PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) (21 page)

CHAPTER 25

LASCAR ISLAND

Flash leaned back in his chair and aimed his Nerf gun at the
trashcan-sized robot that was cleaning the floor. His target was an empty soft
drink can balanced on top. He tracked the robot as it navigated around a chair.
It paused, almost as if it sensed the ambush. Slowly, it inched out from behind
cover.

“I have
you now,” whispered Flash as he squeezed the trigger.

The dart
sprang out of the gun with a loud clack, arced across the room, and hit the tin
can with a soft clink. He leaped from his chair, pumping a fist, and hopping on
one leg. “Yeah bitch, take that.”

A beep
from his computer interrupted his celebration. He dropped his stocky frame into
his chair and spun to face the thirty-two inch screen. “Boom!” The tablet Mitch
and Mirza had hacked was online. The receptionist who owned the iPad had
finally plugged the device into a USB port to charge. Now, Flash had to bypass
the lock out and gain access to the port itself. His fingers danced over the
keyboard as he hummed a Steppenwolf song, Magic Carpet Ride. In a couple of
minutes he had bypassed the security protocols and gained access to the GES
network. He cracked his fingers, now the fun was going to start.

He
accessed the local admin drive and went straight for the personnel files. Chua had
instructed him to find out exactly who they were dealing with. He downloaded a
folder containing the CVs for over a dozen employees. The PDF documents were
small and unencrypted.

He
scanned through the other folders but didn’t find anything interesting. He
grabbed a dozen invoices from the accounts folder then went for the mother lode,
the email server. As expected, it was encrypted but that wasn’t an issue. The
problem was choosing what files to download. He glanced at the interface in the
corner of his screen that told him how much power the iPad had. He doubted the
secretary would leave it plugged in once it was fully charged. It was at eighty
percent and climbing. He grabbed a chunk of emails belonging to the CEO,
Charles King.

He
stopped browsing so the files could download faster. While waiting, he opened
the CVs he had already copied. Just as he thought, most of the employees were
ex-government. A range of gunslingers, cops, and intelligence types, not unlike
the PRIMAL team. One file caught his eye; George Pershing’s CV read like an
action novel. Former ‘State Department’, he had served in some far-flung
places. The photo in the corner of the document showed a middle-aged, lean-faced
employee with a receding hairline. Was it the same guy Bishop had described? He
remembered the engraving on the pistol Mitch had sent through. He searched the
intel database and found the photo. The inscription read.

GHP Chad
2003

GHP,
George Henry Pershing. He earmarked the file and checked the progress of the
download. It was about halfway. He opened the accounts invoices he had
downloaded and browsed through them. They were from a variety of clients
ranging from oil companies to governments, and everyone in between. The company
name on one of the files caught his eye, Dynamic Business Consulting. He went
back to the CVs and searched them for the name. Yes, there it was. Pershing had
worked for the same company after leaving government service.

He opened
a browser and researched the company. It seemed to be a legitimate consulting
firm, based out of Atlanta. Flash leaned back in his chair as he considered the
information. It all seemed too convenient. The invoice from DBC to GES was a
big one, nearly six million dollars for a team of security consultants.

He rocked
forward to check on the download of files. Damn, the tablet had disconnected
from the network. He shrugged, there were still a significant number of emails
to decrypt and analyze. He dumped the files into a software program that Chua
had procured from an NSA contact. It would take at least a day or two for the
program to crack them all.

He typed
a single line in a chat window to Vance.
Dynamic
Business Consulting, ever heard of them?

He knew the
PRIMAL Director of Operations was at his desk because the reply came back almost
immediately.
Cover firm for the Company,
why?

“Shit,” mouthed
Flash. GES had contracts with the
CIA
,
and Pershing almost certainly had a background with the Company. He started to
type a reply message when the door to his office swung open and Vance stormed
in with Chua in tow.

“Is GE
contracting to the CIA?” PRIMAL’s Director of Operations asked.

“Yes sir,
at least for some of their jobs. They were paid over six million from a front
company earlier this year. And the cowboy guy that’s going after Bishop, he’s
former CIA.”

Vance
leaned against the desk and folded his arms. Chua stood in the doorway.

“That
raises the stakes.”

The Chief
of Intelligence nodded in agreement.

“Update
Bishop, Mitch, and Mirza. They need to be aware we could be dealing with
government level capabilities and assets. We need to gather as much intel on
GE’s activities as we can.”

***

CHIHUAHUA

The thumping on his door woke Bishop from
the deepest sleep he’d had in months. He groaned and glanced at his watch. The
luminous hands told him it was four in the morning. He had only been in bed for
a few hours. He turned on the light and noticed the needle had been removed
from his arm.

Mirza opened
the door with a mug of coffee in hand. “Morning!” he said cheerfully.

Bishop
wiped the sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Emilio
got a message from a local who works at the mine. Roberto’s still alive.”

“What,
when?”

“A few
minutes ago. Roberto passed a message that the men from the mine are going to
attack a farm at dawn. Emilio’s about to leave with the other two.”

Bishop
took the coffee. “Give me a sec to get dressed. Don’t let Emilio leave.”

“Will
do.”

He was
over at the barn a minute later with mug in hand. Mitch, Mirza, and what
remained of the
autodefensa
were
already there. Like Bishop, the two PRIMAL operatives were dressed in jeans, plaid
shirts, and jackets. Their combat equipment was laid out on the ground. The
Mexicans were eyeballing the gear. “Emilio, any news on Christina?”

“She made
it to the hospital safely.”

“Good.”
He turned to his fellow PRIMAL operatives. “OK, team, what have we got?”

Mirza
spoke first. “According to Emilio’s man, Roberto is still at the mine. He’s in
OK health, but he’s heavily guarded. He managed to pass us a message that the
cowboy and his cronies are going to hit the Veda ranch this morning.”

“OK,
who’s Veda?”

“Pablo
Veda,” Emilio explained. “He owns the last property standing on the southern
side of the mine. Twenty acres. Lives there with his two sons.”

“And do
you trust this contact of yours? Who is he?”

The old
man rubbed his eyes. “He’s a ranch hand who took a job at the mine. A good worker,
I trust him.”

“Yeah,
but what if he’s working for the cowboy? What if this is a trap?”

“No, they
have Roberto, and they think you’re dead. They think we are beaten. They will
attack the Veda ranch.” Emilio’s lip quivered as he spoke. “I know Pablo. He
will not leave his land. They’ll have to kill him. If we do not help him then
all will be lost. They will have won. My son will have died for nothing!”

Bishop
glanced at his fellow PRIMAL operatives, then back to the ranchers. “Can you
guys give us a moment alone.”

Emilio
nodded and gestured for the other two men to follow him outside.

“What did
the Bunker have to say?” Bishop asked.

“We
haven’t run this past them, mate,” replied Mitch. “We checked in with them a
few hours ago. Chua’s team has been burning the midnight oil. They’ve updated
our intel files with a full breakdown of the Chaquetas cartel and the local
Sinaloa branch. Chua also thinks they might have ID’d your cowboy. Ex-CIA
geezer called…” He checked his iPRIMAL. “George Henry Pershing.”

“Does
Vance know him?”

Mitch
shook his head. “No, according to his CV he started at the Company after Vance
left. But that’s not all they dug up. Seems GE has a number of contracts with
the CIA.”

“No shit.
That would explain the Predator. Does that mean this is a CIA-backed op?”

Mitch
shook his head. “No, Chua and Vance don’t think so. We don’t have any specifics
for the CIA contracts, but they seem to be separate from GE’s resources
security side of things. They think this Pershing chump is calling in favors.”

“And
what’s our tasking? Still just intel collection?”

“Yep. Vance
has tasked us to identify potential opportunities to shut down the mine. He
specifically said we’re not to engage in any kinetic activity at this stage.”

“If we
shut down the mine but all the farmers are dead, that’s a bloody waste of time,”
said Bishop.

“And Emilio
is going no matter what we do,” said Mirza.

“Then we
need to go with him and convince this Veda guy to avoid a confrontation.”

Mitch
nodded. “Right, but what about your mate who got captured? You want to request
the CAT for a recovery op?” The CAT was PRIMAL’s Critical Assault Team. Heavily
armed operatives equipped with cutting-edge technology. A brute force
instrument used when field agents required additional firepower.

Bishop sighed
and shook his head. “Vance won’t approve it for a civilian.”

“So, what
are our options?” Mirza asked.

“Well,
the security at the mine is hardcore, and we’ve lost the element of surprise.
If we’re to have any chance at recovering Roberto we’d need to come up with
something local to neutralize the Chaquetas. I’m keen to explore the
Sinaloa
angle.”

“Play the
cartels off against each other? That’s going to be dangerous.”

“Might be
our only option.” Bishop checked his watch. “Is all the gear packed?”

“Yep,”
Mitch replied. “And the Bunker’s already scoped a suitable safe house for us
closer to town.”

“OK. Let’s
move on the Veda job. I want you both in overwatch. If this goes bad and we
can’t get the farmers to leave, you need to be able to lay down the smack and
cover our withdrawal.”

Mitch
grinned. “We packed for just the occasion.”

“Good,
then gear up and let’s roll.”

CHAPTER
26

Pershing finished pouring an espresso and
turned to his captive. “You sure you don’t want one, Roberto? Great way to
start the morning, gives you a real kick in the pants.”

The
rancher stared at him.

“No? OK.”
Pershing lifted the glass and sipped from it. “Looks like it’s going to be a
beautiful day. It’s a real pity you don’t want to help me save your friends
down there.” He gestured at the farmhouse half a mile away.

They were
standing behind the Chevy, parked outside the front gate to the Veda ranch. In
front of them Burro waited with four pickups full of his men. Beyond the trucks
was the house. It sat at the base of the same hilly range as the mine. The
geologist had told Pershing this particular area contained the richest deposit
in the area.

The
rumble of a large diesel engine caused the espresso glasses on top of
Pershing’s machine to vibrate. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted a low-loader
transporting a bulldozer. He slid the coffee machine away and closed the trunk.
A car came out of the dust behind the truck, a police cruiser.

It slowed
to a halt and an officer lowered his window. “Morning, Mr. Pershing.”

He
reached into his jacket, retrieved an envelope, and handed it to the cop. “Make
it snappy, boys, I’ve got a lot of work to do today.”

The
officer and his partner nodded and drove off, passing under the tall wooden
sign marking the entrance to the property. They turned on the lights and siren
as they drove down to the farmhouse.

Pershing
sipped his coffee as he watched. “I give them about three minutes. What say
you, Roberto?”

In the
distance the boom of a shotgun sounded.

“Might be
a little less.” He chuckled then knocked back his espresso.

The
police car had stopped a few hundred yards down the road. Pershing watched as
it backed off the track and turned around. It accelerated toward them, slowed,
and stopped alongside.

“I guess
you miss out on that bonus, boys.”

“Mad old
bastard didn’t even want to hear what we had to say,” said the officer. “He
deserves what he gets.”

Pershing
waved them on. “Much obliged for your attempt.”

Once the police
car disappeared down the road, Pershing pointed to Burro. “Your boys are up!”

***

Mirza adjusted the focus on the scope of his suppressed
G28 marksman’s
rifle
. He and Mitch had positioned themselves
halfway up the hill overlooking the farm. Clad in the mottled greys and browns
of A-TACS camouflage, they blended seamlessly with the arid surroundings.
Bishop was down at the farm with Emilio and the brothers, trying to convince
the Pablo Veda and his family to leave.

Mirza
pushed the transmit button attached to the foregrip of the rifle. “Bish, we’ve
got at least four truckloads of hostiles and a dozer moving down the road. We
need to go now.”

“I’m
working on it.”

Through
his scope Mirza watched as the Black Jackets jumped down from the pickups and
fanned out into two long lines. Every second man carried a rocket launcher
slung across his back. He turned to Mitch who was lying behind a shrubby
outcrop a few feet to his left. “I’ll target the rocketeers. You hit the dozer
first. Use HE. Engage on Bishop’s word.”

The Brit
had a camouflaged
MK48 machine gun
pressed against his shoulder. Like
Mirza’s weapon, it sported a long cylindrical suppressor and an optic sight.

“Roger.”
Mitch lowered the machine gun and shouldered his
PAW-20 grenade launcher
. The futuristic-looking weapon was a bullpup, the magazine
containing seven twenty-millimeter high-explosive grenades. It would make short
work of an unarmored vehicle.

Mitch adjusted
the range on the holosight. “Bugger me, that’s a lot of bad fuckers. Are we
going to be able to hold them off?”

“We’re
have to.” He thumbed the radio button. “Bishop, how are things tracking down
there?”

The
response was immediate. “Not good, mate. They don’t want to leave. Standby to
engage.”

Mirza
flicked the safety off his rifle. “Acknowledged.”

***

Bishop ran a gloved hand through his hair and fought the
urge to scream. The pig-headed farmer, Pablo Veda, and his two sons were
refusing to abandon the farm. Even Emilio had been unable to convince him to
budge. “Fuck!” He slammed his fist down on the kitchen table. “If we don’t go
now, we’re not going.”

Veda had
a double-barrel shotgun under his arm. He was short, pot-bellied, and wore a
look of fierce determination. He rattled off a few sentences in Spanish and
disappeared into the lounge room of the homestead.

Emilio
started to translate.

Bishop held
up his hand. “I get the gist.” Like the rest of the team, he wore A-TACS combat
fatigues and an armored assault rig. An
integrally-suppressed Tavor assault rifle
was slung across his chest.

He
followed Pablo through to the front of the house where his sons were waiting. The
two teenage boys were poised with a pair of bolt-action varmint rifles. Great
for shooting prairie dogs but of limited value in a gunfight. They had smashed
out the glass in the windows and were crouched behind the stone walls. Bishop
locked eyes with the youngest. The kid was terrified.

“Emilio,
tell the boys to keep the trucks running.”

Miguel
and Gerardo had parked the Dodge pickup and the Bronco behind the house. Emilio
had showed them a rough track that snaked out from behind the ranch. It was their
planned exfil route.

He
transmitted to the other PRIMAL operatives over the radio. “Team, it looks like
we’re staying.” As he released the radio toggle, something that sounded like a
freight train roared over the house.

“Rocket
fired. Request permission to engage,” replied Mirza.

Bishop took
up a position at a window. He spotted the Black Jackets in a skirmish line only
a few hundred yards away. Balancing the glowing red dot of his Trijicon on one
of them, he took up the slack in the trigger. “Weapons free! I say again.
Weapons free!”

***

Pershing shook his head as the rocket
sailed over the building and disappeared into the distance. “Goddamn amateurs,”
he said to Burro. They had moved past the front gate, and were now standing
next to the Chevy only a couple of hundred yards from the homestead.

He pointed at Roberto. “If you had helped,
all this might have all been avoided.”

The bark
of an AK sounded from downrange. “And so it begins.” He lifted a pair of
binoculars to his eyes and focused on the extended line of Black Jackets. He
frowned as one of the men toppled over. Had he tripped, or had the farmers
managed to shoot him?

“Mr.
Pershing. The dozer!” Burro yelled.

He
focused his binoculars on the heavy earthmover following the gunmen. Puffs of
smoke and angry flashes of flame sprouted from its bodywork. He watched in
disbelief as the cockpit glass shattered and the driver flung open the door and
leaped clear. Explosions rocked the metal beast as the dull thuds of grenades
filled the air. The line of Black Jackets turned and fled. “Burro, what the
hell is going on?”

A bullet
ricocheted off the windshield of the Chevy, whistling away into the distance.
“Look out!” screamed Burro as another bullet hit the truck.

“Everybody
in,” Pershing said diving into the front passenger seat as Burro forced Roberto
into the back. One of his men ran around the other side of the vehicle and
walked into a volley of bullets that almost tore him in half. Blood sprayed
across the windows.

“Go, go,
go!” yelled Pershing as the bullets rang on the vehicle’s armor like hail on a
tin roof. Heavy-caliber rounds chewed chunks from the laminate windshield as
the driver spun the vehicle and accelerated through the open gate and down the
road.

Behind
them the Black Jackets were in full retreat. They left four dead men behind as
they piled into their trucks and sped after the Chevy.

In the
back seat, Roberto smiled. “How’s that for a kick in the pants?” It was one of
the few things he’d said since being captured.

Pershing
scowled as he watched the old man in the rear vision mirror. He picked up his
phone and started dialing.

***

Pablo and his sons wore broad grins as
they walked back from the burning dozer. Mitch’s grenades had set fire to the
engine and cabin, turning it into a flaming pyre.

Bishop managed a halfhearted smile as Pablo
grabbed his free hand and pumped it vigorously. He turned to Emilio. “He does
know they’re going to come back, right?
”

The grizzled
old rancher nodded. “He won’t leave, Aden. His people fought for this land
against the Americans. He will not give it up.”

Bishop
shook his head. By fighting off the cartel the PRIMAL team had further cemented
Pablo’s determination. So much for maintaining a low-vis op.

“No sign
of hostiles,” reported Mirza over comms.

“Roger,”
replied Bishop. “Pull back to the ranch. I’ve got a feeling we may have a Pred
overhead soon.”

“Acknowledged.”

Bishop
watched Miguel and his brother Gerardo load the bodies of the cartel men into
the back of their pickup. All four had been killed by headshots. All four had
been carrying SMAW-D bunker-busting rockets. The rockets were now lined up on
the porch, alongside the dead men’s assault rifles.

It didn’t
take Mitch and Mirza long to move down from their overwatch position. Bishop
joined them in the kitchen where Pablo was brewing a pot of tea on a wood-fire
stove. “Nice shooting, fellas.” He gave Mitch a friendly punch on the shoulder.
“Not a bad hit-out for our super geek.”

“This
mean I’ll finally get some respect from you door-kickers?” Mitch asked.

Bishop
looked at Mirza. “No!” they replied in unison.

There was
silence as the reality of their situation overcame their temporary victory.

“How long
do you think we’ve got?” Mirza asked.

Bishop sighed.
“I don’t know.”

“We need
to bug out. They’re going to come back, and with more men.”

“I know
that. But I’m not abandoning these people to be slaughtered. So, we need to be
ready to fight and we need as much warning as possible. Mitch, have you got
anything that’ll help?”

“Yeah, I
can set a few sensors on the road in. We can also monitor the FAA network. If
they re-task a drone to check us out we should be able to see what’s going on.”

“OK, if
we can get a camera feed up we might be able to convince them to leave next
time they approach.”

“Yeah, I can
rig an IR-triggered cam.”

“Good.
Mirza, I want you to show the farmers how to use the weapons the Black Jackets
dropped.”

Mirza’s
eyes narrowed. “Sure that’s a good idea? It might make it even harder to get
them to leave. They might think they have a chance.”

Bishop
sighed. “If they won’t leave, we’ll need every gun we can get.”

“OK, I’ll
give them a quick lesson.”

At that
moment Emilio walked into the room. Bishop turned to him. “Are there any other
farmers that’ll help?”

He shook
his head. “No, those who are willing are already here. The others are scared.
But…”

“What? If
you have any ideas share them.”

“I know a
man who can help us. But, he is Sinaloa.”

Bishop
shrugged. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. How long will it take?”

“A few
hours.”

Bishop
glanced at Mirza and Mitch. They all knew the odds were stacked against them.
Both men gave a nod. “Let’s set up a meeting.”