PRIMAL Unleashed (2) (23 page)

The whole place was a spectacle of hedonistic sex and escapism played to a pounding bass in an expensive, flashy, over-designed cavern. It was no wonder the club was popular with Kiev’s social elite.

Bishop’s minder, the massive security guard, guided him firmly to one of the two sweeping staircases that buttressed either side of the dance floor. Lounging on the stairs were more stunning women looking for prospective clients. He was impressed. Looks like a Victoria’s Secret runway show, he thought. Any of them could have been models for the lingerie brand.

As he padded up the marble staircase, he glanced down at the crowded space below, trying to identify Dostiger’s guards, planning an escape route he hoped he wouldn’t need.

His eyes lingered on the bare back of a dark-haired woman facing the bar; her long, black hair was exotic in comparison to the blondes that filled the club. As she turned from the bar, he caught her eye. Bishop’s chest tightened as Saneh flashed him an ever so slight smile. He continued up the stairs, following the menacing security guard onto the exclusive second level, and noted that it was far more relaxed than the narcotics-fuelled main room below. They walked along the balcony that overlooked the dance floor and he could hear laughter from the private booths, curtained off from view. The bouncer led him to the end of the walkway where another ape-like security guard was standing in front of a heavy door.

“Mr Fischer to see the Boss,” the man escorting him said in broken English, more for Bishop’s benefit than for the other Ukranian. The guard looked their guest up and down before he opened the door, gesturing for him to enter.

“I hope we meet again soon, Mr Fischer.” The original bouncer gave a sadistic grin.

Bishop met the guard’s icy stare. For all his bravado, the muscle-bound thug wouldn’t last two seconds against the highly trained members of Bishop’s team.

Dostiger’s waiting room smelt like cigars. The furnishings around the small room were more evidence of expensive taste with heavy, gilded, velvet-upholstered chairs and Impressionist paintings on the windowless walls. An antique silver drink stand in the corner of the room sported a number of bottles of very expensive liqueur beside an assortment of glasses. Bishop picked up a bottle of thirty-year-old Talisker.

Holding the bottle, he looked across at the double doors that no doubt led to the arms dealer’s office. He had no idea how long he would be waiting. He shrugged, uncorked the Scotch, and poured some into a weighty glass tumbler. There were so many things that could go wrong with the meet. Saneh might have already sold him out, Kurtz and the rest of the team could stuff up the break-in, or Dostiger may even take a dislike to him. His Neanderthal bouncers certainly had.

Bishop sat down in an antique chair and savored the fine whisky. Just like Aleks said, he thought, everything’s going to be fine.
He pulled his mobile from his pocket, expecting Kurtz to report in shortly. There were no new messages.

Chapter 40

Dostiger’s Residence

Even from a distance you could tell the man was drunk, the reek of alcohol overwhelming the foul smell of homelessness. He lurched down the dimly lit street, occasionally tripping and collapsing onto the sidewalk before hauling himself to his feet and continuing his stumbling journey. Once he stopped to vomit, steam rising from the bile as it made contact with the frozen concrete.

The drunkard was dressed in a heavy overcoat, patched in half a dozen places, with a thick woolen beanie pulled down low over his eyes. A piece of hemp rope was tied loosely around his waist and battered boots protected his feet from the cold. For a homeless man he was well dressed, and although he stank, he would probably survive the cold spring nights.

Less than a hundred meters down the road, inside his heated guard box, a burly security guard watched the bum’s progress through a thermal camera, laughing as the drunkard toppled over. Using the high-resolution lens he zoomed in as the disheveled man wrestled with a trashcan in an attempt to get back on his feet. As humorous as the situation was, he hoped the bum wouldn’t continue his journey past the gates of the residence. His boss was completely unforgiving when it came to the aesthetics of his suburb and it would be the guard’s task to remove the man if Dostiger returned while the drunk was still around. He glanced at the time displayed on the video screen; the boss wasn’t expected to return for at least another hour or two. If required he would hurry the nuisance along with his boot.

The guard panned the camera out and switched to another view, looking for his partner who was patrolling the grounds. He spotted the other guard by the boat sheds at the back of the property. Dostiger was fastidious with his security and every square inch of the property was closely monitored by cameras and patrols. If he had been at home, no less than ten heavily armed men would be on duty, but tonight Dostiger had taken most of the men with him to the club. Only two guards remained to secure the house in his absence.

Methodically the guard continued flicking through the camera feeds being streamed from the grounds. He paused on an image of one of the bedrooms shown from a hidden camera. The field of view didn’t quite extend to the smaller bedroom next door that was currently occupied by a lovely Russian model. So far the guard had only caught a glimpse of her sultry curves but it didn’t stop him from constantly checking the feed.

The guard switched back to the view covering the front of the gate, looking for the drunk. Panning the camera back and forth, he wondered if the wretch was in one of the blind spots.

Without warning there was a loud thump. The guard glanced up from the video screen and was startled to see the dirty face of the drunkard peering at him through the bulletproof glass. The drunken bum smeared his face against the window, flailing at it with an empty bottle. Rising from his chair, the guard grabbed his jacket and a baton from the desk. On his way out he pressed the release button for the heavy iron gate, opening it a few feet.

His feet crunched on the gravel as he walked across to the gap in the gate, slapping the baton into the palm of his gloved hand. He cautiously squeezed through the opening and paused, looking around until he saw the man, passed out at the bottom of the guard box.

“Hey! Get up!” The guard strode over and gave the bum a swift kick. With a groan, he mumbled something incoherent and proceeded to vomit onto the sidewalk.

“Ah, fuck!” The guard leapt backwards to avoid the splash of acidic green liquid. The stench was overpowering and he dry retched. He watched the homeless guy struggle to his feet and wipe the vomit from his mouth. As the man stumbled forward, the guard held out his baton in an effort to keep the vagrant at arms’ length. It was one of the last things he would remember. The bum caught the stick under his arm, grabbing it firmly with his left hand. His right fist flashed around in a well-timed hook as he pulled Dostiger’s man in close. The lead-packed Kevlar glove caught the guard on the temple, his eyes rolled back and he crumpled in a heap.

“Very nice, Kurtz.” Pavel appeared from the shadows wearing a copy of the unconscious guard’s uniform. He knelt next to the man, pushing a stimpack up against his neck, and a shot of compressed air pushed microscopic particles of a sedative through his skin. The guard would stay under for at least twenty minutes and then awaken with a splitting headache. The two men grabbed the arms and legs of the guard and carried him through the open gate. Kurtz used the guard’s keys to open the security door and they dumped the body unceremoniously on the floor.

Pavel sat at the guard’s computer and inserted a USB key into the terminal. A custom program on the device immediately bypassed the surveillance system’s security measures giving the Russian unrestricted access. Now he could manipulate the video footage, removing any trace of their activities. He could also control the alarms, switch off the internal motion sensors and keep tabs on the movement of Dostiger’s second guard.

“Kurtz, can you hear me?” Pavel transmitted into the radio mike attached to his collar.

“
Ja
, loud and clear,” the German responded. He had already left the guard box and was halfway to the house, using the shadows of the trees to avoid the floodlit lawns. Even though there was only one guard, he remained cautious.

Pavel flicked through the screens at the computer terminal until he found the master floor plan. “Kurtz, I’ve located what looks like Dostiger’s office. It’s on the second floor. You need to enter through the western side door and use the staircase just inside on the right.”

Kurtz hit the radio switch in his sleeve, “Acknowledged. Where is the other guard?”

“Still down by the river, comrade. We should have about ten minutes.”

“Gut, I will be in and out in seven.”

Chapter 41

Dostiger’s Residence

The former German counter-terrorist officer paused at the edge of the perfectly manicured lawns. There were no flowers or hedges, the garden was all trees and perfectly trimmed grass. He would have preferred a little more cover, even with Pavel on overwatch with the cameras.

Kurtz identified the side door and sprinted across the lawn. He crouched next to the entrance and pulled out the keys he had taken from the guard. Taking a deep breath, he drew a suppressed pistol from inside his jacket and grasped the door handle firmly. It turned slightly, unlocked. He gently pushed the door open and slid inside.

The lighting in the stately manor was soft and the long wood-paneled hallway was decorated with expensive artwork and antique furniture. He padded down the corridor until he reached the hardwood staircase. With trepidation he eased his weight on to the ancient stairs. There was no creak; they were as solid as the day they were made. He gently crept up the stairs and onto the landing on the second floor. At the top he paused, looking up at the small camera pointing down the corridor.

“Pavel, anyone on the top floor?” he whispered softly.

“
Nyet
, it’s possible that someone is in the bedroom to your right, but the lights are off. I can’t see anything. Dostiger’s office is the second on the right.”

He crept down the hall, past the bedroom, stopping in front of the heavy wooden door that protected the arms dealers’ private study. The lock was complex, a Medeco Cam lock, all but impossible for the average thief to pick, but Kurtz wasn’t your average thief. He pulled a small device from his pocket and inserted the tiny probe into the lock. A sensor scanned the inside of the tumbler and the universal key on the other end of the device used hundreds of tiny threads of titanium to replicate the key. It took Kurtz fifteen seconds to open it.

“Very slick, my German friend, but you still set off no less than three sensors: one motion, one heat and one weight in floor.” Pavel was shutting the alarms down as they occurred, removing the events from the security system’s electronic log.

“Herr Dostiger takes this all very seriously, ja,” Kurtz whispered. “Where’s the other guard?”

“Still down by the boat sheds. He’s smoking now; you have time.”

Dostiger’s study reflected a man obsessed with the instruments of war. The room’s oak-paneled walls were lined with antique weaponry, everything from a Japanese samurai sword to a battered Winchester lever-action rifle. Not a book in sight.
Clearly Dostiger wasn’t academic.

In the middle of the room was a sturdy old desk that looked like it would be more at home in the Captain’s cabin of an 18th century warship. On the desk was a laptop plugged into the wall via a clean power filter. Kurtz already knew that the computer was not connected to the Internet. Dostiger was obsessive with his security and there was no way anyone could hack into his files remotely.

Kurtz placed his pistol on the desk and spun the computer around. He didn’t want to sit in case he left some of his homeless odor on the chair. He opened the screen and it immediately requested a password. Kurtz took a device that looked like a mobile phone from his pocket and plugged it into the computer’s USB port. A red light on the device blinked for a few seconds, then turned green. Bishop had shown Kurtz how to use the sophisticated device and right now, as he understood it, a technician at MI6 HQ in London was sorting through Dostiger’s files, removing anything of interest. Kurtz watched the device in earnest; he had been promised that it would only take a minute or two. Finally the light blinked, turned yellow, and he removed the device, putting it back in his pocket. He slid the laptop back into its original position and picked up his pistol.

“All clear, Pavel?” he whispered into his mike.

“You have a couple of minutes. The guard is moving back to the house.”

Kurtz left the room and closed the door with a gentle click. As he moved towards the staircase, the bedroom door in front of him began to open. He had nowhere to go. He brought his pistol up. With the other hand he fished in his jacket pocket for a stimpack. The door opened fully. Standing before him was a gorgeous woman clad only in her satin slip, the soft fabric barely containing her full breasts. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the weapon.

His radio interrupted. “Damn! I am sorry, comrade.”

Kurtz wordlessly stepped forward, pushing the girl back into her room with the barrel of his pistol, flicking on the light as he entered. “English?” he asked.

“A little,” she replied softly. Her sensual lips looked so inviting.

“I’m not going to hurt you. You need to get back into bed.” He lowered the pistol.

“Yes, OK,” she said drowsily, moving back to the bed.

Kurtz watched her climb under the silk sheets. She didn’t seem too afraid. Kurtz assumed, as the mistress of an arms dealer, she was probably used to aggressive behavior. He dropped the stimpack into the palm of his hand and tucked the pistol inside his jacket.

“Close your eyes.”