Bishop tossed his rifle aside, leaped to the top of the boat’s rail, and launched himself into the air. For a split-second he thought he’d misjudged the gap but managed to snag the bottom of the net with one hand. Swinging wildly he reached frantically for another handhold. Finding one he set about climbing out from under the crates and up the side.
The bundle rose over the side rail of the freighter as the vessel gathered speed. Bishop clung to the net as they swung over a dark hold then dropped inside. The deep throb of the ship’s engines blocked out the gunfire as the dimly lit floor approached. The cargo net touched down with a thump, the net went slack, and Bishop fell back with his limbs tangled. As he struggled free of the net he spotted Mamba disappearing through a doorway. Pulling a pistol from his vest he gave chase.
***
As they peeled away from the freighter Kruger caught a glimpse of her name high up on the stern. Zenhai was stenciled in fresh white paint, clearly visible as the searchlight from the police patrol boat danced along her side.
“Faster, faster!” screamed Kogo from the wheelhouse of the trawler.
With the police launch seemingly intent on tackling the cargo ship, Kruger concurred that they needed to slip away as fast as possible. Staying out of police custody was his highest priority, closely followed by recovering that crazy bastard Bishop from the Zenhai. He joined Kogo and the ship’s skipper in the wheelhouse.
“Make the boat go faster!” Kogo screamed as he waved a pistol around his head.
“She’s going as fast as she can,” Kruger said.
A blinding light illuminated the wheelhouse. Kruger realized that the police crew had shifted target, aborting any attempt to board the massive freighter. The roar of turbocharged maritime diesels echoed off the water as they gave chase.
Kruger stepped outside and spotted the patrol boat hot on their tail. Kogo joined him and aimed his pistol. Before Kruger could stop him the poacher let off half a dozen shots.
He dropped to the deck as the police response caught Kogo flat-footed. High-velocity rounds tore through the Kenyan’s body spraying blood and flesh. The poacher emitted a gurgling sound and toppled face down on the deck.
“Fuck me.” Kruger raised his R1 and fired a volley. The spotlight exploded plunging them into darkness.
Tracer lanced out across the water like lasers, shredding the wooden superstructure. The fight was one-sided and Kruger knew exactly how it would end. He tossed the rifle overboard and vaulted over the railing.
The ocean was warm and he trod water as the trawler disappeared into the darkness with the police launch in hot pursuit. He stripped the magazines from his vest and let them sink. Emptying his water bottles he stuffed them back in the vest increasing his buoyancy. Checking the stars he orientated himself toward the coast, rolled onto his back, and started a powerful kicking rhythm he knew he could maintain for hours. He knew he was less than three hours from land. Once ashore he would contact Vance and try to find out where the Zenhai was heading and how he could get on board.
***
Bishop crept through the narrow corridors searching for Mamba. Only a minute earlier he’d seen the poacher disappear through a doorway deep into the bowels of the ship.
He paused in front of a fire hose and checked the emergency exit map stuck to the bulkhead. He was three levels below the bridge.
He checked his weapons again: a folding knife and a pistol. He wasn't equipped for anything more than a stealthy assassination and a swift exit. Which reminded him; he needed a way off the boat. Studying the map he located the lifeboats one level above. Moving cautiously up the ship’s internal staircase he stopped when he heard voices. He slipped outside through a door, pulled it closed, and watched through the portal as two men dressed in coveralls made their way down, feet ringing on the metal stairs.
Once they passed he climbed up an external staircase to the next level and found the lifeboats. The bright orange craft sat on a chute aimed over the stern of the ship. He inspected the controls that would launch it toward the ocean thirty feet below. They looked simple enough.
Confirming his escape strategy he moved back to the door he’d closed. There was no sign of movement so he turned the locking mechanism and slipped inside.
If he were Mamba he would make for the bridge, use the ship’s phone to contact someone ashore, and arrange a transfer. His other option would be to remain on board until they reached the next port. Considering they were probably bound for China that was unlikely.
With his pistol held ready he climbed the metal staircase until he reached the top. A heavy steel door blocked access to the bridge. He pressed against the wall to avoid being seen through the glass portal. Voices emanated from inside. Here, high above the ship’s engines, he could hear Mamba’s voice clearly.
Sliding across to the door he glanced through the round window. His pulse quickened as he spotted his target. The poacher was standing near one of the Chinese sailors. The white-uniformed Asian was perched in the captain’s chair.
Bishop thumbed the safety off his pistol as he placed a hand on the door handle. He exhaled and readied himself. Two shots to the head and justice would be served. Then it was a short dash down to the lifeboat and freedom.
Pushing the lever down he shoved open the door and lifted his pistol.
“Stop!” a guttural voice ordered.
Bishop felt cold steel pressed against the back of his head. Very slowly he lifted his hands out to the side and dropped his gun.
“Step forward.”
Inside Mamba had drawn his machete and was holding it ready to strike. Bishop looked him in the eye as he took a step.
“Turn around.”
“Hey, it's OK, let’s not get excited. I'm with Mamba,” said Bishop as he turned slowly to face a pistol-wielding Chinese thug wearing a black uniform. Slightly shorter than Bishop, he sported cropped black hair and a wrestler’s build. A tattoo of a snake peeked above the collar of his shirt. Two henchmen wearing similar black outfits and wielding assault rifles stood either side.
“It doesn’t look that way. Say one more word and it will be your last.” The man spoke near perfect English with a slight accent. “So, Mamba, is he yours?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure if he can be trusted.”
Bishop assumed that the Chinese thug was a smuggler, possibly a Triad.
“He is one of yours but you cannot trust him? What sort of fool brings a man he doesn’t trust to an illicit cargo transfer? Not to mention one who would try to kill him.”
“Kehua, it’s more complicated than that.”
“Complicated? First the police boat and then an assassin on my ship. No doubt, he’s an informant. My people will put a bullet in him and toss him over the side.”
“No, I want to know who sent him,” hissed Mamba.
Kehua glared at Bishop before speaking. “Fine, we’ll throw him in the brig.” He turned and barked an order in Mandarin. The Triads secured Bishop’s hands with flexicuffs.
Mamba sheathed his machete. How that idiot Kogo had managed to recruit a police agent was beyond him. Unless he was already under surveillance.
“Do not leave the bridge. I will return shortly,” Kehua said angrily as he recovered the white mercenary’s pistol and followed his men.
Mamba watched as the Chinese gangsters marched the prisoner away. Once they were out of sight he turned to the ship’s captain who had been silently watching the drama from his chair. “Where’s the satellite phone?”
The man raised an eyebrow and pointed to the handset.
He grabbed it, punched in a number, and pressed it to his ear. As he waited for the call to connect he watched the digital speed displayed alongside the ship’s wheel. It read twelve knots. “Can we go faster?” he asked.
The man shot him a frown. “This is fast enough.”
Mamba turned his attention back to the phone, which had finally connected.
Zhou’s voice came through in rapid-fire Mandarin.
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“It's Mamba, the cargo is on board.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“I’m on the ship. There was an unfortunate incident.”
“What happened?”
“Kenyan Maritime Police. I lost my entire poaching crew. I expect to be reimbursed for my losses and I expect the ship to drop me off at Singapore.” The Chinese smuggler didn’t need to know about the South African mercenary.
“Once Kehua confirms the shipment you will be paid the agreed amount. The ship will not stop until it reaches Shanghai.”
“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“You should have thought of that before, like a rat, you snuck on board. The vessel is due in Shanghai in six days. I suggest you find a good book.”
“What happens when I get to China?”
“I will make the necessary arrangements for papers and passports. I will purchase flights for you to return to Africa. Due to your losses I am happy to bear that expense myself.”
“Very big of you, Zhou. How much will you make from this deal... ten million US?”
“Have an enjoyable cruise, Mamba. I look forward to finally meeting you in Shanghai. Have Kehua call me once he has confirmed the cargo.”
“He can confirm the ivory but the rhino horn, I'll deliver myself. Think of it as insurance.” As Mamba returned the satellite phone to its cradle the metal door swung open with a creak and Kehua strode in.
The gangster stared at the captain as he addressed him. “Where is the police boat?”
“Both contacts are three nautical miles behind us. The fishing vessel may have been boarded.”
“And our cargo?”
“Safe in the hold.”
“Good.” Kehua turned to Mamba. “Your traitor is secure in the brig.”
“I have contacted Zhou. He has requested that you confirm the ivory.”
“We will do that together. Then you can question your friend.” He directed Mamba to the door.
“There’s no rush. I’ll be with you till we reach Shanghai. Plenty of time to make him talk.”
“I want him off my ship at the earliest opportunity.”
***
The brig was a tiny cell on the same level as the ship’s kitchen, dining area, gymnasium, and recreation facilities. The pile of cleaning supplies stacked in the corridor suggested it had not been used to secure a prisoner in some time.
When Kehua opened the steel door Mamba stepped in and met the angry gaze of the South African mercenary.
“Mamba. This is a serious misunderstanding–”
“Shut up.” He stood over the prisoner who sat on the cold steel floor with his hands secured behind his back. A loop of chain connected his wrists to a steel eyelet on the wall.
“How long have you known this man?” asked Kehua.
“He joined us yesterday. Since his arrival the authorities have taken significant interest in my activities. First in Tsavo and then again tonight.”
“Then he is a police informant.”
The prisoner spat on the floor. “I'm no one’s spy. Your man led us into those rangers at Tsavo and the cops you paid off probably sold you out for a cut of the profits.”
Mamba paused in thought. “Why are you on this ship then? Hoping to track me down for the police? Assassinating me for the Kenyans?”
“No, I didn't want to get arrested. Getting sent to prison in Kenya is a death sentence, you know that.”
Mamba looked intently at the South African. What he said sounded reasonable but something didn't add up. There had to be some other reason the former soldier had followed him onto the ship. Something drove him and it wasn't the fear of being incarcerated by the Kenyan police. Men like this were not intimidated by poorly trained and corrupt police officers.
“So, you going to let me out?”
“No.” Mamba stepped out of the cell, switched off the light, and slammed the steel door shut.
“We should dispose of him,” said Kehua as he locked the door.
“Not yet. I'm going to get something to eat and then I’m going to question him further. I want to know who helped him infiltrate my organization.”
The gangster directed him toward the kitchen. “You have forty-eight hours. Then he is going over the side.”
“He’ll talk before then.” Mamba opened the refrigerator and helped himself to a tray of cold meat. He took a six-inch butcher’s knife from a magnetic strip fastened to the wall, tested the blade’s sharpness with his thumb, and hacked off a sizable chunk of meat. “Plenty of time to find out everything he knows. Mamba stuffed the food into his mouth. “Is there anything to drink on this tub?” he said as he chewed.
Kehua gave him a hard stare. “You will not drink alcohol on this vessel.” He snapped his fingers at one of the Chinese stewards. “Find him a cabin.” Then he spun on his heel and strode out of the kitchen.
“Rude fuck,” muttered Mamba at his back.
CHAPTER 10
MTWAPA, KENYA
Kruger's feet touched sand and he waded through the surf until he hit the beach. Dropping to his knees in the soft sand he checked his watch. It was a little after midnight. Pulling his phone from his vest he tried to power it up. Not surprisingly, it showed no sign of life.
Climbing to his feet, he staggered up the beach and into the tree line. He stripped his pistol and knife from his vest before dumping it in the bushes. Tucking the gun in his belt and the knife in his pocket he pushed through the scrub to a road that followed the coastline.
By his estimate he was at least three miles from Mtwapa, possibly more. What he knew for sure was that he needed to head south. He broke into a trot and followed the road. The moonlight revealed shacks and houses on either side. A dog barked as he slapped his way along the road, his wet clothing rubbing against his body. The undersides of his arms were raw from swimming and the inside of his thighs stung from chafing. It didn't slow him though. Every minute he delayed the Zenhai steamed away from the Kenyan coast and further out of reach. He focused on getting back to the car to use his satellite phone to contact the PRIMAL team.
A flash of headlights caught his attention and he glanced over his shoulder. He paused as a vehicle approached, and held up a thumb.
The car slowed to a halt but left its high beams on. He squinted, the doors opened, and he caught a glimpse of a uniformed figure.
“Hold it right there.”
Kruger recognized the voice from earlier in the evening. The cop was one of the two Mamba had hired to protect the transfer to the boat.
“Where is Mamba?” the officer asked as his partner climbed out of the blue and white pickup.
“I don't know. Look, I fell overboard and swam ashore. I don't know what happened.”
The two men spoke in hushed voices as Kruger waited in the headlights. He held his hands by his side and closed his eyes relying on his hearing to give him the location of the two men. He recognized the telltale click of a safety catch and dove into action. One hand lifted his shirt and the other snatched the pistol from his belt. His eyes snapped open and he fired two rounds through the open driver’s door. One of the police officers grunted as the bullets shattered the window, hitting him.
He leaped sideways as the second policeman let off a burst from his AK stitching the road. He felt a round tug at his wet pants and he rolled firing again, this time at the man’s exposed legs.
The cop screamed as he fell and Kruger clambered to his feet, finishing him with a double tap to the head.
He checked the first officer was dead before loading both bodies and the AKs into the back of the police pickup. Only then did he check his leg. The bullet had carved a groove along his calf that oozed blood; a flesh wound.
Jumping in the truck he took off down the road toward Mtwapa. When he reached the marina he skidded in the gravel and halted alongside the battered Mazda. It was exactly where he and Bishop had parked it a few hours earlier, alongside the bank of the tidal river.
Grabbing a rag from the trunk he wiped down his pistol and tossed it off the jetty into the water. Then he took a jerry can of fuel from the back of the police pickup and doused the bodies inside. As he waited for the truck’s cigarette lighter to heat he took his satellite phone from the Mazda’s glove box and dialed the emergency number for the PRIMAL headquarters in the UAE. Following the open line protocol he waited for someone to answer.
“Kruger, what’s going on?” It was Vance.
“Listen up, I don't have much time. Bishop is being held on a Chinese freighter called the Zenhai. He boarded off the coast from Mombasa. I'll call back in an hour to explain the details. You guys need to track it and get some of the boys together for a boarding party.”
He could hear Vance scribbling notes.
“OK, bud, we've got it. I'll stand by for your call.”
Kruger hung up, reached in through the window of the police vehicle, and pulled out the cigarette lighter. He tossed it in the back of the truck and the fuel ignited with a soft thud. He watched it burn for a few seconds then climbed into the Mazda.
As he raced down the highway he called Toppie’s number. The arms dealer answered after a few rings. “It's Kruger. Shit's gone south, I'm going to need your help.”
“We going to war?” croaked Toppie.
“Yeah, we're going to war.”
***
THE SANDPIT, ABU DHABI
Vance glanced over Frank’s shoulder, checking the personnel tracker. A map of the globe was annotated with the location of all the PRIMAL personnel that had been stood down. Most of their assaulters, Kurtz, Pavel, and Miklos, had last checked in from Eastern Europe. Mitch, their tech support guru was in Israel. Only Mirza Mansoor was operational, flying humanitarian missions for Priority Movements Airlift, their cover organization. His icon flashed in Irbil, Kurdistan. “Do we have anyone close enough to respond in time?”
PRIMAL Renegade (A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 8) (The PRIMAL Series) Page 11