Counter-Strike (A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Novel Book 2)

by JT Sawyer

  Kyle pulled out a folding map from his laptop case. He still preferred the old hard copies over a digital image. It allowed him to scrawl handwritten notes, draw diagrams, and even the occasional smiley face on target cities. His gaze zoomed in on the expanded version of Jakarta where he focused upon the international airport. Fifty thousand travelers a day who will be carrying more than their luggage aboard the planes.

  The date would be historic not only for the thousands that would be infected at the airport but for the global ramifications. The President of the United States was arriving shortly for a ceremony celebrating the signing of the U.S.-led Trans-Pacific Partnership. Accompanying him would be fourteen member countries who were signing the pact which would enable the U.S. to design the rules of international trade in Southeast Asia for the next century, squeezing China out from dominating commerce in the region. The member states, which included Japan, Canada, Chile, Singapore, Malaysia, and Australia to name a few, would retain control of over fifty percent of the global economy. Even if the virus was contained on the Indonesian mainland and his plans for global dispersal were disrupted, managing the outbreak would foster severe disruptions in trade in Southeast Asia along with the considerable investment required to formulate a vaccine. Just a single canister would grind everything to a halt in this region and have a devastating ripple effect felt by every nation, especially the superpowers of China and the U.S.

  Kyle marveled at the scope of the plan and knew it would further impact foreign relations with China. With the release of a virus on the Indonesian mainland, the Trans-Pacific Partnership would be postponed while the nations grappled with the arrival of the virus and the resulting crippled economy that would send shockwaves throughout the world for years to come. A pandemic would reshape societies as infrastructure collapsed and services broke down. Too many worthless people on this planet anyway, particularly in Washington. Nature should have culled the population long ago but we keep interfering, keeping the weak alive and the powers that be in place.

  Kyle leaned over and tapped his fingers on the seven-foot rectangular metal crate strapped to the floor beside him. There was a faint sound emanating from inside—a garbled voice of someone in distress. He caressed the stainless-steel edges. “Soon, soon. Be patient just a little longer.”

  His phone rang and he picked it up, hearing the pensive voice of his business associate, Anton Tokarev. The man’s heavy Russian accent pierced through Kyle’s ear as he inquired about the operation.

  “We are still looking at a minimum forty-eight-hour timeline once I get things underway back at the lab,” said Kyle.

  “Good, the last of the supply crates you requested should arrive the day after tomorrow. They’ll be brought in by boat so we don’t draw too much attention to the area with any more helicopter flights.”

  “But no later than that. I need those dispersal devices and timers.”

  “Yes, yes, my friend. Everything is taken care of. After this is over, we should meet again on my yacht and discuss phase two in more detail.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Anton. Success in life only happens one step at a time and we have a few more stairs to climb.”

  Chapter 14

  Inky black, vibrations under his body, the muffled sound of his breath, and the rough edge of the zip-tie cutting into the flesh around his wrist—these were the things rushing through Bob Schueller’s groggy mind as he awoke from sedation.

  His eyelids fluttered as he forced them open but there was nothing to grasp onto in the darkness. He tried to probe the depths of his surroundings but no data returned, like a satellite that has been ripped from orbit and is hurtling into an unfathomable galaxy. His ears tried to compensate, stabbing through the stillness which was only interrupted by his garbled exhales that resembled a patient on life-support. For a second, he wondered if he was in a coma, in some kind of induced hypothermia but then he felt the sweat that had formed between his shoulder blades and the cushioning underneath him, his cotton shirt sticking to his frame.

  A vibration followed, rocking his entire body and then the surface beneath him as if he was in a torpedo shaft being propelled forward, followed by a sudden drop. His heart raced and his raspy exhalations increased. He tried to move but the sides were too narrow and his knees couldn’t even flex. Sitting up only resulted in his forehead impacting the low ceiling and he fell back to his prone position. He tried smashing the foot section but only got out a slight heel tap on what sounded like a metal surface. He elbowed the sides around him and noticed they had the ring of thick steel. He began shouting then screaming then finally smacking his head side to side and thrashing, the zip-ties reminding him that their density was greater than his soft flesh. Settling back, he felt another surge of gravity, his stomach dropping and the entire structure angling up so his feet were higher than his head by a foot or more. He was still, trying to pace his breathing and calm his racing mind before panic consumed him. For the first time, he felt a band around the back of his head and noticed it ran past his cheeks and attached to the plastic mask covering his airway. He concentrated on the echo of his exhales, feeling the warm moisture flooding against his nose and mouth with each breath.

  His head was pounding and his thoughts turned to Heathrow Airport—walking up the muggy runway, the smell of the food vendors near the new arrival area, and the blonde-haired woman. That woman—the one with that velvety hair who was so talkative. He remembered their conversation in the café and then escorting her to the parking garage. His stomach still felt bruised from the savage gut punch he received from one of the surly goons who was lying in wait by the limousine. He recalled very little after that and surmised that he must have been drugged from the glass of water the woman gave him during their drive away from the airport.

  He tapped his shoe heel on the metal surface again and noted its hollow ring. Oxygen container. They obviously want me alive. He brushed his elbows against the walls. Now I know what it must have felt like to be one of those poor white rats in my laboratory. Another drop in gravity, like he had jumped from a diving board, then the rush of his stomach coiling up, followed by the structure around him levelling out.

  What the hell is going on? Where are they taking me and who the fuck are ‘they’? Christ—is this connected with my research—with the agency? Those bastards told me it was all on the drawing board and only being war-gamed within their walls. Did someone get a hold of my data? Is anyone from the agency or State Department even looking for me? He thought of his wife Margo, who would be worried sick, then of his kids and granddaughter. Finally, his thoughts turned to Mitch Kearns, who he’d always joked he’d call if life was ever hanging in the balance. If only he could contact him now!

  He felt a vein in his neck throbbing from the implications. He forced himself to calm his breathing again and remain motionless even though every shred of every fiber in his body wanted to burst through his inky cocoon. During what he surmised was another two hours, he felt the metal structure begin to rattle and the head section become higher, like he was going into a slow dive. Then the shaking increased, his body vibrating and his ears popping while his heart felt like it was in his throat. A few minutes later, he levelled out again and then the motion stopped. Silence. Stillness. Then there was white-hot light stabbing through the right edge of the lid above as it creaked open. Schueller squinted, turning his head sideways, the sunlight hitting him like a sledgehammer. A shadow followed, allowing a respite from the intensity. He looked up into the soulless eyes of a young man, a large scar marring his upper cheek.

  “Good morning, Professor. I hope the flight was not too turbulent for you in this tight space. I was told you’d be out for a few more hours.” The man spoke with an American accent.

  Schueller sat up, craning his neck around as a wave of humidity swept over him. A flock of cockatoos flew overhead and he saw an emerald treeline surrounding the primitive airstrip that had been hacked out of the jungle. The scar-faced man leaned o
ver and deftly flipped open a folding knife, slicing through his zip-ties in a fluid motion then just as quickly closing the blade and repositioning it in his pocket.

  The man was wearing a gypsum-colored jacket and pleated slacks. He extended a hand and helped Schueller out of the coffin-like container. “Please forgive the rocky introduction. We’ve not met before but we probably know a lot of the same people at Langley. And I can most certainly assure you we have much to discuss regarding your research.”

  Chapter 15

  Mitch took the taxi for two miles, texting Dev about his location and hoping she’d made it out safely. He had the driver drop him off near the downtown section of Munich, near a busy intersection of outdoor cafes and bars. He rounded the bend of the street corner and canted his head up like the other tourists, who were inspecting the architecture of an old church on the corner.

  He felt his cellphone vibrate and scanned the text, pressing his cupped hands around the screen to reduce the light signature on his face as he read Dev’s message: Two minutes out. Lavoy Ave and Tenth St.

  He shoved the phone back in his jacket and then checked the sidewalks ahead again. Feeling confident he wasn’t being tailed, he slipped out into the night pedestrian traffic and continued walking north for four blocks. He stopped at a streetside café and feigned reading the menu tacked on the wall while scanning the street to the east. A few seconds later, he saw a black SUV approaching, the streetlight shining through the windshield, revealing Dev’s face. Mitch casually looked around him again then made his way across the street.

  As he climbed inside and shut the door, Dev continued driving straight for another block then made a series of right turns to make sure she wasn’t being followed before resuming their route out of Munich.

  “I’ve arranged for the company jet to meet us in Zurich which is only about 80 kilometers from here.” She leaned back in her seat, relaxing her shoulders slightly. “What did you learn from our little encounter back there with Yin?”

  “Not a whole hell of a lot, other than the dead mercenary with the tiger tattoo on his forearm—that’s one I’ve seen before. It took me a while to recall but it belongs to a group of guerrilla fighters out of Sumatra.”

  “That’s not much of a breadcrumb to go on. Anything else? I don’t have any solid contacts in that region so we’d be taking a stab in the dark trying to trace any connections with her and your friend.”

  Mitch was fidgeting with Yin’s phone but it only contained one number that was encrypted. “So far all we’ve got are those dead bodies at the estate, a Chinese courier with bad-ass fighting skills,” he paused to rub his sore forearm where Yin had stabbed him, “and her useless cellphone.”

  He rolled up his jacket sleeve and inspected the tiny puncture wound. “By the plane ticket in her jacket she was headed to Kuala Lumpur.”

  “What I’d like to know is who gave Yin a lead concussion back at the airport.”

  “I’ve been wondering the same. That was no street thug who dispatched her. Anyone with close-range pistol skills who can nab a target in a crowded airport and then sneak away into the shadows—that’s probably the same dude who left all that nice lawn display of shattered bodies back at the estate.”

  “He’s a high-end merc then—someone with skills like you and I possess—but who’s his puppet master?”

  “They’ve got considerable funding to be able to insert into a country with a hit team, weapons, and probably all the fake credentials to not draw attention at the airport. People like that are either working for a crime syndicate—say Chinese Triad for instance, given Yin’s appearance and the Oriental-looking guy I saw at the airport—or…”

  “Or clandestine ops sanctioned by some government or a shadow faction within a government,” said Dev.

  “Yeah, I’d say we’re going up against some heavy hitters.”

  Dev pulled her shoulders back. “Then it’ll be an even match.”

  Mitch stared out the window at the passing cars and then up at the moon, which hung like a pearl in the obsidian sky. The only clue he had to move forward was written on Yin’s airline ticket. “I know someone who lives in Kuala Lumpur. An old SF colleague of mine, Marco. He’d be a place to start, anyway, though it’s been a while since I’ve seen his surly mug.” Mitch dragged out the last sentence with a hint of disdain.

  “Is he a trusted friend?”

  “Let’s just say he’s a solid guy when he’s on the job. After hours, he’s a fight magnet and a dirty son of a bitch.”

  “He double-cross you? Because I can think of better company to keep.”

  “We were in a dive in Manila once after a deployment and he was hitting on another dude’s lady, this marine who had a pretty impressive enemy kill record from what we knew as young soldiers.” Mitch sighed and twisted his head up, stretching his neck. “Let’s just say my jaw still hurts from that night.” He shoved Yin’s phone back in his jacket. “Look, Dev, you’ve already gone beyond the call of duty coming out here with me. I don’t need you getting into a compromising position with your board or sticking your neck out any further for me.”

  “Nonsense, this is what Gideon is supposed to be about. Besides, if I don’t have the approval of the board for my actions then I know for certain I have my father’s blessing on this one, trust me. He would’ve dropped what he was doing for you too.”

  “Well, I appreciate that but you’ve got a company to think about and don’t need any further entanglements with something that could have such nebulous international ties.”

  “Mitch, in the field is where I should be, not doing Skype conferences and employee meetings. To be honest, I can’t stand being in my corporate office.”

  She continued glancing in the rearview mirror, checking for anyone tailing them. “Petra and David, my two brethren who were with us in Arizona last fall, are coming off an assignment in India and can rendezvous with us in KL. This is going to take more than the two of us, I suspect.”

  “Ever think what it’d be like if we did normal things together like friends are supposed to do instead of these little escape and evade outings?” Mitch said.

  Dev smirked. “Is that what we are—just friends?”

  “Yeah, well, if you ever had more than three minutes of time off each week, maybe I’d be able to take you out for a proper dinner date.”

  Dev looked in the rearview mirror and then feigned a gasp. “You mean you don’t like my mother’s cooking? You really are a cowboy—too used to biscuits and gravy.”

  “Don’t even bring your mom into this—I like her and her fine meals. It’s her daughter that’s giving me a run for my money.”

  “I’ll tell you what, when we get a break, I will permit you to take me out for a real dinner and I’ll even leave my work cellphone at home for a few hours.”

  “You’ll ‘permit me,’ oh please, it’s more like ‘you will accompany me.’”

  She shook her head while containing a grin. “And you should know I’m very particular about where we go to eat.”

  “Geez, this is quite a tab I’m gonna be running up. Looks like I’ll have to skip taking you to a burger joint and shoot for something fancy.”

  She lowered her chin and smiled, keeping her vision on the road ahead. “I might just permit you to do that.”

  Chapter 16

  “I had to decommission the target. She was at risk of getting away. Her plane ticket indicated Kuala Lumpur,” said Von into his cellphone as he exited the Munich Airport. “There were some other players involved too but I didn’t get to make their acquaintance, though I managed to snap a photo of the man from a distance with my phone.”

  “How many—what did they look like?” barked Crenna.

  “Just two. A man in his mid-thirties, European or American by the looks of it and a woman of tan complexion who moved like a cat.”

  “Shit, did they have any contact with Yin?”

  “Yeah, but not for long. It looked like she had just escaped from the
m when I put her down.”

  He could hear Crenna’s labored breathing in his earpiece in between sentences. “Send me the photo of the man and I’ll see what I can turn up on him.”

  “Will do.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Still in Munich.”

  “I need you on the next flight out to Kuala Lumpur to track down any leads Yin may have had there. She must certainly have an accomplice there.”

  “Or she was just fleeing there after selling any intel she had. What makes you suspect an accomplice?”

  There was a slight pause before Crenna replied. “Potential accomplice is what I meant. We just need to be sure that any loose threads are tied off.”

  Von stopped walking and took in a deep breath; he had thought he would be done being Crenna’s errand boy. “I thought things would be wrapped up once the package was disposed of. Surely the professor must be dead by now. Have there been any demands or contact from his supposed captors?”

  “He still has to be in play somehow based upon some things I recently uncovered in Europe. Yin was just one tentacle of this beast. Head to Kuala Lumpur and await further instructions. If you should locate Schueller, dispatch him and retrieve any data that you can.”

  Von tucked his phone away and scanned behind him and then along the street. Why kill a valued DOD researcher like Schueller? Nothing in the old man’s files indicates he’d be the type to go rogue. Yin I understand but this guy? Von rubbed the back of his low-cropped hair. What’s Crenna not telling me this time around?

  Chapter 17

  Dev was staring at the plethora of tiny islands below that were peppered throughout the Andaman Sea near the coast of Thailand. In forty minutes they would be landing in Kuala Lumpur and she wondered what would await them in this next leg of the trip.