Dead in Their Tracks (A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Story Book 1)

by JT Sawyer

  He put the phone down and stood up, balling his fists and pressing them into the edge of his desk, staring pensively at his laptop as he waited for the information to arrive. Ryker wasn’t sure who to believe but something didn’t feel right about Perry’s earlier dismissal of Mitch and the botched field operation that had unfolded in the desert. He was also surprised at how quickly the facial recognition software request had been approved by the D.C. office. That hadn’t ever happened in his twelve years on the job.

  The phone rang, the call coming from the technician he’d just spoken with. “Sir, I’ve got his location and I’m sending it over right now but you might also be interested to know that the ballistics report on our three agents came in—the rounds were identical to the hollow point rounds found in the dead men’s weapons at the ranch house. They are proprietary rounds that come out of Latin America. There’s no way Agent Kearns could have fired those shots.”

  He saw the map pop up on his laptop with a concentric circle pulsing around the city of Anaheim, California. He thanked the technician and enhanced the imagery on his screen, after which GPS coordinates pulled up. He clicked on the numbers. Ryker’s eyes went wide as he stood back. “Aeneid Corporation.”

  Ryker grabbed his jacket and his tactical gear bag then phoned the operations center to scramble the helicopter on the roof.

  Chapter 33

  Perry’s earpiece crackled as the guard in the lobby notified him of four firefighters who had arrived, requesting to get verification that their electrical power supply was unaffected by the recent rolling blackout. He scanned the security monitors, searching for any signs of Mitch or Sanchez, but saw nothing. They’re probably trying to use the firefighters for cover—or are concealed as one of the firefighters.

  He spun around and trotted to the door. “On my way down. Keep the fire crew there.”

  Ritter stopped him, pressing his hand into the door. “Are you insane? You can’t be seen here. You’re a federal agent who’s supposed to be in Arizona right now.”

  Perry arched his shoulders back, wanting to drive his fist into the old man’s face but knowing he was right. He yelled back to the security chief Seth. “Get over to the lobby and make sure those guys check out. Then do a sweep of the computer mainframe again to make sure everything is secure.”

  Perry swept back to the console, staring squarely at the firemen, trying to enhance the resolution of their faces. One of them had his back to the camera and hadn’t moved since their arrival. “Dammit, that has to be Mitch.” He slammed his fist against the desk, his eyes scouring every nuance of the man’s features as Seth entered the frame. A minute later, Perry received confirmation in his earpiece that the men checked out and he saw that the fireman was not whom he suspected. He blinked his eyes hard, trying to relax, then saw Seth escort the men towards the circuit breaker room at the back of the lobby. Perry took several deep breaths, trying to calm his mind, knowing his imagination was starting to erode his normally calm mindset.

  Perry had to fight back his acid reflux, which was getting out of control. His mind was racing over the variables that seemed to be unspooling around him. This was supposed to be a quick operation to nab the woman. Then he could melt back into his role at the FBI so he wouldn’t be missed in Phoenix. Ritter had layers of deniability to cover his ass but Perry was starting to feel a chill coming over his own. Something needed to happen fast. All he felt like doing was putting his fist through someone’s face but instead he ground his teeth and seethed, resuming his search for intruders on the monitors ahead.

  Lawry, the systems engineer sitting to Perry’s right, began tapping on a blinking red light on the console.

  “What—what’s wrong? What the hell is that?” said Perry.

  “Not sure, but someone is trying to gain access to our systems.” The bald man began typing on his keyboard, pulling up different screens that showed the internal schematics of the facility. He checked the mainframe on the fifth floor which indicated the vault door was still secure. Then he wheeled his chair over to another monitor to search the security system on Jessica Carter’s old office. “I don’t get it, the main terminal is secure but it appears that there is an attempted breach through the portals in Carter’s office.”

  Perry grabbed the man’s shirt collar, scrunching the fabric enough to put a choke on his throat. “This is the part where you get a chiropractic adjustment if I don’t get fucking results in the next minute.”

  Lawry began frantically typing, reducing the signal down to the source until the schematic of the facility pulled up again. This time a red line emanating from Aeneid began etching itself along the screen, leading across the city.

  “What is that? Some remote terminal?” yelled Perry. “Do they have access?”

  “I’ll know in just a moment.”

  Perry raced to the back of the room beside the other office and yanked open the door where Ritter was located. “I’m pretty sure we’re fucked—they may have found a way in.”

  The two men rushed back to the console where Lawry had just finished his last keyboard stroke. The red line simulating the source ended in a residential area where it kept pulsing. “They must have a mobile site outside the city,” said Perry.

  Ritter’s mouth hung open and the color had drained out of his normally tan face. “No…no, that’s my estate.”

  Perry grabbed Nelson’s arm. “Is your terminal there secure or are they waltzing through your fucking firewall upstairs right now?”

  Ritter paused, his lips trembling and his fists balling up. “They shouldn’t be able to breach our system.”

  “Shouldn’t be able to—Christ. We need to get the shipment moved and in the hands of Fareed and his guys so we’re clear of this.” Perry unhanded the older man and staggered to the door. “Don’t tell me about going out in public now. You’ve given me little choice.”

  Ritter followed behind him. “I’m coming as well. Besides, you don’t even know the location and will need reinforcements if this thing goes to hell.”

  Chapter 34

  Within minutes of receiving the alert at Aeneid, Ritter and Perry sped out of the facility, racing towards the warehouse where the weapons shipment was about to be delivered. Ritter alerted his team of henchmen that were already on site to be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary and to hasten the arms exchange with Fareed.

  ***

  Dev was watching the satellite feed on her computer from the comfort of their stolen van when the visual she’d hoped for emerged. “Looks like the fox has fled the henhouse. I’ve got ’em.” Mitch was in the driver’s seat peeling along the interstate. Nearing the warehouse location, Mitch grabbed the cellphone out of Dev’s shoulder bag and called Ryker.

  “I have the proof. Perry is moving a shipment of assault weapons and IED materials through Aeneid to a group of Iranian terrorists. Thomas Monroe is in on it too.”

  “Assistant Secretary of Defense Monroe?”

  “Exactly. Perry is the liaison between the two. He’s been using bureau resources to cover their tracks. It all unfolds tonight at the warehouse on Lamson and Brookhurst in Anaheim.”

  “It should interest you to know that I’ve just uncovered some disturbing details about Perry’s involvement in this whole thing. Ballistics also confirmed that you weren’t the shooter, as I suspected all along.”

  Mitch took a deep breath and relaxed his clenched fist.

  “Listen, Mitch, whatever this is about, this lady Mira Sanchez is knee-deep in it. She came up on an Interpol search and has a pretty shocking rap sheet and numerous aliases. In fact, I’m not even sure which one, if any, is her real name. If she’s with you then you may have more than Perry and Aeneid to worry about.”

  He looked over at Dev, who was giving him a quizzical look. “Yeah, I can only imagine. Good thing we parted ways a while back. She seemed like too much of a loose cannon anyway.”

  Chapter 35

  Fareed and his eight fellow jihadists were wait
ing in the rear of the warehouse, fanned out around their two cars when two black Ford F-150s rolled into the parking lot outside. He motioned for the other men to stay put while he ran to the dusty bay windows, withdrawing his pistol from the Kydex holster on his belt. Fareed saw two men with beards and long jackets emerge, one of them being Gamal, the contact that he’d set up the weapons exchange with. Despite his attempt to steady his breathing, his limbs still pulsed with adrenaline, causing his entire body to feel like he had harnessed the power of the sun. His head filled with images of tomorrow’s news when his face would be heralded across the world for his exploits.

  “It’s OK, my brothers,” he said to the others at his rear. “Open the garage and let them in.”

  A stout man walked to the side of the building near the truck and hoisted up the large folding door. Fareed came up alongside him and waved the driver in.

  As the truck started to move, Fareed caught sight of headlights in the distance, the intensity increasing with each second. “What is this—a trick, you bastard?” he yelled at Gamal through his open window.

  “Relax, my man. That’s just my boss wanting to make sure everything goes off according to the plan.”

  When the gray SUV pulled up, a man stepped briskly out of the passenger’s side. He was dressed in a suit and resembled what Fareed imagined an undercover cop would look like. There was an older man sitting in the back seat, staring intently through the tinted window, his gaunt face barely visible in the dim lighting. Three other rough-looking fellows also moved around to the front, their hands resting in front of the openings in their jackets.

  “Let’s get this shipment unloaded now,” snapped the well-dressed man at Gamal, then gave a fierce look to Fareed. “Have your men pull their vehicles up so we can get these items dispersed and you can be on your way.”

  Ten minutes later, with their vehicles nearly full of the payload, Fareed cracked open one of the crates to inspect the treasure trove of weapons. His eyes danced along the contours of the dozen AK-47s. They were identical to the type he had trained with in Yemen months ago, only these had receivers that had been stamped with the Iranian flag. He slid a rifle out and was about to ask the man in the suit about this when he saw another set of headlights racing towards them. This vehicle was not slowing down.

  “Get the hell out of here,” yelled the man in the suit as he sprinted for the SUV but then veered off behind some crates as the approaching Subaru slammed into the rear of the gray vehicle, sending it towards Fareed.

  He tossed the empty AK on the ground and leapt onto the pavement, coming up in an awkward somersault. The lead vehicle was sending rivulets of gasoline along the ground and the air filled with vapors. Fareed saw two people emerge from the van. One was a scruffy man who ran in the direction of the crates while the other was a lean woman who moved like a jaguar and was heading straight for him.

  Chapter 36

  Dev had the young would-be terrorist in her sights as she sprinted from the vehicle and charged him. Gamal darted out in a linebacker’s tackle to intercept her, only to have her sidestep at the last second and clothesline him under the chin with her forearm. The big Egyptian’s feet went skyward and he landed on his back. She lunged at him, driving her heel into his groin then kicking forward into his chin. With the burly thug out of the way, she continued running past the damaged SUV where she caught sight of Ritter inside, his head leaking blood while the driver appeared to have a contorted neck. A half-dozen middle-eastern men were spreading out like oil droplets on a hot skillet as they began wildly shooting at Ritter’s henchmen in the parking lot.

  Dev swung around the back of a car whose trunk was loaded with weapons crates and came at Fareed with a running jump kick to his chest. He toppled backwards into a pile of pallets, springing back up on his feet, his pistol lying on the ground after becoming dislodged from its cheap holster. Fareed reached behind his back, pulling out his nine-inch bronze dagger. He brandished the blade in a reverse-grip fashion, keeping it close to his side.

  Dev removed her own blade, a six-inch folder, and whipped it open. If possible, she wanted the man alive so she could get information regarding the attack. Fareed lunged forward, his blade hand delivering a short slash at her forearm. She deftly sidestepped, slicing at his triceps, cutting deep into the muscle. The man winced and yelled at her in Persian, switching the knife to his other hand.

  “You can surrender now or I will shred you one limb at a time until you’ve stopped, but I need one of you alive,” she said, holding her dripping weapon at waist height in a move that intentionally invited him to attack. She had used the technique many times before to disarm an attacker she needed alive.

  Fareed’s breathing was furious, his facial muscles spasming from the pain in his arm. He glanced around at the mayhem unfolding around him and at the open trunk where the dormant weapons lay. Then he clutched his blade and focused his gaze upon Dev. “No fucking woman talks to me like that, you American whore.”

  “Wrong on both accounts,” she said, arcing away from his incoming thrust and gashing him across the rear deltoid. His blade dropped and he fell on one knee. Dev saw that Petra had already subdued one of Fareed’s men near the entrance door. She had diverted her attention for a micro-second too long, which allowed Fareed to drive his shin across the back of her calf, sweeping her foot out from under her. She fell hard on her back as the adrenaline-crazed man sprung on top of her. She blocked his volley of punches then drove the pommel of her blade into his floating ribs until they snapped. As Fareed recoiled, she reversed the grip and drove the knife into his heart, hearing the blade break on a section of sternum, then shoved him back onto the pavement. Quickly bolting to her feet, she went over to the writhing figure whose lips flowed with arterial blood.

  “I should’ve done this to begin with,” she said.

  Dev felt the back of her right arm sear with pain as a pistol round grazed her skin. Instinctively she pivoted and ran for cover towards Fareed’s car as more rounds zinged past her head from Ritter’s gun. The old man had turned his weapon towards one of Fareed’s men, shooting the heavily bearded figure in the head beside the garage door.

  Dev removed her Glock and returned fire, sending Ritter for cover towards the corner of the building. A second later, there was automatic weapons fire emanating from outside—Anatoly had arrived with his men, all of them doing bounding moves along the parking lot while engaging the rest of Fareed’s guys and Ritter’s henchmen, who were fanned out around the vehicles. She saw Ritter fire at Anatoly, who staggered slightly and then returned the favor, driving the silver-haired man back into the alley.

  Dev focused her vision and her fury on Ritter. He couldn’t snake his way out of here and disappear. He had to be made accountable for this atrocious plot and have his involvement publicly exposed to bring down Aeneid. Seeing his shadow creep across the windows outside the rear entrance, she bolted across the warehouse to intercept him. Above the cacophony of gunfire, she heard the wail of sirens in the distance and knew the FBI would soon change the scope of what she could do, not to mention preventing her and her father’s team from getting away undetected.

  Dev ran for the exit door, scooping up Fareed’s bronze dagger and tucking it inside her leather belt. Leaving the building, she saw Ritter sprinting past a gauntlet of empty wood crates as he sped along the alley. She did a fifty-yard dash and then came to an abrupt halt, focusing her sights on his right calf. The round she fired tore through enough of his flesh to cause him to careen to the side into a cluster of metal drums. When she arrived at his side, Ritter was trying to slither towards his fallen pistol while shrieking. She kicked it away and grabbed his silver hair, yanking his head up. How she wanted to keep pulling until the vertebrae separated and his life slipped away. She flipped him over instead, looking into his tan face. “It’s over. You, Monroe, Aeneid, it’s all over.”

  She thought she heard him mutter something but it was drowned out by the sound of Petra’s voice coming
from her rear. She moved up beyond Ritter so she could keep him in sight and turned towards her colleague. Petra was heading her way with Anatoly clinging to his shoulders, a blood stain covering the center of her father’s chest underneath his leather jacket. She felt her insides coil up and her breathing constrict. His face was pale and he was wheezing as the two men staggered up to her.

  She glanced down at Ritter, whose grimace had turned to a grin. Then she knelt down and viciously smacked her pistol barrel against his forehead, knocking him out.

  Dev turned back to embrace Anatoly. “Poppa,” she whispered, using a name she hadn’t uttered since she was a little girl. He fell into her arms and she lowered him to the ground, Petra moving off a few feet to stand guard with his MP-5. Dev looked at the gaping wound and into her father’s diminishing eyes, feeling her own heart fibers shredding.

  “No, Poppa—you mustn’t leave now. Not now. We’ve made it so far together. You can’t leave me now.”

  Anatoly reached his hand up, brushing a lock of brunette hair off her cheek as tears began streaming down his own. “You are what is best in my life—always remember that. I only wish I could have been there for you more, my beautiful daughter.”

  She clutched his sagging body to her chest, her arms trembling. “You’re here now. You’re here with me, right now—we have so much to do in this life. So much time to be together.”

  He forced out a bronchial cough, his breathing growing shallow. “The people of the Sangar Valley will need your help. Promise me you’ll look after them, for I could not, not like I should have.”

  Dev gave him a reassuring nod, her tears streaming uncontrollably and her chest heaving as Anatoly slumped into her side, his eyes closing with his last exhale.

  Their white van pulled up at the rear of the alley and one of Anatoly’s men hopped out, looking at the fallen warrior with great sorrow etched on his face. “We have to go, the feds are almost here.”