PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (15 page)

CHAPTER 29

PRIMAL MI-17 EN ROUTE TO CASTLE LORAN

“Aleks, can you confirm the last known location of Bishop and Saneh?” Mirza Mansoor was strapped in the back of the Mi-17 helicopter as it thundered through the darkness. The commander of PRIMAL’s Critical Assault Team studied a tablet with a satellite image of the castle displayed on it.

Two areas of interest were marked on the screen: one inside the large building on top of the castle’s front gate, the other a broader area that covered the upper levels of the keep.

“Bishop phoned us fifteen minutes ago from the base of the gatehouse above the main entrance. He said he would stay there.” Aleks’s voice came through Mirza’s headset. “Saneh is probably still in the keep with the transponder. We haven’t been able to confirm her status.”

“Acknowledged.”

Aleks continued, “The door to the gatehouse has already been breached. That’s the best way in.”

Mirza shook his head in wonder. Aleks was still ten miles away and it sounded as if he were sitting in the chopper next to him. Mirza had been a PRIMAL operative for more than two years and still had not been exposed to all the gadgets. It didn’t help that Mitch, the resident scientist and pilot of the chopper, kept introducing more gear.

“Got it,” he confirmed. “We’re going to fly a single pass and then rope in on the eastern wall. Can you provide fire support from your position?”

“
Da
, we just need to move a hundred meters.”

“Roger, move now.”

“Affirmative, Aleks out.”

“Two minutes, lads,” Mitch cut in from the cockpit of the helicopter.

“Gear up, team.” Mirza slid the tablet into the purpose-built pouch on the front of his armor. “We’re going to rope onto the battlements and gain entry to the gatehouse.” He picked up his full-face helmet from where it was sitting on the floor between his boots. It fit snugly against his skull, the face mask hinging down to cover his eyes, nose, and mouth. Once it was in place he pressed a button on the iPRIMAL strapped to his wrist and activated the helmet’s digital systems. From the outside it made him look almost alien, with bug-eyed reflective lenses and gill-like side vents. On the inside, tiny projectors took the feed from the multispectral sensors and overlayed an augmented reality of the world outside, feeding Mirza vital information as he led the team.

“One OK,” Mirza announced when he was ready, his voice projecting over the helmet’s integrated communications system.

“Two OK,” Pavel announced.

“Three OK.” Miklos was next.

“Fucking helmet, built for tiny hands.” Kruger, the six-foot-five South African, was fiddling with his face mask. “OK, I got it, four OK.”

Apart from the numbers they wore on their shoulders they were all dressed the same: black carbon-nanotube armor shielding most of their body, torsos covered with ammunition and grenades, and the full-faced combat helmets. Their assault rifles were integrally suppressed Tavors chambered in 7.62mm blackout and individually customized with a range of attachments.

All four had come from different backgrounds; Mirza and Miklos were sniper and surveillance specialists, Pavel a communications and hacking guru, and Kruger a heavy-weapons and demolitions man. Together, trained in urban combat, they made a formidable team.

“Aleks here. We are in position,” he broadcast over the communications network.

“Start taking out the lights and make sure no one else gets in,” ordered Mirza.

“Acknowledged. We have a four-wheel drive approaching the front gates. Engaging now.”

Mitch’s voice came over the airwaves. “Tower, this is Ghost Rider requesting a flyby.”

“Let’s get this show on the road,” replied Mirza. “Kruger, you ready?”

“Ready to rock out with my fitty-cal out.” The South African was manning a rapid-fire .50-caliber M3M machine gun at the front left door.

The Mi-17 came in low and fast, its turbines screaming as Mitch brought it into a sweeping turn. An AK barked from the castle wall and another two weapons joined it.

“Taking fire!” Mitch announced as he touched the tablet screen strapped to his thigh.

On the inside pylon of the helicopter, a dummy fuel tank split in half to reveal a gun pod. Using the heads-up display in his helmet Mitch focused on the muzzle flashes from the castle and returned fire.

The 12.7mm minigun rained fire down on the ancient walls,
blowing the first gunman clean off the walkway. The chopper continued its route c
ircling the castle, the minigun’s rotating barrels spitting fire at anyone foolish enough to expose themselves.

Meanwhile Aleks and Kurtz made short work of the four-wheel drive that had raced up the road toward the castle. They engaged simultaneously with their Windrunner sniper rifles. Two .408 rounds smashed the engine block and sent the car careening into a ditch. Another two rounds into the cabin dispatched the driver and passenger. With that target neutralized they went to work on the castle’s lights.

“We’re all clear, bringing her in.” Mitch flew the helicopter down over the castle walls. He jabbed another button and the rear clamshell doors swung open with a hiss. Using the cameras positioned around the aircraft, Mitch held her steady over the wall.

With Mitch concentrating on hovering, Kruger opened up with the side-mounted machine gun. He blasted away at anything that resembled a threat, high-explosive rounds tearing chunks from the castle walls and turning gunmen into pink mist.

“Rope out,” announced Miklos, kicking the coil of rope out the back of the aircraft. It uncoiled as it dropped, the thirty-foot length hitting the wall with a foot to spare. “On rope.” He stepped out and slid down the thick rope like a fireman’s pole. When he hit the ground he grabbed his weapon from where it hung across his back and snapped it into his shoulder, aiming back toward the keep.

Pavel was a split second behind and covered toward the gatehouse. Mirza was next, then, with a thump, the big South African joined them. “All clear.”

The rope dropped and there was a roar as the chopper slid sideways, lowered its nose, and powered away from the castle. “Tallyho, let me know if there’s anything you need.”

“Thanks, Mitch,” said Mirza. “Team, let’s get off this wall and into the gatehouse. Aleks and Kurtz, we’re going to need your cover.”

The two snipers had continued knocking out the lights. Now, as if on cue, another light shattered high on the keep, sending glass showering into the courtyard.

Pavel moved first, his weapon in his shoulder as he stalked along the battlements toward the gatehouse. “Contact front!” He let rip a burst from his Tavor, the weapon making a barely audible clicking sound, the subsonic blackout rounds hissing through the suppressor.

An AK barked from the shattered doors to the gatehouse. Simultaneously another AK fired from high up on the keep, sending bullets ricocheting between the PRIMAL operatives.

“Contact high, our six.” Kruger fired up at the keep. His bullets ricocheted off the parapet, forcing the gunman to take cover.

“Target acquired,” Kurtz’s voice broadcast over the comms network.

A second later the man raised his head. Kurtz’s high-velocity sniper round took another second to cover the nine hundred meters. It slammed into the top of the parapet, sending shards of stone slicing into the shooter’s face and hands. He toppled backward out of sight.

Mirza fired the grenade launcher underslung on his Tavor. The 40mm round flew through the open doors of the gatehouse and detonated. Simultaneously Miklos lobbed a flash-bang over Pavel’s head and into the smoking doorway. It detonated with a crump.

Pavel and Mirza led into the building, weapons held ready. They need not have bothered. Two dead bodies were sprawled on the cobblestones, AKs dropped beside them. The acoustic sensors on the CAT helmets picked up footsteps beating a hasty retreat down the internal staircase.

The heads-up display in Mirza’s helmet directed him to Bishop’s assessed location. “Next floor up and down the corridor,” he transmitted as he led the team up the spiral staircase and into the corridor. A dead guard lying in front of a bullet-ridden doorway signposted the location they were looking for. There was little left of the once-heavy wooden door. Mirza gave it a thump with his gloved fist. It creaked ominously. “Anyone in there?”

“Why don’t you come in and find out?” a voice called back.

“I know how this one goes,” replied Mirza. “You’re waiting on the other side with a fire extinguisher and a bag of flour.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Bishop asked from the other side. “You’ve got to admit, it was pretty funny.”

“It’s the last time I go on a holiday with you.”

There was a loud crash as Kruger barged in, toppling the remains of the furniture out of the way. With a grunt he forced open what remained of the door, causing it to collapse in a heap.

“Kruger, we can’t take you anywhere, can we?” said Bishop.

“What can I say? I like breaking things.”

A burst of fire ricocheted up the staircase behind them.

“I’m being rude. Come in, all of you.” Bishop stepped to one side, giving the team a sweeping bow as they filed in.

Miklos pitched a grenade back down the staircase and followed the rest of the team inside. It went off with a loud boom that shook dust from the walls. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he commented as he shook Bishop’s hand.

Miklos guarded the door while the rest of them gathered around Mirza, who had pulled out his tablet.

“Do you know what Saneh’s status is?” asked Mirza. “I’m getting a strong reading from her transponder.”

“Haven’t seen her since everything went to shit. My guess is they’ll have taken her to the offices in the top floor of the keep.”

“Many more tangos?” asked Kruger.

“Fair few, although with Aleks and Kurtz out there and now Mitch in the helo, at least there won’t be any more coming in.”

“We’ll head back across the walls to the keep, breach our way in, and fight our way up into the keep. As we get closer we should be able to narrow down her location,” said Mirza.

“Good plan,” agreed Bishop. “Any chance you brought me some gear?”

“
Ja
,
ja
.” Kruger unslung the backpack he was wearing and dropped it on the bed. Inside were Bishop’s lightweight combat vest, an MP7 submachine gun, his iPRIMAL, and a comms headset.

As Bishop donned the equipment over his tracksuit, the door that led into the bathroom creaked open.

Miklos’s weapon snapped up, ready to fire.

“Whoa, check your fire!” Bishop took two steps and pushed the weapon down. “Friendlies.” He turned to the door. “Karla, you can come out now.”

Karla’s face appeared around the door, and her eyes went wide with fear as she took in the four black-armored PRIMAL operatives in their buglike helmets.

“It’s OK, they’re with me.”

One by one the girls appeared. They filed in and sat down on the beds, watching nervously, looking like children in their pajamas. Only Karla was brave enough to approach the operatives. “Are your friends here to take us home?”

“Yes,” Bishop stated. “But I need you to stay here a little longer while we take care of the bad men.”

“Watch out for their dogs,” she said. “They used them on my sister.”

Bishop studied the girl’s face and tried to remember what the psychologist had told him about PTSD on his last medical. She seemed too calm, almost distant.

Mirza had already checked out the room and reassessed the situation. “Kruger, you stay here and protect the girls with Miklos. Pavel, you’re with Bishop and me.”

The South African nodded his head in acknowledgment, then opened the front of his helmet to reveal his strong angular features. “I’ll look after them.”

“Miklos, make sure you keep an eye on the door; anyone who tries to get in that isn’t us gets slotted, OK?”

“Wilco.”

Bishop actioned his submachine gun and led Mirza and Pavel out of the shattered doorway and into the cold, dark corridors of the castle.

CHAPTER 30

CASTLE LORAN

“Where the hell did that helicopter come from? My men are being taken apart.” András was staring up at the CCTV screens at the back of his office, occasionally catching a glimpse of the black-clad assailants. More than half of the screens were now blank as the cameras were systematically destroyed by whoever was assaulting the castle. “Where the fuck are the police?”

“They won’t arrive in time,” Masateru replied calmly. He was now sitting opposite Saneh at the coffee table. Kalista remained huddled in her chair, bloodied hands clutched to her face.

Saneh had spun him an elaborate tale, explaining that she had been hired by the arms dealer Nigel Martin to help infiltrate the organization. The operation, she revealed, had been funded by a wealthy Russian whose daughter had been abducted and sold into slavery.

As she had told her story, the gunfire outside the castle and progression of blanking screens had made it obvious that Mirza and his men were on the way. Her story had bought precious minutes, but she doubted Masateru believed it.

“Whoever these people are, they’re here for the girls,” Masateru said. “They’re also going to try and get this one back.” He rose from the coffee table, pointing at Saneh with his knife. “She’s coming with us.” He waved his two heavies over to Saneh, put his jacket on, and ran a hand through his hair. “Tape up her mouth.”

His men had come prepared; they taped her mouth shut and checked that the zip-ties on her wrists remained secure.

Another of the video feeds on the wall flickered and went blank. The amount of gunfire outside had petered off to nothing, a good indication that most of András’s men were dead or cowering.

“Where does this lead?” asked Masateru, pointing to a door in the corner of the room.

“Down to the stables. We can go together.”

Masateru shook his head. “You will destroy all your files and
then
follow.” He waved his hand at the four AK-wielding guards. “You have enough firepower to hold them at bay. Trust me, if you get out and your bread crumbs lead these devils to the
oyabun
, then it would have been better for you that you died here today.”

Masateru gave a nod to his Kissaki bodyguards, ducked through the door, and stepped down onto the narrow staircase beyond. One of his bodyguards pushed Saneh through; both of them were now openly wielding compact machine pistols.

The now-manic András began organizing his four men. “You two, get out there and stop the bastards from getting in.” The gunmen opened the office door and tentatively peered out. The dim hallway lighting was still intact.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” András’s brow furrowed and he reached into his drawer for his
Škorpion machine pistol. All his men knew it was his preferred way to deal with disloyal employees.

The two men disappeared into the corridor.

“Lock it and barricade it,” he directed the other men.

They pushed a chair in front of the door and leaned the coffee table against it. “What about the girl?” one of them asked, indicating Kalista, still bleeding on the couch.

“They can have her. She’s worth nothing to us now.” He turned his attention to his computer, attempting to delete a number of folders. “Come on, you son of a bitch.” The computer froze as he repeatedly stabbed at the keyboard with one finger.

An AK chattered in the corridor, followed by a deep boom. The overpressure rattled the door.

“Fuck it!” András picked up his submachine gun and fired a burst into the computer. It hissed and sparked. Then he kicked it off the desk. “Smash it and let’s get the hell out of here.”

One of the guards stomped on the box, splitting it in half. He used the butt of his AK to smash the hard drive as András left through the doorway that Masateru had used.

A massive explosion blasted open the office door, throwing furniture across the room and knocking both guards to the ground. Two black-armored operatives charged in through the smoking hole in the wall, weapons ready.

“Target down,” Mirza reported as he shot a guard in the face.

An AK roared in the confines of the room and Pavel was knocked sideways as he pivoted to engage his target. Bishop punched in through the doorway and fired his MP7 on full automatic. It hissed like an enraged taipan and the second guard fell backward, his chest riddled with bullets.

“MAN DOWN!” yelled Bishop.

“I’m OK, I’m OK.” Pavel was kneeling propped against the wall. A round had hit him in the abdomen but had not penetrated his state-of-the-art armor.

“Saneh’s not here,” said Bishop, attending to Kalista on the couch. “Neither is András or Masateru.” He spotted the open side door and stood. “You guys look after the girl. I’m going after them.”

“Wait!” Mirza yelled, but it was too late.

Bishop had already darted through the door.