PRIMAL Nemesis (Book 2 in the Redemption Trilogy, A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 6) (The PRIMAL Series)

by Jack Silkstone

  “No sign of security,” whispered Miklos.

  “We'll clear the three buildings starting with the closest. I’ve got point. Miklos with me, Pavel covering.”

  He moved through the knee-high grass to the first building. It was small, about the size of a motor home. He slid in next to the door and placed his hand on the knob. Once Miklos was in position opposite he tried the door. It was unlocked. He pushed it open.

  Miklos swung into the room and engaged a target with a double tap. Kruger was a split second behind and did the same, dropping the other hostile in the room. “No sign of hostage, coming out.”

  They moved to the second structure, repeating the process. They finally found their hostage in the third building. Kruger heaved the body over his shoulder. “Objective secure, boys. Let's get out of here.”

  They met Pavel on the other side of the clearing. There was a path that ran down a ridgeline toward the coast of the tropical island. Taking turns with the 180-pound ‘hostage’, it took them forty-five minutes to reach the beach where a high-powered ATV was parked with headlights on.

  “Nice one, team.” Vance, PRIMAL's Director of Operations was waiting for them. The barrel-chested bald-headed African American was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and Panama shorts. “Drinks are in the cooler.”

  Kruger dumped the dummy hostage into the back of the ATV and grabbed a sports drink. “Those mortar sims were a nice touch. Wasn't expecting that.”

  “You handled it well. Let's load up and get you guys back to the Bunker.”

  He jumped in the passenger seat as Miklos and Pavel piled into the cargo bed. “Any news from Aleks?” he asked as they sped off.

  “Yeah, he's heading across to Germany to talk with Kurtz’s parents. Once he's done there he'll be coming home.”

  “Then we’ll be deploying to Jamaica with the others?”

  “Possibly. We need to be ready to respond to a range of contingencies, not just in South America.” Vance drove the buggy off the beach onto a tarmac runway. The headlights lit up an old rusted hangar that butted against a towering cliff.

  “I think we should probably do some HAHO and HALO practice then,” Kruger said referring to the high-altitude parachuting techniques.

  “Good idea.” Vance drove inside the rusted out hangar and stopped in front of the solid rock wall. “I'll schedule some jumps for tomorrow afternoon.”

  The cliff face at the back of the hangar rumbled as it split. A gigantic hidden door slid apart. Once the gap was wide enough Vance raced into PRIMAL's hidden headquarters.

  No matter how many times you saw it, the PRIMAL hangar was still impressive, thought Kruger. The floodlit cavern was home to the organization’s aircraft. There were two parked in the hangar: a hulking Ilyushin-76, its engines currently in pieces, and an AW609 tilt rotor. The third jet in the fleet, a Gulfstream G650 nicknamed Sleek, was deployed in Jamaica.

  Vance drove the ATV around the Il-76 transporter and cut across the nose of the tilt rotor. He parked next to the cargo elevator and jumped out. “Sort your gear out, boys, and get some rest. I've got a feeling you’re going to be in the thick of it in no time.”

  ***

  KINGSTON, JAMAICA

  Chua had let the team enjoy their breakfast before herding them inside the office for a pre-mission briefing. His own meal, a burrito, was sitting cold and limp on his desk among a pile of empty energy drink cans. He’d been up all night planning via video link to the Bunker. His right eye was already starting to twitch from fatigue.

  “Looking pretty tired there, brother,” said Bishop as he took a seat in front of the main screen. He looked refreshed from his morning yoga session with Saneh.

  Chua nodded as he watched the others file in. Only Flash wasn’t present; he was getting some much-needed sleep.

  “OK team, I'm going to start with a quick update on the work Flash has done since last night. As you're all aware we've been working our way through the intel that Mitch and Mirza enabled us to pull off MVI's secure servers.”

  “Well done, lads,” said Bishop.

  Mitch punched his fist in the air and gave it a victory pump.

  “MVI has since tightened their security procedures limiting collection to what we already have. We've exploited almost all of that information now and one of the conclusions that has dropped out is a rift in the relationship between two of the directors. Wesley Chambers, their capital raising guy, and Charles King, the head of security and boss of GES, hate each other. King has identified Chambers as a significant risk due to his hedonistic social life and unwillingness to comply with security protocols. Mirza had the opportunity to meet him last week when he was undercover.” He glanced at the PRIMAL operative. “Did you have anything you wanted to add?”

  Mirza rose. “Yes thank you, Chen. Chambers is very much a Generation-Y child. I spent some time on his yacht, the Nemesis, and can confirm he's entitled, has an overinflated opinion of himself, and is fixated on wealth, power, women, and cocaine.”

  “Sounds like a hell of boat ride,” said Bishop.

  Everyone laughed except Mirza who frowned. “It was most enlightening.”

  “Bet it was,” added Mitch, nudging him as he sat down.

  “So there it is people, our first target. Saneh, Vance and I think this guy is a prime candidate for a honey trap. You’ll have the lead on this and Mirza will back you up. Your mission is to get close to Chambers and identify any opportunities to exploit him. Mirza’s already intimate with Chambers and his cover was blown, so his support will need to be discreet.”

  Saneh nodded solemnly then turned and gave Mirza a wink.

  “Bishop,” he continued. “You and Mitch will be targeting the GES facility in Virginia. We still have very little on the organization but we do know King spends most of his time at his residence on the estate. The calendars we pulled off the email server indicate King is due to be staying at the residence for the next week. I need you to infiltrate and exploit any opportunities. We’re particularly interested in the locations and type of work they’re doing. And any links to the CIA.”

  “What about Venezuela?” Bishop asked.

  “Ivan’s on the ground already,” Chua said referring to his deep-cover operative. “Once we get any additional information I’ll let you know.”

  Bishop nodded.

  “OK, guys, I'm going to get my head down for thirty minutes. Once you've got your initial plans ready start prepping your gear.” He checked his watch. “Be ready to backbrief your plans at eleven hundred hours. Wheels up at midday. Any questions?” He paused. “No? I'm out.”

  Chua left the room leaving the pairs to discuss their individual missions. Bishop sat behind one of the laptops and accessed the iPRIMAL imagery database. He found the facility in Virginia and zoomed in. “Looks like a pretty standard training setup.” He turned the screen so Mitch could see.

  “Yeah, got kill houses, admin facilities, ranges. Even if security is tight we're probably going to be able to get in through the forest,” said Mitch.

  “It’ll provide us with cover all the way to the residence. That's got to be where King lives.” He pointed out a mansion in the middle of a dense forest. It was located a half mile from the sprawling training facilities but was still within the perimeter security fence.

  “We can bounce a laser off the windows and eavesdrop. Maybe plant a bug.”

  “Good plan, mate, simple.” Bishop turned to see Mirza and Saneh already talking through their own problem. “How come you always get the good jobs?”

  They both turned to face him.

  “What do you mean?” asked Mirza. “Your job is much simpler.”

  “You get New York and a beautiful woman. I get Virginia and Mr. Tight T-shirts.”

  Chapter 4

  VIRGINIA

  After dropping Saneh and Mirza in New York, Bishop and Mitch flew south to Chesterfield County Airport where they parked the Gulfstream and hired a station wagon. From there it was a three hour drive s
outh through lush green forests, rolling farmland, and quaint townships.

  Mitch was driving with Bishop riding shotgun. As they turned off the interstate Bishop’s eyes were glued to the iPRIMAL tablet on his lap. “This is the very edge of the GES facility.”

  “Not very welcoming are they,” said Mitch.

  The road followed a tall fence bordering a thick wall of trees. There was a gap of fifteen yards between the wire fence and the woods.

  “Probably got ground sensors, CCTV, dogs, tripwires, patrols, drones...” the Brit said.

  “OK I get it. It's not going to be easy to get in.”

  They continued along the fence for another four miles before seeing the sign for the entrance to the training and operations facility. As they drove past Bishop gave the entrance a quick glance. “So far you're right on two accounts. They've got CCTV and dogs at the front gate.”

  “So we slip in somewhere else, yeah.”

  Bishop turned his attention back to the tablet. “The property’s huge, over five thousand hectares. That's a lot of fence line to manage. There’ll be a few spots where we can slip in.”

  “That’s all good. What about the live fire ranges?”

  Bishop flashed him a grin. “What's wrong, champ, getting cold feet? I thought you loved being in the field.”

  “I'm not real keen to get shot by accident wandering onto a bloody rifle range.”

  “Good point; there could be some kind of patrolling training going on. We're going to need some decent camouflage anyway.”

  The pair had come prepared for a surveillance operation but they had packed light. Having traveled in the US before Bishop knew there wasn't much they couldn't buy from a local outdoor store.

  “I don't know about you, buddy, but I could do with a bite to eat and a cup of joe,” said Mitch in his best American accent.

  Bishop glanced up from the tablet with a frown.

  Mitch shrugged. “Just trying to blend in.”

  “You've got a beard and a flannel shirt. You fit in here just fine.”

  They finally reached the end of the fence and the road continued for a few miles before reaching a town. It was small, only a few thousand people. Mitch pulled the wagon into a truck stop. “We better fill up while we're here.”

  “I'll take care of that. Can you grab me a coffee and a chili dog?”

  “Will do.”

  Bishop jammed the gas pump in the fuel tank and leaned against the car as it filled. He stared absentmindedly at the buildings on the other side of the street as a rented sedan pulled alongside. He glanced sideways as a badly dressed and overweight thirty-something man got out of the car. From behind his shades he rolled his eyes; didn't these people exercise?

  As Bishop was pumping gas Mitch was trying to work out how to extract coffee from a grubby urn located at the back of the shop. He pushed a button on top and managed to squirt brown lukewarm liquid onto the bench. In the end he gave up, grabbed his room temperature burrito and Bishop’s chili dog and walked across to the fridge. He waited for an overweight guy dressed in chinos and an ill-fitting suit jacket to select six cans of sugar-free energy drink from the fridge before grabbing two of his own. He dumped them on the counter next to ‘chino guy’ and waited for his turn to pay.

  Mitch watched as the man reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. At the same time his ID card with a lanyard fell to the floor. Mitch bent down and picked it up.

  “Thanks, dude,” said the man stuffing it back into his pocket.

  Mitch gave him a nod, paid for his supplies and gas, and followed the man out through the sliding doors. Bishop was waiting in the station wagon and Mitch handed him the food and drink through the window before jumping back in the driver’s seat. As the hire car in front of them turned back toward the GES facility he followed.

  “Thought we were heading into town to buy gear?” said Bishop.

  “I want to see where this guy goes.”

  “Why? You want to ask where he bought those awful pants? Or are you looking for some dietary advice?”

  Mitch tried not to laugh. “No, he dropped his ID card and I picked it up.”

  “So he's a GES guy?”

  “No,” replied Mitch. “He's CIA and his name’s Howard.”

  “No shit.” They followed the car as it drove down the road, slowed at the sign to GES, and turned into the security checkpoint. “Well that confirms the CIA and GES are definitely in bed together,” said Bishop.

  “That a problem?” asked Mitch.

  “Nope, let’s go buy some kit.”

  ***

  NEW YORK CITY

  While Bishop and Mitch searched for an outdoor store Saneh and Mirza were preparing for their own mission. They caught a cab from Newark International Airport to the apartment Saneh had chosen on a short-term rental website. The two-bedroom apartment was only a block from the building that housed the MVI offices.

  “Wow, you did well, Saneh. This is a nice place.” Mirza dragged two black bags into the living room.

  The accommodation was ultra modern, painted off-white, with original pieces of art on each wall.

  “It'll do.” She placed her own bags on the floor and nodded at a long glass table. “We can set up here.” She unzipped her laptop case and started setting up the secure network link back to the Bunker.

  Mirza brought his own computer over and plugged it in.

  “So what exactly happened down in Mexico?” she asked as she connected an encryption module to the Wi-Fi receiver.

  “What do you mean? Chua briefed you on what happened. We shut down the mine.”

  “Yes, I know that part. I was just wondering about how it all started. I mean, one minute you and Bishop are heading to New York and the next minute you're on a mission in Mexico. You were supposed to be on a holiday.”

  “We were, but Chua sent Bishop on a mission.”

  “To Mexico?”

  “No, here in New York. Aden met with a journalist who Chua was concerned might be investigating PRIMAL. He didn't know she was investigating the dodgy mining operation in Mexico. Bish walked into the middle of an attempted kidnapping and saved her.”

  She looked up from her laptop. “So, let me get this straight. Aden chased a girl down to Mexico and you and Mitch had to bail him out?”

  “No, not exactly. He agreed to go to Mexico to help expose what was happening with the mine and then things... kind of escalated.”

  “This girl, is she pretty?”

  “Yes, but not like you.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, is that right?”

  He laughed nervously. “It wasn’t like that. He went down to Mexico to make sure she stayed safe, that’s all. She needed to get photos of the mine and he wanted to find out if what she was telling him was true. It turned out to be worse. The mine had hired cartel gunmen to force farmers from their land. They murdered old men, tortured young boys. She was wounded when the cartel went after them.”

  “Is she OK?”

  He nodded. “Aden got her out, then refused to abandon the farmers. You know the rest. He has a big heart. You should know a lot of it belongs to you.”

  The former Iranian intelligence operative tried not to blush. She redirected the conversation back to their current mission. “So we know where Mr. Wesley Chambers works and we know he owns a boat. But what we really want to know is where he likes to party.”

  “There's a club on 10th called Avenue. He seems to be there a fair bit.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I Googled him.” Mirza spun his laptop so she could see the pictures on the screen. There were half a dozen showing the banker with pretty girls and men in suits.

  “Might be a good place to start then.”

  “I’ve already checked out the metadata on the photos. If his routine is the same as the last three weeks, he should be there tonight.”

  She smiled. “You’ve become quite the agent, Mirza Mansoor.”

  “Well, I've lear
ned from the best.”

  She pretended to grimace. “Aden Bishop, super spy.”

  He laughed. “You guys are so perfect for each other it's disgusting.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Really? Grab your jacket, Mirza. I'm going to punish you for that comment.”

  “What? Where are we going?”

  “Shopping. I need something to wear tonight and you're going to carry the bags.”

  ***

  CARACAS, VENEZUELA

  The bus door opened with a clunk and Antonio stepped onto the street. He winced as the step down jarred his shoulder. His arm was in a sling and it was the reason he was using the bus instead of his bike.

  He walked stiffly beside the busy main road passing throngs of pedestrians. Tall office blocks overlooked the tree-lined street and he checked their numbers as he passed. Finding the one he wanted he entered through the front door and paused in the lobby. Massive posters of freedom fighters were plastered on the walls. Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi, Mother Teresa, and Martin Luther King all seemed to watch him from the powerful black and white images. He took a moment then walked slowly up the stairs to level one, the national office of the Voluntad party. If anyone was interested in seeking justice for the dead politician, and his traumatized girlfriend, they would be here.

  He buzzed the intercom and smiled at the middle-aged receptionist he could see through the glass.

  “Can I help you?” she asked through the intercom.

  “My name’s Antonio. I called earlier.”

  He watched her check a list then reach for a phone. A moment later she buzzed him in. She gave him a sad look and directed him to the plastic chairs in the waiting room. Minutes passed before a door opened and a man dressed in a tweed jacket appeared. He was thin and wore thick black glasses that magnified his eyes.