“Not likely, he sounded like he was definitely ready for bed.” Vance killed the motor cruiser’s engines. “Ice, is this close enough?”
“This is fine.” The former Marine was wearing a pair of reef walkers, black boardshorts decorated with a flower imprint, and a black neoprene vest. He climbed down from the bridge to the stern of the boat where he had laid his gear out on the table.
There was a clatter then a splash from the bow as Vance dropped the anchor.
“These good to go?” asked Ice as he picked up one of Mitch’s distraction devices.
“Yeah mate, you just need to unwrap the plastic and find somewhere to hide them. Don’t bury them, it’ll muffle the sound.”
“Got it.” He packed the homemade explosives into a black dry bag along with an equipment belt containing a HK pistol, suppressor, and a short-range UHF radio. “Vance, I’ll be at least an hour. If we lose comms and I’m not back by 0530, you might want to consider moving the boat west.”
Vance gave him a thumbs-up from the bridge.
He slung the dry bag across his back and climbed down into the cool black water. He shivered, not from the cold but from the trepidation of entering the dark water. No matter how many times he did it, he still got that nervous jolt as his senses announced their disapproval of entering an environment where they were next to useless.
He set off toward the beach using breaststrokes to power through the small waves, aiming slightly to the left of the mansion and the other boats. The last thing he wanted was to run into any late-night skinny-dippers as he came in through the shallows.
Ice had swum for both his high school and college teams before joining the Marines. A former recon operator, he was a formidable swimmer and covered the distance to the shoreline in a few minutes.
As he waded ashore he could feel the sharp rock under the rubber of his shoes. He hunched low in the water, well outside the range of the mansion’s lights. When the rocks underfoot gave way to sand, he slid forward and rode the waves into the beach. Then he dashed out of the water and crouched in the scrubby vegetation.
Opening his dry bag he retrieved the equipment belt. Once he checked the pistol was ready and secured on his hip he waited quietly in the darkness, watching for anything that might suggest compromise. Sensing nothing out of the ordinary he pulled the radio from the belt. “Can you hear me, Bella?” he transmitted quietly.
“Loud and clear, Beachcomber, have fun searching for buried treasure.”
Ice placed the radio back in its pouch and worked his way inland from the beach, cautious for any sign of guards or security sensors. The estate had a six-foot chain fence at the very edge of the grounds. Black material blocked anyone from seeing inside. He moved along it until it reached a tall white wall. There was no sign of CCTV cameras or external lighting.
He retraced his steps until he found a spot where the black material had been torn from the fence by the wind. There was a hollow under the bottom of the wire that he could scrape clear and probably squeeze through if he needed to get inside.
He hid the first of Mitch’s devices under a bush near the tear in the fence. The other he placed closer to the beach. With that done, he pulled out the radio. “Bella, this is Beachcomber. The pickings are slim here so I’m coming back.”
“Sit tight, Comber, there’s a nasty rip here.”
Something was wrong. “OK, Bella, let me know when it’s all clear.” Ice settled into the line of bushes next to the beach and made himself comfortable. He checked his watch; there was about half an hour of darkness left. If Vance did not give him the all-clear soon it would be light and he would be stuck ashore.
CHAPTER 18
KARELIN VILLA
“Hey, wake the fuck up.”
Bishop opened his eyes, blinking. When the blurriness cleared he realized he was staring into the scarred face of the angry security guard from the night before. “What do you want?” He sat up, noticing that Katya was not in the room.
“My boss wants to have a chat with you.”
“Sure, no problems,” Bishop mumbled looking around for a glass of water. “Just let me get cleaned up.”
“No, he wants to talk to you now!”
Bishop checked his watch. “Look, man, it’s eight o’clock. Let him know that I can make eight thirty. That’s if he supplies the coffee.”
“Get the fuck up!” The menace in the man’s voice motivated Bishop to swing his legs over the side of the bed and stagger to his feet. He was still dressed in his clothes from last night, shoes included.
“Where’s Simeon?” asked Bishop as he was led downstairs and out onto the patio at the front of the villa. He squinted in the bright sunlight, head pounding. The vodka had left him feeling absolutely shattered.
Scarface ignored his questions and shoved him forward, past the swimming pool out onto the grass in front. The sunlight was reflecting off the ocean and Bishop felt like it was penetrating all the way to his brain.
On the grass a grossly overweight human being was sunning himself on a recliner. It was the same guy he had played cards with last night, Aslan, the boss. Bishop let out a breath as he tried not to vomit in his mouth. A quick glance around identified no less than six armed bodyguards, a couple with assault rifles.
“Good morning, Anthony.” Simeon was sitting on a chair under an umbrella a short distance away. He was sipping from a tall glass of water.
“Simeon, what’s this all about?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
Bishop shook his head. “I don’t understand. Look, if this is about the money I lost last night, it’s all good. I can go to the hotel and get it right now.”
“You’re good, very good.” Simeon smiled. “I don’t think you even realize the game is up.”
“Seriously, buddy, I’m in the dark here.”
“Katya heard your phone call last night. She heard you tell someone that you found us. She heard you give someone directions here.”
“I rang someone last night?” He reached into his jacket for his phone. It was missing.
“Looking for this?” Simeon was holding the cell phone. “This morning at four fifty you rang a number based in the USA.”
“Oh, I remember, I rang my father.” Bishop was immediately grateful that Tariq’s people had the foresight to route calls to Vance’s satellite phone through the US.
“Your father?” Simeon raised his eyebrows. “You called your father?”
“Yes, he likes me to check in. Otherwise he cuts off my funding.” Bishop could see that Simeon was far from convinced. He was staring at the phone.
“Call him if you want. Ask him yourself,” Bishop continued and poured himself a large glass of water from the table next to Simeon. The scarred security guard shadowed him, unsure whether to intervene.
“I might just do that.”
Bishop gulped the water down.
“Simeon! Have you sorted this mess out yet?” Aslan yelled in Russian.
“I’m sorting it out now.”
“Bring the fucking spy over here.” Aslan sat up in the lounger and signaled for a robe.
“I hope you’re telling the truth, for your sake.” Simeon gave Scarface a nod and Bishop was shoved over to Aslan.
“So what the fuck is going on?” Aslan asked in Russian.
Simeon gave him a rundown on the situation.
“So what are you waiting for? Call the number, find out if this piece of shit is lying or just another dumbass American who owes me money.”
Simeon nodded and hit redial on the phone.
***
PRINCESSA BELLA
“Vance, this doesn’t look good, old man.” Mitch was sitting at the rear of the Bella’s upper deck with the .50-caliber sniper rifle in his shoulder. He had cut a hole in the plastic weather shield to let the muzzle poke through. “They’ve got Bishop and they don’t look happy. There’s at least six guards.” Through the scope he was watching Bishop being questioned by Simeon whi
le a morbidly obese man watched from a chaise lounge.
“Motherfuckers. How the hell was he compromised?” Vance was observing through the binoculars. They had been monitoring the beach since the Russians had started patrolling it, ready to provide support if Ice or Bishop had to extract. That was almost four hours ago.
The satellite phone started ringing from where it was wedged in the boat’s console. Vance picked it up and glanced at the screen. “It’s Bishop’s phone.”
“Simeon’s holding it,” Mitch confirmed.
“You good to take a shot?”
“Who? The fatty on the chaise or Simeon?”
“The fat guy, that’s got to be Aslan. Give Ice a heads-up.” He threw the radio onto the deck next to Mitch as he answered the call.
“Hello?”
There was silence from the other end.
“Anthony, is that you?”
Still silence.
“Goddamn phone must be on the fritz,” said Vance.
Mitch continued to monitor the scene at the villa through the scope of the sniper rifle as he whispered into the radio. He quickly brought Ice up to speed on the situation.
“Why do I know this voice?” Simeon’s guttural accent came through accusingly.
“Who is this?” said Vance. “Put Tony on the phone.”
There was a long pause.
Mitch lined up the crosshairs on Karelin, who was now sitting up. “This is going to be like shooting a pig at a feeding trough,” he murmured.
Simeon continued, speaking softly, “It’s you! The one from Dubai, I’d never forget that voice.”
“I told you to tell your boss to get the fuck out. I told you I’d find you,” Vance growled.
Mitch took up the slack in the trigger and breathed out.
The Russian’s voice became more confident. “I told him, but he doesn’t scare easily. You might have found us, but now we’ve got your man and he’s going to tell us everything he knows. Maybe when I’m done you can have his fucking head back.”
“Well, let’s just hope you make better decisions than he does.” Vance hung up. “Do it.”
Mitch squeezed the trigger and the rifle belched flame.
CHAPTER 19
KARELIN VILLA
Mitch’s round hit the Russian Mafia boss square in the chest. The kinetic energy blew his grossly overweight body clean off the lounger, flipping him backward into the swimming pool where he bobbed like a harpooned whale in a spreading cloud of pink water.
“SNIPER!” screamed Scarface as he drew his pistol.
Simeon dove behind the outdoor bar as the gunmen with assault rifles returned fire in the direction of the motor cruiser anchored on the horizon.
Mitch kept firing the semiautomatic sniper rifle, emptying the ten-round magazine into the guards, the .50-caliber rounds sending limbs flying and splintering through palm trees.
More gunmen streamed out from the villa with assault rifles. Women that had been dozing by the pool screamed hysterically and hid behind whatever cover they could find.
“The boat! Shoot the boat!” yelled Simeon in Russian from his hiding place.
AKs clattered and rounds danced across the ocean, sending plumes of froth jetting into the air around the yachts anchored off the beach. Panicked guards blasted the closer boats as they attempted to hit the PRIMAL vessel farther offshore.
On the Princessa Bella Vance had hauled anchor and had them surging away from the coast. Mitch had managed to get off another ten-round magazine before it became too difficult to hold a sight picture as the bow crashed through the sea at full throttle. He stowed the .50 cal away and used his phone to activate the remote devices Ice had placed.
Gunshots exploded from the fence line to the west of the villa.
“We’re under attack!” screamed Simeon. He had pulled a pistol from his pants and fired it randomly in the direction of the shots.
Bishop had already used the total confusion to make his escape. He’d sprinted across the lawn, skirted the pool and its screaming women, and dashed into the bottom level of the mansion. A few guards ran past carrying assault rifles, unaware he was a threat.
Back out on the lawn the Russians were still firing at the yachts and the fence line, even after the gunfire simulators had expired.
“Hold your fire!” Simeon scrambled to his feet. “Hold your fire!” He looked around for Anthony. “FIND THE FUCKING AMERICAN!”
Bishop was making a beeline for the front entrance and seeing two guards there he charged up a staircase.
Sprinting into the corridor he collided with Katya, bowling over the slender escort.
He stopped and helped her up. “Sorry to love you and leave you, babe,” he quipped as he searched for another way out.
“STOP!” a voice behind him screamed.
Bishop dove into the closest room, slamming the door shut behind him, fumbling the lock closed. He nearly jumped out of his skin as a woman screamed. The prostitute was sitting bolt upright in bed, a client passed out next to her. Huge fake breasts wobbled as she continued her ear-splitting screech.
“Shut up!” Bishop screwed up his face as he pulled back the curtains to reveal one of the balconies that faced out from the front of the estate toward the road. Someone bashed on the door behind him.
“I hope you don’t mind.” Bishop grabbed some car keys from the bedside table and ran out to the balcony. Behind him the lock gave way and one of the Russian gangsters crashed into the room. Bishop climbed over the balcony, lowered himself down, and dropped with a thud onto the front landing of the mansion. When he leaped to his feet he was staring into the muzzles of two short-barreled AKs.
“Hi, guys.” He stood slowly, raising his hands above his head.
“DOWN!” The voice came from behind.
He dropped to a knee and registered the snap of subsonic rounds as they zipped over his head. Two guards collapsed, their automatic weapons clattering on the marble. He spun to see Ice dressed in his flower-patterned boardshorts and black top, holding his suppressed HK.
“Nice outfit. How’s the break?”
“Dead flat, bro. We’ve got to get out of here.” Ice picked up one of the AKS-74Us the dead guards had dropped and holstered his pistol.
“Follow me.” Bishop grabbed the other AK and they sprinted down the stairs toward the guests’ cars.
Above them a weapon barked and bullets sparked off the sandstone. Ice spun and fired instinctively. His rounds sent the shooter on the balcony scurrying for cover.
Bishop ran along the line of exotic sports cars and limousines parked on the gravel frantically depressing the unlock button on the car keys. Lights flashed on a car toward the front of the line. “Bingo, we’ve got a ride.”
“Maybe I should drive,” said Ice as they ran to the car. “You smell like a distillery.”
“Do you really want me manning the guns?” Bishop said as he pulled open the driver’s door.
“Good point.” Ice stopped as he reached for his door handle. “You’ve got to be shitting me. A Prius.”
“Just shut up and get in.” The hybrid car gave a whine as Bishop pressed the ignition button.
“Yeah, great, we’ll really be able to outrun them in this,” Ice grumbled to himself as he leaped into the backseat.
At that moment a pair of black Mercedes sedans sped through the gates and into the compound. They skidded to a halt in front of the stairs as the Prius raced past them toward the entrance.
“THE GATE! FUCKING SHUT THE GATE!” Simeon screamed from the front landing. He ran down the steps and pulled open the door to the first Mercedes. “Stay in the fucking car! Those guys, they killed Aslan.” He pointed at the little Prius rocketing out of the estate, escaping from the villa as the gates closed behind it.
“Get after them and fucking kill them, fifty grand for their heads.”
Karelin’s Spetsnaz team reacted like a well-oiled machine. The driver of the lead vehicle turned the big car and gunned the engine,
flicking the powerful sedan around on the gravel. He slammed his fist on the horn, prompting the guards to reopen the gates. Then he unleashed the power of the Mercedes’s V8, hammering down the dirt road trailing a cloud of dust. “Two men in a hybrid,” he said chuckling. “This will be the easiest fifty grand we ever made.”
“Like shooting Chechens in a mosque,” said one of the killers in the backseat as he cocked a submachine gun and wound down the window.
Behind them the second Mercedes barreled out of the gates and joined the chase.
CHAPTER 20
ZYGI, CYPRUS
“Hey, look at the upside,” said Bishop as he rallied the little hatchback along the coast toward Limassol. “If it comes to a long-distance race we’re going to get fifty miles to the gallon.”
“Always looking on the bright side, aren’t you,” Ice said from the backseat.
“I find it makes for a much more enjoyable journey through life,” said Bishop as checked the rearview mirror. He had the accelerator pressed to the floor and the tiny engine was screaming like an enraged piglet.
Ice lowered his window. “I’ll try Vance again.” He angled the little UHF radio out toward the ocean.
“Bella, can you hear me? Bella, this is Comber, do you copy?” Ice put the radio back in his belt pouch. “Nothing, bro, we’re on our own.”
“Not exactly.” Bishop could see one of the black sedans in the rearview mirror. It was gaining fast. “I count one, no two, on our tail.”
Ice glanced back. “If we don’t shake these guys we’re in real trouble.” He checked the magazine on his AK; it was half-full. He did the same with Bishop’s weapon which felt like it was full.
The coast road was winding and narrow, and the Prius with its superior economy offered zero advantage. The high-powered sedans were rapidly closing in.
PRIMAL Starter Box Set (PRIMAL Series) Page 33