PRIMAL Unleashed (2)

by Jack Silkstone

  “Right, lads,” he said, “we need to keep this slick. There’s not much time and this is probably going to be our last crack at the prize. Aleks and I will meet with Saneh in an hour. Concurrently, Mirza and Kurtz, you’ll be doing a close target recon of the MOIS safe house.” He pressed a button on his laptop and the fifty inch flat-screen TV bolted to the wall activated, displaying a satellite image. Chua had already worked up a basic target pack. It contained satellite imagery, street view photos and a floor plan.

  “Kurtz, you’ll be on overwatch and I want you to have the rear entrance covered. Mirza, you’ll be at the front. You need to be ready to breach.”

  Both men nodded, scrutinizing the TV screen. Mirza had a notebook out and was scribbling some points.

  “OK, we don’t have much time if we’re going to catch Rostam with his pants down,” Bishop continued. “We’ll leave in twenty minutes. Aleks will drive and we’ll drop you two off on our way to meet Saneh. As soon as we’ve got her, we’ll bang in.”

  Mirza raised his hand. “And if you don’t meet Saneh? Rostam sounds like the kind of man who won’t let her out of his sight.”

  “Or out from under him,” added Kurtz.

  Bishop gave the tall German a sharp look. “Whatever happens, we’re going to hit that safe house. Remember Saneh’s one of us; she’s not a target,” Bishop said pointedly at Kurtz.

  “Understood, boss,” Kurtz nodded. “What about weapons?”

  “Guns aren’t a worry,” dismissed Bishop.

  “Not a worry?” Kurtz questioned. “Boss, we didn’t bring anything through the airport and it’s not like we can run down to the shop and buy an Uzi.”

  Bishop smiled. “Maybe you should check the kitchen; you might be able to find a spatula.”

  “Da, I want to see Kurtz paddling that bastard Iranian’s arse with a spatula,” laughed Aleks.

  Mirza smirked and Kurtz went red again, unsure of how to respond.

  “I’m deadly serious. We need to look in the kitchen.”

  The team followed him into a modern kitchen that looked like it had been pulled straight from the pages of a lifestyle magazine. In the centre of the room stood a marble-topped bench complete with a four-burner cooktop. Bishop pulled out his phone and activated a custom app. With a hum the entire kitchen bench slid across polished tiles revealing a set of stairs that disappeared into the floor.

  “What’s this, the dungeon?” laughed Kurtz. “Or maybe the wine cellar!”

  “How ‘bout you jump down there and see what’s on the wine list,” Bishop quipped.

  The German crouched to climb down the stairs, his mop of blonde hair disappearing below floor level. There was a pause of a few seconds before he yelled out excitedly, “Holy shit! Aleks, you have to see this. It’s like a candy store for hit men down here.”

  His head appeared at the top of the stairs, a huge grin plastered across his face. “They’ve got all my favorite cellars.” He struggled to lift an armful of weapons up onto the kitchen floor. “H and K, Beretta, Browning, Mossberg, even Sig Sauer.” He lifted a pistol out of the pile. “A Colt – 1911, if I am correct. A fantastic year.”

  Bishop laughed and turned to the rest of the team. “Grab what you need, lads. Job's on. We roll in ten!”

  ***

  A little over five kilometers away Rostam had just concluded a secure call with the Tehran office. He closed the phone and turned to one of his men.

  “Where’s Saneh?”

  “Upstairs, sir.”

  “Bring her to me.”

  The man disappeared up a staircase. A moment later he reappeared with the attractive female agent in tow.

  “Sir?” Saneh asked. She sat down at the table opposite Rostam. “I’m just about to go out and get us something to eat.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, my dear. It seems that the Revolutionary Guards have become aware of our little operation. They’ve got men at all the entry points into Iran.”

  “They know we have the canister?” Behind Saneh’s surprised look her mind was racing.

  “It would seem that way,” Rostam said without emotion.

  “How would they have found out? Only Fischer and his men know we have it. They would never tell the Guards.”

  “Perhaps Dostiger told them. Or perhaps Dostiger has captured Fischer and his men?” Rostam watched Saneh’s face for any sign of emotion.

  She looked down, pulling her mobile from her pocket. “I can find out. My source will know.”

  “No, it doesn’t matter now. Fischer dead or alive is of no consequence to me. We have more pressing issues.”

  “Like how we’re going to get back into Iran?” Saneh slid the phone back into her pocket.

  “Exactly. Fortunately headquarters is working out a plan for us.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “A few days, maybe more.”

  “We’re going to need food then, I will—”

  “No, you and I need to talk through the mission. I want to know more about Fischer and his team,” the MOIS officer said as he turned to the two men sitting on the lounge across the room. “Navid, organize the security detail. I want one operative on the street and one here in the apartment on watch at all times. Heydar, I don’t anticipate us being here for longer than three days. Sort out the supplies.”

  The two men responded in unison, leaving them alone at the table.

  Rostam opened a leather bound notebook. “Let’s start with how you met Mr Fischer.”

  Chapter 73

  Istanbul

  Bishop and Aleks dropped Mirza and Kurtz off a kilometer short of the Iranian safe house. They had taken a number of precautions to minimise the chances someone would notice them. The hire car was nondescript and all four were dressed in locally purchased attire. Despite this, Bishop was still worried about Kurtz. The tall, blond German stood out and there was no doubt Rostam’s men would remember his face.

  “You sure about all this, boss?” Aleks asked as he pulled the car away from Mirza and Kurtz’s drop-off point.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a strong feeling about Saneh.”

  “You mean strong feelings?”

  Bishop laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, Aleks, I find her attractive but this is something else.” He kept an eye on the GPS map on his phone as they wound their way through the narrow streets.

  “I understand. There’s something about that woman.”

  Bishop looked questioningly at the big Russian.

  “You can see it too, boss. She’s no extremist, that’s for sure. She’s too smart to swallow that shit. She’s more like you and me.”

  Bishop’s eyebrows rose in surprise, “What makes you think that, Aleks?”

  “Little things, boss. She could have left us to die for one, more than once.”

  “That’s true, but then the canister would be in Dostiger’s hands and her mission would have failed. It made sense for her to help us then.”

  “But like you said, why did she leave the other canister and lie to Rostam?”

  “That’s the big question, Aleks, and hopefully we will have an answer soon.”

  Aleks brought the car to a stop at a pedestrian crossing and Bishop admired the beautiful mosque outside his window. It was a statuesque sandstone buiding with Aramaic script embossed in gold above its door. A stream of people were strolling out the entrance, and the streets were congested with locals trying to cross the road.

  A look of annoyance crossed Bishop’s features as he glanced back to the crowd still crossing the street, his eye drawn to one of the pedestrians, a man wearing a cheap looking suit and carrying a large paper bag filled with groceries, a phone held against his head with his free hand. Something about him looked familiar. The man turned his head and caught Bishop’s gaze.

  Recognition was instantaneous for both men!

  The Iranian reacted quickly, hurling his bag of shopping at the windscreen of the car. It tore open on impact, the groceries exploding from the bag,
a carton of eggs splattering across the glass.

  “WHAT THE HELL!” bellowed Aleks.

  “He’s MOIS!” yelled Bishop, pulling out his Beretta.

  Aleks responded swiftly, flooring the accelerator of the little car. The four cylinder engine screamed and the wheels spun. The car lurched forward and Aleks flicked on the windscreen wipers, swearing as they cleared the groceries but smeared egg across the glass.

  Bishop had his window down, pistol in hand. “Over there!” he yelled. The Iranian disappeared down a side alley only meters past the pedestrian crossing.

  Aleks aimed the hire car for the gap, horn blaring. Another group of pedestrians scattered for cover as the vehicle skidded across the asphalt and around the corner.

  The MOIS agent was struggling with the door of his car as they cleared the corner.

  Bishop fired, sending 9mm rounds slamming into the vehicle, and the Iranian abandoned it, running onto the pavement. Using the cars for cover, he sprinted down the street.

  Aleks accelerated the little car, trying to parallel the running man as Bishop looked for a clear shot.

  “Boss, we’re running out of street!”

  Bishop looked ahead, a solid brick wall looming where the road ended. “If he gets away we’re screwed!”

  Bishop noticed a gap between the last house in the street and the wall. The Iranian was sprinting flat out for the narrow alleyway; he was counting on the car not being able to follow. The phone was still clutched firmly in his hand.

  “LEFT, ALEKS! GO LEFT!” Bishop screamed over the revving engine.

  The Iranian disappeared around the corner as Aleks wrenched on the handbrake and spun the wheel. The hire car slid sideways, hitting the medieval stone wall with a crunch. Against the screech of torn metal, the big Russian drove the car forward and over the lip of a long flight of carved stone stairs.

  “FUCK!” exclaimed Bishop as the car bounced and his head slammed into the roof. Ahead the Iranian was already halfway down, jumping six steps at a time. Aleks mashed the accelerator into the floor and the little car gathered momentum, careering down the steps.

  “FASTER!” screamed Bishop.

  They hit a small landing at top speed, bouncing off the flat stone before nose-diving forward and back down the next flight of stairs.

  The MOIS agent moved frantically. As he reached the bottom, he looked back desperately.

  The car hit him. The bumper struck just below his knees, flicking the helpless man over the bonnet. He slammed into the windscreen and Aleks pumped the brakes, causing the tires to squeal in protest. The MOIS operative’s body continued forward, slamming into a van parked across the street.

  Bishop was out and checking the crumpled body before the hire car had come to a halt. Aleks took a few more seconds to stop the car and catch up with him.

  “He’s dead. Neck’s snapped,” reported Bishop, matter of fact as he rifled through the man’s pockets.

  Aleks pried the dead man’s hand open and removed his mobile phone. He handed it to Bishop. “This what you’re looking for, boss?”

  “Yeah,” Bishop said as he checked the phone and looked at the call log. “Shit!” The last call had only ended seconds ago. The dead man had reported in.

  “Get the car started, Aleks. We have to go."

  Bishop activated his phone, initiating a conference call with both Mirza and Kurtz. Both men picked up after a single ring. “Lads, we’ve been compromised. Prepare for crash action!”

  ***

  Ten minutes earlier, at the drop-off point, Mirza and Kurtz had separated, moving to their surveillance locations.

  The German had crossed the busy street and entered the foyer of a four-story apartment block. Dressed in a grey set of coveralls, baseball cap and black backpack, people assumed he was a tradesman. No one noticed when he entered the internal fire escape and made his way up onto the roof.

  Beside a pair of airconditioning units, Kurtz crouched down and unzipped his bag. A minute later he had assembled a Windrunner sniper rifle. He placed the weapon down on its bipod legs, pulling another plastic case out of the bag. The two wasp miniature drones inside were each the size of a matchbox. He removed one of the delicate machines from its protective foam and placed it on top of the air conditioner. Using the touch screen on the lid of the case, he activated the insect-like device and the wasp started beating its electric wings furiously. With a buzz it launched off the roof.

  The built-in nano-cameras allowed Kurtz to guide the little surveillance drone and he flew it across the street into an alley. He picked a spot on the building to the rear of the suspected MOIS safe house and landed the bug on the wall, its tiny claws latching onto the rough surface. From here the man-made insect would cover the exit with its miniature thermal sensor and follow anyone it identified.

  The wasp in place, Kurtz crawled forward with his sniper rifle until he could see down across the busy main street and into the alley that ran behind the target building.

  He activated his radio. “Mirza, I’m in position.”

  The Indian responded quickly. “As am I. Nothing to report.”

  Across the busy street from the safe house, Mirza sat outside a café sipping a strong black coffee and reading the local paper. With his casual clothes, heavy beard and dark features, he blended in with the older men that gathered each day at the cafe to drink coffee and swap stories. No one bothered him as he sat watching the target house over the top of his newspaper.

  A man walking along the street caught his eye; the crumpled, double-breasted suit looked slightly out of place. He watched the man from the corner of his eye. Most people would have missed the subtle indicators that suggested he was more than a local businessman or a tourist.

  The PRIMAL operative continued to watch as the man walked down the street and paused at the front of the safe house, checking his watch. With one last scan of the street, he walked up to the front door. Mirza caught a glimpse of a second man as the door opened and the Iranian operative disappeared from sight.

  Mirza’s iPRIMAL vibrated in his pocket; inside his ear a tiny wireless speaker allowed him to covertly answer the call.

  Bishop’s voice came through urgently. “Lads, we’ve been compromised. Prepare for crash action!”

  “Roger, I’ve got visual on the target,” whispered Mirza. “At least two of the Iranians are in the building.” One of the old men drinking coffee gave him a strange look.

  “I’ve got nothing in the back alley,” reported Kurtz.

  “Lads, Aleks and I are three minutes out.” Bishop sounded breathless and the revving of a car engine could be heard in the background. “Mirza, you handle the front door, we’ll bang in. Kurtz, stay in overwatch!”

  Mirza estimated the front door of the target building to be just over forty meters away—an easy shot. He unzipped the duffel bag at his feet and adjusted the sights of the weapon inside. Around him, old men continued to sip their tea, oblivious to the deadly device hidden in the duffel bag.

  Chapter 74

  MOIS Safe House, Istanbul

  The Iranian Mirza had been watching entered the living area of the MOIS safe house, dropping onto the lounge next to another bored-looking operative.

  “Nothing going on. Give it five minutes and you can do the next two hours.”

  “Yeah, OK.”

  The two men spoke in whispers, taking care not to disturb Saneh and Rostam who sat at the dining room table dissecting the details of her mission.

  Rostam stroked his chin, looking up from his notes. “This Fischer certainly sounds like MI6.”

  “He said he was, but now I’m not so sure,” replied Saneh.

  “Who do you think he works for?”

  “Not sure, could be a contractor,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  “That’s possible; the Americans are using mercenaries for everything these days.”

  Saneh knew Bishop was not motivated by money.

  Rostam jotted a few notes in his pocket b
ook. “Tell me, Saneh, do you think that Fischer found you by chance?”

  “As I said in my report, sir, he compromised us during the surveillance of Dostiger’s residence.”

  “Perhaps, my dear, that is what he wanted you to think.”

  Saneh studied the table in front of her. “No, you’re right. He knew my name! He knew my name at Dostiger’s residence. He knew I was going to be there.”

  “Well, Saneh, whoever Fischer’s working for, they’ve got a file on you and you’re compromised. You realize this will have ramifications for your future in MOIS, Saneh?” She nodded, still looking down.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Rostam’s phone. He stared at Saneh as he answered the call. The look that came over his face chilled her to the core. After a few short seconds the MOIS officer slammed the phone down on the table.

  “They’re here!” Rostam rose from his chair and circled the table.

  “Who’s here, sir?” asked Saneh, looking up at him.

  “Fischer and his men!” he growled, flexing his fingers, making a fist. He stood over her with a look that left her in no doubt.

  A deathly white, her face was all the confirmation he needed. Rostam’s voice was low and cold. “You already knew they were coming, didn’t you, my dear!”

  “No, no. I—”

  “How else would they know we are here, Saneh?”

  “I don’t know!” she said, eyes flicking from Rostam to the other two MOIS operatives that had moved to stand beside him.

  “There is only one person on my team I don’t trust, Saneh. Do you know who that is?”

  “You’re making a mistake!” Saneh cried out.

  “You knew all along because you sold us out.”

  “No. I never—” Saneh tried to stand as Rostam’s fist struck her in the jaw, throwing her from the chair and onto the floor.

  “You sold out your own people, you filthy, fucking whore.” Rostam kicked her savagely in the stomach and she cried out in pain, curling up into a ball on the floor. He grabbed her by the hair, pulling her up on to her knees. She felt another set of hands grab her from behind. A plastic zip-tie closed around her wrists, cutting circulation to her hands.