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

by Jack Silkstone

  “Hello Antonio, my name is Dante.”

  It was the man he had spoken to on the phone.

  “You mentioned you had information regarding the disappearance of Caitlin Bracho.” He led him inside a modest office and offered him a chair. “Do you need anything?” he asked once Antonio was seated.

  “No, I’m fine. Miss Bracho came to visit us on the night of her disappearance.”

  “Yes, you are with the Movimiento?”

  He nodded. “That's correct. She came to speak with my group. Not long after she arrived the colectivo burst in and took her.” He pointed to his shoulder. “They did this to me, beat my friends, and raped my girlfriend.”

  “And you think they killed Caitlin?”

  “I know they did. Who else could it be? They took her from my girlfriend’s apartment. Then she is found dead in a gutter.”

  “We have many enemies, Antonio. It could be any number of government organizations or criminal groups. Yes the colectivo are violent, but they rarely kill.”

  “Well, this time they did.” He clenched his jaw.

  “OK, let's say they did. What are we supposed to do now? Go to the police and complain? Expect them to do anything other than laugh? They hate us just as much as the colectivo.”

  “They killed your colleague, an innocent woman, and you're going to do nothing?”

  “No, we will mourn her loss and we’ll continue to fight for a change in government. We honor her loss by lobbying for change so in the future women like her can live without fear, can have good jobs, and can provide for their families. That is what we will do. You’re a leader of students, Antonio; you know how important it is to force the government to have fair elections. Then and only then can we give justice to you, your friends, and to Caitlin.”

  He rose and stormed out of the office in disgust, slamming the door behind him. Of all people he thought the Voluntad would want to find Caitlin's killers and avenge her death. Now who could he turn to? The police? Dante was right, they wouldn't give a shit what happened to a member of the Voluntad party, or the Movimiento for that matter. They would probably arrest him, frame him for the murder, and throw him in jail to rot.

  He strode past the posters of his heroes and out to the street. There was no one else to turn to now and no way of finding the men who had killed Caitlin and raped Camilla. All he had was the image of a dragon clutching a trident. It was an image he would never forget.

  Chapter 5

  VIRGINIA

  Bishop and Mitch found an Outdoor World store twenty miles from the GES facility. The sprawling complex was an outdoorsman's wet dream. The storefront was modeled to resemble a lumberjack’s cabin complete with a pool teeming with trout, an American flag dancing in the wind, and fake log walls. It even had deer antlers on either side of the automatic sliding doors.

  “Welcome to Virginia,” said Bishop as they entered. “The home of moonshine, hunting, fishing, and shooting stuff.”

  “Blimey!” added Mitch as his jaw dropped.

  Bishop gave a low whistle as he scanned the shelves. The place looked like someone had opened an outdoors store in a museum. The walls were covered in hunting and fishing paraphernalia including rifles, rods, mounted deer, fish, and fake trees. He was blown away by the level of effort the store’s designers had made to immerse their customers in the make-believe outdoors.

  “Let’s get what we need and get out,” said Bishop.

  “Good idea. We spend much time in here, mate, and I'm going to buy a boat load of junk I don't need.” Mitch grabbed a shopping cart and they started exploring the indoor, outdoor wonderland.

  “Hunting is over there.” Bishop pointed as he passed the aquarium in the fishing section and walked to the signposted area. Surrounded by mannequins dressed in camouflage outfits he scanned for the items he needed.

  “Can I help you, sir?” The shop assistant startled him. He was dressed in the same garb as the mannequins and wore a similar cheesy grin.

  “Yeah, I'm trying to find gillie suits.” He referred to the shaggy camouflage suits commonly worn by snipers.

  “Yes, sir, they're right over here. What type are you looking for? Laser cut leaf pattern, plastic strand, or a more traditional hessian design?”

  “Something traditional, for use in the forests around here.”

  The assistant showed him three mannequins dressed in the camouflage coveralls. One of them wore exactly what Bishop wanted. “We’ll take two of those.”

  The assistant pulled them off a shelf and placed them in Mitch's cart. “Is that all you need in clothing? We've also got some excellent wet weather gear. The rain this time of the year can put a dampener on things.”

  Bishop glanced at Mitch and shrugged. “I'm good. You want a jacket?”

  “Do you think we'll need it?”

  “Ooh, I love your accent,” said the assistant, clapping his hands.

  “I think we're fine.” Bishop pushed the cart out of the clothing section. They stopped in front of a long rifle rack and cabinets filled with pistols.

  “Almost as good as Warmart,” said Mitch, referring to PRIMAL's extensive armory.

  “No way, do you see any rocket launchers?”

  “True, can we even buy guns here?”

  “Sure can, no waiting period, and no license required.” Bishop grinned.

  “Awesome! You can't buy an air gun in the UK without a bloody permit.”

  “Mitch, this is the home of the brave and the land of the free. You can buy anything you like to protect your own liberty.” He sauntered up to the counter and asked for two Beretta Px4 Storm Compact pistols, holsters, spare magazines, and a couple boxes of ammo.

  “Good choice,” said the weapons attendant as he piled the boxes on the cabinet. “Great little concealed carry weapon.” He lifted his shirt to show them his own pistol. “I carry mine everywhere I go.”

  Mitch caught Bishop's eye and his eyebrows rose.

  He managed to hide his smile and signed for the weapons with a Virginia ID. While he filled out the form the attendant verified the ID on his computer.

  “All good! None of that waiting period nonsense here, brothers,” continued the man. “Just get out in them there hills and start shooting.”

  Bishop nodded as he put the boxed weapons in the cart and they wound their way through the store stocking up with some basic camping equipment. He put two sets of rudimentary night vision goggles and a spotting scope in the cart along with spare batteries, a couple of boxes of protein bars, beef jerky, and camouflage cream.

  When they got to the counter he paid with the credit card linked to the fake ID. Then they piled the gear into the back of the station wagon.

  “Where to now?” asked Mitch as Bishop handed him his pistol.

  He put on his best Virginian drawl. “Now, we get out in them there hills and start shoot’n.”

  ***

  NEW YORK CITY

  Wesley Chambers was in his element. Surrounded by leggy models, splashing out on champagne, he was enjoying impressing some of Wall Street’s up and comers in the best club in town. The only thing putting a dampener on his night, he lamented, was the muscle-bound buffoon who was now permanently attached to his hip thanks to that asshole King.

  “Who's the meathead?” asked a fellow banker dressed in a smart pinstripe suit.

  “Security.” Wesley rolled his eyes.

  The man laughed. “What sort of dodgy shit are you up to Wes?”

  He shrugged and smirked. “You know me, always up to no good.”

  “No good is right, just like the Mexican deal you got me in on. Tanked big-time, bro.”

  Wesley waved their hostess over and ordered a bottle of Patron and shot glasses. “Hey, you win some, you lose some. You make a good return on the Congo gig I got you?”

  The banker shuffled across on the leather settee he was occupying and waved a blonde model over to sit next to him. “You're right, that one was good.”

  “Don't worry a
bout Mexico, it’ll come good in the long run. Our legal team is going to rape the Mexicans for every buck they owe us.”

  The banker had his hand on the thigh of the blonde. “Nice. You got anything else for me? Something new?”

  A waitress approached and was forced to wait for the bodyguard to move before reaching the table.

  “Get the hell out the way, moron,” snapped Wesley over the background music. “Can't you see we're trying to have a good time? You're being a dick.”

  The guard shuffled out of the way and maintained a passive face.

  Wesley turned back to his buddy. “The anal retentive dipshits I work with are paranoid. Some environmental lunatic blows up a mine and they think we're under attack.” He sloshed premium tequila into the shot glasses.

  “Could be something in it, Wes. People are talking, saying MVI is pretty much done.”

  Wesley downed a shot and grabbed another. “Look around, dude. Do I seem done? Trust me, we've only just got started. You need to double down now.” He touched the side of his nose. “You know what I mean.”

  “What have you got going, buddy?”

  “Something big, real big, down in Venezuela. Got the support of the government, going to make a goddamn killing.” Wesley handed him a shot glass.

  “No one gets into Venezuela. Their commie politicians hate US investors.”

  “Not MVI, man, they love us.” Wesley signaled for one of the girls to move closer to him. He lodged a shot glass in her cleavage. “Titty shots!”

  Both men had forgotten about the security guard standing mere feet behind them. He was close enough to hear the conversation over the club’s music. As Wesley and his friend sucked shots from the model’s bosom, he pulled a phone from his pocket and thumbed a text message.

  From the other side of the club another set of eyes were watching Wesley. Saneh had positioned herself at the bar where she had a clear view of the VIP area.

  Entry to the exclusive venue had been relatively easy. The door security had taken one look at her long brown legs, plunging cleavage, and exotic features, and fallen over themselves to pull back the velvet rope. The dress that Mirza had helped her choose had performed its job perfectly.

  Once inside she’d given the place a once over. It was classy, two stories of leather furnishings and French polished woodwork were designed to give the club an opulent plantation mansion feel. The throbbing music was smooth and low enough that you could hold a conversation.

  She continued to watch Wesley and his ensemble as she sipped on sparkling mineral-water. The dynamic was interesting. The young banker was drunk and trying to impress one of his friends. They had gathered a posse of buxom blondes who all wore too much makeup and exposed far too much skin. The bodyguard was alert; he could potentially a problem. If she could break into the group she was going to have to maneuver Wesley away from him.

  “Hey, gorgeous.”

  She turned to the voice. Its owner was another limp-wristed suit emboldened by a generous dose of overpriced alcohol. She glanced back at the VIP area where Wesley was drinking. She eyeballed the bouncer guarding the roped-off lounge and strode across to him leaving the would-be suitor in her wake.

  “Hello.” She smiled.

  “This is a private function.” The bouncer’s eyes dropped straight to her cleavage.

  “I know, I was wondering if I could join?” she asked seductively.

  A female hostess appeared at his elbow. “Sorry, doll. Invited guests only.”

  “Could you ask the gentleman if it would be OK for me to join them?”

  The hostess shrugged, strutted over to Wesley’s table, bent down, and said a few words. He glanced at Saneh. She smiled at him and waited for the hostess to return.

  “He said it's a lovely offer but he only likes blondes. Sorry, babe.”

  Saneh quickly retreated to the bar where the suit was still watching her. “So, do you want to buy me a drink?”

  The man smiled. “OK.”

  She couldn't leave straight away so she may as well enjoy the attention. Then she would call Mirza and get him to pick her up outside. They would have to develop a new plan to target ‘Mr. I only like blonde porn stars’.

  Chapter 6

  CARACAS, VENEZUELA

  The hotel Ivan had chosen was low key and reasonable value. It suited the identity he had selected for this operation. According to his travel documents he was Igor Kozar, a project manager for a Russian company scoping investments in Venezuelan oil projects. It was a cover he had used once before and one that was layered deep enough that even the most comprehensive security check would be unlikely to find holes in it.

  He ran his fingers through his salt and pepper hair and checked his suit in the mirrored walls of the hotel elevator. Studying his face, he noticed a number of new wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. This business was all about details and he saw everything. It was why he was so good at what he did. Nothing was ever left to chance. This mission would be no different.

  He had read the PRIMAL mission pack on the Alitalia flight from Rome. The intelligence was patchy at best. All they knew was MVI likely had an interest in resource exploitation, and there were indications that GES could be involved with anti-government groups. Chua had given him two tasks; one, establish anti-government contacts and two, locate a local safe house. The second was easy. He’d already arranged a number of inspections with a realtor. The first task of finding local contacts would be more difficult. However, like everything it was covered by a plan.

  A chime announced that the elevator had reached the ground floor and Ivan strode out through the lobby. The hotel had arranged a car and a driver, and he had a number of meetings organized with mid-level officials in PDVSA, the state-owned oil and gas company. He doubted any of them would offer insight into MVI's undertakings. However, they would add legitimacy and depth to his cover.

  His driver was an elderly gentleman who smelled of cigarettes. Ivan lowered the window as he entered the car. He preferred the humidity to the stench of tobacco.

  “Where do you want to go?” the driver asked in Spanish.

  Ivan gave him the address. He was fluent in five languages: Russian, English, French, Spanish, and German, and able to deliver them all with a convincing accent.

  It took ten minutes to navigate the inner-city traffic a half-mile to the destination. It was not the offices of an oil and gas company. That would come later. His priority today was to establish contact with those opposed to the government.

  The driver waited at the curb as Ivan walked into a building and took the elevator to the second floor. He crossed the street using a sky bridge to another building. Then he walked down an escalator and strolled another hundred yards along the street. Entering a shopping mall, he chose a magazine from a stand and examined the cover before doubling back out to the street. Confident he wasn’t being followed he continued along the street and arrived at his destination, the Voluntad head office.

  He scanned the black and white posters on the walls of the foyer as he climbed a set of stairs. The faces of famous freedom fighters and peace activists looked down at him. Pausing to announce himself through an intercom, he waited for the receptionist to open the door. A minute later he was sitting in the office of a scholarly gentleman wearing thick black-framed glasses.

  He offered the Voluntad politician his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Dante. Thank you again for agreeing to see me at such short notice.”

  “No problem.”

  He placed a gray device the size of a TV remote on the table. “I hope you don't mind. It's a security precaution.” A green light flashed on top of the box.

  The man stared at it.

  “It scrambles any listening devices. Standard procedure for my company.” He smiled. “So, I guess you’re probably wondering why a representative from one of Russia's largest energy corporations is talking to you?”

  Dante nodded. “That did cross my mind.”

  “Da, I can see you a
re very interested.”

  The man nodded again. “Intrigued.”

  “Well, my company thinks change is on the horizon. Soon Venezuela will move to democracy. This is inevitable. And when that happens once again deregulation will occur and my company will be able to establish operations here.”

  “That's certainly an optimistic view.”

  “Take Russia. For years we slaved under the yoke of communism and now we’re free. This will happen here too.”

  The man sighed like he had heard it all before. “And you're here to do what exactly?”

  “I'm here to offer funding and support, discreetly of course.”

  “And in exchange we will give you access to the oil when and if the time comes?”

  “Yes, you will give us the opportunity to make a deal and establish operations. But in the short term we would also like information. We would like to know what other oil companies are talking with you.”

  “You're the only one so far.”

  “Good.” Ivan took an envelope from his jacket and placed it on the desk. “I would like to be informed if that changes.”

  The man picked up the envelope and glanced inside. “Your generosity is appreciated. I’ll make sure this is put to good use. Funding has been difficult since the government crackdown.”

  “We can offer you other types of support if you need it.”

  Dante adjusted his glasses. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Anything you need, anything that would help.” He touched the side of his nose. “We have people who specialize in helping influence change.”

  “That is not something this office would want to discuss.” Dante glanced down at the scrambler device. “But, I could put you in contact with others who may appreciate that sort of thing. The students running the demonstrations have come under increasing pressure from the colectivos.”