PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) (27 page)

“You
sure? Because if I find out you’re lying, things are going to get real weird in
here.”

“I
promise, I promise.”

“Good,
now there’s one more promise I need you to make.”

“Anything,
just keep him away from me.”

“The
support for Pershing stops now. He gets no more police support. No more SWAT.
No more officers. If he calls you, you don’t answer. If he drops by your
office, you deny him access. As far as you’re concerned he no longer exists.
Because if you don’t comply, you’re going to appear all over the internet.”

“I
promise, I promise.”

Bishop
turned away. “OK boys, try not hurt him too much.” He left the room as Mirza
entered with a camera and a look of disgust.

He fought
the urge to laugh as he returned to their operations room. While he was
cross-referencing the new information, Mirza and Mitch would take some risqué video
of the chief for insurance. Then they’d dress him in a set of coveralls and
dump him close to his home. Apart from the video, the only trace remaining from
the operation would be footage caught on the city’s CCTV surveillance system.
That was no concern; now that Flash had access to the server the recordings
would simply be deleted.

CHAPTER
32

Mirza crouched at the edge of an
irrigated field and scanned the sheds through a pair of binoculars. He was
dressed in his camouflaged combat rig complete with a carbon nanotube helmet
and a face wrap. A suppressed Tavor had replaced his sniper rifle.

He squinted at the floodlights that
illuminated the cluster of sheds. He hit the transmit button on the foregrip of
his weapon. “Bish, I’ve got a lot of vehicle and personnel movement out here.”

“Roger,
can you confirm what they’re doing?” Bishop and Mitch were a few hundred yards
behind him, in a dry irrigation channel.

“Negative.
I’m going to have to get closer.”

“OK, keep
us posted.”

He
crouched low and moved through the waist-high grass with his weapon held tight
in his shoulder. The terrain in every direction was dead flat. Perfect for
agriculture as the heavy machinery could trundle across it watering, harvesting,
and sowing. However, the lack of cover made it difficult for a covert approach.
It was dark but he wasn’t worried about being spotted by night vision equipment.
The floodlights at the sheds would make it impossible for them to effectively
employ any light amplification technology. He was more concerned with a roving
patrol.

When he
was a few yards from the edge of a crop circle, he dropped to his stomach and
snaked forward to the limit of the thick green grass. He could see a pair of
Black Jackets patrolling around the sheds as workers used a forklift to unload crates
from the back of a flat-bed truck. The words on the side of the boxes were stenciled
in Chinese. The truck blocked his view into the shed. He waited till the guards
had disappeared around the corner of the building, then dashed from the edge of
the grass to a stack of crates on the side of the concrete pad.

The forklift
snorted as it jockeyed forward, pushing its forks in under a heavy crate. It
lifted the load effortlessly and the driver backed it through the open doors
into the shed.

Mirza
slipped from the crates to behind the truck to get a view inside. He glimpsed
more men inside the shed, dressed in coveralls. They seemed to be working on a
production line. He watched as one man took a fiberglass wing out of a crate.
Behind that two more were unloading a pallet filled with plastic-wrapped
bricks. They could only be one thing, drugs.

The sound
of the forklift’s engine warned him of its return. He slipped around the side
of the truck and dashed back to the crates. “Bish, it’s a drug distribution
node,” he whispered.

“Roger,
how many shooters?”

“At least
four guards and another five workers wearing coveralls. They’re building some
kind of aircraft.”

There was
silence as Bishop evaluated the situation. Mirza listened as the tractor
unloaded another crate. By his calculations the guards should have circled the
shed by now. He peeked around the side. He was right; they were standing at the
open door smoking.

His
earpiece beeped. “OK, Mirza, we’re going to take the joint down. Mitch and I
will move to the edge of the field. Meet us there.”

“You sure
that’s a good idea? We’re supposed to be gathering intel.”

“We will
be once we control the site.”

Mirza
recognized the tone of his friend’s voice. Bishop had made up his mind and
there would be no convincing him otherwise. At least this time the enemy didn’t
out-number them ten to one.

“Acknowledged.
Be aware I have two hostiles twenty yards from my position. Once they move on I’ll
meet you.”

“Roger. Moving
now.”

Five
minutes later all three PRIMAL operatives were lying at the edge of the field
peering through the grass.

“What do
you reckon, Mirza?” whispered Bishop.

“We leave
Mitch here to provide cutoff and cover the road. We take down the roving guards
then sweep the sheds.”

“Sounds
good.”

Mitch was
armed with the suppressed 7.62mm
MK48 machine gun
.
He wore a backpack filled with extra belts of ammunition.

The two
guards finished another lap and strolled into view. The forklift had also finished
unloading the flatbed and the driver started the truck’s engine. “Let’s wait
till he goes,” said Mirza. He watched as the truck made a three-point turn and
disappeared down the road. “I’ve got the guy on the left.”

“Ack,” said
Bishop.

“On three.
One…” He took up the slack in the trigger as he exhaled and balanced the red
dot on his target’s head. “Two, three.”

They
fired in perfect synchronization, the
.300BLK subsonic rounds
barely audible. The heads of both guards exploded, spraying
brain matter against the shed’s sheet-metal wall as their bodies toppled.

Mirza
led, moving swiftly across the loading slab with his Tavor ready. He paused,
waiting for Bishop’s hand on his shoulder to confirm he was ready. Then, he
swung into the shed. He scanned left and right. A gunman filled his sights and
he doubled tapped center of seen mass. An AK barked and bullets punched through
the side of the shed. Bishop’s Tavor snapped and another target dropped.

Mirza
angled down the wall of the shed. He hit another guard with a double tap to the
face. He caught a glimpse of another diving behind the pallet of cocaine
bricks. Swiveling at the waist, he pumped rounds into the pallet. Cocaine
exploded into the air as he kept firing. “Covering.”

“Moving.”
Bishop strode smoothly across the factory floor and closed in around the
pallet. He fired a rapid series of shots. “Target down.”

Mirza
swiveled his attention back to the other men in the shed. One of them had
thrown down his weapon and was cowering behind a crate. The others had their
hands in the air. “Get on the ground!” he yelled. At least one understood
English, dropped to his knees, and lay down. The others followed his lead.

“Cover
me,” he said as he pulled a bundle of cable ties from his rig. He secured their
wrists then checked their pockets for weapons and phones. By the time he was
done there were five men secured on the floor and a collection of cell phones
in his dump pouch.

Bishop
strode forward covering the detainees. “Mitch, target is secure. I’m going to
call Emilio and his boys forward.”

With the
gunfight over, Mirza finally had a chance to look around. The shed had been set
up as some sort of drone factory. There were at least six completed aircraft in
a line against the wall. He left Bishop to guard the prisoners and took a quick
look. He’d been taking flying lessons with Mitch so could identify the basic
characteristics of the miniature aircraft. They were twin-boom pushers with
wingspans of about three and a half yards. They were fitted with what looked
like the engine from a weedeater. “Bish, these things would be able to carry at
least thirty pounds of cocaine each.”

“Pretty
clever little set up.”

He knelt
down and tapped the wing. “They’re made out of fiberglass. I doubt any of the
air traffic radars would even register this.”

“Looks
expensive. Pershing and his buddies are going to be real pissed when we blow it
up.”

Mirza’s
earpiece beeped as Mitch transmitted, “Lads, Emilio is inbound. We also got a
ping from the sensors we left at the bed and breakfast ranch. Pershing and his
thugs are hitting it now.”

He
watched as Bishop’s face hardened. “Roberto must have compromised the old safe
house. That means he’s still alive.”

“Or was
when they got the info out of him.”

***

Pershing jumped out of the Chevy and
strode to the front door of the homestead. Burro met him in the empty kitchen.
“No one?” he asked.

“
Nada
, Mr. Pershing. That dog lied to you
again.”

Pershing
looked around the empty room. It was completely devoid of personal items. “Did
you check the barn?”

“Yeah, no
horses, just shit.”

He
frowned. “No, they were here. They knew we would come.” The Predator flight
over ranch had also reported nil activity. It wasn’t surprising. If he were
running the
autodefensa
he would have
abandoned his safe houses as well.

“They’ll
have other places. Roberto will help us find them.” Pershing expected Team 2 to
arrive tomorrow. He would give ‘Shrek’ Cameron, the team leader, carriage of
hunting down the enemy. That would allow him to concentrate on securing the
mine and chasing up Howard’s German lead. He was going to pull on every thread
until this entire clandestine organization unraveled. However, there was a card
he could play without Team 2. “Burro, give me your phone.”

The lieutenant
handed over his Nokia.

He
stomped back to his truck.

“Mr.
Pershing, what do you want us to do with this place?” Burro yelled after him.

“Burn
it.” He yanked open the rear door of his SUV. Roberto was sitting with his
hands cuffed, his face a blackened mess of bruises and scabs. “There’s no one
here, Roberto.”

“They
were here,” he croaked. “I don’t know where they’ve gone.”

Pershing
almost felt sorry for the man. “Uncuff him,” he said to the Black Jacket guard.
When the rancher’s hands were free he tossed the phone into his lap. “Ring one
of your
autodefensa
pals.”

Roberto’s
hands shook as he picked up the phone. He gave Pershing a defiant look.

He
sighed. “Look, pal, you got two choices. You call your friend and your family
lives, or you don’t and…” He watched as Roberto slowly entered the phone
number. When it started ringing he grabbed it. “Thanks.”

“
Hola
.”

“
Hola
yourself. You speak English?”

There was
a pause. “Yes.”

“Good,
listen very closely. This is a message for you and whoever’s helping you. I
want you to come to the mine. I want you to hand over your guns. I’m going to
give you ten grand US each and release your buddy, Roberto. Then, you’re going
to leave my operations the hell alone. You tell your mercenaries it’s the same
deal for them. You comply before noon tomorrow, or I’m going to kill Roberto
and I’m going to kill his family. Then I’m going to hunt all of you down and
kill you and your damn families. OK.” He terminated the call. “Cuff him. If he
gives you any trouble cut his throat.” He slammed the door and turned to watch
the ranch burn.

***

Bishop
concluded briefing his plan. He had outlined it on the concrete floor using, by
his estimate, about a hundred grand worth of cocaine to build the model. The
team was gathered around him, except for Miguel who was covering the road with
Mitch’s machine gun.

“So that’s it. We know Pershing is going
to kill Roberto and you can guarantee he’s going to know we’ve crashed this
place within a matter of hours.
But,
if we make the first moves, we’ll maintain the element of surprise. We can
finish this now. Anyone have any questions?”

Emilio was
squatting next to the model. Tools and odds and ends placed on piles of cocaine
marked key locations in the mine. He chuckled to himself and looked up at the
PRIMAL operatives. All three wore matching equipment: fatigues, chest-rigs, and
weapons, everything camouflaged in matching A-TACS. “I like this plan. It is
crazy for someone from the UN.” He winked. “We are going to destroy
monstruo
and the Chaquetas
.
”

“That’s
the idea.” Bishop knew there was no way old Emilio still believed his UN cover
story.

The
rancher stood. “How did you know the location of the Chaqueta’s base?”

“I know
people who know things. What I don’t know is Roberto’s location in the mine.”

“I will
check with the boy who’s working there.”

“Excellent.”
He turned to Mirza and Mitch. “You guys want to take this offline?”

Both men
nodded.

“Emilio, Gerardo,
can you give us a minute?”

“Of
course,” Emilio said. The two Mexicans wandered over to the corner of the shed
where the prisoners were sitting.

Bishop
waited till they were out of earshot. “I already know what you’re going to say,
Mirza. But, if we wait for the CAT to get here, Roberto’s going to be dead.
They’re still at least twenty-four hours away. The only other option is we try
stalling, maybe call him back.”

Mirza
shook his head. “No, that’s too risky. Your deception will work well. Now that
the police chief won’t be answering Pershing’s calls, this is a good plan.”

Bishop
felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He turned to Mitch. “What do
you think, mate?”

Mitch
shrugged. “Hey, I reckon we owe it to Roberto. That tosser Pershing is going to
kill him unless we surrender, and that sure as shit isn’t happening on our
watch.”