Counter-Strike (A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Novel Book 2) (10 page)

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. “Protecting
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 looked 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.

“Doesn’t he look like a fucking Israeli Leonardo
DiCaprio?” said Marco as he glanced over at Mitch then back at Petra. “Shit,
son, if I had your looks I wouldn’t be hoofing it through this green hell
lookin’ for bad guys. I’d be swinging in a hammock in Maui, knee-deep in beach
bunnies.”

Petra let out a sigh and then smirked.
“I’ll be sure to get with a Hollywood agent when I get back from this mission.
And maybe I’ll see if they’re in need of an annoying sidekick with a forty-six-inch
waistline while I’m at it.”

Marco’s face grew solemn like a bull
before a Matador. The large man swiftly removed his parang from the tree and
moved forward a foot. “How ’bout I pound you into the ground like a bamboo stake.”

Mitch moved between the two men, palming
Petra’s hand which was over his sheathed blade. “Easy, fellas, the jungle heat
is a little intense right now. Let’s cool off some.” He moved towards Marco and
yanked him away by the arm. The two men walked off twenty feet towards the
river.

“Look, my old friend, these folks—they’re
new to the jungle and not as hardened as you are. This is probably a little out
of their element so go easy on ’em, alright.”

Marco let out a deep breath and threw his
massive shoulders back. “Yeah, sure.”

“You’ve gotten us this far. I’m not
worried about you and me, frankly.” He paused, pulling Marco closer and
whispering, “But these Israelis are used to running ops in the fucking desert,
know what I mean.”

“Right, right.”

Marco looked at Mitch, his narrow eyes
relaxing from their former fury. “Anything for you, Mitch, you know that.”

“OK, now, how much further do we have on
this trail?”

“Mmm…a few more miles and then we follow
the river’s edge to a small log bridge as I recall from the directions my
contact gave me. Assuming it’s still there after the last floods. If we can get
across on that, then it should only be another half mile or so to the old encampment.”

Mitch unfurled the laminated topographic
section from his cargo pocket and pointed to a narrow section of the river. “Is
this the region you’re talking about?”

Marco slid his grubby finger along the
contour lines and nodded then he abruptly pulled it back, his eyes shooting
upward at the canopy. “The monkeys—their chatter has changed.”

Mitch looked around but didn’t share
Marco’s intimate understanding of the sounds.

“It’s gonna downpour very soon,” Marco
said. “We’ll be able to refill our canteens which is good but it’s going to
turn the trail to snot. We should push on and find a place to sack out for the
night.”