PRIMAL Renegade (A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 8) (The PRIMAL Series)

by Jack Silkstone

  Mamba tucked his water bottle back into a pouch. “Lead the way, little ranger boy.”

  The youth scowled and set off back into the bush with the others in tow. They followed a game trail along the riverbank to a thicket of saplings. The teenager held up his hand then pointed. Mamba knelt and peered through the branches. It took him a second to spot the massive animal. She resembled a granite boulder in the fading light.

  “She's a big one, eh,” whispered Colin as he cradled the dart gun. “Good thing I brought extra darts. Might not go down with just one.”

  “Just get it done.”

  Colin slid forward on his chest, tucked the weapon against his shoulder, and aimed through the scope.

  Mamba crouched behind him watching the massive beast as she rested on her belly. He couldn't see the head but he had no doubt the horn was impressive.

  The gun emitted a pop not unlike an air rifle and the dart struck the thick hide with a thud. A loud bellow reverberated as the rhino struggled to her feet and turned toward them, nostrils flaring.

  Now Mamba could see the long curved horn as well as the sheer size of the fully-grown rhino. She bellowed again and he caught a glimpse of the calf cowering behind its mother. Mamba shouldered his assault rifle as the one-ton animal lowered her horn. He swore it was staring directly at him.

  Colin had already reloaded the dart gun and fired once more hitting her square in the chest.

  “Jesus Christ!” Mamba yelled as the rhino charged.

  She halved the distance between them in under a second. As she was about to plow into the thicket where they hid she skidded to a halt and stood panting not a dozen feet away. Mamba raised his AK and aimed at her head.

  “Steady.” Colin pushed the barrel of the assault rifle down. “She's done.”

  The rhino wheezed and convulsed. Her eyes grew wide as her front legs crumpled and she dropped to her knees. It took mere seconds for the huge dose of cyanide to cripple her respiratory system. Her powerful heart was the next to go. It beat slower and slower before finally, as the flow of oxygen ceased, it stopped and she toppled over.

  “Good work.” Mamba pushed through the thicket and approached tentatively. He ran his hand over the horn. It was impressive measuring as long as his forearm. The animal lifted her head and gave one last bellow. The forlorn cry for help startled Mamba and he fell backward in the long grass.

  “She was a beautiful animal,” Colin said staring with sad eyes.

  “Don't get all soppy on me, old man. You've killed more than most.” Mamba scrambled to his feet and pulled the razor sharp machete from its scabbard. With deft blows he hacked at the flesh around the horn. A pathetic bleating sound interrupted his butchering and he turned to see the rhino calf standing a few yards away. It was as big as a large dog with a tiny horn the size of a golf ball.

  “Can I shoot it?” asked the ex-ranger.

  “No, you idiot. It will grow and then we come back for the horn.”

  As Mamba worked to hack the horn free the other men faced outward with their guns. The teenager, sulking, moved down to the riverbank.

  Mamba sweated as he worked. His preferred method of removing horns and tusks was a chainsaw. However, with the threat of rangers he couldn't risk the noise. As he continued to hack at the base of the horn the kid called out.

  “Hey, hey, can you hear that?” The teen scrambled through the tall grass back to the carcass.

  He paused and listened. Over the bleating of the calf he could hear a faint noise. It took him a moment to identify it as the clatter of a diesel engine. “Fucking hell.” He handed the machete to Kogo. “Finish this.”

  He gestured to the others as he unslung his AK. “We'll check it out.” With the rifle held at the ready he patrolled through the thick grass until he could see down into the riverbed and across to the other bank.

  A cut-down safari truck appeared a few hundred yards downstream on the opposite bank. He knelt and watched as it crept toward them. Whoever was in it was searching for something, probably the rhino and her calf. Mamba took a compact monocular from his vest and focused it on the vehicle. There were two green-uniformed rangers in the front seats. Shifting his focus he spotted two women in the back. One of them was holding a long-lensed camera. The other, a strikingly attractive brunette, had a pair of binoculars slung around her neck.

  “What are we going to do?” the youth whispered as he caught up.

  “Nothing, unless they see us,” Mamba said as he flicked the safety off his AK.

  ***

  The Land Cruiser slowed and came to a halt at the river. It gave the occupants a clear view of both the rocky riverbed and the opposite side.

  Saneh looked up, searching the sky for Bishop’s drone. Maybe he would spot the rhinos first, she thought.

  “Was this where she was last seen?” asked Christina.

  “Yes, it was a hot one today. She will stay close to water,” replied Francis as he switched off the engine.

  Saneh scanned the far bank with her binoculars. Searching the thick grass she caught a glimpse of what looked like a man crouched behind a clump of foliage. Beyond the figure a flash of movement caught her eye and a heart-wrenching bleat filled the air. “Oh my god, it's Kitana's calf.”

  The bark of an AK-47 sounded in the still air jolting her into action. “Get down!” She shoved Christina out of the vehicle and leaped after her. They landed in a heap as bullets thudded against the vehicle.

  Her training kicked in and she assessed the situation. Realizing the only weapons were in the front of the vehicle she wrenched the driver’s door open. Francis rolled out into the dust. His shirt was covered in blood, his face pale, eyes wide.

  She fought the urge to check him for wounds. The only aid in a gunfight is self-aid, she reminded herself as she grabbed a pump-action shotgun from between the front seats. A quick glance told her the other ranger had been hit. He was slumped forward against the dash. Bullets slapped the bonnet of the truck as she pulled the weapon free and took cover with Christina.

  “Are they poachers?” asked Christina.

  “Yes, there are three shooters,” Saneh said as she pumped the fore grip of the shotgun. “I need you to check Francis.”

  Christina was staring at her with her mouth open. “What… how?”

  “Chris, focus. If we're going to get out of here we need to work together. I'm going to try to buy us some space. You need to look after Francis.”

  “I'm OK,” the driver stammered from where he lay in the dust. “I think Melon is dead.”

  Saneh crab-walked to the front of the truck and peeked around the bumper. Spotting a muzzle flash she pulled back and took a deep breath. She knelt, grasped the shotgun firmly and leaned out sideways. The 12-gauge bucked in her shoulder as she fired two rounds where she had seen the flash. She heard a scream as she pulled back. “One down. Chris can you get to the radio?”

  The bursts of gunfire intensified as she shuffled backward. Popping up over the front of the truck she searched for another target. Darkness was closing in and she could barely make out the opposite bank. She snapped off a single shot. The scrub exploded with muzzle flashes. Bullets snapped through the air and slammed into the side of the Land Cruiser. Saneh kept firing the shotgun until, as the trigger clicked on an empty chamber, she registered a flash of pain and felt herself falling. As she collapsed she realized her life was not the only one that could be lost. “I'm sorry, Aden,” she whispered as she slipped into a black pool of nothingness. “I'm sorry.”

  ***

  Bishop swatted an insect the size of a fist away from his face as he squinted at the laptop screen. The sun had long dropped behind the horizon and the bugs were going nuts over the glow of his equipment.

  “Aden, might be time to call it quits.” Dom offered him a cold beer.

  He glanced up and took the bottle. “Thanks, you might be right. I can't get the damn ground station to sync with the updated autopilot software. Keep getting the same error messa
ge.” He slammed the laptop shut in frustration and took a swig from the beer.

  “All good, we'll have another look tomorrow.”

  He nodded. “I know someone I can call. He’s all over this sort of stuff.”

  “You've got a lot of interesting friends.”

  “Wait till you meet Kruger.”

  “The guy that’s coming up tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, former South African Recce. You two will get along just fine. Hell, you might be able to convince him to stay and help out.”

  “Could definitely use another hand.”

  Bishop packed the laptop and the compact drone inside a purpose-built case.

  “Can you hear that?” Dom asked.

  He tipped his head. There was a slight breeze that carried the sounds of the river. Faintly, in the background, he thought he could hear the sound of a car horn.

  “Someone’s in a hurry,” added Dom.

  The horn got louder and soon it blended with the roar of an engine.

  “Yeah, sounds like one of our Land Cruisers.” Dom placed his beer down and ran toward the lecture rooms.

  Bishop's heart was pounding before he even started sprinting. He passed the New Zealander, dashed through the building and out to the track. The safari truck roared toward him with the horn still blaring. He spotted Christina at the wheel as it skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. Francis, the driver, was in the back cradling someone in his arms. It was Saneh. Bishop fought the panic welling up inside him. “Dom, we need a medevac.”

  “Already on it.”

  He took Saneh’s limp body from the truck and laid her gently on the ground. As he frantically checked her vitals Dom appeared with a medical kit and stretcher. She had a weak pulse. He tipped his ear to her mouth; she was breathing.

  “Her head, her head, they shot her in the head,” Francis blurted.

  A quick check found the wound above her right ear, beneath hair matted with blood. A bullet had creased her skull leaving a half-inch groove. “I need a bandage,” he yelled at Dom.

  Bishop bound the wound and they transferred her to the stretcher wrapping a space blanket around her body. “Who did this?” he asked as he monitored her vitals.

  Christina sobbed hysterically. “It was poachers. They shot the radio, we couldn’t call through.”

  “They killed Melo,” added Francis.

  Bishop clenched his jaw. “How long till the medevac arrives?”

  “Thirty minutes,” said Dom.

  He clutched Saneh's hand. “Hang in there, babe.”

  CHAPTER 2

  NORTH LUANGWA NATIONAL PARK, ZAMBIA

  The hacking laugh of a hyena sent a ripple of fear down Mamba's spine. He knew the predators posed no immediate threat but still aimed his AK at the dark shapes that lingered at the edge of his vision. The pack had been tailing them through the bush for the last few hours. He knew they sensed a meal was coming. They could smell death and it excited them.

  “How much further?” he asked the younger of the brothers.

  “At least eight miles, we're moving very slowly.”

  “No shit.” He glanced back at the two men carrying the makeshift stretcher; it was what had attracted the hyenas. Their guide, the young thief, had taken a shotgun blast to the stomach. Mamba wanted to ditch the casualty but Colin had convinced him otherwise and volunteered to help carry the boy. A body was evidence he’d argued; sign on a trail that might lead the authorities to his door.

  The two stretcher-bearers, Colin and the other tracker, lowered the wounded boy to the ground as Mamba strode toward them. There was a half moon in the clear night sky and he could see the shine of sweat on their faces. “We're moving too slow.”

  “We're going as fast as we can,” Colin said between catching his breath. He pulled a water bottle from his pack and took few measured sips.

  “The thief is as good as dead. We'll leave him for the hyenas.”

  “The boy will live if we get him to help.”

  “And I suppose you'll drive him to the hospital?” Mamba hissed.

  Colin nodded as he stowed the bottle. “If need be, he did his job. I won't leave him to die.”

  Mamba slid his finger to the trigger of his AK as he glared at the wounded teenager. It might be easier to put a bullet in both the boy and the old man. He thought better of it. Professional poachers were a tight-knit community and word would spread that he had killed one of their own. What’s more, the Rhodesian was one of the best hunters in the business and quality ivory was getting harder and harder to find.

  “Fine, but if we're not out of the park by dawn I'm going to leave you both here.” Mamba turned and re-joined the tracker who was conversing with Kogo. “Let's get going.”

  The man glanced back at his brother and Colin. “What about them?”

  “If they can't keep up we're going to leave the thief.”

  “OK, boss.” The tracker rose and started off into the bush, his weapon held ready.

  “We should leave the boy now. Save us some money,” said Kogo.

  “Do as you’re fucking told.”

  Kogo shrugged and followed the tracker.

  Mamba waited for the stretcher-bearers to pass him. Then he turned and peered into the darkness behind them. Despite the gunfight and the rangers escaping it looked like they were in the clear. No one but hyenas followed them.

  ***

  CURE HOSPITAL, LUSAKA

  The Special Emergency Services helicopter touched down at the CURE Hospital on the outskirts of Lusaka, the capital of Zambia. The crew rapidly offloaded the gurney carrying Saneh and pushed it across the helipad and inside the hospital. Funded by US and UK charities, the hospital was a beacon of professionalism in a region starved of medical services. Bishop followed the stretcher as far as the swinging doors to the emergency ward where a grandmotherly nurse stopped him.

  “You can't go any further, dear. Come with me, I’ll show you to the waiting room,” she said guiding him through a separate door.

  Bishop took a seat in the empty waiting area. There had been limited room on the helicopter; he was the only one who had accompanied Saneh. He stared at the wall, trying to contain his emotions. There was a war waging inside him, a battle between grief, rage, and guilt that left him numb. If he lost Saneh he... The truth was he didn't know what would happen if he lost her or their child. He didn't want to contemplate it. What he needed to do was get her the best medical attention possible.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

  “Hello,” said the automated voice. “You've reached Telemetry Transport please enter your tracking number for an update on the progress of your shipment.”

  He punched in a five-digit code.

  “Bish, that you?” The voice belonged to Frank, a member of PRIMAL, the vigilante organization that Saneh and Bishop were part of. His call had connected to their makeshift headquarters in Abu Dhabi where a bare-bones team was monitoring intelligence sources for any sign the organization had been compromised.

  “Yeah, it's me. Is Vance there?”

  “Sure is, I'll grab him.”

  A moment later the PRIMAL director’s deep voice replaced Frank’s. “Bish, what's up, buddy?”

  “There's been an accident. Saneh has been shot. She's at the CURE hospital in Lusaka. I need you to coordinate a medical evacuation to Abu Dhabi so she can receive appropriate treatment.”

  “What?”

  “Poachers ambushed her.”

  “Jesus Christ, OK, OK, we’ll organize a medical evacuation for both of you. Tariq's people can arrange care here... Listen, buddy, are you OK?”

  “I'm fine, just get Saneh the hell out of here.” He terminated the call and glanced back at the nurse who was now manning the counter. Her friendly smile had turned into a frown.

  “I'm sorry,” said Bishop. “It's a lovely hospital.”

  “It's fine, dear. I know you must be very worried about your girlfriend but she's in good hands. Now, can I get you a cu
p of tea? It will make you feel better.”

  Bishop managed a nod as he slumped back into his chair. “She's in good hands,” he murmured to himself. Panic welled up inside him and he fought the urge to scream.

  “Here you are.” The nurse appeared with a mug of tea.

  “Thanks.” Bishop took a sip of the hot, sweet liquid.

  “Doctor Anderson is very good,” she said once she’d returned to the counter. “He trained in America and is very experienced in trauma surgery.”

  Her words did little to comfort Bishop. However, as he sipped the tea reality dawned on him. There was nothing more he could do to help Saneh. He had taken her to the hospital and now her life was in the hands of the doctor. His skills were better applied at bringing justice to the men who had hurt her. Placing the tea down he reached in his pocket for his phone and made a call. “Kruger, it's Bishop. How far are you from Lusaka?”

  ***

  It seemed like an eternity before Doctor Anderson finally reappeared through the swinging doors guarding the emergency ward. Bishop's heart lurched as he spotted the grim expression on the man’s face. “Is she OK?” he asked softly when the doctor sat next to him.

  “She's in a coma.”

  “And the baby?”

  “At this stage the baby is fine.”

  Bishop's throat was dry and he fought the urge to cry. “Will she wake up?”

  “It's hard to say. The bullet damaged part of her skull causing trauma to the brain. The bleeding has stopped but she is going to need additional surgery to remove fragments and check for damage. I'm not going to lie, the prognosis is not great. I've seen people recover from injuries like this but I've also had patients who simply never regain consciousness.”

  Tears welled in Bishop's eyes and the doctor put a hand on his shoulder. “Your friends have been in touch. There’s a private jet flying in. We’ll help prepare for her transfer tomorrow morning. She is going to have the best care available.”