Dead in Their Tracks (A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Story Book 1) (16 page)

Chapter 37

When the fighting broke out at the
warehouse, Mitch saw Perry bolt for cover to the right of the building,
disappearing behind three rows of red shipping containers that stretched for a
half-mile along a grassy field. To the far right was a large cement wall that ran
perpendicular to the highway. Running in a crouched position, Mitch rounded the
corner of the first metal container and scanned the escape routes ahead.

He had noticed earlier that Perry was
dressed in his usual FBI attire, including his black Converse dress shoes.
Though Mitch wouldn’t be able to discern any tread patterns in the gray
pea-gravel between the containers, he saw the faint dishing pattern associated
with someone sprinting, the stride increase and blown-out substrate revealing
itself to his trained eyes. The tables had turned and now Perry was on the run,
only this time there would be no canyons or mesas to disappear into. Mitch had
tracked fugitives through urban areas before and knew it involved as much knowledge
about human psychology as it did about locating visual clues.

With the sound of gunfire behind him, he
slid between the first rows of containers for protection and then scanned the
region ahead. The grassy field would be too exposed for Perry to risk fleeing
in that direction and he wouldn’t want to get pinned inside the abandoned
warehouses lining the street to the left. The route ahead was the best option
for evasion.
If he sprinted in and out of the containers until he reached
the edge of the parking lot a half-mile in the distance, Perry would most
likely use the concrete wall to the right for cover while fleeing east back to
the city.

Mitch kept his Glock at a low-ready as he
maneuvered through the narrow path between shipping containers, following the
displaced gravel impressions to stay on the trail. At each juncture between
rows, he would have to pause and clear the route ahead. This was burning up too
much time and he worried that it would increase Perry’s chance of getting away.
He stopped to take a breath, the rattle of gunfire to his rear growing faint. Mitch
was going to have to risk what Perry would not and make a dash across the open
meadow. It was a gamble he had to take to intersect Perry’s direction of travel
behind the concrete wall. If the timing went smoothly, the wall would block
Perry’s view of the field long enough for Mitch to beat him to the highway.
Mitch craned his head out from between the last row of containers, their red
hue reflecting off the tawny blades of dry grass like the tail feathers of a giant
macaw.

Damn, this is going to be a shooting
gallery without any cover if he sees me.
He took a deep breath, convincing himself
again that this was the best route, then he darted into the meadow. Mitch’s
boots crunched over the dry stalks, his head twisting to the left, looking for any
signs of Perry poking up from the wall to snipe him. His heart raced faster than
usual and he wasn’t sure if it was from the frantic pace or from the fear of
being so exposed. He didn’t bother zig-zagging to make himself a harder target.
He just wanted to cover the distance quickly and get to the edge of the wall.
In the distance, he could hear the faint hum of helicopters circling the
warehouse.

He was nearly at the interface of
civilization and nature, the wall forty feet away…twenty…ten. Mitch came to a
halt at the edge of the coarse barrier which was nearly two feet thick. He tried
to muffle his breath, straining to contain his exhales through his nose, which
made him sound like a muzzled bull just before it’s released into the rodeo
grounds. He scanned the clay soil ahead but didn’t see any tracks. Mitch looked
for any signs of counter-tracking moves but realized Perry wouldn’t have any
time to apply such maneuvers. He knelt down and slowly peered around the corner,
but did not see any signs of the man or his passage except some crushed grass
against the wall, fifty feet away. He crept a few feet along the other side of
the barrier, squinting into the sun to study the disturbance. He noticed that there
was a tiny triangle-shaped fracture in the wall, obscured by the undergrowth, just
large enough to crawl through. Mitch smelled the musky odor of sweat hanging in
the air, confirming Perry was close. He turned to backpedal from his location
and heard the faint sound of crunching grass coming from the other side of the
wall by the meadow. Mitch raised his pistol up with his left hand and grabbed a
flash-bang grenade off his vest.

“So there goes my plan for shooting you in
the back, ole partner,” said Perry from the other side.

“You did that back in Arizona when you
betrayed me—and your own men.”

“Ah, here we go—the dreaded morality tale
from you I was hoping to avoid. The world is a nasty place, Mitch, you know
that. You just wanted to keep believing it can be a nice and tidy place with a righteous
enough cause.”

“Maybe, but at least I have a cause worth
fighting for.” Mitch could hear Perry creeping towards the corner of the wall
while he stood his ground six feet away with his weapon hand extended.

“Give me a break, amigo. You’re a fucking
lost cause if ever I saw one, showing up at work lookin’ like a homeless guy, with
an ex-wife who couldn’t live with your sorry ass anymore—you’ve been a
cheese-dick since the day I met you.” Perry emitted a high-pitched cackle.
“Shit, is that what you think that woman sees you in—someone to redeem from his
pathetic life?”

Perry was at the edge of the wall, the
shadow of his head stretching across the clay soil on Mitch’s side. “What
happens now, pal? You gonna round the corner and start shooting or should I?”
said Perry.

“Why don’t we just go at the same time
like an old-fashioned duel?”

“Not bad, that’s funny. Not a side I saw
of you very much, I have to say.”

“The only side of yours I want to hear
about before I kill you is why—why did you sell out your own country?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You seem satisfied
with a forty-nine-thousand-dollar-a-year salary and enough beans in your
cupboard to get by month-to-month.”

“At least I can look in the mirror every
day and not hang my head in shame.”

Mitch pulled the pin from the flash-bang
and then tossed the grenade. As it went over the top of the wall behind Perry,
Mitch dove to his left.

With the explosion driving Perry forward,
Mitch rolled on his left shoulder, firing four rounds, two penetrating Perry’s
shoulder and the rest shattering his shooting arm. The man staggered back,
dropping his weapon and crumbling to the ground.

Mitch bolted to his feet and ran over to
him, grabbing Perry’s pistol. He moved back a few feet near Perry’s head,
watching as the wounded man’s ribs tried to push out a breath as his wounds
seeped onto the grass.

“I oughta put you down right now. Leave
your body here for the sewer rats.”

“Go ahead. I’d do the same if I were in
your boots.”

 “You can go with Ryker when he arrives
and carts you off where you’ll probably be whacked by one of Ritter’s guys for
what you know about Aeneid or…”

Mitch removed the magazine from Perry’s Sig
pistol, stripping out every bullet but one. He slid it back in and tossed the
weapon on the ground a foot from Perry’s damaged arm.

 “Or I can go out Samurai style, is that
it—with my honor intact.” He slid his hand over the grip of the pistol and
began raising it up.

“Something like that,” Mitch said, keeping
his own pistol aimed at Perry.

Perry slid the weapon up to his temple,
looking back at Mitch and then up at the sky. “Goddammit.” His trembling hand struggled
to steady the barrel as he pulled the trigger, the front of his skull
splintering over the espresso-colored clay.

Mitch turned his back and walked a few
feet away, his mind reeling from the events of the past two days and the
betrayal of someone he had trusted. He heard the footfalls of other men as they
trotted across the meadow towards him. He pivoted and saw Ryker in the lead.
Is
this really over or has it just begun?
He wondered how Dev and Anatoly had
fared in apprehending Ritter and the terrorists. He would know soon enough. He
holstered his Glock and got down on his knees, cupping his hands behind his
head as the FBI agents arrived, never imagining he’d be on the receiving end of
their charge.

Chapter 38

Dev clutched Anatoly’s lifeless body in
her arms in the back seat of the van as they sped along the highway, gaining
distance from the warehouse. She felt like she was dead inside—as though the
fingers of the grim reaper had plunged into her chest, contemplating removing
her heart but then cruelly releasing its grip.

Once they had made it northeast of
Anaheim, Petra motioned to pull off along a forested road adjacent to the Chino
Hills State Park. Heading back into the woods for a mile, the vehicle stopped
beside a small creek. Petra and the other men indicated they would stand watch
nearby, giving her time alone to mourn.

Dev had been keeping her anguish padlocked
inside in front of the other men but now she wept openly, pleading to go with
her father if she couldn’t keep him in this world. With all of the mental and
physical hardship she had endured in preparation for becoming a warrior, she
never knew there would come a day when her being would drown in such sorrow.
After what seemed like an hour, her abs cramped from the strain of crying, the
flames of grief consuming her parched soul until her tears were exhausted.

She brushed her slender fingers over his bear-like
hands, remembering the strength he possessed in the physical realm and his
charismatic nature that commanded respect from everyone around the man. Though
she had lesser field experience than many of the other staff at her father’s
company, the reins of command would fall upon her. She gulped in several deep
breaths, recalling Anatoly’s training, knowing she had to collect herself. She
sat up, resting his head gently on the seat and arranging his arms across his
chest. Then she covered him with several jackets.

Dev leaned over him one more time, her
head lowering, then she felt something deep in her chest begin to burn as the
thought of Ritter escaping entered the periphery of her mind. She balled her
fists and seethed, the feeling of emptiness inside her filling with rage. The
memory of the flash flood she was nearly caught in surfaced and she felt like
tearing through everything in her path.

What would happen to Ritter? Would he
disappear out of the country, whisked away in his private jet to begin a new
life in some foreign land? Would he go into witness protection after snaking
his way out of an indictment? Or would his government connections expunge his
involvement in the whole undertaking, making him out to be an innocent pawn?

She grit her teeth and smashed her fist
against the wall. It wouldn’t matter if Ritter tried to elude justice—regardless
of where he went or what pains he undertook to begin a new life, Dev would hunt
down and destroy the beast. For now, she would have to wait and see what
unfolded once the feds had dissected the entire operation between Fareed and
Aeneid. She looked out the tinted rear window at the silhouette of cedar trees
in the distance, her eyes narrowing. “I will come for you, Nelson Ritter. I
will come for you.”

After she had recited the mantra a dozen
times, she wiped the moist corners of her eyes with her shirt sleeve and then
inhaled deeply again, casting open the side door. Dev strode through the woods
to where Petra stood and called the other men over. She arched her shoulders
back and forced her chin up.

“You all need to disperse and find your way
out of the country tonight.”

“There was a parking lot I saw a mile back
where we can obtain a new vehicle,” said Petra.

“Remember the protocols: different
airports, different airlines, and different departure times. I will contact the
office back home and have them provide cover stories for each of you.”

Petra placed his hand on her shoulder
while glancing back at the van. “What about Anatoly? He deserves a warrior’s
burial.”

She saw behind Petra a grove of cedar
trees beyond the creek. Dev motioned for the men to help her move Anatoly’s
body, the procession transporting him to the sylvan location. They enclosed him
in a crude grave of rocks and each man gave a silent nod to the old warrior.
When they were done, Dev moved to the side of the grave and looked at the
others, who were lined up side by side in formation. “I know he would be
honored by your loyalty but he would want all of you to consider your own
safety first. Go now, my brothers. I will take care of things from here.”

When the men had dispersed, her
disciplined exterior gave way again to the torrent of grief that she’d barely
held at bay. She clutched a branch of the cedar tree and removed a palmful of the
fragrant sprigs, inhaling their essence.

“Please forgive me for leaving you here
away from home. I have little choice, but know that we will see each other
again, Poppa.”

She placed a handful of cedar sprigs on
the rockpile and then gently put the rest in her shirt pocket. Dev pried
herself away from the grave and went back to the van. She drove off silently,
her shoulders hunched over the steering wheel, heading back to the highway with
the image of the creekside resting place in the rearview mirror never seeming
to fade from her vision.