Read Counter-Strike (A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Novel Book 2) for Free Online Page B

voice. “I’d
like to help further but this is as far as my company can reach out.” She
turned the laptop towards him then clicked on another screen which showed her
company’s darknet facial recognition program, pulling up the image of Yin
followed by GPS coordinates to a location in Austria. “I have to go grab some
coffee and I may be gone for a few minutes and won’t be able to acknowledge to
the board that someone gleaned information from my device during that brief
absence.” She looked straight ahead and then walked to the double doors and
exited, leaving Mitch alone.
    Mitch’s crooked grin diminished after she
left and he stared at the screen again, committing the information to memory. “Austria.
As for you, Ms. Yin, your life may be forfeit.”
    ***
    That night, back at his studio apartment,
Mitch couldn’t sleep. His thoughts were focused on the upcoming mission and the
welfare of Bob. His head hurt from the stress and he found himself unable to
turn it all off. A hundred scenarios played out in his head including the
dreaded one that involved him making a visit to Margo to tell her the bad news. Have to stay focused — he’s still alive. He has to be. Don’t let doubt
undermine your training .
    Mitch decided to go over his gear one more
time which would keep him occupied for a while. He pulled out the Berenson
leather jacket from his duffel bag. It was designed to look like a standard
jacket but was tailor-made by a friend of his who designed tactical
accoutrements for the Secret Service. In addition to the triple-stitched seams
and reinforced shoulders to support weight for stowing weapons, it had a
plethora of concealed pockets. Each of these contained specific items that he
had used over the years during undercover work with the FBI. Every piece of
gear was carefully selected for its practicality and durability.
    Mitch rechecked each receptacle. In an
internal zippered pocket near the chest was a tactical flashlight, a spare
battery, a small first-aid kit, and a mini-tourniquet. Opposite that side was a
velcroed pocket containing a small monocular, a chem-light, a button compass, and
a finger-sized portable phone charger. In his outside pockets were assault
gloves, an N95 dust mask, two protein bars, two energy gels, and a reflective
blanket along with a bottle of iodine tablets for water purification. In a
hidden shoulder compartment was a plastic handcuff key along with $100 in
assorted bills and a few silver coins.
    Since he was traveling internationally, he
had to constantly run through a mental checklist for airport security
regulations but since Dev had volunteered Gideon’s private jet, he could skip
leaving his knives behind. Having trained for years in the Filipino martial arts,
he relished having at least three blades on him at all times. Normally, he
stowed these in his checked luggage but there were so many conflicting laws
from country-to-country that he had opted for just buying some when he arrived
in Israel. One was a folder which he kept in his right front pants pocket while
the other two were four-inch fixed blades spread around his waistline in Kydex
sheaths.
    He had even removed the factory laces from
his desert boots and replaced those with a specially made type of para-cord
which contained seven strands of Kevlar thread which could be used for slicing
through zip-ties, turned into emergency suturing material, or fashioned into foot
snares.
    As he laced up his boots, he reflected
back upon previous missions in the Special Forces and how different this time
felt. His objective had never involved rescuing a friend whose fate was
uncertain in a country where he had no support to fall back on. It was just
going to be him and Dev and now he felt responsible for her since she was putting
her company on the line. Still, he didn’t feel like he had any choice—there
were no fellow FBI agents he could utilize and no one that would pluck him out
of an Austrian jail if things went