They hugged the shadows as they moved stealthily to the twelve-foot brick wall surrounding the target warehouse. The only entry point was a well-lit steel sliding gate.
Crouched in a ditch beside the wall, Ice pulled a compact screen from his vest. He uncoiled a flexible camera and plugged it into the device. With Vance scanning for threats, he stood and held the setup at arm’s length, allowing the camera to see over the wall. He panned it back and forth, recording imagery.
Seconds later he was back in the ditch reviewing the footage with Vance. “There’s the Mercedes. No sign of anyone; they might be all in bed.”
“I doubt it. They’re probably going over their recon footage.”
“We should drop in for a critique.”
“Any wire on that wall?” Vance peered closer at the screen.
“Negative. Your balls are safe.”
Ice packed the camera away and followed Vance over the wall. He slid across the top of the brickwork and dropped onto the gravel parking lot in front of the warehouse. The Mercedes was parked in front of a roller door. A smaller entrance was off to the right and Ice guessed it led into the building’s office.
They followed the wall around, avoiding the light from above the front gate. As they neared the entrance, Ice signaled to halt. He left Vance in cover and crawled to the office door. The tiny camera snaked under the rubber seal at the bottom, giving an insect’s view inside.
It was unoccupied with a single light illuminating a desk and chairs. An AK assault rifle was on the desk; Ice could make out the distinctive stock, along with a pair of night-vision goggles and a laptop. He relayed his findings to Vance over the radio.
“It’s your call, big man.”
“Silent entry. I’ll lead.” Ice turned the door handle. It wasn’t locked. With a click, the door popped inward. He pushed it open and crept inside.
He froze. At the other side of the room, standing in the next doorway was a young man in white robes. They stared at each other for a moment, until the youth dove for the AK on the table. Ice’s UMP spat twice and the heavy slugs tore into the target’s torso. The body smashed into the table with a crash.
“Shit,” whispered Vance as he stepped into the office.
Ice was already moving. He stepped around the body and through the next door. Bright overhead lighting caused him to squint as he entered the open space of the warehouse. He sensed a tall figure lurch at him from the side. A blow knocked the UMP from his hands and it dropped onto its sling. He reacted by swinging his right arm in an arc, pushing his assailant's pistol up against the wall.
He turned his face away as a blow impacted on the side of his head. His vision flashed red and he staggered. With his right arm pinning the pistol to the wall, he spun his left elbow, driving it into the face of the attacker. There was a crunch and a crash as a man fell backward against the sheet-metal wall. Before the body hit the floor, Ice swung his UMP up, and fired a burst into its chest.
In the few seconds it had taken Ice to dispatch his assailant, Vance had calmly stepped past. Deeper into the warehouse another man in white raised a pistol. Vance shot him twice in the face, his suppressed carbine making a sharp, slapping noise. The 5.56mm bullets punched through soft bone and tissue. The man dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
The warehouse was new, shelves on the walls still empty. A white minivan was parked facing him. Vance noted it was sitting low on its axles. The smell of fuel hung in the air.
Faintly, above the hum of the fluorescent lighting, Vance could hear chanting. It was coming from the van. He padded cautiously toward the vehicle, his weapon tight against his shoulder. As he approached the rear with a series of shuffling side steps, the red dot of his Aimpoint sight came to rest on the forehead of another young man. This one was sitting in the back of the van, eyes wide, chanting softly to himself.
“Ice, we’ve got a big fucking problem.”
“Moving.”
In the back of the van, the teenager was sitting on a layer of small bricks wrapped in wax paper. He was clutching what looked like a slot-car controller.
“Release-activated detonator,” Ice stated from behind Vance, “and probably at least half a ton of C4.”
“I've seen this before,” said Vance. “You see how he’s clean-shaven, head and all. I’ve seen this before in Yemen. He’s been purified for the big bang. Poor bastard’s well and truly been brainwashed.”
“None of them are Arabs, except maybe the big one by the door. At a guess I’d say this guy’s Pakistani.”
Vance lowered his carbine and pulled off his balaclava. “It’s OK, son. You don’t need to do this. Just hand me the clacker, alright?” He reached out with one hand.
The boy’s eyes grew even wider and his chanting more earnest. He threw his hands in the air with a scream, “ALLAHU AKBA—”
There was a thud as Ice shot him cleanly through the head. The body fell backward, blood splashing across the bricks of C4.
Both of them waited for the blast that would send them to the afterlife.
“How the fuck are we still alive?” Vance asked in a low voice.
Ice climbed into the van and picked up the remote from where it had fallen. He traced the cable, lifting blocks of explosives to reveal the detonation system. The wire ran into a simple circuit with a battery and a cell phone. Electric cables like the arms of an octopus snaked out to half a dozen detonators embedded in the C4. Ice cut the circuit board free and held it up to the light. “The remote’s a dummy. Whoever set this up didn’t trust his bomber. The phone’s the only way to activate it.”
Ice tore the phone from the circuit and passed it to Vance. It began vibrating and a buzzing filled the air. Vance spun around, eyes searching the room. He sprinted across to the man who had attacked Ice earlier.
Unlike the three youths, this guy was big, at least six feet, with a heavy build. His face was dark and angular with a hawk-like nose. Ice’s bullets had torn into his chest and he was lying in a growing pool of thick blood, a cell phone clutched in his hand. Vance crouched over him and held out the other buzzing phone.
“Looking for this, motherfucker?”
The man coughed. Blood ran out of his mouth and down his neck. He wasn’t going to last much longer.
“Who do you work for?” Vance growled as he grabbed the Arab by his shoulders and effortlessly propped him against the wall. If he could stop the lungs from filling, maybe he could keep him alive a little longer.
“You—you should have gone home, CIA pig,” coughed the man. “You're a dead man now.”
“You and your buddies had your chance, pal. Now how about you tell me who you're working for and maybe I won't go after your family.”
“Maybe... you should... ask your friend, Tariq.” With that, the man’s head slumped against his chest.
Vance checked for a pulse.
“Dead?” yelled Ice from the next room.
“Yep.” Vance scrolled through the man’s phone. It only had the one number saved in the contacts. He emptied the corpse’s pockets and pulled out a wallet. “You’re not gonna believe it, Ice. He’s Emirates Police. One Yussuf Bishara.”
“That makes sense. Check this out.”
Vance walked into the office where Ice was standing over the desk, scrolling through a presentation on the laptop.
“Pretty damn slick,” observed Vance. The slides showed a detailed plan for the attack on the WHO clinic, complete with surveillance photos.
“Whoever put this together was a pro: definitely military, cops, or intel,” agreed Ice.
Vance stared at the screen for a few seconds, then looked up. “Grab the laptop. I’ll take some photos and we’ll get the hell out of here. I want to have another chat with our man Tariq.”
Download PRIMAL Origin here.
BOOKS BY JACK SILKSTONE
PRIMAL Inception
PRIMAL Mirza
PRIMAL Origin
PRIMAL Unleashed
PRIMAL Venge
ance
PRIMAL Fury
PRIMAL Reckoning
PRIMAL Nemesis
PRIMAL Redemption
PRIMAL Compendium
PRIMAL Renegade
SEAL of Approval
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jack Silkstone grew up on a steady diet of Tom Clancy, James Bond, Jason Bourne, Commando comics, and the original first-person shooters, Wolfenstein and Doom. His background includes a career in military intelligence and special operations, working alongside some of the world’s most elite units. His love of action-adventure stories, his military background, and his real-world experiences combined to inspire the no-holds-barred PRIMAL series.
[email protected]
www.primalunleashed.com
www.twitter.com/jsilkstone
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