Primal Exodus

by Jack Silkstone

  “That project will become the backbone of Sakkin and the savior of the Israeli state.”

  “That may well be, but we also have other projects that will interest you. I’m particularly excited by the integration of AI into air, land and sea-based systems.”

  “A result of your recent acquisition of Intelligent Responsive Systems?”

  Ginsberg smirked over his whisky. “Exactly.” He raised his glass. “I have a feeling this is going to be a very lucrative relationship.”

  “We’re going to change the world.”

  ***

  CALIFORNIA, USA

  Darren Robertson parked his Tesla SUV alongside the other vehicles in the Unlimited Effects parking lot and stepped out into the dry heat of a Californian summer. A successful producer with over a dozen films to his name Robertson had driven the two hours from his office in LA to meet the director of the company professing itself to be the most advanced special effects agency the world had ever seen.

  Personally, he thought the claim was likely to be total crap. However, they did have a charging point for his Tesla and that was a step in the right direction. Having plugged in the electric vehicle, he paused to take in his surroundings.

  Unlimited Effects looked to be a row of rusted aircraft hangars fronted by tasteful arid landscaping. Compared to the glitzy facilities closer to Hollywood it looked industrial and not particularly inspiring.

  He pushed open a sandblasted metal door with the word office stenciled on it in faded white paint and stepped into a dusty waiting area. A wooden reception desk was staffed by a woman who looked like she’d stepped straight out of a World War Two recruiting poster. Her hair was up in a bun and she wore bright red lipstick and a khaki uniform.

  “Mr. Robertson, Director Freeman will be with you shortly.” She gestured to a pair of leather armchairs in the corner.

  He felt like he was sitting in World War Two pilots’ ready room as he waited. Moments later a section of the wall opened, revealing a muscular figure dressed in coveralls.

  “Darren, Mitch Freeman.” The man’s accent was British.

  Robertson rose and took the hand he was offered. Freeman looked nothing like the film industry types he dealt with daily. With his bald head and full beard, Mitch resembled a Viking not a Hollywood executive.

  “Allow me to show you around the place.” Mitch gestured for him to pass through the opening in the wall.

  Robertson straightened his suit jacket and stepped through the gap into the cleanest workshop he’d ever seen. Polished concrete floors stretched for hundreds of yards with workbenches, heavy machinery, computers, and shelves stacked with materials on either side.

  “This is where the magic happens. If your people visualize it, then we can make it.”

  Robertson watched in fascination as an autonomous robot weaved between the equipment, sucking dust from the floor.

  Mitch led him between high-tech machinery, giving a brief description of what each one contributed to the fabrication process.

  “Do you have any examples of your work?”

  “Sure do. The vault is this way.”

  At the rear of the hangar was a solid-looking steel door. Mitch stared up at a camera. “Mitch Freeman,” he spoke in a loud voice. The heavy door slid sideways with a hum revealing a space the size of a tennis court, crammed with military equipment. “We’ve primarily been focused on the action genre,” he said as they entered.

  Robertson scanned the shelves laden with tactical equipment and robust black cases. Seeing a strange looking robot in one corner, he made his way across to it. “What’s this?” He reached out and touched the battle-scarred metal.

  “Exo-suit, we used it in a scene where the lead character busted a special ops team out of a Syrian prison.”

  “Looks fantastic.”

  “Worked well, even better now I’ve extended the battery life.”

  “You mean it actually works?”

  “Sure does. You can give it a spin if you want.”

  He laughed. “No, I’ll leave that for the stunt crew.”

  Mitch gave him a wink as they moved into a corridor dominated by weapons. “As you can see we’ve got almost anything you could want.”

  “Any older era stuff?”

  “No, it’s all pretty contemporary and we’ll be updating it regularly. Now, would you like to see my pride and joy?”

  “Of course.”

  Mitch led him through a narrow corridor that ended in an opaque sliding door. Standing before the door, he turned and grinned. “This is where I keep the real shiny kit.”

  The glass slid sideways and Robertson peered into what could have been the Smithsonian Institute. Aircraft and vehicles filled the cavernous space, with additional equipment hanging from the ceiling fifty feet above. Central to the exhibit was a massive four-engine transport aircraft and business jet. Under its gargantuan wingspan, like chicks beneath a mother hen, were a camouflaged dune buggy, a black Little Bird helicopter and what looked to be an array of drones.

  “Do all of these work?” asked Robertson.

  “Better than the day they were built, mate.” Mitch pointed to the far corner of the hangar where an internal office was positioned. “Most of them, including the big girl, can be piloted remotely via satellite uplink. Takes a lot of the risk out of filming the tricky stuff.”

  “That’s very interesting. What’s the range?”

  “Global, yesterday we were flying a bird on the other side of the world, today we’re going to put up one of the smaller drones in the backyard.”

  “That’s unbelievable.”

  “We try to impress.”

  “How many staff do you have here?”

  “Currently there are only four of us. Myself as the chief engineer, you met Sarah at the front desk, I’ve got a guru IT guy named Flash, and another engineer. However, with any luck, we’re going to be expanding fast. I’ve got another two hangars under construction and plans for a special effects lab and firing range.”

  “You don’t think digital effects are going to make all of this redundant?”

  Mitch chuckled. “No, I’ve got people who are always going to want their bang live.”

  Robertson nodded. “Yeah, you just can’t beat the real stuff.”

  “Amen to that.” Mitch gestured to the jet-black helicopter that sat under the wing of the transporter. “Now, you mentioned a complex helicopter scene in your next film? Let’s get you into a flight suit and crank this girl up.”

  ***

  ROTOBURN, NEW ZEALAND

  Almost ten thousand miles from the scorching sands of the Californian desert Vance, clad in waders and a fishing vest, stood knee-deep in a mountain stream. “Come on, jumbo,” he murmured as he used deft flicks of his wrist to dance a fake insect across the crystal clear water.

  His pulse quickened as a foot-long trout rose and made a beeline for his bait. Then, at the last moment, it turned and with a flick of its powerful tail, disappeared. “You little…”

  “I thought this was supposed to be relaxing?” asked Chua from where he sat on the bank cradling a .22LR bolt-action CZ rifle. On the grass next to him lay two of the fattest and healthiest looking rabbits Vance had ever seen.

  “It’s less stressful than keeping Bishop and Ice out of a gunfight.” He climbed out of the stream and placed his rod alongside a cooler bag. Taking out two beers he handed one to Chua as he sat on a folding chair. “At least you’ve got dinner.”

  “Enough for one more?” The Russian accented voice came from above, higher up the side of the densely vegetated gorge.

  Chua turned and slowly raised his rifle. Simultaneously Vance took a pistol from inside the cooler.

  There was a curse from the bushes then the sound of someone pushing their way through the heavy brush. A moment later a figure wearing hiking garb burst into the clearing.

  “Ivan?” said Chua.

  “Da. Who else would be stupid enough to climb a mountain to find you asshol
es?”

  “More to the point, how the hell did you find us?”

  The Russian operative shot him a look that screamed, ‘It’s my job to know.’

  “Yeah, fair point.”

  Vance slid his pistol back into the cooler and swapped it for a beer. “So what brings you to our new digs?” he asked as he threw the bottle to Ivan.

  He shrugged. “I just wanted to check out the retirement home. See if there was any room for another old dog.”

  Vance raised his beer. “The more, the merrier.” He paused. “Did you hear about Tariq?”

  Ivan nodded. “I never met him, but I know how important he was to our work. He will be missed.”

  “Yeah, he will be.”

  The Russian took a swig from his beer and sat alongside Chua. “You guys aren’t really retired though, are you?”

  “That depends on how you define retired,” answered Vance.

  “Out of the business.”

  “In that case, I’d call us semi-retired.”

  “Why?” asked Chua. “What have you got?”

  Ivan tipped his bottle in Chua’s direction. “That’s why you’re the master spy. Always one step ahead.”

  “Look out, he’s buttering you up,” said Vance.

  “Gentlemen, come on. When have I ever not given you the best intelligence?”

  Vance and Chua looked at each other and Vance nodded. “He’s got a point. So like he said, what have you got?”

  Ivan tipped his head back and finished his beer. “It’s a long story. I’m going to need another beer.”

  Vance reached into the cooler and tossed him another.

  Ivan caught it and deftly twisted the top off. “OK, so I know this guy in Cambodia, great guy. Works with an organization that rescues children who’ve been sold into slavery. For years I have been providing him with small donations to continue his work. Recently a number of his volunteers have disappeared. Last week one of them turned up dead. He thinks they’re being systematically targeted.

  “By who?”

  “My initial investigations indicate it’s likely to be a crime syndicate known as Rogue Darkness.”

  Chua frowned. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “Neither had I, but trust me when I say they’re not people you want to mess with.”

  “And yet that’s exactly what you want us to do,” said Vance.

  “Well, it is what PRIMAL does best. That is if we’re still in the business of doing. Or does semi-retired mean PRIMAL isn’t open for business?”

  Vance took a swig of his beer and glanced at Chua. “This might keep Bishop and Saneh out of trouble. South East Asia is a long way from the Middle East.”

  Chua nodded. “They could use Kurtz and Kruger as the action arm. But, we’re not part of the executive anymore. All we can do is pass the information and make our recommendation.”

  “Ah, so this is semi-retirement? You fish and hunt in the mountains, make some recommendations, and others go forth and wield steel in the pursuit of justice?”

  Vance and Chua looked at each other and shrugged. “Pretty much,” they echoed.

  Ivan grinned. “I like this semi-retirement.”

  EPILOGUE

  SAKKIN HEADQUARTERS, CAPE TOWN

  Marnisha Copeland tucked a stray length of hair behind her ear as she studied the results of an experiment that one of her lab technicians had been running. She’d spent the weeks since the laboratory in Rwanda had been destroyed going over Dr. Morrison’s notes. They were only a month away from opening a new birthing facility in South America. He’d made some amazing progress that she was going to be hard-pressed to replicate.

  As she finished with the document a phone on her desk beeped and she tapped the receive button with her finger. “Copeland here.”

  “Marnisha, your patient has arrived.”

  “Excellent, I’ll be right over.”

  Rising from her chair she took a white lab coat from a rack in the corner of her sleek new office and stepped out into the facility that Sakkin Industries had built her.

  Occupying an entire floor within the newly constructed Sakkin Tower, the tallest building in Cape Town, the research center consisted of offices, laboratories, surgeries and a cadaver refrigerator. Marnisha had worked with the engineers to ensure it was fitted with everything she needed to further the research that would eventually provide Sakkin with a limitless supply of operatives endued with the best attributes that money could buy.

  She followed the sterile corridor that looped its way around the building linking each of the individual labs, her heels ringing on the laminate flooring. The walkway was cluttered with boxes of equipment that were yet to be installed. Arriving at her personal surgical suite she swiped through an opaque glass door into the ready room where her patient was waiting.

  The man, or what was left of his wasting body, sat strapped in a wheelchair with an oxygen line taped into one nostril. Drool ran from the corner of his mouth into a scooped bib.

  “Hello, Avi,” she said softly as a wave of pity flooded over her. She’d never met the Mossad operative, but the file Lisker had sent showed a handsome and physical man with a distinguished career. All that had ended when a bullet had shattered his neck, severing his spine.

  Avi managed a grunt as he studied her through eyes still bright with life.

  “Did they explain why you are here?”

  He grunted again.

  “Right. Well we’ve had some success growing the nerves, bone and tissue that we need to attempt a reconstruction of your damaged spine. We’ve also developed the drugs required to ensure your body doesn’t reject these components. Overall I’m confident that that we can improve your situation. All I need is your consent to get started.”

  Avi let out a series of grunts.

  “I’m going to take that as a yes. OK, I’m going to leave you in the hands of my staff, but rest assured that we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other.

  Marnisha left him in the ready room and moved into the laboratory that adjoined it. Here, in a tank of chemicals was the spine that they’d grown from a sample of Avi Lerner’s tissue. The mass of flesh and bone hung suspended by life giving synthetic veins that fed it the nutrients it needed.

  However, Avi’s spine tank wasn’t the only one in the state-of-the-art lab. There were no less than six of them spaced evenly along a stainless steel table that ran from one side of the room to the other. Inside them were tissue samples that she’d grown from fabricated DNA. The irony of the whole thing was that Avi’s replacement parts were being grown alongside a sample containing the DNA of the very woman that Lisker suspected had tried to kill Avi. In fact, if everything went to plan, components of Avi’s genetic makeup would soon join that of Afsaneh Ebadi’s in what would eventually become Sakkin’s most lethal weapon.

  ***

  THE END

  AUTHOR’S FINAL WORDS

  They say that all good things come to an end… I call bullshit on that. Which is why this may be the end of PRIMAL, but it sure as hell isn’t the end of the PRIMAL team. They will return, albeit in a slightly different format, in book one of the Susurro Files and in the PRIMAL 2055 series. If you read on I’ve included the first couple of chapters of 2055. You can download the first installment of here.

  Now that I’ve got that out of the way I want to thank you all for your support over the last ten years. Yep, you heard me right, ten years of PRIMAL. I first published PRIMAL Unleashed in late 2008 and ever since I’ve been releasing at least one book a year in the series. It’s been hard work, but also a fantastic journey and I’m forever thankful to the readers who’ve made it possible. I’ve learnt so much as a writer and I hope like hell that’s been reflected in my work.

  Now, I’m not about retire or down tools, so once again I’m going to ask that you leave a short review to spread the word and help me start my own vigilante organization… or just feed the hounds. It doesn’t need to be anything more than a few words, it
all helps. I’m looking forward to hearing what you guys think.

  PRIMAL 2055

  BOOK 1 – ESCAPE

  CHAPTER 1

  THE INSTITUTE, JORDAN

  The noise that woke her sounded like a hundred demons howling as they swept over the ramshackle hut. An explosion shook the mud-brick walls and the ground trembled. “Mother, mother!” the girl screamed, clutching a threadbare blanket to her chest.

  Dust and debris fell from the rusted tin roof as the door to her room burst open and a figure appeared. It was a woman, with brown hair, angular features and dark almond shaped eyes, her mother. Strong arms grabbed her from the bed and held her tight.

  Another explosion rocked the hut. She buried her face in her mother’s hair as the crackle of gunfire penetrated the thin walls. Voices filled the air, terrified screams and people calling for loved ones.

  Her mother led her out into the dark streets. More of the demons screamed and she glanced skywards, catching a glimpse of a flaming streak across the stars. Smoke and dust burnt her throat as they fled along streets where, earlier that day, she had played.

  Others ran with them. She recognized the faces: shop owners, friends and neighbors. They wore masks of terror as they fled. More flames, more noise, more screams, but she was safe with her mother.

  They reached the outskirts of the village and made for the river. Over her shoulder she saw fire spreading through the huts like a hungry animal, consuming all it touched. Cries carried in the air as flames leaped skyward.

  “We’ll be safe in the hills,” her mother said as they joined a group of people on the riverbank.

  She glanced up at the star that hung over the mountains. Her mother called it the Guardian Star. It would lead them to safety.