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

by JT Sawyer

  “And how did you come to this conclusion?” said Nicholas. “For all I know, you’re in on this and just feeding us a line of BS to distract any suspicions from yourself.”

  “So, I just went from a fuckin’ cop to a deranged killer.”

  “In some cases, there’s not much difference anyway,” snapped Nicholas. “Trust me, I know.”

  “Spoken like a lawyer,” said Julie as Nicholas shot her a surprised look. “I thought I recognized your face from the Denver Post. You’ve been involved in a lot of high-profile cases over the past few years.”

  “That’s right, Nicholas Danbury—I’m a prosecuting attorney for the state.”

  “You were connected with the trial of Anton Kruger last summer, weren’t you?” said Brian.

  Nicholas nodded then glanced at Brian’s uniform and nametag. “You from the prison in Denver?”

  Brian slowly nodded.

  “Kruger—the guy who killed a deputy near Durango?” muttered Lisa as her eyes widened. “I was the attending physician in the ER when Kruger arrived. I handled his treatment.”

  “Except you botched it and nearly killed the guy from an overdose,” said Julie.

  “Bastard like that would’ve been better off in the grave earlier on,” mumbled Brian.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” replied Lisa, thrusting her hands on her hips and glaring at the woman.

  “I covered the story for the LA Times—on Kruger’s connection to organized crime and the whole manhunt.”

  Lisa gasped. “I remember you now—you’re that pesky bitch who kept the hospital phone ringing off the hook, trying to get an interview with me and my staff.”

  Daryl snapped his fingers together. “Yeah, you’re the journalist who wrote that book, 48 Hours, about the manhunt and all the infighting between the agencies who were trying to get to Kruger.”

  She let out a lilted smile. “That’s me. I was actually on an author tour in Denver.” She paused, looking at up the cliffs and trees. “Before I ended up wherever I am now.”

  Mitch recognized the woman now that he’d heard who she was. She was the annoying reporter hovering around the incident command post by the hospital after the manhunt for Kruger ended. She kept badgering him for a quaint soundbite for her news story but he spurned her requests. Later, he received dozens of messages on his work phone asking for an interview for her upcoming book. Even though her physical features were easy on the eyes, he detested her parasitic nature. Mitch half-wondered, if she had been the one dangling from the rope, whether he would have been as hasty to rescue her.

  “Kruger, eh?” said Daryl, scratching his chin. “I worked his case—actually I headed up a task force out of Denver tracking him for a long time, even before he was apprehended in Durango.”

  “Unless I’m missing something, each of us here appears to have Anton Kruger in common,” said Mitch, who was holding up his arms.

  “So is this an act of revenge?” said Lisa. “Is the crime family he worked for planning to kill us here?”

  “Seems like a lot of effort to go through just to drop us here,” said Brian, whose wild eyes were constantly searching through the dense foliage around them as he spoke. “Maybe they’re gonna hunt us down.”

  Julie was squirming. “Or maybe the whole place is booby-trapped.” She bit her lower lip and stared at the ground beside her. “God, I don’t want to die here.”

  “Look, it’s no accident that we’re all here,” said Daryl. “And if Kruger’s associates are behind this then they plan to see us suffer. That’s the only reason we’re alive.”

  Everyone grew silent and stared in horror at Daryl then out at the rugged landscape around them, which seemed more silent than before.

  “I agree,” said Mitch. “They’ve already had plenty of chances to kill us or torture us when we were drugged and abducted. Whatever is in store for us, it seems like it’s going to be played out here in this canyon.”

  “Jesus,” said Lisa, moving in closer to the group while zipping up her blue down jacket as if it afforded her protection.

  Mitch studied the clouds above, noting they were darkening. “Looks like we’re in for some weather. Let’s get to a better location and we can finish hashing things out afterwards. No point staying here and getting soaked.”

  “There’s a little cave or something beyond those bushes,” said Daryl, pointing to a faint alcove at the base of the cliff to his right.

  “We can hole up there for a bit and figure out a plan for getting out of here,” Mitch said, pointing with his chin to the location.

  “Some water would be good too,” said Julie, rubbing her temples.

  “Maybe we can find a spring or puddle,” said Daryl, rummaging through the empty pockets of his tan fishing vest, hoping to find something from his former life.

  “And get some bug or virus in our guts, no thanks,” snapped Nicholas.

  “Julie’s right, we all need to get some water in us and stay hydrated. It’ll also help clear out whatever drugs are in our systems,” said Mitch. “Besides, the average incubation time for giardia is nine days so we’ll be long gone from here by then.” He tried to speak with confidence despite the uncertainty of their predicament. He knew whoever had put them here and staged all of this had some grand scheme and that this was just the beginning of their ordeal.

  “What, are you some kind of prepper or survival nut?” said Nicholas.

  “Yeah, something like that. Guess it’s your lucky day,” said Mitch, standing up and leading the way to the alcove.

  Chapter 9

  Out of habit, Mitch led the way, scanning the ground for tracks of any kind: scuff marks, toe digs, heel imprints, or compressed debris. He didn’t notice any boot prints but did see what looked to be a swath of the trail that was brushed out around the alcove entrance. An old trick used to cover one’s tracks, but all it provided was another clue that someone had recently been in the area. He raised his fist in a hand signal for the group to stop but then realized that the rest of them probably wouldn’t recognize his gesture.

  He turned around. “Everyone stop and stay put while I check out the entrance for any booby-traps.”

  He squatted down and examined the twenty-foot-wide entrance. There weren’t any patches of disturbed soil to indicate a buried trap and no above-ground wires or filaments for a footsnare so he proceeded inside.

  The alcove was fifteen feet deep with a twelve-foot rock ceiling that was heavily pock-marked. Water was dripping off the lip above and had formed a linear row of fist-sized puddles near the entrance. After he gave the others a thumbs-up sign, they followed Mitch inside, with a few immediately plunking down on the loamy soil; the rest squatted, fixing their attention outward into the forest and keeping their distance from the person beside them. There was a palpable air of tension permeating the rock shelter as each person’s senses were on high alert from noises emanating from the forest and the primal fear of becoming prey against an unknown enemy whose intent was unclear.

  “What the hell?” muttered Nicholas, who was staring toward the deepest recess of the rock shelter. Resting against the curved surface of smooth stone was a dark green backpack.

  “Maybe there’s a bomb inside?” said Julie.

  “Then we should have you go inspect it,” said Lisa.

  “Fuck you,” snapped Julie.

  Mitch had already moved up to the pack and was scanning the exterior. “Why go through all the effort of placing us in this canyon just to be blown to hell in a cave?”

  “Was it left here by some hikers or hunters?” said Brian, who had moved alongside Mitch.

  “No, I saw some brushed out tracks outside the entrance that were fresh, within the past twelve hours anyway. Most likely the same people who dropped us here, left this.” He reached his arm out and grabbed the shoulder strap then carried it out towards the entrance where there was more light.

  Everyone gathered in a circle around him. Mitch slowly unzipped the main com
partment, which stretched from the top to the bottom of the pack. The contents spilled out and everyone scurried back a few feet as if a cluster of rattlesnakes had just been released.

  Mitch ran his hands through the items, separating them out into bundles. There were six of the following: MREs, water bottles, headlamps, and reflective space blankets. There was also a single Epi-pen, a topographic map, a sealed bottle of water purification tablets, a nine-inch fixed blade, and a Smith and Wesson .357 revolver.

  Everyone began moving in as if there was an invisible rope tethered around their waists. Julie thrust her hand out and grabbed a water bottle, twisting off the lid and gulping without restraint. Brian took an MRE and scanned the package as if reading a menu in a foreign country. Nicholas feigned reaching for a water bottle but then lunged for the revolver. Mitch beat him to it and yanked it out from under his hand, taking a step back. Nicholas groaned and then backed away. Mitch flipped open the cylinder of the revolver and inspected the seven rounds then smoothly shoved it back in place with the flick of his wrist. He felt an odd mix of comfort from having a firearm in his hand combined with the uncertainty of why they were being provided with such items in the first place. Is this stuff here to further our survival time in the canyon or in the hopes that it’ll create a struggle amongst each person?

  Nicholas rushed to grab the knife but Brian had already palmed it. He used it to slice open the MRE packet then slid it back into its leather sheath.

  Nicholas shifted his wild eyes towards Mitch. “You think because you were FBI that you automatically get the gun?” He paused then lowered his voice. “Yeah, I remember you now. The field agent who gave his testimony at the courthouse. You’re the one that tracked down Kruger.”

  Mitch canted his head and nodded. “That’s right.”

  “That’s who I’d want to have the gun,” said Lisa. “Either him or the warden.”

  “Or we could take turns—each of us could get it for an hour,” chuckled Julie, who seemed inebriated after her water consumption.

  “You think this is funny, eh?” said Nicholas. “Some psycho drugs us and ditches us in this godforsaken canyon and now they want us to play Lord of the Flies or something.”

  Mitch knelt down again and grabbed a water bottle, inspecting the lid and sides. “Very specific items to provide, wouldn’t you say? My guess is they—whoever the hell they are—expects us to keep moving at night and they want us fed and hydrated for the route ahead.”

  “And where is that and why—why make us move?” said Brian.

  “A lot of variables, it appears,” said Mitch. “I wish I knew the answers but why supply us with all of this gear then?”

  “How do we even know we’re in the U.S. for fuck’s sake,” said Nicholas. “I must have been knocked out on drugs for a long time—maybe even days for all I know. We could’ve been whisked away to another country.”

  “Being unconscious that long would require IVs to keep you hydrated along with a catheter to handle the other end of things,” said Lisa. “My guess is that we were only out for a few hours, maybe half a day at most which would still put us in the mountains in or around Colorado.”

  Daryl moved up and unfolded the map on the ground. It was a 7.5 minute topographic map of the canyon but the corners that indicated the name and location of the region were cut off. There was a large “X” penned in black ink on the bottom section of the map. Mitch crouched over it and pored over the landmarks, occasionally glancing outside the alcove to see if the nearby landscape features matched up with anything familiar on the map.

  “If we’re here,” said Brian, pointing to the X, “then it looks like we’ve got a long ways to go to the nearest road.” He traced his finger upward to where the contour lines of the canyon narrowed further beside a black square. “Is that a building or something?”

  Daryl pressed his nose into the map, reading the fine print near the square. “Says here, it’s a forest service cabin.”

  Julie leaned forward on one hand, peering at the map. “So, we’re gonna go on a little Outward Bound trek to that cabin and then what, get slaughtered along the way? This whole thing is bullshit—I’m not heading there. I’m staying put.”

  “A cabin—then maybe we can radio out from there or get help,” said Nicholas, whose expression kept oscillating between fury and panic as he pushed past Julie to stare down at the location of the building.

  Mitch slid his index finger down to the right corner of the map, where the publication date was printed. “Except this map was made in 1969 so that cabin might not even be there.” He slid his finger over to the mileage scale listed at the bottom center. “That’s also an eight-mile trek through challenging terrain.”

  Julie leaned between Mitch and Daryl, glancing down at the map then back at the others. “Christ, don’t you get it? We’re trapped in a canyon with eight miles to hike to some cabin.” She shot an excited look at Mitch, as if she was some kid going on a scavenger hunt. “This is just like what you did when you were tracking down Kruger. The same thing—exactly the same.”

  Mitch pulled back from the group and stood up as he pondered her words. “That is how it played out during those two days, you’re correct.”

  “We’re in this because of you?” Julie said, her expression growing serious.

  He made eye contact with each person in the group as he spoke. “It’s not only about me. Daryl headed up the DOJ taskforce responsible for identifying Kruger as the point man for the counterfeiting operation in Denver; Lisa handled his medical care after the car wreck.” Mitch shifted his eyes to the others at his right. “Julie, you covered the story from the start, exposing a lot of the key players and Kruger’s international ties—you may have the most dirt on everyone involved in his organized crime circles; Nicholas was the prosecutor who put him behind bars; and Brian was in charge of the prison where Kruger died.”

  “And you were the agent who tracked him down in that canyon outside of Durango,” whispered Daryl. “Whoever’s behind this is recreating that manhunt.”

  “Does that mean we have forty-eight hours to get out of this canyon?” said Brian, who had stopped eating.

  “And Barbara Mulhere—why would someone kill her? She was already the victim with losing her son,” said Lisa.

  “Not sure,” said Mitch. “Maybe because she was dying from cancer and they needed her home to rally some of us to her location, putting us closer to this site.”

  “And where are we exactly?” said Nicholas.

  “From what Mitch already told us about a large concrete wall and the features on that map, I’m sure this must be Animas Canyon, about seventy miles outside of Durango,” said Lisa. “The whole region is supposed to be permanently flooded on Monday when they divert one of the nearby rivers to create this reservoir for the outlying towns in the region. This place is going to be a watery grave soon if we don’t get out of here.”

  Mitch rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “So, it’s not likely we’re going to run into backcountry rangers or hikers in the region. The perfect little maze for someone to play their game with us.” He retreated back to the entrance and scanned the cliffs as the lingering rays of sunlight were fading. “We will lose daylight quickly in a narrow place like this and I, for one, don’t plan to hang out here and sing camp songs. I say we head north to that proposed cabin—there is no other alternative. Based upon the contour lines on the map, it looks like it’s the only place with a trail that leads up and out of here. If the weather holds, we can cover about 1-2 miles an hour in this rocky terrain.”

  “That’ll put us there around sunrise tomorrow,” said Daryl, who kept wriggling his shoulders while showing signs of discomfort.

  “Aren’t we supposed to stay put?” said Julie. “That’s what they tell lost hikers to do so searchers can find them quicker. We don’t even know what’s up this canyon.”

  “If someone back home knew exactly where you were going and when you’d be back, then I’d agree,” said Mitch
. “But does that apply to anyone here?”

  Daryl rubbed the back of his head. “I’m retired and live alone. I spend a lot of my weekends fly-fishing so I won’t be overdue for two more days.”

  A few of the others mumbled about not having anyone who would report them as missing immediately because of their travel or work schedules. Lisa ran a hand through her long hair and then wiped away a tear from her eye. “I was meeting my fiancé for dinner after meeting with Barb. He would have alerted someone by now. God, I hope he can help but how is he gonna know where I’m at?”

  “Isn’t anyone else wondering who’s behind this?” said Nicholas.

  “Probably some associates of Anton Kruger,” said Brian. “That’s our common link.”

  “He was just a mid-level player,” said Mitch. “This has to be someone with more clout and resources. Orchestrating abductions on this scale and getting us to this canyon took some major funds and logistics. This is about a score to settle and they’re making it very personal.”

  “Roan Kruger perhaps,” said Julie. “Anton’s father. He was a hitman and was in deep with several organized crime families.”

  “That’s a myth,” said Daryl. “I kept tabs on Anton and his colleagues for years and that was just an urban legend that kept circulating to put the fear of God in his competitors.” Daryl raised his hand in the air, twirling his fingers. “The boogeyman syndrome is always good for scaring rivals in the organized crime world.”

  “There were many people I spoke with while I was doing research in Eastern Europe for my book that told me otherwise,” said Julie. “People who probably wouldn’t have talked to a cop from the States.”

  “Whoever it is, they probably want us to focus on the who instead of how to get the hell out of here,” said Mitch. “I suggest we make use of the remaining daylight and get moving. Gather up the individual gear.” Mitch knelt down and grabbed the yellow Epi-pen and examined the cylindrical case it was in. “Does someone here have any anaphylaxis issues they want to tell us about? This was put in here for a reason.”