PRIMAL Vengeance (3)

by Jack Silkstone

  The two heavily laden SFF vehicles sped clear of the village, refugees running with outstretched arms as they tried to catch them.

  Jonjo's knuckles were white as he clutched the tailgate of the Hilux. Tears of rage streamed down his face as he watched another village burn.

  In the front of the pickup Garang pounded his fists against the dashboard. Jeeps, heavy machine guns and now mortars. The Janjaweed had it all! He slammed his fist again. What did he have to fight back with? AKs, old men and boy soldiers!

  Chapter 8

  Kaljak Vilage, Abyei District

  Sagrib lifted his pistol and shot the old man through the face. The body remained upright on its knees for a moment before it collapsed into the dust. The infidel had served his purpose. Now Sagrib knew why the village was almost empty. He knew why there were no cattle and he knew who had fired at them, killing one of his men.

  The Dinka men had warned the villagers. A group led by the American no less. This was interesting news for Sagrib. The battered body his men had dumped outside Khartoum hardly seemed like a threat at the time. According to the old man, Sagrib had only just missed the foreigner and his band of would-be warriors. He hoped they would meet again soon.

  The tall Arab surveyed the small group of prisoners his men had captured. Half a dozen old men and a few women was hardly the bounty he had promised them. Still the three American women would go a long way to easing their disappointment. The two young ones and the old lady were squatting in the dirt with the rest of the prisoners. Their capture had been the only highlight of an attack that had cost him the life of one of his men.

  A single burst of fire from a machine gun had hit his lead vehicle, shattered the windscreen and almost decapitated the man in the front seat. It was the first casualty they had taken since commencing the raids. The first real resistance they had experienced. Still, the new Chinese weapons had quickly turned the battle in his favor. The mortars had proven themselves to be most useful.

  "Bring her!" Sagrib pointed to the old woman. She had already attempted to sully his ears with all manner of infidel words.

  He strode towards one of the village huts. The mud walls were scarred with bullet holes but otherwise intact. Two of his men dragged the woman behind him.

  The protests of the two younger women stopped Sagrib in his tracks. He turned back to his men guarding the prisoners. "Those two are yours; share them with the others."

  His men eagerly dragged the white women from the group. An elderly Dinka rose to protect them and was clubbed to the ground with the buttstock of a rifle. Sagrib grinned as he turned back to the clinic. The bitches had no idea what was in store for them, he thought.

  As his men dragged the old woman Sagrib stopped to take a bag from the back of his open-topped jeep. In front of a hut he unclipped the bag and emptied the contents on the ground. He ordered his men to pin the woman against the mud-brick wall.

  "Nothing you can do will scare me!" There was a look of defiance in her eyes. "The Lord is with me."

  Sagrib picked up a hammer and a metal peg from the ground, one of three used to secure a long range radio mast. "Oh, he will be soon." He held up one of the sinister looking spikes. "They crucified your prophet, didn't they?"

  The old woman gasped, her eyes wide with fear. She struggled against the guards but they held her firm, pinning her arms to the wall as they lifted her up.

  Sagrib brought his face close to hers, his lips peeled back in a hideous leer. "You should have stayed in your own country, witch!"

  "No, no, you wouldn't!" She shook her head in disbelief as he placed the spike on the back of her hand. He paused, savoring her fear, then smashed the spike with the hammer. The thin shaft of metal punctured her flesh, bones and tendons with a sickening crunch. She screamed in pain as he bashed the peg home, driving it into the mud wall. She continued to scream as he repeated the treatment on her other hand.

  The Arab stepped back to survey his handiwork. The old woman was now suspended by the spikes in her hands, crucified. She whimpered and gasped for air as her feet scrabbled against the dry mud wall.

  "Look how close you are to your God now, infidel." He spat on the woman's face.

  The old lady looked at him with sad eyes. "I forgive you, my son," she whispered before the pain overwhelmed her and she passed out.

  Sagrib stared at the woman in disbelief. He was no stranger to killing innocents but the women's deathly calm disturbed him. Usually they begged for their lives, right up until their last breath.

  "Get the vehicles ready. We're leaving," Sagrib ordered one of his men as he turned his back on the woman. She would take hours to die. Suitable punishment for bringing her lies to his country, he thought.

  He checked his Rolex. They had been in the village for a little over an hour. It was time to move. There was an ever so slight chance that the SPLA or the UN would send a patrol. So far they had seen neither the South Sudanese Army nor the peacekeepers but Omar had warned him that he was to avoid conflict with any offical security forces.

  The shrill scream of one of the American girls pierced the air. Sagrib smiled. His men were enjoying themselves. No need to interrupt them just yet. He reached into his four-wheel drive and pulled out the satellite phone Yang had given him. The Chinese operative would want to know about the American and his men. Perhaps he would have some intelligence on their home base.

  Chapter 9

  Lascar Island, South West Pacific

  Saneh's heart was pounding in her ears as she crested the ridgeline. She paused for a second to savor the cool ocean breeze that penetrated the thick jungle. In the valleys the humidity and heat were oppressive. Her clothing and equipment were drenched in sweat.

  The former Iranian intelligence officer wore a lightweight belt rig. It contained four magazines for her Beretta ARX160 assault rifle, a water bottle and a pair of fragmentation grenades. She rarely wore the heavy chest rigs that the male operatives wore. Not only was she unlikely to be directly assaulting enemy objectives, but also the ballistic plates weren't designed to fit an ample chest. She preferred the comfort of a lightweight shirt. Her dark tan cargo pants were covered in mud, boots drenched from the dozen creeks she'd traversed.

  She had started out at the crack of dawn, following what Bishop and the rest of the team called the 'Punisher', a fourteen kilometer obstacle course, sneaker range and endurance run. PRIMAL operators ran it regularly to keep in shape. It was one of many training activities that had been set up on the island, each one designed to challenge a different set of skills.

  Saneh was a recent addition to the PRIMAL team. Formerly an agent of the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence and Security, the alluring operative had been recruited into the vigilante organization more by chance than plan. She had been sold out by her old organization following a mission to secure a biological weapon. Homeless, nationless, and without a friend in the world, PRIMAL offered her a second chance. She was a perfect fit for the clandestine organization; striking, audacious, ruthless, and a bit of an altruist. PRIMAL had appealed to her from day one; a renegade team of former intelligence and Special Forces operators dealing out justice to the world's worst.

  Having caught her breath Saneh stepped off again. She scrambled down the narrow jungle track, her boots cutting into the slick mud, keeping her upright.

  When she hit the bottom she searched for the red arrow that marked the route. It was nailed to a tree, indicating she needed to follow the creek line. The cool water was refreshing as she waded downstream. It rose up to her chest and she held the assault rifle high.

  A hundred meters later, an arrow directed her out of the creek and onto the bank. She clambered up into a small clearing with a track running downhill. A buzzer sounded and she racked the action on her rifle. The sneaker range had detected her GPS transponder and activated the targets. She brought the weapon to her shoulder and started down the track.

  Man-sized targets popped up randomly as she progressed, Saneh firing at them
as they appeared. She moved quickly, double tapping and changing magazines on the run. Within minutes she had cleared the course, unloaded her weapon and was jogging down the track towards the ocean.

  Two kilometers later the track finished and she burst out of the jungle onto a pristine white beach. The PRIMAL operatives used this part of the island as a recreational retreat. A small cluster of huts was hidden underneath a canopy of palm trees.

  Saneh downed the last of her water, dumped her equipment on the deck in front of one of the huts and tore off her boots. She struggled to peel her sweat drenched t-shirt from her clammy skin. Dropping it onto a sun bed, she stepped out of her cargo pants and strode down the beach to the water in her underwear, shaking out her long, dark hair.

  As she entered the water, a man appeared in the doorway of one of the huts. Bishop walked out onto the deck and watched her dive into the ocean. Dressed in blue swim shorts, a pair of aviator sunglasses covering his dark brown eyes, he was sipping from a cold glass of iced tea. He watched her for a minute before retiring to one of the two sun beds. Depositing the glass on a side table, he closed his eyes, savoring the sun on his bruised body.

  "Good morning, lover." Saneh stood on the deck in her sports underwear. Water dripped from her dark hair, running down her body to pool on the deck.

  Bishop looked over the top of his sunglasses, drinking in every curve of her voluptuous frame.

  She parted her lips revealing a near-perfect smile. "You're looking a little less battered."

  Bishop sat up and threw her a towel. "Nothing a little rest couldn't fix."

  Saneh caught it deftly and started drying herself.

  "Hey, Saneh."

  "Yes?"

  He took a deep breath. "Look, it's just..."

  "Spit it out, Aden."

  "OK. Well, it's just there's something I wanted to talk to you about. Something important."

  She stopped drying her hair and smiled at him coyly. "What?"

  "I, uh, want to talk about us. Wanted to talk about where this is going."

  "I've been waiting for this, Aden."

  "Huh, what do you mean?"

  "I've been waiting for you to bring it up." She sat down on the other sunbed and faced him. "I'm not a giddy school girl, Aden. I'm a highly trained HUMINT operative."

  "I know that. I just thought..."

  "You thought? Please, Aden, we both know that thinking's not your strong suit. Mr Shoot-from-the-hip?" She flashed him another smile. "Now, what did you think? That I was in love with you?"

  Bishop looked up at her sheepishly. "Well, yes. I didn't want to be the only one.'"

  Saneh laughed. "Of course I love you, Aden. But I'm also a realist. I know your loyalty is with the team."

  "That doesn't mean—"

  "Yes it does, Aden. You're an idealist with a stupidly big heart. You won't rest until you've saved every last kicked and beaten underdog that exists in the world."

  "I guess we're similar like that."

  Saneh smiled again. "I guess you're right. Although you do seem to get all the good missions."

  It was Bishop's turn to laugh. "That's a lie and you know it. You're the one that bounces straight out of recruitment in Istanbul into an operation in the UAE."

  Both operatives had been redeployed to the Emirates to help deal with a threat to PRIMAL's wealthy benefactor, Tariq Ahmed. The head of UAE intelligence was also the CEO of a significant logistics empire and the founder of PRIMAL.

  "So did you."

  "I had to. I wasn't about to let Tariq down, was I?"

  "Nobody would let that man down; he's handsome, educated and oh so charming."

  The founder of PRIMAL was renowned for being a lady's man. The Sheikh had been rather taken with Saneh and had lavished her with attention.

  Bishop raised an eyebrow and Saneh continued. "You're such a little boy, Aden Bishop. A little boy that doesn't want to share his toys with anyone else."

  He pretended to sulk and Saneh straddled him on the sun bed. She leaned forward and kissed him gently. "It's OK, little boy. I only have eyes for you… for now."

  Bishop's hands slid up the side of her body and around her back until they reached the latch of her bra. With a flick he unsnapped it and the bra dropped from her chest. He took a second to fully appreciate her ample breasts before pulling her even closer to him, kissing her passionately.

  The embrace was interrupted by the buzzing of a pager.

  "Are you shitting me?" Bishop said as Saneh reached across and grabbed the communication device from the side table.

  "You've been recalled to the bunker."

  "Now? That'd be right."

  Saneh jumped off him, scooping up her bra and slipping it back over her shoulders. She cringed as she slid the filthy cargo pants over her legs and gathered up the rest of her gear. Bishop was already inside the hut grabbing his own kit. He reappeared dressed in a t-shirt and carrying a shoulder bag.

  "Here, wear this. Yours stinks." He threw her a spare t-shirt and proceeded to stuff her wet gear into the duffel bag.

  "What do you think is going on?" Saneh asked as she laced her boots.

  Bishop folded the stock on the ARX and strapped the shortened rifle to the side of his duffel bag. "Not sure, but if I had to guess I'd say it's got to do with the Sudan."

  The two grabbed their bags and started off down a track that led from the huts to an open-sided vehicle shed.

  "Mirza's been keeping an eye on the situation. Both he and Chua think its getting worse."

  Bishop's partner had already been moved to Abu Dhabi where he could be closer to the action should intervention be required.

  They reached the shed and threw their gear into the back of Bishop's ATV. Saneh swung into the driver's seat and started the engine.

  Bishop stood next to the powerful buggy with his hands on his hips. "Is that so…?"

  "It certainly is, lover boy. Now get in and I'll show you how it's done."

  Saneh raced the ATV down a short track before they hit the beach. Once the tires hit the sand she unleashed the 1000 cc engine. Sand rooster tailed off the back tires as they rocketed down the beach, heading back towards the airfield.

  Chapter 10

  PRIMAL HQ, Lascar Island

  Saneh slowed the ATV as they left the beach and bounced onto the apron of Lascar Island's single runway. Checking for aircraft, she accelerated across the tarmac and into one of the two hangars cut into the side of the extinct volcano that towered over the airfield.

  An abandoned Japanese World War Two base, the island now masqueraded as a maintenance and refuelling depot for Lascar Logistics, an international air freight company owned by the founder of PRIMAL. It was here, thousands of miles from any prying eyes, that PRIMAL staged its operations.

  The irony of a covert organization basing itself on an abandoned island with its headquarters deep within the bowels of an extinct volcano was lost on Saneh. Growing up in Iran she had missed out on Bond villains and the Thunderbirds TV series. To her the concept made sense. Where else in the world could PRIMAL hide without being exposed?

  They entered the hangar and drove under the wing of a Lascar cargo aircraft, stopping for a moment at the back wall. There was a whir of electric motors and two portions of the wall separated, wide enough for the buggy to enter.

  On the other side of the doors was a vast cavern the size of a football field. Carved from volcanic rock it once housed Japanese bombers. Now it was the home of PRIMAL's own fleet of aircraft. Present in the hangar was a heavily modified Il-76 transport aircraft that the PRIMAL team called The Pain Train. The giant airframe was a surveillance platform, transporter, signals intelligence collector and when required, a gunship. Parked with its nose under the wing of the hulking jet was a Gulfstream business jet. Saneh noted that a number of PRIMAL's latest aircraft were not in the hangar. It was possible they had already been positioned in Abu Dhabi.

  She stopped the buggy at the back of the hangar, in front of a large ser
vice elevator. The pair swiped their access cards and rode the lift down. It stopped on the first floor.

  "Make sure you come see me once you're done." Saneh gave Bishop a kiss on the cheek before exiting the lift into the accommodation level.

  "You still going to be wearing those pants?" Bishop quipped, clamping his fingers over his nose.

  "Just for you, soldier boy." Saneh laughed as the doors closed.

  Bishop stepped out of the lift on the third floor, swiped his way through a secure access point and entered the Bunker.

  The actual operations room was almost empty. A few of the staff were sitting in front of their terminals but the primary display screens were all blank. He glanced over at the intelligence team, two analysts were hard at work.

  "Chua and Vance are in the big man's office," the watchkeeper said without looking up from a book he was reading. Clearly there was nothing going on at the moment.

  "Cheers, Tom." Bishop walked across the operations floor to the staff offices. He knocked on the one that boldly declared 'The Boss'.

  "Come in!" Vance, the Director of Operations, bellowed.

  Bishop pushed the door open and stepped into the spartan office. Vance was not one for covering his walls in memorabilia and all that 'crap' as he eloquently described it.

  "Bish, how ya doin', buddy?" Vance jumped up from behind his desk and pumped Bishop's arm vigorously. The former CIA operative was an ox of a man, built like Mike Tyson complete with shaved head and biceps like coconuts.

  "Yeah, I'm OK. Healed up pretty good." Bishop's run-in with the Chinese operative on the 'Tian Hai' had left him battered. He had spent an entire day in the PRIMAL medical bay undergoing a thorough exam by the resident doctor.

  "Hey, Chua," Bishop acknowledged PRIMAL's Chief of Intelligence sitting across the room.