PRIMAL Vengeance (3) (20 page)

       Two of Garang's men lifted Sagrib from the back of the Wildcat. Jess saw the injured man and gestured for them to bring him into the clinic.

       "Not him." Bishop shook his head. "Bring him with me. Mirza find me a chair."

       "What are you going to do to him?" asked Jess.

       "We're just going to have a chat."

       Jonjo and Garang made a move to follow the men. Bishop turned, waving them away. "You make sure your men have secured the village."

       "No. I want to watch him die," replied Jonjo.

       "You'll get your chance. Garang, keep everyone away, especially Jess. She doesn't need to see this."

       The SFF leader nodded.

       Two Dinka guards dragged the Janjaweed commander by his shoulders, letting his shattered leg drag in the sand, his hands zip-tied behind him. He hurled abuse at the two men in his native tongue. Bishop led them around the corner to a blood-stained wall, the site of the crucifixion.

       Mirza appeared with a wooden school chair and the two men dropped Sagrib onto it. The Arab glared at his captors, slowly scanning the faces of the men in front of him. His lips parted in a toothless grin as the Dinka guards dropped their eyes. His glare focused on Bishop and his grin faded. The white man met his gaze with a cold, unblinking stare of his own.

       "So you are the CIA pig who leads these dogs?" He spat his words.

       Bishop drew his combat knife from his chest rig and leaned forward driving the blade into Sagrib's injured leg. The Arab screamed as the knife ground against his thigh bone.

       "Listen to my words very carefully, scum bag, because this is the first and last time I'm going to tell you. Answer my questions and that is all. Mouth off again and I'll give you more pain than you can ever imagine." Bishop pulled the knife from the man's leg and wiped it on the Arab's pants. "Tell me who you're reporting to."

       "Fuck you, CIA pig!"

       "I warned you, Sagrib." Bishop turned to his partner sitting against a low wall. "Mirza, can you grab the tool kit from the truck."

       Mirza nodded and walked towards the Wildcat. Bishop took a handful of thick zip ties from his rig and laid them on the ground in front of the captive. Mirza returned a few moments later with the emergency tool kit from the Land Rover.

       Bishop lay the box on the ground and sorted through it methodically. The kit was designed to keep a truck running no matter what the circumstances. It held all sorts of useful equipment including a micro welder and the tool that Bishop was looking for—a cordless grinder.

       "Mirza, zip-tie his thighs." Bishop removed the grinding part from the power tool and replaced it with a sinister-looking cutting blade.

       Mirza placed the thick zip ties around Sagrib's legs. The Arab kicked out and Mirza drove his elbow into the thigh, at the same time drawing the improvised tourniquet tight.

       Bishop held the power tool up in front of Sagrib's face and thumbed the trigger. It spun up with a sinister hiss.

       "The tourniquets will stop you from bleeding to death. Once I've finished cutting off your legs, I'm going to start on your arms. Once I've finished there I'm going to hand you over to the doctor. Now she is a compassionate woman; she will save your life. But then you will be given to the villagers and you will spend the rest of your life groveling for food like a pig, unable to take your own life. You will be forced to live in filth like a dog."

       The warrior's eyes grew wide and for the first time in his life he felt fear. According to his faith, if he died fighting the infidel he would be rewarded with unimaginable riches. However, living his life like an animal, groveling for scraps in a Dinka village, would condemn him to an eternity of hell.

       Bishop continued. "Answer my questions and I'll give you the death you want. I'll shoot you myself. It will be quick."

       Sagrib held his lips firmly shut but his eyes betrayed his growing panic.

       "How did you find our camp?"

       Bishop started the circular blade and the faint smell of burning ozone wafted up from its electric motor. He moved it closer to the Arab's knee and the blade ripped through the filthy desert fatigues.

       Still Sagrib said nothing.

       Bishop inched the spinning blade closer and it sliced into skin. Sagrib grunted as his flesh parted. The blade sprayed a fine mist of blood and his resolve dissolved.

       "The Chinese operative, Yang," Sagrib hissed.

       "How did he know where to find us?"

       "The Chinese have agents all through the South. One of them found it. I don't know how."

       "Tell me more about Yang. What does he look like?"

       "He's Chinese, small, a fighter. I don't know, they all look the same."

       "So now you work for the Chinese?"

       Sagrib spat in the dust. "No, I work for Omar. The Chinese work for us. They bring us guns and we give them oil."

       "How many more Janjaweed does Omar have?"

       Sagrib started laughing, cackling like an animal. "That's why it doesn't matter if you kill me.  He has thousands more. He fills the Janjaweed pockets with gold and they kill anyone who stands in his way. There are hundreds more men like me, thousands more warriors of Islam. We cannot be beaten. It doesn't matter how many men the CIA sends, it will not be enough."

       Bishop stared at the Arab for a few seconds before he wiped the grinder on the man's pants and placed it back in the tool kit.

       Sagrib waited, hoping for a gunshot that would end his pain.

       Bishop closed the toolbox and made for the exit.

       "Shoot me," Sagrib begged.

       The PRIMAL operative continued out the door.

       "You promised me you'd shoot me!" Sagrib screamed. "I told you what you wanted. Give me the death I deserve."

       Bishop stopped and turned back to face him. The Janjaweed commander's face was a mask of hatred mixed with intense pain.

       "I lied." Bishop turned to the guards. "Give him to the villagers. Let them decide what to do with him."

       He walked away from the screaming Arab.

       Mirza stepped in beside him. "So what now?"

       "Now we cut off the head."

Chapter 29

Khartoum, Sudan

"We've had a minor setback." Omar was sitting at his desk in the PETROCON tower, talking into his speaker phone as he drummed his thick fingers on the desk. It had taken him an entire day to summon the courage to make this call. It was now mid-morning, the day after the ambush that wiped out Sagrib and his men.

       "You call this a minor setback?" Zhu's voice hissed through the speaker. He had already been briefed by Yang on the failure.

       "The Janjaweed followed up on your intelligence."

       "Which was accurate."

       "Yes...but they were ambushed by a larger force and now most of my men are dead, including Sagrib."

       There was silence as the Chinese oil executive paused. His anger was still sharp.

       "I send you weapons, vehicles and intelligence and still you cannot crush a group of old men and children. Omar, I am beginning to think that you are wasting my time."

       "I will fix this problem, Zhu. I've already gathered more men. I can replace Sagrib. All we need is more equipment. The Dinka must be destroyed. Sagrib's men will have killed most of them already. There will only be a handful of the dogs left. It is Allah's—"

       "Omar!" the Chinese businessman interrupted. "What you need to understand is that China does not care for your petty war or your religious ranting. Do not think for one minute that this is anything more than a business transaction. China needs oil and we will negotiate with whoever has it. At this stage it would seem that is not you."

       Omar swallowed nervously. "We will have the oil, believe me. I have sent for more Janjaweed, twice as many as before. I just need more guns, more vehicles and more intelligence."

       "More, more, more! Your little war has already cost China millions, Omar, and for what? So far the amount of oil that has been pumped out of your squalid little country pales in significance compared to the price of a merchant ship, a brigade's worth of armor, toys for your Janjaweed and a helicopter."

       The Sudanese politician's jowels jiggled as he shook his head. "None of that is my fault. How was I to know the CIA would help the Dinka? You told me there was no chance of that."

       Zhu remained silent.

       Omar continued, "I have sent for twice as many men. We cannot fail."

       Still the Chinese businessman said nothing.

       "Given the extra costs I would be willing to offer a cheaper price on the oil."

       Finally the Chinese businessman's voice emitted from the speakerphone on Omar's desk.

       "That will not be necessary. China is committed to this venture. I have already ordered replacement vehicles. They are on the way to the refinery. Your men will report to Yang there and will work for him directly. Ensure they understand this. I will not have production delayed through the incompetence of another of your religious fanatics."

       "And equipment?"

       "It will be supplied. Ensure your men do not fail us again, Omar."

       The speaker emitted a beeping tone. Zhu had terminated the call.

Chapter 30

Kaljak Village and PETROCON Refinery

       Garang and most of the fighters had a well-deserved twenty-four hours rest before recommencing operations. The PRIMAL team worked non-stop. Mitch completed multiple resupply flights with Dragonfly. Bishop and Mirza, with the assistance of Jonjo, were busy conducting reconnaissance and planning future operations. The next focus was the Chinese oil refinery and logistics base nearly fifty kilometers away.

       Five thousand feet above the oil refinery an eagle soared on a thermal updraft. During the day the empty steel pipes trapped the heat of the sun. In the cool of the afternoon they released that energy in the form of a column of warm air. The eagle used the natural elevator to climb into the sky, conserving his own energy reserves as he searched for prey.

       As the bird conducted a lazy turn, something caught his eye. He peeled off to investigate, dropping a few hundred feet to fly directly above an electric UAV.

       The intruder's sensors were orientated towards the ground. A tiny, yet powerful camera swiveled in a gimbal mount as the craft cut a slow circle in the air.

       The eagle gave the strange creature a few moments before deciding it was neither small enough to eat, nor large enough to prove a threat. He turned away, returning to his own hunt.

       Nearly fifty kilometers away, Mitch was controlling the UAV from his laptop. A cable linked the laptop to the satellite communications suite in the Wildcat. A crowd had gathered around the tailgate of the vehicle, watching the high resolution feed.

       "So many," Jonjo said as the camera revealed the rows of gunned-up trucks parked inside the Chinese refinery. Activity in the base was high; armed men were busy loading up the vehicles and moving between the buildings.

       "Are you surprised?" Garang snapped. "Omar has called up more of his men. With the Janjaweed eating from his hand and the Chinese providing the metal, he has a never-ending army."

       "We can fight them!" declared Jonjo. He looked towards his leader. "We already  destroyed a force five times our own, yes?"

       "Without more men we cannot fight that." Garang jabbed his finger at the screen.

       Bishop said nothing. He turned and gave Mirza a grim look.

       "We're nearly out of battery power, team. Any last minute requests before the fat lady sings?" asked Mitch.

       "Can you give us a quick scan of their defenses?" asked Bishop.

       "Got less than a minute. I'll pull in real tight and give you a bit of a geezer."

       The blurry shapes in the image gained clarity as the UAV banked and closed with the refinery. Within seconds they could make out the refinery's improved defenses. The outer perimeter bristled with heavy machine-guns, sand-bagged fortifications reinforcing the entire fence line.

       "Bugger. We're nicked," Mitch said.

       Everyone watching could make out the muzzle flashes that lit up the screen as the refinery guards spotted the drone and opened fire.

       "Little Nellie's all out of juice, mate," he declared.

       "Kamikaze?" asked Bishop.

       "Why the fuck not! Our plastic fantastic deserves to go out with a bang."

       Mitch pitched the little craft forward and it power dove towards the refinery, shuddering as a round clipped its wing. Mortally wounded, it started to barrel roll, corkscrewing as it fell from the sky. Mitch maintained control and a spinning shot of a group of Janjaweed fighters came into view. They were all staring directly at the camera. They grew in size as the drone plummeted towards them.

       Jonjo laughed as their faces filled the screen, looks of terror and confusion painted on hard Arab features.

       Then the screen went blank as five kilograms of aircraft slammed into the men.

       The handful of SFF men watching cheered. Jonjo slapped Mitch on the back.

       "We injure two and a hundred more replace them." Garang's harsh tone cut through the joviality.

       No one noticed Jess standing at the back of the group. She stared at Garang with a sad look. She had joined them in time to see the Arab army that had assembled at the refinery and she had watched Garang cut down Jonjo's enthusiasm.

       As the group dispersed, Jonjo brushed past, ignoring her. She waited until the other SFF had moved away and approached the three operatives still standing at the back of their truck.