PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) (28 page)

Mirza
glanced at his watch. “Well, we better get to work. We’ve got eight hours till
sunrise.”

“You sure
about this?” asked Bishop.

The
Indian operative nodded. “Like Mitch said, we owe it to the farmers. You just
need to convince Vance.”

“Might be
better if we don’t tell him.”

Mirza
raised his eyebrows.

“OK fine,
I’ll call him now.”

CHAPTER
33

Pershing woke when someone started bashing on the door of
his room. The flimsy material vibrated, making it sound like the entire
transportable building was about to collapse. “Cut it out, damn it. I’m awake.”
He checked the time on his phone. It was 0520 in the morning. “What do you
want?”

“Mr.
Pershing, it’s me, Burro. The drone base, it’s under attack.”

The fog
of sleep instantly lifted, pushed away by a surge of panic and adrenalin. He
grabbed his robe, slung it on, and wrenched open the door. “What the hell are
you talking about?”

Burro
held his phone up so Pershing could hear the gunshots and yelling. “It’s
Javier, he says they’re under attack. They’re holding out, but he needs help.”

“Who’s
attacking? Police? Narcos?”

Burro
spoke briefly into the phone. “He thinks it’s the Sinaloa.”

Pershing
conducted a quick tactical evaluation in his head. If he sent his quick
reaction force, the mine would be down on men, but that would be mitigated by
the arrival of Team 2. They were due in this morning.

“Burro,
send three pickups and twenty men. Tell them to protect the facility and take
at least one prisoner for questioning.”

“Yes, Mr.
Pershing, I’ll go myself.”

“No, I
want you to stay here.”

He sat
back down on the bed and rubbed his temples. The leak must have come from the
police chief. Felipe wasn’t answering his calls. Damn, he should have cut him
in on Longreach. That greedy chili choker must have sold him out to the
Sinaloa.

***

Mitch
glanced down at the iPRIMAL strapped to his forearm. The time displayed was
0558 hours. “Where the hell are they?” He looked across at Miguel who was lying
a few feet away. The Mexican shrugged and kept watching the track that led from
the main road. “Trust me to get partnered with the only guy on the team that
doesn’t speak English.
”

They were
laying on the roof of an equipment shed a half-mile from the drone factory.
Mitch was in full combat gear with a Tavor assault rifle and Miguel had an AK.
It had been nearly thirty minutes since they had forced one of their Black
Jacket prisoners to make the call to their boss, and Mitch was keen to be off
the roof by the time the sun peeked over the horizon.

Miguel
pointed down the road. “
Mir
á
.”

He didn’t
know what the word meant but got the gist of it. Headlights turned off the main
road and moved down the track toward them. He raised a thermal imager and could
easily make out three pickups filled with gunmen. “It’s them.” He activated an
app on his phone. All five connections were green. His finger hovered over the
screen as he watched the trucks approach. When they reached the fencepost he
was using as a marker, he tapped the device.

The
ground beneath the convoy erupted as a series of five charges detonated. The explosives
launched the trucks skyward, ripping them apart. He watched with the imager as
passengers and chunks of metal were sent hurtling through the air like
children’s toys.

“Bloody
hell!” Mitch had not laid the charges. It had been Mirza’s responsibility. The
Indian must have packed at least another twenty pounds of fertilizer and diesel
around each bomb.

As the
dust settled they climbed down from the roof. There was no need for any follow
up. He placed his assault rifle in the back of the farm’s ATV and climbed in.
Miguel jumped into the passenger’s seat and they drove back to the main sheds.
He tried not to dwell on the fact he had just vaporized at least two dozen men.
“Gents, ambush has been sprung. Moving back to the release point. Standby for
aircraft launch in five,” he transmitted over his Bluetooth headset.

Bishop
and Mirza both acknowledged the message.

Mitch
drove the cart into the well-lit main shed. The prisoners were gone, locked in
the transportable accommodation block behind the hangars. He pulled up next to
the UAV launching ramp where the first aircraft was positioned. There were
three more sitting ready next to it.

His
laptop was already plugged into the drone’s control system and he double-checked
the destination coordinates he had programmed. Happy they were correct, he
armed the payload on the first drone, and closed the maintenance hatch with an
electric screwdriver. He hand cranked the prop. The little engine caught on the
first spin and buzzed to life, filling the shed with noise. He hit the catapult
release button and the hydraulic ram shot the aircraft out through the open
doors and into the brisk morning air. “First bird is airborne and on her way to
the target,” he transmitted before resetting the hydraulic ram.

Bishop
responded first. “Roger. We’re standing by.”

Mirza was
next. “I have eyes on target two.”

Miguel
helped him lift the second aircraft onto the catapult. With a thirty-pound load
in its cargo hold, it was not light.

“Bird two
is on the ramp and ready to go. Let me know when you want it.”

This time
it was Mirza who responded first. “Green light from me.”

“Green
light here too,” confirmed Bishop.

Mitch
spun the prop and reached down to hit the catapult release. Once this one was
gone there was no turning back, they were at war. “Bird two is airborne.”

***

Raphael Cardenas liked to think of himself as a connoisseur
of fine things. His villa on the outskirts of the Mexican town of Buenaventura
was a decadent display of luxury. Every day, workers tended to the swimming
pool and elaborate gardens. Inside, an interior designer had spared no expense
at modernizing the mud-brick construction with marble, polished wood, and
boutique furniture.

The two-hundred year old hacienda had been
purchased, renovated, and decorated with funding from the mine project. That
single operation had turned his small gang of criminals into a militant cartel
overnight, allowing him to hire more fighters, buy more guns, and partner with
the bigger Juarez cartel. Now, with the commencement of Pershing’s drone
flights, he was about to move into the lucrative business of narcotics
smuggling. Soon, he would be in a position to wrestle territory from the
Sinaloa.

Cardenas
sat on the balcony of the upper story of the hacienda in his robe. An early
riser, the cold did not bother him. He always took breakfast at daybreak, enjoying
watching the sun rise over the desert. One of his servants brought him a tray
with a newspaper and a glass of orange juice. He unfolded the paper and started
reading.

He was on
the second page of the sports section when a faint buzzing caught his
attention. He frowned and lowered the paper. Was it a wasp? No, the noise was
getting louder. It sounded like an airplane. He stood at the rail to see who
was disturbing the serenity of the morning.

In the
distance he spotted a speck. The aircraft was approaching directly. For a
second he wondered if it was one of the American spy planes. No, it was flying
low, and he wasn’t important enough for that. It had to be some idiot in his
light aircraft going for a joy flight. He had half a mind to grab the gold-plated
AK from his room and give the moron a burst to send him on his way.

He sat
back at the table and opened up the paper. He tried to ignore the sound but the
droning was getting louder and louder. “
Ay Dios mío
!
” As Cardenas dropped the paper he caught a glimpse of the
grey drone before it slammed into the hacienda.

The
fiberglass wings snapped clean off as it penetrated the western wing of his home
and detonated. The shock wave from the explosion threw Cardenas from his chair and
part of the roof collapsed on top of him. Tiles and wood pinned him to the
floor and he struggled against them. The air was filled with dust and smoke,
burning his lungs as he fought for breath. He heard voices. “Here!” he yelled. “I’m
here!” Hands pulled the wreckage from him.

“We’ve
got to get out of here, boss,” said one of his Black Jackets. “The place is on
fire.”

Cardenas
let the man guide him through the wreckage and out across the lawns to the
garage. When they were clear he turned back to watch his pride and joy burn.
The entire west wing of the building had collapsed and was ablaze. If the drone
had struck twenty yards to the right it would have killed him. He clenched his
jaw. He knew whose work this was. “Get as many men together as you can, we’re
going to the mine.”

***

Pershing shoveled the last of the omelet into his mouth and
washed it down with a glass of water. He could say one thing for the Mexicans;
they ran a tight ship in the camp kitchens. Every meal was delicious. He took a
sip from his espresso and reached for his phone.
 
He had waited till seven to ring King.
Not for fear of waking his boss, he did not want to interrupt his run. He
dialed the number and waited for him to pickup.

“George,
what’s up? Shrek and his boys arrived yet?”

“Not yet,
sir. I expect them within the hour. I need to let you know that Longreach is
under attack. I’ve dispatched the Black Jackets to find out what’s going on.”

“Do you
know who?”

“I’ve got
my suspicions. I think the Chief of Police may have sold us out to the
Sinaloa.”

There was
a pause before King responded. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m
thinking it’s time he was replaced. His second-in-command is our man through
and through.”

“Very
good, authorized. If Longreach is compromised, so be it, just as long as it
doesn’t blow back on the mine. Have the CIA tracked down Objective Yankee or
any of his associates?”

“Howard
has identified a potential link in Germany. Once he has more information I’ll
pass it along. Looks like they’re some kind of international mercenary outfit.”

“Sounds
like wannabe A-Team assholes. As soon as the details firm up, let me know.
They’re going to find out very quickly it doesn’t pay to mess with
professionals.”

“Yes,
sir, I’ve got a local here that was working with them. I want to move him to
one of the rendition facilities.”

“That’s
going to take some effort, leave it with me. That all?”

An
explosion shook the walls of the transportable office.

King
chuckled. “Sounds like you’re getting a bit too close to the blasting there,
George. I’ll leave you to it.”

He hung
up and dashed out of the office. The scene that greeted him was one of complete
chaos. The equipment sheds were burning, thick smoke hung in the air, and
miners ran from their accommodation in all directions.

“What
the…” A buzzing sound filled the air and he looked up, catching a glimpse of a
small grey drone. It disappeared behind the sheds. A devastating explosion shook
the ground and a fireball rolled into the sky. It had hit the fuel dump. He
spotted the mine manager running through the smoke. “Where the hell are you
going? Get those goddamn fires out.”

The man
stopped and stared at him. “Yes, sir.” He ran toward the fires.

Pershing
opened the door of his SUV and grabbed the radio mike. “Burro, where the hell
you at?”

“I’m here,
Mr. Pershing.”

He
glanced over his shoulder. The cartel leader had an assault rifle in his hands
and his combat vest on. “What happened to the men who went to the factory?”

Burro
shook his head. “They’re not answering.”

His phone
vibrated. Howard could pick the best times. He answered. “Unless you can get me
a fucking SEAL team, I don’t have time to talk to you.”

“What?”

“I’ll get
back to you.” Pershing terminated the call and turned his attention to Burro. “How
many men you got right now?”

“Only
ten, Mr. Pershing. All the others went to the drone farm.”

“Get them
ready. I think we’re about to be attacked.”

***

Mirza’s camouflaged combat fatigues blended in perfectly with
the rocky slope overlooking the mine’s camp. He was laying between two boulders
with his HK marksman’s rifle trained on the camp’s front gate. The laser
rangefinder built into the scope read four hundred meters to the security
checkpoint. Well within range.

“Both
drones struck the mining facility. Equipment sheds and the fuel farm are
burning,” he reported.

Mitch’s
voice responded. “Roger, last bird is ETA four minutes.”

Mirza used
his rifle’s digital scope to snap a picture of the burning facilities and
transmitted it to the others.

Bishop
replied within seconds. “Good work, guys. Mirza, send SITREP on security.”

“I’ve
only seen a couple of guards at the front gate.”