Mirza scoped the black suburban. Through the heavily tinted windows he could make out the shape of two people in the back seats. Both had hoods on their heads. "Package is in the SUV. Neutralize the gunners first, then drivers, then engines, foot mobiles last. Acknowledge."
Kurtz and Aleks each confirmed.
"Fokker touching down in thirty seconds," added Mitch.
"On my count." Mirza took up the slack in the H&K's trigger. "One, two, three!"
The rifle bucked in his shoulder as the 7.62mm round exited the rifle. Almost simultaneously the guards in the three gun buggies collapsed, their heads exploding.
One of the perimeter guards heard the snap of a round sizzling past his head and dropped to the ground, firing a burst from his weapon.
Still hidden, the three PRIMAL snipers continued to engage. Bullets hit the bonnets and side panels of the three gun buggies. Holes appeared in the driver's side window of the SUV. The airfield became alive with the sound of automatic gunfire as the Chinese guards blasted away, trying in vain to shoot at their hidden attackers.
Mirza switched his fire to immobilize the SUV, punching rounds into the front tires and engine block.
"Aircraft has touched down," said Mitch.
"Switch fire to dismounts." Mirza reloaded another twenty-round magazine.
The PRIMAL operatives started engaging the guards. Two crumpled as they ran towards Kurtz's position looking for cover.
The roar of the Fokker 50's engines filled the air as the pilots reversed the thrust. The sight that greeted them was pure chaos.
Chinese guards lay dead on the runway with the rest trying to find cover behind the crippled vehicles. Suppressed, surgical fire was hitting them from every angle, dropping them as they crouched behind their vehicles.
A quick-thinking buggy driver triggered his smoke discharger. It threw the smoke canisters down range with a loud thunk, then thick grey smoke spread out across the runway. It billowed up and around the Fokker and caught in the propellers. Its crew slammed on the brakes as hard as they could, terrified of what lay beyond the smoke. The engines screamed as they coaxed every ounce of reverse thrust from them.
As bedlam unfolded amongst the smoke, Mirza reached forward and calmly flicked his thermal imager over in front of his scope. It would take a few seconds to adjust.
The PRIMAL fire lapsed as Aleks and Kurtz changed their own scopes. In that time one of the guards managed to reach the heavy machine gun mounted on one of the buggies. He pushed the dead gunner's body out of the way and fired blindly into the smoke.
The 12.7mm armor-piercing rounds were designed to penetrate steel plate and made short work of the Fokker's soft aluminum skin. Two rounds slammed into the outside engine and the third, a tracer, tore a fist-sized hole in its fuel tank.
The wing ignited and a sheet of flame shot into the air as the aircraft came to a complete halt, still a few hundred meters from the smoke-shrouded vehicles.
The PRIMAL operatives' sights came online almost at exactly the same time. All three of them fired through the smoke at the white thermal outline of the gunner. The slugs hit him within the space of a second. His corpse slumped in the turret.
"Finish the rest, I'm heading in," announced Mirza.
"Acknowledged," said Aleks.
"I'm moving," spluttered Kurtz. "Smoke is everywhere."
"What the hell is going on down there, lads? Is there anything that isn't on fire?" asked Mitch.
"Wasn't us!" said Kurtz as he jogged into a new position.
The weight of Chinese return fire had dropped to almost nothing as Mirza left his hide and trotted across open ground, heading for the vehicles. An infrared beacon pulsed on his armor, enabling Aleks and Kurtz to ID him through their sights. The smoke from the canisters was dispersing, replaced with haze and smoke from the burning passenger aircraft.
"That's the last of them," said Aleks as he placed a round through the forehead of the final remaining guard.
"I concur. I can see no squirters," reported Mitch from high above.
As he approached the vehicles, Mirza slung the G28 over his shoulder and drew his pistol. He picked up his pace, moving directly for the SUV. The front window of the vehicle was shattered, the driver dead at the wheel.
When he was twenty meters from the SUV the rear door on his side opened and a black-hooded figure stumbled out. One of the hostages had managed to get free. He could tell immediately it wasn't Bishop.
"JESS! GET DOWN!" Mirza screamed as he sprinted towards her. Behind her, in the SUV he'd spotted another figure armed with a submachine gun.
It happened in slow motion. Mirza was only ten meters away when the burst of fire hit her. She spun as the machine pistol fired at full-automatic. Her body convulsed as bullets thudded into her.
She collapsed before Mirza reached her, his pistol still held at the ready. It jumped in his hand as he pumped the trigger. The .45 slug hit the Chinese guard square in face as he climbed out of the SUV. The JS submachine gun fell from his hands as he toppled forward.
Mirza holstered his pistol and tore the black hood off Jess's face. She smiled up at him, blood oozing from her mouth and nose. "I knew you'd come. Bishop said you would."
"Dragonfly, I need evac now. Jess has been hit," Mirza transmitted as he sliced open the back of her shirt with his hook-knife. Tears formed in his eyes as he surveyed the damage the rounds had inflicted on her body. Blood flowed from no less than three entry wounds in her back and an exit wound in her lower abdomen.
He didn't look up as boots skidded to a halt in the dust next to him. Kurtz's rifle hit the ground with a clatter as the German tore his medical kit from his vest. "Bishop isn't here, Mirza."
"I know." Mirza had already packed the abdomen wound with wadding and was working franticly to stem the flow of blood from the wounds higher up in her back. He was kneeling with the American doctor sitting, slumped forward against him.
"Get a line in, Kurtz, or we're going to lose her."
"The bastards tricked us," Kurtz swore as he opened the medical kit. "This whole show was a diversion." The lanky German inserted the catheter into the back of Jess's hand and hooked an IV bag to the insertion point. He held the bag high, forcing the fluid into her arm. Aleks arrived and held the bag, allowing Kurtz to focus his attention on sealing the other wounds.
"Mirza," Jess whispered between coughing fits. Blood was frothing at her lips. "Mirza, tell him I love him."
"You tell him, Jess. We'll get him back soon."
She shook her head as her eyes glazed over.
"No Mirza, you have to tell him." Her eyes closed and her head slumped forward over his shoulder.
"Kurtz, we're losing her." Mirza laid her down flat and tore an adrenaline shot from his vest. He plunged it into her chest and pressed the plunger home. There was a brief flicker of her eyelids and then nothing.
"Nein, nein, nein!" Kurtz screamed. He pounded her chest with his fist. "Don't fucking die on us. Don't you dare fucking die!"
"KURTZ, stop!" Mirza grabbed the German by the shoulders. "She's gone, she's gone."
Kurtz leapt to his feet and stormed across to the SUV. He kicked the corpse of the man who had gunned down a woman he had never even known.
In the background the beat of Dragonfly's rotors could be heard and Mitch broadcast over the radio.
"Team, we've got a large convoy of hostiles heading your way. I'm on the deck in thirty seconds. Can I confirm that Bravo is not in location?"
"That's correct," said Mirza. "Bravo is not in our location. I have the doctor here but she hasn't made it." He made to lift up Jess's body.
Aleks stopped him. "You go, Mirza. I carry her." Mirza nodded his thanks and followed Kurtz to where the tilt-rotor had touched down.
The big Russian slung his rifle and slowly picked up the corpse. He cradled her gently in his arms and walked to the waiting aircraft.
Behind them the Fokker burned, a dozen bodies littered the tarmac and the six Chinese ve
hicles sat broken and useless, windows shattered and tires shot up. The Fokker's crew had escaped the flames and watched in silence as the three men and the dead body disappeared into the strange-looking tilt-rotor. They shielded their eyes from the dust as it leapt into the air and disappeared over the trees.
Chapter 47
150km northwest of the Refinery, Sudan
The two four-wheel drives raced along the main highway to Khartoum. Highway was a generous description for what was essentially a single-lane dirt track bulldozed through the Sudanese bushland.
The lead vehicle slowed as it approached a herd of cattle, the driver leaning on the horn. The cattle herder raised his fist as the SUVs forced their way through his herd. Clear of the obstacle, the driver mashed the accelerator and they resumed their breakneck pace towards the Sudanese capital.
In the back seat of the lead vehicle Bishop sat with his hands cuffed behind him, a black hood covering his head. It had been well over twelve hours since his capture and his body was letting him know it. His face was badly bruised, along with his torso, where Yang had used him as a punching bag. The gunshot wound to his upper arm throbbed; every bump sent jolts of pain through the injury. He fought hard to suppress even the slightest of moans, intent on depriving Yang of that small victory.
As he sat in silence his thoughts were preoccupied with Jess. He had not seen her since their arrival at the refinery and he hoped she was in the vehicle behind them. He knew if they had separated them, then she had very little hope of rescue.
The shrill ring tone of a satellite phone snapped his thoughts back to the present.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Yang took the call. A short conversation in Mandarin ensued. Bishop listened intently, hoping to pick up a word or two, or even garner the slightest information from his tone.
Yang terminated the call.
"It would seem your friends fell for my little deception, Aden. They attempted to recover you from the airfield, but you were not there apparently." Yang laughed. "Very unfortunate for you. It would seem the SEALs are not coming to rescue you anytime soon."
Yang and the driver laughed. Bishop sat in the back of the vehicle in silence.
"What, no smart comment? No jokes, Aden?"
Bishop sat perfectly still, his mind racing. Was Yang trying to trick him? Had the team really fallen for a ruse? Had anyone been killed?
"I have a joke for you, Aden. What did your girlfriend say to the rescue team?"
Bishop was silent.
"Nothing—because she was dead!"
Yang's words hit Bishop like a kick to the chest. Grief coursed through his body. Tears ran down his cheeks, hidden by the black hood. He tasted blood as he bit down on his lip in a long, silent scream. Forcing his emotions under control he let out a breath and spoke.
"You're a dead man, Yang!"
Chapter 48
The Bunker, Lascar Island
"Chen, we've got a fix on the number."
PRIMAL's intelligence officer leapt up from his desk. "Where is he?"
"Somewhere over central China, current ground speed nearly 800 clicks. Heading west." The intel analyst pointed to the blinking dot on his screen.
"Zhu's on his way to Sudan," said Chua squinting at the monitor. "He'll be on the ground before we're ready."
Chua had only been back in the Bunker for an hour. He had hit the office as soon as his flight from Hong Kong had landed.
"Time to throw out the bait," Chua said as he crossed the operations room floor. He knocked once on Vance's door and stuck his head in.
"Yes," Vance grunted from behind his desk. The PRIMAL commander looked grave. With Bishop captured and the recovery mission a failure, the stakes had never been higher.
"Zhu's on his way to Khartoum."
Vance stood up. "Let's put in the call. What's the latest on the team?"
They headed for the conference room.
"I spoke briefly to Mitch. They're taking it hard. Although it's Kurtz who's taken it the worst."
"Kurtz? Why?" Vance sat down in the conference room. One of the technicians was already at the table with a laptop.
"Apparently the kid's fallen for a girl in Budapest. She looks a bit like Jess."
"A girl from their recent job?"
"Yes, but I'm not across the details yet."
"What about Mirza?"
"He's OK. You know what he's like."
"Yeah, I pity the fucker that gets in his way now." Vance looked to the technician at the end of the conference table. "We good to go?"
"Yes, Sir," the man replied.
"Let's get to it."
Chua picked the headset off the table, put it on and gave the technician a nod. The speakers in the room came alive with the sound of a number being dialed. There was a pause, followed by a dial tone. The phone rang three times before it connected.
"Zhè shì shuí?" asked a voice on the other end.
"Mr Zhu, the question I would ask is not who is this but why are you calling." Chua's voice was digitally altered; through the room's speakers it sounded distant and metallic.
"You have my son?" Zhu asked.
"This is correct, and you have one of my men."
"Yes, and you have already tried to recover him and failed."
"Zhu, I am not here to discuss the past, I am here to discuss the future. Do you wish to negotiate or would you prefer me to end this discussion?" Chua asked calmly.
There was a pause. "No, we will negotiate." Zhu said softly.
"Good. It is not my intent to harm your son in any way. I simply wish to return him to you in good health and receive my man in the same condition. Is this clear?"
"Do you know who you are talking to? I am—"
"I do indeed," interrupted Chua. "But do you have any idea who you are talking to?"
There was another pause before Chua continued. "I didn't think so. Now listen very carefully. Tomorrow morning you will be contacted on this number in Khartoum. You will have my man with you and we will conduct the swap. Is this clear?"
"Perfectly."
"Then I will speak to you soon. Have an enjoyable flight, Zhu."
The technician terminated the call. "Signal strength was strong, Chen. If they managed a trace, they'll be getting a small bed'n'breakfast in St Louis."
"Good work, team," said Vance. "Let's just hope they take the bait. Chua, I'll leave you to brief Mitch and the boys."
Chapter 49
Khartoum, Sudan
Zhu sat in the Nile River Cafe of the Corinthian Hotel sipping green tea from his favorite china cup. He gazed out of the windows of Khartoum's only five star hotel, watching a barge nose it's way down the Nile river. Around him a team of suit-wearing bodyguards did their best to remain unobtrusive.
Yang entered the cafe and crossed the polished marble floor to stand silently at his master's shoulder.
"This china has been in my family for three generations, Yang." Zhu placed his cup down. "My grandfather took it from the belongings of a British officer in 1901. He passed it to my father who passed it to me." Zhu switched his gaze from the windows to his subordinate's face. "Yang, one day I would like to pass it to my son."
The Chinese operative nodded. "Everything is ready, Zhu. The Chief of Police has men across the city. Our own people are with them to ensure there are no mistakes."
"And their man, Aden?"
"My men have him ready at the embassy."
Zhu wiped his mouth with the corner of a spotless white napkin. "Has Xinhai been able to make him talk?"
"No, not without injuring him. You gave strict instructions."
"Yes, I know. However, if today doesn't go as planned those instructions will change."
Zhu's phone beeped, indicating he had received a message. He read it and showed it to Yang.
I hope you enjoyed your breakfast. Please proceed to the roof of the hotel and await further instructions.
Yang spoke into a radio as Zhu rose from his chair. "Secure the roof. A
lert all units that we have contact."
"I think it would be wise to follow their directions as much as possible," said Zhu as they walked to the elevators.
"I agree."
They exited the elevator at the top floor and took the emergency stairwell to the roof. Chinese personnel already manned all the doors and Zhu's four-man security detail escorted them every step. By the time they reached the top of the building, another security team had cordoned off the area. Chinese mercenaries armed with high-powered rifles were positioned on all sides.
Zhu was breathing heavily from the flight of stairs and he barely had time to catch his breath before his phone rang. He answered, putting it on speakerphone.
"Listen very carefully." It was the same metallic voice as before. "800 meters southeast of your position is the Souq Arabia market. You are to release Aden at the western entrance in five minutes."
"And my son?"
"If you look due east of your position you will see a construction site with a large crane."
Zhu rushed to the edge of the building and peered out over the city.
"Yes, I can see the crane."
"Very good. If you look closely you will see that there are two men on the end of the crane. One of them is your son."
Sure enough, out on the arm of the crane were two figures.
The voice continued. "If Aden is not released within the time period, your son will fall from the crane. Four minutes and thirty seconds, Zhu." The voice hung up.
The two figures on the crane dropped.
"NOOO!" screamed Zhu in Mandarin, gripping the railing.
One of the figures fell a short distance before dangling under the crane like a Christmas decoration. The other gathered speed, and like a spider it dropped on a thin line before it disappeared behind a block of apartments.
PRIMAL Vengeance (3) Page 21
