Dead in Their Tracks (A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Story Book 1) (13 page)

Chapter 27

Fareed Mahmoud drove his black Honda
Accord behind the rear of the shuttered two-story car stereo warehouse on
Lampson Avenue, pausing long enough to see the moon flickering off the chipped
cement walls. He had only been this far south in Anaheim a few times but he’d
always carried a pistol which boosted his feeling of confidence in handling
himself. He’d trained overseas in the foothills in Yemen with a variety of
weapons at an Al Qaeda affiliated camp but he’d never actually shot anyone and
he longed for the coming attack when he could prove himself to Allah and his
brethren. He watched any film that involved gun battles or warfare, studying
the demeanor of the protagonist while mimicking the drawing and reholstering in
front of the mirror in his shabby studio apartment adjacent to the university.

At last, the training, the prayers, the
planning would all come to fruition in the next few days. His contact, Gamal,
had proven trustworthy even for an Egyptian—Fareed had tailed him one night to
confirm he was who he claimed. The other eight men in Fareed’s inner circle
were true believers like himself and would do what he commanded. They were
younger but even more jaded than him. They had grown fond of hearing him
recount his training days in Yemen, and their intensified drills in small-unit
tactics during the past week had only strengthened their bonds.

He got out of the car, looking both ways,
and then skulked up to the door, inserting the key to his uncle’s old warehouse.
Once inside, he walked around to the other exit doors and checked the egress
routes outside to make sure they were clear just in case something went wrong
during the upcoming exchange. Fareed then walked around the warehouse, picking
up any debris left behind from their training activities and sweeping the
assemblage of old boot prints dotting the dusty floor. He didn’t want anything being
connected to his uncle, who was a hard-working businessman, though he had been
softened too much by his Western lifestyle.

When he was done grooming the place, he
walked over to the windows by the large rolling garage door. He peered out
beyond several rows of storage containers to an immense field that looked like
a thatched blanket with its stalks of parched grass. Fareed looked up at the
moon while extracting a bronze dagger from its leather sheath in his beltline.
The blade had his family’s crest stamped into the handle and it was one of his
most treasured items, one that he felt spiritually connected him to his
homeland. He rolled up his left sleeve and looked at the seven parallel scars
on his outer forearm. Each one a symbol of faith, to mark the months since he
began this sacred undertaking. He slid the tip of the curved blade across his
skin, making another two-inch-long incision, just deep enough to leave a future
scar but not deep enough, like the first one, to require stitches. As the knife
revealed its passage, he whispered up to the moon while clenching his teeth.
“Without pain there is no reward in heaven.” He repeated the words over and
over and over as his blade hand shook and a rivulet of sweat rolled off his
forehead. When the incision was complete, his frantic mantra stopped and his
lips revealed a tremulous smile. He gasped from the exquisite pain which seemed
almost euphoric in between the burning flares fired by his nerve endings.

He wrapped the wound with a roll of gauze
from his jacket, making sure no blood droplets made it to the floor. He sucked
down another deep breath and faced the moon, partly glancing at his own faint
reflection in the window. Fareed put away his blade and then rested his palm on
the pistol concealed in his waistline. He wished his will could move the earth
to increase its revolutions so the next day would come sooner.

Chapter 28

After leaving the cabin near Flagstaff, Anatoly
discussed their plans for breaching Aeneid’s security and gaining access to
their computer network. His men had a duffle bag of weapons that Mitch and Dev resupplied
from while hearing about Anatoly’s scheme. Arriving at Barstow, California
around three AM, Dev and Mitch were dropped off in a Motel Six parking lot. Dev
had identified an older Subaru Forester parked under a burnt-out light that was
worthy of procuring, much to Mitch’s disapproving looks.

She stood beside the driver’s door,
working the entry with her small lockpicking set while Mitch scanned their
surroundings for anyone up late enough to notice them.

“So I’m sure you thought about the family
you’re gonna leave stranded here when they get up in the morning,” said Mitch.
“You couldn’t have chosen a more beat-up rig that maybe belonged to some dude
passing through?”

“What’s it matter? This vehicle is just
another tool for getting the job done. They’re insured and will have a new car
by next week. Besides, I’m doing them a favor—did you see all the disgusting
juice stains on the back seat?” She nodded to the rear while jimmying the door
open.

“I just pity the poor bunch of folks that
have to be stranded in Barstow.”

She scrunched her nose at him and emitted
a short grunt. “How you even have the time or mental energy to worry about such
BS is beyond me. Tools are tools—weapons, vehicles, electronics, even people if
necessary.” She paused, looking at him for a second while contemplating the
last word. “I didn’t mean you, per se.”

“Uh-huh. You owe my friend a new bunkhouse
at his ranch, by the way.” He exhaled, studying the parking lot near the rear
of the hotel. “As for me, I haven’t decided if I should thank you for yanking
me out of a job I didn’t really enjoy or if I should call my bureau chief
again.”

“Look, I’m sorry for the mess I brought
upon you. It wasn’t my intention. Life rarely goes according to one’s wishes
even when you have a well-though-out plan, don’t you agree?”

“I would agree that you operate in a world
that is much grayer than mine. You seem bent on getting the job done regardless
of how much mayhem it costs others around you.”

She ignored his comment and started the
vehicle, then hopped inside. “I’ll drive first. You can entertain me with more of
your tales of morality as we head west.”

Mitch walked around and got in, stuffing
the duffle bag with their rifles in the rear seat over the spilled Cheerios and
empty Kool-Aid packets. Anatoly had provided them with additional ammunition,
radios, flash-bang grenades, and suppressors for their pistols along with
encrypted radios.

He admired Dev’s spirit of pushing ahead
regardless of how arduous the task but wondered if she really cared about
anything other than reaching her end goal. He was already sucked in too deep to
this plot to turn back and his innocence was riding on the completion of what
lay ahead. Would she and Anatoly simply disappear afterwards, leaving him in
their wake to put his career back together and face months of investigations from
the Department of Justice? Or would he be stripped of his status as an agent,
publicly disgraced, and then slapped with criminal fines? He didn’t know but as
he looked over at her while they zipped onto the entrance ramp, he was certain
the coming day would be enlightening on many accounts and would be a far cry
from the doldrums of his usual work.

For the next few hours while heading towards
Anaheim, they discussed their upcoming roles, contingency plans, and fighting
tactics if they came under fire. Mitch climbed into the back seat and did an
inventory of the weapons along with tearing through a beef stroganoff MRE
packet that Anatoly had provided.

“I feel sorry for you soldiers in the
American military who have to live on that kind of
food
when you’re
deployed.”

“Yeah, Meals-Refused-by-Ethiopians is what
we call it. Hell, I once had to do sixty-seven days on this shit during a long
mission. They’d do helo resupply drops once a week. You know things are bad
when you start having dreams about a juicy steak that knows your name.”

“That’s another difference between our two
countries’ militaries—we believe long-term care of the body is as essential as
the mind, given how many decades we have been in continuous conflict. We openly
acknowledge the reality of PTSD and don’t consider it a stigma on our record if
we seek treatment.” She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “America has
long been our ally but your country is used to coming and going from different
theaters of operation depending on the administration at the time. My people
have had a war on their doorstep since my grandmother’s childhood. When you go
to sleep at night in your bedroom to the thunder of distant mortar fire, you
grow up knowing that the world is a fractured place.”

Mitch thought of his own youth on his
uncle’s ranch, which had become a sanctuary for him after his parents’ untimely
deaths. The honest work with his hands out on the land gave him a sense of
purpose and helped to heal his spirit. Having known firsthand the effects that
constant combat in war-torn regions has upon the psyche, he couldn’t imagine
what Dev’s childhood was like growing up amidst the daily threat of terrorism. It
explained the raw edge she had at times and Mitch wondered if her mother was
the sole reason the woman still had a glimmer of trust in her eyes. Surely
Anatoly would have, consciously or otherwise, imparted another set of traits
altogether.

Mitch saw the green sign for downtown
Anaheim emerge on the interstate overpass. The sooner they got this done the
better. Not only did he desperately need to find out what was on that file but
he despised being in large cities. Even Phoenix made him claustrophobic and
edgy.

They did a verbal rundown of their roles
one more time as Dev drove past the freeway exit that led to Aeneid, continuing
west.

“How did you get hired on and insert
yourself there?”

“Once Aeneid’s involvement in the Caspian
Sea region was identified through the hostage we rescued, I spent the next
seven months slowly building a relationship with their cyber security director,
Jessica Carter.” She could see Mitch’s eyes widen in the mirror. “No, not that
kind of relationship.” She changed lanes and continued the story. “I
established rapport with her at several insider trade conventions open to DOD
contractors, eventually gaining her trust and convincing her that I knew the
field. This was not hard to do given my background in cyber security but my
father’s organization also played a role in forging the false identity of Mira
Sanchez.”

“Is that how you’ve managed to stay out of
the databases for so long? You never showed up when I was searching for Anatoly.”

“Precisely, although he started with me at
an early age, making sure I had no digital presence online or later on social
media sites. He knew back in the ’90s what was coming with the cyber world and
our personal security. You won’t find anything on me except a few photos he’s
planted and even those have cosmetic changes from the real me.”

“‘The real you’—when do I get to see that
person or is this her?”

“She’s crept out a few times. Maybe you
should pay more attention.” She gave him a coy smile in the mirror and then
pointed to their exit. “Twenty minutes and we’ll be at our destination.”

Chapter 29

Perry was standing amidst numerous
security monitors in the control room on the ground floor of the Aeneid
Corporation. On the brief flight from Phoenix to Anaheim on Ritter’s company
jet, Perry had changed into his usual suit and dress slacks, his two Sig P229
pistols riding on shoulder holsters.

The double doors swung over and Aeneid’s
new security chief walked in, having recently received his promotion after
Drake’s demise. He moved alongside Perry, who was still busy staring at the
monitors.

“My name’s Seth Garretson, head of
security. Mr. Ritter informed me of your arrival.”

Perry gave him a sideways glance, his
forehead creasing. “Seth—that sounds like the name of a fucking banker. You
ever done mop-up operations like this before?”

Seth rolled his shoulders back, a smug
grin issuing forth from his lips. “More than a few times in several countries.”

“Good, ’cause I want you to impress the
shit out of me by doing exactly what I tell you to—got it?” he said, inching
closer to Seth, who took a slight step back.

Seth looked over his shoulder, pointing to
the monitors. “We’ve got cameras on every entrance in the lobby, sub-basement,
and exit doors of the entire building as well as in each elevator. If someone
tries to breach the place, we’ll see it.”

“What about the terminals where files can
be opened?”

Seth tapped his finger on a gray monitor
to the far left. “Only one place in the entire facility—the mainframe on the
fifth floor. It has three levels of security doors and the guards have been
doubled. All of the entrances have been sealed except in the front lobby. The
stairwells, rooftop, and fire escapes are all locked up tighter than a camel’s
ass in a sandstorm.”

Perry placed his hands on his hips. “How
many men do you have at your disposal?”

“Eighteen ex-military with extensive
experience and then a dozen more of our regular security guards who will go
where they’re needed.”

Perry ran through all the figures in his
head and then studied the black-and-white images on the screens before him.
Good
thing Mitch is a fucking redneck. He’ll be out of his element in the city. That
woman is the wild card though. She’s probably tugging him along for the ride,
giving his pathetic life some sense of purpose. She’s the one who could slip by
if we missed something.

Ritter walked in and moved between the two
men, causing Seth’s facial muscles to quiver as he stepped aside.

“Has my man provided everything you need?”
said Ritter, running his tongue over his capped teeth.

“He did and he’s not half the Neanderthal
that Drake was so we should be good. Now we just have to sit tight and wait,
assuming they come.”

Ritter folded his arms and glanced at
Perry. “Trust me, they’ll be here. It’s the only way for them to read what’s on
that file and to clear their names. Without that, they know they’ll be on the
run for good.”

Ritter moved away and stepped into a side room
to call Monroe on his cellphone. “My good man, in another two hours you will be
richer than God.”

“So, it’s underway,” the assistant sec-def
replied while making a chewing sound.

“Soon; the shipment has arrived and will
be dispersed to the main players. Tomorrow at this time all eyes will be upon
Iran and they will be forced to pull out of the disputed pipeline boundaries.”

“And here I thought I was having a good
day with this Argentinian filet mignon on my plate. What about making sure
there’s no trace back to you, my friend?”

“Aeneid will soon be clear of any
worries,” he said, looking through the door window at the security monitors.
“Plus, the target is a college campus that my daughter from my third marriage
attends, which will further place me out of the spotlight. Not to worry,
though, she’s supposed to be away in Spain this week.”

“After all of this is over, we must get
together again in Tahoe and hash out the details of the mergers for the pipeline
and accompanying villages that will need to be removed.”

“I’ll be in touch shortly.”

Ritter put his phone away and looked out
the window again, this time studying Perry.
What to do with him after this
is over? Maybe I should hire him on directly for overseeing the project abroad.
He could be a further asset and obtaining another fed that’s even slightly
competent is such a headache.

Perry resembled so many other ladder-climbing
miscreants who could be wound up for hire with the proper six-figure inducement.
That’s why Ritter lamented Drake’s demise. He was a simple brute who was good
at squashing problems and had few aspirations in life other than serving at the
feet of a good master who patted him on the head every few months.
Still,
Perry could work given the proper incentives.
Ritter emitted a bleak smile,
his face looking like old parchment in the fluorescent lighting while he mulled
over the power he was about to hold in his palm and what he would do with the
life of the man in the next room.