“Got it.” Kruger examined the terrain around where the drone had first located the party of five. Numerous dense patches of trees could have been the reason the aircraft’s sensors couldn’t see the men. He swiped back to the drone feed, reached up, and flicked the pair of night vision goggles on his helmet down over his eyes. “Hang on, Francis, we’re going to head in for a closer look.”
The two-seater ATV accelerated with a high-revving roar as he pressed the pedal to the floor. With a stealthy hybrid-electric engine and capable of accelerating to 40 miles an hour in four seconds the nimble Polaris was the perfect vehicle for chasing down poachers. With Kruger at the wheel they darted between trees and bounced over rocky outcrops.
He followed a game trail that snaked through the bush toward the trees he’d spotted on the screen. Branches and thorns scraped the side rails of the ATV as they closed in.
“Springbok this is All-Black, we got a hit on Kassala, she’s only a few clicks to the west,” reported Dom over the radio.
“Roger,” Kruger transmitted. He glanced across at Francis. “That’s the direction these pricks were heading.”
“If they get to her before we find them they’ll kill her,” Francis said frantically.
“That’s not going to happen.” Kruger sent them barreling through a thicket of bushes.
“I see them!” yelled Francis as they burst out the other side.
“Where?” Kruger stomped on the brakes and they skidded to a halt. He scanned the terrain through his night vision goggles.
“From the sky.” Francis pointed at the tablet screen. On it a cluster of heat signatures was moving from the trees in the direction of Kassala.
Kruger glanced down under his goggles at the screen then scanned the terrain ahead. The forest was a thick dark mass that blocked their way. “We can’t go through there.” Spinning the wheel he skirted the trees searching for a way through.
“Springbok, we’re not going to get to them in time. It’s up to you,” Dom’s voice came through over the headset.
He hit the radio transmit button as they bounced over a log hidden in the long grass. His helmet slammed against the roll bar dislodging his night vision goggles. Stomping on the brakes he sent the ATV skidding sideways before it dove nose first down a slope into a dry creek bed. It rolled sideways completing a full rotation before landing back on its wheels.
“Springbok, you hear me?” transmitted Dom.
He secured his goggles and adjusted the racing harness that held him secure in the vehicle. After confirming Francis wasn’t injured he replied, “Ja, we’re on it.” He checked the tablet and saw the creek would take them roughly in the direction of the suspects.
Amazingly the Polaris still ran; testament to its durability. It belted along the dry riverbed at top speed, Kruger weaving it around dead trees and large boulders like a seasoned rally pro.
“There’s a track up ahead,” yelled Francis. “The poachers are using it. They’re getting closer to Kassala.”
Kruger spotted tire marks in the sand. Backing off the throttle he skidded the ATV pointing the nose up the bank. They crested the rise and drove slowly through tall grass in the wheel ruts left by a safari tour. Glancing at the tablet he confirmed the poaching party’s presence only a few hundred yards away. “You ready?”
Francis had taken one of the pump-action shotguns from the rack between the seats and held it across his knees. “I’m ready,” he said adjusting his headset.
“Then let’s do this.” Kruger shifted the ATV’s hybrid engine into electric mode to mask their approach. Up ahead he caught a glimpse of an armed figure walking alongside the road. As they rolled closer they saw all five men of the hunting party, armed with rifles and bush knives. Most likely they were dirt-poor farmers forced to poach to put food on the table.
He flicked open a red cover on the dash and held his finger over a button as they closed in. When the rearmost man turned toward them he stabbed the button with a gloved finger.
Above the roll cage a bank of xenon lights turned night to day, dazzling the poachers. Behind the lights a speaker screamed with an ultrasonic beam.
Wearing active-hearing headsets and sitting below the focused acoustic beam, Kruger and Francis were unaffected by the sonic weapon. The poachers were not and they dropped to the ground with hands over their ears, screaming and vomiting.
At the edge of the group a poacher raised his rifle. Francis fired the shotgun launching an XREP Taser. The high-tech projectile hit him square in the chest and he collapsed into the grass with five hundred volts coursing through his shuddering body.
They leaped out of the Polaris and easily disarmed and restrained the poachers. Only then did Kruger terminate the frequency emitter and contact Dom. “All-Black this is Springbok, we’ve intercepted and detained five suspects.”
“Good work. We’ll be in your location within the next thirty minutes to pick them up,” replied Dom.
“Take your time, these guys aren’t going anywhere. Springbok out.”
An hour and a half later the five poachers were being loaded into a Zambian police truck back at base camp.
Kruger sat in the newly constructed command center with a tablet on his lap. He was filling out the forms the rangers submitted to assist the police in prosecuting the poachers. A bottle of cold beer sat at arm’s length dripping condensation on the bench. Princess, his hound, lay at his feet under the desk, snoring gently.
“Enough excitement for you?”
Kruger glanced up as Dom walked across and took the seat next to him. The office was a recent addition to the anti-poaching facility. With its screens, radios, and laptops it reminded him a little of PRIMAL’s old headquarters, the Bunker. “I live for the post-op paperwork,” he replied sarcastically as he took a swig from the beer.
The New Zealander grunted in agreement. “Yeah I hate it too but it’s probably the most important piece. Without it those guys will be back in the park within a week. The legal system here is flimsy to say the least. If we can get a prosecution then we can make them talk and cut a deal.”
“To sell out the big wigs?”
“That’s right. I mean let’s face it, bro, most of the poachers are trying to make ends meet. We get some leverage on them and they give up the ringleaders pretty quick smart.”
Kruger finished with the tablet, dropped it on the desk, and turned his attention to his beer. “So when do we get to go after them?”
“We already are. The ATVs, drones, and gear were only a small part of the donation that our anonymous,” he used his fingers to emphasize the word, “benefactor made to the fight on poaching. TRAFFIC received enough money to hire permanent intelligence staff and lawyers to track and prosecute the smuggling rings. They’re plugged into law enforcement agencies across the continent. But hey, you wouldn’t know anything about where the money came from, would you?”
He shrugged. “Like you said, the benefactor’s anonymous.”
Dom shook his head and reached down to fondle the dog’s ears. “You heard anything from Bishop or Saneh? Christina keeps asking after them.”
“Bishop’s working with a humanitarian aid organization and I haven’t heard anything from Saneh.”
“They’re a good match those two. I really hope they sort things out and get back together.”
“It’ll happen, it might just take a while.”
Dom rose from the chair. “Well, bro, another good day’s work. You and Francis did a great job out there today.” He gripped the big man’s shoulder. “Thanks again for everything you’ve done.”
“No problems at all.”
The New Zealander left the office and Kruger reached down to give Princess a pat. “How do you feel about hanging out here for a few more months?”
The hound lifted her broad head and stared at him, licking her nose.
“Yeah, I thought as much. Don’t count on having me around for too long though. It’s only a matter of time till Bishop gets himself in
the shit again. Although, with all the attention Christina gives you I don’t think you’ll miss me much, hey girl.”
The dog grunted and Kruger laughed. “Yeah, I thought so.” As he drank his beer he glanced up at the screen showing the feed from one of the drones. A handful of the autonomous electric aircraft now constantly patrolled the park pushing their video feed via the web to vetted volunteer observers all over the world. It had been Christina’s idea to crowdsource the surveillance and it worked well. Literally hundreds of eyes didn’t miss much.
As he downed the last of his beer a message pinged and a dozen alerts popped up on the side menu of the screen. Sure enough the image revealed three heat signatures well within the confines of the park.
His radio crackled to life. “Mr. Kruger, do you see the screen?” It was Francis. Since the ambush that had killed Melo and wounded Saneh the ranger had been obsessed with taking down poachers.
Snatching it from the desk he responded. “Don’t you ever sleep?”
“I can sleep when the park is safe.”
Kruger tossed the empty bottle in the trash. “Right, I’ll meet you at the buggy.”
As he rose and made for the door, a low whine emitted from under the desk. Princess raised her head.
“OK, you can come.” He grabbed a tan vest from a hook on the wall and snapped it over her stocky frame. The K9 vest had been included in the last ‘anonymous’ donation. It offered the dog ballistic protection and allowed Kruger to track her in the scrub.
As he pushed open the door, Princess gave a sharp bark and dashed out into the darkness. He smiled; at least he wasn’t going to get bored while he waited for the PRIMAL team to drum up some work. As he threw on his own assault vest, his cell phone rang. Striding outside he checked the screen. It was Toppie. “Hey, old man, if this is about your new wings you need to contact the service provider.”
“No, the bird is beautiful. I’ve got a job offer for you.”
“Ja, what is it?” Kruger directed Princess into the back of the ATV; Francis already sat in his seat, shotgun held ready.
“Our friend the Pirate King wants your help.”
“Is that so? I don’t work for criminals.”
“It’s against Al-Shabaab, they’ve kidnapped a bunch of women from a village he is responsible for.”
“OK, you’ve got my attention. Tell me more.” Kruger strapped in and checked the drone feed on the dashboard-mounted tablet.
“He needs brains. He asked specifically for you and he’ll pay top dollar. I’ll supply the weapons, you train and lead the muscle. We can get some of the old regiment boys in.”
“I’ll need to talk to some people about it. I’ll get back to you, ASAP.” Terminating the call he turned to Francis. “When it rains it pours, bro. Now, let’s take down these poachers.”
AUTHOR’S FINAL WORDS
Many of you are already aware that I’m working a number of projects outside of the PRIMAL series. Specifically PRIMAL 2055, my near future sci-fi project and SEAL of Approval, an action-comedy-romance. Before you all start sending the hate mail I want you to know that the traditional PRIMAL series continues with PRIMAL Deception. In fact you can read on for a sneak peek of both Deception and SEAL of Approval.
Once again I want to thank you for supporting me on my journey as both a storyteller and a writer. You guys are the only reason I can do this for a living so keep reading and feel free to reach out at anytime.
P.S. Don’t forget to sign up for team PRIMAL so I can let you know when my latest books and PRIMAL gear is available.
BOOKS BY JACK SILKSTONE
PRIMAL Inception
PRIMAL Mirza
PRIMAL Origin
PRIMAL Unleashed
PRIMAL Vengeance
PRIMAL Fury
PRIMAL Reckoning
PRIMAL Nemesis
PRIMAL Redemption
PRIMAL Compendium
PRIMAL Renegade
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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PRIMAL Renegade (A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 8) (The PRIMAL Series) Page 19