him. To his right was a tangle of fallen logs that bore the old marks of chainsaws at their base. A few feet beyond was a faint deer trail leading through a thicket of blackberry bushes which still held a few succulent fruits. When he turned his head to the left, his mouth hung open at the sight that met him. A bowed concrete wall over four hundred feet high jutted skyward, its sides seeming to melt into the sandstone rock of the canyon walls. The cement was unblemished and the ground at the base was cleared of debris. Near the top edge of the rim, where the wall seemed to melt into the bedrock, he saw a large set of steel girders that formed a triangle. In the center was a heavy-lift winch with a spool of steel cable. Suspended off the girders was an immense cargo hook beside a hydraulic motor.