PRIMAL Nemesis (Book 2 in the Redemption Trilogy, A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 6) (The PRIMAL Series) (23 page)

Chapter 28

CARIBBEAN SEA

The
sun reflected brightly off the calm seas but the mood on the fishing boat was dark. Chua and Flash had received the news of Aleks’s death not long after the rest of the team. The two men mourned in separate ways. Chua spent an hour at the back of the boat silently staring out at the wake. Flash turned to his work, burying himself in the task of developing the program that would enable them to steal Pollard’s funding. The other member of their tiny crew, Wesley Chambers, was left to keep them on course.

It was mid-morning when Chua finished his silent vigil and climbed down to the galley. “Hey, Flash, how are you doing?”

“Yeah I'm OK, bud. You?”

“As good as can be expected. So where are we at?”

Flash cracked his knuckles. “I think I’ve nailed it. The program I've written allows me to replicate the software the bank uses to authenticate. It needs two codes on two separate devices. They can't be in the same location and they need to be inputted within thirty seconds of each other. It’s all part of the bank’s anti-duress procedures. If you enter the wrong code the system automatically shuts you out. No second chances.”

“So if Pollard or Wesley gives us the wrong code we’re screwed?”

“Not quite. I’ve designed it so we can test the code with a spare device. OK, so we need both codes, a secure link, then once the transaction goes downrange we need to burn all the gear.”

“We can go one better than that.” Chua glanced at his watch. “I'm going to head up and replace Wesley. He's been at the helm for hours.”

“Yeah, not a bad kid that one. Just got led astray.”

“He's OK.” Chua made his way up to the wheelhouse.

Wesley was whistling as he sat in the skipper’s chair. He glanced sideways as Chua approached from the stairwell. “Hey.”

“Wesley, how are we tracking?”

“On course and making good time.”

“Thanks for looking after things. Flash and I just needed some time.”

“No problem.” He paused. “The guy who died, was he part of your team?”

“Yeah, hey, you don't need to worry about that. We'll come good on our deal if you play your part.”

Wesley stepped away from the wheel. “I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. I don't know if anything I did contributed to your friend’s death. But, I just never thought anyone was going to get hurt.”

“It's OK, you're making up for it now. Get some rest. We're going to be busy later on.”

The banker gave a nod and disappeared down the stairs leaving Chua alone at the helm. He confirmed the route, making small adjustments. As he gazed out over the blue waters his thoughts turned to Aleks. Chua felt the weight of the loss was on his shoulders. It was his first mission as the field commander and someone had been killed. That was going to weigh on his conscience for a long time. His only consolation was that vengeance was only hours away.

***

FALWELL AIRFIELD, VIRGINIA

King parked his sedan in front of the hangar at the small rural airfield. He had been summoned by Pollard and driven the fifty miles from the GES facility alone. The chairman's helicopter was already waiting on the tarmac.

His hands were clammy on the steering wheel. When he’d reported the loss in Brazil the night before Pollard had remained calm and softly spoken. Then in the morning the chairman had called and demanded King meet him here.

He left the car and walked across to the helicopter. The side door was open and Pollard was sitting in the luxurious cabin talking on the phone. When he spotted King he gestured for him to enter.

King sat in a leather chair opposite and waited.

Pollard pocketed his phone. “Your man Pershing let us down.”

“The enemy we face is more formidable than anticipated.”

“You don't say. So what are you going to do about it?”

King met his steely gaze. “The intelligence team will locate the business jet. Once we do that we can cue CIA assets to destroy them.”

“The Agency may not be so compliant.” The roar of a jet caught Pollard’s attention and he glanced out the window. “Well, I guess we're about to find out.”

King stepped out of the helicopter and watched as a business jet touched down. It screamed along the runway, slowed, and turned toward them. The sleek Learjet taxied till it was alongside the helicopter then powered down.

“Our good friend, Larkin,” snarled Pollard from behind him.

The stairs on the jet lowered and a moment later the barracuda-jawed CIA director appeared. He was dressed in a slim gray business suit, his dark hair slicked back against his head. “Gentlemen.” He strode down the stairs and offered his hand to Pollard.

The chairman shook it with a grimace. “Thomas, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Larkin's thin lips turned up on one side. “You know why I'm here. Had a little trouble down in Brazil did we?”

Pollard’s grimace turned to a mask of rage. “You know exactly what happened.”

“Yes, I do. I know your people failed to complete a simple task and as a result a CIA officer is dead. I'm canceling all of your CIA contracts. From henceforth you and your personnel are
persona non grata
as far as the Company and our associates are concerned.”

“You can't do that. We've got millions of dollars worth of assets tied up in them.”

“Yes and you are more than welcome to sell them to whoever takes over the contract. You've been found wanting, Jordan, and you’ll pay the penalty.”

“You flew all the way out here just to gloat didn't you, you piece of shit.” The veins in Pollard’s neck bulged.

Larkin smiled. “Don't be so dramatic. I was on my way through to DC. Bad news is always best delivered in person. CIA support to your SCIF will cease immediately. Terrance Howard will be reassigned. Mr. King, I trust you will facilitate his return.”

King nodded.

“Don't worry, Jordan, my people will take over your little witch hunt. I'll make sure the problem is neutralized. Now, please excuse me, I have another appointment.” He offered his hand to Pollard.

The chairman's gray eyes flashed with hatred. He turned and walked back to his helicopter.

Larkin nodded at King. “Some people just aren't cut out for this business.” When Pollard was out of earshot he added, “I'll be in touch, Charles.”

King followed Pollard back to the helicopter as the jet's engines screamed and it taxied onto the runway. Half a minute later it roared along the strip and lifted off.

“Fuck him, Charles. Venezuela is bigger than anything the CIA ever offered. Tomorrow we'll fly down there and finalize the deal.”

“What about the legal case against the Mexican government?”

Pollard waved it off. “That's going to take years. Venezuela will start paying dividends as soon as we have the signed agreement. People will be falling over themselves to invest in the project.” He signaled for the helicopter pilot to spool up the engines. “I'll meet you at Richmond airport tomorrow, 7 am sharp.”

“Yes, sir.” He waited for the chairman to get into the chopper, slammed the door shut, and walked back to his car. The sound of the helicopter’s engines rose in a crescendo then faded as it flew away. He sat in his car contemplating his future. Pollard was delusional if he thought they could survive this, he thought.

***

CARACAS, VENEZUELA

Pete
yawned and rocked back in his chair. He’d spent the last three hours studying the social media feeds of half a dozen students, trying to hunt down the final elements of the
Movimiento
. Since the Dante raid things had gone quiet and Jimmy had become more and more irritable. The former SEAL was a psychopath, thought Pete. He glanced over to where the angry operator was beasting his way through another CrossFit circuit. He was jumping up and down on a box like a demented bullfrog.

A series of beeps drew his attention back to his monitors. A dozen social media accounts had begun broadcasting again. A single message was being retweeted over and over.

Rally tomorrow 0900 Altamira Square!

He checked the source of the tweet. It had originated from one of the devices the guys had raided earlier. “These morons never learn.”

“What's that?”

Pete nearly leaped out of his skin. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Jimmy hunched over dripping sweat onto the dusty concrete. “Damn it, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Situational awareness, mother fucker. Get some! Now what have you got?”

“Twitter’s going mental. They're planning another rally for tomorrow.”

“Who?”

“One of the guys from the raid on Tuesday.”

“You're shitting me.”

Pete's fingers danced over the keyboard as he traced the first line of retweeters. “Actually, make that three of the guys who we raided.”

“Didn't learn the first time, hey?”

“Clearly not.”

“Can you get us a location?”

“Getting broad hits off a dozen cell towers, nothing concrete. If they start coming together I'll launch the bird and get a fix.”

Jimmy grinned. “We'll do the job properly this time. Any luck they'll have another sweet piece of ass for the boys.”

Pete tried not to frown.

“Let me know as soon as you get something. The guys are restless.”

***

The
airfield Ivan had previously identified was a former military base, abandoned as a result of budget cuts. The tarmac was pitted, with weeds growing through the cracks. On all sides the dense jungle was slowly reclaiming the strip. Saneh and Mirza had arrived with over an hour to spare so they had walked the tarmac ensuring there were no obstructions.

The sun had set over an hour ago but visibility was still good. There was a half moon and they were far enough from any urban areas that the sky was clear. Saneh leaned against the van at the end of the runway, while Mirza continued to explore the abandoned buildings of the derelict airbase.

“Tower, this is Sleek, I'm five from your location requesting fly by, over,” Mitch's voice came in over her iPRIMAL.

She grinned. “Negative Sleek, the pattern is full.”

“Damn. I take it the strip’s all clear though?”

“Yes, you're good to go.” Saneh winced as she used one of Bishop's favorite phrases.

“Coming in hot.”

She heard the jet before she spotted it. Mitch was running total black out and would be using the onboard infrared cameras to land. Moonlight flashed on the white fuselage as it touched down at the end of the airstrip. Mitch bled off the speed and by the time the jet reached her it was moving at walking pace. He brought it to a complete halt with the wing only a couple yards from the van.

The stairs lowered and Kurtz appeared. He hobbled down the stairs and embraced her in a bear hug.

“I'm so sorry to hear about Aleks,” she said, struggling to get her words out.

“He saved me,” he mumbled.

They separated as the rest of the CAT began loading the van. Mirza appeared from the darkness and greeted them.

“I have to go,” said Kurtz. “Mitch and I will be your guardian angels.”

She flashed him a smile. “OK, I'll see you when it's done.”

Kurtz retreated back inside the jet and the door closed. She gave the blacked out cockpit a wave.

“I see you, waving that hand,” crooned Mitch over the communicator. She managed a smile and walked back to the van. Everyone was loaded and Mirza was in the driver’s seat. Bishop stood next to the van and even in the moonlight she could see his face was haggard.

“CAT ready and reporting for duty ma’am,” he said. “Brought the extra bang you requested.”

“I'll give you a handover on the way to the target.”

He shook his head. “Negative, this is your op, Saneh. I'm just here to make up numbers. You can give your mission orders to the whole team.”

CHAPTER 29

CARACAS, VENEZUELA

Pete
studied his screen in disbelief, shaking his head. Five of the phones he was tracking were all pinging off the same tower. There was no way it was a coincidence. “Hey Jimmy, your buddies are having another meeting.”

“Then let’s get this show on the road. Hank, help cock lips get the drone airborne. The rest of you limp-dicked space cadets get geared up and ready to roll.”

The old warehouse burst to life as Pete activated the software for the drone and the men raced to don their gear. He moved outside to where Hank was powering up the Schiebel Camcopter. Moments later its twin bladed disc was spinning furiously and it was ready to go to work. When he walked back to his desk Jimmy was waiting with a map.

“Where am I going?”

“They're all pinging off the tower near La Vega.” He pointed out the area on the map. “Once you're in location I should have the address.”

Jimmy slapped him on the shoulder. “Get to it, bro. It’s time to shut these students up. I’ll make sure they well and truly get the message this time.”

The team piled inside their battered van as Pete plotted a route for the drone and uploaded the target handsets into the magic box. He glanced at the time on the screen. It was 2130. He frowned; the students didn't usually meet this late.

It took the helicopter a few minutes to transit to the suburb of La Vega. Once it was on station Pete set it to work. He programmed it to fly circuits over the area, searching like a bloodhound for the electronic scent. Forty seconds into the hunt the first two phones appeared together. A minute and a half later all five devices were pinging at a property on the outskirts of the city. Pete punched the address into his phone. He felt a tinge of guilt as he sent it to Jimmy.

***

Mitch
held the Gulfstream in a circuit to the south of Caracas. Cruising at 30,000 feet he’d requested a holding pattern from Air Traffic Control at Maiquetia International Airport. He'd reported a difficulty with the landing gear that his engineer was attempting to rectify. In reality he was using Sleek's electronic warfare system to scan the area around the safe house.

“So Saneh thinks they’re using signals intelligence to collect on the students?” asked Kurtz from the copilot's seat.

“That's right, mate. It's the only way they could track them. GES has the resources and the guys with the skills.”

“These people are animals,” hissed Kurtz. “What I wouldn’t give to be on the ground with Bishop.”

“I find that deeply offensive, Kurtz.”

“
Nein
, that's not what I meant.” A series of beeps emitted from the tablet Kurtz was holding.

“I know what you mean, mate. Now what's the system picked up?”

Kurtz held the device up. Squiggly lines danced on the screen.

“Holy crap.”

“What?”

“Someone's running an encrypted command link and two data links.”

Kurtz looked confused. “What does that mean?”

“It means there's a drone sniffing around out there.” Mitch jabbed a button and opened a line of communications with the ground. “Saneh, this is Sleek.”

Saneh's calm tone came in over his headset, “Saneh here, send.”

“I've picked up data links for a drone. That's how they're locating the students. It'll have a SIGINT box onboard.”

“Can you shut it down when we make contact?”

“I could but then, young lady, they would know we're onto them.”

“True, can you jam the video link? I don't want the ground crew seeing anything.”

“I can go one better. I can jam the signal and give you its origin.”

There was a pause as Saneh considered the option. “Good, do it. I’ll task Mirza and Miklos to hit the source. The rest of us will deal with the GES death squad.”

“Roger, I'll send the grid as soon as we have it.”

Mitch placed the aircraft on autopilot as he focused his attention on the tablet. His fingers danced on the screen as he instructed the aircraft’s sensors to detect the drone's base station.

“Mike Whiskey One One, what is the status of your landing gear?” the tower asked over the aircraft’s radio.

Kurtz keyed his mike. “This is Mike Whiskey One One, I've isolated the problem. Confident I can have it fixed in the next fifteen minutes. We have plenty of fuel, over.”

“Acknowledged, maintain current circuit and report in once you're ready.”

***

Jimmy's
phone pinged and he checked the address. “Fuck, yeah!” He flicked open his smartphone and used a navigation app to find it. Satellite imagery of the mansion showed it was isolated at the end of a cul-de-sac. Perfect. It was an expansive property with a landscaped front garden. The garden continued around the sides of the house to the rear that contained a swimming pool and backed onto numerous hectares of jungle. He smiled, not only would they be cleaning house but there would be plenty of good loot. “OK boys, we've got a target. It’s a good one.” He gave directions to Hank as they drove across town.

In the back of the van the team were dressed in their usual garb; dark T-shirts, jeans, and balaclavas rolled up on their heads. They were armed with batons and pistols; overkill for dealing with a handful of overzealous students.

It took fifteen minutes to cross town, find the cul-de-sac, and park the van. “Let’s work them over properly this time,” said Jimmy as they gathered at the entrance to the estate. The gate was unlocked and he pushed it open. A number of rooms on the bottom floor of the mansion had their lights on. It was a similar property to the one where they'd caught up with Dante. Luxury compared to our stinking hovel, thought Jimmy.

The five-man team strode across the lawns to the front of the house. Hank checked the door. “Locked, boss.”

“Breach and sweep,” whispered Jimmy.

Hank kicked the door savagely. The jamb tore off and he stormed inside the house.

Jimmy followed his men with his baton extended. They peeled off either side of the hallway.

He followed Hank into the living room.

“What the fuck.” It was empty. Jimmy drew his pistol. Something was wrong.

“Boss, you're going to want to see this,” one of the guys called out.

He strode into the kitchen with Hank on his heels. The other three men were standing in front of the refrigerator. They stepped aside when Jimmy arrived. There, stuck to the fridge, were pictures of Dante, the old chick they had accidentally killed, and the girl he’d raped.

“Fuck!” Jimmy turned and dove for the kitchen window, slashing with his baton as he crashed through.

The refrigerator exploded, tossing him into the garden bed outside. He hit the ground hard, his legs and back peppered with glass, metal shards, and splinters of wood.

He ignored the pain and scrambled to his feet. Gathering his wits he searched for his pistol. Shit, it was gone. He glanced back at the kitchen. There was no movement from the rest of his team, just smoldering wreckage. He gripped his baton and limped through the garden, heading for the thick jungle that bordered the back of the property.

The
echo of the explosion was still rolling off the jungle-covered hills when Saneh ordered Kruger and Pavel forward to clear the house. The pair stepped out from the bushes, decked out in their CAT armor and helmets. They looked like terminators as they patrolled through the shattered front door and inside the devastated house.

Bishop scanned the house from his position on the other side of the manicured garden. He listened as others reported their movement through the building and confirmed the casualties in the kitchen. Through the CAT helmet he could see the orange glow of Saneh in the distance, monitoring her side of the perimeter.

Bishop advanced through the garden to get a better view of the back yard. Something caught his eye. Swiveling his head, his helmet’s sensors revealed a man running. The figure disappeared into the jungle as Bishop snapped off a round. “We've got a squirter. In pursuit.”

“I'm right behind you,” transmitted Saneh.

He dashed through the garden and into the jungle. The thick vegetation minimized the effectiveness of the helmet’s sensors. Visual range was reduced but the inbuilt sound amplifiers could give him an edge.

He pushed through the dense undergrowth and spotted the runner’s footprints. The feet had kicked up a phosphorescent material on the jungle floor. The trail glowed faintly through his fused sensors, invisible to the human eye. He stepped up the pace, Tavor assault rifle held ready.

Ten yards on he saw splashes of warm liquid. His prey was wounded. “Saneh, I'm closing in on this guy.”

He moved around a thick tree when a blow to the thigh caught him off balance. He staggered sideways as he was hit again with a baton, and lost his footing. Slipping backward he reached out and grabbed his attacker, holding on as he fell. He lost his grip on his assault rifle as they bounced down the slope.

Bishop's helmet slammed against a rock as he cartwheeled then splashed into a stream. The sensors became scrambled, the helmet useless. Pulling the quick release, he threw it off, and staggered to his feet. He searched frantically for his attacker as he drew his pistol.

There was a gut-wrenching scream as a figure shoulder-charged him. He fired, missing as he was knocked back. A fist hit him square on the jaw. He fell onto his butt, dropping the pistol as he landed in the water.

The attacker leaped on top of him, forcing his head under water and pinning him with his body.

Bishop fought frantically but his equipment weighed him down. He struggled to get his head above water.

“You’re a dead fucker,” snarled his attacker.

He sucked in air then was under again. This time the GES operative managed to get a forearm across his throat. His strength ebbed as he tried to punch the man. Slabs of muscle absorbed the blows. Desperation filled his mind as he tried to draw his combat knife from his armor. His gloved fingers refused to work as his lungs screamed for oxygen.

Just when he thought it was all over the attacker’s body went limp. The arm on his throat released and he pushed the dead weight to the side. His head broke the surface and he gasped for air.

“Bishop!” Saneh's voice was frantic as she scrambled down the hill. She slid into the water and grabbed him, pulling his head up. “God, I thought I'd lost you.”

He coughed and spluttered. “He got the drop on me.”

“He sure did.” She wiped his wet hair out of his face. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Let’s get back to the van.”

Bishop recovered his pistol from the creek before inspecting the body of his attacker. Saneh had shot the stocky American clean through the skull. Bishop lifted the corpse’s arm and inspected the tattoo, a dragon clutching a trident. “Saneh, you know this guy?”

She handed him his rifle. “Jimmy Scott, filthy little murdering rapist and employee of GES. She used her phone to snap a photo of the arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Mirza and Miklos should be moving in on the support crew any moment now.”

***

Pete
bashed his keyboard and swore. No matter what he did he couldn't get the video feed from the drone to come through. It was blocked by some kind of interference. At least he had control of the bird. The magic box on the aircraft was also working. The screen still showed the cluster of phones at the residence. He sighed. The students were probably all beaten half to death by now. Or raped by that maniac, Jimmy. Pushing the thought from his mind he sent a text message to the team leader telling him the drone was offline. Then he hit the return home function and leaned back in his chair.

The mission had been running for two months now and he'd had enough. Jimmy and the rest of the team treated him like a second-class citizen and his heart wasn't in the work. He hadn't signed on to help a bunch of thugs bash and murder students and politicians.

“Don't move.”

The metallic voice nearly gave Pete a heart attack. He spun his chair around and was greeted by the most terrifying sight he’d ever seen. Two alien looking figures were pointing assault rifles directly at him.

“I said, don't move.”

There was a crack and he felt the two probes from a
Taser
hit him in the chest. The barbs felt like red-hot spikes punching through his skin. Immediately, thousands of volts of electricity arced through his body and he convulsed in pain. He slid off the chair and collapsed to the floor. Warmth spread from his groin as he lost control of his bladder. Strong hands flipped him over and secured his hands behind his back.

Mirza ripped the taser probes out as Pavel slid a hood over the prisoner’s head. Then they hauled him back onto his chair. The stench of urine filled the air.

He left Pavel to guard and called through to Saneh. “We've captured their intel guy.”