Counter-Strike (A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Novel Book 2) (9 page)

Chapter 18

After checking into their hotel near
Merdeka Square, Mitch strode down to a streetside clothing vendor and purchased
some t-shirts and garments for the group. Urban camouflage meant fitting in
with the locals and it was the first thing he did when arriving in a new
country. The second-hand stores were the best places to obtain clothing with a
more weathered appearance but since Kuala Lumpur was such a tourist haven it
wasn’t hard to find suitable attire.  

Two hours later, the taxi dropped them off
at the Golden Macau Bar four blocks from downtown Kuala Lumpur. The outer
façade of the three-story building held a hint of British colonialist
architecture amidst the gaudy red-and-green paint adorning the exterior walls. Across
the street was an abandoned mosque with graffiti covering the flaking stucco
walls. The Petronas Twin Towers and other skyscrapers were visible in the
distance in the more affluent section of the city. Their present location could
best be described as the budget side of town with its greasy boardwalk lined
with pubs, cocktail lounges, and other alcohol-fueled entertainment venues.
Filling the sidewalks were numerous hawker stalls peddling knock-off watches
and shoes while a carnival of prostitutes mingled with the human river that
spilled onto the street. The humid air was an amalgam of sweat and musty trash combined
with charcoal smoke from the curbside food vendors.

Petra paid the driver while everyone
removed their backpacks, clutching them closely as they headed inside. Pushing
past the haze of smoke, Mitch led them upstairs to the rooftop bar where his
friend had told him he’d be waiting. His boots crunched over discarded beer
bottle caps and peanut husks as he made his way past the medley of
twenty-something ex-pats swaying to the karaoke music. A young Asian DJ with a
bowl haircut was standing on a wooden crate while a throng of women yelled song
suggestions at him.

Upon emerging on the third floor, it wasn’t
hard to spot Marco Rigby with his refrigerator-wide girth which nearly took up
two seats at the back of the bar. The setting sun reflected off his bulbous
bald head, making it seem like his neck had inflated a balloon. He was wearing
a rayon blue shirt with green palm trees and sat before a sweating glass of
amber ale. The man’s narrow eyes widened at the sight of Mitch and he shot up
from his rattan chair.

“Mitch, Mitch…you old dog,” Marco said,
clutching Mitch in a vice-like bearhug then patting him on the shoulder with
his shovel-like hand, which nearly knocked him into the table. “Shit, it’s been
too long, bro.”

Mitch sucked in a breath of smoky air and
gave the man a handshake. “You’re as fit as when you were in the unit.” Mitch
could see Marco had gained weight but didn’t think flattery would hurt. The hulking
figure could probably still move like a puma and flatten anyone in his way with
just a single punch.

Marco motioned to the diminutive waitress
at the bar to bring a round of beers then his gaze shot over to Dev. “Whoa—you
said you were traveling with a fine lady but you didn’t mention she was a
beauty queen.”

Dev rolled her eyes and smirked. Marco
moved past Mitch and grabbed Dev’s duffel bag, placing it under his chair, and
then slipped his hand out over hers, leading her over to the table. “Please,
come and sit. You’ve all had a long flight and we have much to talk about it
seems.”

After a few minutes of small talk between
Mitch and Marco, the scantily clad waitress arrived with the drinks, her
youthful appearance revealing someone who was probably no more than sixteen.
“Just put in on my tab, darling,” said Marco, who winked at her.

“So, what brings you to my tropical
paradise?”

“More than just sightseeing I’m afraid.” Mitch
leaned forward and spoke in a quiet tone. “What can you tell me about the Suma
Tigers?”

Marco stopped drinking in mid-sip and
slowly lowered his beer. He rested his meaty arms on the table, scooching his
chair forward and whispering, “I take it you don’t mean the big cats on the
endangered species list?”

“We encountered a few of their mercenaries
at a site in Austria,” said Dev.

Mitch gave him a look of urgency. “I know
they hail from these parts but if you could provide a location, that’d be a big
help. I figured Sumatra, of course, but that’s a helluva lot of territory to
cover.”

Marco continued hunching over, speaking in
a low tone. “They are not on the big island here. You are correct that Sumatra,
next door, is the location of that mercenary group though they are rumored to
also be sprinkled along many of the smaller island chains west of Sumatra with
their own little factions.”

Marco rubbed his chin and looked at Petra
and David then back at Mitch. “You lads in need of some work and wanting to
join up with the Sumas or what?”

“Remember Professor Bob Schueller from the
cold-weather testing labs we went to in the army?” said Mitch.

“That old fuck with the bifocals who kept
me in that hypothermia chamber for two hours while he and his pasty-faced
assistants scribbled notes on my body’s response to his punishment?”

Mitch shook his head and smirked. “Yeah,
that guy—that ‘old fuck’ is a good friend of mine. We kept in touch after that
research project. Anyway, he’s gone missing and our trail led us to a safe house
in Austria that had a bunch of dead Suma guys sprinkled around the lawn.”

Mitch paused and looked at Dev, recalling
their harrowing fight with Yin and her bodyguard at the airport. “The trail
went cold in Munich and has led us here.”

“Yeah, I remember you being interested in
the old man’s research stuff and hitting it off with him. Sorry to hear about
his predicament.” Marco drank the last of his beer and licked the white froth
from his lips. “I’ll check with a few of my contacts to see if they’ve heard
anything unusual going on around town here and on Sumatra. I know a few former
Indonesian spec-ops guys here who can be trusted.”

Marco stood up, his hulking frame dwarfing
the table, and threw down some bills. “For now, let me show you my city.”

Mitch finished his drink and got up,
peering out over the roof at the cityscape below. He caught a glimpse of a man
in a green t-shirt sitting on a rooftop bar across the street. He was certain
the guy was looking his way. A second later, he felt Marco’s hand on his
shoulder and turned around. “You gonna gawk at the eye-candy on the street or are
we gonna hit the town?”

Mitch swung his head back to the opposite
roof and noticed that the man was gone, his full beverage still sitting atop
the rickety wooden table. “Yeah, sure, let’s go. Let’s go.”

***

Von hastily made his way down the steps of
the restaurant across from Mitch and the others. The photo that he had sent to
Crenna had pulled up Mitch Kearns’ files, a man who seemed like a worthy
adversary. It also indicated that he had a previous connection with Schueller,
which was probably why he had been pursuing Yin. He wondered if Yin had
revealed anything before her death that could fill in the blanks about this
globe-trotting search that Crenna had sent him on.

He sent a text message to Crenna on his
location and then shoved it back in his pocket before heading out the rear
exit. He scanned the alley in either direction, making his way towards his moped.
Hopping on, he felt a sharp prick in his neck and quickly turned around, his
pistol in hand. There was no one in sight, only the loud music from the nearby
street corner resounding off the walls of the buildings. He slid his fingers up
to a burning patch of skin below his ear. He removed a one-inch needle just as
his vision began blurring. He crawled off the moped, clutching his weapon. It
felt like his brain was draining out from his ears and the music was growing
muffled. He tried raising his pistol at the two men approaching but his limb
was unresponsive, like it had turned into a chunk of waterlogged driftwood. His
breathing slowed and he spiraled to the ground, his head smacking a trash can
before resting on the silty pavement.

Chapter 19

Natalie Quint was standing with her arms
folded, scanning the sidewalk below her office in Langley, Virginia. She wasn’t
looking for anything in particular, just letting her mind float over the river
of pedestrian traffic as she contemplated the events of the past twenty-four
hours. The emergence of former operative Kyle Redstrom coupled with the sudden disappearance
of two of Crenna’s field agents gave her cause for concern.

Quint had been deputy director for four
years and had worked both field operations and intelligence gathering over her
twenty-six-year career. She’d dealt with her fair share of bullshit both in the
field and in-house at Langley. Her instincts and gut feelings had served her
well in keeping her alive and in climbing up the largely male-dominated ladder
at the world’s largest covert agency. Those same instincts were causing her
stomach to churn like a blender as she mulled over the connections and odd
circumstances surrounding Crenna. She knew of his reputation within the agency
for being old-school and had heard rumors about his off-the-books operations
back in the early 90s. It was the stuff of legend, things that most operatives
dreamed of doing before there was so much senate oversight. The thrill of the
chase and working undercover is what had first led Quint into working for the
agency. But she had learned over the years that even the most meticulous
operator can’t cover their own tracks forever. Accountability to something
other than your own rule book was essential. There was a chaotic hurricane
brewing and she suspected Crenna was at the eye of the storm. Hopefully it
could be rectified before it tarnished the image of the agency that Quint had
fought so hard to uphold under her watch.

Her secretary knocked and then entered,
walking to Quint’s oval desk. The slender redhead handed her a tablet which
contained the image of a dark-skinned man in his late twenties. “Everyone else
at Crenna’s office is accounted for except this man, Von Harut. He was last
traced to Munich.”

Quint gave the woman a concerned look as
she was handed the tablet and began scanning the man’s files. “Munich—there was
just a notice that came out of our substation in Germany about a woman at the
Munich Airport who was shot. She was apparently involved in dozens of espionage
incidents over the past ten years—an Asian woman.”

Quint thrust the tablet back to her
secretary and sat down at her desk, frantically typing on her laptop. “Gather
everything you can on Harut, Crenna, Redstrom, and the woman who died in Munich.
Cross-reference their case histories and field assignments and see if there’s
any overlap then have a team meet me in the situation room in fifteen minutes.”

The assistant left as Quint pored over an
old internal document about Redstrom’s disappearance in Beijing three years
earlier. She accessed the agency’s employee database, looking up past members
assigned to Crenna’s outfit who were involved in the search for Redstrom.

As the files pulled up, she leaned back in
her chair, her neck tensing while reading each line on the list. Two of the
field operatives associated with the case were marked as deceased: one was
killed in action, another died in a car accident, and the other, an Asian woman
named Jessica Yin, was MIA. Each within six months of the disappearance of
Redstrom. Shortly afterwards, Crenna was reassigned to Malaysia as a station
chief. Quint studied the files and the facial images.
What is the connection
here? Are Crenna and Redstrom working together, and if so, where is the money
coming from? Was Redstrom’s death fabricated and he’s been working
off-the-books for Crenna all this time along with Yin? And now it looks like Crenna
is eliminating any potential ties back to him, especially since two of his own
people have gone missing.

She scanned the files again, reading and
re-reading the pertinent details. “This is looking like the mother of all
shit-storms that could bring a lot of unwanted attention to the U.S.,” she
whispered. She arched her shoulders back, narrowing her eyes into cat-like
slits and focusing her gaze on Crenna’s image.

Chapter 20

The next morning as the sun shone over the
bustling city, Mitch pried his eyes open and sat up on one elbow on the cheap
couch in their shared hotel room. Dev had stayed in the small bed in the corner
near the porch while the three men sacked out around the main room. David was
already awake, the ever-vigilant warrior standing like a Greek statue near the
patio door. Petra was still asleep, lying on his back on the couch across from
Mitch. The young man’s fingers were interlaced on his chest like he was
meditating.

Mitch looked over at the bed but saw that
Dev was absent and heard her soft footfalls as she emerged from the bathroom,
her lush wet hair draped over her shoulders. He sat up, his eyes widening at
her alluring image as he rubbed his temples.

“Too many brews last night?” she said.

“Whew—I haven’t drunk that much in a long
time. I think I’ve lost my acclimation.”

“How late did you guys stay out after we
left?” said Petra, who had suddenly emerged from his slumber.

“We hit three more bars and then I had to
yank Marco away from a brawl that almost broke out when he
accidentally
stepped on a bouncer’s foot.”

“So, you became babysitter for Mr.
Charming,” said Dev, leaning over and shaking her hair before going upright
again.

“Yeah, you may have noticed he has a way
with people,” said Mitch, standing up and pulling on a t-shirt.

There was a knock on the door followed by
Marco’s voice. David strode over and let the man in while peering both ways
down the hall.

Marco’s bloodshot eyes were still glassy
and Mitch wondered if he’d stayed out all night bar-hopping. He dragged a beat-up
suitcase on wheels behind him which he unceremoniously dumped in the center of
the floor before Mitch’s feet.

“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.”