PRIMAL Starter Box Set (PRIMAL Series)

by Jack Silkstone

  The former quartermaster of the Gray Wolves closed the door and limped to the table. He was dressed in a pinstripe suit and polished shoes. “I’m good. Very good, in fact. I just won a big KFOR contract. Now, I’m moving over a hundred tons of aid a day.”

  “Occupation is always lucrative.” Ice tipped his head in the direction of the men in the corner. “Those guys friends of yours?”

  Barishna shrugged. “A little bit of extra security. Lots of criminals around these days.”

  “Yes, there are. Can I get you a coffee?”

  “That would be good, thank you.”

  He waved the woman over and ordered another two.

  “So what did you want to know about? Zahir?”

  “That transparent?”

  Barishna nodded. “If it was anything else, you would have asked me over the phone.”

  “You’re the only Gray Wolf I trust.”

  “That’s because we are brothers.”

  “Brothers indeed.”

  “So what is it you want to know?”

  “Everything. I want to know what Zahir’s up to. Where he gets his money. Who he associates with.”

  “That’s going to take a while. I’m not close to him anymore. He and that snake Kreshnik dropped me as soon as the Gray Wolves were disbanded. You know they called me the cripple, the fucking cripple. Well, look how far their cripple has come.”

  Ice interrupted the whining. “Zahir’s running for office.”

  Barishna’s screwed up his weaselly features. “Yes, I had heard that.”

  “I need to stop him.”

  “You could always just kill him.”

  Ice gave a cold stare. “I would prefer a legitimate approach. I’m not about to start a blood feud with that family.”

  They stopped talking as the coffee was delivered.

  Barishna continued, “You’re right. His family is very influential.”

  “Yes, I heard they own a hotel on the outskirts of Brabonic.”

  Barishna laughed. “He owns a lot more than that little hotel.”

  “So you do know something.”

  “Everybody knows Zahir is wealthy, and powerful.”

  “And linked to the Albanian mafia.”

  Barishna shrugged. “Who isn’t?”

  “If he was involved in serious crime that would be enough to have him removed from the ballot.”

  “Serious crime?”

  “Sex trafficking, organ harvesting, drug smuggling.”

  Barishna sipped from his coffee. “All of the above.”

  Ice slid an envelope of cash across the table. “I need details. Get me names and places.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He got up and headed for the door. “Call me when you have something.” As he walked back to the Land Cruiser he checked his watch. Vance’s flight was due to arrive in an hour.

  CHAPTER 6

  At the head of the long dining room table, Zahir relaxed in his chair as Kreshnik took a seat to his right. Half a dozen other men were seated with them, all dressed similarly in gold chains, heavy signet rings, and black jackets. The table was laid with a smorgasbord of traditional dishes: spit-roast lamb, burek vegetable pies, baked beans, and trays of prosciutto, bread, and cheeses. Bottles of boza, a fermented malt drink, occupied the few gaps on the table.

  The men waited as Zahir selected the choicest cuts of lamb. Once he was done, they filled their plates and started eating.

  “How many Serbs did we send to the yellow house this week?” he asked as he shoveled food into his mouth. He referred to the facility in Albania they were using as a surgery to harvest organs from living subjects.

  Kreshnik replied as he chewed. “Not many. Fucking KFOR have tightened the borders. We lost five girls at the Morine crossing when they searched one of our trucks.”

  “Remind me, why are we sending girls to the yellow house when KFOR and the UN pay good money to screw them here? Why don’t we just send the men?”

  “Some of the bitches have family searching for them. We only move those ones.”

  “We need to find a better way.” Zahir squinted as he contemplated the problem.

  “Boss, what if we freeze them? We can hide them in the food trucks,” one of the men suggested.

  He sneered, “They’re not sides of beef, you idiot. They need to be alive or they're no good.”

  Kreshnik stabbed the lamb with a knife. “How about we harvest them here. Then we only need to ship the organs on ice.”

  “Can we get people with the skills?”

  Kreshnik shrugged. “I can look into it.”

  “Do that.”

  The meal was interrupted by a knock on the dining room door. One of the men from the table got up and answered it. “Boss, the telephone guy is at the front gate.”

  Zahir wiped his chin with a napkin. “Let them in. I’ll meet them out front.”

  He pushed his chair back and stood. The others stopped eating. He waved his hand. “Keep eating, this could take a while.”

  He left the dining room with Kreshnik in tow. They met their guests at the front door. A smartly dressed businessman flanked by two ex-military types. He offered his hand to the Macedonian communications executive and spoke in English. “Mr. Taneski, my friend. I’m so glad you could make it. I trust you have been enjoying your stay.”

  “Yes, your hospitality has been appreciated.”

  He laughed. “It’s the Albanian way. Please, join me in the living room.”

  Kreshnik led them through a side door. There were two couches either side of a coffee table. In the corner of the room were a TV and video player.

  Zahir sent a housemaid to fetch coffee as they relaxed on the couches and made small talk. The two bodyguards and Kreshnik remained standing at the back of the room. When the pot arrived, he poured two cups of the thick black liquid.

  “So, you’ve had some time to consider my business proposal.”

  Taneski sipped the coffee. “I have, and I’m willing to meet you halfway with the amount you want.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not enough. If you are serious about backing my campaign, you will need to pay the whole amount. This will secure Kosovo’s future and your communications contracts.”

  The Macedonian placed his cup on the table. “We cannot afford to risk such a large amount of money, Zahir.”

  “There is no risk. I will win the election.”

  “The UN is running the election so if your… extra activities become public knowledge, then well...”

  Zahir locked eyes with the other man. “The UN won’t do anything. My people would tear Kosovo apart.”

  “We are willing to make a sizeable donation, but we cannot invest the amount you want.”

  “And that is your final decision?”

  “Yes!”

  He shrugged. “I did not want it to come to this.”

  Taneski’s bodyguards glanced at each other.

  “Kreshnik, show him the video.”

  His second-in-command turned on the television and pressed play. The recording on the screen was shocking. The Macedonian businessman was naked, and thrusting behind a semiconscious girl. She looked young, early teens.

  Zahir smirked as the man’s face paled.

  “You piece of–”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my friend. We all like a bit of pussy every now and then. The younger the better, hey.”

  Kreshnik laughed.

  Taneski’s face turned into a mask of rage. “You think you can blackmail a man like me, Zahir? You’re not dealing with a peasant or farmer. My company is worth billions. I will bury you.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not blackmailing you, Mr. Taneski. I am just nudging you in the right direction. I’m advising you. Invest in me and you will make millions.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He shrugged. “Then maybe the world will find out what sort of man you really are.” He watched as Taneski contemplated the r
epercussions of the video being released. His brow was furrowed and he swallowed every few seconds.

  “Fine! But I want every copy of that.”

  “As soon as I have the money.”

  The Macedonian glared. “And what about Ibrahim Daçi? How are you going to deal with his popularity? He has three times the support base you have.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Daçi. Haven’t you heard? Mitrovica is falling apart. His people are crying for action. They think he is weak.”

  The businessman rose. “You better come good on your promises.”

  Zahir gave him a wave. “It has been a pleasure. Kreshnik, see Mr. Taneski and his men out.”

  As they were ushered from the room, Zahir relaxed on the couch and sipped his coffee. He contemplated returning to the dining room but no longer felt hungry. He lit a cigarette and reveled in his success.

  The front door slammed and Kreshnik re-entered. “That went well.”

  “The problem with those who have never experienced true pain, is they don’t know how far they are really willing to go. Mr. Taneski just got his first taste of how we do business.”

  Kreshnik snickered. “I don’t think he liked it.”

  “He’ll like the profits.”

  Kreshnik sat and poured himself a coffee. He took a sip before speaking. “Boss, we’ve got another problem to sort out.”

  “What?”

  “That CIA asshole. You know, the big guy.”

  “Vance?”

  Kreshnik’s eyes’ narrowed. “No, Iceman. He’s been sniffing around. One of the boys saw him down at the Pussy.”

  “Did he use the services?”

  Kreshnik shook his head. “Just asked questions from one of the girls. I think he could be trouble.”

  “What did she tell him?”

  “Not much, just that you owned the place.”

  He raised a gray eyebrow. “That’s all?”

  Kreshnik nodded. “She can’t say anything else. Doesn’t have a tongue anymore.”

  “He’s very capable, Iceman. Arrange a meeting with him.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. He’s trying to get dirt on you. If you bring him in close, he’ll just screw you.”

  Zahir stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Let’s show him how legit I am now. If he causes any problems, we’ll deal with it.”

  The corner of Kreshnik’s mouth curled up. “We should just kill him.”

  “Arrange a meeting. The sooner the better.”

  "I don't want to see that asshole."

  "You're not afraid of the big bad CIA agent are you?"

  "I'll fucking kill him."

  "All in good time. You won't be at the meeting. I've got more work for you up north."

  ***

  Ice led Vance to the temporary accommodation at the CIA compound. They entered the cramped mobile building and he dropped his partner’s backpack on a battered steel desk.

  Vance dumped his travel bag on the bed. The springs groaned in protest as he sat. “Where the hell did they find these beds? Mattress feels like a goddamn bag of potatoes.”

  Leaning against the wall, Ice chuckled. “If you want, I can book you in to a local hotel. You can have some lice with your potatoes.”

  “Nah, this’ll do. Listen, Frank thinks I’m just here for the source audit so we need to keep this Zahir business on the down low. If he gets wind of our little operation, he’ll ship me back stateside.”

  Ice pulled a metal chair from under the desk and sat. “Low key is optimal.”

  Vance unzipped his travel bag, took out a bottle of scotch, and splashed it into two plastic cups. “So tell me, big man. What’s been going on?”

  He took the cup Vance offered. “KFOR and the UN are a joke. The Albanian mafia is running riot and the upcoming elections will be a total farce if we can’t get Zahir off the ballot.”

  “What about this Ibrahim Daçi guy the LDK party’s backing. I thought he was king dick. Does Zahir even stand a chance against him?”

  He shrugged. “That guy’s hugely popular up north. They love him in his hometown, Mitrovica. If Zahir is gone, Daci wins.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “I’ve got Barishna hunting for more dirt on Zahir.”

  “Barishna the only one you’ve stayed in contact with?”

  Ice’s hand shook as he raised the cup to his lips. “Yeah. He’s been useful.” He took a sip.

  “And what’s going on with Kreshnik?”

  “I’ve submitted his pack twice already. The ICTY showed zero interest in prosecuting him.”

  “Even with the photos you took?”

  He nodded.

  “If they’re not gonna prosecute Kreshnik, then Zahir’s probably not going to get up either.”

  “I finished his pack and showed Frank yesterday. He told me to drop it.”

  “Typical.”

  Ice finished his whiskey. “I think I’ll go directly to the OSCE. They’re running the elections.” As he placed his empty cup on the desk his phone rang. “It’s Barishna. Must have something.” He activated the phone’s speaker. “What have you got?”

  “Zahir knows you’re investigating him.” Barishna’s voice sounded even whinier through the speaker.

  Ice shot a look at Vance. “How? Did you say anything to him?”

  “No. Kreshnik rang me and said you were asking questions at the hotel in Brabonic.”

  “Damn,” mouthed Ice.

  “He wants to meet with you.”

  “Who, Kreshnik?”

  “No, Zahir.”

  Vance shook his head.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I don’t think he’ll try to hurt you. He’s got KFOR inspectors going over to the Pussy tomorrow and he wants you to come with them.”

  “And you believe him?”

  There was a pause at the other end. “You might not have parted on the best of terms but Zahir still owes you for his success. He’s a hero because of you. Now he wants to prove to you and the American government that he’s legitimate.”

  “But we all know he isn’t.”

  “Who in Kosovo is?”

  Vance nodded.

  “Tell Zahir I’ll be there.”

  “I will pass on the message.”

  “And Barishna.”

  “Yes.”

  “Keep digging. I want all of Zahir’s dirt.” Ice terminated the call. “You think it’s a trap?”

  “Zahir’s a sneaky bastard, but Barishna’s probably right. He’s gonna try to give the impression he’s gone legit.”

  “He’s a criminal and a murderer.”

  “Let’s hear what he has to say. Might be able to use it against him.”

  “True, we need everything we can get. I don’t care what Frank says, there’s no way I’m letting him contest the election.”

  “I hear you, brother.” Vance started unpacking his bags.

  Ice headed for the door. “I’m going to find out who’s inspecting Zahir’s place. Get some rest and I’ll come grab you for dinner in a hour or two.”

  CHAPTER 7

  The white sedan was stolen, abandoned by a Serbian family who had been forced to flee on foot, leaving everything they owned. One of Kreshnik’s men now had it parked on a dirt road in a forest a dozen miles from Mitrovica.

  Mitrovica was the northern most of Kosovo’s cities. It sat on the Ibar river opposite a Serbian enclave that had long been a hot spot for ethnic tension. Since the arrival of KFOR the Albanians had launched savage riots in an effort to evict the Serbian minority. It was ironic; the forces that liberated Kosovo from the Yugoslav oppressors were now protecting their Serb brothers from retaliation.

  As Kreshnik arrived at the outskirts of the city, he did not concern himself with the French KFOR troops guarding the Serbian enclave. That was not his target. His driver pulled the blue Pajero four-wheel drive in behind the stolen white sedan. "Murat, we'll meet you on the other side of town. H
ave everything ready." He jumped out of the cab, opened the back door, and grabbed his Yugoslav copy of the AK assault rifle.

  Joined by another of his men, Imer, he jumped in the back of the white sedan. They were dressed the same as the driver. Blue coveralls with balaclavas rolled up on their heads. Silently all three pulled down their balaclavas and checked their weapons.

  Kreshnik watched as Murat drove the Pajero around them and disappeared down the road. He gave him four minutes head start, then slapped the driver’s headrest. "Let’s go."

  The little sedan accelerated down the dirt road, out the forest, and raced between plowed fields. They slowed as the driver checked for traffic on the main road. Seeing it was all clear, he spun the wheel, lifted the parking brake and executed a perfect drift turn onto the asphalt.

  "Nice!” shouted Kreshnik. His adrenaline was starting to flow.

  As they raced toward town, houses started to appear on both sides of the road. They flashed past a truck coming the other way and Kreshnik rocked enthusiastically. Tires squealed as the car careened around an ancient statue on a roundabout.

  "That's it ahead." He flicked the safety off his weapon.

  The car screeched to halt in front of an ancient stone building topped with a dome and minaret. It was a mosque over five hundred years old.

  He jumped out, sprinted up the steps, and through the open wooden doors. He burst into the prayer hall, spraying the AK from his hip as he hosed the dozen worshippers with a full magazine. Bullets punched through their backs as they faced Mecca. In the confines of the ancient building, he heard only the deafening roar of the assault rifle. Eyes wide, Kreshnik embraced the blood lust until his weapon ran dry.

  He stood watching bullets from Imer’s AK tear apart more victims, never registering the screams of terror. All he heard was the crescendo of automatic gunfire.

  A firm grip on his shoulder snapped him out of the daze. He gave the blood splattered room a final glance before following Imer back down the stairs and into the car.

  The driver slammed the accelerator into the floor and they raced down the main street. People flashed by, fleeing the scene. Within a minute, the car was out of town and speeding past farms.

  Kreshnik forced himself to take a deep breath. Adrenalin still coursed through his body. It felt like only minutes since he’d donned his balaclava.