Chua sat down at his terminal opposite PRIMAL’s leader. The desk was littered with energy drink cans and he quickly drank from one before continuing. “We’ve identified Dostiger’s front man at Antonov. It should provide us a solid lead.” Chua pressed the remote again and the screen switched to a biographical data slide with a link analysis diagram. “Bishop’s intelligence pack has already been updated. Additionally, I’ve had our agent, Ivan, move to the Ukraine to provide covert support. Everything is in place for Bishop’s team to go in.”
“Solid. Solid work, buddy,” Vance said, noting the dark circles under the Intelligence Chief’s eyes. “Is there anything else? What about the ‘Ghan?”
“Negative. Until we get Ice on the ground we’re not likely to get any new information.”
“I’m thinking we partner Mirza with Ice. From what Bishop tells me, he’s all over the Afghan piece.”
“He’s also fluent in Pashto.”
“OK, lock it in. What about the Dostiger file? You haven’t sent it to Bishop yet, have you?” Vance asked.
“No. I figured it would be better for us to brief him personally.”
“Yeah. Good call, buddy, cuz when he finds out about Dostiger, he’s gonna lose his shit.”
***
The Gulfstream jet’s wheels screeched in protest as it touched down at the small tropical island. A cloud of birds took flight, startled by the roar of reverse thrust that echoed off the basalt cliffs. Like the battlements of an ancient castle, huge slabs of grey rock jutted out of the lush jungle that covered the slopes of a now extinct volcano.
Mirza had his face pressed to the window, his eyes wide. “PRIMAL is based here? It’s beautiful!” he exclaimed, looking out at the clear blue waters of the Pacific rolling in on a pristine white beach.
Bishop laughed. “Yeah, it’s our little piece of paradise.”
They taxied past a line of shabby demountable buildings and Mirza looked on curiously. Apart from the few old buildings, aviation fuel tanks and a large metal hangar built against the cliffs, the island was empty.
“So is this place your actual headquarters, Aden?”
“Yep.”
“It is very small,” Mirza observed. To an outsider the modest airfield looked like a refuelling depot for aircraft hauling freight across the Pacific Ocean.
“Just wait ‘til you see the facility.”
The sleek business craft turned off the end of the runway into the World War Two era metal hangar that butted up against vertical cliffs. As the aircraft drew to a halt, Bishop jumped to his feet, grasping his overnight bag.
“Welcome to Lascar Island, our home away from home,” he said.
As they stepped off the aircraft into the hangar, the oppressive humidity hit them. Mirza was glad Bishop had given him time to change into shorts and a T-shirt.
Two electric golf buggies were waiting for them on the concrete floor of the hangar, along with one of the most intimidating looking men Mirza had ever seen. He stood well over six foot five, with broad shoulders, massive arms and a trim waist. Mirza was a big fan of 80s action movies and he thought this man looked exactly like Dolph Lundgren in his prime: the same square features, even the short-cropped blonde hair and cold blue eyes. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a Marine Corps recruiting poster.
“Mirza, stop gawking and get over here and meet Ice.”
The Indian suddenly realized he had stopped walking and trotted forward, extending his hand to the behemoth.
Ice grasped his hand firmly, a broad grin splitting his chiseled features. “Mirza, buddy, it’s awesome to finally meet you. You wouldn’t believe how much this crazy bastard talks about you. Welcome to the team.”
“Thanks, Ice,” Mirza said. The American accent surprised him. He almost expected something a little more Eastern Bloc.
“No worries at all. Any friend of Bish is a friend of mine, and considering you saved his life, you go straight to the top of the pile.”
Mirza blushed and looked back at Bishop, who came to his rescue.
“Cut it out, you big dolt. You’re embarrassing him,” he said as he started up one of the golf buggies. “Mirza, I’ve got to report in, but Ice will show you around the facility and get you squared away before orders. Ice, we still on for sixteen hundred?”
“Yeah, buddy, no change.”
“OK, you kids, have fun,” Bishop said as he drove off.
Ice picked up Mirza's bags and dropped them into his buggy. “Got the warning order an hour ago. Looks like you and I will be banging into Afghan, how are you for HALO insertions?"
“I have over fifty jumps.”
“Should be fine, when we get some down time I’ll run you through the basics again.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“Don’t be overwhelmed, Mirza, just take it all in your stride," Ice continued as they jumped into his buggy. "Things tend to go down pretty damn quick when you’re on team. Have to be flexible and ready to roll."
They pulled away from the business jet and followed Bishop’s cart as it motored towards the rear wall of the hangar. As they drew closer, a split appeared in the middle of the massive wall. Hydraulics whined and two heavy blast doors slid back allowing the two carts to pass through.
Ice turned to Mirza as they passed through the gap. “Welcome to the house of PRIMAL.”
Chapter 15
PRIMAL Headquarters
Mirza sat in the cart, his eyes bugged out like golf balls as they drove into another, even larger aircraft hangar.
“A hangar inside a hangar?” he whispered.
Stretched out in front of him was a vast cavern carved deep into the solid rock of the volcano. It easily contained the two large transport aircraft that were parked inside amongst an assortment of equipment and supplies.
“Pretty impressive, hey? Best thing is it stays cool all year round,” Ice said as he drove across the polished concrete floor.
Mirza suddenly realized the temperature had dropped significantly; even under the brilliant lights on the roof, the cavern was still cool and dry.
“The Japs built part of it during World War Two,” Ice explained. “Abandoned it at the end of the war. Then we found it a couple of years ago, dug it out and moved in.”
“You couldn’t ask for a better hideout,” Mirza replied.
“We’re the only ones that know it’s here.”
“You’re surely joking. No one outside of PRIMAL knows that this exists?”
“Nope. Well, they know the island is a refueling and maintenance facility for Lascar Logistics, they just don’t know what else goes on here.”
“But what about radio traffic? Surely the Americans would pick it up with their satellites.”
“Well, I’m not a geek but from what I understand, it’s all routed off the island. The guys will brief you on what you need to know.”
Mirza whistled, “This must have cost a king’s ransom. Who pays for it all?”
“Let’s just say our little brotherhood has a very wealthy benefactor.”
Ice swerved the little buggy towards a large four-engine aircraft that Mirza recognized immediately as an Ilyushin-76 heavy lift transporter. The Russian-built aircraft was a common sight at airfields all over the world, easily identified by its hulking silhouette and bulbous nose. With its high wings it always reminded Mirza of a vulture. They drove under one of the wings and pulled up at the rear ramp.
“Hey, Mitch,” Ice yelled as he led Mirza into the aircraft’s hold. “Get your ass out here. There’s someone you have to meet.”
A bearded face appeared over the top of the cargo.
“Hey, my good man, what’s up?” a distinctly British voice asked.
“Just showing the new kid around the block,” Ice replied.
“Hang on a tick then. I’ll jump over.” Mitch scrambled over and jumped down, landing next to Mirza. He wiped his hands on his flight suit and shook Mirza’s hand.
“Welcome aboard. Name�
�s Mitch.”
Ice explained. “Mitch is PRIMAL’s resident tech head. If you break it or you want it souped up, then Mitch is your man.”
From the neck up, the Brit looked like a geek; his ears stuck out from a shaved scalp and he sported a goofy grin that made his scraggly beard look a little comical. However, Mirza noticed that, like Ice, he was very fit. It was evident that the PRIMAL team took their physical conditioning seriously.
“Yeah, that is kind of true,” Mitch said. “I take care of all the team’s toys, although it does seem I spend most of my time fixing kit that this big goof breaks.”
Ice laughed. “Fuck you, man. You spend all your time messing about with your precious airplane.”
Mitch punched the bigger man in the arm. “How many times has your arse been on the wire, champ, and I’ve saved it with the Pain Train, eh? More than once, so pay some respect to the big girl. She’s got feelings too.” Mitch patted the aircraft’s aluminium skin like it was a living creature.
“The Pain Train?” Mirza asked.
“Yeah,” Ice responded. “PRIMAL’s specialist airborne platform. Looks like a run-of-the-mill air freighter, but Mitch has decked this baby out to do just about anything. She can jam radar, track aircraft, deliver bombs, drop supplies, and even launch drones. She’s an all-singing, all-dancing Special Operations support craft—state-of-the-fucken-art!”
“All that from one platform? That’s superb!” Mirza said as he inspected the aircraft.
“Well, if you like that, my good man, then you’re going to love this.” Mitch reached into the pocket of his grey coveralls and pulled out a small device. “This is a little piece of technology I custom-built myself. I call it iPRIMAL.”
“iPRIMAL?” Mirza said, staring at what looked like a large touch-screen phone.
“Well, actually it’s your combat interface, but iPRIMAL makes it sound sexier.” Mitch passed Mirza the device. “That little bad boy lets you harness all the power of PRIMAL when you’re not at home. It can access any information that we can feed over a satellite connection.”
Mirza turned the device over in his hand. It was a little larger than Bishop’s iPhone and the screen was flexible. He prodded it with a finger and it activated, displaying a number of menu options.
“Ice’ll teach you how to use it. He’s a bit of a boffin.”
Ice laughed. “Yeah, I’d make a great instructor. It took me weeks to figure out all the functions. Damn thing’s built for little midget hands.”
“You got it in the end, mate,” Mitch said.
“So, this is for me?” Mirza asked.
Mitch gave him a smile. “Of course. You’re part of the team now, squire. Right, sorry to be rude, Mirza, but I’ve a ton of work to do to get this old girl ready, so I’m going have to leave you chaps to it.”
Mirza held up the combat interface. “Thanks again.”
Mitch was already deep into the cargo hold. “Don’t mention it.”
Ice and Mirza climbed back into the buggy and they headed towards a large set of doors at the rear of the cavern.
“So what’s your background, Mirza? Bishop said something about the Special Frontier Force?”
“Yes, five years. I was in Special Group.” Special Group was an even more elite part of the Indian SFF, specializing in intelligence gathering and counter-terrorism operations. “What about you?”
“Me? Ten years in the Marines, five more with the CIA.”
“Have you been working with PRIMAL for long?” Mirza asked, trying to calculate Ice’s age. He guessed the big man was a little older than Bishop, probably around thirty-five.
“You could say that. Back in the company days I used to work with Vance.”
“Vance?”
“Yeah, you’ll meet the boss soon enough. By the way, I heard about what happened with you and Bish in Sierra Leone. Bold move, very bold move.”
“I had to follow Aden’s lead.”
“He’s one crazy cat, that’s for sure. But you didn’t have to follow him.” Ice turned his head to look Mirza in the eye. “Glad you did though, because between me and you, that’s what got you into PRIMAL.” Ice stopped the golf buggy in front of a pair of doors imbedded in the rock. He jumped out, activated a security panel and the doors slid open, revealing a freight elevator the size of a double car garage. It easily accommodated the cart.
“So you’ve seen the hangar, now we’ll take you down into the facility.” Ice activated another panel and the lift jolted slightly, beginning its descent. “We’ve got three levels. First is accommodation, mess, gym, pool, and all the comfort stuff. The second is where we’re heading: training facilities, armoury, workshops, etcetera—and the third is the Bunker.”
The lift jolted to a halt. “We have to be in the Bunker in a little over an hour, so we’re going to take this opportunity to get you kitted out.”
The doors opened to a well-lit corridor carved into rock. It forked off in two directions and Ice pointed down the left hand side. “I’ll show you later, but down there we’ve got the kill house and the shooting range.” He turned the buggy right and they started down the corridor.
“You have a kill house?” Mirza’s eyebrows lifted.
“Sure, but that’s not the best bit.”
They drove out of the corridor into a massive cave that clearly served as an equipment warehouse. One side of the space housed all manner of vehicles: jet skis, four-wheel drives, sports cars, light helicopters, and even a couple of mini-subs. On the other side, smaller shelves were stacked with gear, including racks of weapons ranging from compact pistols to automatic grenade launchers. Any piece of equipment anyone could possibly want for special operations or covert activities was held in the one facility.
Mirza felt like a kid in a toy store and he looked at Ice with a huge grin on his face. Mirza laughed as he left the cart and walked over for a closer look at the mini-subs.
Ice laughed and yelled after him, “I call it WARMART. Now lets get you kitted out before we head up to the Bunker for orders.”
Chapter 16
The Bunker
“Welcome to the Bunker. This is where it all happens,” Ice said as Mirza followed him through the sliding door.
“So it seems,” whispered the Indian as he walked into the Operations Room. The rest of PRIMAL Headquarters seemed like a ghost town in comparison. The room was packed with PRIMAL operators seated along the walls beneath the huge LCD screens. Key staff were busy amongst the central computer terminals. Mirza guessed that most of them were former US military; the room looked like a futuristic version of a US command post he had once visited, except in place of the uniforms were a variety of outfits, from Mitch’s flight suit to Ice’s Hawaiian shirt.
Mirza noticed Bishop sitting in the corner and gave him a wide grin. Bishop caught his eye and gave him a thumbs up.
Ice directed the new PRIMAL operative to a seat along the rough-cut wall. As Mirza sat, his eyes were drawn to a heavily built, bald-headed African-American who was talking to a small Asian.
“That’s Vance, the Director. He’s in charge of operations,” Ice whispered. “The little guy is Chua, our Chief of Intelligence. They run the show.”
Everyone went quiet and stopped what they were doing as Vance moved to the front of the room. He stood impassive in front of the central LCD screen, crossed his huge arms and locked eyes with Mirza.
“Before we begin I want to welcome the newest member of our team. Jump up, Mirza.” Vance’s deep voice filled the entire room.
Mirza stood abashed as all eyes turned to him.
“Mirza, my name’s Vance, and I’m in charge of this ragtag bunch of pirates. Sorry we haven’t had time for formal introductions. There is a situation developing that requires a bit of high-speed and low-drag, if you know what I mean.”
“Sir, I am at your service,” Mirza said. If he was intimidated, he didn’t show it.
“And we appreciate having you on team. Make yourself comfortable and w
e’ll get this ball game started,” Vance said as he headed back to his seat. “Chua, please outline the intel picture.”
PRIMAL’s Chief of Intelligence was far more animated than Vance, moving around the room as he spoke. “You may have already heard about the Taliban uprising occurring in Southern Afghanistan,” Chua started. He pressed his remote and the central screen displayed a map overlayed with broad red arrows. “For two days now insurgents have commenced large-scale offensive operations in both Helmand and Kandahar.”
He used the laser pointer in the remote to indicate on the map as he briefed. “Coalition reporting indicates that the offensive in Helmand involves over two thousand insurgents. British and US forces are currently restricted to their bases and have sustained a high number of casualties. Insurgent forces now occupy a number of minor town centers in the area.”
There were some hushed voices from the back of the audience and Chua looked up from his notes, over to where Bishop sat whispering to one of the other operatives. “Aden, did you have something to add?”
Bishop leaned back in his chair and spoke up, “Chen, don’t get me wrong. This is all sorts of messed up, but what does it have to do with us? The Yanks have more than enough assets in country to target the insurgents. Surely PRIMAL has more worthy causes to fight without getting involved? What about our upcoming Congo operation or—”
Vance’s deep voice interrupted. “There’s more to it Bish. Listen.” The Director swiveled around in his chair and shot him a stern look.
Chua pushed his glasses up his nose and continued. “I’ve assessed that this Taliban offensive is supported by a third party and orchestrated to draw attention away from a specific, more significant operation. This is based on multiple reliable sources. Firstly we intercepted part of a satellite phone call from the Khod Valley in Oruzgan province.”
Chua pressed a button on the remote and the voice cut was displayed on the screen behind him. He gave everyone a minute to look at it.
TRANSMISSION COMMENCED
PRIMAL Unleashed (2) Page 8