PRIMAL Unleashed (2) (28 page)

The seconds ticked by slowly until a thundering blast rocked the entire building, blowing the remaining office windows out onto the dance floor. When the noise of the explosion cleared, the music had finally stopped.

Miklos smiled. “Maybe now my ears stop bleeding.”

“Hey, I liked that track,” laughed Pavel.

The team ignored the screaming that filled the nightclub and rushed back into the office. The charge had demolished the bookshelf, blowing the hidden door off its hinges. Bishop thought he heard voices beyond the opening, ripped a flashbang from his vest and lobbed it in. It exploded with a crump and the three men surged into a narrow, well-lit corridor. On the left-hand side a door was open and Bishop turned into it without hesitating.

“Room clear.”

The wall of CCTV screens and numerous computer terminals was a dead giveaway. This was Dostiger’s operations room. It was empty, but one of the TV screens drew Bishop’s attention. The video feed showed a big man tied to a chair with two other men standing over him. One of them was holding what looked like a cordless drill in one hand and a metal prong with cables coming out if it in the other. The bald head was unmistakable.

“Aleks!” exclaimed Bishop, pointing at the screen. He looked closely at the picture, eyebrows furrowing. “What the fuck are they doing?” Aleks was convulsing. “Motherfuckers are electrocuting him!”

Violent rage overwhelmed him. He raced back into the corridor, weapon at the ready. Pavel and Miklos fell in behind him. They charged down the hallway, only slowing as they reached an elevator. Five meters out, the lift pinged. The doors slid open, revealing two of Dostiger’s men.

The guards opened fire with pistols. Bishop grunted as a round hit his armor, knocking the wind out of him. At the same time his finger depressed the trigger of the MP7. He hosed the elevator with an entire magazine. The high-velocity bullets ripped through Dostiger’s men, spraying flesh and blood across the polished steel interior of the lift. Bishop let the empty weapon drop on its sling as he drew his pistol, stepped into the elevator and pumped a round into each of the corpses.

He looked up at Pavel and Miklos, blood splattered across his face, lungs heaving. Standing next to the crimson-streaked stainless steel walls, he looked like a butcher in a slaughterhouse.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, deadpan, as he holstered the pistol and slammed another magazine into his submachine gun.

They all crammed into the blood-stained lift. Bulletholes covered the walls.

“What level?” Miklos asked, but Bishop didn’t reply, staring at the blood pooling around the dead bodies.

“I’m guessing he’s on the bottom floor,” the Czech stated, pressing the button for the basement.

The lift started moving and Bishop noticed his two men staring at him. “Basement, yeah. Let’s get Aleks,” he said, readying his weapon.

The doors opened smoothly, the muzzles of the three submachine guns leading the team out into another well-lit concrete hallway. Screams emanated from down the corridor, echoing off the metal doors that lined the gray thoroughfare. Bishop sprinted towards the noise and peered in through the window of one of the cells.

It took him only a split second to assess the situation in the room. Aleks was tied to a chair with his back towards the door. One man was standing in front of him, staring at the convulsing Russian, a drill pointed at his face. Over by the wall a second man was manipulating what looked to be some sort of electronic switchboard. Bishop could barely control himself; he slid back the door’s bolt with one hand and kicked it open. The man in front of Aleks didn’t get a chance to look up before a burst of fire spread the inside of his head across the concrete wall of the cell. The man at the switch threw his arms in the air and backed away from the controls.

“TURN IT OFF!” Bishop screamed. “TURN IT THE FUCK OFF!”

The man lunged forward, hitting a red switch. Aleks stopped twitching and slumped in the chair, moaning. The stench of scorched flesh and burnt hair was overwhelming. Miklos was there in a flash, using a knife to cut the plastic restraints. The big Russian fell forward. Bishop caught him, ripping off the blindfold.

“Aleks, it’s me. It’s Aden,” he said, holding the shaking man’s head to his chest.

“Give... give me a second.” Aleks spoke quietly. He lifted his hands to his face, wiping the sweat and tears from his eyes, then with an almighty roar, he rose up like a grizzly bear, grabbed the chair that had held him prisoner and smashed it into Dostiger’s remaining interrogator. The man doubled over, trying to shield his face. Aleks dropped the chair and grabbed him by his collar, hauling him across the room like a doll. He swept the man’s legs from under him, catching him around the neck in a powerful chokehold.

The solid Russian’s bicep bulged and the man’s face turned a deathly gray as Aleks whispered something in his ear. The man’s eyes grew wide and he scrabbled at the Russian’s arm in a feeble attempt to escape the deathly grip, then with a shudder, he went limp and was dropped to the floor unconscious. Aleks turned and spat at the corpse of the other torturer. “This piece of shit was going to drill out my eyes. Let’s  get the fuck out of here.”

Pavel was covering the corridor as they came out of the cell. “Boss, message from Kurtz.” He tapped his earpiece.

Bishop turned up the volume of his own headset. “Kurtz, this is Aden. Go ahead.”

“Boss,
Polizie
have arrived. We’ve had to move the van.”

“Roger, where are you now?”

“Behind the club. Must be another exit,
ja
.”

“Roger, we’ll try and find one. Keep us posted on police activity,” the team leader ordered.

“
Ja
, will do.”

Bishop turned to the other three members of the FIST. “Well, the front door is no longer an option. Any ideas?”

Aleks shrugged. “I didn’t see the way in. Had a bag on my head.”

“The second floor in the lift should be street level. There should be another exit there,” Miklos pointed out.

“Good point. We’ll try level two,” Bishop said.

The team crammed into the blood-splattered elevator and moved up to the second floor.

Methodically they cleared the area, moving towards the rear of the club looking for an exit. The whole level was deserted and they moved through the offices quickly into a small warehouse and loading bay. Miklos opened the roller door. Their white van could be seen parked thirty meters down the street. He waved the vehicle forward. It pulled in next to the dock as Saneh slid the side door open.

The team piled in and the van sped off, hurtling through the dark streets back towards the safe house. Sprawled on the floor in the back of the vehicle, the men looked too exhausted to talk.

Saneh spoke anyway. “Did anyone see Dostiger?” she asked.

Bishop had his back against the inside of the van. He looked at her wearily. “I think he must have left after they grabbed Aleks,” he said

The rest of the men were silent, their bodies drained of adrenaline.

“Did you find anything interesting?” Saneh queried again.

“Not exactly,” Bishop replied, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He wasn’t looking forward to reporting in to Vance and Chua. Everything that could go wrong pretty much had. They were lucky none of the team had been killed. He knew PRIMAL hierarchy weren’t going to be happy about Saneh working with them. Bishop could almost hear Vance’s voice in his head lecturing him about the pitfalls of thinking with your dick.

Saneh took Bishop’s short answers in her stride and focused her attention on the wounded Aleks. He had only superficial burns on his forearms but the big Russian grinned, lapping up the attention of the beautiful woman. Bishop watched as she tended Aleks’ wounds; so far she’d impressed him. Maybe there’s potential for her after all, he pondered.

Chapter 48

PRIMAL Safe House

The ride back to the safe house was swift on the empty roads. Kurtz parked the van in the double garage. They gathered in the living room.

“Good work, team,” Bishop said. “You all handled yourselves pretty damn well.”

Kurtz looked down at the ground, scuffing at the worn carpet with his boot. “I am sorry about the break-in. It was an amateur move to be compromised. I’m a
dombkopf
”

“You got the data, Kurtz, that’s what counts. And that ambush? Well, you saved our arses there and gave Dostiger a bloody nose.”

The German looked up with an ever-so-slight smile. “
Ja
, we showed those blockheads what real firepower is.”

“You sure did, but what’s important now is that we’re all back here in one piece and ready for the next move. I’m not sure what that’s going to be yet, but I’ve a feeling we’re done here in Kiev.” He didn’t want to reveal too much in front of Saneh. “Get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”

The men filed out of the living room and Aleks gave him a big bear hug before he left. “Thanks for coming back for me, Aden. I know you didn’t have to,” he said.

Bishop extracted himself from the big Russian’s grip. “You feeling OK?”

“
Da
,
da
, a beautiful angel looked after me,” he replied with a wink, giving Saneh a grin before heading to bed.

The Iranian sat on the battered couch, watching the team file out. Once they had gone, Bishop turned to her.

“I didn’t get a chance before, but thanks for getting me out of the club,” he said.

She smiled. “We made quite an exit, didn’t we?”

“If it wasn’t for you and the sacrifice of your men, I probably wouldn’t be here. You saved my life today, Saneh. That’s not something I’ll forget.”

Tears welled in the MOIS agent’s eyes and she looked away. “My men died trying to get me out too,” she whispered quietly. She hunched over, shoulders shuddering as she started to sob.

Bishop stood in front of her, unsure of what to do. Right now she looked so vulnerable, feminine, out of her depth. Part of him wanted to wrap her in his arms, hold her tight against his chest and console her. Another, albeit smaller, part of him was keenly aware of this woman’s reputation. She was an Iranian agent—the enemy.

She looked up at him with eyes smudged by make-up. They stared at each other. Bishop was drowning in her jet black eyes; she seemed to be staring into his soul. Slowly she stood up and he felt his pulse quicken as she placed her arms around his waist and lowered her head to his chest, hiding the slight smirk on her face before she started crying. He held her tightly as she released all of the emotion of the last twenty-four hours.

“I’m sorry, Tim, this isn’t like me,” she sobbed, still clinging to him.

“It’s OK, I understand, I’ve lost men before. It’s always hard.” Bishop sounded calm but his mind was racing. She eventually let go of him, sitting back on the lounge, wiping her tears. Bishop pulled one of the plastic equipment trunks over and sat down in front of her.

“Well, I’m alone now.” she sniffled.

“What are you going to do?” Bishop asked, trying to hide his feelings. His emotions were in turmoil and he knew Vance would not approve of where they were leading him.

The intimacy was interrupted by the shrill ringtone of Saneh’s phone. She pulled it from her handbag and examined the screen. “I really need to take this.”

“Sure, you can use the kitchen.”

“Thank you.” She left the living area, shutting the door to the kitchen behind her. Once she was alone, she answered the call.

The voice was harsh. “It’s Rostam. I told you to report in at 2200.”

“Sorry, sir, I was delayed.”

“Stopped to get your nails done?” Rostam asked cynically.

“No, sir. I helped the MI6 agent escape from Dostiger’s men. My team members were both killed.”

“WHAT! Both of your men are dead? How the hell did that happen?”

“Sir I... the...”

“Pull yourself together, Agent Ebadi. Tell me what the hell happened.”

Saneh struggled on. “Sir, the meeting with Dostiger was uneventful, I gained nothing of real value. As I was leaving, Fischer arrived... ah... Dostiger’s men threw him through a window and I helped him escape. My men were killed in the alley., Fischer and I escaped in my car after one of his men was captured...”

“Go on,” said Rostam.

“Dostiger’s men chased us and the rest of Fischer’s team ambushed them. I’m sure they’re not MI6; they killed everyone.”

“Is that all?”

“No, sir. Fischer and his men went back to the club and rescued their man.”

“What about Dostiger? Did they kill him?” Rostam sounded concerned.

“No, he wasn’t there. I think he fled south to his Odessa facility. My source mentioned it when we last spoke.”

“And where are you now?”

“In Fischer’s safe house.”

There was silence as Rostam considered the situation. Saneh waited with apprehension.

“Congratulations, a perfect mess. Our only hope now is that Fischer has a plan to recover the device from Odessa. At least we’re positioned to take advantage of the circumstances - aren’t we, Ebadi?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There is potential for this to slip through our fingers, Alfsaneh. Our success is now intimately tied to Fischer and his actions. Get even closer to him. Ensure that he’s successful. I don’t care what it takes. Is that clear?”

“I understand, sir,” she replied quietly.

“Do not fail me again!” Rostam terminated the call.

The Iranian agent slumped against the kitchen bench, her hands shaking. She grasped the hem of her torn dress, contemplating whether to rip it higher. Instead she left it, wiped the tears from her face and turned towards the door.

Chapter 49

PRIMAL Safe House

Bishop stared at the door, wondering if PRIMAL was monitoring Saneh’s call. That reminded him he would have to report in to Vance and Chua. He looked at his watch: three in the morning—around mid-day on the island. The team would all be up and waiting but he couldn’t face them. In the last six hours they had botched a break in, stuffed up a meet with Dostiger, and shot up half of Kiev. Vance was going to flip out. Bishop glanced at his laptop sitting on the table and decided he would send the command team a quick email. There was no need to talk to them face to face when there was nothing positive to discuss. Dostiger had no doubt disappeared and he’d probably blown his only chance to kill him. He just hoped the team had been able to pull something useful off Dostiger’s computer.