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

by Jack Silkstone

  Emilio was squatting next to the model. Tools and odds and ends placed on piles of cocaine marked key locations in the mine. He chuckled to himself and looked up at the PRIMAL operatives. All three wore matching equipment: fatigues, chest-rigs, and weapons, everything camouflaged in matching A-TACS. “I like this plan. It is crazy for someone from the UN.” He winked. “We are going to destroy monstruo and the Chaquetas.”

  “That’s the idea.” Bishop knew there was no way old Emilio still believed his UN cover story.

  The rancher stood. “How did you know the location of the Chaqueta’s base?”

  “I know people who know things. What I don’t know is Roberto’s location in the mine.”

  “I will check with the boy who’s working there.”

  “Excellent.” He turned to Mirza and Mitch. “You guys want to take this offline?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Emilio, Gerardo, can you give us a minute?”

  “Of course,” Emilio said. The two Mexicans wandered over to the corner of the shed where the prisoners were sitting.

  Bishop waited till they were out of earshot. “I already know what you’re going to say, Mirza. But, if we wait for the CAT to get here, Roberto’s going to be dead. They’re still at least twenty-four hours away. The only other option is we try stalling, maybe call him back.”

  Mirza shook his head. “No, that’s too risky. Your deception will work well. Now that the police chief won’t be answering Pershing’s calls, this is a good plan.”

  Bishop felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He turned to Mitch. “What do you think, mate?”

  Mitch shrugged. “Hey, I reckon we owe it to Roberto. That tosser Pershing is going to kill him unless we surrender, and that sure as shit isn’t happening on our watch.”

  Mirza glanced at his watch. “Well, we better get to work. We’ve got eight hours till sunrise.”

  “You sure about this?” asked Bishop.

  The Indian operative nodded. “Like Mitch said, we owe it to the farmers. You just need to convince Vance.”

  “Might be better if we don’t tell him.”

  Mirza raised his eyebrows.

  “OK fine, I’ll call him now.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Pershing woke when someone started bashing on the door of his room. The flimsy material vibrated, making it sound like the entire transportable building was about to collapse. “Cut it out, damn it. I’m awake.” He checked the time on his phone. It was 0520 in the morning. “What do you want?”

  “Mr. Pershing, it’s me, Burro. The drone base, it’s under attack.”

  The fog of sleep instantly lifted, pushed away by a surge of panic and adrenalin. He grabbed his robe, slung it on, and wrenched open the door. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Burro held his phone up so Pershing could hear the gunshots and yelling. “It’s Javier, he says they’re under attack. They’re holding out, but he needs help.”

  “Who’s attacking? Police? Narcos?”

  Burro spoke briefly into the phone. “He thinks it’s the Sinaloa.”

  Pershing conducted a quick tactical evaluation in his head. If he sent his quick reaction force, the mine would be down on men, but that would be mitigated by the arrival of Team 2. They were due in this morning.

  “Burro, send three pickups and twenty men. Tell them to protect the facility and take at least one prisoner for questioning.”

  “Yes, Mr. Pershing, I’ll go myself.”

  “No, I want you to stay here.”

  He sat back down on the bed and rubbed his temples. The leak must have come from the police chief. Felipe wasn’t answering his calls. Damn, he should have cut him in on Longreach. That greedy chili choker must have sold him out to the Sinaloa.

  ***

  Mitch glanced down at the iPRIMAL strapped to his forearm. The time displayed was 0558 hours. “Where the hell are they?” He looked across at Miguel who was lying a few feet away. The Mexican shrugged and kept watching the track that led from the main road. “Trust me to get partnered with the only guy on the team that doesn’t speak English.”

  They were laying on the roof of an equipment shed a half-mile from the drone factory. Mitch was in full combat gear with a Tavor assault rifle and Miguel had an AK. It had been nearly thirty minutes since they had forced one of their Black Jacket prisoners to make the call to their boss, and Mitch was keen to be off the roof by the time the sun peeked over the horizon.

  Miguel pointed down the road. “Mirá.”

  He didn’t know what the word meant but got the gist of it. Headlights turned off the main road and moved down the track toward them. He raised a thermal imager and could easily make out three pickups filled with gunmen. “It’s them.” He activated an app on his phone. All five connections were green. His finger hovered over the screen as he watched the trucks approach. When they reached the fencepost he was using as a marker, he tapped the device.

  The ground beneath the convoy erupted as a series of five charges detonated. The explosives launched the trucks skyward, ripping them apart. He watched with the imager as passengers and chunks of metal were sent hurtling through the air like children’s toys.

  “Bloody hell!” Mitch had not laid the charges. It had been Mirza’s responsibility. The Indian must have packed at least another twenty pounds of fertilizer and diesel around each bomb.

  As the dust settled they climbed down from the roof. There was no need for any follow up. He placed his assault rifle in the back of the farm’s ATV and climbed in. Miguel jumped into the passenger’s seat and they drove back to the main sheds. He tried not to dwell on the fact he had just vaporized at least two dozen men. “Gents, ambush has been sprung. Moving back to the release point. Standby for aircraft launch in five,” he transmitted over his Bluetooth headset.

  Bishop and Mirza both acknowledged the message.

  Mitch drove the cart into the well-lit main shed. The prisoners were gone, locked in the transportable accommodation block behind the hangars. He pulled up next to the UAV launching ramp where the first aircraft was positioned. There were three more sitting ready next to it.

  His laptop was already plugged into the drone’s control system and he double-checked the destination coordinates he had programmed. Happy they were correct, he armed the payload on the first drone, and closed the maintenance hatch with an electric screwdriver. He hand cranked the prop. The little engine caught on the first spin and buzzed to life, filling the shed with noise. He hit the catapult release button and the hydraulic ram shot the aircraft out through the open doors and into the brisk morning air. “First bird is airborne and on her way to the target,” he transmitted before resetting the hydraulic ram.

  Bishop responded first. “Roger. We’re standing by.”

  Mirza was next. “I have eyes on target two.”

  Miguel helped him lift the second aircraft onto the catapult. With a thirty-pound load in its cargo hold, it was not light.

  “Bird two is on the ramp and ready to go. Let me know when you want it.”

  This time it was Mirza who responded first. “Green light from me.”

  “Green light here too,” confirmed Bishop.

  Mitch spun the prop and reached down to hit the catapult release. Once this one was gone there was no turning back, they were at war. “Bird two is airborne.”

  ***

  Raphael Cardenas liked to think of himself as a connoisseur of fine things. His villa on the outskirts of the Mexican town of Buenaventura was a decadent display of luxury. Every day, workers tended to the swimming pool and elaborate gardens. Inside, an interior designer had spared no expense at modernizing the mud-brick construction with marble, polished wood, and boutique furniture.

  The two-hundred year old hacienda had been purchased, renovated, and decorated with funding from the mine project. That single operation had turned his small gang of criminals into a militant cartel overnight, allowing him to hire more fighters, buy more guns, an
d partner with the bigger Juarez cartel. Now, with the commencement of Pershing’s drone flights, he was about to move into the lucrative business of narcotics smuggling. Soon, he would be in a position to wrestle territory from the Sinaloa.

  Cardenas sat on the balcony of the upper story of the hacienda in his robe. An early riser, the cold did not bother him. He always took breakfast at daybreak, enjoying watching the sun rise over the desert. One of his servants brought him a tray with a newspaper and a glass of orange juice. He unfolded the paper and started reading.

  He was on the second page of the sports section when a faint buzzing caught his attention. He frowned and lowered the paper. Was it a wasp? No, the noise was getting louder. It sounded like an airplane. He stood at the rail to see who was disturbing the serenity of the morning.

  In the distance he spotted a speck. The aircraft was approaching directly. For a second he wondered if it was one of the American spy planes. No, it was flying low, and he wasn’t important enough for that. It had to be some idiot in his light aircraft going for a joy flight. He had half a mind to grab the gold-plated AK from his room and give the moron a burst to send him on his way.

  He sat back at the table and opened up the paper. He tried to ignore the sound but the droning was getting louder and louder. “Ay Dios mío!” As Cardenas dropped the paper he caught a glimpse of the grey drone before it slammed into the hacienda.

  The fiberglass wings snapped clean off as it penetrated the western wing of his home and detonated. The shock wave from the explosion threw Cardenas from his chair and part of the roof collapsed on top of him. Tiles and wood pinned him to the floor and he struggled against them. The air was filled with dust and smoke, burning his lungs as he fought for breath. He heard voices. “Here!” he yelled. “I’m here!” Hands pulled the wreckage from him.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, boss,” said one of his Black Jackets. “The place is on fire.”

  Cardenas let the man guide him through the wreckage and out across the lawns to the garage. When they were clear he turned back to watch his pride and joy burn. The entire west wing of the building had collapsed and was ablaze. If the drone had struck twenty yards to the right it would have killed him. He clenched his jaw. He knew whose work this was. “Get as many men together as you can, we’re going to the mine.”

  ***

  Pershing shoveled the last of the omelet into his mouth and washed it down with a glass of water. He could say one thing for the Mexicans; they ran a tight ship in the camp kitchens. Every meal was delicious. He took a sip from his espresso and reached for his phone. He had waited till seven to ring King. Not for fear of waking his boss, he did not want to interrupt his run. He dialed the number and waited for him to pickup.

  “George, what’s up? Shrek and his boys arrived yet?”

  “Not yet, sir. I expect them within the hour. I need to let you know that Longreach is under attack. I’ve dispatched the Black Jackets to find out what’s going on.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “I’ve got my suspicions. I think the Chief of Police may have sold us out to the Sinaloa.”

  There was a pause before King responded. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m thinking it’s time he was replaced. His second-in-command is our man through and through.”

  “Very good, authorized. If Longreach is compromised, so be it, just as long as it doesn’t blow back on the mine. Have the CIA tracked down Objective Yankee or any of his associates?”

  “Howard has identified a potential link in Germany. Once he has more information I’ll pass it along. Looks like they’re some kind of international mercenary outfit.”

  “Sounds like wannabe A-Team assholes. As soon as the details firm up, let me know. They’re going to find out very quickly it doesn’t pay to mess with professionals.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ve got a local here that was working with them. I want to move him to one of the rendition facilities.”

  “That’s going to take some effort, leave it with me. That all?”

  An explosion shook the walls of the transportable office.

  King chuckled. “Sounds like you’re getting a bit too close to the blasting there, George. I’ll leave you to it.”

  He hung up and dashed out of the office. The scene that greeted him was one of complete chaos. The equipment sheds were burning, thick smoke hung in the air, and miners ran from their accommodation in all directions.

  “What the…” A buzzing sound filled the air and he looked up, catching a glimpse of a small grey drone. It disappeared behind the sheds. A devastating explosion shook the ground and a fireball rolled into the sky. It had hit the fuel dump. He spotted the mine manager running through the smoke. “Where the hell are you going? Get those goddamn fires out.”

  The man stopped and stared at him. “Yes, sir.” He ran toward the fires.

  Pershing opened the door of his SUV and grabbed the radio mike. “Burro, where the hell you at?”

  “I’m here, Mr. Pershing.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. The cartel leader had an assault rifle in his hands and his combat vest on. “What happened to the men who went to the factory?”

  Burro shook his head. “They’re not answering.”

  His phone vibrated. Howard could pick the best times. He answered. “Unless you can get me a fucking SEAL team, I don’t have time to talk to you.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll get back to you.” Pershing terminated the call and turned his attention to Burro. “How many men you got right now?”

  “Only ten, Mr. Pershing. All the others went to the drone farm.”

  “Get them ready. I think we’re about to be attacked.”

  ***

  Mirza’s camouflaged combat fatigues blended in perfectly with the rocky slope overlooking the mine’s camp. He was laying between two boulders with his HK marksman’s rifle trained on the camp’s front gate. The laser rangefinder built into the scope read four hundred meters to the security checkpoint. Well within range.

  “Both drones struck the mining facility. Equipment sheds and the fuel farm are burning,” he reported.

  Mitch’s voice responded. “Roger, last bird is ETA four minutes.”

  Mirza used his rifle’s digital scope to snap a picture of the burning facilities and transmitted it to the others.

  Bishop replied within seconds. “Good work, guys. Mirza, send SITREP on security.”

  “I’ve only seen a couple of guards at the front gate.”

  “Roger. Once that final bird hits we’re moving in to get Roberto.” He was waiting a short distance from the mine with Emilio and Gerardo in the Dodge.

  “I’m poised to provide surgical fire support,” reported Mirza as the buzz of the third drone filled the air. “Mitch, your bomb is early.” He watched as the little grey aircraft swooped over the top of the hills. The PRIMAL technician had removed the parachute system so when the drone reached its destination it simply dove into the mining infrastructure. Thirty pounds of PowerGel exploded in an angry ball of flame.

  “Direct hit on the processing plant. Bishop, you are good to go.” He swiveled the rifle to cover the security checkpoint. Smoke now obscured most of the camp and he wished he had a thermal scope.

  CHAPTER 34

  Bishop jumped in the back of the pickup, followed by Gerardo. He thumped the top of the cab with his fist. “Let’s roll.”

  The Dodge roared and took off up the winding dirt road toward the mine. Bishop stood in the bed of the truck with a MK48 machine gun poised on the roof. The rubber caps on the bipod legs held it firm as they raced up the road toward the security checkpoint.

  When they were three hundred yards short Emilio slowed, giving Bishop a stable firing platform. The MK48 snarled as he blasted the guardhouse with 7.62mm rounds. With the Black Jackets dead or cowering, Emilio accelerated and Bishop ducked behind the cab.

  The big truck hit the gate, buckling it with a clang. It clung to th
e front of the bullbar as they smashed through. At a T-junction, Emilio turned right and the gate dislodged, dropping beneath the wheels. The track was a service route that followed the fence line. It snaked in behind the accommodation block where Emilio’s contact had reported that Roberto was being held.

  Bishop braced himself against the cab, racked the action, unclipped the top cover, and switched out the box of ammunition for a new one. As they pulled up alongside the accommodation buildings he handed the machine gun to Gerardo and unslung his Tavor assault rifle. “Cover me.”

  Emilio stayed with the truck as Bishop jumped out followed by Gerardo. Adrenalin surged through his veins but he forced himself to remain calm, moving cautiously through the rows of transportable accommodation.

  He knew Roberto was supposed to be at the guard’s accommodation but all the buildings looked the same. They moved through the rows of prefabricated buildings, looking for armed guards. Nothing.

  His earpiece crackled and Mirza reported. “Bish, two black SUVs have arrived at the front gate. They’re blocking your exfil.”

  “Damn!” The plan had been to recover Roberto and get out by now. “Black Jackets?” After the drone strikes he expected the Chaquetas Negras to come after Pershing, but not this quickly.

  “Negative, they look like contractors.” The iPRIMAL strapped to his arm vibrated and he glanced down at the image received from Mirza’s digital scope. Two black armored Chevy Suburbans and a handful of heavily armed gunmen had taken up defensive positions at the entrance to the mine.

  “Roger, I’m still trying to find Roberto. Keep me posted.” He moved over to where Gerardo was kneeling with the machine gun. “We’re going to start searching these buildings. I’ll lead.”

  ***

  Pershing drove in alongside two identical-looking black Chevys. Team 2 were waiting; the six operators had secured the demolished gates to the mine. As he stepped out of his truck a hulking brute with a shaved head and a goatee greeted him. The GES team leader was wearing a heavily-laden chest rig. Tattooed muscular arms burst from his tight T-shirt as he gripped his folding stock FAL battle rifle.