PRIMAL Unleashed (2)

by Jack Silkstone

  “Yeah, Saneh’s source said they were all heading down there.”

  “Saneh?” Vance questioned.

  “The MOIS agent.”

  “We know who she is, buddy. She still with you?” Vance’s deep voice was cold.

  “She has a source with Dostiger. I need to keep her close so I can tap it.”

  Chua and Vance looked at each other. Both men were aware of Bishop’s track record with women. They were also aware of the background of this particular woman; she was linked to the compromise of no less than five Mossad agents. The Israelis called her the Mantis, an insect known for eating its breeding partners.

  “Do you think that’s such a great idea, Bish? You know she’s wanted by Mossad,” Vance asked.

  “lt’s fine. She thinks I’m getting attached to her.”

  Chua grimaced at Vance. “Is your cover intact?” he asked. “Does she still think you’re MI6?”

  “It’s all solid, Chua. I’ll keep a close eye on her. Trust me on this one. She saved my ass last night and wants to get Dostiger as badly as we do.”

  “OK.” Vance nodded at Chua. “We trust your judgment. What we need to discuss is your move down to Odessa.”

  “Yeah, we’re good to go, Vance. The team is packed and ready to roll. Is Jumper still on standby at the airport?”

  “She’ll be waiting for you on the tarmac. I need you to get your ass to the airport now. While you’re moving, Chua and I will work up a detailed plan for you to use in Odessa. Ivan’s already sorted transport at the other end and he’s found a safe house.”

  “Sounds good,” Bishop replied. He realized that if Vance was so keen to get him to Odessa, that could only mean one thing for the Afghan mission. “I, ah, take it things aren’t going so well in the Ghan.”

  Vance and Chua were both aware of how close Bishop was with both Ice and Mirza; as far as they were concerned, he didn’t need the additional stress of worrying about his friends.

  “Ice is still confident he can pull it off at his end. We just need to cover all contingencies. I’m also pretty keen to take down that fucker, Dostiger,” Vance said.

  “Oh, I’m not going to let that bastard get away,” Bishop agreed. “And I’m sure my man Aleks would love a chance for a little heart to heart.”

  “Alright, we’ll send you the full plan once we’ve worked through it. You got any last questions?”

  “Nope, I’m good, Vance. Just one thing for Chua though.”

  “Yes, Aden,” Chua interjected.

  “You were right about the Dostiger meeting, I fucked that one good.”

  “It worked out OK, Bish. You always come through. Just stay alert and keep an eye on that MOIS agent, alright?”

  “Will do. Thanks, guys. Bishop out.”

  The call disconnected and the conference room went silent. Chua drummed his fingers on the table. “He might be right about Saneh.”

  “Yeah, a source in Dostiger’s camp is a pretty useful asset,” Vance said. “I just want the ELINT team all over her like white on rice. If that bitch goes near a phone, I wanna know ‘bout it.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  A knock on the door interrupted the conversation and one of the operations staff stuck his head in. “Sir, the techs have the Genesis feed up and the Pain Train is airborne.”

  Vance jumped up out of his chair. “Excellent, lets get this shit started.” They returned to the operations room and the Director took his place in the Bunker’s command chair. He looked up at the status board; the Pain Train’s symbol was green and the time-to-target indicator showed forty-five minutes. He moved his attention to the central screen where a grainy black-and-white image showed a number of heat signatures moving across rugged terrain. The long-haired technician was sitting at a computer terminal controlling the satellite.

  “What the hell is this grainy shit?” Vance asked. He was used to high-resolution video feeds from the Pain Train and the Sentinel Drones. In comparison, the resolution of the NGA Genesis Satellite imagery was poor, more like an old black and white television in a storm.

  “It’s not Hollywood, sir. This is as good as you’re going to get from a hundred and fifty plus kilometers above the earth. In fact this is cutting edge. If our friends in Maryland knew we were using it, they would freak.” The tech used a laser pointer to mark one of the smudges of heat moving down a narrow gully. A few hundred meters back, a dozen heat signatures appeared to be following him. Every now and then one of them would flash.

  “We think this is Mirza, sir. At least a dozen hostiles are in pursuit.”

  “Where the fuck is Ice?” queried Vance. His stomach churned and he knew the PRIMAL operative must be down. One of the operations staff interrupted. “Sir, a few seconds ago we recieved a message from Mitch. He’s lost contact with Mirza,” the man took a deep breath, “and he’s pretty sure Ice is KIA.”

  Silence filled the operations room; only the fans of the electronic equipment could be heard. This was not the first casualty that PRIMAL had experienced but everyone knew Ice personally. He had been there when PRIMAL started and had successfully completed more missions than any other operative. For the staff in the Bunker, losing Ice had never seemed possible—the man was indestructible. Every member on the team felt like they had failed him; it was their job to keep him alive.

  “OK,” Vance growled. “Listen up, team, we need to focus. We still have a man in the field and he needs us on the job. We can mourn our loss later, but right now we need to be on point for Mirza.” His voice filled the operations room, refocusing everyone. “What’s going on now?” Vance asked the technician, pointing back up at the satellite feed.

  Up on the screen, Mirza’s heat smudge had stopped. A few hundred meters in front of him was another group, a long line of heat signatures. Behind him, the dozen smudges continued to close in. “Zoom out one frame,” Vance directed, wondering if Mirza had been captured. The image adjusted and they could make out the edges of the new group in front of Mirza. There were about twenty figures in total and they looked to be lying down, totally still. “That’s a motherfucking ambush!” Vance exclaimed.

  ***

  Mirza’s pace had slowed to a fast walk, hindered by a graze to his calf from a Taliban bullet. He stopped to bandage the wound and noticed that another round had struck his radio. The compact device had probably saved his life, but it was completely destroyed. Now he only had the short-range emergency radio. He tried to raise Mitch but it returned only static. The UHF frequency wouldn’t work unless the Pain Train was overhead.

  Mirza’s adrenaline had well and truly worn off as he reached the bottom of the long gully. Exhausted and thirsty, he hungrily scooped water from a flowing creek, resting for a moment. He drank quickly; he couldn’t stop for long as the Taliban were still in pursuit.

  A burst of gunfire confirmed their presence and he hobbled from the creek, taking cover further down the hill. At least half a dozen automatic weapons joined the first, rounds whistling after him. He knew they must have run to catch him. There was no way of evading them for much longer.

  He looked tiredly at the sniper rifle. There was only half a magazine left and it wasn’t going to slow down the horde following him. Angrily he fired off the last few rounds towards his pursuers, before stripping the weapon and throwing the parts away. His chances of running were better without the weight.

  He forced his heavy legs to start moving again. For Ice, he told himself. Armed with only his pistol, he pushed on, ignoring the pain and fatigue. Rounds chased him down the valley, ricocheting off the rocks, whistling through the dry vegetation. He burst through a thick patch of bushes, stumbled, fell into an open sandy washout. Struggling to his feet, he spotted at least three Afghans crouched behind cover twenty meters in front of him. Their weapons were aimed directly at him.

  He collapsed to his knees, lungs heaving, dropping his head as the pistol fell from his hand. A single thought ran through his mind: Ice, I’ve failed you.

&nb
sp; The valley exploded in a cacophony of gunfire. The unmistakable sound of an ambush. For ten seconds the weapons blazed and then the valley fell silent.

  ***

  On the screen in the Bunker the ambushing group had stopped flashing. The flashing had lasted for a good ten seconds and now the shapes following Mirza had stopped moving.

  Vance knew exactly what he had just watched. A dozen men had died in a well-executed ambush. For the time being at least, it seemed Mirza was safe. He looked at the Pain Train’s time-to-target counter. Forty minutes.

  ***

  Mirza looked around in disbelief; not a single bullet had hit him. The men in front of him climbed out of cover, their smoking weapons cradled in their arms.

  “As salaam Au Aalaykum,” one of the men greeted Mirza with open arms.

  “Wa alaykum As salam,” Mirza responded quietly.

  The man came forward and crouched next to Mirza, speaking Pashto. “Who are you, my son, and why do the Taliban pigs hunt you so relentlessly?”

  Tears streamed down Mirza’s face. “My name is Mirza. I came to this place with my friend to kill the Taliban on the mountain.”

  “Where is your friend now?”

  Mirza looked up at the worn face of the elderly man. The man’s eyes looked as if they had seen everything once and many things twice.

  “My friend died on the mountain. He gave his life so I could live.” Mirza had run out of tears.

  “You came with only one man to kill those that have stolen our families and taken them to the place of poison? You are either brave or very stupid.”

  “I did not come alone. I brought death from above.”

  The old man’s eyes grew wide. “You came with bombers?”

  He looked over his shoulder at his men. They nodded and talked nervously amongst themselves. The local tribe had been watching the Taliban closely. Their scouts had witnessed the Pain Train’s bombing run, and they had seen the Taliban reinforcements get cut to pieces. The old man had waited anxiously for this opportunity to rescue his enslaved kinsmen from the excavation site, but now the possibility of another air-strike changed everything. “Where are these bombers now?” he asked.

  Mirza looked at his watch. It was still early morning. Last night seemed like an eternity ago. “We will have bombs within the hour.”

  “Can you talk to them with this?” He pointed to the radio on Mirza’s vest.

  “If I am close enough, then yes.”

  “You must come with us, Mirza of the mountain. Many of my people are slaves up there. We will free them. We will kill the Taliban and stop them from taking the Russian poison from the earth.” He pointed at Mirza with a gnarled finger. “You must stop your bombers from killing our people.”

  “It is too late. We won’t make it in time.” Mirza shook his head.

  “I am Syed of the Hazaran, Mirza. I come with forty men and as many horses. I will free my people before your bombers come.”

  Syed raised his hand. Mirza sat speechless as the Hazarans gathered around him. Twenty of them assembled, fresh from ambushing the Taliban. Others to the rear brought forward their horses, tough, stocky animals that looked bred for the purpose of climbing mountains. A mount was handed over to Mirza and a Hazaran passed him a dead Taliban’s AK-47.

  Syed raised his weapon in the air. “My brothers, today we return to the mountain to stop the Russian evil from once again poisoning our lands and kill the Taliban dogs who enslave our people. IT IS GOD’S WILL!”

  Forty men held their weapons high and shouted the words of their leader. As one, they spurred their sure-footed ponies up the mountain.

  Chapter 53

  ‘The Facility’, Odessa, Ukraine

  The facility was located sixty kilometers from Odessa in a former Soviet weapons storage base. Surrounded by dense forest and a high electrical fence, it was a purpose-built drug laboratory.

  Dostiger’s men had stumbled across the abandoned base in the months after the fall of the Soviet Union, during a search for weaponry to sell on the black market. A few carefully placed bribes had secured the rights to the property and now it was part of Dostiger’s empire.

  The single-story, gray concrete buildings contained modern refining equipment that processed opium bricks arriving from Afghanistan. For over fifteen years the facility had supplied Europe’s heroin addiction with a constant stream of high-grade product.

  Dostiger’s latest project had nothing to do with the drug trade. Now he was focused on the far more dangerous and lucrative. Weaponizing the Novichok nerve agent. It had taken Dostiger six months to find technicians with the skill to load the chemical agent into warheads that would fit the Iranian Fajr-3 rockets. He had sourced millions of dollars worth of sensitive equipment to ensure the warheads would deliver their deadly payload with maximum lethality. The arms dealer had invested huge amounts of time and wealth into this project, and now it had the potential to collapse around him.

  The Audi four-wheel drive didn’t slow as it was waved through the front gates by one of Dostiger’s guards. He had over thirty men stationed at what he called ‘The Facility’, almost twice the number he had in Kiev. Most of his henchmen were experienced and aggressive Chechen mercenaries. The rest were his usual Ukrainian guard force, many with former military experience.

  Although his men were reliable, Dostiger insisted on personally monitoring this phase of the operation. He wasn’t going to take any chances and was furious this Fischer character had killed ten of his best men and shot up his nightclub.

  The big four-wheel drive stopped in front of the main administration building. Dostiger was about to exit the vehicle when his satellite phone rang. He flipped it open, looking at the screen; it was his Iranian client. He had tried to call the senior IRGC commander no less than five times already on the drive down from Kiev and now, eventually, the man had decided to call back. The Ukrainian lifted the phone to his ear, waiting for the encryption to connect.

  “So now you have time to talk?” Dostiger’s heavily-accented English became even thicker when he was angry.

  “I am a busy man, Dostiger. Some of us have armies to run,” a sinister voice replied.

  “Well, if you want your warheads, you must listen. Your arrogance has already cost us dearly.”

  “Stop speaking in riddles. What do you want?”

  “I want to know who killed my men. I want you to find out which of your countrymen sold me out to the British, but most of all I want you to know... the price has doubled.”

  “How do you know it was an Iranian?”

  Dostiger screamed into the phone. “Because I had a visit from a pretty MOIS agent. Then I watched her help a FUCKING ENGLISHMAN escape from me.”

  “Calm down, Dostiger. Think clearly. They are just fishing; they don’t really know what we are doing.”

  “My men in Afghanistan are dead, my men in Kiev are dead. My house has been violated and my fucking nightclub is fucking shot to pieces! Are you stupid? Somebody knows exactly what we are doing! Your organization has a leak!”

  “Perhaps the leak is at your end, Dostiger. The loyalty of criminals is cheaper than soldiers.”

  Dostiger ignored the taunt. “Even with the leak, we have almost extracted the chemical. I’ll have your precious rockets on time, but now the price has doubled.”

  “The price stays the same. Remember who you are threatening.” The voice was deadly calm.

  “The risk is too high and I have already lost too much. The price must increase.”

  “The price is set. You deliver the weapons and when I am running Iran, then you will have wealth beyond your imagination.”

  Dostiger paused. The buyer was a ruthless megalomaniac—not an enemy he wanted to make. The Iranian Revolutionary Guards general’s influence had spread throughout the Middle East to include some of the arms dealer’s best customers. If the commander’s plans came to fruition, Dostiger would have a very powerful ally and unparalleled access to weapon markets in the Middle E
ast.

  “Very well, but you need to find out who is on to us. They are making us look like fools.”

  “I will take care of that. You just have the missiles ready.” The Iranian hung up.

  Dostiger got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. His Chief of Security approached, hand outstretched, ready to greet him.

  “Yuri!” Dostiger snarled, brushing the man’s greeting aside. “I just spoke to the Iranian; he knows nothing. What do you know?”

  “My man in MI6 just got back to me. He assures me that they’re conducting no operations in the Ukraine.”

  “What about the CIA?” Dostiger asked.

  “Perhaps, but it’s unlikely. The Khod valley site would have been completely destroyed. There would have been no hesitation.”

  “You’re right. Whoever this is, they do not have the assets of the US military behind them.” Dostiger paused, scratching his pitted chin. “Perhaps our MOIS agent is no longer working for Iran.”

  “You think she might have been turned?”

  “I’m not sure, but this sounds like Mossad’s work.”

  Yuri nodded in agreement. “There’s really no one else who would be so audacious, is there?”

  Dostiger smiled. “That means they’ll have very limited assets here in Odessa and in Afghanistan. Contact the Ministry of Internal Affairs. I want the Militsiya presence at the airport doubled. And I want at least a platoon of Alfa commandos on standby. I don’t care what it costs.”

  “Yes, boss.” The Chief of Security smirked. With the additional manpower he would have a hundred men at the airport and another fifty here at the facility. His men were well equipped, well trained, and ready to kill.

  Chapter 54

  Khod Valley

  Mirza’s sure-footed pony never faltered as it followed the Hazaran leader’s horse up the mountain. It was the first time the Indian had ever ridden and he clung to the animal’s mane with one hand, the other clutching his AK. The pony’s pace slowed slightly as they hit the steeper terrain higher up the mountain. The stocky animal wasn’t even breathing hard.