PRIMAL Starter Box Set (PRIMAL Series)

by Jack Silkstone

  A shot rang out from the tower above.

  Vance’s voice blasted over the airways. “Ibrahim is down, Ibrahim is down!”

  The two SAS troopers surged forward. Ice rushed in behind them.

  The deafening roar of an assault rifle echoed off the walls and Gaz fired a volley of rounds as he slumped to the ground. Harry spun from the other side blasting away with his pistol.

  Ice lunged forward to extract Gaz but was forced back by a hail of bullets.

  “Fuck!” Gaz had his fingers pressed against a stomach wound. “There’s two of them. They’ve got the inner door covered.”

  “Vance, we need an ambulance. Gaz is hit.”

  “Roger, I’m on it.”

  “Harry, you OK?”

  More AK fire thundered. “We’re pinned!”

  Ice sprinted out the building, searching for another way in. He looked up. If he could get to one of the window openings five yards above him he could out-flank the gunmen. He looked around for something climb and remembered the van.

  The keys were missing but it was unlocked. He holstered his pistol, released the parking brake and pushed. It rolled forward slowly as he turned the wheel. It hit the church with a crunch and he climbed up onto the van’s roof. The metal groaned under his 220 pounds.

  He sized up the gap to the window. With a grunt, he ran, jumped, and managed to grab the edge. Then he hauled himself up and wedged himself in the opening. “Oh shit.” Inside was a long drop onto the scaffolding. He had no way of turning and lowering himself, there was only one option. “Harry, make some noise,” he whispered into his mike.

  Shots from the SAS trooper echoed off the walls as Ice let himself tumble forward flipping over to land on his back. He hit the board with a crash. Struggling to his feet, he drew his pistol and aimed down at the worship hall. The first gunman was fixated on the entrance and Ice dropped him with a double tap.

  The other gunman spotted him.

  Ice slid off the scaffolding, sprinting for cover as the room was sprayed with bullets. All went quiet.

  “You’re clear,” Harry yelled out. He had killed the other shooter and was tending to Gaz who lay in a spreading pool of blood.

  “I’m heading up.” Ice strode to a stone staircase, pistol held ready as he cautiously ascended. Near the top Ice crept upward, listening for any movement. He had almost reached the bell tower when bullets ricocheted off the wall. The shooter was armed with a suppressed weapon.

  Ice emptied his pistol, dropped the magazine, and slammed a new one home. More rounds ricocheted off the wall as the gunman fired blindly. When the shots stopped, Ice heard a clatter as a magazine hit the floor. He stormed up the last flight of steps and found the man fumbling with a machine pistol. Ice grabbed it with one hand and struck him in the face with his Glock. The man dropped the gun and stumbled back into the bell tower. Ice shot him twice in the chest. As he stepped out of the stairwell, he caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye.

  A rifle butt smashed into his arm, sending the pistol flying. The butt-stroke was followed with a savage kick to the thigh and Ice’s leg collapsed dropping him to the ground.

  Kreshnik grinned. “Not so calm now, Iceman?” He lifted the rifle and pointed it directly at his face. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

  “You’re a murdering scumbag.”

  The Albanian shrugged. “I’m fighting for my people. You’re just another war loving Yankee.”

  “Vance, fire.” Ice had his thumb on the transmit button of his radio.

  The round caught Kreshnik by surprise. He flinched as the bullet cracked by his head and blew a chunk of stone from the edge of one of bell tower’s columns.

  Kicking out, Ice swept the assassin’s legs from under him. The rifle fired and a bullet blasted a hole in the bricks. Kreshnik landed on Ice and abandoned his weapon as they grappled across the floor. He managed to kick the radio from Ice’s hip, but not before he was caught in a headlock.

  Ice hauled Kreshnik off the ground. “This is for everyone you’ve killed, you murdering piece of shit.” He braced his foot against the edge of the bell tower and threw the war criminal out through the opening. The terrified scream lasted a full second before he smashed into the ground headfirst.

  Ice retrieved the radio and stuffed the earpiece back into his ear.

  “Ice, can you hear me?” Vance’s voice sounded frantic.

  “I’m here.”

  “Damn, I thought I’d lost you, buddy.”

  “Is Daçi dead?” Ice peered out from the church tower. The crowd was dispersing while police and military converged on the square. An ambulance siren wailed in the background.

  “Took a round to the shoulder but he’ll live. We’re moving him to his office now.”

  “Roger, can you also send the police over to the church. There’s six bodies here, including two police officers.”

  “Tell me you didn’t wax the cops?”

  “No, Kreshnik did.”

  “Did you get him?”

  “Let’s just say we had a falling out. I’ll see you at the safe house. I need to check on Gaz.” Ice turned and jogged down the stairs, past the dead bodies and out to the parking lot. Harry was watching a team of paramedics loading the unconscious SAS patrol commander into an ambulance.

  “How’s he doing?”

  The grim expression on Harry’s face said it all. “Not good, but he’ll make it.”

  “Yeah, Gaz is a tough bastard." He looked around. “We need to get out of here. Follow me.” Ice walked around the church and found Kreshnik’s body in the dense bushes at the base of the building. The corpse was on its back with the head at almost a right angle. He checked the dead man’s pockets and found the keys to the van. “Let’s get back to your safe house.”

  ***

  In the chaos caused by the attempted assassination, it took Ice and Harry nearly half an hour to get back to the safe house. They parked the van in front and met the rest of the team in the operations room. Everyone looked tired but alert. Eager to take the fight to Zahir.

  “Any update on Gaz?” Ice asked when everyone was present.

  “It’s not good, mate,” Mitch said. “He’s in a coma at the base hospital. They’re prepping him for evac.”

  “And Ibrahim Daçi?”

  Vance spoke up from where he was sitting on a stool in the corner. “To say that he’s pissed is an understatement.”

  “With us?” asked Ice.

  “No, with his old friend, Zahir. I explained the full situation to him. How he was behind the attacks in Mitrovica and the missing girls, and how Kreshnik, Zahir’s right hand man, pulled the trigger. He wants Zahir taken down.”

  “He wants him dead? I thought he was a moderate.”

  “He is. He wants Zahir exposed and humiliated. Wants his political party to lose all credibility. I told him how he’s planning to head up to Mitrovica tomorrow.” Vance chuckled.

  “And?”

  “Daçi’s people have already told the press the attack was lethal. The sly dog wants to make a surprise appearance. Rise from the dead, catch Zahir with his pants down and give him a solid spanking in front of the crowd.”

  “Guy’s got bollocks,” said Harry. “So does this mean we still need to kill Zahir? Once Daçi’s done with him his political career will be over.”

  Vance frowned. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about Zahir’s political ambitions right now. He signed his own death sentence when he tried to kill Ice, then Daçi.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  Vance stood. “Team, hitting a weapons cache is one thing. Planning and executing an assassination is something else altogether. Ice and I can take care of this by ourselves.”

  Harry shook his head. “Bugger that. Gaz took a bullet because of this tosser. We’re in, mate.” The other SAS operators nodded in agreement.

  Vance made eye contact with Ice and his partner shrugged.

  “OK. This is the way it’ll go
down. We’ll let Daçi have his moment with Zahir. In case things heat up we’ll augment his security team. Then we’re gonna hit Zahir on his way home.”

  “Ambush?” asked Harry. “We can use local weapons. Everyone will assume it’s Daçi’s boys getting payback.”

  “I was thinking something a bit more subtle.”

  Mitch clapped his hands. He had been sitting in the corner, deep in thought. “I’ve got just the thing, lads. Lots of land mines in this country, yeah. Especially if you drive off the road. We need to create a detour, somewhere isolated with minimal traffic.”

  “What about the road to the factory?” suggested Vance.

  “Perfect, but how are we going to get him out there?” asked Ice.

  Vance flashed a smile. “With your pal out the back.”

  Ice was confused for a moment, then he remembered they still had Barishna detained. “And we’ve got a plan.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The two four-wheel drives pushed through the crowds and came to a halt at the stairs to the Mitrovica mosque. Zahir waited in his Nissan Patrol as his men established a security perimeter. He was glad it had stopped raining. It had poured down all morning and the skies were still gray.

  Lifting his phone, he punched in Barishna’s number for the third time. No answer. He assumed the cripple had gone into hiding since the bomb failed to detonate.

  At least Kreshnik had got the job done, he thought, even if his death could have linked Zahir to the assassination. Fortunately, the morgue was easily bribed and the corpse had been cremated immediately. Rumors would spread but they would prove nothing. In the end, it was all too easy to lay the blame on the Serbs, which was exactly what he intended to do now.

  His bodyguard opened the door. “All clear, boss.”

  Zahir stepped out and greeted the Imam who waited at the top of the stairs. After removing his shoes, he entered the hall. Inside, he rolled out a mat on the freshly scrubbed floor and prayed to a god he neither believed in nor respected. As he knelt, he glanced up at the bullet holes in the stone. Only a few days earlier, he reflected, Kreshnik had stood here and gunned down innocent people. That was real power. Kosovo needed a leader who knew how to wield that sort of power. Not a liberal weakling like Ibrahim Daçi.

  He rolled up his mat and returned it to the pile before joining the Imam on the steps. Over three hundred locals had gathered. They looked up at him with grief and rage.

  He sighed and cleared his throat. “This is a day of great sadness.” He shook his head. “No, a week of great sadness. We have lost brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, and we have lost a great leader. But it is not the end. Those that have attacked us will pay. We will hunt the Serbs who did this to the ends of the earth. I will hold them accountable. I will not rest until all the oppressors have been thrown from our land.”

  There were a few cheers and claps, and Zahir had to remember not to smile. This was supposed to be a trying time, a time for solemn mourning. He was about to continue when the honking of a horn cut him off. The crowd parted as a pair of UN Land Cruisers crawled along the road.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asked one of his men.

  The doors on the closest vehicle opened and the crowd went silent. Then the air was filled with cheers.

  “What is it?”

  “We’ve got to go, boss.” One of his men tried to guide him to his car.

  “What? I’m not leaving, don’t be ridiculous.”

  “We need to go boss, it’s Daçi.”

  He went deathly white. The crowd parted and he stared straight into the face of the man he had ordered killed. “It’s not possible. It was on the news. He’s dead.”

  Daçi smiled at him while a ring of heavily armed Special Forces types pushed the crowd back. His arm was in a sling and his face pale. He mounted the steps with a bodyguard on either side. “Zahir, it’s so nice to see you.”

  For the first time in years, the mafia boss was lost for words. He watched, stupefied, as Daçi turned to face the crowd.

  “Yesterday this man tried to kill me.” He pointed at Zahir with his good arm. “He planted a bomb outside my office. When that didn’t work, he had a sniper shoot me. Last week, in this very mosque, his men, not Serbs, killed our brothers and sisters. And he ordered the kidnapping of our girls.”

  Daçi let the words sink in before continuing. “This man is a criminal and a thug. This is not the type of leader that Kosovo needs. This is not the type of leader that Kosovo wants.”

  The crowd remained silent. Then a few people closest to the stairs of the mosque started to chant. “No Mafia. No Mafia. No Mafia!” The crowd took up the cry and in seconds they were all screaming it at the top of their lungs.

  “Boss, we’ve got to go.” One of his men grabbed him by the shoulder and Zahir allowed himself to be bundled into his vehicle. His remaining men got into the other four-wheel drive and drove off, forcing their way through the angry mob.

  Zahir regained his composure. “Can someone please tell me how that goat-fucking liberal isn’t dead?” He punched the headrest. “And where the hell is Barishna?”

  ***

  The two CIA operatives waited at a gas station in their Land Cruiser. Vance laughed. “I really wish I could have seen the bastard’s face. Bet he shit his goddamn pants.”

  The UHF radio he held crackled. “Zahir and his people are on the move,” a British voice said, the chanting almost drowning it out. Harry and three of his men had augmented Daçi’s security. “Two vehicles, one blue, one black. Zahir is in the black Nissan Patrol.”

  Ice started the Land Cruiser as the convoy raced past.

  “Roger, we’ve got them,” said Vance. “He’s in a bit of a hurry. Must have seen a ghost.”

  Ice gave a wry grin and drove them out the gas station onto the highway.

  Picking up his phone, Vance dialed Mitch. “We’re tailing the target heading south on Route Hawk. Lead vehicle’s a blue older model Mitsubishi Pajero. The second, a new black Nissan Patrol is Zahir’s. I repeat, Zahir is in the black Nissan.”

  “Tell him to get Barishna to make the call,” added Ice.

  After relaying the order, Vance hung up and relaxed in his seat. “Damn, I’ll be glad when this is all over. I need a massage and a long sleep. Getting too old for this shit.”

  ***

  Zahir tried half a dozen numbers but no one had any idea where Barishna was.

  “Maybe he’s been picked up by KFOR,” said the man in the front.

  He grunted and tossed his phone on the seat.

  “What if it was him that sold us out, boss? Maybe he warned Ibrahim?”

  There was an awkward silence, then his phone rang. He checked the number and picked it up. “Barishna! What the fuck is–”

  “Look, I can’t explain now.” Barishna’s whiney voice sounded stressed. “People are listening. Things have gone bad. We need to meet. Come to the factory, I’ll explain.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m going to the house, meet me there.”

  “They’re watching the house. You need to come to the factory.”

  The phone went dead and Zahir was left to consider the call.

  “What did he say, boss?” the driver asked.

  “He wants us to meet him at the factory. Says we’re being watched.”

  “Those CIA bastards.”

  “No doubt. Maybe it was the cripple who betrayed us?” Zahir looked out the window as he weighed the risk. Between the two vehicles, he had seven men. More than enough to deal with any problem. He turned to the man in the front seat. “Contact the lead car. Tell them we’re going to the factory. The cripple better have a damn good explanation.”

  ***

  Zahir’s lead vehicle turned onto the dirt road that ran along a heavily wooded valley to the factory. The dark blue Mitsubishi slid sideways on the muddy track. The driver braked and it skidded slowly into a tree. The doors opened and men jumped out to lock in the wheel hubs.

 
He leaned forward to see what was happening. “For fuck’s sake. Just pass them.”

  The driver activated his car’s more modern four-wheel drive system and powered past the mired vehicle.

  It had started raining again, heavily, and Zahir regretted not bringing an umbrella. “There’s a loading dock at the factory isn’t there?”

  “Yeah, boss.”

  The driver slowed, letting the car behind catch up. “Boss, do you want me to let them back through?”

  “No, just get us there.”

  They drove around a bend and the driver slammed his brakes on. The rain had dislodged a section of the bank and a tree had slid down onto the road. Someone had already driven off around it. He slowed and followed the tire tracks, glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure the other car was behind them.

  An explosion hit the car like a sledgehammer. The heavy vehicle was thrown forward and Zahir’s face smashed into the back of the driver’s chair. He turned and looked through the shattered back window. The blue Pajero had flipped onto its roof. A flaming wreck of twisted iron.

  “Fucking go, go!” screamed Zahir.

  ***

  “That’s the wrong damn car.” Ice guided the Land Cruiser around the burning wreck. He stopped where the makeshift track rejoined the road and lowered his window. “Where the hell is the black Nissan?”

  Mitch appeared out of the woods, muddy and wet, with a scowl on his face. “Bloody hell. We hit the second car. Couldn’t see shit in the rain. They must have swapped over.”

  Ice stomped the accelerator and the four-wheel drive sat back on its springs as it scrambled for traction. He fought the steering wheel keeping the heavy vehicle on the road as they gathered speed.

  Vance clung to the handrail over the door. “Just bad luck, bud.”

  He held the Land Cruiser in a controlled slide as they shot past the factory. The road turned into a narrow logging track that ran through the fields into pine tree covered hills. The rain was relentless, but Ice refused to back off. “Got them. A hundred yards ahead,” he said as the black Nissan disappeared around a corner. He down shifted for more torque.