Primal Exodus

by Jack Silkstone

  “Or we could just sail into the sunset,” she murmured.

  “Now that’s an idea.”

  ***

  TEL AVIV, ISRAEL

  Keila spotted Asher sitting in a booth at the rear of the burger bar in Tel Aviv’s upmarket district of Rothschild. She had to admit, the 8200 SIGINT specialist was good looking. He had a lean build, black hair, grey eyes and an easy going smile. In fact, he kind of reminded her of Aden Bishop, although slightly less masculine.

  He stood as she approached, and flashed one of his trademark smiles. “Hi.”

  “Hey.” She sat opposite and reached for the menu that was sandwiched between a bottle of ketchup and a jar of American mustard. “You eat here often?”

  Asher nodded. “Yeah. It’s a bit of a fave with the team. The Hawaiian burger is awesome.”

  She pursed her lips. “So you’re a pineapple on pizza person?”

  “You know what they say. There’re two types of people in the world, people who have pineapple on their pizza and people who are wrong.” He paused, expecting her to laugh.

  She didn’t. “Well I guess I’m wrong then.”

  “Oh.”

  Keila winked. “I’m just messing with you. I love pineapple.”

  Asher shook his head. “You got me good.”

  They made small talk until a waiter appeared and then ordered two Hawaiian burgers.

  “So, why did you finally agree to grab a bite to eat with me?” asked Asher as their food arrived.

  “I was impressed by your persistence.” She smiled. “And you’re pretty cute.”

  “You too.”

  “I was disappointed to find out we won’t be working together as much anymore.”

  “How do you mean?”

  She took a bite of her burger, chewed and wiped her chin with a napkin. “The Lascar network. It’s been handed off to another team.”

  “Oh yeah. I saw that.”

  “It’s the Mossad way. You do all the hard work and then some prick slides in and snatches it out from under you.”

  “And he is a prick,” murmured Asher before he tucked into his burger.

  “Everyone knows it. Seriously, my people put so much work into this asset.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry for the way it panned out. The work you did in Syria was impressive. We’d been trying to pinpoint Salim for months. Then you slide in and take him down.”

  Keila shrugged. “Damn this is a good burger.”

  “Told you.”

  They ate in silence until she had devoured her meal. “Hey,” she asked as she wiped her fingers with a serviette from a basket on the table. “Is there any chance you could keep me in the loop on your project, informally of course.”

  Asher placed what remained of his burger down and stared at her intently. “Is that what this is about?”

  She shook her head. “No, this is about me getting to know you.”

  He took a sip from his cola. “I’m going to need a dinner date.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “What’s the current status of your project?”

  “We’re close.”

  “Hmmm, any chance you could give me a little head start on our friend the prick?”

  It was his turn to smile. “Depends how well the date goes.”

  Keila took a knife from the cutlery container, spun it in her palm and then around her hand as she contemplated the offer. Asher watched intently. “OK, but I choose the restaurant.” She tossed the knife back into the basket.

  “Deal. So, how exactly did the prick snake you?”

  “Is that the call sign we’re running with?”

  “Yep, totally.”

  “Well, I’m not exactly sure how he managed it.”

  “Guy’s got more reach than an octopus and he’s twice as slimy.”

  Keila laughed as she waved over a waiter and ordered a milkshake. “Do you have much to do with the prick?”

  “I try to avoid it. He threatened to have me sacked after one of his teams screwed an exploitation job. They botched the physical tap and we couldn’t remote in.”

  “So clearly not your fault.”

  “We eventually found a workaround.”

  “You’re pretty sharp on the tools.”

  “So are you.” He gestured to the cutlery basket.

  “You intimidated?”

  “A little. But, it’s also kinda hot.”

  Her milkshake arrived and she took the straw in her mouth as they locked eyes. Asher’s gaze narrowed and he smiled suggestively. Keila smirked as she slurped the milkshake with a horrendous sound.

  Asher threw his head back and laughed. “You’re out of control.”

  “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  ***

  OMORATE, ETHIOPIA

  Booyah found the camp exactly where the woman had told him it would be. He’d followed a well-worn path into a dense forest of elephant thorns. It was an excellent choice for a base. The thorny bushes were impenetrable to people and vehicles, keeping them to tracks that could easily be monitored and ambushed. The dense vegetation offered excellent concealment from the sky rendering a drone mission useless.

  As he made his way along a pathway he noted an increase of trash in the bushes on either side. Noodle wrappers, drink containers and cigarette packets indicated that the rebels had been using the location for some time. That meant they were probably comfortable in their routine.

  He smelt rather than saw the first traces of the camp. The earthy stench of a dung fire wafted past his nose, reminding him of his childhood. He and his siblings had scrounged manure so their mother could cook what little food they’d had. It had been a hard life, but his parents had filled their house with love and laughter, until a marauding militia had murdered all of them while he and his sister had been at school.

  Booyah clenched his fists as he crouched low and worked his way around a particularly dense wall of thorns. As he reached its limits he glimpsed ramshackle huts. He shuffled a little further and counted a dozen men milling around a central fire pit. They were dressed in the usual mix of military and civilian clothes and had weapons at arm’s reach.

  Behind them, through the bushes, he spotted more huts and what looked like a large wooden cage. The thick vegetation blocked his line of sight and he couldn’t see if there was anyone in the makeshift prison. He considered moving around for a better look, but quickly discarded the idea. He’d located the camp. The rest was up to the crazy K, as he’d taken to calling Kruger and Kurtz. He made to turn and make his way out of the thicket when he heard the crack of a dry branch.

  “I’ve found the spy,” said a voice.

  He spun and found himself staring into the wide eyes of a teenage soldier aiming an AK-47 directly at him.

  “Spy?” said Booyah. “No, I’m just looking for my nephew. His name is Yonas. Here, I have a picture.” He reached into his pocket and removed his phone.

  Other men joined the boy and enemy fighters soon surrounded Booyah.

  “I am looking for my nephew.” He unlocked the phone and held it up to show the men the picture of a teenage boy in school uniform that was on the screen.

  One of the men snatched the phone from his hand. “You are a liar. You are a spy.”

  They shoved him out of the bushes and along the path to the center of the camp. As they emerged into a clearing he caught a glimpse of small figures huddled in the corner of the makeshift prison. Scared, haunted eyes watched as the men pushed him toward the dung fire and others who were gathered around it.

  “I found this guy,” announced the teen. “He was hiding in the bushes.”

  “I’m looking for my nephew.” Booyah didn’t need to feign fear. He knew there was a good chance that the men would kill him. Life was cheap for these people.

  One of the men, narrow-faced with a scraggly beard, rose from the ammunition box he was using as a seat. “Are you here for the girls?” he asked with a hiss.

  “What girls?” B
ooyah shook his head vigorously. “No, I’m trying to find my nephew. He joined a militia a year ago. I’ve been searching everywhere. My phone has a photo.”

  The man stared at him with cold dead eyes. “You’re working for the Ibliisku, aren’t you?”

  Booyah knew the term, it meant devil.

  “The ones who are hunting for the girls.”

  Ibliisku, that made sense, he thought. Word of crazy K’s success in killing militants had spread and they’d named them Ibliisku. He fought the urge to smile. These men were terrified.

  “Please General, I know nothing of any devils. I just want to find my nephew.” Booyah shivered involuntarily as the militia commander stared at him with cold eyes.

  “I think you’re lying to me. Do you know what we do to liars?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not lying. I’m telling the truth. I swear to you in the name of Allah the merciful.”

  The man spat into the dust. “Bring the block.”

  Hands grabbed Booyah’s shoulders and arms while the teen who’d captured him moved to one of the huts and hefted a log-round into his arms.

  He struggled as a belt was dropped over his head and tightened against his neck. The teen positioned the bloodstained log in front of him and Booyah realized he was in real trouble.

  A piece of rope was looped over his hand, pulled tight, and a machete appeared in the leader’s hand. The men forced him to his knees and stretched his arm across the log.

  Adrenaline surged through Booyah’s body as the militia commander waved the rusted and burred blade in front of his face.

  “Who do you work for?”

  “No one,” blubbered Booyah. “I’m here for my nephew.”

  “You are a liar and no one lies to Dula.” He raised the blade high.

  Booyah swallowed against the belt and let all sign of fear drop from his face. “Dula, know that even if you take my arm, even if you chop me into tiny pieces and bury me deep. They will come and when they do you will tell them everything you know before you die.”

  Dula paused and seemed to consider the threat. Then a weak smile spread across his face. “They’ll never find you or me.”

  At that moment a 300 Blackout 190-grain projectile tore through Dula’s shoulder with a wet slap. He managed a blood-curdling scream as it knocked him sideways.

  Bullets thudded into bodies as Booyah snatched his arm free and dove to the ground. Terrified screams filled the air. He knew better than to move and hunkered low as an automatic burst lashed the camp with high-velocity rounds.

  Finally, after what seemed like minutes, but was literally seconds the carnage ceased.

  “Hey Booyah, you drop a dollar?” Kruger’s voice bellowed.

  The scout tore the belt from his throat as he scrambled to his feet and surveyed the damage. Bodies littered the ground around him. “You guys couldn’t cut it any finer?”

  “Sorry, the brush was a little thick,” replied Kruger as he and Kurtz materialized from the bushes clad in their signature camouflage and body armor.

  “There are girls here,” said Booyah, gesturing toward the makeshift cage. Then he recovered Dula’s machete from the ground and stood over the whimpering Islamist who was clutching his shattered shoulder with his other arm. “And this guy knows where the rest of them are.” He bent down low till he was face to face with the terrified human trafficker. “I told you they would come.”

  “I’ll tell you everything. Just, just don’t kill me,” stammered Dula.

  “Where are the rest of the girls?” asked Kruger.

  “Another man took them. A white man called Krenich.”

  Kurtz took a seat on the bloodstained log. “Booyah, check on the girls with Kruger and see what they know. I’ll finish up here.” The tall German balanced his assault rifle across his knees. Dressed from head to toe in camouflage with a wrap across his mouth he personified the Ibliisku. “So, how do you get in touch with Krenich and where can I find him?”

  “I have a satellite number. He’s based in Uganda.”

  Kurtz took a notebook from his chest rig. “What’s the number?”

  Dula gave it to him between shallow gasps.

  “What does he do with the girls?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He flicked the safety off his rifle and aimed it at the man’s face. “You’re not much use to me then are you?”

  Dula released his shattered shoulder and raised a palm. “Wait, wait. I know more and I have diamonds.” He fished in his jacket with a bloodied hand and removed a black velvet sack. “You can have it if you let me live.”

  Kurtz chuckled as he snatched it from the injured man. “You’re not really in a position to negotiate, my friend. What is Krenich doing with the girls?”

  “He tested their blood. That’s all I know. He only wanted the ones who passed the test.”

  That piece of information was a revelation to Kurtz. This was the first time they’d heard of the girls being used for anything other than sex slaves or wives. It suggested that someone was using them for medical testing. It possibly meant it would be easier to find them and, if they moved fast enough, they might even still be alive.

  He rose from the log and made his way across to where Booyah and Kruger were helping a dozen girls from the cage. As he got closer he locked eyes with the Somali scout and handed him the velvet bag of diamonds. “Make sure the girl’s families get these.”

  “You’re going to let that piece of shit live?” asked Kruger as Kurtz surveyed the small group of dirty, terrified teenagers.

  He shrugged. “He’s in shock with significant blood loss. If he survives till dark the baboons will kill him. Right, let’s call up Toppie and get these girls home. We’ve got a new lead to chase.”

  CHAPTER 7

  LIFEBRIGHT FOUNDATION FACILITY, RWANDA

  Jamilah and her sister were laughing and skipping as they made their way across a field heading home from school. They stopped to pat the cow tethered under the sweeping branches of an oromo tree.

  She climbed into the tree and snapped off a branch, dropping it to her sister who offered it to the doe-eyed animal. The younger sister’s giggles made her smile as she climbed down from the tree.

  “Her tongue is so funny,” said her sister. “It’s like a snake.”

  Jamilah joined her, and the two of them watched the cow use her long brown tongue to strip the lush green leaves from the branch.

  Her sister wrapped her arms around Jamilah and hugged her tightly. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Don’t let them take me away.”

  Jamilah looked into her sister’s tear-filled eyes. “Who’s going to take you away?”

  “Don’t let them take me away!”

  “No one’s going to take you from me.”

  “JAMILAH!”

  In a flash the blue sky had disappeared, replaced by the flat white paint on the ceiling of her prison cell.

  “NOOOO!” her cell mate screamed. Jamilah jolted off her bed and saw two white-jacketed orderlies dragging her friend from the room.

  “Leave her!” she yelled, leaping at the men. Scratching and biting she forced one of them to release the girl’s arm.

  “You little bitch.” He slapped her with an open hand, sending her reeling.

  Collapsing to the floor, she took a second to gather herself. By that time the men had dragged her screaming roommate outside and slammed the door. Jamilah threw herself against it, hammering her fists against the bars.

  She managed to keep up the furious assault for a minute before slumping to the ground and sobbing. “I’m sorry,” she repeated over and over until she was overcome with exhaustion.

  ***

  DUBAI, UAE

  Isaac Jarvis paced the living area of his hotel suite as Bishop and Saneh sat drinking coffee on a leather couch. The CEO of Intelligent Responsive Systems was dressed in brown pleated slacks and a blue polo shirt with his company logo emblazoned on it
. His shock of grey hair was parted to one side and his brow furrowed above close-set brown eyes.

  Bishop thought that he looked like a tractor salesman rather than the genius head of a cutting edge technology firm responsible for developing the world’s leading security software systems.

  “So, have there been any direct threats to you or your company?” asked Bishop.

  Jarvis stopped and turned to the pair. “Not directly. However, we’ve been the target of several hostile takeover attempts and I believe the firm behind them will stop at nothing to acquire my patented technologies.”

  “What exactly does this technology do?” asked Saneh.

  “It’s an integrated security system with algorithms capable of independently identifying and tracking threats.”

  “That sounds like artificial intelligence,” she said.

  “That sounds like Skynet,” added Bishop. “Does this system of yours decide who to kill?”

  “No. I have built-in measures to ensure it is not used for direct targeting.”

  “Measures that someone else could remove if they took over your company.”

  Jarvis nodded. “Exactly. If Sakkin Industries gets its hands on the system things will move in a sinister direction. Before we know it armed drones will be engaging targets with no human oversight.”

  “So Sakkin industries is the firm you’re concerned with?” said Bishop.

  “Yes, have you heard of them?”

  Bishop shook his head. “No. Are they American?”

  “Israeli.”

  Bishop shot Saneh a sideways glance and noticed that she seemed a little unsettled.

  “They’re rapidly evolving into the most significant player in the security sector in the Middle East and Africa. They’re utterly ruthless.”

  “And you think they might make an attempt on your life?” asked Bishop.

  “It’s the only way they’re going to get their hands on the software. I’ve already turned down a half-billion dollar offer.”

  “Well, we’ve been over the hotel’s security. It’s pretty tight. You’ve got a duress alarm and we’ll be right next door. What we need to cover now is your movement plan. You’re most at risk outside of the hotel.”