PRIMAL Nemesis (Book 2 in the Redemption Trilogy, A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 6) (The PRIMAL Series) (12 page)

***

The Eurocopter touched down on the grass pad behind the GES administration buildings. King grabbed his bag and when the pilot opened the door he jumped out. He strode across to where a tall attractive woman was waiting next to one of the camp’s buggies. “Is the team ready?”

“Yes sir, they’re waiting for you in the holding area.”

He climbed into the ATV. “Let’s get going then.”

She drove him out to a road that led to the huge sheds of the HA, or holding area. They stopped just inside the doors. Two black SUVs were parked in the middle of the open space. Team 2 and Pershing were waiting next to the cars.

“Gather round, boys,” said King as he strode across to meet them. He gave Pershing a nod as the team formed a half-circle in front of him. “I don’t have to tell you all how important your mission is. You came up against these fuckers in Mexico and they got the drop on you.”

To a man they wore a look of anger.

King continued, “This is your chance to hit back. Get down there, capture Objective Red Sox, and make him talk. Team 1 has been crushing it in Venezuela, now it’s your turn.” He eyeballed each of the men stopping when he got to Matt, who’d just returned from Germany with Shrek. Matt had a swollen jaw and one eye was bloodshot. “Shrek, what’s wrong with your boy?”

“He had a run in with a wrecking ball.”

“You been to see a medic?”

Matt shook his head.

“Jesus man, can you even talk? Your jaw could be broken. Shrek, he’s off the team. I can’t get you a replacement so you’ll have to run one man down.”

The team leader nodded. “Not a problem. Matt, unpack your kit.”

The injured operator looked crestfallen. He grabbed his bags from the vehicle.

“Dump them in the buggy. I’ll have my assistant take you to the hospital.” King turned back to the rest of the team. “Good luck, gentlemen.”

Team 2, minus Matt, climbed into the SUVs.

King pointed at Pershing. “Don’t fuck this up, or Pollard will have both our heads.” He turned on his heel and strode back to the ATV where his assistant was waiting with Matt. “Drop me at the SCIF then take him to the doctor.”

The two SUVs followed them out the shed and turned right toward the main gate.

His assistant dropped him at the gate to the SCIF and he swiped his way into the underground facility. The guard at the desk gave him a nod as he strode through to the intelligence facility floor. He opened the door and scanned the room. The analysts were all behind their desks working at their terminals. An overweight man locked eyes with him and stood.

“Terrance Howard, I presume?”

“Yes sir, you’re Charles King aren’t you?”

“That’s correct.” He lifted his chin toward the screens bolted to the wall above them. They displayed a tracking map and the intelligence log. “So where are we at, Mr. Howard?”

CHAPTER 13

CARACAS, VENEZUELA

Antonio hadn't returned to Camilla's apartment since the incident. As he walked up the stairs his pulse quickened and he hesitated. Then a hand on his shoulder reassured him and he unlocked the newly repaired door and stepped inside. “This is where they attacked us.” He fought back the panic that assailed him.

“It's OK, Antonio. We're here to make sure this won't happen to anyone else,” said Ivan.

He breathed deeply and watched as the Russian inspected the living room. The coffee table was upturned and the carpet still stained with blood. He went to the kitchen and found a cloth and a container of water. On his hands and knees he scrubbed at the carpet. Tears welled in his eyes as the blood refused to budge.

“Leave that.” Ivan took the bucket and helped him to his feet. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened here.”

They sat in the kitchen and Antonio told his story. It felt good to tell someone, to get the weight off his shoulders. He felt like Igor really wanted to help. The Russian was a good listener.

“Do you mind if I ask some questions?”

Antonio sighed. “No. It's fine.”

“You said all the ringleaders were here. How did they know when and where to meet?”

“I told them.”

“In person?”

“Some, but others I confirmed with a Twitter message. Are you wondering how they found us?”

Igor nodded. “The
colectivo
would not have the capability to find a small well organized group like yours.”

“Then who else could it be? The police would not do this. The risk is too great. If Voluntad found out they would use it against them.”

“Do you know of any other groups who have been attacked?”

“Yes, there have been a number of attacks, all against the students who organize the demonstrations.”

Igor pulled out a small notepad. “Tell me everything you remember from the attack.”

***

ATLANTIC OCEAN

The
angular bow of the
Nemesis
sliced through the choppy seas with ease as she cruised south with Saneh at the helm. It was an hour till sunset but the low cloud almost completely blocked the sun giving the horizon a dull glow. She was impressed with how easily the craft handled the degrading conditions. The waves had gained in size but the carbon composite hull was as stable as ever. It barely rocked as they plowed forward at a steady twenty-five knots.

She checked the navigation system and made a quick calculation in her head. Fuel consumption had increased slightly with the choppy seas. When they were further south, clear of the US mainland, then they would have to drop back to about fifteen knots if they were to make it all the way to Jamaica. If not they would have to abandon the boat. She pursed her lips; that would be a real shame. She pulled her iPRIMAL from her pocket and sent a short update to Chua. He might be able to work out a way to get them more fuel.

“You ready for a shift change, Mr. Ebadi?” Mirza asked from behind her.

Saneh laughed. She was dressed in some of Wesley's clothes. Surprisingly they fit well thanks to his slight frame and penchant for tight jeans.

Mirza handed her a mug of hot chocolate.

“No green tea?”

“I thought you might want to sleep.”

“True, I should probably get my head down, but I still need to have a few words with our friend below.”

“Do you want me to bring him up?”

“Yes, please.”

Saneh waited for Mirza to fetch Wesley and sit him on a couch. Then when Mirza took over the helm she headed aft to speak to the banker.

“What happened to the prick that tried to kill me?” he asked as she sat facing him.

“He went for a swim.”

“Oh, OK, good.” Wesley glanced nervously around the cabin then back to Saneh. “So what happens now?”

“Well, that depends on you. Answer my questions and you'll find we are very generous and take care of our friends. But, tell me lies and you too can go swimming.”

Wesley swallowed. “Who are you?”

“We're contentious objectors.”

“To what?”

“Organizations that get rich by making other people’s lives miserable. You know, like Manhattan Ventures Investments.”

He shook his head. “You have no idea what you're up against. Jordan Pollard isn't some run-of-the-mill banker. He's connected, he's powerful, and he’s got money to burn. The bastard tried to have me killed. Even the goddamn CIA outsources their dirty work to him.”

Saneh smiled. “That's a good start. What do you know about his CIA contracts?”

He shrugged. “Not much, I wasn’t trusted with that information. All I know is King and his goons subcontract to the Agency. I'm not sure what they do, I just know it pays well. With Mexico screwed it's the only thing keeping the security guys afloat.”

“What about Venezuela?”

“Jesus, is there anything you guys don't know? Look, Pollard needed a cool half a billion for what could only be an energy deal. There's nothing else down there. I helped raise the capital but wasn't privy to any of the planning or anything like that.”

“But you were briefed in for Mexico?”

“Yeah, but that was more legit. Although the shit they were doing to the locals was messed up.”

“You didn't do anything about it though.”

“What was I supposed to do? You've seen what these people are capable of. They would have killed me.”

Saneh arched one of her eyebrows. “They’ve already tried to kill you, Wesley, and they're not going to stop till you're dead. You won’t be safe until King and Pollard are neutralized and we're the only ones that can do that.”

She decided that was enough for the time being. She would let Wesley dwell on the thought overnight and start again in the morning. “Mirza, I'm going to take Wesley back to his room then I'm going to get some sleep.”

“Roger.”

A moment later, having secured their prisoner in his cabin, she lay on her back in one of the spare bedrooms. As the pulsing of the engines lulled her to sleep her thoughts turned to Bishop. She finally felt like she’d escaped the debt she owed him for saving her life and recruiting her into PRIMAL. The playing field between them was now level. The funny thing was that it only made her think of him even more.

***

RIO DE JANEIRO

The sun had just dropped below the horizon when the gray DC-9 touched down at Alfonsos Air Force Base on the outskirts of Rio. It taxied to a private hangar where three SUVs were parked under fluorescent lights.

Pershing was first out when the stairs dropped. He made a beeline to the man waiting in front of the vehicles and extended his hand. “Danny, good to see you again.”

Danny Harper, an officer from the local CIA station, shook his hand. “You too bud, been too long. We haven't touched base since you moved over to the dark side.”

He gave a wry smile. “Hey, like I said when I left. Any time you need a job you just ask.”

“I appreciate that. Now, I got you the vehicles you need and we've organized a safe house in town. You need anything else you just holler.” He glanced over Pershing's shoulder at the GES operatives unloading their equipment from the jet. “Seems you've got quite the team. What’s your mission?”

“Rendition of a terrorist.”

“Islamist?”

Pershing shook his head.

Harper knew not to inquire further and handed him the keys for two of the SUVs. “We've got you a nice little place in Gavea. They're going to knock it down in a few weeks to build a condo so it was cheap. It's a bit of a drive from here so we should get going.”

It took Pershing and Team 2 a minute to load their equipment. Then they followed Harper’s vehicle out of the airbase and across the sprawling city. Pershing was familiar with the city as was most of the GES team. He paid little attention to the highways and dark streets as they flashed past. He watched the screen of his phone, tracking their movement on a command and control app.

Forty-five minutes later the convoy pulled over to the side of the road and Harper jumped out, unlocked a gate, and waved them in.

The two-story home was hidden from the road by a sheet metal fence and construction signage.

“Electricity is on, plumbing works, and we dropped some bedding and water inside.” Harper tossed Pershing a set of keys. “You get any problems with the locals just give me a call.” He winked. “Have fun and try not to blow anything up.”

“No problems, and don't worry, we'll keep this real low key.”

Harper drove away leaving them standing in the dark outside the house. Pershing unlocked the front door and flicked on the lights. In the middle of the empty living room was a pile of bottled water, stretchers, and sleeping bags. He turned to Shrek. “Set up your gear in here. I'll give orders in half an hour.”

Pershing took a few minutes to assemble one of the stretchers as the men worked around him. He sat on the cot, opened his laptop, and plugged in his phone. Browsing through his emails he found one from Howard. A smile crossed his lips as he read. The team had tied down Objective Red Sox's historic location to an internet café two kilometers from their current position. He could have men there within the hour. Unplugging his phone, he dialed King.

“Henry, I take it you’re in country?”

“Yes sir, what’s our ETA on the recovery of the
Nemesis
?”

“They’ll be passing through the interdiction box in the morning.”

“Roger, I'll have my people out on the ground within the next hour or so.”

“Good, let me know when you’ve got him.”

“Will do.”

“So you know, I’m staying with the intel team until this Major League Network is dealt with.”

“I trust Howard has been keeping you informed regarding Red Sox?”

“Yes he has. I've got to run. Good hunting.” The call terminated.

Pershing smiled as he slipped the phone into his pocket. Within a matter of hours Objective Red Sox would be in his grasp. Then the German was going to spill everything he knew and Pershing was going to hunt down every other member of his team. He was looking forward to making them pay for Mexico.

***

MIAMI

Bishop
relaxed in the co-pilot seat as Mitch brought the Gulfstream down at Miami International airport. “Nice one, mate,” he said as they touched down gently.

The Brit made to reply but instead yawned.

“Hey, you're not going to fly to Jamaica tonight are you?”

Mitch shook his head and yawned again. “Negative, I'm going bunk down here and fly first thing in the morning.”

“Good, the last thing we need is you falling asleep at the wheel.”

“Hello, it's called a yoke.”

“Whatever.”

As they taxied across to the General Aviation Center Bishop unbuckled and moved back to the cabin to grab his daypack. He'd managed to clean the camouflage cream from his face in the tiny bathroom and had changed into a clean T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Inside his pack were a spare shirt, cash, and toiletries.

The jet came to a halt and the turbines powered down as he double-checked he had his passport, wallet, and iPRIMAL. He slipped the valuables into his pockets. “Give my best to the others when you see them.”

“Will do.”

“That refueling plan all sorted?”

“Yep, the CAT is flying to Jamaica with everything we need.”

“OK, catch you later.” Bishop lowered the aircraft stairs. He walked down, squinting at the bright lights that illuminated the tarmac. As he made his way to the terminal he glanced at his watch. His flight to Rio De Janeiro left from the other side of the airport in less than an hour. Ten hours later he would be on the ground in a foreign city of six million searching for a man who hated him and didn't want to be found. A man who he had to find before GES did. If he failed the outcome for both Kurtz and all of them would be terminal. The German was tough but Bishop knew even he would crack in the hands of professionals, and Kurtz knew everything there was to know about PRIMAL.