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

by Jack Silkstone

  Mitch brought the drone to a hover and held it in position. “Did we fly past?”

  “Yep. It was there for a split second. Really weak signal, but it was there.”

  “OK, I’m lowering.” He edged the stick back and the craft slowly descended.

  “That’s it, got it.” Mirza stabbed the tablet with his finger. “Activating now.” He watched as the Bluetooth transmitter on the drone tried to connect. “It’s not connecting.”

  Mitch had plenty of experience flying helicopters between building and canyon walls. He knew how hard it was to fight the updrafts and cross winds in an aircraft that weighed over a ton. With a two-pound toy it was almost impossible. He inched close to the glass as the drone was buffeted by the wind.

  “OK, nearly got it.”

  Through the tiny camera Mitch saw the glass wall was only inches away. The slightest touch would tear off a blade and send the copter spiraling down to the street.

  “It’s uploading,” Mirza announced as the Bluetooth connection initiated and Flash’s program automatically started transferring the data.

  Mitch sighed. He finally felt like he had the feel of the little drone. A red indicator flashed in the corner of his goggle’s virtual reality display. “Ah shit, bollocks.”

  “What? We’re over half way.”

  “I’m almost out of power.” The quadcopter had an automatic landing system once batteries reached a critical point. Mitch had disarmed it.

  “Nearly there.”

  The PRIMAL technician knew once the red light was on he had no more than twenty seconds of power left.

  High above them the little craft dropped a few feet.

  “She’s coming down.” Mitch had the throttle stick pushed all the way forward. He turned off the camera to save power and tore off his goggles. Opening the car door, he peered up.

  After a few seconds he spotted it, tumbling out of the sky. He ducked back into the cab as it thumped onto the asphalt. He jumped out, grabbed it, and dived back in. “Did it work?”

  Mirza held up the tablet.

  UPLOAD COMPLETE

  ***

  FORT BLISS, TEXAS

  Howard opened the email as soon as it hit his inbox. He had been waiting for the initial damage assessment from the IT security manager at Ground Effects Services. The report was brief and failed to mention any of the potentially incriminating activity the company had been involved in. But it did contain a picture of the man GES thought had installed the bug on one of their phones. Howard sighed. The perp was an overweight Indian and his face had been caught on a low-resolution security camera. He emailed the photo to Shelly and Ben. “Team, I’ve got a photo of another player. The guy who put the bug in the phone.”

  “Any details?” asked Shelly from her desk.

  “I’ll send you the report. He was using some bullshit cover story so it’s probably no use.”

  “OK, I’ll run it through the system anyway,” she replied. The middle-aged analyst had spent the entire day trying to find something on Objective Yankee. As yet they’d been unable to identify him, or his tall blonde-haired associate who they were now calling Objective Red Sox. “Wow, Terry, this image is worse than the others.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry, but it’s all we’ve got.” Howard rubbed his eyes and contemplated downing another can of energy drink. He checked his watch, the Predator was due online any minute. It would be in the air for three hours. After that they’d be able to get some rest. “Ben, how’s our bird tracking?’

  “Just came on-station.”

  One of the screens on the wall flickered and the imagery from the aircraft’s powerful infrared sensor appeared. The terrain looked like something you’d expect to see from a Mars space probe. The ground was rugged and undulating with sporadic patches of dried grass and shrubs.

  “They’re going to start close to the mine and work their way out. That OK?” Ben was typing in a chat window to the crew of the aircraft.

  “Sounds good. Let me know if they find anything.”

  “Boss, they want to know if they’re looking for anything in particular.”

  Howard shrugged. “Tell them to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. You know, people, vehicles, that sort of thing. He watched the screen as the camera skirted the mine. The floodlights washed out the sensor, filling the screen with white so the operator slewed it further south.

  “OK, they’re holding at ten thousand feet,” said Ben.

  Howard returned his attention to the document he was reading on the Sinaloa cartel. Although he’d fabricated the links to Aden, it was actually possible there was some truth to it. The Sinaloa cartel was the biggest in the area and technically the Black Jackets were encroaching on their territory. However, Pershing had approached the Sinaloa and they’d shown little interest in working with the mine. As long as the Black Jackets were not impacting on their drug market, the Sinaloa was happy to keep them at arm’s length. Despite what the media reported, the cartels actually preferred to avoid conflict. It was bad for business and attracted the attention of the authorities.

  “Terry, we’ve got something,” said Ben pointing excitedly at the screen. “Three people riding away from the mine on horseback.”

  Howard looked up with a jolt. He hadn’t expected to pick up anything interesting, particularly on their first night of dedicated Predator support. Sure enough, there were three white-hot blobs on the grey background. As the camera zoomed in he easily identified them as people on horseback.

  “That might be our man moving back from a recon,” said Ben.

  “Tell the Pred to stay on them.” Howard pulled out his cell phone and held it under his desk. With the amount of contact Pershing was demanding he couldn’t leave it outside the secure area. He sent a text to the GES contractor passing him the frequency for the aircraft’s video transmission and a brief description of what they’d found.

  A moment later the phone vibrated as a return message arrived.

  Keep tracking them

  ***

  CHIHUAHUA

  Pershing was in his office when he received the text message. He’d been studying a map of the area and planning how he was going to push the last of the farmers off their land. When his phone had buzzed he thumbed a response, grabbed his hat and gun belt, and walked over to the equipment shelter. He found two of the Black Jackets leaning against a bench, one smoking a cigarette.

  “Hey, pal, what have I told you about smoking in here?” The man stared blankly.

  “Stub it out and find me Burro,” Pershing snarled. He swore that most of these men had the intellectual capacity of a donkey. Grabbing hold of the roll-cage of one of the dune buggies, he slid into the passenger seat. He powered up the ROVER screen and inputted the frequency for the Predator drone. It took a few seconds before the full-motion video image appeared on the screen. Sure enough, there were three people on horseback riding away from the mine.

  “You wanted me, Mr. Pershing?” said Burro.

  Pershing gestured to the driver’s seat of the buggy. “Get in, son.” He adjusted the ROVER’s screen so it displayed a map as well as a smaller view of what the camera was seeing.

  Burro slid into the driver’s seat. Pershing pointed at the map. “We’ve got some guests heading toward the old gold mine. I want you to take a couple of buggies out there and bring them in. Think you can handle that?”

  Burro jabbed his finger at the screen. “We can use the old farm track and cut them off before the canyon.”

  At least this one had half a brain, he thought as he hauled himself out of the buggy.

  Burro was already issuing orders before Pershing left the shed. As he crossed the road, V8 engines burbled to life. He watched as the off-road vehicles roared out of camp, heading toward the front gate and security post. He was about to return to his office when he changed his mind and walked across to his Chevy. Lifting the trunk, he turned on the espresso machine. It was a little late for caffeine but he had an inkling he was not g
oing to be sleeping anytime soon.

  CHAPTER 20

  CHIHUAHUA

  The effect of the molasses candy must have worn off because Tinkerbell was back to her usual miserable self. Her ears were laid back and she had resumed her position directly behind Christina’s horse. Bishop yawned, he was happy with that as it didn’t require any effort on his behalf.

  In his mind he was trying to think through the options for supporting the ranchers in their fight against the mine. While the cartel thugs were protecting it, there was no way they could target it directly. They needed to neutralize the Black Jackets. Otherwise, PRIMAL would only be able to target the parent companies and that was unlikely to give the farmers the justice they deserved.

  Tinkerbell’s ears swiveled forward and she turned her head back. “I’m sorry, girl, this sugar daddy is all out of candy.” She stopped walking and arched her head to look behind them.

  He tugged on the reins. “Come on, Tink, we need to get home.”

  She refused to continue and Bishop was about to give her a kick when he heard the noise. He immediately recognized the engines of the dune buggies. “Go! They’re coming!”

  Roberto and Christina didn’t need to be told twice. Their horses leaped forward and galloped. Tinkerbell still refused to budge.

  “Come on, girl.” He dug his heels in. Tinkerbell whinnied and broke into a canter. Ahead, he focused on a cluster of hills growing in size; the start of the canyon. Roberto and Christina’s horses were barely visible in the gloom as they disappeared into the canyon.

  The roar of V8 engines grew louder, echoing off the mountain walls. He glanced back. The buggies’ headlights bounced across the desert, less than a hundred yards away.

  In an instant, Tinkerbell went from a canter to a gallop. It was as if the ghosts of her forefathers, the war horses that carried knights into battle, were urging her on. Her hooves flashed as she thundered toward the canyon. Bishop clung to the saddle as the powerful animal unleashed her inner beast. He managed to glance back again. As unbelievable as it was, they were drawing away from the buggies.

  The horse was breathing heavily when they hit the lip of the canyon but it didn’t slow her. She thundered down to the channel the elements had carved into the valley floor, slowing only when she weaved between rocky walls and pillars of earth.

  Headlights flashed and an exhaust echoed as one of the buggies dropped into the canyon. At that moment, Tinkerbell stumbled in a tight set of turns. Bishop was sent sailing through the air.

  He slammed against a dusty bank, skidding along stones and dirt. It took him a few seconds to gather himself. By the time he staggered to his feet, Tinkerbell was disappearing into the darkness. He heard the buggy; it had slowed to maneuver through the tight terrain. His mind raced. With one buggy in the canyon, the other was free to race across the plain and cut them off. Christina and Roberto would never be able to outrun it. He only had one option.

  He scrambled up the side of the shallow canyon, grabbing roots and fistfuls of grass as handholds. As he reached the top, he saw the buggy slide around the corner. “Here goes nothing.” He sprinted across a narrow outcrop and leaped off a pillar of rock.

  He hit the top of the buggy hard, slamming into the spare tire. The vehicle accelerated and he barely managed to cling to a nylon tie-down strap. The driver jerked the steering wheel side to side, trying to throw him clear. When that failed, he slowed.

  Bishop was ready when the cartel thug running shotgun stuck a pistol and his head over the side of the roof. He smashed the man in the face with the heel of his boot, knocking him back down. The pistol went off, blowing a hole in the tire between his legs. The heavy-duty rubber started deflating with a hiss, leaving Bishop clinging to a loose strap.

  He switched his attention to the driver. He hooked his legs into the strap, leaned down over the side, and grabbed the driver by the throat.

  In hindsight, it wasn’t the best move. The driver reacted by taking his hands off the wheel and grabbing Bishop’s arm. At the same time he panicked and stomped on the brake.

  The buggy skidded as it hit soft sand. With all four wheels locked it dug in and tipped on its side, catapulting Bishop through the air. Not again, he thought as he slammed into the ground. The buggy slid on its side, coming to a halt in the dust.

  Bishop hauled himself off the ground. His shoulder ached but nothing seemed to be broken. He moved cautiously around the tipped over buggy, his .38 revolver in his hand. There was no sign of moment from the co-driver. He soon realized why; the man was crushed under the buggy, his neck at an unnatural angle. The driver was dazed and moaning but still alive.

  He reached up and grabbed the side of the vehicle. It teetered on its side and he hung his weight off it. Sure enough it rocked toward him. He jumped back as it dropped onto its wheels with a thud.

  Bishop checked the driver for weapons, unbuckled his safety harness, and dragged him clear of the wreck. He tore off the man’s combat vest, found a pair of flexicuffs, and secured his hands with them. The dead co-driver also wore a chest rig and Bishop put it on. Now he had two AKs, a bunch of magazines, and three grenades. He threw the weapons and gear in the passenger foot well.

  He climbed into the buggy and punched the starter button. As the engine coughed to life a screen attached to the dash flashed and lit up. He immediately recognized the ROVER tablet and knew this must have been how they’d been compromised. “Fuck!” he swore punching the dash. Now he was in the middle of nowhere, with no support, and a bloody drone overhead. The buggy’s radio crackled and someone spoke in Spanish.

  Bishop picked up the mike from where it dangled. He wondered if he should give them something to think about. It might force them to abandon the hunt and try to rescue their comrades. He thumbed the transmit button. “Hey fuqtard, if you’re looking for ball-bag and ass-wipe, you’re shit out of luck. Cos they be dead motherfuckers.”

  The voice that replied was heavily accented. “You better hurry, mister Aden, because I’m going to kill your friends.”

  Bishop switched on the headlights and lit up the rock walls as he spun the wheel. As he raced out of the canyon and back up to the desert plain, he kept one eye on the ROVER screen. When it finally connected it showed two horses working their way along the twisting canyon. He eased off the accelerator as the buggy cleared the canyon and bounced into the desert. Spinning the wheel frantically, he searched for the tracks of the other vehicle. He found them and stomped on the accelerator, chasing the tracks that followed the side of the canyon.

  A knocking sound from the back of the buggy was getting louder. The temperature gauge on the dash tipped into the red. “Shit!” Bishop hoped the engine had enough life left to catch the other buggy. He glanced across at the ROVER. The drone was still following Roberto and Christina. He estimated they were about five-hundred yards ahead.

  The knocking coming from the engine sounded like something was trying to escape from inside. Bishop backed off the accelerator, hoping to buy a few more minutes. A loud bang followed by intense hissing confirmed his worst fear, and the buggy shuddered to a halt. He checked the video feed. The other buggy had found a way into the canyon and cut off the riders. He squinted into the darkness and spotted a flash of headlights against the rocky hillside.

  He looked down at the ROVER. The device was a ruggedized tablet, battery-powered with a power cable connected to the buggy. He tore the tablet from its cradle, ripping out the cables. Then he vaulted out of the buggy and grabbed an AK from the passenger’s side.

  Running as fast as he could, he stumbled as his eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. As he ran he stuffed the ROVER screen behind his stolen chest rig.

  The boom of a shotgun echoed in the cold night air, followed by the bark of a rifle. Bishop slowed, walking steadily toward the gunshots, his AK held ready. As he reached the edge of the canyon the other buggy came into view, about a hundred yards away. In the glow of its headlights he spotted two figures loading a body into it.
He raised the rifle. The vehicle took off in a cloud of dust and he resisted the urge to fire a burst and risk hitting the captive.

  A moment later the buggy’s taillights disappeared in the dust and he was left in the dark. Resisting the urge to scream out in rage, he slid down into the canyon and walked to where the buggy had been. He pulled out the ROVER and checked the screen. The drone was still above. The video feed was now centered on him.

  Using the tactical light on his stolen AK, he looked around for a sign of anyone else. Nothing. He scanned the ground, hoping to find horse tracks, or footprints. As he searched a strange sound penetrated the darkness. He jogged toward it and found Roberto’s horse.

  The quarter horse had been shot through the chest. His eyes were wide with fear and bloody red froth bubbled from his nose.

  “Jesus Christ.” He cocked the AK.

  The horse tried to struggle to its feet as he approached. “Hey, steady boy,” he said quietly, trying to reassure the animal as he raised the rifle.

  As the single shot echoed off the canyon walls he heard a clatter of rocks from further along the canyon. He stalked silently in the darkness before reaching the creek. Thirty feet away he spotted the outline of Christina’s palomino. The saddle was empty. He walked to the horse and grasped her reins. She nickered and nuzzled his shoulder. “Where is she, girl?”

  There was a noise a little further downstream. “Christina, is that you?”

  She appeared from behind a boulder and ran to him. “Aden, thank God!”

  He slung his weapon and she hugged him.

  She sobbed into his chest. “They took Roberto.”

  He held her tight. “I know, and if we don’t get moving they’ll get us too. They’ve got a drone overhead; the only place we can hide is the old gold mine.”

  ***

  Pershing was leaning against the Chevy when he heard the buggy in the distance. The powerful headlights flashed at the bottom of the road to the mine and it screamed up the track toward him. He put one hand over the top of his coffee cup to keep out the dust as the buggy skidded to a halt. Burro jumped out, ran around to the other side, and reached into the space behind the seats. His co-driver joined him and together they pulled out a body.