PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) (8 page)

There was
a pause on the other end of the line.

“What do
you want to know?”

“I want to
know a lot of things. I’m more interested in what you know.”

“Does the
new Sinaloa
plaza
boss for Chihuahua state
interest you?”

Mexican
police had killed the Chihuahua representative of the Sinaloa Cartel eight
months earlier in a raid. His successor was someone that JTF South had been
unable to determine. Pershing knew very well the name was a highly valuable
piece of intel.

“That
would do it.”

“The name
I’ve been given is
Ramon Ramirez
. Now, what
have you got for me?”

“Your
journalist just received an email from some guy called Roberto. He gave her a
heads-up on a demonstration in Chihuahua that went bad.”

“That
all?”

“No, she
replied within a few minutes. She’s coming down to Mexico. They’re going to
meet in an unspecified location on the outskirts of town. Somewhere she’s been
before.”

“Can you
forward me the emails?”

“That
might be pushing our friendship a little far.”

“Fine,
keep an eye on it, and tell me if you get anything else.”

The call
ended. Howard stubbed out his cigarette, went back to his cubicle, and opened
the file he had on
Ramon Ramirez.
He wanted to
cross-reference Pershing’s claim against what they knew. They already had him pegged
as a mid to high level player, a businessman who made savvy decisions when it
came to both narco-trafficking and the cartel’s more legitimate operations. If
he’d been promoted, it meant the Sinaloa Cartel was angling away from violent criminal
activities. It also meant they might be more willing to work with the CIA
against the other cartels.

Howard locked
his computer and went to the change room. He hardly ever used his locker. Fumbling
with the combination lock, he opened it, and found the shirt he had hung up
almost a year ago. It was an off-green color and short-sleeved but at least it
was a shirt. He swapped it for the Simpsons T-shirt he was wearing, wet his
hair, and tucked the scraggly ends behind his ears. On his way out of the
locker room he spotted a glossy red tie hanging on the towel rack next to a
neatly-pressed suit. He grabbed it and managed to tie it into something resembling
a Windsor knot. Then he left the locker room and knocked on his boss’s door.

“Come
in.” Everest Palmer, the Director of JTF South, had a booming voice.

Howard
pushed open the door and stepped into the spartan office of one of the most
influential men in Latin America. The Director was almost completely bald. What
hair he did have, at the back of his head, he kept clipped short. He had a
strong beak of a nose and his forehead was constantly wrinkled with frown
lines. Howard thought he looked a little like a vulture.

Palmer’s
gaze fell on the green shirt and bright red tie. “What can I do for you,
Terrance?”

“Wanted
to bring this to you straight away, sir. One of my sources has identified the
new head of the Sinaloa Cartel in Chihuahua.”

“That’s
good news. Who is it?”

“Ramon Ramirez.”

Palmer
rocked back in his chair. “That actually makes sense. Sinaloa has been
transitioning to a more business-centric model. He’s the perfect man to take
that forward. Who did this come from?”

“Source
88, sir.”

Palmer
nodded. “That means it’s pretty likely.” He was aware of Howard’s source in
Chihuahua. In fact he had worked with Pershing when the contractor was still in
the CIA.

“Yes, sir.
I believe so.”

“We’ll
convene a working group later in the week. I want you to lead it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s
all.”

As Howard
stepped out of the office the director spoke again. “I appreciate the effort
with the tie, Terrance. But in future it would be better if it wasn’t one of
mine.”

***

CHIHUAHUA

Felipe
Guzman threw a shot of tequila down his throat and slammed the glass back onto
the table. “Two dead students and at least a dozen more wounded! The Mayor is
screaming for answers.”

Pershing
was nursing a tumbler of scotch. “Tell him the narcos infiltrated the
demonstration and killed the students. You control the evidence, Felipe, you
can make it say whatever you want.”

The two
men were drinking in the
Loco Poni
, a
dive of an establishment a few miles from the police headquarters. It was a private
club the police chief frequented. It had seven types of tequila, fifteen varieties
of cigars, and a stable of young women who, for the right amount of money,
provided all manner of services.

Pershing
thought it was a shithole. He hated the rancid stench of cigars. The scotch
tasted like brake fluid, and the women were peasants dressed in cheap stockings
and ill-fitting underwear. It represented everything he hated about Mexico and
none of the things he loved.

Felipe chopped
the end of a cigar with a knife and lit it with a match. “What about your magic
cameras? They saw everything.”

“Delete
the footage, you idiot. Do I have to hold your hand, twenty-four-seven? Surely
with the amount of money I’m paying you can take care of a few little
problems.” Pershing studied the liquid in his glass. “I mean, you failed to
even bring me the damn rancher.”

“You talk
to me like a dog?” Felipe snapped and furrowed his thick brows. “Don’t forget
who helped you get approval for that hole you’ve dug.”

Pershing placed
the glass on the table and made a sour face. “This scotch tastes like horse
piss.” He looked the cop in the eye. “Listen, Felipe, I’m not ungrateful for
everything you’ve done. I’m just saying you’re not being helpful regarding this
particular problem.”

“Then why
don’t you get your Chaquetas Negras pets to sort it out for you?”

“Because,
my dear friend, I don’t trust them.” He reached into his jacket and took out a
thick wad of hundred dollar bills. “But I do trust you.”

“You
better watch those idiots.” Felipe slid the cash into his pocket. “Before you
know it they’ll turn on you.”

“Don’t
you worry about that. I’ve got the Black Jackets well in hand. I just need you
to find the rancher and his little posse of troublemakers.”

“My men will
find them.”

He stood
and brushed the creases from his pants. “There’s another ten K in it if you get
him before the end of the week.”

“You’re
not going to stay for some fun?” Felipe waved over a pair of young girls from
where they were waiting at the corner of the bar.

They were
dressed in knee-high stockings with lacy panties and push-up bras. Their faces were
heavily plastered with makeup. Pershing judged their age at eighteen, barely
legal. “No thank you, I’ve got work to do.” He grabbed his Stetson from the hat
stand at the door. “I’ll see you in a few days when you’ve got the rancher.”

Felipe already
had one of the girls on his knee. “Of course,
mi amigo
.”

Pershing
waited for the bouncer to open the door and stepped out onto the street. His
driver was waiting in the Chevy. “Take me to the farm,” he said as he jumped into
the back. He retrieved his thermos from the seat pocket and poured himself a
cup of black coffee. He needed his wits about him, and more importantly, he
needed to wash the taste
of cheap scotch from his mouth.

CHAPTER
8

NEW YORK CITY

Brian Kestrel walked into the Resources and Environmental Development
Group’s reception area at exactly eight o’clock. “Mr. Premiji, sorry about the
early meeting.”

Mirza
looked up from his phone. “No problem, I’m an early riser.” He had turned up
his Indian accent a notch for the benefit of the RED Group’s chief of
operations. The usually lean PRIMAL Operative was wearing his new suit complete
with a few extra inches of padding taped around his waist. His hair was slicked
back and he’d shaved his beard leaving a thin moustache.

Mirza
offered his card and the broad-shouldered Canadian gave him one in return.

“If you’d
like to join me in my office.” Kestrel directed him down a narrow corridor into
a spacious corner office with a view over the Hudson River.

Mirza sat
in a plush leather armchair. “I’m so glad you found time to fit me in at such short
notice.”

“I made
room in my schedule. Your project sounds very interesting.”

“Very
interesting and very lucrative.”

The miner
smiled. “Well, we’re in the business of making money. Before we get started,
would you like a drink? Coffee or tea?”

“Yes,
thank you. Black tea with one sugar.”

Kestrel
lifted his phone and placed the order with his assistant. They made small talk
until she delivered the beverage.

“Your
email mentioned the old copper mine in Bougainville,” said Kestrel.

“The
Panguna mine. You’ve heard of it?”

“Of
course. Not many in the industry haven’t. One of the largest copper deposits on
the planet. Shut down in ‘89 due to a civil war.”

“Correct.
My company has successfully negotiated the rights to re-open the mine.”

“That’s
very interesting. I hope you don’t mind but I had my assistant look into your
company. She tells me you’ve got fingers in some very lucrative pies but
nothing that approaches the complexity of Panguna. We’re talking hostile
elements on the ground, adverse environmental conditions, and very large-scale
mining operations.”

“True, this
is much larger than anything we’ve worked on previously. That’s why we want to
partner with organizations that have the required experience and expertise.”

“Well
you’ve come to the right place. RED has all of the necessary skills to run a
project like this. We can develop the infrastructure and our people are the
some of the best when it comes to open pit mining.”

“What
about logistical services?”

“We can
cover it top to bottom. Everything from accommodation and catering for the
workers, through to the shipment of ore and on-site refining if required. If
you like I can arrange for you to inspect one of our mines in Indonesia. The
conditions would be similar.”

“In the
future, that may be a good idea. I’ve also done my research and your projects are
impressive. The only real risk factor from my point of view is the security
environment. The locals in Bougainville are unlikely to be completely
compliant.”

Kestrel’s
brow furrowed. “True, it’s a significant concern considering the circumstances
that shut the mine down previously. But RED has overcome similar issues before.”

“So your
organization is able to provide security services in addition to
infrastructure, operations, and logistics?”

“Not
directly but we do have a partner we work with to ensure a stable security
environment. We can integrate the costs directly into the operational budget.”

“And
they’re experienced at dealing with non-compliant indigenous elements?”

“They
have a proven track record. Most of their employees are former US Special
Forces and intelligence. They’ve extensive experience in influencing the local
population in hostile environments.”

“But now
they’re civilians. Can a private company achieve similar outcomes?

“I can
assure you that they’re an outcomes-based organization. They’ll do whatever it
takes to ensure the project is successful.”

Mirza
smiled. “That’s exactly what we need.”

“So, when
do you expect the project to be finalized?”

“We have PNG
government approval already. We’re just tying in contractors and investors at
the moment. I anticipate initial infrastructure development to commence early
next year.”

“If
you’re interested in international investment, there’s a firm I can put you in
contact with here in New York. We’ve worked together on a number of projects. I
think you’ll find them a good fit.”

“I’d be
grateful for the introduction.”

“I tell
you what. I’ll give them a call today and find out if we can arrange a meeting
in the next day or so.”

“That
works for me. Though I have to be back in India by Friday.”

“I’ll do
my best. Now, I’m sorry this has to be short but I’ve got another meeting in a
few minutes. I hope this has been useful for you.”

“Yes,
very. I think we’ll have to continue talking.”

“Definitely.
What are you doing for the rest of the week?” Kestrel asked, leading him out of
the office.

“I was
hoping to see a few of the sights while I’m here.”

“You’ve
chosen the best time of the year to visit. It starts getting humid in a month.”

“Humidity
isn’t so much a problem for me.” Mirza laughed. “India and Papua New Guinea are
not like Canada.”

Kestrel
nodded. “Indonesia damn near kills me every time I visit.”

“Maybe
you should start mining in Siberia?”

“Hell no.
Colder than a polar bear’s scrotum. Nope, New York suits me just fine.” He
shook Mirza’s hand. “I’ll have my assistant let you know the time and place for
the investor meeting.”

“I look
forward to it.”

***

Bishop paused at the entrance to the café
opposite his hotel and scanned the room. He spotted Christina sitting the
corner dressed in a T-shirt, with her hair in a ponytail. He dropped into the
seat in front of her.

There was an awkward silence as
she scrutinized him over her sunglasses.
“You look worse than I feel.”

Bishop
smiled. “Nothing coffee won’t fix.”

“Did you
hear about the protest?” she asked as he ordered.

“No.”

“There
was a demonstration in Chihuahua yesterday. Three students were killed in
clashes with the police. They were demonstrating against the Barrio Del Rancho
mine.”

“Things
are getting serious down there.”

Christina
nodded. “My friend, the rancher, he was targeted by the police. They must be working
for RED.”

“How do
you know all this?”

“He sent
me an email last night. I’m going to fly to Chihuahua this afternoon.”

Bishop
shook his head. “That’s too dangerous. These guys are playing rough and there
are no rules in Mexico. It’s the Wild West.’”

She raised
her voice. “What do you want me to do? Sit on my hands while these bastards
murder and steal from innocent people?”

An
elderly woman one table over shot them a scowl over her breakfast.

“Christina,
your emails have been compromised. If you fly in, they’ll be watching the
airport. If they think you’re going to blow this wide open then God knows what
they’ll do to you.”

The veins
at Christina’s temples were throbbing. “I’m going, Aden. I made a promise to
Roberto and I’m going to make good on that promise.”

“OK then,
I’m coming with you.” He was not about to let another woman enter his life then
tragically leave it.

Her face
immediately softened. “You said your boss wouldn’t let you.”

“I’ve got
some leave. I’ll take a week off. But here’s the deal. I’m going to make all
the arrangements and you’re going to listen to me. You’re also going to stop
using any emails or social media.”

She nodded.

“I’ll
need to head into the office and finalize a few things. I’ll sort out the
transport. You go out and buy whatever you need but don’t go back to your
apartment.”

“OK.”

The
coffees were delivered and Bishop took a sip from his cup. “We’re going to play
this safe. Get you the photos and interviews you need, then get the hell out.”

“I feel
safer already.”

He shrugged.
“We’ll see how safe it is when we get down there. It’s got to be safer than
having dinner with you.”

Christina
blushed. “Look, Aden, I want to apologize for last night. I came on a bit strong
and I just wanted you to know it was a little out of character. With the escape
and the alcohol I just…”

“Oh, so
now you don’t find me attractive?” He feigned indignation and gave her a cheeky
smile. “It’s OK, Christina, I get it. We’ll just put it behind us.” Bishop
poured himself a glass of water and drank from it.

“I still
very much want to sleep with you, though.” She returned the smile.

He snorted
water out of his nose and the elderly woman gave them another angry look.

Christina
spoke softly. “You’re a very handsome man who swooped in and saved a maiden in
distress. As if I’m not going to find that desirable? The timing wasn’t right.
I get that.”

Bishop
wiped his face with a napkin. “I’m flattered and you’re a very attractive woman.
But for the time being let’s keep this professional. You try to find trouble,
and I’ll try to keep you out of it.”

She shook
his hand. “Deal.”