“Yeah, but if there is a job.”
“You think you're ready?”
Ice nodded. “The gear Mitch has hooked me up with is state-of-the-art. I can shoot and move as well as I ever could.”
He had to admit that Ice’s recovery was impressive. The former Marine was now physically more imposing than he remembered, and with the artificial limbs he resembled something from a Terminator movie. He made a mental note to find out what supplements he was using. “I'll keep it in mind.”
“Thanks, bro.”
Vance left him in the corridor and stepped into the room being used by their Chief of Intelligence, Chen Chua, and his offsider, Flash.
Chua, a lightly-built Chinese American looked up from his laptop. “How's Saneh?” he asked as Vance dropped into a spare seat.
He shook his head. “Doesn't look good. There’s a new treatment that might help, but we could potentially lose either her or the baby.”
Chua grimaced. “You're kidding.”
“No, Bishop needs to make the decision, if we can get comms with him. What’s Flash up to?”
“He’s working up the intel on this poaching guy, Mamba.”
“What’ve you got so far?”
“His real name is David Mboya, a former Ugandan military officer. Smart guy, trained by the Brits, and reported to have an exemplary service record.”
Vance raised his eyebrows. “Not your average dirt-bag criminal then.”
“I’m sure Bish and Kruger will have no trouble dealing with him. What Flash and I are working on is the Chinese angle. We’re trying to find out who Mamba supplies.”
“Good, can you also have him focus on establishing comms with Bish?”
“Not a problem. Flash has already pulled data off Kruger’s sat phone.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s currently inactive but he last used it in Zambia the night Saneh was shot.”
“And?”
“Looks like he and Bish followed up the poachers. Before they met you at the hospital they’d covered over thirty miles on foot.”
Vance shook his head. “Why does that not surprise me. Let’s hope that goddamn crazy Aussie finishes Mamba before it’s too late.”
Silence filled the room as Vance stared into space, his thoughts back with Saneh at the hospital.
“You doing alright, Vance?”
He shook his head. “No, when we started PRIMAL I always knew we would lose people. But, I thought as long as we're doing good in the world it would be a sacrifice worth making. I never thought we'd face a decision like this.”
“What are we going to do if we can't raise Bishop?”
He sighed. “I don't know, bud. I really don't know.”
***
MOMBASA, KENYA
“Not bad,” said Bishop as he stood beside Kruger in the foyer of the New Palm Tree Hotel. The building looked well maintained and hospitable. He noticed the white walls had been freshly painted and the staff were dressed in clean, pressed uniforms.
“Don't get too excited, once we dump our gear we're going to head down to Mtongwe.”
“Tong what?”
“Suburb a few miles south of the harbor. Total shit hole.”
As they crossed a terracotta-tiled courtyard Bishop caught a whiff of frangipani and his heart lurched. The fragrant white flower was one of Saneh's favorites.
The room was cramped but clean with two single beds, a desk, and a wardrobe. An antique box TV sat on a stand in the corner. Bishop tossed his bag on a bed. “You good to go?”
Kruger shook his head. “No. You need a shower. You stink.”
“I don't care. We need to get out there and find this Mamba fucker.”
“Relax, Toppie is making some discreet inquiries.”
“Your dodgy mate?”
“Yeah, Mamba won’t be hard to find.”
“What about weapons?”
“He can hook us up with everything we need. How much cash do you have on you?”
Bishop took out his wallet and handed over some notes. “I've got more in my backpack.” He emptied his clothes out of the bag and used a knife to slice open the lining. He pulled out a thick wad of US dollars and tossed it to Kruger.
“This is a good start but we're going to need more. There's a bank around the corner. I'll see to it and get us a local phone to use. Get yourself cleaned up, ja.”
“OK, I'll sort you out later.”
Kruger shrugged. “I'll get Vance to cover it.” The big man tossed a room key on the bed. “I'll be half an hour at the most.” He disappeared through the door leaving Bishop alone with his pile of clothes.
For the first time since Saneh had been shot he felt tired. Checking his watch he saw it was only a little past midday. Laying back on the bed he contemplated calling Vance to check on Saneh. No, he needed to stay focused on the job at hand. He would take a five-minute nap then shower. As he drifted off his thoughts turned to killing the man called Mamba Mboya.
***
As Bishop slept, the man he wanted to kill sharpened his machete not more than two miles away. “What’s going on with my new poaching crew?” he asked as he tested the edge of the blade with his thumb. His eyes narrowed and he picked up his beer, took a swig, and dripped some of the amber liquid on the sharpening stone.
Kogo grimaced at the sound of the blade dragging across the stone. “I've put the word out.”
“I don't want any gang-banging scum. Get me ex-military guys. The cops are cracking down on poachers. I'm not taking chances with idiots.”
“That makes it harder, boss.”
He stopped sharpening and fixed Kogo with a glare. “You fuck this up and–”
The shrill ring of the phone on the bench interrupted him. He picked it up and held it to his ear. “What?”
“Have you got the horn?” Zhou asked.
“Yes, but it cost us.”
“How so?”
“We ran into trouble and lost four men.”
“But you will still be able to make the shipment, yes?”
“We're a few tusks short.” Mamba tucked the phone under his ear, picked up his assault vest from where it lay on the bench, and slid the machete back in its scabbard. “But, I have a plan. You’ll get what you requested.”
“I better, I have clients who will be less than impressed if we don't deliver.”
“Don't threaten me, Zhou. I can find new buyers for the ivory and the horn.”
“I've already paid a deposit.”
“And like I said, it will all be there.” Mamba slammed the phone back on the cradle. “Send that whining chink a photo of the horn.” He stormed across to a battered SUV that was parked facing the warehouse doors and flung his vest on the back seat. Then he grabbed a compact chainsaw from the bench and placed it in with his equipment. “I'm heading up to Mbale for a couple of days to get more ivory. I want you to find new men and poach elephant at Tsavo.”
“By myself?”
“No, you idiot. I said find new men. Take the recruits and use it as a test.” He climbed in the driver’s seat. “Now, open the fucking doors before I miss my flight.”
Kogo slid the warehouse doors open and watched as the vehicle disappeared down the street. When the doors were shut he chained them and walked through to the office. The room was as run-down as the rest of the building. A single bare light bulb hung over a metal desk. Behind it sat an old bank safe. He unlocked it with a brass key and swung the heavy door open. Inside were two shelves, the bottom stacked with wads of US dollars. It was a mere morsel of the fortune Mamba had made poaching. On the top shelf lay the rhino horn wrapped in plastic. As he grabbed it the stench of rotting flesh made him gag.
He locked the safe and took the horn back into the warehouse. It was hard to believe someone was willing to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for such an ugly object, he thought. Opening a drawer in the bench he took out a wire brush, scalpel, and a box knife. He’d become quite adept at removing flesh from eleph
ant tusks and rhino horns. Not a pleasant job but it had its perks. Mamba gave him an extra hundred dollars per item. Once he’d prepared the horn he would take photos and email them to Zhou. Then he needed to find a new team and plan their mission to Tsavo.
***
SHANGHAI, CHINA
Fan Wei was overseeing the preparation of her master’s dinner when the phone in her pocket vibrated. Rinsing her hands she left the chef to continue as she checked the message. Zhou had sent her photos of the horn. Walking into a tiny office she opened her email account and hit print on the photos. As the printer hummed she opened her favorite luxury goods website and checked the price on a bag she had her eye on. If the horn turned out to be exactly what Wang Hejun wanted her bonus would be significant. She might even be able to afford some new earrings as well. She collected the images from the printer, slipped them in a folder, and carried them through the penthouse apartment. At the door of Hejun’s study she knocked and waited.
“Enter.”
She pushed the door open and spotted the billionaire at his desk reading. “Sir, I have photos of the black rhino horn.” She stepped forward and held them out.
Hejun raised his eyes from the book. “Only photos? Where is the horn?” He snatched the folder and emptied it on his desk.
“It is still in Africa. It will leave by ship on Friday and should arrive early next week.”
He grunted as he adjusted his glasses and stared intently at the images. “It is a fine horn. What are we paying for it?”
“A little under 6 million yuan.”
He nodded. “A fair price. When it arrives I will collect it in person.”
“Very good, sir.”
He pushed the photos to one side and refocused his attention on the book. “That is all.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
On her way back to the kitchen Fan smiled as she visualized the outfit that would match her new bag and earrings. Working for Hejun may be a chore but at least it paid well.
CHAPTER 6
KENYA
Bishop gazed out the window of the Mazda as Kruger drove them along the highway south from Mombasa. The road was lined with ramshackle tin-roofed stalls selling everything from local farm produce to nappies, plastic buckets, and flip-flops. The contrast between this area and Mombasa Island was stark. Once they had crossed on the ferry into the suburb of Likoni the hotels and resorts were replaced with a vast shantytown stretching as far as the eye could see.
Bishop spotted a sign advertising energy drinks and contemplated asking Kruger to pull over. The half-hour nap he'd inadvertently taken instead of showering had left him feeling worse for wear. What's more he still wore the same clothes and wouldn't have a chance to shower till they got back to the hotel later that evening.
“So the guy we’re going to meet,” Kruger said interrupting his thoughts. “Toppie, he's a bit strange, ja.”
“How so?”
“He worked with me in the Recces back in the day.”
“An operator?”
“No, company quartermaster before they kicked him out.”
“What for?”
“Making a little on the side selling equipment.”
“Right, so he's an entrepreneur.”
“No, Toppie’s a nut job. After they booted him from the Regiment he set up here in Kenya. Hooks people up with things they need.”
“Like guns?”
“Of course. He’s got a thing for Soviet-era kit, but if he likes you then he can get whatever you want. Not just weapons: intel, contacts, anything…”
“And if he doesn't like you?”
“Then you're proper fucked.” Kruger laughed.
“Great.” Bishop turned his attention back to the roadside. Patches of bush grew between the dilapidated shacks. Within a few miles the landscape turned to savannah with scrubby bushes and long grass.
Kruger turned them off the highway and the hatchback rattled and bounced along a rutted dirt road for a mile or two more before they reached a sandy track. A few hundred yards further and he brought them to a halt.
“What the hell is this?” Bishop stared at the fortress blocking their path in disbelief. It resembled something from a Mad Max movie. Thick steel plated gates towered over them. On either side an earthen bank was topped with coils of barbed wire. In front of the banks an eight-foot deep ditch was impassable to vehicles. “This guy really doesn't like house calls.”
“Like I said, he's a bit strange.” Kruger stepped out of the car.
He watched as Kruger picked up an old military wire phone bolted to the gate frame, spun the handle, and spoke into the handset. The gates gave a groan and swung slowly open revealing the road beyond.
“Bat shit crazy,” said Kruger as he drove them up the driveway.
“Is he some kind of apocalypse survival prepper?” Bishop spotted no less than five sandbagged fighting positions as they followed the track through the scrub. As they came around a corner they passed another earthen bank. On the far side they approached a Soviet-era vehicle graveyard.
“BRDM, BTR, T-55.” Bishop rattled off the names of the armored vehicles parked in the clearing. The better part of a Russian military museum lined either side of the track. “Is that an old An-2 Colt?” He pointed at the tail of an aircraft protruding from a curved corrugated iron hangar. Behind it a dirt airstrip stretched out into the bush.
“That’s Annie, his pride and joy,” Kruger replied as he parked the car in front of a pile of stacked shipping containers. “Don't get out of the car yet.”
It took him a moment to realize the steel boxes had been welded together to form a building. There were windows, doors, vents, and a satellite dish perched on top.
A pack of dogs exploded around the corner barking furiously. “Shit!” The animals looked like clones of Kruger's dog, Princess; massive brown hunting hounds with lean muscular bodies and huge square heads filled with razor-sharp teeth. They jumped up against the car barking loudly and rocking the little Mazda.
A shrill whistle rang out and the dogs disappeared back in the direction they had come from.
“OK, now we're good.”
As they alighted from the hatchback a short figure appeared from the hangar and strode purposefully toward them. “Kruger, that you, boy?”
The man walking toward them was almost as wide as he was tall with a long gray scruffy beard reaching to his belt. He wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a leather vest that would have been at home on one of the Village People. A pistol belt topped off his outfit and Bishop identified a modern FN Five-Seven on his hip.
“Ja, Toppie, it's me.” Kruger took the quartermaster’s hand and shook it.
“How's that hound of yours?”
“Princess, she's doing good.”
Toppie turned to face Bishop and he felt the gray eyes giving him the once over. “This your friend? The one with the girlfriend who's sleeping because of that scum bag Mamba?”
“That's him.”
Toppie stuck out his hand and Bishop grasped it. “Any friend of Kruger's is probably a fucking asshole.” He grinned showing a set of yellow teeth. “But, aren't we all?”
Bishop forced a smile.
“Now, what do you need?”
“Weapons, ammo, and everything you know about Mamba and his operations,” said Bishop.
Toppie sucked his gums as he contemplated the request. “Any chance you boys have already had a crack at Mamba?”
“Maybe. Why’s that?”
“Because he’s got this second-in-command, a Kenyan called Kogo, and the weaselly little prick is asking around for poachers. Rumor has it they got slapped around pretty bad down in Zambia.”
Bishop shot Kruger a glance and he nodded. “Any chance you can arrange an introduction?”
“Depends?”
“On what?”
Toppie grinned again. “On how much cash you got.”
“Money isn't a problem.”
“Then I might know a guy. Now come a
nd have a look at this.” Toppie gestured for them to follow him to the hangar. As they approached the rusted shell Bishop spotted a number of shipping containers buried under a mound of dirt. Their scruffy host unlocked one of them, wrenched the doors open, and switched on a light.
“Sweet mother of Jesus,” murmured Bishop.
The walls of the container were lined with weapons. Assault rifles, sniper rifles, sub-machine guns, pistols, rocket launchers, and machine guns, Toppie had them all.
The gray-bearded quartermaster turned to face them, his yellowed teeth exposed in a broad smile. “Welcome to Toppie's cave of carnage.”
Bishop took an R5 off the wall and inspected it. “You got ammo and a couple of chest rigs, Toppie?”
“Do hippos shit in the river?”
“Yes they do.” Bishop took a near mint-condition Browning High-Power pistol from the wall and checked the action. “They certainly do.”
***
MBALE, UGANDA
Mamba paid the pilot with a wad of cash and opened the door of the Cessna light aircraft. Grabbing his gear from behind the seat he shrugged on his assault vest as he set off across the tarmac with the chainsaw in hand. A team of camouflage-uniformed men was waiting next to a white military Bell 412 helicopter.
“David, it is good to see you.” The man who greeted Mamba by his Christian name wore the rank of a full colonel on the shoulders of his fatigues.
“You too.” Mamba hugged his older brother and handed him a small bag filled with diamonds. “You've saved my skin with this one.”
“Anything for family, David.” The colonel turned to his aircrew as he slipped the bag into his pocket and gave them the signal to start the helicopter’s engines. “Let’s go hunting.”
“Did you bring my gun?”
The colonel flashed a smile. “Of course I did.”
Twenty minutes later the helicopter thundered over Mount Elgon National Park with the side doors open. Mamba sat in one of the side seats with a headset on and a M60 machine gun resting across his knees.
PRIMAL Renegade (A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 8) (The PRIMAL Series) Page 7