PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5)

by Jack Silkstone

  “And?”

  “And they murdered him. Dragged him five miles behind a truck.”

  “Bloody hell.” Mitch looked at Mirza and there was silence.

  “Anyway, those cartel assholes will get their due.” He reached into the pocket on his jeans. In among the sand and dirt was the SD card. “We got some photos of the mine. Security is real tight, heaps of cartel gunman. More bad guys than a Bond movie. Sorry, the card’s pretty beat up.”

  “You’d be surprised at how tough they are. I’ll send the pics through to the Bunker.”

  That reminded Bishop of the chrome .45 he’d been lugging around. He pulled it from his waistband and unloaded it. “I took this off one of the cartel guys in the mine. It’s got an inscription.”

  Mitch inspected the weapon. “Wow, not your average pea shooter. I’ll take some photos and send it through to Chua and the team. In the meantime, why don’t you get some rest. Mirza and I will get things sorted here. Once we’ve checked in with the Bunker we’ll work out a game plan. What’s the security situation here?”

  “The guys from the mine think we’re dead. But they’ll be interrogating Roberto, if he’s still alive. We should run a sentry and move in the morning.”

  “I’ll put a sensor on the road. Mirza and I will take watch and get the gear sorted.”

  “The ranch owner and his wife will have to find another place to bed down for a while. Can you make sure they get some cash?”

  “Will do. Now, you get a few hours sleep.”

  “No, I’ll do a shift.” As Bishop stood his legs almost gave way. He placed a hand against the wall to steady himself.

  “Bollocks you will,” said Mitch.

  “I think I might give you a once over before you get your head down,” said Mirza as he reached for his medical kit.

  Bishop sat back down. “You got anything in there that will help me sleep?”

  Mirza took a few pills from the kit. “Here, an anti-inflammatory, and a sleeping tablet. In a few hours you’ll be feeling a lot better.” He started checking Bishop’s vitals. “I’ll put a bag of fluids on your arm while you sleep. You look dehydrated.”

  He exhaled slowly. “Whatever the doctor orders.”

  CHAPTER 25

  LASCAR ISLAND

  Flash leaned back in his chair and aimed his Nerf gun at the trashcan-sized robot that was cleaning the floor. His target was an empty soft drink can balanced on top. He tracked the robot as it navigated around a chair. It paused, almost as if it sensed the ambush. Slowly, it inched out from behind cover.

  “I have you now,” whispered Flash as he squeezed the trigger.

  The dart sprang out of the gun with a loud clack, arced across the room, and hit the tin can with a soft clink. He leaped from his chair, pumping a fist, and hopping on one leg. “Yeah bitch, take that.”

  A beep from his computer interrupted his celebration. He dropped his stocky frame into his chair and spun to face the thirty-two inch screen. “Boom!” The tablet Mitch and Mirza had hacked was online. The receptionist who owned the iPad had finally plugged the device into a USB port to charge. Now, Flash had to bypass the lock out and gain access to the port itself. His fingers danced over the keyboard as he hummed a Steppenwolf song, Magic Carpet Ride. In a couple of minutes he had bypassed the security protocols and gained access to the GES network. He cracked his fingers, now the fun was going to start.

  He accessed the local admin drive and went straight for the personnel files. Chua had instructed him to find out exactly who they were dealing with. He downloaded a folder containing the CVs for over a dozen employees. The PDF documents were small and unencrypted.

  He scanned through the other folders but didn’t find anything interesting. He grabbed a dozen invoices from the accounts folder then went for the mother lode, the email server. As expected, it was encrypted but that wasn’t an issue. The problem was choosing what files to download. He glanced at the interface in the corner of his screen that told him how much power the iPad had. He doubted the secretary would leave it plugged in once it was fully charged. It was at eighty percent and climbing. He grabbed a chunk of emails belonging to the CEO, Charles King.

  He stopped browsing so the files could download faster. While waiting, he opened the CVs he had already copied. Just as he thought, most of the employees were ex-government. A range of gunslingers, cops, and intelligence types, not unlike the PRIMAL team. One file caught his eye; George Pershing’s CV read like an action novel. Former ‘State Department’, he had served in some far-flung places. The photo in the corner of the document showed a middle-aged, lean-faced employee with a receding hairline. Was it the same guy Bishop had described? He remembered the engraving on the pistol Mitch had sent through. He searched the intel database and found the photo. The inscription read.

  GHP Chad 2003

  GHP, George Henry Pershing. He earmarked the file and checked the progress of the download. It was about halfway. He opened the accounts invoices he had downloaded and browsed through them. They were from a variety of clients ranging from oil companies to governments, and everyone in between. The company name on one of the files caught his eye, Dynamic Business Consulting. He went back to the CVs and searched them for the name. Yes, there it was. Pershing had worked for the same company after leaving government service.

  He opened a browser and researched the company. It seemed to be a legitimate consulting firm, based out of Atlanta. Flash leaned back in his chair as he considered the information. It all seemed too convenient. The invoice from DBC to GES was a big one, nearly six million dollars for a team of security consultants.

  He rocked forward to check on the download of files. Damn, the tablet had disconnected from the network. He shrugged, there were still a significant number of emails to decrypt and analyze. He dumped the files into a software program that Chua had procured from an NSA contact. It would take at least a day or two for the program to crack them all.

  He typed a single line in a chat window to Vance. Dynamic Business Consulting, ever heard of them?

  He knew the PRIMAL Director of Operations was at his desk because the reply came back almost immediately. Cover firm for the Company, why?

  “Shit,” mouthed Flash. GES had contracts with the CIA, and Pershing almost certainly had a background with the Company. He started to type a reply message when the door to his office swung open and Vance stormed in with Chua in tow.

  “Is GE contracting to the CIA?” PRIMAL’s Director of Operations asked.

  “Yes sir, at least for some of their jobs. They were paid over six million from a front company earlier this year. And the cowboy guy that’s going after Bishop, he’s former CIA.”

  Vance leaned against the desk and folded his arms. Chua stood in the doorway.

  “That raises the stakes.”

  The Chief of Intelligence nodded in agreement.

  “Update Bishop, Mitch, and Mirza. They need to be aware we could be dealing with government level capabilities and assets. We need to gather as much intel on GE’s activities as we can.”

  ***

  CHIHUAHUA

  The thumping on his door woke Bishop from the deepest sleep he’d had in months. He groaned and glanced at his watch. The luminous hands told him it was four in the morning. He had only been in bed for a few hours. He turned on the light and noticed the needle had been removed from his arm.

  Mirza opened the door with a mug of coffee in hand. “Morning!” he said cheerfully.

  Bishop wiped the sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “Emilio got a message from a local who works at the mine. Roberto’s still alive.”

  “What, when?”

  “A few minutes ago. Roberto passed a message that the men from the mine are going to attack a farm at dawn. Emilio’s about to leave with the other two.”

  Bishop took the coffee. “Give me a sec to get dressed. Don’t let Emilio leave.”

  “Will do.”

  He was over at
the barn a minute later with mug in hand. Mitch, Mirza, and what remained of the autodefensa were already there. Like Bishop, the two PRIMAL operatives were dressed in jeans, plaid shirts, and jackets. Their combat equipment was laid out on the ground. The Mexicans were eyeballing the gear. “Emilio, any news on Christina?”

  “She made it to the hospital safely.”

  “Good.” He turned to his fellow PRIMAL operatives. “OK, team, what have we got?”

  Mirza spoke first. “According to Emilio’s man, Roberto is still at the mine. He’s in OK health, but he’s heavily guarded. He managed to pass us a message that the cowboy and his cronies are going to hit the Veda ranch this morning.”

  “OK, who’s Veda?”

  “Pablo Veda,” Emilio explained. “He owns the last property standing on the southern side of the mine. Twenty acres. Lives there with his two sons.”

  “And do you trust this contact of yours? Who is he?”

  The old man rubbed his eyes. “He’s a ranch hand who took a job at the mine. A good worker, I trust him.”

  “Yeah, but what if he’s working for the cowboy? What if this is a trap?”

  “No, they have Roberto, and they think you’re dead. They think we are beaten. They will attack the Veda ranch.” Emilio’s lip quivered as he spoke. “I know Pablo. He will not leave his land. They’ll have to kill him. If we do not help him then all will be lost. They will have won. My son will have died for nothing!”

  Bishop glanced at his fellow PRIMAL operatives, then back to the ranchers. “Can you guys give us a moment alone.”

  Emilio nodded and gestured for the other two men to follow him outside.

  “What did the Bunker have to say?” Bishop asked.

  “We haven’t run this past them, mate,” replied Mitch. “We checked in with them a few hours ago. Chua’s team has been burning the midnight oil. They’ve updated our intel files with a full breakdown of the Chaquetas cartel and the local Sinaloa branch. Chua also thinks they might have ID’d your cowboy. Ex-CIA geezer called…” He checked his iPRIMAL. “George Henry Pershing.”

  “Does Vance know him?”

  Mitch shook his head. “No, according to his CV he started at the Company after Vance left. But that’s not all they dug up. Seems GE has a number of contracts with the CIA.”

  “No shit. That would explain the Predator. Does that mean this is a CIA-backed op?”

  Mitch shook his head. “No, Chua and Vance don’t think so. We don’t have any specifics for the CIA contracts, but they seem to be separate from GE’s resources security side of things. They think this Pershing chump is calling in favors.”

  “And what’s our tasking? Still just intel collection?”

  “Yep. Vance has tasked us to identify potential opportunities to shut down the mine. He specifically said we’re not to engage in any kinetic activity at this stage.”

  “If we shut down the mine but all the farmers are dead, that’s a bloody waste of time,” said Bishop.

  “And Emilio is going no matter what we do,” said Mirza.

  “Then we need to go with him and convince this Veda guy to avoid a confrontation.”

  Mitch nodded. “Right, but what about your mate who got captured? You want to request the CAT for a recovery op?” The CAT was PRIMAL’s Critical Assault Team. Heavily armed operatives equipped with cutting-edge technology. A brute force instrument used when field agents required additional firepower.

  Bishop sighed and shook his head. “Vance won’t approve it for a civilian.”

  “So, what are our options?” Mirza asked.

  “Well, the security at the mine is hardcore, and we’ve lost the element of surprise. If we’re to have any chance at recovering Roberto we’d need to come up with something local to neutralize the Chaquetas. I’m keen to explore the Sinaloa angle.”

  “Play the cartels off against each other? That’s going to be dangerous.”

  “Might be our only option.” Bishop checked his watch. “Is all the gear packed?”

  “Yep,” Mitch replied. “And the Bunker’s already scoped a suitable safe house for us closer to town.”

  “OK. Let’s move on the Veda job. I want you both in overwatch. If this goes bad and we can’t get the farmers to leave, you need to be able to lay down the smack and cover our withdrawal.”

  Mitch grinned. “We packed for just the occasion.”

  “Good, then gear up and let’s roll.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Pershing finished pouring an espresso and turned to his captive. “You sure you don’t want one, Roberto? Great way to start the morning, gives you a real kick in the pants.”

  The rancher stared at him.

  “No? OK.” Pershing lifted the glass and sipped from it. “Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day. It’s a real pity you don’t want to help me save your friends down there.” He gestured at the farmhouse half a mile away.

  They were standing behind the Chevy, parked outside the front gate to the Veda ranch. In front of them Burro waited with four pickups full of his men. Beyond the trucks was the house. It sat at the base of the same hilly range as the mine. The geologist had told Pershing this particular area contained the richest deposit in the area.

  The rumble of a large diesel engine caused the espresso glasses on top of Pershing’s machine to vibrate. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted a low-loader transporting a bulldozer. He slid the coffee machine away and closed the trunk. A car came out of the dust behind the truck, a police cruiser.

  It slowed to a halt and an officer lowered his window. “Morning, Mr. Pershing.”

  He reached into his jacket, retrieved an envelope, and handed it to the cop. “Make it snappy, boys, I’ve got a lot of work to do today.”

  The officer and his partner nodded and drove off, passing under the tall wooden sign marking the entrance to the property. They turned on the lights and siren as they drove down to the farmhouse.

  Pershing sipped his coffee as he watched. “I give them about three minutes. What say you, Roberto?”

  In the distance the boom of a shotgun sounded.

  “Might be a little less.” He chuckled then knocked back his espresso.

  The police car had stopped a few hundred yards down the road. Pershing watched as it backed off the track and turned around. It accelerated toward them, slowed, and stopped alongside.

  “I guess you miss out on that bonus, boys.”

  “Mad old bastard didn’t even want to hear what we had to say,” said the officer. “He deserves what he gets.”

  Pershing waved them on. “Much obliged for your attempt.”

  Once the police car disappeared down the road, Pershing pointed to Burro. “Your boys are up!”

  ***

  Mirza adjusted the focus on the scope of his suppressed G28 marksman’s rifle. He and Mitch had positioned themselves halfway up the hill overlooking the farm. Clad in the mottled greys and browns of A-TACS camouflage, they blended seamlessly with the arid surroundings. Bishop was down at the farm with Emilio and the brothers, trying to convince the Pablo Veda and his family to leave.

  Mirza pushed the transmit button attached to the foregrip of the rifle. “Bish, we’ve got at least four truckloads of hostiles and a dozer moving down the road. We need to go now.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Through his scope Mirza watched as the Black Jackets jumped down from the pickups and fanned out into two long lines. Every second man carried a rocket launcher slung across his back. He turned to Mitch who was lying behind a shrubby outcrop a few feet to his left. “I’ll target the rocketeers. You hit the dozer first. Use HE. Engage on Bishop’s word.”

  The Brit had a camouflaged MK48 machine gun pressed against his shoulder. Like Mirza’s weapon, it sported a long cylindrical suppressor and an optic sight.

  “Roger.” Mitch lowered the machine gun and shouldered his PAW-20 grenade launcher. The futuristic-looking weapon was a bullpup, the magazine containing seven twenty-mi
llimeter high-explosive grenades. It would make short work of an unarmored vehicle.

  Mitch adjusted the range on the holosight. “Bugger me, that’s a lot of bad fuckers. Are we going to be able to hold them off?”

  “We’re have to.” He thumbed the radio button. “Bishop, how are things tracking down there?”

  The response was immediate. “Not good, mate. They don’t want to leave. Standby to engage.”

  Mirza flicked the safety off his rifle. “Acknowledged.”

  ***

  Bishop ran a gloved hand through his hair and fought the urge to scream. The pig-headed farmer, Pablo Veda, and his two sons were refusing to abandon the farm. Even Emilio had been unable to convince him to budge. “Fuck!” He slammed his fist down on the kitchen table. “If we don’t go now, we’re not going.”

  Veda had a double-barrel shotgun under his arm. He was short, pot-bellied, and wore a look of fierce determination. He rattled off a few sentences in Spanish and disappeared into the lounge room of the homestead.

  Emilio started to translate.

  Bishop held up his hand. “I get the gist.” Like the rest of the team, he wore A-TACS combat fatigues and an armored assault rig. An integrally-suppressed Tavor assault rifle was slung across his chest.

  He followed Pablo through to the front of the house where his sons were waiting. The two teenage boys were poised with a pair of bolt-action varmint rifles. Great for shooting prairie dogs but of limited value in a gunfight. They had smashed out the glass in the windows and were crouched behind the stone walls. Bishop locked eyes with the youngest. The kid was terrified.

  “Emilio, tell the boys to keep the trucks running.”

  Miguel and Gerardo had parked the Dodge pickup and the Bronco behind the house. Emilio had showed them a rough track that snaked out from behind the ranch. It was their planned exfil route.

  He transmitted to the other PRIMAL operatives over the radio. “Team, it looks like we’re staying.” As he released the radio toggle, something that sounded like a freight train roared over the house.