PRIMAL Starter Box Set (PRIMAL Series)

by Jack Silkstone

  “So this is the renegade running black ops in my Emirates,” Beecroft said.

  “I’m sorry: black ops?” Vance returned the scornful gaze, equally unimpressed with the bureaucrat.

  Beecroft sported a portly frame and ruddy complexion, the result of years on the cocktail circuit. “Yes, the CIA didn’t seek my approval for your little mission.” His chins wobbled as he spoke.

  “Last time I checked, the CIA didn’t work for the State Department.”

  Beecroft tipped back in his soft leather chair. His belly strained against a tailored waistcoat under a dark blue suit. Vance almost expected to see a gold chain disappearing into the vest pocket.

  “I don’t think you understand, Mr….” The ambassador paused, unable to recall Vance’s surname. “I don’t think you understand just how important the Emirates is to America. The lifeblood of our nation flows through this relationship and it is my job to ensure that nothing damages that. That no obstacles block the flow. Obstacles like you.”

  Vance brow furrowed. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand the situation. But what I don’t get is how a discreet CIA operation could be considered an obstacle.”

  “Discreet? Is that what you think your little mission is?” Beecroft selected a manila folder from a pile on his desk. “If it is so discreet, then explain to me why the head of the Special Tasks Branch is sending me reports warning that you are, in fact, the next target for the very terrorists you’re supposed to be hunting?”

  He threw the folder on the desk. “Your operation has the potential to severely embarrass my standing with the Emir. I can only hope that he isn’t aware of your activities already.”

  Vance stepped forward to pick up the folder. It contained a single-page police report. He skimmed it and dropped it back on the desk. “How the hell did they find out we’re here?”

  “Evidently your World Health Organization cover isn’t as good as you think.”

  “I call bullshit on that, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “How it happened doesn’t matter.” Beecroft waved his finger as he spoke. “The simple fact is you’ve been compromised and now you’re out. I’m sure you can hunt terrorists in Iraq or Afghanistan. My aide has arranged tickets for you and the—”

  “Get the WHO team out, but I’m staying.”

  Beecroft pushed back his chair and struggled to remove his corpulent frame from its clutches. He finally got to his feet, drawing himself up to his full five feet nine inches. “You will do no such thing. This is my post and I will—”

  “You will sit the fuck down, Ambassador!” Vance growled from a height advantage of almost six inches.

  Beecroft shrunk like a deflated balloon, dropping back into his chair.

  “The only way we could have been compromised is through this office.”

  The ambassador opened his mouth to object but Vance cut him off again. “Now. You’re probably not harboring Bin Laden and co, so my guess is you blabbed to one of your buddies at poker.”

  Beecroft opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.

  “Now usually I would get very, very upset about that, but this time I’m gonna let it slide. What I won’t be doing is getting on any airplane.”

  The ambassador’s face turned a brighter shade of red. “You will get on that plane. Otherwise I will submit a report to Washington.”

  Vance smiled. “You go right ahead and do that, Mr. Ambassador. By the time your report gets read and someone takes notice, my job here will be done. So you just get back to protecting the flow of oil and I’ll get back to tracking down our nation’s enemies.” He turned and walked toward the door.

  “This will be the end of you, Vance. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “Take your best shot, Mr. Ambassador. Better men have tried.”

  ***

  Ice was waiting in the parking lot when Vance exited the building. He wore similar clothes to the senior CIA operative: tan cargo pants and a loose-fitting shirt. The former recon Marine was chatting with a member of the Embassy’s Marine security detail. The guard was a big man, at least six feet, but the paramilitary operative towered over him. With short blond hair, a square jaw, and the build of an NFL quarterback, Ice was a formidable-looking individual.

  Spotting Vance, he shook hands with the Marine and walked back to their Toyota Land Cruiser, starting the engine.

  Neither man said a word as Ice drove them from the embassy, until the battered four-wheel drive had merged into Abu Dhabi’s hectic traffic.

  “Where we heading, boss?” Ice asked.

  “Find a place to park. I need to make a few calls.”

  “That bad?”

  “Yes and no.” Vance gave him a rundown on the conversation with the ambassador. “If the police report is accurate, we’ve been compromised and now the hunter has become the hunted,” he concluded.

  “There’s more good in this than bad,” Ice said after a moment.

  “How's that, big man?”

  “The way I see it, the ambassador’s done us a favor. Now we know for sure that this terrorist group has links to the Emirates government. We just need to flush them out.”

  Vance looked sideways. “Ice, you’re nuts. I tell you a bunch of jihadist douche bags are gonna try and blow us to hell and you think it’s a good thing.” He shook his head and laughed.

  The corner of Ice’s mouth turned up in a slight smile. His eyes never left the packed highway.

  Vance continued. “Only problem is that pompous cocksucker has given us the boot. It won’t take Langley long to follow that up and shit-can us.”

  “Means we need to move fast.”

  “Yep. First things first, we get the Doc and his crew out.” Vance pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts, looking for the physician in charge of the WHO team. “After that I’ll arrange a meeting with Tariq and find out how Special Tasks were alerted to the attack. You check if the gear has arrived.”

  Ice pulled into the parking lot of one of Abu Dhabi’s shopping malls and slotted the four-wheel drive into a free spot. Vance was already talking to the head of the WHO team. Ice jumped out of the vehicle and dialed the FedEx Custom Critical depot to check if the extra equipment he’d ordered from Langley had arrived. With a direct threat to the team, he’d be happier packing a little extra heat.

  CHAPTER 2

  An hour later, Vance was waiting in an emergency fire escape at the Al Wahda shopping mall. A symbol of the Gulf city’s progress, the mall was a sprawling complex of over 120 high-end retail outlets. Vance hated it, all sparkling marble and glass, built by unskilled immigrant labor with petrodollars. Like so many things in the Middle East, the glamor was a thin veil. In the staircase, behind the scenes, the flaking paint and exposed wiring told another story.

  Vance checked his phone. His contact was late. A moment later it buzzed and a message displayed on the screen:

  Contact is moving toward your loc

  Ice was watching the approaches to the emergency exit. Despite his stature, the CIA operative had an uncanny knack for remaining out of sight. Vance felt comfortable knowing the big man had his back.

  The door swung open and a man in a dark suit barged in. He gave Vance a cursory nod and scanned the stairwell. Vance lifted his arms, allowing himself to be patted down. Security procedures complete, the man exited through the same door. A few seconds later Vance’s contact entered.

  “It is good to see you again, Vance.” Tariq Ahmed, the head of Abu Dhabi’s Police Special Tasks Branch, was every inch the charming gentleman, his slim frame clad in an immaculately tailored suit, dark hair slicked back, beard and mustache trimmed to perfection.

  “You too, Tariq. Been a while.”

  Prior to assuming his current mantle, Tariq had been an intelligence officer in the UAE Army. He had worked with Vance in Afghanistan.

  Tariq’s face remained impassive as he spoke. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You shou
ld have listened to Mr. Beecroft.”

  “What the hell, Tariq? Goddamn tangos want to take down my team and you’re going to let a pen pusher like Beecroft stop me from taking them out?"

  “Mr. Beecroft is a powerful man. If you value your career, I would suggest you follow his direction.”

  “My career? Tariq, I’ve been in this business for long enough and one thing I’ve learned is that Langley doesn’t give a shit about me. No, this is personal now. I want these jihadi fucks head’s on a slab!”

  Tariq raised an eyebrow at the tirade. “As do I, Vance, and I assure you we have the situation well in hand.”

  “Yeah, twelve dead in three months. Looks like you’ve got it well in hand.” Vance gave a hard stare. “Does it bother you that someone in your government is sponsoring the murder of innocent civilians?”

  Tariq’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  “I didn’t, but I suspected as much. Now you’ve all but confirmed it.”

  “There is more to this than you think, my friend.”

  “Clearly. That’s why you’re meeting me in a goddamn stairwell.”

  “Leave this to my people; the CIA has no role to play here. This is an Emirates problem and we will resolve it. You should focus on Iraq.”

  It was Vance’s turn to fold his arms. “No role? You feed us some crap about a terrorist group targeting my team and then you tell me I don’t have a role to play in it. Screw you, Tariq, I thought we were friends.”

  “We are, and that is why you were warned.”

  “Don’t think I’m not appreciative, buddy, but you need to give me a whole lot more than that. Who’s your source?”

  “I cannot reveal that.”

  “Then give me some details. Who’s leading the attack? When’s it planned for? What type of attack? A suicide bomber? A car bomb?”

  “The attack was to occur in the next twenty-four hours; a VBIED into the medical clinic. That is all I know.”

  Vance didn’t believe for one second that the well-groomed Arab was sharing everything.

  “Listen, trust me when I say this.” Tariq’s gaze softened slightly. “There is nothing more the CIA can do here. Your embassy has booked a flight for you tonight. You would be well advised to take it.”

  There was silence as the two men stared at each other.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Vance said.

  Tariq smiled halfheartedly. “You’re making the right decision, my friend. Have a safe trip and perhaps we will meet again under better circumstances.” With that, the head of Special Tasks Branch disappeared through the door.

  Vance waited a few seconds before moving down the stairs to the underground parking level. He exited the stairwell and walked across to where the Land Cruiser was parked.

  A few minutes later Ice joined him. “Only the one guy with him, Vance. He’s trying to keep it discreet.”

  “Yeah, could mean he’s being watched.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  Vance shook his head. “I’m not sure, but I’d wager he knows a shitload more than he’s telling.”

  “Any more intel on the threat?”

  “Yeah. Car bomb into the compound. Next twenty-four hours.”

  “Think it’s reliable?”

  “Tariq and I worked together in the 'Ghan. He pulled my nuts out of the fire a couple of times. If it wasn’t for him, I would’ve ended my run holding my own head on YouTube.” Vance opened his car door. “So yeah, I think it’s good. I’ve just got the feeling he’s still hiding something from us.”

  They climbed into the Land Cruiser and Ice started the engine. “From what I’ve read in Forbes, his father’s a very powerful man.”

  “Damn straight he is. The emir’s chief security advisor, and in his spare time he runs a multi-billion dollar logistics company.”

  “So if Tariq’s hiding something, it’s gotta be big.” The tires of the four-wheel drive screeched on the polished concrete as Ice nosed it toward the exit.

  “You’re right. If we uncover a terrorist cell operating inside the UAE government, it would be a major embarrassment. That’s why he wants the CIA out. Not that it would matter. That prick Beecroft would sacrifice his own mother to keep the oil flowing.”

  “The terrorists could have a royal link,” added Ice.

  “True. Some rich, bored asshole getting his kicks out of playing jihad. Whoever it is, he fucked up though.”

  “How so?”

  “By trying to kill us.”

  “So what’s the plan from here?” Ice asked as he lowered the window and paid the foreign worker who manned the parking booth.

  “We get our gear from the depot and stake out the clinic. Jihad jerk-off’s posse are bound to do one last recon. We’ll leave the lights on and maybe they’ll still be keen to join our little party.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Despite being the home of over five thousand immigrant workers, Abu Dhabi’s Musaffah industrial complex was deathly quiet under the dark shroud of a moonless night. Vance had parked the Land Cruiser in a side alley around the corner from the WHO clinic, hidden from view but still positioned to allow quick access to the street. On the seat next to him was a laptop, the screen displaying images beamed from two cameras hidden on the high walls of the WHO compound. One showed a view down the street to the front, the other covered the narrow alley that ran behind.

  Vance panned a camera to the construction site opposite the clinic. The street lighting was dim and the green hue of the infrared camera made the half-built sheds look like the skeleton of a prehistoric beast. A cat, hunting rats in the rubble of the building site, leaped from a Dumpster, landing gracefully alongside a pile of builder’s waste.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” Ice’s voice came through over the radio.

  Vance watched the cat arch its back and streak away into the darkness. He panned the camera back over the area. “Damn, Ice, I can’t see you. I’m looking straight at that heap of crap you’re under.”

  “I’m a trash ninja,” quipped Ice. His tone changed. “Vehicle approaching.”

  A battered pickup approached down the street, its headlights off.

  Ice gripped his silenced Beretta tightly and flicked the safety off. “This looks suspect.”

  Vance panned the camera toward the threat.

  The pickup coasted down the street, slowing in front of the clinic, and came to a halt directly opposite Ice. It paused, then veered toward him, bouncing over the low curb.

  “Shit,” whispered Vance as it stopped mere feet from his hidden partner. The doors opened and two men wearing dark clothes jumped down from the cab.

  Ice slid one hand under his body, ready to spring from his hiding spot.

  “These guys look like some sort of amateur recon team,” whispered Vance as he watched them through the camera.

  Ice clicked his transmit button once in response. One of the men was standing almost directly on top of him. The one closest to Ice moved around the vehicle into the shadows cast by the lights of the compound. The truck now separated them from Ice.

  The two men just stood in the shadows watching the street. Minutes passed before Ice whispered, “What’s the plan? Take one down and get the other to talk?”

  “Negative. Something’s not right, just sit tight.”

  A moment later the two men began moving around the construction site. They talked in hushed voices and used a flashlight to probe the piles of building materials.

  “I think we’ve got ourselves some lowbrow thieves,” whispered Ice.

  “Roger.”

  The scavengers attempted to load a heavy metal beam into the back of their pickup. A set of headlights flashed down the road and they dropped it with a crash. Vance smirked as the would-be thieves clambered to find a hiding spot behind their truck. He focused the camera on the approaching vehicle. It was a Mercedes, not unusual for Abu Dhabi.

  “You got eyes on?” he asked over the radio.

  “Yes,” Ice whisper
ed.

  The saloon slowed almost to a halt as it passed by. On his screen Vance could make out a faint glow on the passenger-side window. It took him a second to realize what it was; a video camera.

  “These are our guys, Ice. Tag ‘em.”

  As the Mercedes accelerated from the clinic, Ice broke cover. The pile of trash materialized into a man wielding a gun. The two would-be thieves, startled, ran yelling into the building site, tripping over the debris.

  Ice aimed the Tippmann paintball marker at the Mercedes and squeezed the trigger. The ball left the barrel with a snort and slapped the rear right wheel. It burst, spraying a clear liquid across the side of the car.

  “That’s a hit,” reported Ice.

  “Nice shot. Now let’s find out where these clowns are hanging out.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Six hundred miles above Abu Dhabi, a satellite adjusted its sensor array on an isolated bandwidth of radiation. Within a few seconds it had located a target. A complex algorithm converted the information into a military grid reference and relayed it to the requesting entity.

  Back on the ground, Ice had joined Vance in the Land Cruiser. He was still wearing his combat rig, a balaclava rolled up on top of his head.

  “You smell like shit!” Vance said as he hunched over his laptop.

  “Next time I’ll sit in the car while you crawl in the trash.”

  “No thanks, bud. I'm getting too old for all that sneaky peaky crap.”

  “Have we got a track?”

  “I’ve got the grid. Plotting it now.” Vance opened the mapping program and entered the grid reference from the satellite. “Target’s about four miles away, still in the industrial sector. Looks like a medium-size warehouse with a high brick wall.” Vance handed the laptop to Ice and started the car. “You’re the shooter, Ice. How we gonna crack this one?”

  Ice had planned hundreds of raids in Afghanistan and Iraq. “I think we’re going to have to get in close.”