“The diamonds?” Dula asked as he caressed his scraggly beard.
“Of course.” He took a radio from his belt and spoke into it. “Mukisa, bring the payment.”
His muscle-bound bodyguard appeared at the door a moment later. Lumbering inside he passed a velvet sack to Krenich who’d already laid a square of the material atop a drum. He poured a dozen cut diamonds onto the cloth.
“Triple, as agreed.”
Dula inspected the gems as his men roped the six selected girls together. The wailing of the youngest girl echoed off the walls of the old schoolhouse making it difficult to concentrate.
“Shut her up,” snapped the Somali.
One of his men stormed across and raised a hand in a fist. One of her friends comforted the girl, silencing her by hugging her close. The guard lowered his arm and Dula looked up from his inspection of the diamond.
“Payment is good. You can take the girls.”
“Any more news of the Ibliiski?” Krenich asked as his bodyguard oversaw the transfer of the girls into his truck outside.
“No. Once I have gotten rid of the girls I won’t have to worry about them.” He stuffed the diamonds into the pocket of his camouflage smock and lit another cigarette. “Tomorrow these ones will be brides of Al-Shabaab.” Dula offered him a cigarette.
Krenich took it and lit it with a silver lighter. “I’ll need more girls in a month. Will you be in business then?”
Dula patted his pocket full of diamonds. “If the price is right.”
***
TEL AVIV, ISRAEL
Manfred Lisker left his driver in the basement parking lot of the Royal Beach hotel and rode the freight elevator up into the building above. It stopped on the fifth floor and he made a beeline for suite 506. Rapping his knuckles on the door, he waited for it to open.
The man who opened the door was tall with a mane of blonde hair and narrow features. The CEO of Sakkin Industries, one of Israel’s preeminent security corporations, wore a blue polo shirt and tan slacks with a knit sweater tied over his shoulders.
“Daniel, how are you?” asked Lisker as he stepped into the room.
“Good, excellent in fact,” said Daniel Ginsberg as he closed the door and directed the Mossad officer to a pair of grey fabric couches in the apartment’s living room. “The world is in turmoil, the security market is growing exponentially and Sakkin Industries is leading the charge.”
Lisker made himself comfortable on one of the couches, crossing his legs and folding his hands over his knees. “It certainly is a growth industry.”
Ginsberg sat on the couch opposite. “Have you reconsidered your position on the job offer?”
Lisker shook his head. “I think it’s in both our interests that I remain on my current trajectory.”
The CEO flashed a predatory smile. “Straight to the directorship of the world’s deadliest intelligence service.”
Lisker shrugged. “Perhaps, either way my influence within the organization continues to benefit us both.”
“That it does.”
“Although unfortunately, the Proteus Project did not make it through the latest round of budget cuts.”
It was Ginsberg’s turn to shrug. “I anticipated as much and have secured alternative funding for the project. When the time is right, you will be able to ensure that our government contributes again.”
“Alternate funding?”
“Corporate investment. Relax, Israel has exclusive rights to the IP and end product. Your Doctor Marnisha Copeland will continue to head all development.”
“And the facilities?”
“All offshore.”
“Excellent.”
“Now, having anticipated your unwillingness to jump ship to the corporate world I wanted to discuss a less obtrusive business partnership.”
Lisker tilted his head slightly. “Go on.”
“I want to establish a clandestine element outside of Sakkin. Resourced with safe houses, transport and funding.” He rose and walked across to a side table where he picked up a leather-bound folder. “These are the details.” Ginsberg slid it across the table.
“And you want me to establish it?”
The CEO of Sakkin Industries smirked. “You’re the man with the contacts and experience.”
He stared at the folder.
“The world is burning, Manfred. We can either sit back and watch, or seize the opportunity and thrive.”
“I’m all for thriving Daniel. I just don’t believe in serving two masters.”
Ginsberg shook his head. “This isn’t about buying your service, Manfred. This is about enabling you to further ‘our’ interests.”
“Our interests?”
“Yes OUR interests. Israel has more enemies than its security agencies can handle. New recruits don’t have the physical and mental attributes required to protect the nation. Our leaders do not have the will to destroy the wolves baying at the gates. Sakkin is Israel’s only hope for survival.”
“As long as it is profitable, right?”
Ginsberg ran a hand through his blonde hair. “I’m a businessman.”
He took the folder from the table and flipped it open. Inside were several credit cards and banking access details, everything he needed to establish his own covert ops program.
“There’s only one caveat,” said Ginsberg.
“Go on.”
“I need a favor.”
“So not really a caveat at all.”
Ginsberg laughed. “For a man like you, it’s a small problem.” He took a flash drive from the pocket of his pants and handed it to the Mossad officer. “Isaac Jarvis is the Managing Director of Intelligent Responsive Systems. They’re a Californian company working on autonomous drone software. I want to absorb them into Sakkin.”
“They’re not selling?”
“No, Jarvis is a real hard-ass.”
“And you want me to intimidate him?”
Ginsberg shook his head. “No, I want you to eliminate him. Without him his board will fold.”
“Wet work on US soil is off limits.”
Ginsberg smiled, revealing a shark-like set of teeth. “Good thing he’s going to be in Dubai for GITEX technology week. Or, is the Middle East off limits too these days?”
Lisker pocketed the flash drive and tucked the leather folder under his arm as he rose. “Consider it taken care of.”
“Excellent.”
The men shook hands and a minute later Lisker was in the back of his vehicle on the way to Mossad headquarters. He gave the contents of the leather folder a second cursory glance then slipped it into a briefcase before taking a phone from his jacket and making a call. “Where are you?” he asked when a tone indicated the line was secure.
“Dubai,” answered his head of operations, Avi.
“Good, I’ve got a mission for Mantis. I’ll send you the details in the next few hours.”
CHAPTER 4
DUBAI, UAE
“Where do you want to meet?” asked Saneh as she and Bishop entered the climate-controlled environment of one of the Emirates’ mega shopping complexes, Dubai Mall. With over 1300 shops it claimed to be the second-largest retail facility on the planet. Teeming with tourists, it was the closest shopping center to their apartment.
“Caribou Coffee’s on level two. It’s not too bad.”
“See you there in twenty?” She kissed him on the cheek. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Come on, how much trouble can I get into here?”
She rolled her eyes before leaving him and heading for one of the many escalators. She made a beeline to the third level, aiming for a row of sports apparel stores. Her mission today, as far as Bishop was concerned, was to purchase new gym leggings. In reality she was here for a more clandestine undertaking.
She spotted her handler long before he saw her. Avi Lerner was a Mossad operative who’d been in the game for a while, but a while wasn’t the lifetime of experience that Saneh had. For a split second she con
templated dispatching the Israeli with the double-edged stiletto blade that she never left the house without. She dismissed the idea. If she killed Avi then Mossad would come after Bishop and everyone else she loved.
Avi made her as she approached him in a Nike store. She stopped at a rack of leggings a short distance from where he was inspecting sneakers. He glanced sideways at her and nodded, before moving closer and picking up a basketball boot.
“You have a task.” He spoke without looking at her.
“Who?”
“His name is Isaac Jarvis. He’s attending GITEX,” he said, referring to the Gulf Information Technology Exhibition.
“Mission?”
“Eliminate.”
Saneh shook her head as she pulled a pair of Nike leggings from a rack and inspected them. “You want me to assassinate some tech nerd. That’s a little below my level sweetheart.”
“You’ll do it, or you’ll pay the consequences.”
She clenched her teeth as she selected another size.
Avi moved past her holding the basketball boot. “The details are on the bench. Make it happen.”
She watched him leave the store from the corner of her eye before making her way across to the padded bench used by clients trying on sneakers. The basketball boot that Avi had been holding was sitting on it. She picked the shoe up and turned it over. A micro SD card dropped into her hand.
Returning the shoe to the bench she took the pair of tights she had selected and paid for them.
Her blood boiled as she made her way through the shopping center, past the massive five-story indoor aquarium toward the coffee shop Aden had selected. Manfred Lisker had her in the palm of his hand and she felt utterly helpless. Her choices were to continue killing at their command or refuse. The latter came with dire consequences that she was unwilling to accept. She’d almost lost Bishop on several occasions and she wasn’t going to let it happen again.
She spotted her lover already seated in the cafe with his trademark New York Yankees cap perched on his head and a coffee in hand. Her mood improved a little when he saw her and a smile lit up his face. For all his flaws, and the man had many, Aden Bishop had the biggest heart of anyone she knew. Nothing he ever did was by halves; he committed his entire being to everything, including their relationship. It tore Saneh up to keep anything from him, let alone her status as a Mossad assassin, but she knew there was nothing he or anyone else could do to throw off the shackles.
He rose and kissed her as she arrived, pulling out a chair for her. “Babe, I ordered you a caramel latte.”
“You’re the best.”
“Did you get what you wanted?” he asked.
“Not really, but I’ll deal with it.”
Their conversation paused as a waiter delivered her coffee. When he’d left Bishop reached under the table and pulled out a paper bag.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Something special.”
She opened the bag, reached inside and pulled out a naval cap complete with gold braid around the brim. A single brow arched. “For me?”
“Yeah, I mean you can’t Skipper a ketch without a hat.”
Her brow dropped, replaced with a beaming smile. “She’s ready?”
“Sure is. We can head over to Greece and inspect her this weekend.”
Bishop’s phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen. Saneh registered the look on his face.
“Who is it?”
“Keila, she wants to meet somewhere neutral.”
“And you think that’s a good idea?”
“We need to discuss it with Vance and Chua.”
“But, you think it’s a good idea?”
Bishop shrugged. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea. She’s proven that she can be trusted. I think it’s in PRIMAL’s interest to maintain a relationship with her.”
Saneh lowered her drink. “You think it’s a good idea to cozy up with the most lethal and untrustworthy intelligence service on earth?”
“I think that’s a little harsh–”
“You don’t know them like I do.” She sipped from her latte.
“Yeah, I know, as an Iranian they’re your sworn enemy, I get it. But, as far as PRIMAL goes Keila is an asset.” He paused and shot her a smirk. “Or is this less about Mossad and more about my undeniable charm?”
Saneh snorted into her drink. “Aden Bishop, you’re about as charming as a warthog’s backside.”
He laughed. “I happen to think that warthogs are very charming. Now, we should get going if we’re going to make the team meeting.”
As the pair left the cafe and made their way to the exit, neither of them noticed Avi Lerner watching them from the level above. He waited until they had departed before taking out his phone and texting Lisker.
The Mantis is on the hunt.
***
THE SANDPIT, ABU DHABI
It was the first time that the remaining members of PRIMAL had been brought together in months. Mirza and Mitch were connected via the iPRIMAL network, but Vance, Ice, Chua, Tariq and Saneh were all present at the Sandpit.
They sat in the open plan dining area drinking coffee that Chen Chua had made. A laptop on the breakfast bar displayed a secure video feed. Once Ice had confirmed that Mirza and Mitch were connected Tariq Ahmed, the organization’s benefactor, took center stage. The handsome Arab tycoon stood wearing an immaculately tailored three-piece suit that, despite the intensity of the Emirates heat, was not even slightly rumpled or sweat-stained.
“Team, eight years ago when Vance, James and I started this organization I gave it a broad mission, to seek out injustice and set it right. I could have never anticipated the level of success that you as a team would achieve. You’ve taken on many of the world’s worst and, as Bishop would say, you’ve handed them their asses.”
Laughter filled the room.
“However, it’s with a heavy heart that I’ve decided that it’s time for PRIMAL to stand alone. Given the current situation, I firmly believe that you no longer need my support to continue your work. You now have the Nemesis fund to go this alone. I have to consider the well being of the eight and a half thousand people who are employed by Lascar Logistics and its affiliates.”
Vance rose from where he was sitting at the breakfast bar and extended a hand to the Arab. “Tariq, it has been a pleasure to work with you on this venture. You will always be the essence of PRIMAL even if you’re not directly involved.” Grasping Tariq’s hand, he pulled him in for a bear hug.
The rest of the team was quick to extend their own thanks. As Chua shook his hand Tariq handed over his iPRIMAL, the custom smartphone given to every operative. Bishop was the last in the line as the Arab made for the door. “Does this mean I’m out of a job?” he asked with a smile.
“Not at all. It would be suspicious if you and Saneh simply left the company. In fact, I’ve got a special task for you in the next few days.”
“Aid delivery to a war-torn region?”
Tariq laughed. “Always on the hunt for action aren’t you? No, a protective security detail here in the Emirates.”
Bishop feigned disappointment. “OK, well I guess we’ll see you then.”
“Yes, you will.” With that Tariq Ahmed, CEO of Lascar Logistics and the former benefactor of PRIMAL, departed the Sandpit.
“This all seems a little final,” said Ice, breaking the silence that had descended on the room.
“It’s the end of an era,” added Chua.
“So what happens now?” asked Mirza through the video feed from London. “Is PRIMAL going to continue?
Vance faced the laptop. “That’s still up in the air. The reality is we need to continue our low profile while at the same time build on the links we have into intelligence agencies and services.”
Bishop shot Saneh an ‘I told you so’ look. She rolled her eyes in response.
“We’ve got limited resources now,” added Chua. “Our access into the world’s intelligence networks is g
oing to be our eyes and ears.”
“What about the operation in Africa?” asked Ice.
“Kruger and Kurtz are pretty much running their own show,” replied Vance. “We’ve been providing limited assistance. Once that mission is complete we’ll be closing down the Sandpit. We intend to move to a cell-based model.”
“Like Al-Qaeda,” said Mitch through the laptop.
“Why does everyone use that example?” asked Chua.
“Because they employed the technique so successfully,” said Saneh.
“Fine, yes just like Al-Qaeda,” said Chua.
“Are we going to run any operations?” asked Bishop. “Or is this just posturing?”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Bish. The Africa job is probably going to be the last for a while,” replied Vance. “We need to keep things low key till we’re reestablished.”
“What about the Sandpit?” asked Mirza from the computer.
“Chua, Ice and I will close things down over the next two months. Mitch is getting a new location set up in a slightly cooler part of the world.”
“You going to be alright without your Hawaiian shirts?” asked Saneh.
“Without?” said Ice. “I’ve seen Vance wear a Hawaiian shirt in a snowstorm. He’d wear one in the Arctic Circle,”
Everyone laughed again.
“Like Chua said, this is the end of an era people,” said Vance when they’d fallen silent. “PRIMAL has been everything to us. Now we’ve got the opportunity to pursue other interests alongside our philanthropic pursuits.”
“I feel like a toast is in order.” Bishop walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. As usual, the shelves were stocked with international beers. He tossed a Coors to Vance, Chua and Ice and handed a Coopers Pale to Saneh.
“Oh, so I drink your beer now?”
He grinned. “Don’t you? Sorry Mitch and Mirza, you’ll have to find your own.” He hefted his bottle into the air. “To Tariq and PRIMAL, the end of an era.”
The others echoed the toast and they drank together. Then the team broke off into separate conversations with Ice chatting to Mirza and Mitch on the laptop while Saneh, Vance, Chua and Bishop gathered around the coffee machine.
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