PRIMAL Nemesis (Book 2 in the Redemption Trilogy, A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 6) (The PRIMAL Series) (3 page)

“What’s with the bunker?” asked Howard.

“It used to be an ammunition storage facility. This is as far as I go, Mr. Howard. This gentleman will take it from here.” She gestured to a burly guard manning a reception desk.

“OK, well maybe we could catch up for a drink later?”

She ignored his offer and walked away.

“What a cold bitch,” he murmured as he watched her rear end disappear up the stairs.

The guard registered Howard's iris in a biometric system that gave him access to the secure area. Then he made a call informing someone inside he had arrived.

A moment later a solid steel door swung open and a tall gentleman dressed in a suit greeted him.

“Terrance, glad you could make it.” George Henry Pershing was a former CIA officer turned GES consultant. Forty-five years old, he was tall and lean with hawkish features, a receding hairline, and ears that stuck out from the side of his head like radar dishes.

“Mr. Pershing.” Howard tentatively shook the Texan's hand. It was their first meeting in an official capacity. Previously, Howard had known him as ‘Source 88’.

“I was just about to brief the rest of the team. Come on in.”

They passed through a retina scan activated gate before stepping into the workspace. The layout of the
SCIF
was no surprise to Howard. It was configured like any other. An open floor plan for most of the team, facing a wall of screens, with a series of offices across the back wall for the managers. He was surprised to see the number of analysts gathered in the room, at least eight that he could see at first glance. Three were women and out of those one was mildly attractive.

“Team, I would like to introduce Mr. Terrance Howard. He's our CIA liaison officer and lead analyst.” He gestured for Howard to take a seat. “For those of you who are unaware, four days ago this organization was the victim of a significant terrorist attack. A mining venture we were paid to protect in northern Mexico was attacked by environmental terrorists and completely destroyed.” Pershing scanned the room letting the severity of the comments sink in. “This has directly affected American citizens and substantial investment. We’ve been contracted on behalf of the CIA to find the people responsible and help bring them to justice.” He turned to the analyst. “Mr. Howard, can you give us an update on what the CIA was able to uncover?”

“Now?” He hadn’t expected to be briefing right away.

Pershing nodded.

“Umm, OK. Have you all read the background report that was released to GES?”

A few people nodded.

“OK, good. Well our number one suspect at the moment is this dude Aden, Objective Yankee. We know for a fact he was at the mine and was working with criminal elements to sabotage it. We think that he’s part of an environmental terrorist group that also includes a former German Police officer called Wilhelm Jager. Jager is Objective Red Sox and is the next link in the chain, and the key to getting to the entire... Major League Network.” Howard smiled, he'd made that up on the fly.

“The latest intel I’ve got on Jager dates back to 2008 when he was removed from
GSG 9
and the police force for beating a rapist to death. From there we have nothing. I want to know where he went after that. Did he immediately join the Major League Network? How did he avoid jail? These are the questions we need answered.”

Pershing clapped his hands. “OK team, so that's where we are at. Let's get to work. Mr. Howard, if you don't mind.” He gestured to one of the rooms at the back of the SCIF.

Apart from a cowboy hat hanging on a hook on the wall the office was bare.

“Looks like we're back in business,” drawled Pershing as he sat in his chair.

“What the hell happened at the mine? I saw the satellite imagery, dude, the place was trashed.”

“Objective Yankee managed to sabotage a number of the facilities then turned the Black Jacket Cartel against us. Without security in place there was little we could do when his militia attacked.”

“Holy crap.”

“But that's not what I wanted to talk about.” Pershing tipped back in his chair. “The German. Wilhelm or whatever, have you got an address?”

Howard shook his head. “Not for him, just his parents. They live in Bavaria.”

“Good, we're going to need that.”

“Do you want me to go over and interview them?”

Pershing smiled. “No, I've got someone a little more persuasive in mind.”

CHAPTER 2

KINGSTON, JAMAICA

Bishop
inhaled the fresh air as he sat cross-legged on a yoga mat. Saneh had snuck him under the fence to the beach behind Norman Manley Airport. The sun was low in the sky and there was a cool breeze coming off the sea. He peeked through one eyelid to see if Saneh was still holding her pose; she was.

“You opened your eyes didn't you,” she said.

“Nooo.” He closed them tightly and tried to focus on the waves crashing against the gray sand. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop thinking. A maelstrom of thoughts raced through his head. He sighed; he just wasn't cut out for meditation.

“Don't get frustrated, Aden. It takes a lot of practice to be able to let go. It will come, with time. You need to focus on your breathing. Long and deep inhale, long and deep exhale.”

He tried the breathing exercise and for a moment it calmed him. Then he opened his eyes and scanned the beach. There wasn't another person in sight. Just him, Saneh, and a few seagulls. “So, this is what you did everyday for two weeks?”

“Not just meditation. I also practiced yoga and ate organic food in a pristine environment. It was about spiritual as well as physical healing. Oh and massages; Ulaf had the most amazing hands.”

“What!” Bishop turned to face her. “Ulaf?”

She laughed. “It's so easy to wind you up.”

He lay back on the mat and pulled his baseball cap over his face.

“Oh now you're sulking?” She laughed.

“No, I'm meditating.”

“I did a lot of thinking. About you and me, about what we do, about how sometimes we hurt people.”

He sat up and lifted the cap so he could see her face. She wore a pained expression that worried him.

She continued, “What happened in Japan is going to bother me for a long time. Not just what happened with Karla but everything. When I was in
MOIS
, I never questioned my mission. I never worried if I had to take a life. I had no choice. But this, this is different. We're the judge, jury, and executioner, and I'm not sure that's right.”

“We’re not soldiers, Saneh. We shoulder the burden of decision as well as execution. It’s not a light load to carry.”

“Sometimes I think it’s too much.”

“You’re probably right but if we don’t do our job then who will?”

“Is it worth it?”

“I think so. We're only one pin prick of light in a world of darkness, but we make a real difference.”

“I just worry that darkness will consume us, or maybe it already has.”

Bishop gazed out at the ocean. “In Japan I was forced to make a decision. I chose your life over someone else's. It's a decision I've replayed in my mind hundreds of times. Do I wish I was never put in that position? Yes. Can I change what happened? No. If I had to do it again I would make the same decision.”

She looked at him intently. “Would you have done the same for anyone else on the team?”

“In an instant. Because this team is my family.”

“So, your decision had nothing to do with... us?”

Bishop nodded. “At that moment it didn’t. It was a tactical decision made in the heat of the moment. My feelings for you are strong, but they didn't cost Karla her life. Her actions did.”

She was silent.

“I'm the first to admit I was too harsh on Kurtz.”

“Harsh? He already had post-traumatic stress and then you shot a teenage girl right in front of him. You've got to have a little more empathy sometimes. He was on your team. You had a responsibility to make sure he was OK.”

He stared out to sea and swallowed hard. “I know.”

She touched his arm. “I'm sorry.”

He blinked off tears and glanced at her. “It's OK.”

“We all make mistakes. It's what we learn from them that defines us.”

They watched the waves crash on the sands for a minute. Then he broke the silence. “We should head back.” He rolled up his yoga mat and waited for Saneh to do the same. “Thanks,” he said as they walked back to the airport fence.

“For what?”

“For listening.” He lifted the bottom of the perimeter fence and she shimmied under. “I wonder if Aleks is getting close to finding Kurtz.”

“If anyone can find him it’s Aleks. He knew him the best.”

He crawled through after her and they walked toward the hangar. “I feel a bit sorry for the rest of the CAT.” Bishop referred to the Critical Assault Team, PRIMAL’s high-risk combat squad.

“Why is that?”

“Because with Aleks gone, Kruger is in charge and that guy lives by the ethos ‘train hard, fight easy’.”

She smiled. “I’m sure the boys are having a great time.”

***

NEW YORK CITY

The
boardroom of Manhattan Ventures Investments was an elaborately furnished space on the 34
th
floor of a skyscraper in Lower Manhattan. Floor to roof glass windows ran down one side giving the occupants a sweeping view of the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges.

Jordan Pollard, the Chairman, sat at the head of a polished mahogany table with a scowl on his hawkish features. “I want the Mexican government to bleed for this. I want to sue them for every single dollar we can get. We were assured a safe and cooperative mining environment not a goddamn revolution.” He eyeballed each person at the table.

The three directors of MVI were present: Charles King, also the CEO of Ground Effects Services, Ian Macmillan, the company’s Chief Financial Officer, and Wesley Chambers, a former investment banker responsible for raising capital. A fourth person, a female lawyer, had also been invited to the meeting.

“Ian, what has this cost us?”

The CFO adjusted his spectacles and coughed. “About five hundred million.”

“Five hundred million,” Pollard snapped. “They cost us five hundred million.”

“Yes sir, and a five year forecast of an additional six hundred million, possibly more.”

“Over a billion dollars, gone up in smoke.” He jabbed a finger at his attorney. “Where do we stand with our legal recourse?”

The lawyer was plain looking, with her hair in a bun and a suit that could have belonged to a man. She hadn’t been hired for her looks. One of the best in the business, she was a Columbia Law graduate with a decade of experience in international business law. “Sir, I've assembled my team and we've initiated legal action against the Mexican Government. We anticipate serving the defendant by the end of the month.”

“And you’re confident you will be successful?”

“Yes, sir. Like you said, under the North American Free Trade Agreement, the Mexican Government was obliged to provide you with a secure environment to conduct your business. They failed. There is no doubt in my mind they’re accountable for the loss of your investment and your future earnings. It’s covered under Chapter 11 of NAFTA.”

For the first time in days Pollard smiled. “This may turn out to be lucrative after all.” He gestured to the door. “Now if you would excuse us, my dear, I would like to talk privately with my colleagues. I will see you later in my office.”

“Yes, sir.” She left the table and Pollard waited till she was out of sight. He pointed at Charles King, the director responsible for security and the CEO of Ground Effects Services. “Charles, I want an update on our progress with finding the people responsible.”

“Yes, sir, the intel team has assembled in our GES facility and have commenced working with the CIA to find Objective Yankee. We've discovered that he has an associate who is German, Objective Red Sox. I have an asset traveling to interview this associate’s family in Bavaria. We're confident he will unlock the identity of Yankee and the rest of what we are calling the Major League Network.”

“And these are the people you let destroy the mine?” asked Wesley Chambers.

King glared at the thirty year old. The investment banker was by far the youngest in the room and, as far as King was concerned, the biggest security risk. “Yes, that is correct.”

“Oh OK, so what are you doing to make sure they're not planning to take down any of our other ventures, like Venezuela, or the DRC? I mean, dude, you did such a good job of protecting the Chihuahua mine.”

“Shut the hell up!” Pollard, the Chairman, snapped.

King continued, “You'll be happy to know, Wesley, that as a direct result of your inability to maintain your own security, I’ll be assigning you and the others with a personal security detail.” He referred to a previous incident where the PRIMAL operative Mirza had accessed Wesley’s phone and installed hacking software.

Wesley looked shocked. “What? You mean a bunch of your goons are going to follow me around all day? No way, dude. It's bad enough you make me carry one of those shitty company phones.”

Pollard stabbed a finger. “You'll comply with the security requirements or you can find another job. It's that simple.”

Wesley chewed his lip and remained silent.

“That concludes our meeting, gentlemen. We won't convene as group again until the security situation has improved. That will be all.”

Wesley and the CFO gathered their things and departed. The investment banker was still complaining about the security changes as he walked out.

“That idiot is getting on my nerves,” said King when they were gone.

“He’ll be dealt with in good time,” replied Pollard. “My main concern is neutralizing the Major League group. If we don't, I have no doubt that our other CIA contracts will quickly evaporate. Need I remind you exactly how lucrative arming rebels and running rendition ops is?”

“No, sir. Shrek is heading to Bavaria as we speak. He’ll interrogate the parents of the German. The rest of his team is postured to exploit.”

“And the situation in Venezuela?”

“Good. Jimmy’s boys have been very effective. Since their last mission there has been a significant drop in demonstrations.”

“As I predicted, targeting the facilitators would be the key to success.”

“Indeed sir, and how are the contract negotiations progressing?”

“We're in the final stages. Once they’ve been signed Team 1 will transition from covert operations to the site security force. Try not to repeat your screw up in Mexico.”

The veins on the side of King's shaved head bulged as he packed up his notes. “We’ll have the Major League criminals neutralized by then.”

Pollard rose and made his way to the boardroom door. “You’d better. We literally can't afford any more mistakes.”

***

CARACAS, VENEZUELA

Antonio's
eyes opened and he panicked. All he could see was a blur of bright white. His brain throbbed and his arms failed to respond as he tried to sit upright so he could see what was going on.

“Steady, steady.” The voice was warm and feminine. Gentle hands pushed him back into the bed. “It's OK, you're in hospital. You're safe.”

“Where's Camilla, is she OK?”

“I'm sure she's fine. You need to rest.”

The room spun and Antonio closed his eyes. Images from the attack flashed through his mind. The forearm with its intricate tattoo was etched in his memory. For what felt like an hour he focused on the image. Then he forced open his eyes. The fog had started to lift and he could almost see clearly. A young nurse was watching him intently, a clipboard held in her hands. “Did anyone else come in with me?”

“Yes, there were a number of you.”

“Are they all OK?”

“I would have to check.”

“Can you help me sit up?”

The nurse wound the bed to a sitting position and left the room. A minute later she returned with a tray of food. “Eat slowly or you’ll be sick.”

He was so groggy that he hadn’t realized his left arm was strapped across his chest. His shoulder and upper arm were bandaged heavily. Then he remembered the savage blow that must have shattered his shoulder.

“Antonio, how are you?”

He turned his head toward the new voice. One of his fellow demonstrators, Chabi, was standing in the doorway. The student was sporting a black eye and stitches in the brow above it.

“You can go in,” said the nurse as she walked out.

His friend approached slowly and stood next to the bed.

“How is Camilla?” Antonio asked.

“She's alive.” Chabi’s face was grave.

“Where is she?”

“They've got her in the room down the hall.”

Antonio threw the blankets off and swung his legs out. Fighting the urge to vomit he grabbed the IV stand next to the bed for support.

“You need to stay in bed.”

“No, I need to see her.” He staggered to the door. “Show me the way.”

His friend shook his head but led him to the room down the corridor. “She hasn't spoken since they brought her in.”