PRIMAL Unleashed (2) (25 page)

“
Da
?”

“Hot pick up, just past the entrance. I have the Iranian girl with me.”

“OK, moving now.”

He was still catching his breath as he hung up the phone and turned to the MOIS operative who had helped him. “Thanks.”

“We need to go now. My people are just up the road.”

“OK. My car’s also coming now.”

The two of them casually strolled around the corner, arms interlocked like lovers. The doormen and line of patrons were about twenty metres behind them and although the bouncers looked alert, the crowd was oblivious to the drama inside. Heavy bass was still emitting from the club and Bishop’s heartbeat raced in time with it.

As Bishop and Saneh walked away from the club, they heard the distant roar of a high performance engine over the music. Bishop looked back to see Aleks’ BMW swerve into the narrow street. The headlights were flashing, engine revving, as Aleks tried to force his way past the crowd milling about the club entrance and the cars lining the street.

The vehicle was about to clear the crowd when a black Range Rover barreled out of a side-street, slamming into the BMW with a sickening crunch. The four tonne armored four-wheel drive knocked the sedan sideways, rolling it over some bystanders and wedging it against another parked car.

“ALEKS!” Bishop screamed, running towards the crash, pistol in his hand. He aimed for the driver’s side of the Range Rover as he ran, pumping the trigger. At thirty meters he was lucky to hit the window but the rounds didn’t even dent the armored glass. The back door of the Range Rover swung open and a balaclava wearing guard brought an assault rifle up to his shoulder. Bishop dove behind a parked car as Dostiger’s man opened fire. Rounds lashed the car next to him, and the sound of automatic fire filled the alley.

Bishop crawled to the side of the car, took a deep breath and leapt to his feet to return fire. Before he could pull the trigger, a volley of rounds peppered the Range Rover, forcing the gunman back behind the armored door. Bishop glanced over his shoulder; a familiar white Toyota sedan was reversing at high speed towards him. One of Saneh’s men was firing out the side window, laying down a withering rate of fire from a submachine gun.

“FISCHER, LET’S GO!” Saneh was crouched next to him, a
mini-Uzi
in her hands. She stood, spraying the armored Range Rover with more 9mm rounds. The Uzis weren’t damaging the vehicle but they forced the gunman inside to take cover behind the ballistic glass.

“I CAN’T LEAVE ALEKS,” Bishop screamed over the gunfire. Guards were already streaming out of the club, pistols brandished, pushing the confused patrons aside. A few of them had taken cover behind the armored Range Rover and the upturned BMW. Aleks wasn’t moving; his unconscious body slumped in the wrecked vehicle.

“IF WE STAY, WE DIE! LET’S GO!” Saneh screamed back at him, pulling at his arm as the Toyota reversed up to them.

Bishop had a pained look as he took a final glance at Aleks’ body. He knew she was right.

The MOIS agent in the back of the Toyota continued to return fire as they sprinted the short distance towards him. They were only meters from the small sedan when a volley of gunfire from Dostiger’s men raked it, shattering the windshields. Saneh’s gunman grunted as he was hit, managing to squeeze off a final burst. In the front seat the driver collapsed forward, his face blown across the dashboard. Saneh fired back up the alley as she wrenched the rear door open and dove onto the seat.

Bishop hauled the driver from the car, dumping his lifeless body onto the road. He dove into the driver’s seat and mashed the accelerator to the floor. The Camry’s four-cylinder engine revved hard and the front wheels squealed in protest as they fought for traction. Another burst of fire thudded into the vehicle as they lurched forward. They cleared the end of the street in seconds; Bishop flicked the steering wheel and jammed on the handbrake. The Camry slid sideways around the corner before accelerating up the street.

“ARE WE BEING FOLLOWED?” he screamed over the roar of the engine and the rush of air coming in through the shattered windscreen. Automatic fire cracked past them, thumping into the back of a small truck to their front, answering his question.

“One, two. Yes, two of them.” Saneh turned in the back seat to count their pursuers as she reloaded her machine-pistol. “No, make that three. Three Range Rovers.” She had stripped magazines from the MOIS operative beside her. The man was unconscious, dark blood soaked his jacket.

Another burst of automatic fire lashed the road to one side of the car as a Range Rover came into view and Saneh returned fire through the missing rear windshield. Bishop jerked the Camry around a slow-moving truck, dancing the little car in and out of the light traffic, looking for any opportunity to evade the high-powered four-wheel-drives. At this rate we’re going to be dead in minutes
,
he thought.

Spinning the wheel he sent the battered hire car careening around another corner into a narrow side-street. He reached into his pocket, threw his phone behind him onto Saneh’s lap, yelling, “Hold down 1. Tell them plan Alpha, location Green: white Camry followed by three black Range Rovers.”

Saneh fumbled with the phone, lifted it to her face and repeated the sequence. “Five minutes, Tim,” she reported back.

Bishop knew that it was only a matter of time before the Range Rovers caught them. Their supercharged five-liter engines and all-wheel-drive far outmatched the little Toyota. If they closed the gap, their wildly spraying gunfire might be able to hit something vital: a tire, the fuel tank, the engine, or worse still, him. He thumped the steering wheel with frustration. “C’mon, girl, give me everything you’ve got.”

He spun the wheel again, throwing the little sedan sideways, almost losing control as the vehicle skipped over the kerb, ran up onto the sidewalk and sheared off a parking meter.

The meter bounced off the hood and Saneh yelled, “Careful! I still have to return this when we’re finished.”

Bishop laughed. Despite the dire situation she was cracking jokes. Well, he decided, if you had to die at the hands of a ruthless arms dealer, it was better to go down with a smile on your face.

Chapter 44

MK48 Machine Gun

Location Green

The rest of the FIST were already back in the safe house when Saneh placed the call. Kurtz acknowledged the message immediately and the team went into action. Location Green was only a kilometer away and the van was already packed with everything they needed. Within seconds they had pulled out of the garage, turning right onto the main road towards the recently completed Ribalskiy Bridge.

Bishop had designated the construction yard on the far side of the steel girder bridge as Location Green. The bridge was still closed but the team had removed the barriers denying access to the three hundred and fifty meter wide span that crossed the waters of the Dnieper.

Three quarters of the way across the bridge, the van stopped and Kurtz placed a briefcase on the sidewalk, carefully angling it across the dual lanes. He pulled a small length of wire from a recess on the case and checked a small electronic firing device as he hurried back into the van.

The ramp area leading off the bridge was still littered with the debris of construction: piles of rubble, empty drums and metal off-cuts. The van dodged through the obstacles, entering the construction yard’s well-lit parking lot. The area was the size of a soccer pitch and was full of shipping containers, more construction waste and an assortment of bulldozers, excavators, and cranes. At the far end of the yard, tall concrete pillars had been driven into the ground to support an elevated highway ramp that would one day link to the bridge.

The van skidded to a halt behind a large shipping container at the back half of the yard. Kurtz and Miklos sprinted from the vehicle and took up firing positions either side of the clearing, using heavy earthmoving equipment as cover. They extended the bipod legs on their
MK48
machineguns and racked the cocking handles as they each loaded a hundred-round belt of armor-piercing ammunition. Kurtz placed a small remote firing device next to his gun. From his position he had a clear view along the bridge and could still see the briefcase device he had positioned earlier.

Pavel positioned himself slightly to the rear, behind one of the concrete pylons. He wanted to be able to engage Dostiger’s vehicles head on. Loading a magazine containing armor-piercing grenades into his
assault grenade launcher
, he knelt down, bracing the weapon against the pylon.

Kurtz’s voice came over the radio. “Ambush set.”

***

In the distance, bursts of gunfire punctuated the cold night air that had settled over the murky waters of the river. As the gunfire got closer, the scream of engines could be heard and the three men prepared themselves for action. Safety switches were set to fire, weapons pulled in tight, triggers partially depressed.

The howl of a highly revved engine and the screech of tires heralded the approach of the little Toyota as it raced across the bridge. Once it hit the down ramp, Kurtz pressed a button on his firing device, arming the remote mine. The Toyota hurtled across the parking lot, sliding through gravel and dust to halt near the white van. The doors burst open and Bishop and Saneh sprinted into the shadows.

The first of the
armored Range Rovers
was only seconds behind. It mounted the bridge with a roar, the driver gunning the supercharged V8 to catch the little Camry. Unknown to the four heavily-armed occupants, an invisible beam now cut across the bridge.

As the front bumper of the lead vehicle broke the laser, the explosive charges in the briefcase detonated. The
Explosively Formed Penetrators
tore through the thin armor of the Range Rover like it was cardboard, shredding the men inside. The blast picked up the shattered vehicle, tossing it over the concrete barrier and into the black waters of the river below.

The rear two cars were traveling close together. They plowed through the smoke and debris, hitting the down ramp off the bridge without slowing. Pavel engaged the first one with three 20mm rounds fired in quick succession. Two grenades slammed into the engine block, a third punching through the front bumper into the front left wheel. The hardened alloy rim shattered, digging into the loose gravel and causing the Range Rover to slide sideways, slowing it dramatically. With a crunch, the following vehicle T-boned its partner, flipping it onto its side, and they both slid across the gravel before coming to a halt.

Kurtz and Miklos swiveled their machineguns towards the upright vehicle and unleashed a hail of automatic fire. The armored Range Rover offered no protection to Dostiger’s men as the armor-piercing bullets smashed through the ballistic glass, ripping up the inside of the vehicle and killing the four occupants.

The two gunners turned their weapons on the immobilized vehicle lying on its side. The occupants posed less of a threat, unable to open the heavy armored doors. A long burst of fire from Miklos’ machine gun smashed through the cabin, ripping into the injured passengers.

The initial ambush was over in thirty seconds, during which time Bishop had sprinted from the battered Camry to the white van, slid open the side door and grabbed his kit bag. As the ambush raged, he slipped into his lightweight nanotech armor and loaded his
MP7
submachine gun. Saneh still had her mini-Uzi and Bishop pulled one of the team’s spare vests from the van, throwing it to her.

“Put this on.”

“Thanks.” Saneh managed a smile as the two of them ran across the construction site towards the carnage.

Kurtz rose from his position and advanced on the vehicles with the big machinegun at his shoulder, Miklos covering him from the flank. Through the dark-tinted window he caught a glimpse of movement. The young German hammered a ten round burst into the car.

“Any alive?” Bishop yelled.

“One, maybe two. They’re all shot to shit.”

Saneh’s eyebrows shot up, hearing the strong Bavarian accent.

Bishop continued. “They grabbed Aleks; I need to talk to one of them.”

One of the men inside the vehicle moaned loudly.

“Could be a contender, ja.”

With the MP7 at his shoulder, Bishop moved cautiously to the bullet-ridden side window and used his weapon-mounted flashlight to penetrate the dark interior. The inside of the vehicle was a mess. Blood and gore covered the expensive leather trim and three of the occupants looked dead, torn apart by the hail of bullets. Bishop shone the light to the rear and caught a glimpse of movement. He moved around to the tailgate of the rolled vehicle and opened the rear door. The copper-sweet smell of blood wafted from the Range Rover’s interior. The fourth occupant moaned. He had crawled into the trunk, barely conscious.