PRIMAL Nemesis (Book 2 in the Redemption Trilogy, A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 6) (The PRIMAL Series) (19 page)

CHAPTER 22

KINGSTON, JAMAICA

Aleks
was the first to emerge from under the arrivals sign inside the terminal. He’d landed on the first flight of the day and had beaten the crowds by traveling light. He felt weary and his ribs still hurt from his battle with the American brute in Germany. Business class seats were never able to completely mitigate the jet lag from crossing time zones.

Saneh caught his eye and flashed him a smile. His mood instantly improved. He strode forward, wrapped his arms around her lithe frame, and lifted her high off the ground. “Saneh, how good it is to see a friendly face.”

She laughed. “Put me down you big oaf.” He placed her back on her feet and she punched him in the shoulder. “You've been missed, brother bear.” She took a security pass out of her pocket and clipped it to his jacket. “We need to get moving, the others are waiting.”

“Have you found Kurtz?”

“We’re close. Bishop has tracked him to the tri-border area.”

“When do we leave?”

“As soon as we're onboard Sleek.”

She led him out the terminal, across the parking lot to the entrance of the general aviation section. As they walked along the access road Aleks noticed two dark-skinned men sitting in a parked car. To his trained eye they were out of place, like plain-clothes police on a sting.

“Are you OK?” asked Saneh.

He shook his head. “The two men in the car we passed. They look like police.”

Saneh glanced back over her shoulder at the vehicle. “You're right. We need to hurry.”

They showed their identification at the security gate and strode across the taxiway past a parked fuel truck toward a row of rusted hangars. Aleks discreetly glanced over his shoulder as they walked. The men in the car hadn't moved. Out the corner of his eye he spotted flashing blue lights. They were rapidly approaching.

“Saneh, run! Get the jet ready for takeoff.” Aleks turned and sprinted back to the fuel truck. He wrenched open the door to the cabin and climbed inside. He found the keys in a folder in the center console and started the truck. The police vehicles were almost at the gate; a convoy led by a black armored vehicle.

Gunning the engine of the truck he accelerated, wrenching the wheel in the direction of the security checkpoint. The gates started to roll open. Aleks honked the horn as he planted his foot on the accelerator. As he was about to hit the gates he pushed open the cabin door and jumped clear.

The truck hit the gate with a deafening crash. Aleks rolled and staggered to his feet. He sprinted away in the direction of the runway.

Behind him a megaphone blared. “Stop, stop, or we will shoot!”

He ignored the order and continued to run. Bullets snapped off the tarmac.

“We will shoot you!” echoed the voice.

He stopped with his hands in the air, looking for Saneh or the PRIMAL jet. The doors of one of the old hangars were wide open and the interior empty. He turned to face the police with his hands held over his head.

The fuel truck had jammed the gates stopping the police vehicles but a handful of black- clad SWAT operators had squeezed passed and were moving toward him with rifles raised.

He caught a glimpse of a small object sail over his head and strike the fuel truck. It detonated with a thump and the fuel tank blossomed in a huge explosion. The blast knocked the policemen off their feet and Aleks spun, shielding his face. He looked up to see Sleek taxiing along the tarmac with its boarding stairs down. The scream of jet engines rose in a crescendo as the jet turned onto the runway and prepared for takeoff. Saneh was crouching at the door holding a grenade launcher.

“Come on, Aleks!” she yelled.

He sprinted for the jet, ignoring the commotion behind him, and leaped onto the stairs.

“Nice of you to join us,” said Kruger as he hauled him inside and slammed the door shut.

“Hold on!” yelled Mitch from the cockpit as they gathered speed with a roar.

Aleks strapped himself into a spare seat. He smiled broadly as they screamed off the end of the runway. “It's good to be back!”

***

King
got out of the Jamaican police car and slammed the door. A hundred yards down the road the fuel tanker was still blazing as a pair of fire trucks doused it with foam. Adrian's local Special Operations Unit had completely bungled the job. Their surveillance had been compromised, they'd selected an obvious infiltration route, and they had no backup plan. They were about as special operations as a bunch of role-playing airsofters. In fact he had seen better tactics at his twelve-year-old son’s paintball tournaments.

He pulled his phone out and rang Howard. “There's a business jet that just took off from Norman Manley Airport. Tell me you've got someone tracking it.”

“Dude, of course. There's an
AWACS
on station in vicinity of the Cayman Islands. She's heading south and will be able to tell you exactly where the jet is going,” replied Howard.

“Let me guess, arranged by our friend, Larkin?”

“Yes,” he paused. “How did you know that?'

“He seems to be my guardian angel at the moment.”

“Not a bad one to have. Hey, we just got a message from Pershing. They've got Red Sox.”

“Finally, has he said anything yet? Do we know who Yankee is?”

“Not yet, they've only just got started. I'm sure they'll break him–”

“Mr. King! Mr. King!” a voice interrupted. It was the police commander. The tall Jamaican looked excited.

“OK, call me as soon as you hear anything on either Red Sox or the jet.”

“Will do.”

King hung up and turned to the police officer. “What can I do for you, Superintendent?” He tried his best to hide the contempt in his voice.

“We captured three men on the boat.”

King was surprised. “On the
Nemesis
?”

“Yes, three men on the black boat. Do you want to go and see?”

“Definitely.” King barely suppressed a grin as he followed the man to his four-wheel drive. They drove out to the public road and followed it behind the hangars that the escapees had probably used as a base. King shook his head. The fence was rusted with gaping holes in the wire. It would have been a simple job for the police to cut through and infiltrate under the cover of darkness. Fucking amateurs. At least they hadn't come out of this completely empty handed.

They skirted the airport security fence before driving off the road onto the sand where there was an inflatable boat waiting. King spotted the sleek lines of the
Nemesis
a few hundred yards out to sea where she was at anchor.

The inflatable took him and the Superintendent out to the boat. As they got closer King could see the bullet holes in the side of the superstructure, a result of the botched MAROPS interdiction. They bumped against the swim platform at the back and King climbed aboard. He strode up the stairs and walked into the cabin.

Inside half a dozen police officers were milling about. One of them was watching the three captives who were kneeling with black hoods over their heads and hands cuffed behind their backs.

“Show me their faces,” King ordered. One by one the hoods were ripped off.

“Hey mon, what you doing? What the hell is going on?” screamed one of the dreadlocked fishermen. “This is our boat! We and I were given it fair and square.”

“Shit!” King kicked the side of the cabin and stormed outside. He stood on the rear deck breathing through his teeth as he stared at the airport. One clusterfuck after another. He clenched a fist. At least they had Red Sox and he was going to talk. Pershing would make sure of that.

Chapter 23

FOZ DO IGUACU, BRAZIL

Bishop
parked his Hyundai at the end of a dirt track and carried all the equipment he’d purchased down to the water’s edge. He wore a fishing vest over his shirt and a floppy khaki broad-brim hat. Plugging a foot pump into the side of an inflatable kayak he worked furiously to fill it with air. Sweat dripped from his face and mosquitos attacked him despite the smothering of repellant he wore.

Two minutes later he launched the kayak and waded in after it. His eyes darted from the bank to the water and back again, searching for any predators. He'd watched enough Animal Planet to know South American waterways were filled with anacondas, piranhas, and caiman.

Once in the kayak, he checked his fishing rod was secure and paddled steadily. He stayed close to the heavily vegetated shoreline in an attempt to avoid the harsh midday sun and risk drawing attention.

According to the Bunker, Kurtz had been captured over three hours ago. That meant Pershing could have moved him a significant distance. However, the location Bishop had been given was their only lead.

He continued paddling until he spotted the boatshed nestled in the jungle on the bank. A quick glance at his iPRIMAL confirmed it was the place he was searching for. Casually he flicked out his lure and reeled it back in.

For the better part of thirty minutes he pretended to fish, all the while actually watching the boatshed. The metal structure was squat and jutted out from the bank. Large sliding doors would allow a boat to enter without having to use a trailer and boat ramp. A wooden pier ran out from a side door. To its rear a path was cut through the jungle.

Feigning frustration he reeled in the lure for a final time and stowed the rod. Paddling gently he cruised to within a few hundred yards of his objective. He pushed the kayak under a low hanging tree and secured it to a branch. Slipping his iPRIMAL into a waterproof dry bag he secured it in his hip pocket before hanging a dive mask around his neck. Then he lowered himself over the side of the kayak into the water. Pushing thoughts of deadly predators from his mind he half waded, half swam under the trees. He stopped regularly to scan for movement.

The water was cool, refreshing compared to the oppressive humidity. Confident it was all clear he closed within ten yards of the boatshed’s closed doors, slipped on the dive mask, took a deep breath, and submerged. Through the murky water he quickly made out the bottom of the boatshed doors. As he swam under them he almost hit a propeller. Sliding under the hull of the boat he surfaced slowly on the side away from the side door that joined the pier.

Allowing just his head to break the surface he scanned the inside of the building. There was a wooden deck running around three of the walls. An aluminum-hulled boat sat in the gap in the middle. Jerry cans, rope, and other equipment lined the shelving on the walls. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he spotted a security camera watching the door. If he avoided the other side of the boat he should remain well out of its field of view.

Working his way around to the stern of the boat, he grabbed the transom and pulled himself aboard. Lying below the sides, he searched the hull. His fingers found an empty casing. A few seconds later he found a mobile phone. Checking the screen, he saw it was still connected to one of the emergency numbers. He terminated the call and slipped it inside the dry bag. Pulling out his iPRIMAL he sent a message.

Touchdown on Kurtz’s phone. In the boatshed.

The Bunker had already assessed the location was a probable CIA safe house. The manicured grass airstrip on the overhead imagery was a giveaway. Kurtz’s phone was the final confirmation they needed. Now it was only a matter of time before Aleks and the CAT arrived. All he needed to do was keep eyes on the facility until then.

***

CARIBBEAN SEA

Mitch
glanced out of the side window of the cockpit at the waves blasting past a few hundred feet below. Alongside him Mirza held the yoke as he monitored the radar-warning receiver on the multi-function screen and checked their route on a tablet. Sleek’s Israeli-sourced avionics had detected the
E-3 Sentry’s
powerful radar immediately after takeoff and Mitch had plotted a route to avoid it.

“We'll stay low and fast to avoid the AWACS then pop up just east of Caracas. We'll drop in on their air traffic radar as a private charter out of Grenada. It's going to burn a bit of fuel but we’ll still be OK to make Brazil.” Mitch stowed the tablet and grasped the yoke. “Hands on. Taking positive control.”

“Control is yours. Hands off,” Mirza said.

There was a knock at the cockpit door. “Come in,” said Mitch.

Saneh appeared wearing a concerned expression. “Is there any reason we're sailing to Venezuela instead of flying?”

Mitch laughed as he adjusted the throttles. “We're evading the United States Air Force.”

“OK, good to know. What’s our ETA on Caracas?”

“About thirty minutes. Don't worry, we'll put on some altitude soon.”

“As long as we get on the ground in one piece. Oh and Mirza, I just spoke to Vance. Ivan has set up a safe house for us and procured a couple of pistols.”

“Good stuff.” Mirza didn't take his eyes from the aircraft’s instruments.

“OK, well, I'm going to leave you boys to it.” Saneh closed the cabin door and returned to her rearward-facing seat. At the back of the aircraft the four members of the CAT were checking over their equipment. Their armor and weapons were the same mottled green camouflaged items used in their jungle training back on the island. The only difference was they now had their full-face CAT helmets, also camouflaged. The helmets provided essential protection in a close assault, in addition to enhancing aiming, night vision, hearing, and respiratory functions. Additionally each man had a black free-fall parachute and reserve. The Bunker had already warned them to be prepared for a parachute insertion and updated the team with the result of Bishop’s close recon.

Aleks looked up and caught her eye. He left the others and sat in the seat next to her. “How are you?”

“I wish I was going with the rest of the team.” Saneh knew she should be focusing on her own mission to Caracas, not the recovery of Kurtz.

“You wish you were with Bishop.”

She had to admit he was on her mind. “There’s so much that can go wrong with this op.”

“He’ll be OK. He did well to confirm Kurtz’s location. We’ll have both of them back by next morning.”

***

FOZ DO IGUACU, BRAZIL

Kurtz
knew he wasn't far from the boat where he had stashed his phone. That gave him hope; hope that PRIMAL would find him before it was too late. He didn't want to consider what ‘too late’ involved. He turned his head but couldn't see anything through the black hood.

“You're in some serious shit, Wilhelm Jager.”

Kurtz turned to the southern accented voice. “I haven't done anything wrong,” he said. “I came to Brazil to help save girls from sex slavery.”

“Well then ain't you just Mr. Fucking Wonderful. Good cover for a terrorist.”

Terrorist? What the hell were they talking about? thought Kurtz.

“We know all about your buddy, Aden. Were you in Mexico with him? Did you help him destroy the mine?”

Now Kurtz was really confused. The hood was ripped off and he squinted under bright lights.

“You can make this easy, Wilhelm. You tell us all about Aden, who he is, where we can find him, and then we might consider letting you go. We might even let your parents live.”

A printout of a photo was held in front of him. The picture showed a bald-headed brute with a goatee on a couch between his parents. The thug wore a grin and had his arms around the elderly couple.

Kurtz strained against the restraints that held him to the chair.

“Steady there, cowboy. You're not going anywhere.”

He jumped as the voice got closer to his ear. “I want you to know this isn't a government endorsed activity. We're not constrained by any Geneva conventions or any of that horseshit. So you either talk or I'm going to cause you more pain than you've ever felt in your life.”

“
Lutsch meinen Schwanz du Arschloch!
”

A snicker told him someone else in the room understood German. He twisted his head but couldn't see past the dazzling bright lights.

“So it's going to be like that, is it? Shrek, he's all yours.”

Kurtz braced himself for the punch that never came. Instead the lights dimmed and he found himself face to face with a grinning bald-headed giant who had little ears poking out from a Neanderthal-like skull. The man from the photo with his parents.

“Hey, got a chance to meet your mom, Wilhelm,” grinned the behemoth.

“
Ja
, did she talk your ear off?”

“Oh, she did more than that. She sucked my cock like a real champion.”

He laughed. “Your dick is too small to stop her talking.” He didn't see the punch coming. It knocked him and the chair sideways. He tasted blood in his mouth as he lay on the floor.

***

JAMAICA, CARIBBEAN SEA

The
fishing trawler made a steady fifteen knots as it cruised through the pristine waters south west of Jamaica. Its diesel engines throbbed beneath a weathered deck scattered with nets, floats, and crab pots. Chua was at the helm while Flash worked in the crew cabin below. The Asian American clutched the wooden wheel with both hands and had propped his iPRIMAL tablet in front as a navigation aid. “We've got at least a week of perfect weather,” Chua yelled over his shoulder.

“Good,” replied Flash. “Now if only I could get the bloody satellite comms to work. Wesley, try turning it a little further left.”

The banker was at the rear of the boat standing over a laptop-sized satellite antenna. He nudged it with his foot.

“That's it, that’s it!” screamed Flash. “Nope, gone again.”

Chua shook his head. The two of them had been at it for the last hour and they really needed to get to work. To do that required data communications. He was also a little anxious being out of contact with Vance and the Bunker. A lot could have happened in the five hours since they left Kingston.

“Hey, stop what you’re doing, Wes.”

“I'm not touching it.”

“Awesome, we've got comms.”

“Great,” said Chua. “Wesley, I need you to take the helm. Keep us on course.”

He waited till the banker climbed the staircase into the wheelhouse. “The route is marked on the tablet.”

“Bit of a step down from the
Nemesis
, dude.”

“Low key is the name of the game.” Chua climbed down the stairs to the tiny crew cabin that doubled as a galley. Flash had set up two laptops on a chipped and dented table that was bolted to the floor. “Wow, you can really smell the fish in here,” he said as he sat at a computer and slipped on a headset.

Flash looked up from his screen. “Tell me about it. Saneh and Mirza get luxury and we get this old tub. Tell me again why we couldn't leave on the jet with everyone else?”

“Because, when you're about to steal nearly a billion dollars it's good to be mobile.”

“The
Nemesis
was mobile.”

“And subtle, very subtle.” Chua logged onto the secure system.

“Bandwidth is shitty, video isn’t going to work.”

Chua scrolled to Vance's icon on the communications app and hit it. It connected in a couple of seconds.

“Chua, good to see you online. I was getting worried,” Vance’s voice boomed.

“Had a few problems with our satellite bearer. Did the team get away on Sleek?”

“You were right about GES. They made a play as everyone was pulling out. Local police tried to raid the hangar. Aleks saved the day.”

“Damn, how did they know we were there?”

“The
Nemesis
was heading south. They may have been able to track the refuel point with the C-130. I’ve got the team here looking into it.”

“What about us here on the fishing boat?”

“There’s nothing to suggest that they’re on to you but we’ll continue to monitor. The priority now is Venezuela and Brazil. Mitch just dropped Mirza and Saneh in Caracas to RV with Ivan.”

“And Kurtz?”

“Bishop has located a probable CIA rendition facility just north of the tri-border area. The CAT will infiltrate tonight and if Kurtz is in location they’ll recover him.”

“And if he's not?”

“Then we might have to consider a hostage swap.”

“They tried to kill Wesley. I don't think they're going to agree to swap him for Kurtz.”

“I'm not talking about him. I'm talking about Jordan Pollard. As you know, we need him to facilitate the transaction and your boy says he'll be in Venezuela in twenty-four hours. If Mirza and Saneh can find a way to snatch him we'll be in business. Where are we at with the financial preparations?”