PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (8 page)

CHAPTER 13

CASTLE LORAN, EASTERN HUNGARY

The two BMW X5s powered along the narrow gravel road that led through the Loran Forest to the castle. They swept out of the tree line and across the clearing that surrounded the ancient walls. The convoy slowed as it reached the bridge over the moat and passed through the stone arch that held the gatehouse aloft. In the cobblestoned courtyard they turned in a tight circle until they stopped in front of the keep.

Masateru and his two Kissaki bodyguards alighted from the vehicles and started up the stairs. The two former Japanese Special Forces operators were a direct contrast to their boss. Heavily built, with short military-style haircuts, they wore black suits and white shirts open at the neck. The cut of their jackets was loose, designed to hide the B&T MP9 machine pistols they carried.

“Welcome to Castle Loran, Masateru,” András greeted the Yakuza lieutenant at the steps to the keep. “Your visit is a welcome surprise. What brings you to Hungary?”

“I think we both know that already.” He used both hands to smooth out the creases in his light-gray woolen suit and slick back his hair.

“Yes, of course, everything is in place for the auction. Already the girls—”

“Take me to your office. We have business to discuss.”

The Yakuza lieutenant led the way up the stairs and into the foyer of the mafia headquarters. Seemingly immune to the lavishness of the former boutique hotel, he passed through the main hall, guards in tow. He headed directly to the bank of elevators that had been installed in the ancient building. András followed with his own men.

When they reached the office they left their men in the hallway. Masateru took a seat to one side of András’s desk, allowing the Hungarian to sit behind it.

“So tell me about how you have fixed this problem.” Masateru reached into his coat and extracted his cigarettes.

“What problem is that?” András feigned surprise, his thick eyebrows raised.

“You know better than to think there will ever be secrets between us.”

“It is only a small problem. My men are dealing with it.” András reached for his own pack of cigarettes, hand shaking.

“A small problem? I would hardly call the loss of your entire supply network a small problem.” Masateru lit his cigarette and tossed the gold Dunhill lighter to András.

“They can be easily replaced.” András lit his own cigarette and handed back the lighter.

“That is not what concerns me. What concerns me is you have no idea who did this. What’s to stop them from doing it again?”

“I have some leads. My men—”

“No you don’t,” Masateru cut him off. “You have no more idea who did this than I do. That is why I am here. I will find out who did this and then you will kill them.”

“Thank you.” András nodded respectfully. “Do you want me to cancel the auction? Some of the guests have already arrived and we have a new client who has the potential to significantly increase our market.”

Masateru took a long drag from his cigarette as he considered the information. “Is there anything linking the manor to this location?”

András shook his head. “No.”

“Delay the auction. I don’t want any clients to leave until I complete my investigation. In the meantime, ensure security is increased.”

“Very good.”

Masateru inhaled deeply from his cigarette, sending a stream of smoke into the air. “Tell me about this new client.”

András nodded. “My contact in Interpol has confirmed that Mr. Martin is a well-known arms dealer. He’s former SAS gone mercenary, sells weapons to most of the Middle East. Rebels, Al-Qaeda, he doesn’t care.”

“Hmm…British Special Forces would have been perfect for assaulting the manor.”

“You think he could still be involved with the British government?”

Masateru continued to stare into space, his mind running through a range of possibilities. “Unlikely.” He ashed his cigarette into the tray on the desk. “If the British were after us, Interpol would know. But keep a close eye on him.”

“I’ve brought in more men. I can hire others if you think it is necessary.”

“No, we use only men you trust. We don’t know if this is a rival gang yet or a government agency.”

“Or the family of one of the girls we’ve kidnapped.”

Masateru laughed. “Do you expect Liam Neeson to leap through the window and start blasting away? No, this will be either the law or a rival. Either way, I will find out who they are and they will be dealt with.”

András stubbed out his cigarette and rose out of his chair. “Would you like to see the girls?”

Masateru shook his head. “No, I will wait until the auction.” He reached into his jacket and put the photos he had shown his
oyabun
on András’s desk. “All of them will be sold except this one; she’s coming back to Japan with me.”

The mafia boss picked up the photos. Masateru had circled one of them with a thick red pen. It was the prettiest one, the blonde they called Karla.

“She has a sister, yes?” Masateru continued.

“That’s correct; she was bitten by a dog.”

“Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. She had been at the manor—rather bad injuries, you see. But the local police didn’t mention finding a girl, just the bodies of our men.”

“Then where is she?”

András wore a blank look for a few seconds. “They must have taken her.”

“So get her photo to the police and find her. She will lead us to those responsible. Then we can take action of our own.”

CHAPTER 14

ABANDONED AIR BASE, UKRAINE

The roof of the aircraft hangar was riddled with holes. Sunlight streamed down in thin shafts that cut through the dusty interior and cast a dappled pattern on the fuselage of the PRIMAL business jet and Mi-17 transport helicopter parked inside.

In the back corner of the hangar, the PRIMAL team had set up their equipment. A pair of laptops on folding tables provided the network link back to the Bunker and PRIMAL’s databases. Other tables held a range of weapons, ammunition, and technical kit.

With the arrival of Mitch, Bishop, and Saneh, the PRIMAL team in Ukraine had reached seven, a significant commitment for an organization that usually fielded teams of two or three.

The first team on the ground was a four-man squad led by Mirza Mansoor. The former Indian Special Forces operative usually partnered with Bishop but had recently been placed in charge of the fledgling Critical Assault Team. The CAT was an in extremis reaction force and would be responsible for backing up Bishop and Saneh with heavy firepower. Mirza and his men had flown in on a Lascar Logistics flight with all their kit. Yuri, PRIMAL’s arms dealer, had leased the Mi-17 helicopter.

“The old crew back together again.” Bishop smiled at the team gathered around the makeshift operations desk. “Mirza, it’s good to have you and your boys along. Thanks for setting up shop for us.”

Mirza gave him a curt nod. The two of them formed one of PRIMAL’s most effective teams, and this was the first mission in over a year where they would be working separately.

“Don’t mind him,” said Mitch. “He’s just a bit sad at being replaced by a beautiful woman.” The pilot laughed. “But can you really blame Bishop? He gets rid of his sidekick and ends up with our glamorous Persian here.” He gave Saneh a cheeky wink.

Two of the CAT operatives started laughing. Pavel and Miklos had been with them the last time they were in Ukraine and knew the history behind the group. It was only the new team member, a South African named Kruger, who had not been on that mission.

“It’s OK, Mirza,” Saneh said. “I’ll keep your man crush out of trouble.”

Everyone burst into laughter except Bishop.

Mirza gave a slight smile. “Just don’t let him near anything that flies, drives, shoots, sails, or moves, for that matter.”

The laughs continued and Bishop shrugged. “OK, OK, very funny. Everyone’s a bloody comedian today. This is a big one, yeah? We need to focus.”

The team fell silent.

“We’ve got a lot of moving parts and although the Bunker is taking care of most of the coordination, the buck is going to stop here with us.”

Bishop looked over the team; now they had their game faces on.

“As you all know we’ve already got guys out on the ground. Aleks and Kurtz have been following up on a lead in Hungary. Their contact was blown yesterday and subsequently killed. We’re not dealing with amateurs here, people.”

“Where are Aleks and Kurtz now?” Pavel was a close friend of both men. When the swarthy Russian had been wounded on a previous mission, it was Aleks who had dragged him to safety.

“They’ve relocated to a safe house in Budapest. Once Saneh and I get an invite to the Syndicate’s auction, they’ll insert to provide overwatch.”

“Do you know anything else about the location?” Mitch clearly wanted to get ahead on his flight planning. He would be tasked with flying Saneh and Bishop in on the Mi-17, then using it as an insertion platform for the CAT, if necessary.

“Negative. Chua thinks it’s in eastern Hungry, just over the border, but they’re not a hundred percent. Once we get the invite we’ll know for sure.”

“What about us?” Miklos had a concerned look. “Looks like everyone else is in the job except us.”

Saneh smiled at the handsome Czech. “You’re here to help me pull Bishop from the fire when he falls out of the pan.”

“Ah, it would be my pleasure.” Miklos gave her a dashing grin of his own.

“OK, keep your pants on, Micky,” Bishop said. “She’s right, you’re our ace in the hole. Once Mitch has flown us in he’s going to come back here, bolt on the weapons pods, load up the CAT, and get ready to rock if the shit hits the fan.”

“As no doubt it will,” Mitch added.

“Give me a break, not everything I touch explodes. This should be a perfectly smooth intel collection job. In and out, no dramas.”

The entire team stared at him with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, bugger off and prep your kit, already,” said Bishop. “Once the auction coords come through we’ll start detailed planning.”

They all moved back to their kit and Bishop started to go through his luggage. He opened a small plastic case and removed a pair of what looked to be standard Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses. This particular pair was far from normal. One of the lenses contained a microscopic sensor capable of capturing an image and storing it on a tiny solid-state drive buried inside the spectacles’ frame. Although it lacked the resolution of a handheld camera, its capabilities were hidden to all but the closest scrutiny. Both Bishop and Saneh would be going in clean with no weapons or equipment that would arouse suspicion; the only mission-specific gear would be the glasses and a modified iPod that had tracking and messaging capabilities.

Interrupted by the incoming e-mail sound from one of the laptops, he rose to check it. The Gmail account had been set up for him by the Syndicate and passed to him through Ivan. There was a message in the inbox. It contained a brief invitation:

0900 hours tomorrow. You and the woman only. Auction next day. 47°37’28.23”N 21°54’16.84”E

Bishop dropped the coordinates into their mapping database. They landed on what looked like a field situated next to an isolated farmhouse. As a rendezvous point, it made sense: The Syndicate would want to keep their operations as discreet as possible.

“Anything yet?” Saneh leaned over his shoulder to look at the screen. Her breasts pushed gently against his back, causing his mind to wander.

“Huh?”

“Is that the auction location?” she asked.

“It’s a pickup point, twenty miles over the border in Hungary.” He reopened the e-mail for her to read.

“So the iPod tracker is going to be vital?”

“Yeah, although the auction shouldn’t be too far from the rendezvous.” Bishop zoomed out, showing a rural region of farms, small villages, and a medieval castle dispersed among the forested landscape.

“Heads up, team!” Bishop yelled so everyone in the hangar could hear. “Location just came through. We’re in business.”