PRIMAL’s G650, nicknamed Sleek, was one of a number aircraft that had been heavily modified to conduct covert operations across the globe. The collection included: an Ilyushin-76 heavy transporter that doubled as a special ops support platform and gunship, a tiltrotor capable of flying long distances and landing vertically, as well as a number of helicopters and unmanned drones. Mitch had reconfigured and enhanced all the aircraft to meet their needs.
While the Il-76, or Pain Train as it was affectionately known, was his favorite, he really enjoyed flying the Gulfstream. He seriously doubted there was another aircraft this size anywhere in the world that had half as much capability. It had a comprehensive electronic counter measures suite, a sophisticated intelligence collection capability, and the ability to deploy free-fall operators or airdrop specialist equipment.
Mitch opened the aircraft’s control menu on the laptop and activated the equipment delivery module. He double-checked the coordinates Chua’s intelligence team had provided and activated the automatic dispatch program.
At the back of the aircraft, in what once was a baggage compartment, a tall grey object that looked like a coffin received the data and prepared itself for launch. Beneath it, a panel under the tail of the aircraft retracted.
Mitch watched the countdown. “Five, four, three, two, one… away.” The program registered the parachute exploding from the top of the package, arresting its fall. Unlike a standard cargo chute, the ram-air chute was steerable. A GPS module and a tiny computer used electric motors to apply pressure to the canopy, steering it through the air. From twenty-five thousand feet, the precision cargo delivery system was capable of flying almost forty miles and landing within twenty yards of its target.
He shut the laptop and walked back to the cockpit.
“I felt it go,” said Mirza as he waited for Mitch to retake his seat. “Handing over now.”
They ran through the sequence again and he took the controls, immediately banked the aircraft north and commenced their descent. “We’ll be on the ground in El Paso in twenty, across the border in an hour, and at Bishop’s safe house just after sunset.” He checked the iPRIMAL interface panel.
“Still no update from him?”
“No, nothing.”
“He should have finished his mine recon by now.
He saw the worry on Mirza’s face. “It’s OK, mate, he’s probably still out of battery. I bet he’s shacked up with that journo.”
***
Bishop glanced up at the edge of the canyon. The sun had disappeared behind the lip and they had barely made it a mile from where they had surfaced. If he remembered the terrain correctly, they were only a few miles from the mine, and a long way from help. Soon the temperature would drop and Christina’s condition would deteriorate even further. In the hours after her near drowning Bishop had noticed troubling symptoms. Vomiting, dizziness, and an inability to control her body temperature indicated the water in the river might have poisoned her. His own eyes were sore and his skin was itching, but unlike Christina, he’d not ingested much of the polluted stream.
“Water,” she croaked as she staggered along the canyon floor.
Bishop held her as they walked. “We can’t drink it. It’ll only make you sicker.”
She shivered again. He pulled out his broken iPRIMAL and tried to turn it on. Nothing.
With a moan Christina collapsed against him. He helped her down to the ground where she dry retched. The sun was below the horizon now and it was only going to get colder. They needed a fire.
He gathered a handful of dry grass and quickly built a tepee of sticks around it. He emptied his pockets onto the ground. Somehow he still had both the folding knife and the chrome-plated colt. He ejected the magazine from the weapon and thumbed out a round. Using the knife, he pried the bullet from the brass casing. Then he trimmed a small piece of material from the bottom of his jeans and stuffed it into the cartridge.
He chambered the modified round and shot it into the sand. Picking up the smoldering piece of cotton with his knife, he transferred it into the heap of dry grass. It smoked and took light as he breathed gently on it. Within a few minutes he had a fire burning fiercely.
“You need to leave me,” croaked Christina.
“No way. I didn’t drag your ass out of that mine to leave you in the desert.”
“Saneh needs you,” she mumbled.
They enjoyed the warmth radiating from the fire for a few minutes before he got up to find more wood. As he searched, he found his thoughts wandering to Saneh. She was in Indonesia at a Yoga retreat. She would have no idea he was lost in the desert. If she did know, would she come? They had parted on bad terms and he wasn’t sure it could ever go back to the way it was. His recklessness had probably cost him the only woman he had ever really loved. He shook his head and picked up another stick. That was all irrelevant now. His focus was on keeping Christina alive.
He was about to head back to the fire with an armful of sticks when he heard a noise. He dropped the kindling and drew his pistol. Stalking slowly along the bank he waited till his eyes had adjusted to the gloom. He heard the soft whinny of a horse and nearly cried out for joy. “Tinkerbell, is that you?”
The horse walked across, sniffed him, then nuzzled the side of his face. He took her reins and led her back to the fire. “Christina, look who I found.”
He took the water bottle still hooked over the horn of the saddle and gave Christina a drink. She tried to gulp from it but he stopped her. “Just little sips.” As she sipped he kicked out the fire.
“Had enough water?”
She nodded and handed him the bottle. He returned it to the horse and retrieved a blanket from where it had been tied behind the saddle. He draped it over her shoulders and helped her onto Tinkerbell’s back. The stocky mare turned her head and sniffed Christina’s leg. She whinnied softly when Bishop climbed into the saddle and held Christina in front of him.
Bishop gave her a gentle touch with his heels. “Come on girl, take us home.”
She gave another whinny and started off along the creek bed.
***
Mirza was amazed at how easy it was to cross the border from Texas to Mexico. There was no check on the US side and the Mexican guards showed little interest in two men in a battered old Ford Bronco truck. He was thankful for that, because explaining what an Indian and a Brit were doing traveling together might have proven awkward. Although the cover story Mitch had developed was no less so. Allegedly he was the ‘little spoon’, whatever that meant.
Mitch was driving the truck at break-neck speed across a barren section of desert forty miles from the border. The lights bolted to the top of the truck lit up the sandy track for a hundred yards in front of them. The GPS app on the tablet attached to the dash counted down the distance from their destination.
“Thar she blows.” Mitch slowed and turned off the track. The off-road tires crunched over dry bushes and shrubs as he pulled alongside the coffin-shaped equipment pod.
Mirza jumped out and started bundling up the grey parachute. He wound it around his arms and dumped it in the back of the Bronco. “How close was it?”
Mitch bent over the pod and unlatched a panel revealing a keypad. “Within ten yards. Best yet.” He punched in a code and the container popped open revealing black gear bags.
Mirza loaded the bags while Mitch stripped the electronic guidance package from the pod and placed it on the back seat. The carbon fiber container would remain in the desert.
He took two Glock 19 pistols in paddle holsters from one of the bags. He clipped one onto his belt and pulled his shirt over it. Slamming the back of the truck shut, he joined Mitch in the cab and placed the second handgun on the console.
The technician was studying his iPRIMAL tablet. It was a larger version of the smartphones they all carried; a highly sophisticated battlefield management, intelligence, and communications system. He had preloaded it with imagery covering northern Mexico.
Mirza
checked his pistol. “How far are we?”
Mitch activated the navigation function and slotted the device back into its cradle. “We’ll be at Bishop’s safe house within the hour.”
CHAPTER 24
Roberto’s eyes snapped open and he sat up as the door handle to his makeshift cell turned. One of the mine’s workers entered with a tray and placed it on the floor.
Roberto recognized the man. He had been a farm hand that had labored for him over the summer. Now he was one of the few locals who had taken jobs at the mine; a move that had ostracized him from the small community.
The tray held a single bowl of white slop. Roberto locked eyes with the farm hand.
The man mouthed something. Roberto frowned, what was he trying to say?
Again, he mouthed the same word.
Roberto realized what he was saying. Message.
“I remember you,” he said as the man turned to leave. “You helped me put out that fire at the Veda ranch.”
The worker paused at the door with a confused look on his face.
“Yeah, that’s right. You helped at the Veda ranch.” He mouthed the next words. “Tomorrow, they’re going to hit the Veda ranch.”
The man nodded and disappeared. The door was locked and Roberto was left alone with the bowl of slop.
***
Bishop let Tinkerbell canter the last mile home. She seemed to understand the urgency of the situation. Her neigh woke the ranch before Bishop managed a shout. Lights snapped on in the ranch house, then the huts.
Everyone came out to meet them: the brothers Miguel and Gerardo, Emilio, and the ranch owner with his wife. Christina was pulled from his arms by strong hands and bundled inside the house to be tended by the rancher’s wife. Bishop slid down from the horse and patted her on the nose. “Thank you, Tink!”
She gave a snort and tossed her head in the direction of the barn. She was ready for a feed.
Emilio took the reins from him. “Where is Roberto?”
Bishop shook his head. “They captured him.”
The old man’s shoulders slumped and he led the horse to the stable. It was the first time Bishop had seen the staunch rancher’s will to fight defeated. He followed him into the barn and grasped him by the shoulder. “We’ll make them pay for this, and if he’s alive we’ll do our best to get him back.”
The old man turned to him, his eyes glossy. “First my son, now Roberto? We can’t fight these people.”
Bishop undid Tink’s girth strap and slid the saddle off her back. “Yes we can.” He peeled the saddle blanket from her back. She gave a shake and plunged her nose into the bag of oats offered to her by Emilio. “They don’t know who they’re dealing with.”
He left Emilio to tend the horse and knocked on the front door of the house. The rancher met him with a grave face. He led him through to where Christina was propped up in bed. His wife was holding a mug of water and trying to get her to drink.
Christina managed a smile when she saw Bishop. “Hey,” she croaked.
He leaned over and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. He took the cup from the wife. “I’ll watch her for a bit.”
The woman nodded and left them together.
“How you doing, warrior?” he asked.
“I’m OK.” She started coughing.
Bishop handed her a tissue from the nightstand. She struggled to hold it against her mouth. He knew she needed to get to a medical facility. “Hey, you did good today, kiddo. A weaker person would have called it quits, but you stuck it out. I’m proud of you.”
She looked at him with weary eyes. “I hope Saneh realizes what a lucky woman she is to have your heart.”
The comment was like a punch to his chest and he was lost for words.
The honking of a car horn snapped him out of it. “I’ll be back.” He ran through the kitchen, past the rancher and his wife, to the front door. He cracked it open and peered through.
An old Ford Bronco was parked in front of the ranch. Emilio was standing a few yards off to the flank with his bolt-action rifle raised.
“No need for the gat, mate, we’re friends of Aden.”
Bishop instantly recognized the voice. “Mitch!” He pushed open the door and walked to the truck.
Mitch appeared from the driver’s side of the vehicle, followed by Mirza who ran an eye over Bishop’s disheveled appearance.
“What on earth happened to you?”
“I’ll explain later. You got a trauma kit in the truck?”
“Of course. What’s wrong? You hit?” Mirza asked as he opened the back of the Bronco and pulled out the medical supplies.
“Not me, the girl. I think she’s got toxic poisoning.” Bishop left Mitch to unpack the gear. He led Mirza back into the house.
Christina was still sitting up in bed.
“This is my friend, Mirza. He’s a medic and will help you.”
She looked at them, eyes heavy with malaise. “Hello.”
“Hello, Christina. How you feeling?” Mirza put a digital thermometer in her ear and took a reading.
“Sore and tired,” she mumbled.
Mirza checked her eyes with a penlight. “Aden, we need to get fluids into her and get her to hospital in the next few hours.” He unzipped the med kit and pulled out a giving set and saline bag. It took him only a few seconds to find a vein and insert the needle.
“The ranch owner’s wife has offered to take her to El Paso,” Emilio said, standing at the door.
Bishop nodded. “I think that’s best.”
“I’ll let her know.”
Christina coughed. “I don’t want to go,” she moaned.
He put his hand on Mirza’s shoulder. “Can I have a few minutes with her.”
Mirza handed over the fluids bag and stepped out of the room.
Bishop took her hand. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital, Christina. The water from the river has made you sick.”
“But, you’re not sick.”
The corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “I managed to keep my mouth shut underwater.”
Another fit of coughing wracked her body. “Promise me you’ll get Roberto back.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“No, promise me.”
“I can’t promise you that.”
She glared at him. “You got me out of the mine, Aden. You can save Roberto.”
He took her hand and kissed her on the cheek. “You just concentrate on getting better. I’ll take care of everything here.”
Ten minutes later
Bishop watched the tail lights of the rancher’s truck disappear down the track. Content that Christina was on her way to hospital, he walked across to where Miguel, Gerardo, and Emilio were smoking on the front porch of the bunkhouse.
Emilio looked up from cleaning a rusty bolt-action rifle. “Your friends, they are here to help?”
“They’re here to see what can be done.”
“What does that mean?” asked Gerardo.
“It means, if we can find a way to stop them, then we will. But, there are only three of us.”
“No,” said Emilio. “There are six of us.”
Bishop nodded. “True. Now, I need to go and help set up our gear. I’ll talk to you all in the morning. We’ll come up with a plan to try and rescue Roberto.”
“You need to sleep, Aden,” said Emilio.
“I will.” He strode back to the barn, stopping to pat Tinkerbell on the nose as he passed her stall on the way to the storage room.
Mitch and Mirza were already nearly set up. All the horse equipment had been piled at one end of the room, clearing space for the gear bags. Mitch had placed a laptop-sized satellite receiver outside. Cables ran through the window to a wireless router.
“So what happened out there?” Mitch asked.
Bishop sat on a step. “It all went to shit.” He spent the next ten minutes filling them in on the events that had transpired since he had crossed the border into Mexico. W
hen he was done both Mitch and Mirza wore concerned looks.
Mirza voiced his doubts first. “Sounds like they had surveillance on Christina from the start. Either that or one of the Mexicans is an informant.”
Bishop shook his head. “No, I don’t think there’s a mole. The security at the mine is somehow hooked into US surveillance assets. I found a ROVER terminal in one of their buggies.”
Mitch looked up from where he was studying his tablet. “It would probably be a Predator.” His fingers danced across the glass touchscreen. “I’m bringing up the FAA network. If the birds are flying domestically they’ll have had to submit a flight plan and run a transponder.”
Bishop managed a wry smile. It was good to have Mitch on the team.
“Here it is.” He laughed. “Real creative call sign, Pred South. The bird flew a mission in vicinity of El Paso last night for a period of eight hours. Looks like at about twenty-one thirty it wandered across the border into Mexico for five hours.”
“You can’t tell who it was working for?”
“No, it’s a Customs and Borders bird, but that doesn’t say much.”
“It tells us enough. Whoever we’re dealing with is linked into interagency assets. They’re well resourced and supported. This is going to be a tough nut to crack. We need to continue a low-vis op. Collect all the intel we can and see what develops.”
Mirza dropped a large black bag in front of Bishop. “Here’s your gear.”
He unzipped the bag. It contained all his basic loadout: rifle, pistol, chest rig, and a spare iPRIMAL.
“We don’t seem to have much local support to work with,” Mirza said.
“They mean well, but they’re just farmers. With Roberto captured and Carlos dead, we’ve only got three guys.”
“Yeah, and no offence, but Emilio looks like he’s older than Jesus,” Mitch said.
“Well, I owe him. When we were evading the Black Jackets, his son tried to help me…” His voice trailed off.
PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) Page 19
