PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) (14 page)

“A
hundred, now that’s some coin!”

“It is
indeed. Sort it out. Do what you have to do.” Pershing terminated the call.

Howard
sat for a few seconds before he realized he was still holding the apple. He
crunched into it as he contemplated the way forward. Now there was real
evidence of a capable adversary, he had more leverage to push for a team of his
own. All he needed to do was fabricate some Source 88 reports and take it to
his boss. The man already had a hard-on for his previous work. He looked at the
apple like it was poison and tossed it over the fence. He would grab a candy
bar on the way back past the machine, he was going to need the energy. But
first he was going to have a smoke.

CHAPTER 15

LASCAR ISLAND

The PRIMAL targeting board was a monthly
event that ultimately cost lives. Usually the lives on the line were those of
despots, criminals, corrupt politicians, and the like. Scum and villainy, as
the Director of Operations so eloquently put it. However, occasionally it was
the lives of their comrades, the PRIMAL operatives that went into harm’s way to
set wrongs right and bring justice to dark corners of the world. It was in this
meeting that targets were put forward for consideration and decisions were made
as to who PRIMAL would bring to justice.

Vance and
Chua were sitting at the conference room table waiting for Frank, the
watchkeeper, to set up the video link to Abu Dhabi.

Frank activated
one of the wall-mounted monitors, and the handsome Arabic features of PRIMAL’s
benefactor appeared on the screen. Stroking his manicured beard he studied
something on his desk before looking up. “Gentlemen, how are you all?”

Vance leaned
forward and spoke into the microphone on the table. “Our settings must be all
messed up at this end, Tariq, because those green eyes of yours are looking
particularly dreamy.”

The CEO
of Lascar Logistics broke into a broad smile. “It’s not like you to offer a
compliment, Vance. Does this mean you need more money?” He pretended to frown.

Despite
funding nearly all of PRIMAL’s operating costs, Tariq rarely involved himself
in the day-to-day operations of the organization. However, like Vance and Chua,
he did hold the power of veto over any mission. It was one of the controls that
ensured they remained focused on delivering impartial justice.

“I
wouldn’t say no to more cash.” Vance coughed. “But, on a more serious note, have
you got today’s target deck?”

Tariq
held up a tablet. “Yes, I’ve had time to go over it in detail. It’s an
impressive piece of work. Chen, please thank your team for me.”

Chua
smiled. “Thanks, Tariq, I’ll pass it on. Now, if everyone is ready, I’m going
to summarize the developing operations and move straight on to the emerging
time-sensitive issue.”

Tariq
nodded.

Vance
folded his massive arms. “Go on.”

Chua pressed
a remote and a map appeared on another screen. “We’re still developing
intelligence on the following potential ops. In priority order. One, ongoing
humanitarian violations by the Myanmar junta. Two, exploitation of test
subjects by a pharmaceutical company in Angola. Three, a white supremacist gang
operating out of Scandinavia, and finally, a Chinese backed poaching syndicate
devastating the black Rhino population in Zimbabwe. He looked up from his
notes. “Does anyone have any questions or objections regarding any of these
collection operations?”

“Just
one,” Tariq asked. “I’m yet to read Mirza’s report from Myanmar. I was
wondering how agent recruitment there was progressing?”

“It’s developing
nicely. We have three potential Blades identified. My team’s going through a
comprehensive analysis and we’ll select one in the near future.”

“Good.”

“OK, that
brings us to our operation of opportunity.”

“Ah yes,”
said Tariq. “Gentlemen, when are you going to learn that wherever you send Aden,
he’s going to find trouble? The man is a magnet for it.”

Vance
sighed. “Tell me about it. But, it’s a bit cruel to keep him locked up here.”

“Cruel
for me, he’d drive me insane,” said Chua. “I’ve been through a full debriefing
with him, and in his defense, what he has uncovered is fairly significant in
terms of injustice.”

Tariq
nodded. “From what I’ve read, I concur. If these people are indeed killing farmers
and burning their homes, then we’re obliged to scope an intervention.”

Vance sat
up in his chair. “I agree. But I’d like to take a very low-key approach to this
operation. We should aim to target them at the corporate level. Expose the
corruption and environmental issues, and bring the authorities to bear.”

Tariq nodded
from on screen. “Gentlemen, I have one major concern; what if this is a CIA
operation? We might end up exposing PRIMAL to significant risk. Vance, what’s
your assessment on this?”

As a
former CIA officer, Vance had an intimate understanding of how the agency
worked. “My gut feeling is this isn’t a CIA operation. The days of the Company running
little cash ventures are long gone. In saying that, it’s possible one or two of
their officers are getting their hands dirty. So I agree that it poses a risk,
and Mexico is the motherfucking badlands. So like I said, we need to play this
one real careful. No mentoring local militias or any of the kinetic business.”

A knock
at the door interrupted him.

Chua
checked who it was and exchanged some quick words. He opened the door and
Flash, PRIMAL’s resident digital intel specialist, entered.

Chua sat
back down. “Gents, we’ve got more information coming in that has a direct
impact on our decision here. Flash, the room is yours.”

The stocky,
shaggy-haired analyst looked around the room excitedly. “Hey, so hi, everybody.
OK, this is pretty big. The hack that Mirza installed on one of the banker guys’
phones. Yeah, well they found it, and they’re trying to ping it back to us.”

Vance
wore a concerned look. “What does that mean?”

“It means
they know someone’s looking at them but don’t know who. There’s no way they can
trace it back to the Bunker or anything like that. But they do know someone
with serious capability is sniffing around.”

“From
what I understand, Flash, the hack was well hidden,” Chua said. “Someone had to
be doing some serious digging to find it.”

“That’s
right. I backtracked the ping and the source is a Ground Effects Services office
in New York. This is interesting because it confirms they’re providing the IT
security to MVI.”

“MVI?”
Tariq’s voice came across the speakers.

“Yeah,
they’re the ones who funded the mining operation. Both MVI and GES have offices
in the same building.”

“No indication
that NSA is involved?” asked Chua throwing in yet another three-letter
organization.

Flash
shook his mop of hair. “Nah, boss, this guy’s good, but he’s using commercial software.
I’ve tried to hack into their server but they’re running a very tight ship. If
we want to get inside their system we’re going to need to get someone, or
something, physically inside the building.”

“I think
that’s as good a place to start as any,” said Vance. “I propose we bring Mitch
down from Alaska and start gathering all the intel we can in New York. That way
we can establish exactly who we’re dealing with.”

Chua
nodded. “I agree. And once we get more info from Bishop about the mine, we can
decide what course of action to take with him.”

Tariq stroked
his beard. “I just need a little clarification on who everyone is. RED is
running the mine, GES is providing security, and MVI are the guys bankrolling
the operation. Correct?”

“That’s
correct,” Chua said.

“OK.” He
nodded. “I concur. Let’s make it a priority to get as much intel as we can.”

Vance
thumped the table with the palm of his hand. “Excellent, let’s get it
happening. In 72 hours I want to know everything there is to know about these
fucktards.”

CHAPTER
16

CHIHUAHUA

The jolting of the truck woke Bishop. He found Christina
nuzzled in his shoulder, still fast asleep. He checked his watch. Only an hour
had passed since they’d left the outskirts of the city. Looking out over the
tailgate, he was surprised to see the urban sprawl had been replaced with
mountains and a dusty rutted track.

After they’d escaped from the Black
Jackets, Roberto had taken them to a friend’s car yard on the outskirts of town.
Despite Emilio’s protests, Bishop had paid cash to swap the battered F250 for a
newer, blue, Dodge Dakota pickup. They had stayed overnight before heading off
at the crack of dawn.

The blue
Dodge pulled up outside a cluster of stone buildings and the four Mexicans got
out of the cab. Bishop gently nudged Christina to wake her. “Hey, I think we’re
there.”

He jumped
over the side of the truck and helped her down.

Their
destination was a modest ranch perched on the side of a low hill. It overlooked
an inhospitable valley dotted with rocky outcrops, dry brush, and tall spiked
plants. The farm buildings were all made of local stone and bare beams. Three
small huts were clustered behind a main residence and a large square barn.
Bishop guessed the ranch was set up as a bed and breakfast.

The front
door of the farmhouse opened and an elderly gentleman wearing a plaid shirt and
jeans appeared. He took one look at Roberto and his men and waved them inside.

Bishop
wandered across to the barn and peered inside. There were stalls along one
side, straw on the floor, and a storage room at the end. The musty smell of
horses hung in the air. A whinny sounded from one of the stalls and a horse
poked its nose out.

“Aden,”
Christina called from outside.

He walked
back to find the Mexicans had returned.

Roberto pointed
to the huts. “We can stay here for the next few days. They’ve given us two
huts. The four of us will stay in the bunkhouse. Christina, you and Aden will
have the other cabin.”

“Hey,
that doesn’t sound fair.”

“Do you
and Christina want the bunkhouse and the four of us can share a bed?”

Bishop
shook his head. “No, I just thought–”

“It’ll be
fine,” Christina said as she gathered her bags from the truck and made her way
to the cabin.

He
watched her for a moment, then pulled his iPRIMAL from his pocket. He wasn’t
surprised to find there was no phone reception. It wasn’t useless though; he
could still access the stored data and the GPS worked. “How far are we from the
mine?”

“About
twenty miles,” said Roberto as he grabbed his jacket from the truck. “But don’t
worry. We won’t be walking. My friends have agreed to lend us horses.”

“Horses?
No one said anything about horses.” He followed the rancher down to the cabins.

“If we go
by road the Chaquetas
will find us.
If you want, you can walk, but it’s a long way through the desert.”

Bishop opened
a mapping app on his iPRIMAL. “The mine doesn’t appear on any of imagery.”

Roberto
looked confused. “How are you getting the internet out here?”

“The
mapping data is cached.” He pointed to their current location. “We’re here.
Where is the mine?”

“North,
about twenty miles. We’ll ride through a canyon, past the old gold mine, and across
the desert till we hit a creek. Then we climb higher into the mountains.”

Bishop traced
the route with his finger.

“That’s
it there,” said Roberto when a series of jagged peaks filled the screen.
“That’s
monstruo
. Now, please excuse
me, I’m going to have a shower and organize dinner.”

“When are
we going to leave for the mine?”

“Tomorrow
night. That gives you all day to get to know your horse.”

Bishop
sat on the rough-hewn bench out the front of his cabin and studied the mountain
range Roberto had indicated. It was huge and surrounded by jagged terrain. He
didn’t like horses at the best of times but at night, on rocky ground, he knew
it wasn’t going to be easy. At least it was tactically sound. The horse was the
perfect covert infiltration vehicle and it was unlikely a bunch of cartel thugs
or security contractors would be patrolling the desert at night. Nope, only an
idiot would be bumbling around out there on a glorified donkey.

***

NEW YORK

Mitch banked the Gulfstream and leveled out, lining up with
the main runway at Westchester County Airport. He dropped the flaps, eased back
on the throttle, and touched down with a gentle thud. The tower authorized him
to taxi off the strip and onto the apron.

He spotted the buggy waiting for him. It
had a rotating orange light on its roof. He followed it to a clear section of
the apron and powered down the engines. He yawned as he pried himself from the
pilot’s seat and stretched his legs. It had been a six hour flight from Alaska.
Grabbing his bags from the main cabin, he dropped the stairs and stepped out
into the pleasant warmth of an afternoon spring breeze.

The guy
in the buggy was waiting. “Welcome to Westchester County, Mr. Henderson.”

Mitch
dropped his bags in the back of the electric cart and shook the man’s hand.
“Thanks, mate. Is there anything I need to sort out?” He activated the remote
control that closed the aircraft door.

“No,
everything’s good. If you leave me the keys I can have the jet refueled. Your
office has arranged for a week’s parking but we can extend that if you need
it.”

Mitch jumped
into the passenger seat. “She’s still got plenty of juice. I’ll let you know if
I’m going to stay any longer.”

“Very
good.” The man started the cart and drove toward the hangars. “She sure is a
beauty. We get a lot of jets here but not many 650s. Is she yours?”

Mitch
laughed. “I wish. She belongs to a very wealthy businessman.” He thanked the
driver when they reached the office, signed the parking permit, and walked out
the front of the small terminal. There was a yellow cab waiting at the curb. He
threw his bags in the back and sat in the front passenger seat. He turned to
the scruffy-looking driver. “What, no help with the bags? I hope you don’t
think you’re getting a tip, champ.”

Mirza gave
him a big smile. “Mitch, it’s good to see you.”

“You too,
mate.”

Mirza
pulled the taxi away from the curb and they drove out of the airport. “How was
the sledding?”

“Shorter
than expected but still a hell of a ride.”

“Sorry
about that.”

Mitch
gave a lop-sided grin. “Not your fault, mate. Tell you what, it’s going to be good
to get into the field. You, Bishop, and Saneh have been hogging all the fun
recently. So, tell me, what’s been going on?”

“Did Chua
give you an update on Mexico and the phone hack?”

“Yep, I’m
pretty much up to speed on everything except the target building.”

“It’s not
going to be easy to infiltrate. I was invited to a meeting there two days ago.
They’ve got twenty-four hour security and the building’s thirty-six stories
high.”

“And the
cover you used is blown, right?”

“Yes, I’d
assume so.”

“I’m guessing
the guards are pretty switched on. Not your average bored mall cops?”

“Correct,
and they have very tight IT security.”

“Yeah,
spoke to our man Flash about that. He’s pretty much in love with the guy that
tried to ping his bug. Went on about it for at least twenty minutes. Good
though, kept me awake on the flight down.”

Mirza
chuckled. “He’s passionate, that’s for sure. Look, if you want a nap now, we’re
at least an hour from the apartment in Manhattan.”

He reclined
the seat and closed his eyes. “Good idea. Once we get there I’d like to grab a bite
to eat and get eyes on the target.”

“We can
use the cab if you want.”

“You
borrow it from a cousin?”

Mirza
looked embarrassed. “Not all cabbies are Indian, Mitch.”

“You did,
didn’t you!” He laughed. “That’s ace. You’ve got the perfect cover.”

***

Wesley
Chambers gazed out the window of his office as he sucked the last drops from a
bottle of Gatorade. He had a splitting headache, the result of necking back
endless shots of Ciroc vodka the night before. Watching the procession of traffic
flowing back and forth across the Brooklyn Bridge, he managed a smile. Last
night had been fantastic; an associate had introduced him to two Victoria’s
Secret models and after a few drinks in the club they had reconvened to his
boat for fun and games. The girl he’d ended up with was a goddess: tall,
gorgeous, and with curves that could kill a man.

A knock
at his door interrupted his sordid recollection. “Come in.”

He spun
around as it opened, expecting to see his pretty secretary,
Clarissa,
with
another bottle of Gatorade. Instead, the shaved head and piercing gaze of
Charles King greeted him.

“Working
hard I see, Wesley.”

The
investment banker’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

King
strode into the room and looked around. He spotted the framed picture of
Nemesis
and smiled. “That’s a fancy boat.
Must be worth a pretty penny.”

“More
than you’ll earn in a lifetime. I’m guessing this isn’t a courtesy call. What
do you want?”

King lowered
his athletic frame onto the plush leather couch in the corner of the office. “I
know you think I’m a pain, Wesley, most of you banker types do. All jacked up
on your own importance.” He folded his hands in his lap. “You bring in millions
of dollars of investment, and that makes you super-important and super-powerful.”

“Look
Charles, I don’t have time–”

“Shut the
hell up and listen,” King snarled.

He
shivered involuntarily.

“I get
it, people like you are vital to the company. It’s the only reason you’re still
here. But, what you don’t understand is in this business, there’s a certain
need for discretion.”

“Cut to
the chase. What are you getting at?”

King nodded
at the smartphone sitting on Wes’s desk. “Your phone, been having problems with
it?”

“The piece
of crap doesn’t work.”

“That’s
because I had it shut down.”

“What the
hell would you do that for? How the hell are our investors supposed to reach
me? How am I supposed to work?”

King
rose, walked across, and placed an identical device on the desk.

“I don’t
want a new phone, Charles. I want this one to fucking work. Get your people to
fix it and get it back to me, ASAP.”

King
reached into his pants pocket. There was a click as his hand flashed. He
punched a black knife through the old phone, pinning it to the polished teak
desk. “You let that fat Indian prick hack your phone, you jackass. You’ve
compromised our entire Mexican operation because you were off your head on blow.”

He wished
his office chair would open up and swallow him.

“Clean up
your act, Wesley, otherwise you’re going to find out very quickly that Jordan
Pollard has no time for you or your antics.”

He
managed a feeble nod as King pocketed his knife and left the office. He slumped
back in his chair and wiped his brow with a handkerchief.

“Excuse
me, sir.” His secretary held up another bottle of Gatorade.

He
beckoned for her to enter. His headache had become a whole lot worse.

***

Mitch paid the hawker and took a hefty
bite of the hot dog. Disappointment washed over him as his teeth met and the
bland processed meat touched his taste buds.

Mirza
chuckled. “I told you. It’s all a scam. Only the locals actually know where to
get a decent hot dog.”

“This
tastes like rubber.” He dropped the food into a trashcan.

They were
on the street opposite the Pulvermach building, where both MVI and GES had
offices. Mitch looked in through the window of a diner. “Feel like a hot choc?”

“Sure,
why not. You might be able to get something better to eat.”

The diner
was empty and they took a window table. It offered them a good view of the
foyer of their target building. Mitch picked up the menu as he studied the foyer.
“You’re not wrong, mate. It’s going to be a high risk job to get in.”

“The only
ingress points are the ground floor or the roof. On the ground the CCTV and
guards make it next to impossible to get in and out without being detected. The
roof has a number of options: air-conditioning vents, fire escape, and a window
cleaning gantry.”