Bishop slapped him on the shoulder. “Means the world to me, Kruger.”
“What can I say, you and Saneh are family... and no one messes with my family.”
***
CURE HOSPITAL, LUSAKA
At 1305 hours the nurse led Bishop to Saneh's room. She lay perfectly still in the hospital bed. If it wasn't for the hoses running from her mouth and nose she could have been sleeping. He swallowed back his tears, turned to the bald African American seated in the corner of the room and gave him a nod. “Thanks for coming.”
Vance pried his hulking frame from the plastic chair and gathered Bishop up in a bear hug.
“Hey steady on, old man, you're going to break a rib,” he wheezed.
Vance released him and glanced at the bed. “I feel so helpless seeing her like this.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
A knock at the door caught their attention. Doctor Anderson walked in. Behind him a team of green-uniformed medical staff waited with a gurney.
“Gentlemen, we need to prepare the patient for transport. If I could ask you both to move to the waiting area.”
“Saneh, her name’s Saneh,” said Bishop.
“That's a lovely name,” said the doctor as he led the team of medical professionals into the room.
He felt Vance's hand on his shoulder and let the PRIMAL chief guide him out the door.
“She's in the best hands we could find, bud.”
“Yeah, thanks, I appreciate it.”
Kruger sat in the waiting room and greeted Vance with a handshake. “Hey, boss.”
“I'm guessing you two have some idea of who’s responsible for Saneh's condition?”
Bishop met his steely gaze. “We’ve got a few leads to chase down.”
“I know you want vengeance, Bish, but now ain’t the time. Saneh needs you. We'll mount an op to deal with these shit-kickers once we've got her safe and stable in the UAE.”
“You’ll do that? Even with the CIA after us?”
Vance nodded. “They messed with our family.”
“Kruger and I can lay the groundwork,” said Bishop.
“No, this can wait till we’re ready. You roll now and you're on your own with no gear and no intel. I'll get Chua and Flash to dig up all the dirt and then we’ll take ‘em out together.”
“Yeah, I guess you're right. Kruger and I will grab our gear and meet you at the airport. Are you OK to take care of things at this end?”
“Yeah.” Vance's voice softened. “Do what you need to do, buddy.”
***
KENNETH KAUNDA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, LUSAKA
Vance watched as Doctor Anderson and his staff handed over Saneh to the medical team he had brought from Abu Dhabi. She looked so delicate and frail strapped to a gurney with medical staff swarming around her; a dark contrast to the energetic PRIMAL operative he’d known for nearly five years. He still remembered the day she had joined the team. Bishop, in typical fashion, had rescued her from certain death at the hands of her Iranian masters. Vance admitted he’d been dubious about recruiting the beautiful intelligence operative into PRIMAL. However, his doubts had been laid to rest as Saneh had proven her mettle time and time again. She had quickly won over the team of former intelligence and military operatives and become an integral part of the family.
He waited as they lifted her inside the Gulfstream. The medevac aircraft was one of the most advanced air ambulances in the world. Had Tariq not owned the jet it would have cost close to half a million dollars to charter. A price Vance would have paid personally to ensure she received the best care available. He saw Saneh as a daughter and that meant the fragile life inside her was the closest thing to a grandchild he would ever have.
Satisfied she was safely inside, Vance scanned the airport for any sign of Bishop. He checked his watch; they were scheduled to take off within a few minutes.
“Sir, we are ready to go,” the steward said sticking his head out the door.
“OK, buddy, I'll be right up.”
As he pulled his phone out to call Bishop it vibrated with a text message.
Enroute to Mombasa. Objective is Mamba Mboya. Will report once target is neutralized. Have Sandpit identify follow-up targets.
He tried to call but the phone rang out. This was exactly what he was afraid of. Saneh was the only thing that had been keeping Bishop from coming undone. She was his anchor, and now with her life hanging in the balance he would let his rage consume him.
As Vance climbed the stairs he tried to ring Kruger.
“Sir, you're going to have to power your device down before take off,” said the steward.
“Will do.” He stared at the screen as the call rang out again.
“Sir, we need to secure the door.”
“OK.” Vance turned off the phone and took his seat at the front of the jet. As he strapped in he glanced over his shoulder at the medical staff preparing Saneh for takeoff. “Come on, girl,” he whispered. “Come back to us before that man of yours gets himself killed.”
***
MOMBASA, KENYA
Mamba threw his backpack on the bench and wrenched open the refrigerator. Pulling a beer from the shelf he twisted the lid off and poured the ice-cold amber liquid down his throat. “Twenty two hours in the back of that piece of shit pickup. That cheap chink Zhou better pony up the rest of the cash.” He flung the empty bottle at the corner of the warehouse where it shattered.
He and Kogo had abandoned the shot-up four-wheel drive twenty miles from Luangwa where they had set fire to it burning their weapons and Colin's body. Kogo had haggled with a local farmer and purchased a battered single-cab truck with a missing passenger seat. Somehow the dilapidated vehicle had carried them the thousand miles across pot-holed highways back to Mombasa.
“My back is stiffer than a baboon's cock,” said Mamba as he reached for another beer.
“I wouldn't mind one of those.”
“What, a baboon’s cock?” Mamba laughed as he tossed his assistant a bottle and slammed the refrigerator door. He put his own bottle on the bench and unzipped the backpack. Inside, wrapped in plastic, was the bloodied rhino horn. “There she is, seven hundred grand’s worth of horn.”
“It cost four men their lives,” said Kogo.
Mamba snorted. “We can always get more men. Which reminds me, we've got a shipment due out in three days and we're short. You need to find some shooters and get us more ivory.”
“There's not enough time.”
“If we don't make weight it's coming out of your cut.” Mamba flashed him a smile and took another swig from the beer.
“I’ll find the men.”
“Yeah, that's more like it.” He inspected the horn before placing it on the bench. “Throw it in the safe. I'm going to go sleep. Don't wake me unless the place is burning down.”
“Should we let the families know?”
“What fucking families?”
“Colin and the brothers.”
Mamba spat on the floor. “You're an idiot, Kogo. What are you going to tell them? That they died poaching black rhino? If they don't report us to the police they'll come after us for their share of the loot. No, they can all go to hell. They knew the risks.”
“OK, I will find more poachers.”
Mamba pushed open the door to his office. “And get me a new four-wheel drive.”
Kogo picked up the phone on the bench. “Yes, boss.”
“Something nice.”
***
ZAMBIA - TANZANIA BORDER
Bishop drove up to the checkpoint and handed their passports to the border guard. Both he and Kruger waited silently while the khaki-uniformed official inspected the documents. He watched another AK-wielding guard through the windshield as the man gave the battered Mazda hatchback the once over. Dom had helped them buy the car in Lusaka before driving Kruger's truck, with their weapons, back to the National Park.
“What will you be doing in Tanzania?” the guard asked.
<
br /> “We’re just passing through to Kenya.”
“And what will you be doing there?”
“We're heading out to the game parks to take some photos.”
He peered in through the back window. “Where's your camera gear?”
“Camera gear?”
Kruger leaned across. “Our bags were stolen in Zambia, ja, along with our hire car. Our insurance people have arranged for replacement equipment to meet us in Mombasa.”
The guard handed back the two passports and directed them to drive through. Bishop gave him a nod of thanks, started the car, and they crossed into Tanzania.
“I should have thought more about our cover,” he said as they accelerated along the highway.
“You've got a bit on your mind.”
“We could have borrowed some gear from Christina.”
“It’s all good. My man in Mombasa, he can get us anything we need.”
“Guns?”
“Guns, tanks, intel, choppers, he can provide anything for the right price.”
“Good, we're going to need someone who can give us access to the underbelly of the town.”
“My man will get us in.” Kruger fished his phone from his pocket. It was vibrating and flashing. “It's Vance again, do you want me to answer?”
Bishop shook his head. “No, he's just going to try to talk us down. I'm not turning back now.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” said Kruger as he terminated the call and switched off the handset. “We've got at least another fifteen hours of driving before we reach Mombasa. You sure you don't want me to take over?”
“I'll drive for a few more hours then we can swap.”
“OK.” Kruger laid his seat back and tipped his cap low. “Let me know when you want to change.”
A few minutes later the South African was snoring gently. Bishop stared intently at the road as they raced along the highway toward Kenya. He doubted he could sleep if he wanted to. He was driven by a thirst for revenge, a burning desire to make Mamba Mboya pay for the pain he had inflicted.
CHAPTER 5
BAREEN HOSPITAL, ABU DHABI
Vance paced the hospital corridor as he waited for the neurosurgeon to finish his initial assessment. To say he was uneasy was an understatement. There was every chance the specialist had bad news. A combat veteran, Vance had seen hard men felled with a blow to the head far less severe than Saneh's injury. At least the hospital itself reassured him. It was one of the most advanced medical facilities in the Middle East; funded by Emirati oil and equipped with cutting-edge technology. Tariq had arranged for a team of the brightest medical professionals available. He had gone so far as to dispatch a private jet to the UK to bring in a world authority on brain trauma and coma.
Vance turned as the door to Saneh's room opened and a nurse appeared. “You can go in now, sir.”
He gave her a nod and stepped inside the pristine white room. A doctor stood next to Saneh's bed checking the readout attached to the wall. He looked to be comparing the information against the tablet in his hands.
“What’s her status, doc?”
Doctor Edwards turned to Vance. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Is she going to live?”
Edwards frowned. “The question is not will she live. It is whether or not she will come out of her comatose state.”
“That's what I meant.”
He gestured to the seat in the corner of the room. “Would you like to sit down?”
Vance shook his head. “No, give it to me straight.”
“OK.” He paused. “Saneh suffered a highly traumatic head injury that inflicted significant bruising to her brain. The shock is what put her in a coma. There is a chance, once the bruising subsides, she could regain consciousness on her own. However, I want to warn you. I've seen a lot of cases where people never wake up.”
Vance sighed. “And the child?”
“She is perfectly safe.”
His eyebrows shot up. “It's a girl?”
“Yes, we had to do a detailed ultrasound.”
Tears welled in his eyes. “She wants a girl.”
“I'm not going to lie. The prognosis for Saneh is not great. I give her a thirty percent chance that she will come to of her own accord.”
He swallowed and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “We can’t improve those odds?”
“Yes, it's very expensive but we can significantly improve the odds.”
“Money is not an issue,” said an almost regal voice from behind them.
Tariq Ahmed strode in, impeccably dressed in a navy pinstripe suit with a crisp white shirt and a red tie. He held a huge bouquet of vibrant orange gerberas in one hand and had a book tucked under his arm. With his dark features and perfectly manicured beard he looked every part the modern Arab sheik. “Hello, Vance.”
Vance gave him a nod. “Tariq.”
The doctor extended his hand. “Mr. Ahmed, it's a pleasure.”
Tariq shook the doctor’s hand. “You were about to explain how we could improve Saneh's odds.”
“Yes, I've been working on a new treatment that may significantly improve her chances of recovery. There's only one issue...”
“And that is?”
“The treatment may have adverse effects on the child.”
Vance frowned. “What do you mean by adverse?”
“The drugs stimulate the body. They increase cognitive function but there is a chance it could terminate the pregnancy.”
“So our choice is between the baby and Saneh?”
The doctor nodded. “My team still need to conduct some more tests but we should be able to start treatment within the next twenty-four hours. After that, every day you delay the choice the chances of saving her decrease.” He paused. “Gentlemen, I realize this is a heavy decision. I'm going to leave you to discuss the options. If you need me to talk through any of the details I will be in my office.”
Tariq thanked the doctor as he left the room. Vance stood by the bed and gazed at Saneh.
“Have you been able to contact Bishop?” asked Tariq.
“No, he and Kruger have gone after a poacher in Mombasa and we don’t have comms.”
“This is not a decision I am comfortable making without his consultation.”
“Yeah, this is his decision to make,” said Vance.
“However, if we cannot communicate with him then he cannot make it in a timely fashion. That in turn could cost Saneh her life.”
“When he checks in he can make the decision.”
“And if he doesn't?” Tariq said as he laid the flowers on a side table.
“We'll cross that hurdle when we get to it.”
“Have you spoken to the rest of the team?” Tariq asked as he lowered himself into a chair.
Vance shook his head. “No, I came straight here.”
“You should go. They will want to know how Saneh is faring and you need to get onto Bishop.” He pulled a pair of wire-framed reading glasses from his suit and donned them. Then he opened his book and began reading to Saneh.
***
PRIMAL HEADQUARTERS (THE SANDPIT), ABU DHABI
PRIMAL had started life as a small team of former intelligence and special operations operatives. Initially based out of a hangar at Abu Dhabi International Airport, it soon grew into a sizable organization enabled with customized aircraft, advanced weaponry, and intelligence assets.
It had been Tariq Ahmed who found the vigilante organization a home on an isolated island in the South West Pacific. From there Vance and his team had waged a relentless war on injustice for five long years. But, like all good things, it had come to an end. A potential compromise by an element of the CIA had forced them to abandon their island lair and shut down operations. Most of the PRIMAL operatives were now on leave until further notice. With orders to maintain a low profile and avoid compromise, they had handed in their signature equipment: iPRIMAL secure smartphones and state-of-the-art military-grade weaponry.
Now, the only part of the organization that remained active was an intelligence monitoring post based in Abu Dhabi. Vance and three others had moved to a luxury villa in an island resort for the sole purpose of making sure no one was hunting them.
Vance dropped his backpack in the tiled hall, strode through the open-plan living area and up a staircase to where two bedrooms had been converted into offices. When he opened the door to the makeshift operations center there were two men sitting at the computer terminals.
“Hey boss, how's Saneh doing?” asked Frank, a former British paratrooper and one of PRIMAL's operations officers.
“Not good, bud.”
“Is there anything we can do?” asked the other man in the room. James Castle, or Ice, was one of the original founders of PRIMAL. Tall and broad-shouldered with short blonde hair and a heavily scarred face, he had only recently re-joined the team. Presumed KIA on a mission in Afghanistan, the badly injured ex-CIA operative had been captured by US forces and spent four years in captivity. PRIMAL had rescued him from a CIA black site in Alaska and he'd spent the last few months regaining his strength and adapting to life with a prosthetic forearm and lower leg.
“Yeah, it’s imperative that I talk to Bishop.”
Frank shrugged. “Boss, there's nothing we can do. They’re not answering their phones and since they’re probably in Mombasa by now they’ll be using a local number. We've got to wait for one of them to contact us.”
“Damn it. I'm going to see what the intel guys can do.” As Vance walked out Ice rose from his chair and followed him to the corridor. He moved with ease despite the fact that his right leg, from just below the knee, was carbon fiber and titanium.
“Hey, Vance, can I have a quick word?”
They stopped outside the door to the intel room. “What’s up, brother?”
“If there's a job going downrange I want in.”
“Don’t know if there’s going to be a gig, bud. We’ll let the intel team do their thing and see if there are any targets worth hitting once Bishop’s done.”
PRIMAL Renegade (A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 8) (The PRIMAL Series) Page 6