“All good, lads.” He reached under the table and produced two black hoods. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m sure you know the drill.”
Ice slipped the hood over his head. He was led out the back door of the cafe to where a car was waiting in a garage. A hand guided his head in and the door slammed shut.
***
When the hood was yanked off, Ice and Vance found themselves in the living room of a poorly maintained home. Or what had once been a home. Folding military-issue tables were butted against all four walls. Laptops, phones, and screens occupied every space, connected by a spider web of cables. In the middle was a table covered with a map of Kosovo. On top, a clear plastic sheet marked with blue and red symbols. Ice had seen plenty of similar setups. They were standing in a makeshift operations center.
“Welcome to our little home away from home, gents,” said Gaz. “Brew?” He poured hot tea into two mugs.
Ice accepted the drink and looked around. “Nice set up. You running a single patrol or a full troop?”
“One patrol, with a few bolt-ons. Couple of surveillance cats and Mitch who takes care of the geek shit.”
“I’d heard rumors you guys were in country. You’ve done a good job of staying under the radar.”
Gaz laughed. “That’s because there’s bugger all work, mate. Was good at the start, but after the initial scrum it all went quiet. Now we spend most of our time collecting on the local riff raff. We’d find more action back home, you know what I mean.”
“We might be able to help with that,” Ice said.
“Yeah, Mitch said you might have something for us?” As Gaz spoke, a few more plain-clothed SAS operators filed into the room and sat on chairs and desks. A taller version of Gaz introduced himself as Harry, the patrol 2IC.
Ice reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “We’ve got a target for you.” He placed a stack of photos on the table. Leaning over the map, he found what he was looking for and circled it with a red marker. “It’s an abandoned factory about ten miles from Brabonic. We’ve identified it as a smuggling depot for one Adem Barishna, a former KLA quartermaster and associate of Zahir Jashari, a known Albanian mafia boss."
"We know Zahir but not this Barishna chap," said Harry.
"They're using the factory as a distribution node for weapons, girls, and drugs." He laid out the photos that Louise had printed.
"Exactly what sort of weapons we talkin’ bout?" one of Gaz's men asked.
"Boxes of AKs, PKMs, SA7s, HE, mines, you name it, Barishna has it. Most of the small arms came from our people. The heavy stuff he’s managed to procure from elsewhere."
The SAS trooper whistled. "Now that's a haul."
Gaz peered over the map. "So we raid the joint and grab the gear. What do you want out of it? Just your swag back?"
He shook his head and picked up a photo of Barishna. “No, we just want to talk to this guy. You can take credit for finding the facility and hand off the weapons to KFOR once we’ve dealt with the mafia."
Gaz scratched his beard as he considered the mission. "How many bad guys on target?"
"Half a dozen at the most. FSK cleaned up a bunch earlier today."
Gaz's eyebrows shot up. "FSK? How many bad guys they put the chop on?"
"About eight."
Harry frowned. "Bloody hell. Can't let those Viking bastards get one over us."
The patrol commander nodded. "Yeah we'll take care of this.”
CHAPTER 10
Zahir scooped the girl’s clothes off the floor, kicked open the door, and tossed them down the corridor. "Now get the fuck out." He slapped her bottom as she fled the room. Zipping up his pants, he walked down the stairs to his living room. Kreshnik and Barishna were waiting on the couch.
He sat across from them and poured a coffee. "What do you two want?"
Kreshnik spoke first. "Iceman’s still alive."
He squinted. "What the fuck are you talking about?" He turned to Barishna. "Did you lead him into the ambush, cripple?"
The former-quartermaster nodded frantically.
"Then how the hell is he still alive?"
"KFOR soldiers arrived. It wasn't our fault."
"And the men?"
Kreshnik licked his lips. "All dead."
Zahir threw his cup at the wall. It shattered in a spray of coffee. "You fucking idiots! This could blow the whole campaign."
"There’s no link to you, boss. They will think that Barishna organized the hit."
"You're stupider than I thought," he sneered. "The CIA’s been sniffing around my operations then this idiot leads one of their agents into an ambush. Of course, he's going to think it was me. Who the fuck else would it be?"
Kreshnik and Barishna glanced at each other.
"And what’s he going to do now, huh? Sit around and wish me good luck in the elections? No! That mad bastard will hunt me down and kill me."
"Not if we kill him first," said Barishna.
Zahir punched the couch. "That was the FUCKING PLAN!"
Kreshnik gave Barishna a frigid stare. "We still need to move ahead with our plans, boss. The CIA’s a sideshow. When we get Daçi out of the way, there won’t be anyone else to lead Kosovo."
Zahir sighed and slouched into the sofa. His second-in-command was right. They needed to deal with Daçi. "The attack tomorrow. Is everything in place?"
Barishna nodded. "The girls are at the factory. My men will dump them back at Mitrovica later tonight. The bomb is at the Serbian farm near Istog.”
“Murat will move it in the morning,” Kreshnik added.
Zahir cracked his knuckles. “Good, those Serb dogs in Mitrovica are going to wish they’d left when they had the chance. Daçi’s people will burn their homes and rape their daughters.” He poured coffee into a new cup. “Tomorrow is crucial to my campaign. I’m meeting the officials from the OSCE here.” He placed the cup down and stabbed his finger at Kreshnik. “That means Daçi is up to you. If you mess it up, you better find a deep hole to hide in.” He pointed at Barishna. “I want you to start moving the weapons from the factory to the other warehouse. Those CIA dogs have been there before, they might go back. Do it tonight."
“Yes, boss.”
Zahir stood and placed a hand on his chest. "On Tuesday, I want to go to Daçi’s home town. His people will gather around me and we’ll mourn a great leader. I will say some kind words and tell them we will hit back at the Serbs. His people will become my people and Kosovo will have a new leader. That's if you two idiots don't fuck it up."
***
Barishna shivered as he stood under the factory’s floodlights and watched his men load crates into a truck. He’d wanted to get the work done earlier but Zahir had insisted they move them under the cover of darkness. That was all well and good for him tucked up in his bed with a whore.
He contemplated climbing into the back of his SUV with the girls. Hell, it was going to be their last night alive and they were already drugged. As he walked to the vehicle his phone rang. "Hello?"
"Hello, Barishna."
He instantly recognized the American accent. A shiver raced up his spine. "Ah… Mr. Iceman, I hope you are well."
"I'm as good as can be expected."
He swallowed. "I hope my contact was able to answer all your questions regarding Zahir."
"Yes, the meet was very informative. I was able to deduce exactly who was working for who."
"I didn't–"
"Shut it and listen! You and I are going to be seeing each other very soon. You cooperate now and it might go easier on you."
"You don't scare me. If you want to talk to someone go see Zahir." He terminated the call as he spun on his heel. "Hurry up and get that gear loaded!"
All three floodlights exploded, plunging the parking lot into darkness. He panicked and hobbled into the factory as fast as his bad leg would carry him. "We're under attack!"
***
Ice lay alongside Vance on the hill overlooking the factory. He wa
tched through his night vision monocular as four SAS troopers appeared out of the trees. Gaz and his team were now in full combat rig. They wore body armor over their civilian clothes, helmets mounted with night vision goggles, and carried suppressed weapons.
He and Vance had been in position for hours. They had inserted with Mitch and an SAS sniper just after midnight. A couple of hours later, they saw Barishna arrive with his men and trucks. The SAS assault force had responded rapidly. Moving from their van, through the forest, they had waited for the sniper to knock out the lights before closing in on the factory.
An AK barked as one of Barishna’s men fired into the night. He took a volley of 5.56mm to the chest and died gripping the trigger.
Ice watched as Barishna disappeared into the factory with a couple of his men.
The four-man SAS team stacked next to the open front door. A distraction grenade flashed and they flowed in. Ice tracked their movement by the continued detonation of grenades. Minutes passed as they worked from the ground floor up. Then a trooper appeared at the loading dock. The IR laser on his rifle flashed three times.
Mitch and the SAS sniper rose to their feet. “That’s us. You yanks coming?”
“Yep.” Ice followed them down the hill. Vance brought up the rear. They met the trooper at the entrance.
“Morning, chaps. We’ve got a lovely little spread on for you today. Four dead shooters, two drugged girls in the black SUV, a shit load of swag, and the boss has got that wanker you’re looking for upstairs.”
“Two girls?” said Ice.
“Yeah, I think they’re local lasses. Not hookers or anything like that. Might be the girls that went missing up near Mitrovica.”
“We OK to go white light?” Ice asked.
‘Yeah, mate.”
He switched on his headlamp. The factory floor was exactly how Ice remembered it. The heavy machinery was still there. Brass casings were scattered across the floor. Except, now the bodies were Albanian mafia not Serbs.
“You hear anything about missing girls?” he asked Vance as they climbed the stairs.
“Yeah, it was in the morning briefing. Militants kidnapped two Albanian girls from Mitrovica.”
“Why would Barishna have them?” Then it clicked. “He’s trying to re-ignite the conflict.”
Vance grunted. “I bet my left ball Zahir’s behind it.”
The upper level had changed slightly. They passed through a heavy cage door and walked into a prison of sorts. There were mattresses strewn on the floor along with discarded items of clothing. The entire level smelled like urine.
As they walked down the corridor, Ice glanced inside one of the rooms. It was draped in plastic sheets with a stainless steel table in the middle. There was an ice machine in the corner and a stack of foam boxes against one wall. A makeshift surgery. “Sick bastards.”
At the end of the corridor, an SAS trooper waited. He gave them a nod. “Your man’s in here.”
Ice stepped through the doorway. Gaz was standing over the prisoner, his night vision tubes flipped up over his helmet. Barishna sat on a stained mattress, squinting into the powerful beam from the SAS operator’s flashlight.
“You mind if we have a moment alone?”
“No probs, mate.” Gaz closed the door as he left. Vance leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
“You tried to kill me,” said Ice.
“No, it was Zahir who wants you dead, not me. I’ve always thought of you as a friend.” Barishna’s voice was more high-pitched than usual.
Ice turned off his headlamp and squatted so they were face to face. “You’re a liar. You telling me you had nothing to do with it? You telling me you’re not Zahir’s right hand man?”
The criminal nodded eagerly. “I just move the weapons.”
“Just weapons? No body parts, no girls?”
“No, none of that. Just weapons. I don’t even need the money. I work for Zahir because if I don’t, he will kill me.”
“So you don’t know what he’s up to?”
Barishna shook his head.
Ice cocked his head to one side. “Is that right? So you know nothing about the Albanian girls drugged in the back of your car?”
Barishna shook his head again. This time less enthusiastically.
He reached down and grabbed the lapels of Barishna’s jacket. Rage flowed through him and he hauled the little man to his feet. “You’re a goddamn liar.” Effortlessly he lifted the Albanian off the ground, twisting his fists to lock the jacket tight. Vance held the door open as he carried him out the room and strode into the plastic-sheeted surgery.
“Put me down. It hurts!”
He threw him onto the stainless steel table with a crash. “Oh, this’ll hurt alright.” He pinned the man’s throat with one hand, pulled a Gerber Covert knife from his rig and snapped it open.
Eyes wide, Barishna reached up and grabbed the hand clamped to his throat. “Stop, Stop,” he said hoarsely, choking.
Ice slipped the blade under the man’s shirt. Barishna screamed as the razor sharp edge sliced through the garment. It fell open from neck to waist exposing his pale bony body.
Ice smiled as he traced the tip of the blade along his flank. “This is where I’m going in, to get your liver.” He glanced over his shoulder at Vance who was watching in amusement. “I need a bucket of ice.”
“No, no, I’ll tell you everything,” Barishna gurgled.
Ice released the grip on his throat. “What’s that?”
“Zahir, he’s planning to assassinate the leader of the LDK, Daçi.”
“When, how?”
“In the morning. A car bomb outside his office. He’s making it look like the Serbs did it. Just like the shooting in Mitrovica.”
“Mitrovica?”
“Daçi’s town. Zahir’s boys have been causing trouble, but everyone thinks it’s the Serbs. He wants to step in as the strong man. Win votes.”
“You’re going to tell me everything you know.”
Barishna nodded. “I’ll trade you my life for his?”
“You want to kill him?”
“No, I want you to. I’ll tell you everything, but you have to promise to kill him. Otherwise, I’m a dead man and you may as well kill me now.”
Ice pretended to consider the appeal. He had every intention of killing Zahir, but did not need to tell Barishna that. He leaned in close. “It’s a deal. But, if you hold anything back, I’m going to take your balls.”
***
The team gathered in the ground level of the factory. A map lay on top of one of the ammunition crates. It was marked with the locations Barishna had revealed. Ice had just finished using it to brief them on Zahir’s assassination plot.
"That's some heavy shit," said Mitch.
"This fella’s playing for keeps," added Gaz. "So what’s the plan?"
Ice looked at Mitch. “You dealt with VBIEDs before?”
“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”
"Alright, so we need to interdict the bomb before it gets to the city. Can’t trust KFOR to do it, the risk of compromise is too high.”
Gaz nodded. “True, if Zahir gets an inkling, he’ll hide the bomb, and then we’re buggered.” He inspected the markings on the map and pointed to a rural area to the west of the warehouse. “They’ve got it stashed here, yeah?”
“Yes, it’s a silver taxi. Being assembled at an abandoned Serbian farm on the other side of Brabonic. That’s an hour away from here, and the bomb’s due to be moved early this morning.” He nodded at his partner. “We might not make it in time, so Vance is going back to get one of the agency choppers in case we need to hit it on the move.”
"Do we need to contact Ibrahim Daçi and his crew? An ex-regiment bloke is running his protection detail. I can give him a call."
"Good drills. Keep it general for now. We’ll update them depending on how we go finding the VBIED." Ice glanced at his watch. "OK, it's 0500 now. We're cutting it fine. We need to roll.”
Vance pointed to the black SUV. “Are there keys in the truck?”
“Yeah, mate,” Gaz said. “But there’s also the two drugged-up girls.”
Vance picked up his carbine. “I’ll drop them at the US clinic. They’ll be kept under wraps until it’s over. Ice, when you’re in loc, confirm coords. I’ll get the bird there ASAP. Oh, and Gaz, don’t let him go charging into any gunfights.”
Gaz gave a thumbs-up. “Wilco.”
As Vance drove away in Barishna’s SUV, the rest of the team piled into the van.
“What about limpy?” Gaz asked Ice.
“He’s coming with us.”
CHAPTER 11
Zahir woke well before dawn. It was still dark outside when he pushed the sleeping girl aside and rolled out of bed. Wrapping himself in a gown, he walked down to the living room.
Kreshnik was sitting in one of the armchairs, cleaning his Skorpion machine pistol. “Everything is ready, boss.”
He yawned. "Have you heard from Barishna?"
"He’s dumping the girls now."
"And the bomb?"
Kreshnik checked his watch. "Murat will be leaving with it shortly.”
"Excellent. I have my meeting with the OSCE later this morning. I take it you’ll be leaving soon.”
“In a few minutes. The men are eating.”
"Call me when it’s done.” Zahir turned to the stairs. “I'm going to make sure I'm relaxed.”
As his boss disappeared upstairs, Kreshnik reassembled the weapon, slotted it in his shoulder holster, and threw on his jacket. He marched into the dining room and shot his three men a hard look as they continued to stuff their faces. "Finish up and meet me at the van."
He turned into the kitchen, ignored the two servants and opened the door to the wine cellar. He stomped down the rough-hewn stone stairs and yanked a cord to turn on the light. The bulb illuminated racks of wine bottles on one side, and an arsenal of weapons on the other. He eased a Zastava sniper rifle off the wall and rubbed the wooden stock with his hand. Then he checked the magazine was full, rolled it in a prayer mat and turned off the light.
PRIMAL Starter Box Set (PRIMAL Series) Page 21