PRIMAL Unleashed (2) (14 page)

Not once had the Afghan warlord invited him down to the tents they had erected below the work site. Khan and his group of Taliban had established a comfortable camp complete with carpets and servants. At night Yanuk watched them through his night vision goggles. While he slept in the open and ate from tins, these peasants were living it up like they were on some sort of camping trip, eating roasted goat and taking turns to sodomize one of their young servants.

The Russian engineer downed the last of his coffee and rose, slinging his assault rifle over his shoulder. He took a deep breath and walked over to where Khan was watching the workers.

“They are working too slowly, Yanuk.” Khan’s perfect English irritated him.

“We will make the deadline.”

“Perhaps, but we have a problem.”

“There is no problem. We make the deadline.” Yanuk clenched his fists by his side. He wanted nothing more than to slip his fighting knife from his forearm and bury it in the arrogant warlord’s throat.

“The problem is not here, my friend.”

Yanuk looked confused.

“There are some vehicles approaching from the south,” Khan said, gesturing down the ridgeline towards the valley.

“What? Who? How do you know?”

“My comrades.” Khan gestured to the Taliban behind him. “They have informed me that men they think are American Special Forces are approaching the valley.”

“Your men must stop them. I cannot go faster!”

Khan pointed to the Taliban and said, “My friends are bringing more of their men to ensure we are safe. But now you understand why we must work quicker.”

“If your men help, we could dig faster—”

“No!” Khan fixed him with a cold stare. “My warriors do not dig. They will keep us safe. Make the Hazaran dogs work faster.”

Yanuk didn’t trust himself to reply as Khan turned away, his entourage following him as he moved back to his camp. As far as he was concerned, the Taliban were nothing but peasants with guns. He angrily tossed his lukewarm coffee into the dust and turned back to the dig site.

Chapter 22

Kiev, Ukraine

Bishop stepped out onto the business jet’s stairs and the icy cold air hit him, turning his breath into light fog. Without pausing he continued down the steps onto the tarmac where a man was leaning against the door of a black BMW.

“Welcome to Kiev, Mr Fischer.” The man stepped forward, greeting him with a thick Russian accent.

Bishop sized him up: heavy build; large, round, shaved head; jeans and a leather jacket. The Russian perfectly matched the photo of Aleks in the intelligence pack Chua had uploaded onto his phone. Bishop had already read his file and knew every aspect of Aleks’ former career in Russian Intelligence.

“You can call me Aden.” He offered the big man his gloved hand.

The Russian took it with an iron grip, shaking it with vigor. “My name is Aleks, Aleks Andreyev.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Aleks.” Bishop opened the rear door of the car, throwing his leather bag on the back seat. He slid into the front and opened the glove box.

“Your pistol is there with the mobile phone you requested,” Aleks explained as he started the engine.

Bishop checked the compact Beretta handgun before returning it to the glove box and pocketing the mobile. “Thanks, Aleks, I take it the rest of the hardware is all in order?”

“
Da, da
, you’ll see it soon. We go to the house now,” Aleks responded with a grin as he guided the big car towards the security checkpoint at Zhuliany Airport. He flashed a Ministry of Interior pass at the bored guards who waved him through. As usual, bribes and forgeries ensured them free passage through customs and border security.

Aleks accelerated out of the gate onto the highway heading north towards the centre of Kiev.

“How far to the house?” Bishop asked.

“It is in Podil Raion, not far, on the West Bank.”

“Is the rest of the team assembled?”

“
Da
, all of them are there,” Aleks responded as he drove.

“Excellent. I take it there were no problems getting everything we need?”

“
Nyet
, it was all delivered. The men are very pleased with the equipment. It is good to work with a company that is willing to spend money.”  

“A bit different from the
FSB
, yes?”

“
Da
. With what you’ve given us, we make the FSB look like school children,” Aleks responded with a chuckle.

“Good, good. I’ll brief the whole team on what’s going on when we get there.”    Bishop looked out of the heavily tinted windows of the car, watching the light morning traffic and the passing scenery. The buildings that lined the streets were an interesting blend of historic architecture intermingled with the cold, efficient construction of the Communist era. Towering grey concrete apartment blocks rose out of lower level terraces and cathedrals like the hulking battlements of a watchtower.

Perfect for conducting surveillance, thought Bishop.

As the BMW entered the business district, Bishop noticed the number of modern high-rise office blocks had increased. Since the break-up of the Soviet Union, Kiev had embraced the wealth that came with a free market, and massive glass-fronted towers stretched up to the sky, neon signs proclaiming the presence of capitalist banks.

“First time in Kiev, boss?” Aleks spoke up as he calmly weaved the BMW through the traffic.

“Yeah, how’d you guess?”

“You look out the window like child at the zoo,” Aleks chuckled.

“That obvious, hey! All part of my cover,
da
.” Bishop laughed in return.

A few minutes passed in silence until they entered a less-affluent looking neighborhood and Aleks spoke again. “Nearly there.”

He was driving the BMW down a wide road with rusted tramlines running along the centre. In the distance Bishop could make out where the road met the Dnieper river and he noted the row of yellow construction barriers blocking access to the half-completed iron girder bridge.

For a moment he was lost in his thoughts. He’s in this city, the bastard who killed my parents is in this city and I am going to kill him.

“
Boss, you don’t like my driving?” Aleks interrupted his thoughts.

“What?” Bishop looked confused until he realised his knuckles were white from clenching his fists. “No, not at all, Aleks, just a little tense.”

“
Da
, we all feel like this, but it will be OK.” The Russian gunned the BMW, overtook a rattling Soviet-era tram and swung the car into a narrow cobblestone side street.

Run-down houses butted up against both sides of the road, blocking the rays of the morning sun. Bishop could sense the desperation of poverty amongst the old buildings.

Perfect part of the city for dodgy characters like us
,
he thought.

Chapter 23

PRIMAL Safe House

The car nosed into the front of an old three-storey townhouse wedged into a row of equally drab buildings. Aleks reached into the center console and activated a small remote control. As the automated roller door slowly opened, one of the faded curtains on the second level moved slightly and Bishop caught a glimpse of someone watching them.

“Here we are, comrade,” the Russian announced, parking the BMW next to a white Mercedes van, the roller door closing behind them.

“Very quaint,” Bishop said.

“
Da
, I’ll take you upstairs and introduce you to the others.” Aleks led Bishop up a short staircase into the kitchen.

As they moved through the room, Bishop noted it was in drastic need of renovation. The cracked linoleum and missing tiles were complemented by a musty smell reminiscent of a retirement home. At least it’s warm, he thought. Bishop had endured worse conditions.

They continued up another flight of stairs into the main living area. Like the kitchen, the décor left a lot to be desired. Peeling wallpaper, a stained cloth couch and an antiquated television were a stark contrast to the state-of-the-art equipment that lay amongst the cheap furniture. A number of sturdy plastic Pelican cases lay open on the moth-eaten carpet displaying cutting-edge weapons and communications equipment. A couple of late-model laptops sat open on a table with a mass of cables running from them.

Two men looked up from their work connecting the laptops as Bishop entered. A third stood at the window with a submachine gun in his hands.

Aleks broke the silence. “Gentlemen, allow me introduce our team leader, Mr Fischer.”

Bishop looked around at the four men. They stared back at him with guarded eyes. Although he hadn’t met them previously, he recognized them from their files. This was a new team and they had not worked together previously, so his next words would have to break the ice.

“Sorry about the accommodation, gentlemen. It seems we’re on a tight budget.” The four men looked around at the millions of dollars worth of equipment with bemused smiles. Each of them had received a very large sum of money for this job and the promise of a hefty bonus upon completion, so obviously funding was not an obstacle for the organization that Mr Fischer represented. Although none of them knew exactly who that was, they assumed it was the British government. Bishop’s accent wasn’t typically British but the man who recruited the team had implied that he was an agent for the
Secret Intelligence Service
.

“Gentlemen, I’ve looked over all your files, and needless to say, I’m pretty damn impressed by the caliber of the team.” He paused, looking each of them in the eye. “You’ve been selected because you all come with a unique set of skills.” He nodded at the bald-headed Russian who had picked him up from the airport. “Aleks is a weapons man and our driver.” He gestured to the slightly-built Czech poised at the window with his submachine gun. “Miklos is our sniper and surveillance operator.” He nodded to the short, swarthy Russian sitting behind the laptops. “Pavel is our technical surveillance man, and lastly,” he indicated the blonde man sitting on one of the equipment cases, “our covert entry guru, Wilhelm.”

“Kurtz,” the young German corrected.

“I’m sorry?” Bishop replied

“Nobody calls me Wilhelm; they call me Kurtz,” the German said in his thick accent.

Aleks laughed and Kurtz glared at him.

The Russian apologized. “I’m sorry, it’s just your name is so funny.”

Bishop looked at them both. “You lost me. How is it funny?”

The German cut in. “Because it means short; Kurtz is German for short.”

Bishop looked at the tall, lanky man and smiled. “It’s a good nickname. Kurtz. I like it.”

“Much better than Wilhelm,” added Aleks. “I like it too.”

The former police officer lost his scowl and Bishop looked around at the team. They already seemed relaxed together.. On the flight from Lascar Island Bishop had studied each man’s background in detail. He’d noted that all of them were extensively trained in covert operations and close quarter battle.

“Well, less about you Kurtz, and a little more about me. OK?”

The team laughed again.

“As Aleks has mentioned, my cover name for this op is Timothy Fischer. My real name’s Aden. My background and employer are irrelevant. What is relevant is the importance of this mission.”

Pavel spoke first, his accent a softer version of Aleks’ guttural Russian. “So, Aden, what
is
the job?”

“If you hand me one of those laptops, I’ll tell you.” Bishop took the laptop and powered it up, inserting a USB key from his pocket. He opened the briefing package that Chua had given him.

It took him half an hour to brief the men and another hour to answer their questions. Although they were mercenaries, these men had been carefully selected for their willingness to fight for a cause. Bishop knew that by telling them exactly what they were dealing with, he was ensuring their absolute dedication. The only information he omitted was the personal aspect to the mission. The men didn’t need to know about his parents.

“OK, bottom line, we need to find out everything about Dostiger. Where he lives and works, who he spends time with: his entire pattern of life. We’re starting from scratch and the first lead we’re going to follow is his link to Antonov.”

Nodding at Aleks, Bishop continued. “Tomorrow I’m going to meet with an Antonov representative, Dmitri Krenkov, at their head office. Aleks will drive me in the BMW. The rest of you will need to be ready to start surveillance as soon as Dmitri makes a call to Dostiger.”

“Is your organization going to monitor his mobile phone?” asked Pavel, the technical specialist.

“Yes, they’ve already locked down half a dozen phones in the vicinity of the Antonov administration building. Odds are that one of them is his. Once we meet I should be able to get his exact number,” Bishop responded.

“What if he uses a landline to call Dostiger?” Pavel questioned.

“We’re still trying to work around that one. We think he’s more likely to use his mobile. Dostiger is probably suspect of landlines.”

“Could we disconnect all landline communications to the area? ” Pavel asked. “Just to make sure.”

“Isn’t that a bit obvious. Might make them suspicious?” responded Bishop.

Pavel laughed loudly. “Clearly you haven’t worked in the former Soviet Union before, Mr Fischer. Nothing here is reliable: electricity, telephone, even water. No, they will suspect nothing. It’s normal.”

“Alright.” Bishop smiled wryly. “Let’s make it happen.” Nodding to Kurtz, he continued. “OK, once we have Dostiger’s headquarters pinpointed, we’ll break in and get everything we can on him.”

“
Ja
, no problems, boss,” Kurtz said, patting the Pelican case he was sitting on. “I have everything I need here. I could break into the Bank of England and no one would be wiser.” He winked at Bishop.

Bishop didn’t doubt his claim; the former German Police technician’s file was impressive.