Dead in Their Tracks (A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Story Book 1) (9 page)

Chapter 17

They needed to dispatch both guards just
after the tight bend in the road where the vehicle would be moving the slowest.
This would afford them a better chance of securing it before a crash occurred.

Dev was kneeling on one leg a few feet
from him to the right of the road, her pistol clutched close to her chest. They
were hidden behind a twelve-foot-high boulder with a polished surface, as if a
giant tawny marble had sprung from the ground. The sound of the jeep’s tires
crunched over loose rock and the faint aroma of barrel cactus flowers wafted
along the mesa.

Moving along a snaky section of the road,
fifty yards away from them, the jeep jumbled along the uneven road, both men inside
resembling bobble heads.

“Headshots, if possible. I don’t want the
jeep console damaged,” said Mitch, who cast a questioning glance at her. “You
sure you can do this?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

At the bend in the road twenty yards
distant, as the driver slowed to accommodate the turn and both men noticed the
barbed wire stretched between the trees, Mitch swiftly delivered both headshots,
spraying the remains of the two men over the windshield. The jeep continued its
forward momentum on the road as he ran alongside the open driver’s side and
yanked the dead man out. He hopped in, slamming on the brakes while doing a
hasty check of the slumped figure next to him, whose NVGs were slightly damaged
but still intact.

Dev moved alongside the rig and pulled the
man in the passenger’s seat out by his vest, dropping him onto the sand. “What
the hell is your problem? I told you I could do it.”

“Yeah, well I couldn’t take the chance
that you’d hesitate. You’re the one that told me a while back how you weren’t
cut out for killing somebody in cold blood.”

She just ground her teeth and growled out
a deep breath. “I will do what needs to be done if the situation calls for it.”

“We’ve got the jeep now, which is what
matters, so grab anything of value off that dude and let’s get rolling.”

They quickly removed the body armor,
weapons, ammo, and radios then continued driving over the mesa, skirting around
the barbed wire. As they drove along the rock-strewn road, bobbing along in the
jeep with their knees smacking the bottom of the blood-soaked dashboard, Mitch
kept an eye on the massive storm clouds to the north. The spider web bolts of
lightning illuminated the vapor leviathan. In between blasts of light, he saw
that rain was coming down in sheets a few miles to his right. Even though the
countryside around him was parched, he’d witnessed enough flash floods in the
desert to know that the raging torrent of waters can come from twenty miles up
canyon even if it’s sunny and bone dry where you’re standing.

They sped downhill for a mile past the
first ravine, which had only marginal amounts of fresh water in the puddles
lining its bottom from rainfall the night before. Mitch stopped and quickly
filled up their water bottles with the murky fluid, then continued driving
northwest. Skirting up onto a small mesa, he continued gunning the jeep along a
narrow stretch of the road that hugged the rim until it went down again. They
had already covered six miles since procuring the jeep but as he crested the
bend in the road and descended, he could see the moonlight reflecting off a
current of coffee-colored water raging through the arroyo below. The thick brown
sludge was filled with car-sized boulders and tree branches that churned like a
cement mixer.

Mitch brought the jeep to a screeching
halt twenty yards away from the torrent and put it in park. He climbed out and
scanned the furious waters. Rubbing the back of his neck and exhaling, he
punted a small stone into the current then stepped back towards the door.

“No way we can cross this—probably fifteen
feet deep at least. We either sit it out here, hoping the water level goes down
in the next few hours, or we trek parallel to the canyon until we find a
crossing point. That could be a half-mile from here or ten miles.”

Dev was already craning her head out of
the window, studying the scene, then she reached into the back seat and
withdrew her small pack. “I’m not staying put here. Looks like we’re back to
boot power.”

Mitch nodded in agreement, grabbing the
rest of his gear and his rifle then motioning to her to head up to the canyon
rim forty feet above. “I’ll be right up,” he said, handing his items off to
her. “I hate to foul up the desert like this but it’s better to remove any
evidence we came this way.” Mitch went back to the jeep, removed the emergency
brake and placed the stick in neutral. The vehicle rolled forward into the
tumult, turning sideways upon impact with the current and joining the rest of
the debris washing downstream.

He rejoined Dev, both of them watching in
fascination as their brief reminder of civilization melded into the grip of the
hungry waters. “The coming rains will wash away our tire tracks on the road,”
he said, looking north at the cumulonimbus cloud that hung upon them like a
black veil. “Hopefully we can find a way across the canyon quickly and then
hole up somewhere. This storm is going to be savage.”

Shouldering their gear, they hoofed along
the rim while scanning each small rock or cow pie to make sure it wasn’t a rattler.
The landscape was rife with large juniper trees and clumps of mesquite. Mitch
thought for a second about how this would be good terrain for mule deer hunting
and then realized how the tables were turned and they had become the prey. With
the full moon in the cloudless sky at their backs and the electrical storm
filling the horizon to the front, he caught a glimpse of a primitive
sheepherder’s bridge atop the canyon a mile up.

He tapped Dev on the shoulder and pointed
to it. “Let’s hope those sheepmen have been keeping that crossing point
maintained.”

“Why is that even there when the road
isn’t that far back?”

“A lot of the cattle and sheep bridges out
west were put in fifty years ago or more while some of these roads came into
being in the past coupla years. The ranchers prefer staying off the beaten path
anyway.”

His voice was drowned out as the wind
shifted and began pelting them with rainfall. They picked up their pace, trotting
to reach the bridge as the tempo of the storm increased with each step. Mitch
could hear the current in the canyon below pulsing as if it was a living creature
that would reach an arm up over the edge to claim any terrestrial being that
defied it.

The moonlight was fading as the storm
overtook them, the inky black clouds occasionally belting out another shockwave
of lightning and thunder.
Just where I want to be right now
—
out in
the open, near water, with the sky gods pissed off.
The last volley of lightning
revealed the bridge a hundred yards out. Mitch and Dev began sprinting,
crunching over ankle-high cacti in a frenzied dash to the bridge.

Making it to the edge where metal was
married to rock, Mitch did a hasty inspection of the rickety contraption in
between lightning flashes from above. The canyon below had swollen further and
the water level was coursing four feet away from the cable suspensions that
spanned the short distance between rims.

“You sure this redneck piece of shit is
going to hold us?” yelled Dev.

“If not, I’ll see you in Mexico,” he
shouted back, then grabbed the railings of spun cable on either side and began
moving across. He steadied himself with the waist-high supports while half trotting,
half shuffling across the creaky planks, hoping his trust in cowboy engineering
wouldn’t prove him wrong.

Chapter 18

The raging current of mud and churning
boulders below resembled a brown python undulating through the bedrock,
reshaping the very walls of the canyon with its violent passing. The pounding
rain was slapping against his entire body like it was trying to drive him into
the hungry mouth of the silty beast below. Mitch wanted to look over his
shoulder to check on Dev but needed every ounce of concentration upon his
slippery footing and the faint contours of the approaching rim. The lightning
had temporarily ceased and he had to use his boots as probes to feel for the
end of the bridge. Arriving at the opposite side, he released his comforting
grip on the slick cables and took a shuffle of faith into the darkness, his
soles making contact with the sandstone.

He turned and stared into the inky abyss,
searching for Dev.
She should’ve been right on my tail. Shit!
His heart
rate sped further as his eyes tore through the darkness, searching for her, the
squall of rain allowing only a few feet of visibility when lightning struck. He
barely knew her but felt a twang of camaraderie with her given their shared
connection to Anatoly and the world they operated in. She was a rare blend of
elements and he had to force away the image of intrigue she presented,
reminding himself that if she was gone then all of today was for nothing.

Like a specter emerging from the dark grip
of the storm itself, Dev appeared in a flash of lightning, startling Mitch, who
was about to retrace his precarious route. He reached forward, grabbing her
arm, steadying her until they were both off the bridge. She nodded in
appreciation, her face ashen as she tried to steady her wobbly legs.

“We walk side by side from here so we
don’t lose each other,” he shouted above the roar of the canyon. “I saw some
big juniper trees over this way,” he said, pointing over his shoulder. “We’ll
head there and hole up for a few minutes.”

They trudged onward, sinking at times into
the goopy amalgamation of sand and pebbles that divided the panels of
slickrock. Mitch paused a few times to wait for lightning illumination to get
his bearings. Making it to the cluster of six massive junipers, they crawled
under the thick conifers, getting some respite from the sheets of rain still
scouring the land.

Mitch dropped his pack and sat down on the
thick layer of duff, emitting a shriek. “Dammit,” he yelled, feeling the
piercing sensation of cactus spines in his palm.

“Ooh, that’s not good,” said Dev,
inspecting the ground around her. “But better you than me.”

“Very funny. How about you go find another
grove of trees.” He searched his palm for the spines. Dev sidled up next to him
and grabbed his hand, removing the stickers with a quick tug. “I was kidding,
Agent Kearns.”

“Mitch will do.” He winced slightly with
each removal. Leaning closer, he noticed the pleasant fragrance of her hair.
Since his divorce two years ago, his dating life had been non-existent by
choice and he had caught himself staring at her athletic figure on more than
one occasion. Now here he was being hunted in the wilds during a raging storm
with a woman of considerable character and stunning features, and he was having
his hand groomed. He remembered she was the daughter of his old mentor and, out
of respect and reminding himself of the uncertainty of her future, he yanked
his hand back. “Thanks, that feels better.”

He sat up in a half-squat and looked out
at the storm cell, which had begun moving to the west, the rain overhead
slightly decreasing. He retrieved the compass from his pack and then moved out
from under the cusp of the juniper slightly to spy a landmark. With the next
lightning flash, he focused on a distant butte to the west then dialed in the
bearing on his compass. “I sure as hell wouldn’t mind holing up here for a few
hours but we need to push on. I’d say it’s only about nine miles to the
interstate.”

He grabbed his pack and removed a headlamp
from a side pouch, flicking on the red light feature. He had maintained light
discipline up to this point but needed to focus on the bearing to walk a
straight line to the butte. The red light would enable him to have a low
visibility tool for glancing down at the compass and avoiding falling into any
crevices. He also removed the night-vision goggles from the pack that he had
obtained from the driver of the jeep, waiting for the time when the lightning
had passed and he could employ the device. They filed out from under the trees
and trekked into the night, the storm clouds roiling off behind them and the
thunder growing more distant with each step.

Chapter 19

Six miles to the south, on a parched
butte, Drake was leaning his shoulder against a large boulder to stabilize his
vision as he scoured the landscape below with a night-vision scope on his
suppressed .300 Win-Mag rifle. Time was still on their side as sunrise was
nearly seven hours away and their night-vision capabilities and drones would
facilitate the capture of their prey. Having worked protection details on
Ritter’s oil platforms in the jungles of South America, he preferred the open
terrain of the desert which allowed for long-distance surveillance. It was far
easier to pick up a person’s movement miles away in this land of sandstone than
in the dense canopy of the tropics.

Even the heat felt less intense with the
lack of debilitating humidity. Drake had entertained the idea of buying a small
retreat outside of Joshua Tree where he could go to unwind during his rare down
time away from Aeneid. Most of his colleagues in the mercenary industry that
were still alive opted for blowing their contractor pay on brothels and
gambling in Thailand, spending six months relishing the cheap pleasures and
then finding work again to start the cycle all over. Drake had had his fill of
that life in younger days. When he sought the company of a woman, he would
request one of the escort girls that Aeneid kept on speed-dial for their
visiting executives.

Drake’s pastime interests revolved around
fine-tuning racing motorcycles. He had a collection of eleven bikes stored in
the secure workshop below his loft in Fullerton, compliments of Nelson Ritter.
Ritter provided him with whatever expenses were required to handle his security
and excise anything that threatened to tarnish Aeneid’s reputation.

This particular kill mission would allow
him to have the funds to purchase a rare Indian motorcycle of which there were fewer
than fifty left intact. He didn’t plan on riding it, he just wanted it to round
out his collection.

Schiff, one of his more experienced
henchmen, came up beside him, still deferring to him instead of Perry for his
orders. “We should have the portable drones up within the next few minutes.
They aren’t functioning well out here with the electrical storm but we should be
able to pinpoint their location.”

“Good, good,” he said slowly as he tilted
his rifle to the left, focusing on something he saw moving over a ridgeline a
half-mile away.

“What is it?” said Schiff, lifting his own
rifle to study the terrain where Drake was focused.

The dull
thunk
of the suppressor
lasted only a micro-second. Then Drake studied the lifeless mountain lion whose
front shoulder was nearly obliterated from the ballistic round.

“Never bagged me a big cat before. Shot
about everything else—even a sleeping gazelle in a rich fucker’s private zoo
outside of Vegas—but never a mountain lion.” He lowered his rifle to the ground
and leaned it against the boulder. Then he tilted the brim of his cap up while
grinning. “Cats are just rare as hell in the desert. This is starting out to be
a good night after all.”

Perry came up behind Drake and tapped his
meaty shoulder. “Hey, ape-man, did you forget about not drawing attention to
our location here?”

Drake turned, his lips pulled back against
his teeth, which he was grinding. “This is my operation. I don’t recall the
boss putting you in charge of anything except giving us the location of the
girl with your facial recognition software and tracking the bitch.”

He moved inches away from Perry while opening
his vest to reveal the hilt of his pistol. Perry swiftly reached forward,
yanking the man’s weapon from its holster and smacking him with the butt across
the nose. Drake backpedaled, thrusting both hands up to his broken beak, which
began leaking blood onto the sand.

Perry held the pistol up towards him. “You
know some people just take for granted the ability to breathe clearly.”

Perry heard the voice of one of the men
back by the vehicles who was manipulating the drone controls. “Hey, it looks
like two of our guys up on the mesa are out of commission.”

Perry rushed back to the rear of the jeep,
tucking the pistol in his waistline while the injured brute slowly meandered
over, cursing and wiping the blood off his mouth with a bandanna. Perry studied
the green laptop screen, noting the inanimate figures that were splayed on the
rocky ground, their bodies not showing any heat signature.

“They checked in with me about sixty
minutes ago so it shouldn’t be hard to triangulate the whereabouts of their
jeep.” He tapped his thick finger on the screen, indicating an area to the
north that had just been overtaken by a fierce thunderstorm, the black
tentacles of the rain images streaking across the green monitor.

“Focus all efforts and teams on everything
between that mesa and the interstate. The noose just started to close.”

Perry grabbed his rifle and placed it
inside his vehicle then motioned for the other five men to accompany him while
the remaining three would stay behind to man the drones and mobile command
center. “Ape-man, you’re driving so I can study the ground,” he said, tossing
the keys to Drake.

As they drove down the jarring dirt road
that led off the ridge, Perry scanned the terrain ahead with his night-vision
goggles.

Driving by the area where the mangled
corpse of the mountain lion rested, Perry focused his attention forward on the
mesa in the distance and hoped he would have his captives in hand by midnight
without losing any more men or being sidetracked by the impending weather. He
didn’t need bodies scattered all over the desert and more cover stories to
fabricate. The woman was all that mattered. As for Mitch, he would cross that
chasm when he came to it.
Why did he have to be tied up in all of this? He
would have made a good wingman if I’d become bureau chief. Maybe he would’ve
even come on board with my outfit once I left this God-forsaken country.
Perry shrugged his shoulders.
Then again, he’s too much of a fucking
throwback with his cowboy code of ethics.
You were born two centuries
too late, my friend.

Perry could see the horizon ahead getting
darker and heard a few raindrops pelting the windshield. He looked at the drone
image on his laptop screen again as the jeep bobbed along the rocky pathway,
noticing that the road coming off the mesa wound over several drainages which
would serve as natural chokepoints for an ambush.

The rain began coming down in small drops
at first, followed seconds later by sheets of water. Drake increased the pace,
climbing out of the mucky canyon bottom until he leveled out on the mesa. Four
miles further, the rain had intensified, swelling the arroyos in the region and
putting a halt to their progress. Perry knew they wouldn’t be making any more
mileage and the drones had already gone offline, probably pulverized against
the rocks somewhere.

He motioned to Drake to pull over near the
canyon rim. The rain was pummeling the jeep so hard he had to shout at the men
in the vehicle. “Each of you, out—set up a perimeter and keep an eye out below
when this storm clears.”

All of the bruisers looked at him and then
at the pelting rain on the windows before climbing out into the squall. “You
too, ape-man,” he said to Drake. “The cold will help that broken snout of
yours.”
Drake slammed the door and disappeared into the downpour. Perry knew a perimeter
was of little use and the men wouldn’t be able to see more than twenty feet but
he also didn’t want to spend the next hour holed up in the tight confines of
the jeep with a bunch of sweaty thugs he’d grown to despise. He wasn’t like
them—mercenaries. He kept telling himself that throughout the night as he
studied the path of the storm on his laptop screen and waited for sunrise.