High-Risk

  High Risk

  By

  JT Sawyer

  A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Story

  Volume 8

  Copyright

  Copyright December 2019, High-Risk by JT Sawyer

  Edited by Emily Nemchick

  Cover art by EbookLaunch.com

  No part of this book may be transmitted in any form whether electronic, recording, scanned, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction and the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, incidents, or events is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Join JT Sawyer’s Facebook page to follow his book research and to get updates on future releases. You can also sign up to be a part of his reading team at http://www.jtsawyer.com

  Prologue

  Poland-Belarus Border

  Ryvkalin Detainment Center

  “Stand, you filthy pig,” snapped the burly guard in a heavy Russian accent. As Mitch stood up from his chair in the holding room, he sent a swift heel strike into the man’s left knee, then used his same foot to shoot a vicious front-kick into the groin of the senior officer to his right. Rushing forward, he swung his cuffed fists up, hitting the second man in the chin and sending him into the wall. The bearded man’s legs quivered as he slid to the floor, his face frozen in agony. His first victim had recovered enough to limp to the wall and slam his fist on the alarm. Now, he was reaching for the pepper spray on his belt and swiveling around. Mitch closed the gap before the man could complete his actions, kicking the guard in the ribs and driving him back into the corner leg of the steel table. He groaned, slumping to the ground.

  With the sirens blaring and the frenzied commotion in the hallway, Mitch knew he was about to be tased then tackled by the infuriated swarm of guards preparing to flood through the door. He hoped his actions would result in an upgrade to the Otchlan prison, a maximum-security facility a few miles across the border in Belarus. But just to be sure, he stepped forward, driving his knee into the officer’s head as the man tried to stand.

  With his limbs trembling and his breathing constricting, Mitch turned towards the door to brace for the coming beating.

  Chapter 1

  Two Days Earlier

  Gideon Headquarters, Tel Aviv, Israel

  “The killing only intensified after that,” said Mitch as he stood in front of the classroom before eight new Gideon recruits. He motioned to the hand-drawn map of Arizona on the whiteboard. In the upper-left corner were the names of several Chiricahua Apache leaders, while the right side contained a list of U.S. generals.

  “Victorio was the greatest of the Apache leaders, and it was his unconventional warfare tactics and brilliant evasion methods that enabled the Chiricahuas to elude the U.S. military for so long. Geronimo was actually a lesser figure in the early days of the Apache Campaign in the American Southwest and mainly gained the historical notoriety he did because he was the last holdout towards the end of the 1880s.”

  Mitch pointed to the bottom corner of his map, where the border of Mexico and Arizona was highlighted in red. “One advantage they had was being able to cross this line, thus letting the political restrictions and laws on either side hamper the efforts of the posses pursuing them, unlike the tribes further to the north, who were limited to one geographic and political region.”

  A young woman with jet-black hair raised her hand. “You said towards the end of the Apache Campaign that there were only 29 warriors and 108 women and children up against 5,000 U.S. troops. How long were they able to elude capture with those odds?”

  Mitch folded his arms. “Almost a year and a half.” He stepped back to the board, tapping his marker on the image of mountains near Tucson. “Remember, the Apaches grew up in that terrain. They knew where the water was, how to trap animals, what plants to eat, how to cover their tracks, and most importantly, they were frickin’ mountain lions—able to evade all day through a landscape where others would die within hours.”

  He moved closer to the young woman’s desk. “Don’t ever underestimate the importance of cardio in escaping a threat. You can know all kinds of mantraps and counter-tracking moves, but if you can clear the search area and gain distance from your pursuers, then you will have gained a critical advantage in making it back to friendly forces—and that means getting the hell back home.”

  He paused in mid-thought, distracted by Dev’s lovely face as she entered the room. Mitch thrust his thumb back at the map. “So, remember, become a mountain lion when you are on the run, and your enemy will hopefully be left in the dust—or the mud, in most cases outside of the desert.”

  Mitch put his marker on the desk. “Class dismissed. Next week we will be in the field, covering backtracking and evasion techniques for forested environments, so come prepared with the appropriate clothing.”

  Dev sauntered past the students as they exited, smiling as she sat in the front row. She sheepishly raised her hand. “I have a question, Mr. Teacher—how come all of your lectures invariably end up in some discussion about Arizona?”

  He tucked his thumbs in his pockets, standing before her. “I told you before, you can’t take the West out of the man, darlin’.”

  She leaned forward, brushing her hand against his jeans. “I don’t think I’d ever want to try. Not sure I’d like the person you’d become.”

  He slid into the desk beside her. “I wish I could stay and provide a private tutoring lesson, but I have a boss that will get on my case if my paperwork isn’t done by the end of the day.”

  “Ha, ha.” She tapped him in the shin with her boot. “We’ve actually got something more pressing.” She stood up, heading towards the door. “Be on the roof in fifteen minutes. David’s going to fly us to Cyprus for a meeting.”

  Mitch tilted his head towards her. “Gideon business, or is this something else?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, this is an off-the-books meeting, and we’ll have to figure out how we’re going to play it once I have more information.”

  “Who with?”

  “Personnel from MI6.”

  “They’re coming all the way to Cyprus? Why not just do a secure video-conference with us?”

  “I was told that this matter had to be addressed in person, behind closed doors. Besides them, it will be you and me, along with the Israeli prime minister.”

  Mitch folded his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Now you’ve really got me curious.”

  Chapter 2

  The flight in the Gideon helicopter only took thirty minutes, with Mitch riding shotgun to take in the sights along the coast. David piloted the Bell JetRanger from Tel Aviv to a private landing strip on the north end of Cyprus, sharing stories from his childhood about fishing in the waters below with his father and uncles.

  “Not much fishing to be had in Arizona,” Mitch said. “There are only two natural lakes in the entire state, and those are usually mudholes come June.”

  “Shame,” said the hulking figure, whose frame exceeded his seat. “I ate fish for dinner almost every night as a kid.”

  “Beef—every night. My uncle always had a hindquarter from one of our cattle hanging in the walk-in freezer. Hell, I don’t think I ate fish until I was sixteen, during a weekend trip to Phoenix.”

  “You’re a caveman alright,” said Dev with a grin. “If only I had known you were this uncouth when we first met, I might never have given you my number.”

  He swiveled his torso to the left, turning back to stare at her. “You mean the phone number you practically thrust into my hands?”

  “Yeah, right. I only did that so you wouldn’t lose it, because you’re so forgetful.”

/>   Petra flared an eyebrow. “Mitch has one of the sharpest memories of anyone I’ve met.”

  “Except he has selective amnesia when it comes to remembering the things I tell him,” quipped Dev. “He even forgot one of the three things I told him to get from the grocery store last night.”

  Mitch’s face softened. “Sometimes your immeasurable beauty blurs my thinking.” He stared at Dev for a long minute, then gave Petra a wink while grinning.

  “More like you saw some animal tracks by the park on your walk to the store, which would explain why it took you an hour to get back,” said Dev.

  “Now, that’s the Mitch I know,” said David with a boisterous laugh.

  Dev leaned forward, punching Mitch in the shoulder. “See, cowboy? You’re not foolin’ anyone with your sweet-talk.”

  He acted like he was tipping his hat at her. “I wasn’t tryin’ too—just speaking the truth.”

  Petra pointed to the approaching seaside lodge where they were supposed to rendezvous with the MI6 staff. He pivoted back into his seat, studying the layout of the two-story resort. It stood alone on a remote peninsula with a single boat dock and a winding road that led to the interior. Standing on the roof were four armed men in black suits and sunglasses, their foreheads already turning lobster-red from the sun. Walking the perimeter of the manicured grounds were six other guards, while two men in flightsuits loitered near an unmarked helicopter forty yards east of the lodge.

  “Looks like that’s a high-performance jetboat moored to the dock,” said Petra. “Not the kind that a tourist would have out here.”

  David thrust his chin out to the left. “There’s another boat just like it patrolling the waters out there too.”

  “And that helo is equipped with a minigun,” Mitch said. He looked at the guards again. “Those guys don’t look like Mossad to me.”

  “The Israeli PM will be joining us via video once we’re inside, so it looks like it’s just us and the Brits,” said Dev.

  ***

  Once they landed on the lawn near the other helicopter, two armed bodyguards ushered them towards a side entrance near a u-shaped patio, then did a brief pat-down of Mitch and Dev, while Petra and David remained behind.

  Entering the veranda, Mitch was met by another man, who introduced himself only as Taylor. He was an inch shorter than Mitch and held himself like someone who has never spent a day outside of his three-piece suit and polished shoes.

  Taylor led the way down the hall, and the two bodyguards followed behind them. They passed by another security checkpoint, Taylor nodding at the stocky guard as they entered another wing that ended in a set of immense doors.

  Helluva lot of security for a brief meeting. Wonder what they want from Gideon?

  The guard pushed open the double doors made of oak, revealing a spacious interior that was oval in shape, with a large chandelier hanging from the dome-shaped ceiling. Beyond the central array of leather couches was a spacious desk with a top of checkered granite.

  Mitch paused in mid-step as he saw the man sitting behind the desk. He recognized the weathered face from intel briefings at Gideon. He gave a sideways glance at Dev, who he was sure bore the same startled expression.

  Taylor stopped at the rear of the room, moving to the right then abruptly pivoting around. He pulled his shoulders back, angling his chin up. “Mr. Kearns and Ms. Leitner, allow me to introduce you to the director of MI6, Allen Ricard.”

  Ricard stood up, moving around the desk to shake both their hands, keeping his grip on Mitch’s a second longer while giving him a vigorous stare.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Ricard said. “There is much we have to discuss.”

  Mitch saw a faint comma-shaped scar below the man’s right ear and noticed how flattened Ricard’s nose appeared, like some of the brawlers he knew in his army unit. The director’s stature and commanding voice made Mitch think he was a man better suited to wearing chainmail armor and wielding a sword than as a bureaucrat trapped behind a desk all day. He vaguely recalled reading about Ricard’s military background, and it was clear that this was a hardened man who seemed out of place in this ostentatious setting.

  Mitch heard the large doors close behind them as Ricard returned to his seat. Now, why the hell are we here?

  Chapter 3

  Mitch sat down on a red leather seat with brass buttons lining the armrest, and Dev did the same. Taylor used a remote on the desk to close the automated blinds on the windows as a woman who had introduced herself as McNeal went about starting the PowerPoint projector situated on a rolling cart.

  Ricard motioned to a wide-screen laptop on his desk, which was facing the center of the room. The screen was split down the center, with two different faces on either side. The familiar tan face of Israeli Prime Minister Abner Levitt was on the left. “Also joining us via video-conference is my assistant director, Nigel Lancaster.” The right side showed the face of a fifty-something man with salt-and-pepper hair who merely gave a gruff nod. Mitch figured he was counting the minutes until the meeting was over, judging by his stern expression and lack of enthusiasm.

  The presentation began, with Taylor standing to the side with a laser-pointer, talking like he was giving a college lecture on geopolitics. “Thirty-six hours ago, the authorities in Belarus obtained a man by the name of James Renner, although they have him listed in their criminal records as an antiquities thief, Blake Dresden.” A granular image of a man on a distant street corner in downtown London showed on the screen.

  Mitch looked at Dev then back towards Ricard. “Renner, as in the arms dealer?”

  “International arms dealer, smuggler, and supporter of terrorist factions throughout Africa and the Middle East,” said Taylor. “Yes, you’ve heard of him, then. Good.”

  The next slide showed a close-up of the man’s right forearm, where a red-and-green squid tattoo was present.

  “My SF unit had a briefing on him and his network among the Taliban while I was still serving in Afghanistan, but that was years ago.”

  “He’s still in the game—and he’s someone who was the main conduit of arms going into eastern Afghanistan during the height of the war,” said McNeal, who spoke like a journalist reading off a tele-prompter. “Now, his tentacles spread across the Middle East and Africa.”

  “So, how did you come by this information?” said Dev, shooting a quizzical look at Ricard.

  The director glanced up at Taylor, then decided to field the question. “Let’s just say we’ve had a small task force devoted to finding Mr. Renner for the past three years, as his notoriety and influence abroad have grown.” Ricard rubbed the back of his neck then leaned forward in his seat. “Renner was one of ours until twelve years ago—a brilliant analyst at MI6 who dropped off the grid shortly after we uncovered a shipment of missing weapons bound for Iraq after the allied invasion of that country.”

  “That would explain how he’s been able to elude you for so long.” Mitch studied the grainy photo on the screen. “And that’s the only image you have of the guy? It looks like it was taken with a disposable camera from a hundred yards away.”

  “Renner saw to it that his profiles and images were scrubbed from any classified and public databases prior to leaving. While Renner is believed to have disappeared into Africa, no one has actually seen him in years,” said Taylor.

  “Quite a feat to accomplish in this day and age, even with his skills,” said Dev. “He must have considerable resources and funding outside his country to operate a business like that while maintaining a non-existent visual profile.”

  “We believe he is in league with the Russians—at least some of the more rogue factions in that government—supplying illegal arms; and he could possibly be trying to outfit them with suitcase nukes. Of course, he’s completed transactions with over sixteen countries and just as many terrorist organizations, so he could have multiple funding sources and safehouses abroad,” said Lancaster from the laptop.

  Ricard
steepled his fingers, staring directly at Dev. “We asked you here today to request Gideon’s services in extracting Renner from the prison. Given your company’s unique background, Ms. Leitner, we thought it would be a perfect fit for this operation.”

  Mitch slid forward in his leather seat, looking at Dev for a second then at the players in the room before settling his eyes on Ricard. “Sounds more like you need to eliminate any chance of MI6 having a hand in this for some reason, so you’re outsourcing the task instead.”

  “He’s your man—and your problem,” said Dev. “I am not opposed to considering such an op, but I need more to go on than this. Why travel all this way to try and convince us to undertake something that is a British problem?” She looked at the other video screen, wondering when the Israeli PM was going to chime in and discuss his role.

  McNeal took a step forward, her mouth opening, but she froze in place when Ricard raised his hand in her direction as he spoke.

  “You are correct in assuming that MI6 needs to eliminate any trace of direct involvement in Renner’s extraction, but my government is also involved in some undertakings with the Belarusian resistance forces along the Ukrainian border—undertakings that will have broader implications in the near future and that can’t be jeopardized by Renner’s past affiliation with us should his arms dealings there be exposed.”

  Mitch interlaced his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “Why not just drop in a two-man sniper team to take out this bastard once he’s transported from the prison?”

  Taylor took a slight step forward. “He has a wealth of international contacts that we’d like to find out more about, and that’s easier to do if he’s alive. Besides, the Otchlan prison is a place known for executing its inmates without much of a trial for even the slightest infraction, so Renner may only have a few days.”