PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) (22 page)

CHAPTER
27

Sparks showered down from the cabin of the D7 dozer as the
engineers welded steel plate over the windshield. Pershing watched from the
floor of the workshop. He had ordered the engineers to armor the bulldozer and
one of the smaller six-axle dump trucks. If those bastards at the Veda ranch
wanted a war, he was going to bring them a blitzkrieg.

“Mr. Pershing,
may I have a word with you?”

He turned
to face the mine’s operations manager, scowled, and turned back to the trucks.
“What is it? Can’t you see I’m a little busy.”

The orange
hardhat-wearing manager jerked his thumb at the truck. “What the hell do you
think you’re doing with my rigs?”

“Your
rigs?”

“That’s
right, my rigs. You’re in charge of security. I’m in charge of keeping this
mine running, and to do that I need that dozer and that dump truck.”

He
sighed. “You can have them when I’m done.”

“That’s
not the problem.”

“Then
son, what the hell is the problem?”

“You’re
wrecking them.”

The
scream of an angle grinder filled the shed as one of the workers started
cutting firing ports in the thick steel sides at the back of the dump truck.

Pershing
cupped a hand to his ear. “I can’t hear you.”

The mine
manager shook his head and retreated to his office.

The phone
in Pershing’s pocket started ringing. He pulled it out, left the shed, and
walked across to his own office. He had already tried to call his boss three
times. Now, finally, he had a call back.

“George, what’s
going on?” Charles King asked.

“Sir,
we’ve just been screwed, hard!”

“Explain.”

Pershing
outlined the events at the farm.

“Do you
have any more idea who these guys are?” King asked when he was done.

He opened
the door to his office. “They have to be linked to the Aden guy. They’ve got
some some serious hardware; HE, sniper rifles, the works.”

“And what
have you got? Fucking water pistols? We’ve spent a shit-ton equipping your
little militia. Now put it to use and solve this problem.”

Pershing
threw his Stetson on the hat stand and slumped into his chair. “I will but we
need more intel. Who are they? Who are they working for?”

“I’m sure
your CIA buddies can find out what you need.”

“They’re
still chasing down leads. Did we get anything from the follow up on the phone
hack?”

“Dry
hole. These guys covered their tracks. Look, just get this problem solved,
George. I can’t afford any fuck ups.”

“Yes,
sir.” He paused. “There are only a handful of the bastards and I’ve got plans
to deal with them. But...”

“But
what?”

“It might
be prudent to send a tactical team as a contingency. You mentioned Team 2 was
available?”

“Shrek
and his boys just finished up in the Congo. I’ll get them down to you in 48
hours but it will come out of your budget.”

“Understood.
I’m heading into town now to rustle up some police support. I’ve got a Pred on-station
tonight, then I’m going to hit it at daybreak. With a police tactical unit,
fifty Black Jackets, and homemade heavy armor, we’ll make short work of the dirt
farmers and their mercs.”

“Keep me
posted.”

“Will do,
sir.” Pershing hung up and tossed the phone on his desk. Running his hands
through his thinning hair, he contemplated his planned assault on the Veda ranch.
There couldn’t be more than a few of the heavily-armed mercs defending it. If
they were still there in the morning they were dead men. If not, well, the
ranch still needed to be razed. It was the last property on the southern side
of the mine that needed to be cleared and he wasn’t about to let it stand in
the way of progress.

A knock sounded
on his door. “What is it?”

It swung
open and Burro stuck his head in. He still had an adhesive bandage covering the
wound on his cheek. “Sir, we’re ready to go.”

Pershing
grabbed his hat. He would use the drive to Chihuahua to call Howard and
convince him to ramp up intelligence support. They needed to know exactly who
was targeting the operation and they needed to know yesterday. He frowned as he
stepped outside and saw the dents in the side of his Chevy. Burro’s men had
cleaned the blood from it but the damage remained; a reminder that someone had
bested him.

***

It was late in the afternoon and Bishop and Emilio were in
the Bronco heading north. They had left Mitch and Mirza at the Veda ranch to
prepare the defenses, while they attempted to garner support from the Sinaloa.
The old man was driving as Bishop
researched the cartel on his iPRIMAL.

They were
the largest narco-trafficking organization in Mexico and one of the most
ruthless. They also happened to be rivals with another faction that included
the Chaquetas Negras. According to Chua’s intel pack, the two groups were in an
uneasy ceasefire. He finished reading and slid the device back into his jeans.
He had changed out of his camouflage gear for the meeting.

“I want
to thank you for this morning,” said Emilio as he drove them along the highway.
“You gave me the chance to hit back at the men who killed my son.”

“Your boy
was a brave man, and we’re a long way from done when it comes to dealing out
justice.”

“I know,
but this was a good start.”

Bishop’s
iPRIMAL buzzed. “Excuse me.” He answered the call and Chua’s voice came through
in his earpiece.

“Bish,
this is Chua, I’ve got Mitch and Mirza online and Vance here with me.
Acknowledge that you're in the car with a local resource?”

“That’s
correct. Did the boys update you on what went down today?”

Vance’s
deeper voice replaced Chua’s. “Yes they did. I thought I told you to stay out
of trouble.”

“We
weren’t about to let them get slaughtered.”

“Understood.
Now, I’m just not sure that pulling in the Sinaloa cartel is a smart move.”

“I’m
willing to listen to alternatives. But we’re running out of time. We’ve put a
dent in the Black Jackets, and the Sinaloa might be willing to help finish them
off.”

“Yeah,
but what if this turns into your Alamo?”

“I’m not
about to let these goons get the drop on us. If we can’t get the Sinaloa to
help we’ll convince the locals to withdraw.”

“Understood.
I’ve recalled the CAT as an additional measure. The boys will be flying to the
island from Europe tomorrow. I’ve given permission for Aleks to continue
looking for Kurtz. Kruger will be heading up the team.” He paused. “Go ahead
with your meeting, we’ll assess after that. In the meantime, Chua’s got some
additional intel for you. I’ll hand over to him.”

“Roger.” Bishop
looked out across the desert. The sun was setting, bathing the harsh terrain in
a soft orange glow.

“We’ve
confirmed that our cowboy is George Henry Pershing, a former CIA officer now
working for GE,” Chua said. “Flash has researched the mining operation and it’s
probable it’s not a CIA front. He’s managed to crack the encryption on the
emails he downloaded. It seems Pershing is providing information to the agency
in exchange for intelligence support.”

“That
explains a few things,” said Bishop.

“He’s
working with a number of local assets. One is a cartel lieutenant who goes by
the name Burro.”

“Yeah I
know him. He tried to rape Chris.”

“Uh huh.
According to his police file, he’s a nasty piece of work. In addition, Pershing
has been paying bribes to a number of government officials including the
Chihuahua Chief of Police. It appears GE was working in the area establishing
contacts long before mining operations commenced. They also implemented a CIA
contract to install a sophisticated CCTV network in Chihuahua city.”

“Makes
sense, a bit of advance force operations prior to the big push. Can you put a
pack together on the police chief? If we can isolate Pershing from his support
base we might find it easier to influence him.”

“Already
on it. Flash is still working through the data. He did want me to ask if
Longreach meant anything to you.”

“No, I
don’t remember hearing anything about it. Why?”

“It’s
mentioned a number of times in the emails. I think it might be a side-project
GE is running with the Chaquetas.”

Emilio
slowed the truck and pulled off the main highway onto a side road. In the
distance Bishop saw a large outcrop of trees; an oasis in the desert. “Team,
I’m almost at my meeting. I’ll open up a surveillance line. If for whatever
reason this goes bad, Mitch and Mirza know the drill.”

Vance’s
voice replaced Chua’s. “Play it safe. Ask for their help. Offer nothing.”

“Yeah, I
got it. Out.” He terminated the call, activated the device’s stealth surveillance
mode and slipped it into his pocket. The camera and microphone would continue
transmitting despite no outward sign it was occurring. The Bunker would monitor
the feed and alert Mitch and Mirza should things go bad.

As they
drove along the sandy track the distant trees gained definition. Bishop spotted
a fence and small building. “That it?”

Emilio
slowed as they approached the high wire fence. The building was a guard post. Behind
it a thick line of trees blocked observation of the estate. Bishop squinted as
a bank of security lights flashed on. “Yes, we’re here.” The leathery old
rancher wound down his window to talk to the guards.

The two smartly
dressed men surprised Bishop. Their blue-uniforms were pressed and the black
assault rifles they held were brand new. Not what he expected.

Emilio
turned back from the window. “They want to know if you are armed.”

Bishop
lifted his jacket to reveal his pistol.

The guard
at the window nodded and spoke to Emilio in Spanish.

“They
asked if you might leave it here. You’ll need to get out.”

Bishop stepped
out of the truck. He ejected the magazine from his Beretta, cleared it, caught
the ejected cartridge, and slipped it into his pocket. One of the guards took
the weapon and issued him with a receipt. He got back in the truck and the men
slid the security gate open. “That was all very civilized.”

They
followed the road through the trees and pulled up outside a hacienda. The residence
was single-story, white, and had broad sweeping verandahs. As they stepped out
of the truck onto the gravel driveway a pair of Rottweiler dogs appeared from
the shadows and bolted toward them.

Emilio
leapt back into the truck but Bishop held his ground. The dogs skidded on the
gravel, jumping in a frantic attempt to lick his face. He laughed, pushing them
off.

“Four
thousand dollars each and all they want to do is lick people to death.” The
gravelly Latino accented voice came from under the verandah.

Bishop
extracted himself from the affection of the canines and walked over. “They’re
beautiful animals.”

“Thank
you. My son loves them. My name is Ramon.” The head of Sinaloa operations in
Chihuahua offered his hand.

He
returned the firm handshake. “I’m Aden.”

Ramirez
was a short man. Bishop guessed he was about five-foot-three. He had a broad,
honest face, a bushy mustache that hung over the corners of his mouth, and a thick
mop of jet-black hair. Dressed in loose-fitting linen pants, leather sandals, and
a light blue Miami Dolphins T-shirt, Bishop didn’t think he looked like a narco
kingpin.

“This is
a lovely house,” he said as they waited for Emilio to join them.

“Thank
you. It was my father-in-law’s. When he passed, he left it to my wife and now I
get to enjoy the tranquility it provides.” Emilio arrived and a broad smile
spread across the cartel boss’s face. “Emilio, it has been far too long.” He
grasped the rancher’s shoulder. “Why do you not visit me anymore?”

“You
married into crime.”

There was
an awkward silence before Ramirez spoke. “Things are changing. The Sinaloa
gives more to the people now than the Mexican government.”

Emilio
shrugged. “We will see.”

Ramirez
turned to Bishop. “Please excuse my rudeness.” He gestured toward the door. “Come
inside and join me for supper.”

The
inside of the house was tastefully decorated with simple wooden furnishings,
glazed terracotta tiles, and white-washed walls. Ramirez led them into the
dining room where plates of food and bottles of beer had been laid on the
table. His stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten all day.

“Emilio
tells me that you’re here to help fight the Chaquetas,” Ramirez said once they
were seated.

Bishop ate
a mouthful of
flauta
and wiped his
chin with a napkin. “Yes, they’ve murdered a number of farmers and taken their
land. That’s the reason I’m here–”