by JT Sawyer
The Kill List
By JT Sawyer
Copyright
Copyright June 2016 by JT Sawyer
No part of this book may be transmitted in any form whether electronic, recording, 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.
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Prologue
Denver International Airport
No one could have guessed that Anton Kruger would get shanked through the stomach nineteen times in the hallway outside the prison cafeteria. He was too well connected; his ties to organized crime in Eastern Europe and the western U.S. were without match. Still, he bled out in under sixty seconds while the attacking inmates slipped away. There would be retribution but such plans are not undertaken hastily.
These were the things running through Alaric Mondragal’s mind as he grabbed his two leather shoulder bags from customs and proceeded to the terminal exit. He walked down the escalator to the second floor where the restaurants and cafes were located. He had a few minutes to spare. There was still time in his day to linger. Time to think. Time before his assignment began.
It had been several years since he’d been to the United States and he relished the thought of seeing the mountains after so many months stuck in the city of Prague during his last assignment. He stopped at a small coffee kiosk to get a plain double espresso to help ward off the after-effects of jet lag. Reaching into his tailored wool sports jacket, he removed his tan wallet and flipped through the different currencies, his scarred fingers eventually settling on a U.S. five dollar bill.
Once he had his drink, he walked over to an immense cement pillar and placed his bags on the ground. He sipped the unsweetened, tarry elixir while studying the river of human traffic around him. His eyes settled on a shapely blonde woman toting her bulbous carry-on bag as she walked past him towards the departure area. Mmm, the women in the States are so appetizing. I may have to find a nightclub in Denver when this job is over. His eyes flitted to another woman floating by on her rush to the tram then he glanced over towards three stewardesses in their blue skirts and heels.
For Alaric, being in the presence of so many beautiful women was sensory overload and he imbibed the visual delights as hastily as his espresso. The past five weeks had seen him confined to a blacked-out apartment across from the old town square in the Czech Republic, observing the comings and goings of a political candidate. With the exception of a few radio communications from his boss, Roan Kruger, who was Anton’s father, he hadn’t left the apartment the entire time. He had done the surveillance drill before but this one went on longer than normal and his well-stocked cupboards and supply of fresh clothes had run thin by the end. Finally, last Wednesday, he was given the green light to eliminate the target. A new opportunity in the States had presented itself and Alaric’s services were needed in Colorado.
Despite being one of Kruger’s top mercenaries for the past twelve years, Alaric’s forty-two-year-old body was feeling the effects of his job. Physical decline was something no one in his industry ever spoke about and rarely admitted even to themselves. Most professional killers were either dead by the time they were his age or had found some other employment. Wet work was a young man’s game and Alaric had had his share of cunning moves across the chessboard. Kruger had seen to it. He was puzzled by his mentor’s lack of communication during the past month, most of which had been through encrypted emails or texts.
Roan Kruger was always an enigmatic figure, and Alaric marveled at the elder man’s endurance at performing for so long in such a high-stakes occupation. Hell, ten years in East Germany’s secret police and then decades of taking on kill assignments for the highest bidder—sounds like the life to me. If I make it to his age and I’m still in this trade, then I’d think I was fuckin’ immortal.
It had been several months since he’d actually seen Kruger and he was excited to get another assignment, though this time they’d be communicating strictly through email. This mission involved abducting seven individuals, some of whom were in Denver and the rest all the way across the state in Durango. Alaric knew that this particular assignment had personal significance for Kruger—it was a reckoning of sorts for what had happened nearly a year ago to Kruger’s son Anton during his trip to Colorado.
Alaric could see the first rays of sunlight creeping over the Rocky Mountains outside the large windows to his right. Should be a good sightseeing trip with all the driving. At least I’ll have plenty of time outdoors.
He finished his drink and left the paper cup on the rim of a planter then glanced down at his watch. He walked to the escalator, checking the incoming text which revealed the location where his two accomplices would be waiting in the parking garage. Then he trolled over the photos of each victim, making a mental note of the order of their forthcoming abductions. With each glance at the images on his phone, he rattled off their names in his head.
He studied the faces one more time, his eyes focusing on one individual’s name in particular. Mitch Kearns—the one who brought Anton down. The corner of Alaric’s lips crinkled into a faint smile. A world of pain awaits you, Mr. Kearns.
He sent the images to his fellow cohorts and indicated he’d be at their vehicle alongside the curb in ten more minutes. First, he wanted to enjoy the eye candy in the lobby before embarking on another grueling job.
Chapter 1
Four Days Later, Southwest Colorado, near Pagosa Springs
The cold mountain air was rife with the pungent aroma of conifer needles and a heavy mist clung to the tops of the ponderosa pine forest. Mitch knelt down and studied the damp soil while Dev peered over his shoulder. The soft substrate revealed a large animal track that was over three inches across and had four toes.
Mitch picked up a small twig and used it as a pointer. “The only large animals that have four toes like this are either in the dog or cat family. Since this has a bi-lobed anterior on the heel pad and there are no claws showing, it’s a cat. Given the size, I’d say a large male cougar.”
Dev arched up and shifted her eyes around anxiously. “And we’re miles from the truck.”
“Don’t worry—if he’d wanted to, he could have dropped us already. You spend enough time hiking in the wilds, you’ll have put yourself within striking distance of a cougar sooner or later.” He looked up at her, tilting his hat and smiling. “Lucky for us, they mostly like deer, elk, and California joggers—most cougar attacks happen along the West Coast.”
“Your wilderness in the U.S. is unlike anything we have back home or even in Europe. All of our large predators are gone, except the two-legged variety.”
Mitch rubbed his bewhiskered chin. “Those are the worst, in my opinion. There aren’t too many species that hunt or maim their own for pleasure.”
Mitch looked around the old-growth forest, scanning for the tracks of the hooved animal they were in search of, then glanced up at the darkening clouds.
“This storm system couldn’t have waited until next week to roll in. Hell, this limited-hunt permit I have is only good for another three days.”
“And we’re gonna find some elk soon, right, so I can stop hearing you say those same words over and over.”
; Before he could answer, the first raindrops began to cascade down upon them. Within a few minutes, it intensified, washing away the fine message of animal tracks written across the ground.
Mitch slung his 30-30 scoped rifle and pointed behind Dev, indicating they should head back to their canvas wall tent by the truck. “We’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe the weather gods will spare us.”
She gave him a playful smile and then nudged him with her elbow. “I can think of some things we can do back at camp while we wait out the storm.”
He grinned and interlocked his hand with hers as they walked along the muddy trail. “Well, if that’s how you want to spend your time then I guess I can oblige you.”
She turned and punched him in his arm. “Oh, will you, now—how polite.”
Dev straightened the lapel on her wool coat and turned her chin up. “Besides, I was talking about playing cards. I’m not sure what you had in mind, Mr. Kearns. I’m not that kind of lady.” Dev took off running, laughing over her shoulder at him while sliding along the muddy path.
“That’s too bad, ’cause I’m that kind of guy,” he said, chasing after her as they both cackled, occasionally stopping to kiss before Dev trotted off again.
Despite the chill of the rain, Mitch couldn’t remember being so warmed inside. During the past three months of living near Dev in Israel, their relationship had blossomed. Any spare time in between their work duties was spent with each other and Dev had, on more than one occasion, expressed her love for him. As much as Mitch was taken with her, he couldn’t let himself completely reveal his deepest feelings. His contract teaching mantracking courses with the Israeli military had just ended and he was about to find himself adrift. He was missing the wilds of the American Southwest and wanted to spend time in the backcountry for a while to think about his career options and how the two of them might make a long-distance relationship work. Dev was everything he desired in a woman but he needed to get settled in some line of stable employment before he could even consider committing to someone.
With both of them free of work commitments for a few weeks, Mitch had returned to his friend’s ranch in Arizona briefly to borrow a truck, camping gear, and to retrieve his rifle for a spring elk hunt in southwest Colorado. Mitch had applied for the hunting permit the previous autumn and Dev agreed to join him for an adventure in the Rocky Mountains.
Mitch had hoped to introduce her to the finer points of luxury camping—or at least, what he considered luxury: a ten-by-twelve canvas wall tent with a propane heater; a double cot with down comforter; an outfitted kitchen with a camp stove and cast-iron cookware; and a cooler full of steak, eggs, beer, and bratwurst. What he hadn’t anticipated was the torrential rain that was putting a halt to his plans to bag an elk. His five-day hunting tag was only valid for a few more days and then he had plans to visit with a friend near Durango after Dev departed for home.
***
After two more days of torrential rain and a lot of time spent basking in each other’s arms in the tent, Mitch could see that Dev’s spirit for enduring the weather was fading fast.
“I could sure go for some cashew chicken with rice or a cheeseburger. How about we drive into Pagosa for the afternoon and eat there?” he said, sitting back in his camp chair under the canvas awning of the tent opening as a steady trickle of rain poured off the flaps.
“I think there are only about three restaurants in that little town. Durango seemed to be much larger.”
“Yep, but that’s about an hour’s drive from here. I take you that far, you’re gonna want to stay in a hotel for the night.”
“Don’t mock my love of clean sheets and temperature-controlled rooms. I’ve stuck it out in the rain this whole trip with you and not once complained.”
He patted her on the leg. “You’re right. You have been a trooper through it all.” He stood up and flung the rest of his cup of coffee into the deluge outside then grabbed his heavy wool coat. “Let’s go, my dear—it’s time we leave our cozy retreat and have you dine properly.” He reached his hand out for hers and pulled her up off the cot where she had been lying, reading a book.
“If you insist. But if your friend’s truck doesn’t start when we try to leave the restaurant, don’t think it had anything to do with me, OK.”
An hour later, after driving the muddy Forest Service roads back to Pagosa Springs, Mitch pulled into Mike & Rhonda’s Diner near the edge of town. Across from the eatery was a world-famous hot springs resort comprised of nineteen different mineral springs jutting out of the bedrock.
They went inside the diner and sat in a corner booth near the emergency exit. Even though they were away from the big city, their situational awareness was still ratcheted up, and it was an old habit for both of them to have their egress routes determined upon entering any room.
A young waitress with corkscrew curls in her red hair ambled over. Mitch ordered a double cheeseburger with fries while Dev settled on fish and chips.
Dev pointed across the San Juan River to the opulent resort. The steam from the hot springs was floating like wispy gray ghosts along the hotel grounds. “And after we’re through, we can walk over there and soak in those pools until the sun comes up.” Dev continued to gaze longingly at the mineral-filled springs as the waitress delivered their food.
“You mean with all those plump tourists sipping on their daiquiris.” Mitch averted his attention from the hotel as he watched a large figure dressed in a black rainjacket stride in through the front door of the diner.
“Hmm, this oughta be interesting. Never figured I’d run into Ed Roth again.”
Dev turned to look at the man who was about to sit at the counter. He stopped and did a double-take, shooting a glance at Mitch. He sauntered over, his arms swinging forcefully at his sides.
“Well, if it ain’t Davy Crockett. You on the trail of another international fugitive?” The hulking figure sat down at the table then reached over and took a French fry off Mitch’s plate.
“Just like the U.S. Marshals, always wanting to overstep their boundaries and cross over where they’re not wanted.”
Roth let out an irritated grin. “Not unlike the FBI, who think they can stick their dirty paws into everything because the powers in DC think your shit don’t stink.”
Mitch chuckled and leaned back, shoving the plate towards Roth. “These are tainted now so go ahead and finish ’em up.
The bulky figure extended a hand towards Dev. “Ed Roth—welcome to God’s Country.” He gave her a cop’s onceover. “You working a case with Mitch?”
“Not exactly; we’re up on a spring elk hunt.”
Roth raised an eyebrow and glanced at Mitch. “That so.”
“Yep, I put in for a permit last fall and was one of the lucky few to get drawn. Only two hundred permits issued and I snagged one,” said Mitch.
“Here for long or you headed back to Phoenix soon?”
“I’m not in Arizona much these days. Since I resigned from the bureau last fall, I’ve been working freelance gigs teaching mantracking courses here and there.”
Dev leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, quietly observing the intriguing interaction between the two men. Whilst both of them appeared relaxed, there was an undercurrent of tension surrounding the table.
“Resigned, eh?” said Roth. “Never thought someone as straight-laced as you would get tired of doing the bureau’s bidding and huntin’ down his fellow kind.” He crooked his head back to look out at the parking lot. “Speaking of hunting, I don’t see a trophy elk stuffed in the back of any rigs out there—your tracking skills getting rusty after working the Anton Kruger case last year?”
Mitch frowned then leaned forward, tilting his chin up and sniffing the air near Roth. “Maybe all the animals have been driven out by the aroma of pencil-pushers that’s overcome this region.”
Roth moved his chair closer to Dev, leaning towards her. “So, how many times has Mitch recounted what must be his awe-inspiring tale of h
ow he pursued an international fugitive through a canyon not far from here?”
Dev was silent, keeping her untrusting gaze fixed upon Roth.
“You mean the story about how the US Marshals under Ed Roth here seemed to take offense at having a bureau mantracker take over the hunt for Anton Kruger after he killed a deputy in Durango and eluded local authorities.”
“Here we go again,” said Roth, crunching his fists together. “Don’t give me that juris-dick-tional bullshit like last time. You waltzed into our operation when no one asked you to except that lard-ass boss of yours in Denver.”
“I’m sure no one’s recited the tale as much as you have, Ed,” said Mitch. “Why don’t you tell us the way it really unfolded, seeing how you were actually back at the incident command post the whole time while my guys and I were pounding the ground? Your version has probably gone from the two days I spent in the field tracking Kruger to you and your boys slogging through the wilds for a week while fighting off bears and bandits along the way.”
Roth finished another French fry and slid the plate aside, grinding his teeth before letting out a partial smile. He looked over at Dev. “You sure you can’t do better than this guy?”
Roth folded his arms across his chest and seethed out an exhale. He looked at Dev and then at Mitch, letting his eyes drop down to Mitch’s right hip, where his Glock was holstered under his jacket. “You carrying a piece there, fella? Hope you got a concealed weapons permit for that—you ain’t in Arizona any longer.”
Mitch put his hands on the table, nodding to the crease in his jacket where his pistol was located. “Damn, these smartphones just keep getting bigger all the time but thanks for the advice.”
Roth got up and pushed his chair into the edge of the table, causing it to rock. He ran his tongue over his teeth and let out a faint grin. “You all drive safe now, you hear.” As he walked away, he thrust his palm onto the shiny badge clipped onto his belt while grinning at Mitch. “And watch that speed limit—the fines can be hefty around these parts.”
