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

by JT Sawyer

  He cast a sideways glance at her as she sidled up next to him. “You seem right at home in the tropics and here I thought you were a desert caballero.”

  His lips cracked in a faint smile. “I’ll tell you, I never get used to this stinking humidity and all the bugs. Yeah, I’d take the desert any day.” He looked over his shoulder towards their camp. “You and Marco have a good talk? He fillin’ your head with more tales of his prowess and alcohol-driven exploits?”

  “You sure know how to pick your friends, I’ll say that much.”

  He slid his hand down, interlacing his fingers with hers while looking into her eyes. “I sure do.” She ran her fingers up his arm, pausing as she moved over the scar. Mitch turned and brushed the hair off her forehead, tracing his fingers along her neck. She felt her heart racing, the sounds of the night fading. Then he moved closer and kissed her, pulling her in towards him as she inhaled his earthy fragrance. She slid her arms around his neck and felt months of tension release as her desires surged forth. Dev ran her hands through his hair, her chest melting into his. Then a nighthawk shrieked on a nearby branch and they abruptly pulled apart.

  Dev took a deep breath, sliding one hand back over her tussled hair and then looking back at the hammocks. Mitch reached down for her hand and rose up on his toes, bobbing his head back and forth, looking at their camp then towards her with a smile. “All is well, it seems.”

  She squeezed his fingers firmly, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. “I mustn’t keep you from guard duty, Mr. Kearns. We can’t have a breakdown in discipline.”

  “Yeah, that’d be real bad for morale, Ms. Leitner. Plus what kind of tone would that set in our relationship being as I’m your client and all.”

  She bit her lower lip, holding back a wicked grin. “Client, right, of course. You know maybe we should revisit our terms sometime.” Dev gave his hand a final squeeze before pulling away.

  “Maybe we should.” Mitch walked back a few steps towards his lookout tree.

  Dev began slowly backpedaling, her head tilted down with a frolicsome smile forming. “Tomorrow, we should definitely, for certain, you know, go over what we want in this venture.” She waved one hand in a half-wave and then turned and quickly retreated to the main camp, stopping once to glance at the fine man standing with his back to her, the moonlight cascading over his rugged features.

  Chapter 27

  Pain and delirium traversed the breadth of Von’s being as he stood on his toes while his arms were tethered to the rafters with an abrasive manila rope that was digging into his wrists. He awoke to the unpleasant sensation he’d experienced during interrogation training at the farm only this time there’d be no respite. It was unlikely even Crenna knew of his location. Even if he did, his boss probably wouldn’t risk sending in a team for a lone operative who’d gone off the radar.

  He glanced around the cinder-block room, his vision coming in and out of focus as he tried to regain his thoughts. The overhead fluorescent lighting was flickering, causing his headache to increase, and he didn’t know if that was an intentional irritant or just a sign of the seemingly makeshift nature of the rundown location. Von heard the moans of another man coming from the room to his left and suspected it was Schueller. There was a rivulet of water leaking in from the tin roof to his right alongside a crack where there were several finger-length red centipedes scurrying along the bricks, snagging the small ants with their curved pincers and snapping them in two before consuming them.

  Von did a mental check of the rest of his body to make sure there were no serious injuries and concluded that he had sustained a mild concussion from when he collapsed to the pavement in the alley. As he pried his crusted eyelids open a second time, he saw a burly man with a three-day beard walking up to the door frame, a bullwhip over his shoulder. In the corner of his mouth was an unlit cigar that he was feverishly chomping on. The man moved forward and grabbed Von’s chin, rotating his head like it was a volleyball he was about to serve. “Good, there appears to be no significant damage. This makes me much happy as there is plenty my boss needs to liberate from you.” The man spoke in broken English as he paraded around Von, clasping the handle of the bullwhip once before reaching for a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt.

  “He is awake now.”

  A few minutes after the surly goon delivered his message, Von heard the clacking of shoes on the hallway floor. A lean figure dressed in white trousers with an off-white jacket and a green button-up shirt entered the room. He stood with poise for a moment, like a sprinter confidently studying the hurdles on the track ahead of him.

  “Von Harut, it’s a pleasure to meet my latest incarnation. You probably came onto the team just after my supposed disappearance, I’m guessing.”

  Von squinted at the man, noticing a large scar beside his temple beside the piercing blue eyes. Von felt his stomach churning in part from the drugs in his system coupled with dehydration. He was in no position to be able to maneuver his body and even if he could try to grab the figure before him with his legs, his mind wasn’t coherent enough to make sure he’d be coordinated in his efforts.

  “Have we met before?” Von said, playing dumb while trying to contain his astonishment at the face before him. He’d heard the stories amongst other agents about the notorious traitor Kyle Redstrom, a former agent of Crenna’s. He had read the man’s files and instantly recognized the face despite the nasty scar near his eye. From what he recalled, the rogue agent had gone missing in Beijing after being exposed as a double agent. Yet here he was at the mercy of a fellow agent connected with his boss, a man whose own backstory he was beginning to question once more.

  “No but I’ve been pursuing you since hacking into the security feed at the Munich Airport. You do like to globetrot it seems.” Kyle raised his eyebrows and offered a crooked smile. “Oh, and then there’s that other connection we share—our mutual friend—my dear old mentor, Darren Crenna. Surely he must have told you about his comrade in arms, Kyle Redstrom.” He raised his palm to his mouth. “Oops, did the villain really say his real name, my bad. I’ve crossed a line. I’ve told you something personal about myself. Now, it’s your turn.”

  “Von Harut is my name. I’m a relief worker with UNICEF. I don’t know why I was kidnapped but the United Nations office here will be looking for me.”

  Kyle raised his index finger and pressed it to Von’s lips. “Shh…come, come now. We are both professionals. It doesn’t have to go this way. I know you have to foist your cover story and then when we break you down a few notches, you’ll pretend to yield, delivering a more polished secondary cover story about a fictitious company you work for, hoping to buy some time while we check things out.”

  “I’m not sure who you are but I’m a foreign aid worker. Please let me go.”

  Kyle grabbed Von’s right arm and squeezed it. “My, you are a fine specimen. I was once so robust. A few years in a Chinese prison changes a person though. Lack of nutrients, daily beatings, nerve damage from electric shock—you know how it goes. Oh, wait, no you don’t because Crenna still has a use for you. Well, that’ll change one day. Then he’ll see to it you have an accident or suffer an unexpected allergic reaction to some food or slip false intel to the country you’re stationed in.” Kyle moved around Von and punched him in the kidney then pressed his face against Von’s ear as the man was groaning. “Or Crenna might even send an operative to snipe a woman in a fucking airport for instance.”

  Kyle snapped his fingers to his man at the door and then motioned to the crack in the wall.

  “But I apologize for such a violent outburst like that, it’s not like me to lash out with such pugilistic fury—so primitive and uncouth. Not something befitting professionals such as us.” He took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and padded the sweat on his forehead. “All of these different torture methods that we humans have refined over the centuries, even the ones in the agency manual which call for waterboarding and the use of drugs, they’re just s
o crude. There are so many alternative, more efficient methods that come from the natural world that work far better.” Kyle turned and looked at his brutish guard near the door. “Now my man, Carlos, he likes the corporal punishment. That leather whip of his can remove a dime-sized patch of skin wherever he chooses.”

  “UN workers have rights. You must have me mistaken for someone else. I’m just a foreign employee here for three months to assist with famine relief efforts in remote villages.”

  “My sweet boy, you’re still so young, probably at the top of your physical game with so many skills and achievements handed out by the same agency who trained us both. I’m really not surprised Crenna didn’t tell you about me. He didn’t want you to lose faith in him—in so upstanding and fatherly a figure.” Kyle flailed his arms in the air. “What a good daddy, always looking out for his children. You are just another agency puppet, though I’d hoped you’d extend me the courtesy of skipping the bullshit façade.”

  Von tried to turn his head and see what the guard was doing but Kyle redirected his attention by tugging on his hair. Von exhaled and shot a hard glare, his outward demeanor of innocence suddenly replaced by a fierce rage. “I make my own choices. No one pulls my strings, not even Crenna.”

  Kyle tapped him on his cheek and smiled. “That’s what he’d have you believe. Even now you think you’re doing the agency’s bidding but you are really cleaning up his mess. A mess he can’t afford to let out. What do you think will happen to you once you’re finished here? Return to Langley and start a new assignment? Not likely, my friend.”

  “We’re no friends. You’re listed on the files as a traitor and psychopath.”

  Kyle leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Hmm, maybe a hint of the latter—who wouldn’t be after living in your own filth in a cell and having to kill your fellow inmates for food.” He strode around Von. “But a traitor—a traitor.” His voice changed to a deep bellow at the latter word. “No, sir, I was a patriot who served my country with honor even in the weeks after Crenna disavowed me.”

  “Then why hide out in the jungle, kidnap a U.S. citizen, and commit atrocities?”

  “Crenna sent you to remove me from the equation so there’d be no trace of the bioresearch that the agency funded. Research which I originally obtained from the Chinese and passed along to him before he cast me aside as a traitor to cover his own betrayal. Did he mention that he later sold the secret files?” Kyle stopped dramatically and stared into Von’s eyes. “I’m guessing you don’t know about that shady little deal he made for a few million dollars.”

  Von gave him a startled look then clenched his jaw. “I’ve got nothing that can help you. Crenna has always kept me in the dark about his doings.”

  “We’ll see.” Kyle hooked a finger inside Von’s lower lip, tugging it down forcefully. “Careful, don’t resist too much or this soft tissue by the mouth can tear. It’s very painful and it never heals up very well, causing you to slur your words for the rest of your days like some bumbling child.” Kyle ran his other hand over Von’s hair as if caressing it.

  He moved up an inch from Von’s trembling face. “The red centipedes here just love nutrient-rich tissue filled with warm saliva. Normally they sting their prey only once to paralyze them so the more you thrash around and try to remove it with your tongue, the more they will teach you to remain still.”

  Von’s eyes were so wide that the whites seemed to occupy his entire tan face. He started to groan but the grip on his lower lip tightened. He tried kicking his toes away against the damp floor but Kyle just grabbed his hair and held him close.

  “Put it right there,” Kyle said to Carlos while he pulled the gum line back enough to allow the man to drop a centipede from his gloved hand into Von’s cheek.

  Von screamed in pain and began gagging while his entire body shook violently. Kyle had stepped back a few feet and massaged his own cheek with a finger while directing his intense gaze at the suffering figure before him. Then he went to the wall and peeled off two more centipedes with his bare hands, holding them by the tails.

  “Now, Von Harut of the CIA, let me begin the questioning anew. I would like to know everything about Crenna’s current operational protocols and what he’s told you about your righteous mission.”

  As Redstrom inched forward with the centipedes, Von knew he would be brutally interrogated and then killed. If he did manage to escape he would be escaping through miles of green hell on his own. And if he made it back, what then? Would he confront Crenna, demanding to know the truth about Beijing and his cover-up in Redstrom’s disappearance and subsequent torture? Was Crenna even coming for him or was he now deemed disposable? Surely the man knew of his location with his implanted GPS microchip by now. As these thoughts ran through his foggy brain, he smelled the acrid odor of the approaching arthropods, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing for the coming agony.

  Chapter 28

  At dawn, when the jungle seemed to be fighting off the advances of the sunlight which struggled to pierce the dense foliage, Mitch and the others downed a hasty meal of MREs and packed up their hammocks. Marco led them down the ridge towards the river whose rapids could be heard gurgling above the chaotic blend of monkey calls and birdsongs.

  They made their way to the edge of the waterway, concealing themselves in a grove of young palm trees. The humming sound from upriver was increasing as a narrow wooden boat came into view. It contained five men clad in camouflage clothing amidst stacks of rectangular wooden crates. The weathered vessel was propelled by a large diesel engine at the rear which frequently coughed out black smoke. The boat continued up another half mile before pulling over beside a cleared out swath on river right. The men secured the bow to a tree and then got out and began passing the items in a fireline onto the muddy embankment.

  “Those guys don’t look like birdwatchers,” said Petra. “Thought you said the old Japanese base was a few miles up still.”

  Marco rubbed his whiskered chin. “That’s the information I got. This could be another way in or maybe they’ve just got a secondary location.”

  “Or a supply depot apart from their main quarters like that place we hit south of Kandahar once,” said Mitch, recalling a previous mission with his unit.

  “Yeah, what a cluster-fuck that was, eh.” Marco pulled up the binoculars around his neck and scanned the small group then handed them to Mitch who began studying the distant ground for tracks.

  “It looks like there’s been a lot of activity here in recent weeks given the trail erosion from foot traffic and the amount of canopy that’s been cleared.”

  “That’s a pretty swift current. How far down did you say that bridge was?” said Dev.

  “Too far to make it worth our while. We’ll need to cross there,” Marco said, pointing upriver to a distant bend. “That should give us enough distance to swim across to the other side without getting swept away in the rapids.”

  Marco motioned them to follow him as they walked the river’s edge, heading away from the boat. He walked for a half mile up and then paused beside a large logjam of bamboo. “This stuff was blasted down here during the last flash flood.” He slung his AK, shoving it over his back, and then started grabbing calf-thick sections of bamboo and removing it from the pile. Marco laid three stout pieces on the ground and then pulled out his parang. He walked in a circle around the group, examining the array of trees before selecting a nearby patch that had copious amounts of finger-thick vines dangling from the upper reaches. He swiftly hacked down a dozen and carried the lengthy strands over to the pile of bamboo. “Grab three six-foot pieces of bamboo like I’ve got and then wrap both ends with a few clove-hitches or whatever the fuck lashing you know the best. Then we’ll use these to float across.” He stopped and studied the river for a minute then looked back at Dev. “Just hope there’s no alligators out this early.”

  “Shut up. Besides, they’d go after you first with that big mouth,” said Dev.

  Marco chuckled and beat his f
ist against his massive chest. “Marco eat gators for breakfast.”

  Dev and the others got busy with assembling their makeshift rafts and then dragged them down to the river’s edge. Watching Marco and Mitch cross first, the three Israeli warriors followed in procession. The swift current shot everyone a quarter mile down the river but Marco had selected the launch point with that in mind and he intercepted each floater before they hit the rapids just beyond their point.

  Stowing their improvised vessels in the bushes, the group made their way in a half-crouch through the thick foliage, keeping their vision fixed on the ground for any pit vipers. Marco’s keen eye had already spared them from a few near encounters and his jungle navigation skills became more evident as they proceeded along the torturous route. Thirty minutes later, they made it to the edge of the palm trees near a wide trail that the men had taken from their boat.

  Out of habit, Mitch scanned the muddy substrate for signs of tracks and what they indicated. In addition to the five men from the boat, he saw the boot prints of three other men who had walked down to the river to assist the crew. Two of the men bore a short stride with a wide straddle, indicative of someone who was either very stocky or carrying a heavy load.

  “I count eight meat-bags,” said Marco.

  Mitch nodded in confirmation. Hmm…guys with lots of mysterious crates—wonder what the hell they’re scheming up back at their base camp? Mitch thought. And how many more dudes are there? As he squatted, he pondered their predicament—it was just the five of his friends and the weapons they carried. No backup to support them and no helicopter to whisk them away if things turned ugly. This had to remain a reconnaissance operation. There’s no way they could engage the enemy with their limited firepower. He looked over his shoulder at the thick jungle around them and hoped they wouldn’t have to do any escape and evasion moves through such nasty terrain.