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

by JT Sawyer

  “Just a welcoming gift,” the burly man said, grabbing a mango off the table. He was unshaved and smelled like a school bus after a wrestling tournament, causing Dev to step back as he approached.

  Mitch unzipped the stuffed suitcase and removed the stolen hotel towels that served as padding while everyone gathered around like they were staring at a plundered treasure. Inside were a dozen tarnished pistols ranging from FNs to Makarovs to Glocks along with assorted magazines and a half-dozen tattered boxes of ammunition. Interspersed with these were several fourteen-inch parangs in leather sheaths. These were the curved blades of choice in Malaysia, with a more sleek design than the linear machete. In a side pouch of the duffel bag were six walkie-talkies with accompanying earpieces and spare batteries.

  “I’ve got some AKs and jungle gear stashed at the plane.”

  “We going on a trip somewhere?” said Dev.

  “You’ll have to tell me.” Marco plunked down in a sofa-chair, his weight causing the sides to groan. “My contact in Sumatra told me that the Suma Tigers have several encampments high up in the mountains. This much I knew,” he said, taking a bite out of the succulent fruit he’d peeled, some juice dripping onto his dusty boots. “What came as a surprise was what he told me next—that there’s a rumored fringe group of Suma fighters who’ve defected recently and are living in the jungle in the Beuton region. That’s in the north-central part of the island. Not enough people in their little group to draw attention from the military so they’ve gone unnoticed except by a handful of locals.”

  “That’s not much to go on,” said Mitch.

  “And a long way to go on a hunch,” Petra said, slipping on his boots.

  “Yeah, except there’s talk of a white guy living amongst them. He’s probably the reason they’re heading up there.”

  The four of them huddled in closer to Marco, who continued chomping away on the fruit. He pulled out a folded map from the cargo pocket of his shorts. He tossed it onto the open pile of weapons and pointed at a red circle he had drawn.

  “That location may not look like much, in fact there’s probably nothing there but a shit-ton of monkeys and endless miles of jungle but that’s where the Japs had a small base in World War Two. They were training Indonesian youths to serve in their resistance forces against the Allies. And that, my swarthy friends, that is where your little party is going on, I suspect.”

  Chapter 21

  After his private jet landed in Kuala Lumpur, Schueller accompanied Kyle and his Suma mercenaries in a helicopter which took them across the Malacca Strait to the island of Sumatra. After an hour of flight over the dense jungle, they arrived at the small outpost that Kyle had been using as his base of operations. The former World War II encampment still had enough infrastructure in place to act as an off-grid fort to serve his band of twenty-one mercenaries along with a small laboratory for refining the viral pathogen in his possession.

  Now, with the arrival of Schueller, the final pieces of his plan were falling into place. He had briefly explained his fascination with the professor’s research in virology, citing his papers and breakthroughs while tying in his knowledge of Chinese bioweapons undertakings. With the proper incentive, he would get Schueller to weaponize the strain in his possession.

  After disembarking the helicopter, Kyle showed the facility to Schueller, explaining each improvement or modification to the existing structure as if he were a realtor speaking to a prominent client who should be impressed.

  After pointing out the rain-water catchment systems near the main building, Kyle walked him to the laboratory while two of his armed men followed behind them. The cement structure was nearly obscured by vines and looked more organic than manmade.

  “Ah, World War Two was such an amazing era in our history, wasn’t it?” Kyle said, raising his outstretched hand up to a tree trunk that had insinuated itself into a crack in the wall. “The first war where men and machines worked together as one. All of those amazing tanks, aircraft carriers, and submarines doing our bidding.” He spun and held Schueller’s arms, staring intently into his eyes. “So much more civilized than previous wars where men bayoneted or hacked each other up in trenches, don’t you think?”

  Schueller’s face tensed as he tried to pull back. “Who the fuck are you again and what do you want with me?”

  Kyle released his steely grip and brushed the wrinkles out of the older man’s sleeves. “All in good time, Professor.” He laughed, raising a hand to his mouth. “Actually, I’m running out of fucking time, so we should get you started on your little science project.” He raised his fingers in air-quotes at the latter words.

  Kyle motioned him to follow. Schueller feigned slipping on the muddy ground, grabbing a handful of the soil and flinging it into the two guards’ faces. He pivoted to the right and bolted around the building, running for fifty feet.

  Schueller stopped in mid-sprint, sliding on the wet ground as a sickening wave of stench pierced his nostrils, bringing him to a halt. The small clearing in the jungle ahead was peppered with close to thirty bodies. The tangled limbs of monkeys and humans were interspersed throughout the bloody heap, their orifices and eyes filled with blood while thousands of flies swarmed over the pus-covered sores on the bodies. Schueller felt bile racing up into his throat as his eyes watered from the horrific stench. He backpedaled, cupping his hand over his mouth and nose, then felt the body of someone behind him. He pried his eyes away from the carnage, staring into the face of Kyle.

  “Nasty virus they came down with—but don’t worry, the subjects were all sterilized prior to being laid to rest here in the bosom of the jungle.”

  “You fucking murderer. You…”

  “I know, I know, you want to give me the lecture: ‘You’re a madman—how could you do this. You’ll never get away with this.’”

  Kyle moved around the front of Schueller and took him by the arm, escorting the man inside the rear exit of the L-shaped building. They walked down the damp corridor, moving past several guards who were exiting rooms on the right. Kyle led him into the tiny laboratory which had several stainless-steel tables that were covered with brand new centrifuges, beakers, and microscopes. On the left side of the room was a decontamination chamber that led to a glass-encased quarantine room with a row of empty metal cages.

  Kyle sat down on the edge of the table in the main room, motioning to the still-stunned professor to sit down. “You see, the Beijing virus sample, as I call it, will in its current form devastate the body of anyone infected with it so I already have the means of mass destruction. I obtained this viral strain through my own fieldwork efforts several years ago.” He motioned with his hand towards the window. “Those poor souls out there died much too painfully and over a prolonged period. What I need from you is to refine the virus so it incubates longer in the body, for at least six hours, before being unleashed in a sudden fury, bringing death in seconds.”

  Schueller’s chest was pumping furiously and his hands were trembling. “I’ll not be involved in any part of this regardless of what torture you have in store for me.”

  Kyle sighed then laconically flipped up the laptop screen beside him. A few seconds later, a black-and-white video pulled up of a little girl in a floral-print dress running at a playground. “Your granddaughter is really cute. I mean adorable, much like her mother.” Kyle pointed to a dark-haired woman sitting on a park bench waving to her child. “Oh, and is that your lovely wife?” he said, looking at an older woman who had just walked up, handing the little girl an ice-cream cone. “Why, she doesn’t seem very distraught that her husband is missing.”

  Schueller squirmed in his chair and gasped, bracing his ribs with his hands and leaning over like he was going to vomit.

  “Of course, I had to use this type of emotional recruiting inducement. Torturing you would take too long though I suspect you’d be easy to break, but then your mind would be of little use.” He stood up and waved his hand at the laptop screen like a conductor. “Prot
ecting your own tribe—that most primal of all instincts. It’s so deeply ingrained in our DNA.” Kyle lowered his eyes for a second, nervously twitching his fingers in his pocket. “Until it’s not, when even that has been stripped away.” He quickly leaned over and grabbed Schueller’s chin. “But you can be spared that agony, Professor. You have a choice. A choice that I was never given—never even presented. Do you know what it feels like knowing that you failed the ones you love? That kind of pain can extinguish your soul.”

  Schueller was fixated on the wobbly imagery of his family, tears welling up in his eyes. “And what kind of world will they be inheriting if I do this for you? If I weaponized this virus then they will be doomed along with the rest of humanity.”

  “You’re a man with principals. I like that and, frankly, it’s not something I’d expect in someone who has worked with the agency for so long. In that business you only survive by having a certain moral suppleness.”

  Kyle spun Schueller’s chair away from the video. “Then it appears you have a choice to make: you refuse to work with me and my man Viktor peels apart all three generations of women upon my command or…or you have the power to let them live—which will at least give them a fighting chance in this mad new world that’s about to unfold.”

  Chapter 23

  On the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur sat the Selangor Airfield, where Marco kept his plane, a used Piper PA-31. The eight-seater permitted him to take an entire family or a group of wealthy college kids on holiday from Europe to many of the off-the-beaten-path waterfalls or beaches.

  While Marco was inside the cabin inspecting the overhead gauges for the turbo prop engines, the others gathered outside to load up on food packets, water, and survival supplies.

  “Spent any time in the jungle before—and I don’t mean sipping margaritas beside a pool in Thailand?” said Mitch to Dev.

  “Can’t say I have. Most of our operations over the years have been in Africa or the Middle East. Frankly, I try to spend as little time as possible in the wilds—too many goddamned bugs. Reclining in the hammock in my backyard while reading a book is as close to nature as I want to get and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Mitch handed her one of the parangs, which was the common tool of choice in the Indonesian jungles. “This is a more elegant version of the New World machete but it works the same. Just make sure you’re always aware of the follow-through or we’ll be fashioning you a peg leg out here.”

  She looked over the fine edge and then rubbed her thumb along the cocobolo wood grain of the handle. Dev did a few circular moves in the air followed by a single thrust. A wicked grin formed on her lips. “This would make a good everyday carry blade if it were just a little smaller so I could conceal it in my jacket.”

  Mitch looked at her, stopping to tie up his pack. “You know, I dig women and weapons but you just look a little too sinister right now.”

  “Don’t worry, cowboy, I won’t hurt you—unless you get on my bad side,” she chuckled while sliding the parang into its leather sheath.

  Marco came over and sidled up next to Dev, tipping the brim of his straw hat up. “Ten minutes, amigos. Hope you’re all up on your current vaccinations—lots of dengue fever in these parts.”

  Dev stood up and grimaced then shot a sideways glance at Mitch. “Did I mention I hate bugs?”

  “You just hang with me, little lady. Old Marco will take care of you.” His gold tooth showed in his crooked smile.

  Dev pushed him away. “I had heard that there were many anthropological curiosities to be found here but I thought all the stone-age relics were in the jungle.” She grabbed her pack and headed to the airplane, giving Marco an irritated glance.

  “Marco, Marco, you still have the same thick skull when it comes to women.”

  “I always figure there’s no harm in trying.”

  “Not until a women belts you across the face anyway.”

  Marco watched Dev walk away, his eyes following the sway of her hips, then he looked back at Mitch. “So you two aren’t knocking boots yet? What’s up with that? You still playin’ the Boy Scout, waiting for a woman with a halo to appear?”

  Mitch just looked at Dev in the distance, his eyes focused on her raven hair and slender neck. “Nah, she doesn’t have to be an angel, though that one’s pretty close to my idea of heaven.”

  “Listen to you, going so soft over a woman. Never thought I’d see that day.”

  ***

  The flight over the dense jungle was surprisingly bumpy and the passengers were constantly grating shoulders against each other or the cabin walls as Marco flew over the undulating ridgelines which resembled emerald vertebrae. Mitch sat in front, reviewing the topographic map while matching up landscape features down below. Flocks of cockatoos and orange hornbills darted from the canopy as the noisy plane flew over. Dev spotted a few of the small Malaysian elephants making their way along a well-worn trail en route to a clearing where others were already wallowing in a liver-shaped mudhole to cool off in the late morning heat.

  An hour later, Marco pointed below to a narrow slit in the canopy, a clearing in the jungle where there had once been a primitive airstrip. “Once we are on the ground, it’s a three-hour hump across the hills to the location—if they’re there at all.”

  “What’s the mileage?” yelled Dev above the din of the grumbling engine.

  “Only six miles but it’s gonna be a bitch of a hike with the undergrowth in these parts.” Marco craned his head back towards her and grinned. “Plus there’s a fuckin’ cobra under every bush.”

  Dev’s face flushed slightly and she diverted her attention out the window.

  “Of course, you and I can always stay with the plane,” he said with a grin, winking playfully at Mitch before turning around.

  “You got a parachute in here or do I have to endure the rest of this trip with you?” she said.

  Marco slugged Mitch on the arm. “She’s got sass—I can see why you’re totin’ her around.”

  Mitch just shook his head and hoped this leg of the operation would be quick. He admired Marco for his fighting prowess and tactical abilities but the man was grating on his nerves again like he’d done a thousand times before when they served together. He knew they weren’t likely to find such a trusted local guide and the man’s services were paramount to gaining further intel. He just couldn’t wait for the plane to touch down so he could get out of the increasingly cramped quarters.

  The touchdown was rough as the tires hit numerous tree roots and muddy potholes along the primitive runway, which looked like it hadn’t been used in months. After they landed, Marco and Mitch covered the plane with a camouflage net and interspersed some foliage into the gaps.

  The path through the jungle was along an old trading route once used by the natives. It followed the steep hillside to the north and then plummeted into a jade-green valley beside a river. Within the first mile, the group was soaked in sweat and their shirts revealed hundreds of fabric lacerations from the thorny foliage. Marco led the way, his parang skillfully hacking a limb aside every twenty feet while the others followed single-file. The air was rife with the smell of rotting vegetation and the humidity was like a smothering wet towel that made each inhalation a labor. With the triple-canopy above them obscuring the sky, only a few slivers of sunlight managed to drive through. The cacophony of monkeys was deafening but it was occasionally drowned out by the sound of intermittent rapids from the many jungle tributaries that ran through the region.

  Two miles in, Marco paused at a bend in the overgrown trail and slammed his parang into a tree trunk. He took a swig of water from his canteen and then yanked the GPS unit from his shirt pocket. Despite the large man’s size, he had hacked tirelessly for the past hour without revealing a hint of fatigue. A few minutes later, he tucked the device away and looked back at Mitch, who had also been analyzing his own GPS. The two men nodded in confirmation that they were progressing along the correct route.

  Marco look
ed back at the others and waved them over next to where he was standing. “You see this vine here—this is the equivalent of wild ginger found in the States. In fact it can be used in the same way for cooking and such.” He pointed to an exposed section that had a thumb-sized protrusion growing from the side. “When this vine is cut, chewed, or disturbed it starts to grow a new tendril from the wound. Now someone like me who knows a little about the jungle can tell that this cut was made two days ago by the growth pattern of that little knob sticking out.”

  “That doesn’t look like a deer chomped on it,” said Dev.

  “Good observation, darlin’. This is from a parang and there aren’t too many natives in these parts anymore so I’m guessing it might be connected with the folks we’re looking for.” He moved closed to the vine and inhaled the aroma. “Damn sloppy machete work if you ask me.” Marco lowered one hand, scratching his groin, then looked at David. “Forgot to bring some baby powder. Damn jungle rot is always making my sack itch. You wait, it’ll happen to you too.”

  David tried to contain his disgust at the man’s uncouth behavior while looking at Petra, both men giving each other a who-is-this-idiot look.

  Marco stepped back and surveyed their surroundings and then moved over to an area that had a streak of sunlight piercing through the canopy while the others followed. He stopped and removed his pack then leaned against a large tree.

  “Alright, let’s take five to rehydrate and adjust the kink in your underwear.”

  “How much farther?” asked Petra, who was dragging a shirt sleeve across his grimy forehead.

  “We’ll hike for another half mile and then make camp before sundown.” Marco glance up at the canopy, studying the movement of a monkey that was precariously perched on a bent limb. “I’d say we’re about halfway, Leonardo.”

  Petra and the others gave the burly man a puzzled look.