Grinning, he slumped back into his chair. "Good stuff. You should try."
"I will soon, my dear," Aneke said, reaching up to brush a strand of long hair from her face as she watched him.
Ping smiled again as the euphoria of the drug washed over him. His head slumped sideways as the chemicals relaxed his muscles.
"Target is under. Meet you at the service lift in five." The brunette had dropped her European accent as she spoke into her phone. Her English was naturally tainted with a Middle Eastern flavor.
"Come on, big boy." She helped the heavily sedated Ping out of his chair. The drug running through his system was designed to make him passive, not completely immobile.
She checked the hallway was empty before guiding the inebriated playboy out of the karaoke room and back towards the restrooms and the service lift.
"Where are we going?" Ping's speech was slow and slurred.
"Downstairs sweetie."
A staff member stopped in the corridor, eyeing the pair suspiciously.
"My friend he has too much to drink, da. I take him home now." She feigned her accent again.
The waiter nodded and disappeared.
The brunette reached into her bust and pulled out a security swipe card. The doors to the service elevator opened and she guided Ping inside.
"Hey, you! STOP!"
She stabbed the close button with her finger as Ping's security guard spotted them. He sprinted down the corridor towards them, reaching under his jacket for a handgun. The doors closed with a second to spare. The lift shuddered as he slammed into them.
"Chen, we've got a problem. The guard, he's onto us," she spoke calmly into her phone.
"OK, I'm downstairs. I'll keep an eye out."
Above the door the floor numbers lit up as they dropped. Like a toddler, Ping watched them, enthralled with the flashing numerals.
When they reached the ground floor, the doors opened revealing a service corridor. The brunette led Ping along and he followed passively.
The service corridor took them to a loading bay where the hotel's deliveries arrived. The Audi was parked in the bay alongside large industrial bins and piles of boxes.
"Hands up, whore!"
The guard's English was halting but his intent was clear. His pistol was pointed directly at the brunette's face.
Slowly she raised her arms.
Ping, grinning like an idiot ambled forward and hugged his bodyguard.
The hulking bodyguard kept the pistol aimed at her as he grabbed Ping with the other hand. "What did you do to him?"
"He'll be fine; just a little drug."
A Chinese voice piped up from behind the guard. Another Chinese man had joined the party. This one was dressed in a tailored black suit complete with a chauffeur's cap. He was shorter than the guard and lightly built.
The two men conversed and the guard seemed to become more comfortable with the situation. He backed away from the brunette, pushing Ping along with his free hand. Once he let go of Ping, he reached into his jacket, pulling out his phone to make a call.
The smaller man moved in a flash. He grasped the guard's pistol and snapped the wrist backwards.
The guard was caught by surprise but reacted quickly. Using his superior size and strength, he launched forward, ignoring the crunching sound that his wrist made as the chauffeur bent it back even further. He lifted the smaller man off the ground and charged ahead.
He made it a few meters before collapsing to the ground, the chauffeur pinned underneath him.
The brunette's worried look turned into a smile as she noticed the hypodermic syringe sticking out of the guard's neck. The plunger was fully depressed.
"Hey, Saneh, could you lend me a hand?" The chauffeur was trying to leverage himself out from under the dead weight of the slumbering guard.
"Chen, you took your sweet time." Saneh helped push the two hundred pound guard off Chua, the organization's Chief of Intelligence.
He extracted himself and stood brushing the dust from his suit. "Sorry about that. I had some trouble backing the car in." He gestured to the rear fender of the brand-new Audi. It had a large dent in it.
"Didn't I say we needed something smaller? You men and your toys. You're just as bad as Bishop." Saneh strode across to where Ping was sitting on the steps that led from the dock down to the car park. "Come on, Ping, let's go." She helped him to his feet and opened the door of the Audi for him.
Chua was already in the driver's seat by the time she joined him in the front of the car. Ping was stretched out on the back seat in a slumber. They pulled out of the loading dock and onto the street.
"The Lascar flight is prepped and ready," said Chua. "As soon as we get to the airport we'll make our boy comfortable and get airborne. Short stop in Hong Kong to pick up his buddy and then on to the island."
"Excellent," responded Saneh as she slipped out of her heels and replaced them with a pair of plain black flats. "Any news on Aden?" she asked with a hint of concern.
Chua shook his head. "No, nothing new. He'll be fine. You know Bishop's always popping up at the worst possible time having escaped by the skin of his teeth."
"Don't I know it," sighed Saneh as the streets of Shanghai flashed by. "Don't I know it."
Chapter 44
PETROCON Refinery, Kordofan District, Sudan
"They have my son."
The satellite link between the two phones was crystal clear, allowing Yang to detect the slight quaver in his employer's voice, something he had never heard before.
"Who?" he asked calmly, not betraying his feelings.
"Who do you think, Yang?" Zhu yelled. "The American scum who are trying to destroy us. They took him from a nightclub in Shanghai. My men have searched the city and found nothing."
Yang forced himself to remain calm. "If they have him he will already be out of the country. I will put word out to all my contacts but I doubt they will help. These people are professionals. They will contact us shortly."
"Will they hurt him?" Zhu asked softly.
"No. They are going to offer us a trade. Your son for the man we captured."
"How can you be so sure?"
"What other reason would they have to take him? They know that if they hurt him, then you will become even more focused on destroying them. No. They will offer a trade." Yang reasoned.
"This is true. If we must trade your prisoner, so be it. I will spare no expense to have Ping returned. If required I will burn South Sudan to the ground."
Yang had no doubt that Zhu was willing to do exactly as he promised. In their culture they planned far into the future of generations yet to come; sons ensured the family's ongoing prosperity. The intelligence operative understood that a son was the most valuable thing a powerful government official could have, however the thought of trading Aden made him furious.
"I need time to interrogate the prisoner before any trade is made," Yang said.
"I have already requested an interrogator from Second Department. He will arrive in the capital tomorrow. You are to move the prisoner to our embassy in Khartoum."
"That is not necessary. I am more than capable of extracting the information we—"
"Enough! You are a capable agent but you are not an interrogator. This man will wring every piece of information possible out of this Aden. He will experience pain like he has never felt before. Xinhai will make him sing like a bird and I will have my son returned."
"Xinhai." Yang smiled at the name of China's most notorious interrogator, a man known throughout their intelligence community as the 'The Butcher'.
"The Commander of Second Department is family. He promised me the best."
"And Xinhai is just that," Yang agreed reluctantly. "He will pry every detail from our prisoner. We will soon know who he is working for."
"Yes, and then you will take this enemy apart piece by piece. Guard the prisoner with your life, Yang. He is the key to getting my son back."
"I will ensure he is deliver
ed in one piece. What do you want done with the girl?"
"Dispose of her as you see fit."
Zhu terminated the call.
Yang placed his phone down on the plastic folding table that served as his desk. Aden's organization had displayed a capability far beyond his expectations. They had reached across the globe into China and shown the audacity to take action. There was no doubt in his mind, he was not dealing with a government agency. This organization had the potential to be far more dangerous.
Chapter 45
Abyei District, South Sudan
"I want to help you rescue Bishop." Jonjo was driving the pick-up as it bounced along a rutted bush track. A handful of SFF fighters were huddled in the tray, wrapped in blankets to ward off the early morning cold.
"You're already helping. The more Janjaweed your men kill, the less we'll be up against." Mirza was sitting next to the young warrior in the cab as they drove towards the extraction point. As a precaution against possible Chinese informants, they reduced the new SFF recruits' exposure to PRIMAL's tilt-rotor aircraft.
"I know the ground better than anyone," continued Jonjo.
"True, but you're responsible for the lives of nearly a hundred men now. You cannot simply run off and leave them. They need you."
The SFF ranks had continued to grow and although Jonjo was only sixteen the militia relied on him to conduct operations with Mirza. Another SSF veteran had stepped up to replace Garang but it was Jonjo who was leading ambushes and exacting a heavy toll on a number of Janjaweed patrols.
"A few hundred meters ahead, Jonjo."
The bush thinned out and Jonjo stopped the truck.
"Promise me you will come back," demanded Jonjo. "We need your help."
"I'll come back, my friend. I just need to make sure Aden is OK."
"Yes, I know. You're his guardian angel."
"In a way, yes."
He jumped out of the truck and grabbed his equipment from the men in the back. They clambered over each other to shake his hand and wish him well. Throwing his gear over his shoulder, he headed off into the bush.
"Mirza," Jonjo yelled after him. "Remember to wear your talisman."
The PRIMAL operative gave him a thumbs up and disappeared into the vegetation, heading for the clearing on the other side.
The pick-up waited until the sound of an aircraft could be heard in the distance before heading back in the direction it had come from.
Dragonfly came in low over the treetops, its giant props hammering the surrounding trees with their wash. The grey-colored tilt-rotor touched down and the side door slid open. Two men clad in camouflage uniforms and chest rigs jumped out, weapons held at the ready. They moved to either side of the aircraft, scanning for threats.
Mirza keyed his headset. "Dragonfly, this is Mirza. Permission to board."
"Permission granted."
Mirza emerged from the bushes, walked swiftly to the side door and clambered in. As he secured his gear under the nylon webbing seats, the two armed men climbed back into the aircraft, sliding the door closed behind them. They dropped into the seats securing themselves for take off.
The aircraft's engines roared and Dragonfly lurched into the air. It gained speed before the giant blades pitched forward and the flight smoothed out.
"Hey, Mirza, gut to see you again." One of the men leaned forward, offering his gloved hand. He was tall and lanky with straw-blonde hair, hard Aryan features and a thick German accent.
"Good to see you too, Kurtz." Mirza and the former GSG9 operative were firm friends, training together regularly in the arts of covert entry and electronic surveillance.
"I also am glad to see you, comrade." The other man grabbed Mirza by the hand and pulled him out of his seat embracing him in a bear hug. Aleks was a former Russian intelligence operative. Sporting a shaved head and a heavy beard, he looked like the type of man you'd find clad in a heavy flannel shirt swinging an axe on an Alaskan pine plantation.
Both men had been recruited through proxies on a previous PRIMAL mission. Under the leadership of Bishop they had thwarted the attempts of a Ukrainian arms dealer to deliver a WMD into the hands of Iran's most fanatical leaders. Both men had joined PRIMAL under Bishop's recommendation and they loved him like a brother.
As Dragonfly climbed into the morning sky, Mirza briefed them on the situation. The newcomers had arrived from a people smuggling mission in Europe, one that had been put on hold given the current situation.
Aleks poured coffee from a thermos and they clustered around an iPad as Mirza outlined the key locations and events of the last seven days.
At the end of the brief, the cockpit door opened and Mitch joined them. "Righto, lads, we ready to get this show on the road?"
"Who...who's flying aircraft now?" A look of concern passed over Aleks' features.
Mitch laughed. "Keep your alans on, mate. She can fly herself." He pulled a Pelican case out from under one of the seats and sat down on it. Mirza handed him the iPad. He selected the aircraft's network and opened the intelligence package the Bunker had sent him.
"I wish we were here on better terms, lads, but it's not the case. Let's get right to it. They're holding Bishop at this oil refinery." He zoomed the map in. "Last night we intercepted a call between Yang and his boss indicating they're going to move him today to Khartoum. Their plan is to scoot down to this airfield, marry up with a flight and transport him up north." Mitch traced the route from the PETROCON facility down to a small dirt strip located approximately 15km southwest of the refinery.
"Do we have any other intel confirming the move?" asked Kurtz.
"Sure do. There's a flight banging in to the airfield today at 1030 hours." He pulled his iPRIMAL out of the thigh pocket of his flight suit and checked one of his notes. "A Fokker 50 scheduled for a touch down and then onflight to Khartoum. Matches up with their plans. I'll also have a UAV watching the refinery to confirm any movement of prisoners." He turned his attention back to the iPad. "Intel guys reckon a full road move would leave them exposed. That's why they've opted for a short trip to the airfield. They know that once he's in the air, we've run out of options."
"That's a valid assessment," added Mirza. "The SFF have ambushed a few convoys on the northern route."
"Da, it makes sense to me," said Aleks. "So where are we going to hit them?"
"The airfield, chaps. We've got a little under an hour to fine tune the plan and execute it. Not much time, I know, but this will be our best opportunity to free Bishop."
"Clocks ticking, ja. Nothing like a bit of pressure to bring out the best in us," added Kurtz.
"For Bishop, lads," said Mitch.
"For Bishop," they echoed.
Chapter 46
H&K G28 Designated Marksman Rifle
Kordofan District, Sudan
"Green light. Good luck, lads," Mitch's voice came over the intercom.
Kurtz was the first out of the door, followed by Aleks and Mirza. Dragonfly was flying at maximum altitude, and at 25,000 feet they were breathing oxygen as they plummeted towards their target. The PRIMAL operatives had practiced this type of insertion hundreds of times. They swiftly stablized themselves as they reached terminal velocity, belting towards the earth's surface at well over a hundred and fifty kilometers an hour.
They tracked in a line as they fell, each of them watching the dial on their altimeter as they approached 'pop' height. Kurtz deployed his chute first, prompting the other two operators to do the same. Under canopy they spiraled down towards the airfield.
"Breaking away!" Kurtz announced as he guided his canopy out of formation and towards his own target.
"As am I," confirmed Aleks.
The pair had identified their positions on either side of the runway with Mirza heading deeper, towards the apron.
Mirza overflew his intended drop zone then cut in sharply, corkscrewing down towards it. At the last moment he pulled down on his toggles and touched down. In a few seconds he had shrugged out of his
chute and collapsed the canopy. Working quickly he unslung his rifle and cocked it, applying the safety. A moment later he had recovered his chute, stuffed it all into a camouflaged bag and stashed it in the dry vegetation.
"Mike ready!" he announced over the radio.
"Kilo ready!" Kurtz's voice broadcast over his earpiece.
"Alpha ready," Aleks grunted.
"Roger, team. This is Dragonfly. I have visual on the target convoy, approximately four minutes out. Two trucks, three gun buggies and one SUV." There was a short pause. "Oh, and Kilo, nice landing. I got that on camera. You OK?" At 25,000 feet, Dragonfly was well out of visual range, however Mitch could still monitor the situation through the surveillance pod.
"Screw you, Englander, what kind of dummkopf puts up a fence in the middle of fucking nowhere," Kurtz replied.
Aleks' laughter filled the airways.
Mirza was lying in a thicket of bush on a small rise near the end of the runway. In his camouflage outfit he was almost invisible, the pattern blending seamlessly with the surrounding terrain. Aleks and Kurtz would be doing the same, searching for the best piece of ground to target the approaching vehicles. All three were armed with semi-automatic sniper rifles and together they covered three sides of the runway and the apron. The only area they did not block was the runway stretching away to the south, but the lack of cover would be fatal for anyone trying to escape that way.
"I have the Fokker on scope. Five minutes before it lands," Mitch said. "Remember, the two detainees are in the SUV." He had used a UAV to monitor the loading of the prisoners at the refinery.
The suppressed barrel of Mirza's G28 sniper rifle peeked through the grass. Through the scope he had a clear view across the hard packed earth of the runway. He glanced down at his iPRIMAL and noted the position of Kurtz. The German was almost directly opposite him. He would need to watch his fire.
"I have visual," reported Aleks looking through his sniper scope.
Within seconds the convoy drove onto the apron. The three gun buggies moved into a defensive posture with the SUV parked in the middle. Machine gunners in the turrets pointed their heavy weapons outwards. Other guards jumped from the trucks and formed a security screen. The Chinese contractors went through the motions but weren't expecting a threat. Any vehicle approaching would be easily detected and apart from a few basic shelters, the airfield was empty. In the distance the engines of the Fokker could be heard.
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