PRIMAL Nemesis (Book 2 in the Redemption Trilogy, A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 6) (The PRIMAL Series) (16 page)

“Thanks, old man.” Chua laughed as he signed off.

Vance's knees creaked as he leveraged himself out of his chair. Chua wasn't wrong, he was getting to be an old man. First it was glasses and next it would be arthritis. The years of abuse to his body were catching up. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he and Ice were running around Kosovo together. On his way out he paused at the bookshelf behind the door. He pulled a book out and opened it to a well-thumbed page. There pressed between the pages was a picture of him and James ‘Ice’ Castle, his best friend and the man who had helped him establish PRIMAL.

***

CARACAS, VENEZUELA

“
Pete
, SITREP on the target,” Jimmy Scott said thumbing the transmit button on his radio. He was sitting in the front of their battered van outside a large house on the outskirts of Caracas. It was late evening and his team had been waiting in the van for four hours.

Pete’s voice came through tinny and distorted. “I still haven’t got another hit. The phone could be off.”

High above the van and a few hundred meters away the Schiebel Camcopter was hovering, its high-resolution infrared camera focused on the building. The video feed transmitted directly to the van where one of Jimmy's teammates was monitoring it. “There's no sign of guards or dogs, boss. We should wrap this up now and get back for some shut-eye.”

Jimmy pulled his balaclava down over his face. “Alright, let’s do this. Remember this is a break and enter turned violent. I want to be in and out in under two minutes.”

Hank started the van and they drove alongside the metal front gates that protected the estate. When they stopped one of the operators slid open the door, jumped out with a Halligan bar and wrenched open the door to the side of the main gate. Jimmy led the team through the ornate entrance across the lawn to the front door of the two-story mansion.

“This guy’s got some money,” said one of the men who was carrying a sledgehammer. He stood alongside the door and lined up his swing.

“OK, go.”

The hammer smashed the lock and the four men stormed inside. The lights were still on and a figure appeared from the living room. Jimmy punched him in the gut, knocking him to the ground.

Someone else yelled and one of the other operators silenced him with a flurry of blows from a baton.

Jimmy stood over the man he’d knocked down. “What’s your name?” he asked in Spanish.

The man glared defiantly and adjusted his black-rimmed glasses. “I'm not afraid of you,” he said hoarsely.

“You want me to kill your friend? Or do you want to tell me your fucking name?” Jimmy brandished a cheap carving knife. The sort of weapon a petty thief would use.

“Dante, my name is Dante.”

“Well Dante, today is not your day, is it.” He knelt down and plunged the carving knife into the bookish political leader’s stomach. Blood spilled from his mouth as Jimmy jerked the blade up, slicing a huge rent in the man’s lungs and heart.

A blood-curdling scream filled the house and Jimmy looked up. Standing at the top of the staircase was a middle-aged woman dressed in a nightgown. She wore a look of utter horror.

“Shut her up, Hank,” growled Jimmy.

The heavy-set operator sprinted up the stairs and grabbed the hysterical woman, pressing a gloved hand over her mouth.

“Trash the house, take anything of value,” Jimmy ordered the others. He glanced up at Hank. “You OK to take care of her?”

The operator shook his head. “I don't do women, Jimmy.”

“For fuck’s sake.” He pulled the knife from Dante’s chest and strode up the stairs. The woman struggled vainly against Hank. Jimmy dragged her into the bathroom. He held the knife against her throat and reached inside her nightgown with his free hand. She cursed and spat, oblivious to the blade that nicked her skin.

“Feisty bitch.” Jimmy dropped the knife and slammed her head against the sink with a clunk. She collapsed on the tiles moaning. Her nightgown fell open revealing a firm body and ample breasts. As he fumbled with his pants the radio on his belt crackled.

“Jimmy, this is Pete.”

He grabbed the radio. “What?”

“You've got red and blues inbound. Better high-tail it out of there.”

“Damn it.” He grabbed a fist full of the woman’s hair and smacked her head against the tiles until she was out cold.

“OK boys, let’s roll.”

Loaded up with jewelry, cash, and some liquor, they piled into their van and drove off. As they turned the corner two police cars screamed past them with lights flashing.

“Job done.”

CHAPTER 19

CARIBBEAN SEA

Saneh
stood at the bow of the
Nemesis
and let the breeze flow through her long brown hair. She rubbed her eyes and drew a deep breath. The last twenty-four hours had taken their toll and she longed to roll out a yoga mat on the wooden deck and stretch away her stiffness.

At least the weather had improved; the storm front had passed during the night. It left behind clear blue skies and a tranquil ocean that hissed under the bow as they cruised at a comfortable twenty knots.

The fuel situation was critical, they had burned thousands of gallons evading the two RHIBs. She glanced at her watch, it was 0655. Mitch was five minutes late. She double-checked the GPS map on her iPRIMAL. They were halfway between the Bahamas and Cuba, in international waters.

She heard the drone of an aircraft a moment before she spotted the speck on the horizon. Lifting the powerful binoculars that hung around her neck she focused them on the aircraft. The magnification allowed her to make out the distinctive four-engine, high tail design of a C-130 transporter. For a split second she feared it was a US Coast Guard aircraft. Then her earpiece crackled and Mirza spoke.

“Saneh, Mitch is inbound.”

Relief washed over her as she lowered the binoculars and watched the aircraft grow in size. It roared overhead. She padded down the side and watched the aircraft bank around for another pass. It waggled its wings as it lined up a few hundred yards off the side. Saneh stepped down onto the swimming platform that extended from the back of the boat. Tied to the railing and bobbing in the water was the
Nemesis'
tender. Wesley had helped her unload the compact RHIB from the stowage point under the foredeck.

Inside the aircraft Mitch stood behind the two fuel bladders. He was dressed in a wetsuit with an MC-6 steerable parachute strapped to his back and a reserve attached to his front. His heart was pounding but he wore a broad grin.

“You're good to go.” The loadmaster finished checking his chute and gave him a thumbs-up.

Mitch had only jumped with a parachute once before. That time he'd been strapped to the front of Kruger. This time he was on his own.

The loadmaster dropped the ramp and Mitch's heart leaped as the ocean raced past a thousand feet below.

“OK, standby.” The loadmaster gave his static line a reassuring tug. Then he hit a button and the two bundled fuel bladders slid to the edge of the ramp.

Mitch's heart was beating as fast as it did when he pulled out a 1:35 split on the rowing machine. His legs felt wobbly and he had the urge to puke.

“OK, go.” The loadmaster hit the trigger for the bundles and they disappeared over the ramp.

Mitch walked forward, sliding his static line along the wire. He stared straight ahead and stepped out into nothing. There was a roar of engines as he fell through the slipstream then silence as his parachute unfurled above him. He glanced around and spotted the
Nemesis
off to one side. In front of him the second fuel bladder hit the water with a splash, its parachute collapsing and drifting down on top of it. He remembered to glance up and check his chute; all good. He searched the back of the risers in front of him for the steering toggles. Locating them he pulled the left one down turning the chute toward the fuel bundles.

Fighting the urge to howl with delight he located the releases for the parachute. Then, right as he was about to hit the water, he pulled the wire loops and dropped away from the chute. He plunged into the clear blue water. Bobbing to the surface he spent a few seconds fitting his fins before kicking his way over to the bladders. He heard a high-powered engine off to one side as he grabbed the floats that kept the thousands of gallons of fuel afloat and turned his head to see Saneh at the helm of a small boat.

“Ahoy there,” she yelled as she brought the craft alongside.

Mitch grabbed the hand line on the rubber gunwale and hauled himself out of the water. “Permission to come aboard, skipper.”

“You are already ya land lubber.” Saneh clipped a line onto a fuel bladder. She already had the first bladder attached.

As they slowly tugged the fuel Mitch got his first real look at
Nemesis
. “My god Saneh, she's beautiful.”

“She's alright.”

They pulled up at the back of the motor-yacht where Mirza was waiting. He grabbed hold of the boat and tied it to the rear deck. Grasping Mitch's hand, he helped him aboard. “Welcome to the
Nemesis
, Mitch.”

The Brit dashed up the steps and peeked inside the cabin. “This thing is awesome!”

“There's plenty of time for you to check her out after we pump this fuel into the tanks,” yelled Saneh from the tender.

Mitch spun around, snapped his heels together, and gave a crisp salute. “Yes, Skipper. First things first, let's get the bladders tied off. Then we can run the fuel lines into the tanks.”

***

GES FACILITY, VIRGINIA

Howard watched as
King poured two glasses of whiskey from the bottle on his desk. The CEO had gone to the effort of finding another glass so he didn’t have to drink from the bottle. King handed him one of the tumblers. “OK, so we’re hot on the trail of Red Sox. We still don't know where Yankee is but we have to assume the two of them are working together.”

Howard raised his glass. “We’re getting closer.”

“OK, so what have we got on the boat?”

Howard nodded at the printed map he'd placed on the desk. “I had one of the analysts do some modeling on the vessel, her route, rate of fuel consumption, and likely destinations. According to the marina she was full when she left New York. Running on her most economic speed she would have made it all the way down as far as Miami by now.”

“That's what she was doing when the Coast Guard was tracking her?”

“Correct. However, our dudes down in South Carolina forced her to burn literally thousands of gallons of fuel to get away. Which means she would have to be either making for the shore, berthing at one of the islands of the Bahamas, or refueling somewhere in here.” There was a red zone marked on the map between Florida and Cuba.

“Well we know she hasn't come near the shore. The Coast Guard would have spotted her.”

“Yep, which is why I requested surveillance support from a special access program down south.”

“Mayan Panther?”

Howard frowned. “Yes, how do you know about–”

“You're not the only one with connections. Go on.”

“Well a
JSTARS
picked up a contact in this area, dead in the water. What's weird is it was stationary for almost two hours and no other vessels came near it. Then it started moving again, heading south at thirty knots.”

“They managed to refuel.” King placed his glass on the desk. “But how? It's not like they could have submarine support.” He paused. “We’re not dealing with the Russians are we?”

Howard shook his head. “No, it's much simpler than that. I asked for a pull of all the air traffic feeds and when I layered them on top of the position I found this.” He placed another map on the table. This one had the route and refuel location overlaid with flight tracks.

“Those sneaky bastards.”

“Yep, at 0700 someone dropped fuel for them from a cargo plane out of Jamaica.”

“Jamaica?”

“The flight originated from Norman Manley International airport and that's where I think the boat is heading based off its trajectory.”

“Where is the aircraft now?”

“Miami International. I’ve already spoken to the local authorities. They searched it and found nothing out of the ordinary.

“Whose plane is it?”

“It was a contracted flight. Lascar Logistics. Just another global air freight outfit.”

King jumped out of his chair and grabbed his jacket. “Good job.”

“Yeah, now we just have to work out how to target them in Jamaica.”

King headed for the door. “That part’s easy. I'm going down there on the next flight. Call the Chief of Station and tell him I'm coming. See if you can arrange surveillance on the port facilities and airport.”

“Do you want me to come with?”

“No, I need you to stay here and run the SCIF. We still need to find the rest of the network.”

King stormed out of the office and left Howard sitting by himself sipping the glass of whiskey. He grinned as he leaned back in the chair. Larkin was going to be impressed.

***

CARACAS, VENEZUELA

The
nurse behind the counter gave Antonio a nod as he carried a fresh bunch of flowers into his girlfriend’s ward. He paused outside Camilla’s room and forced a smile. Pushing open the door he found her exactly as he had left her the day before.

The bed was angled so she was sitting rather than lying. Her gaze was fixed on a point on the wall, face expressionless. In the corner of the room sat her father. He was watching her with a forlorn look of his own.

“Hello, Camilla.” He changed the flowers in the vase in the corner of the room. “How are you today?” He didn't expect a response. She hadn't spoken since the incident.

“Still no change,” her father said. “She just stares into space like she's not really there.”

“Why don't you stretch your legs, Mr. Hernandez. I will watch her for a bit.”

Her father nodded and pried himself from the chair. Since he had arrived in town he'd sat by his daughter’s side, never leaving for fear she would be alone when she finally decided to speak.

Antonio waited till he left before leaning forward to talk to her. “I've got help, Camilla. I've found people who can help me make them pay.”

She turned to face him with eyes glassy with tears and nodded.

He felt his heart soar; it was the first sign of life he’d seen from her since she was admitted to hospital.

A knock sounded. He turned to see his friend Chabi at the door. “Hello, good of you to come by.”

The student walked in and sat in the chair Camilla's father had vacated. “Has she said anything?”

“No, but she’s moving.”

Chabi nodded and dropped his eyes to the floor. “So I guess you heard what happened to Dante?”

“No, what?”

“He was murdered last night.”

“What, how?”

“A break and enter when he was visiting his friend. They stabbed him so they could steal a handful of trinkets. Well, at least that’s what the police are saying.”

He clenched his jaw. Then he leaned forward and kissed Camilla on the forehead. “They’ll pay. For everything,” he whispered before making for the door.

“Where are you going?” asked his friend.

Antonio ignored him as he strode from the room and down the hospital corridor, heels ringing on the freshly polished floor. He dialed Igor on the cell phone the Russian had given him. “We need to meet. There’s been another attack.”

***

BAHAMAS, CARIBBEAN SEA

Mitch
stood at the console of the
Nemesis
with a skipper’s cap sitting jauntily on his head. “This thing’s amazing.” The motor-yacht was doing nearly forty knots as they blasted through the clear waters of the Bahamas.

“Yeah we know, Wesley told us all about it.” Saneh was sitting at the table eating a sandwich. Mirza was downstairs fetching the banker who’d slept in.

“No seriously, you have no idea how cutting edge this is. We're talking the sort of tech they use in naval hardware. You throw a couple of Exocet launchers on this and a 25mm and you've got yourself a serious surface combatant.”

Saneh finished the sandwich. “It's pretty and it goes fast. That's all I care about.”

“Who the hell is this guy and where the hell did he come from?” Wesley was standing on the bottom deck staring at Mitch. “We're in the middle of nowhere.”

She smiled sweetly. “Wesley meet Mitch. He's the one who solved our fuel problem. Mitch, this is Wesley, the former owner of the
Nemesis
.”

“Former owner?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, you got a problem with that?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Now be a good boy and take a seat.”

Wesley sat next to Mirza on the opposite side of the table to Saneh. “Look, I've been thinking about what you said about hurting MVI and I know how we can do it.”

“Go on.”

“I want some assurances first. I'm going to have to disappear and I'm not going to spend the rest of my life living cheap on a beach in Thailand. You guys are resourceful; I want a new identity and I want fifteen million dollars.”

Saneh turned to Mirza. “What do you think?”