Chapter 56
Abu Dhabi International Airport
You can find them at almost every airport across the globe. Highly dedicated individuals committed to the cult of plane spotting. Rain, hail or shine they stand vigil, tracking aircraft across the globe, hunting for that elusive tail number.
The group staking out Abu Dhabi International Airport was no different. Slightly awkward social misfits, passionate about their hobby and willing to talk to anyone who showed an interest.
Yang did not approach them immediately. At first he had staked out the airfield in his hire car, hoping to get lucky and spot the tilt-rotor. He had circled the airport perimeter a number of times with no luck. The radio scanner he was using failed to detect even the faintest trace of the tracking device in Bishop's arm. He was about to give up when he noticed the group of spotters camped on the perimeter fence at the end of the runway. Armed with binoculars and telephoto lenses they provided an almost twenty-four hour surveillance capability.
Yang had set up his tripod and camera near the group, taking photos of random jets as they landed. Finally one of the spotters had detached himself and wandered over to talk to the newcomer.
"Busy, isn't it?" the man asked.
Yang gave him a sincere smile. "My first time here."
"Oh, it is a fine day for it. Wait a few more hours and it will get even more hectic!"
They chatted for a minute before Yang showed him a picture he had printed from the internet. "Have you ever seen an aircraft like this?"
"Oh, the BA609. Yes, I've seen one a few times. The tilt-rotor is not based here but it comes in every now and then."
The geek gestured for Yang to lean in closer. "It flies at night, mostly. No tail markings," he tapped his nose, "if you know what I mean."
"I've never seen one in real life," said Yang. "Only on the web."
"You've come to the right place then," grinned the enthusiast. "She flew in last night. Should leave today or tomorrow. Never stays long."
"Where do they park her?" asked Yang.
"Not sure, but one of the boys will know, I'll ask." The young man addressed the other spotters in Arabic. A dialogue ensued before he turned back to the Chinese operative. "There is a big grey hangar on the eastern side of the runway in the commercial aviation sector. There are no markings. Probably some sort of secret government outfit."
"I might go and have a look," said Yang. "Try and see if I can sneak a peek."
"Be careful. The police here are often paranoid. Speak of the devil, here they come for another ID check."
A black Mercedes four-wheel drive with heavily tinted windows turned off the highway and pulled in behind the cluster of cars parked along the dirt strip.
Yang's Toyota hire car was parked at the far end of the group. He contemplated making a run for it but decided to not draw attention to himself. His papers were in order and if it came to the worst, he could always make use of his diplomatic immunity.
***
"That's him," said Bishop from the back seat of the Mercedes SUV. Aleks and Kurtz were sitting in the front, dressed in UAE police uniforms complete with pistol belts and handcuffs.
"The little guy with the camera, ja?" asked Kurtz.
"No, the tall Arab guy with the binoculars. Of course it's the Asian, you idiot," said Aleks.
"Fuck you!" returned Kurtz.
"You're like bloody schoolkids," said Bishop. "This guy is a dead-set ninja fuckmaster, so be extra careful, OK."
"Sure boss, very careful," said the Russian, cracking his knuckles.
"Why can't I just shoot him?" asked Kurtz. "I could just get out of the car, walk up to him and pop one in his face. Job done, all good, back in time for jam and biscuits. He deserves it after what his men did to the girl."
Bishop shook his head. "Like I told you before, we need him for information. There is unfinished business in Sudan."
The two PRIMAL operatives left the four-wheel drive and strode across to the group of spotters. Bishop checked his pistol but remained in the vehicle. He did not want to risk being recognized by Yang and losing the element of surprise.
"We need everyone to leave right now," growled Aleks in heavily accented Arabic.
The spotters began packing their equipment, folding up their chairs and moving to their cars. Yang made to do the same.
"Not you!" Aleks switched to English as he pointed at Yang. "We need to see your papers."
Yang eyeballed the two men suspiciously. He knew the Emirates hired a lot of Westerners for their military but he did not expect foreigners in the police force.
"Officer, I am a Chinese national from the Embassy," Yang said as he produced his passport. "I'm just here to watch the jets."
"On your knees." Aleks drew his pistol and pointed it squarely in the face of the Chinese operative. Kurtz did the same ensuring he was at ninety degrees to his partner. "Put your hands on your head and get on your knees," Aleks repeated.
Yang threw his passport into the sand in front of the Russian and lifted his hands above his head. "I don't know what is going on here but I haven't done anything wrong." He dropped down onto his knees.
Aleks holstered his pistol and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Hands together!"
Yang complied. "Check my passport."
"Shut the fuck up!" said Kurtz.
With Kurtz covering him, Aleks moved in. He grasped one of Yang's hands in an iron grip and made to snap the cuff onto his wrist.
Yang reacted in a flash. He broke the Russian's grip with a twist of his hand, reached up and grabbed Aleks' shirt. At the same time he spun his body and drove both his legs into Aleks' legs and rolled backwards.
The Russian stumbled and collided with Kurtz, sending both of them sprawling into the sand.
Yang flicked himself to his feet and delivered a roundhouse kick that landed squarely on Aleks' jaw, knocking him out.
Kurtz rolled sideways and came up onto one knee, his pistol searching for Yang.
The Chinese operative was faster. His handgun barked twice drilling the German in the chest, dropping him to the sand.
Bishop saw it all from the Mercedes. He threw the car door open and leapt from the vehicle, drawing his pistol as Yang sprinted away from the crumpled bodies.
Firing one-handed, Bishop let loose a volley of .45 slugs. Dust erupted around Yang as he dashed to his car and jumped into the driver's seat. The Hybrid Camry's front wheels spun in the dirt for a moment, then pulled out and accelerated up the highway in energy-efficient silence.
Bishop made a snap decision to leave Aleks and Kurtz and give chase. He jumped behind the wheel of the Mercedes SUV and it tore away from the gravel with a roar. The big-block V8 delivered 500 horsepower to all four wheels catapulting the four tonnes of metal up to 100 kilometers an hour in five seconds.
The Camry weaved erratically through the highway traffic and Bishop was starting to reconsider his decision. His injured arm ached as he wrenched the steering wheel from side to side, the speedometer touching 140 kilometers an hour.
The big four-wheel drive rapidly ate up the distance between the two cars. The superior fuel efficiency of the Toyota meant nothing on the broad sweeping highways of the Emirates. Bishop muscled in behind the hybrid, forcing other traffic out of the way with the flashing lights and siren of the police vehicle.
Yang swerved from side to side but he didn't stand a chance. Bishop hit him from behind, shunting the Camry forward. Its tires squealed in protest as Bishop accelerated. He angled the steering wheel, pushing the tail of the car sideways.
Yang lost control as his hire car was ploughed forward. It was like a ballet dancer trying to stop a sumo wrestler. The Camry slid sideways off the road, kicking up a cloud of dust as it hit the sand. Its tires buried themselves in the loose surface and it flipped.
The hire car slammed onto its roof, tumbled down an embankment and came to a halt at the bottom of a ditch.
Bishop slammed on the brakes and came to a clean s
top. He sprinted from the four-wheel drive and slid down the embankment, his pistol held in his good arm.
The Camry was resting on its crumpled roof, the windscreen shattered, the passenger side roof smashed in where it had borne the brunt of the accident. Bishop circled the vehicle with his pistol aimed at the driver's seat.
Yang was slumped against the ceiling where he'd dropped from his seat. Apart from the inflated airbags and shattered windows, his side of the car was intact.
The smell of spilt fuel hung heavy in the air and Bishop reached in to check his enemy's pulse. Yang was still alive—for now.
The PRIMAL operative holstered his pistol and wrenched open the door. The limp body tumbled sideways into the sand.
"Seat belts save lives, dipshit," murmured Bishop as he reached down to drag the man clear of the wreck.
Yang's eyes snapped open and his fist blasted upwards, catching Bishop in the solar plexus.
The PRIMAL operative doubled over and gasped for breath. Yang jumped to his feet, lashing out with a sharp kick that caught Bishop in the groin. He staggered backwards in agony, attempting to draw his pistol, but Yang attacked again with rapid-fire blows. A punch slammed into Bishop's wounded arm causing him to scream in pain.
"You've escaped me for the last time, Aden," the Chinese operative hissed as he gripped the damaged arm with his right hand, snatching the pistol with his left. One last kick swept Bishop off his feet and left him lying on his back gasping for air, his good arm held up in an attempt to protect his face.
A moment passed before Bishop wiped the tears and snot from his face and looked up into the barrel of his own pistol. The black hole of the .45 caliber barrel blurred in and out of focus as Yang held it with a steady hand.
"I want you to know that once I've killed you, I'm going to find everyone you work with and kill them also." Yang's voice dripped with absolute hatred.
Bishop spluttered, "Not if you want your boy Ping back, you won't."
Yang laughed. "Do you really think I care about that fat pig? If he dies, then Zhu will become even more determined to destroy your friends."
"He'll never succeed, Yang. My friends will hunt you to the ends of the earth."
"What? Friends like those Europeans? They weren't so hard to kill." Yang thumbed back the hammer on his pistol.
Bishop watched the action with detached interest. It was a pointless activity; the hammer would cycle automatically. It was simply a gesture. A silent but final insult; a fuck you, I'm about to kill you and you know it.
The bullet that hit Yang in the side of the chest snapped Bishop back to reality. The Chinese operative spun, snatching at the trigger of his pistol as he fell. The bullet shot into the sand a mere inch from Bishop's head.
"Fucking ChiCom piece of shit!" screamed Kurtz as he charged down side of the culvert, his big HK handgun aimed at the prostrate form of the Chinese operative.
Bishop struggled to his feet as the German skidded in next to him. The .45 caliber HK barked twice more as Kurtz pumped another two rounds into the dying Yang.
"Kurtz, stop!"
The pistol barked again sending a final slug into Yang's face, ending the moans.
"He was probably more use to us alive," croaked Bishop.
"He fucking shot me, Aden." Kurtz pointed at the two perfect holes in his shirt. Bishop could see straight through to the armored plates underneath.
"Crazy fucking German!" Aleks struggled down the embankment, limping as a result of his confrontation with Yang. "He stole some Sheik's car. Left me behind."
"Ja and got here in time to save Bishop, you fat, vodka-swilling gorilla."
Bishop knelt beside Yang's corpse. Half the face was blown off. He checked the body and pulled out a mobile phone. Scrolling through the menus, he looked for the last called number, hit dial and held it up to his ear.
Whoever answered the call spoke in Mandarin.
"I'm guessing this is Zhu," said Bishop.
There was a pause. "Yes, who is this?"
"It's Aden."
"Where is Yang?"
"He's here but he's not really in a position to talk at the moment. Actually, make that ever."
"Where is my son?"
"Zhu, your son is safe and in good health. I can promise you that. He is currently enjoying fresh air, good food and the company of a beautiful woman."
"If you return him to me I will make you rich. Very rich."
"Money doesn't interest me, Zhu. But there is something you can do to ensure the safe return of your son."
"And what is that?"
"Cease all military aid to Sudan. Call off the Janjaweed operations in South Sudan and lobby your government to allow an increase in UN troops."
There was a delay before Zhu replied. "This business in Sudan has already cost the Chinese government millions of dollars. The return has been insignificant compared to the cost. It is my opinion that our resources are better spent elsewhere."
"Then we're on the same page. Let me have my people contact you and discuss the finer details of the return of your son."
"When?"
"That will depend on you, but I anticipate no longer than twenty-four hours."
"I would be most appreciative if that is the case, Mr Aden."
"It has been a pleasure doing business with you. Just remember, we've taken him once, and we can do so again. Cross us and Ping will suffer the same fate as Yang." Bishop hung up the phone and turned his attention back to Kurtz and Aleks.
"You saved my butt, lads. I'm going to recommend a bonus and at least a month off when we get back to the island."
"Nein," Kurtz said. "I mean the bonus, yes, but we need to get back to our mission in Hungary. We have more business to take care of."
The three men turned their back on the body of their enemy and made their way back to where the police SUV was parked.
"That mission can't wait a few weeks?" Bishop asked.
"No, it can't," said Kurtz.
"He's got a girl in Budapest," laughed Aleks. "A beautiful stripper."
"She's not a stripper, dummkopf. She's a dancer," snapped Kurtz.
"Nothing wrong with that, mate!" Bishop elbowed the German gently. "Just don't let your dick get you into trouble."
"It's not like that," said Kurtz. "She's different."
"Aleks, you in on this?" asked Bishop as they reached the Mercedes.
"Da. The mission is important. People smugglers, sex slavery; we're tracking down the biggest network in Eastern Europe. Very bad people with endless power. It is very important."
Bishop jumped in the back of the vehicle. Aleks drove, Kurtz rode shotgun. "You boys let me know if you need anything. I'm going to be on a beach conducting tan-ops with a cooler of beer."
"And a certain beautiful Iranian." Aleks grinned into the rearview mirror.
"Shut up and drive."
Chapter 57
Entebbe, Uganda
Jonjo sat at a small table on the banks of Lake Victoria. He sipped an orange juice and watched a pair of cranes fly over the blue waters of Africa's largest body of fresh water. He marveled at the elegance of the two birds as they conducted a slow waltz across the sky.
The seventeen-year-old warrior had waited patiently for ten minutes but was starting to worry. The instructions from Mirza had been specific; meet him at the Andrieta Beach Hotel at 1400 hours on Tuesday. He glanced at his watch again. It was 1405. He pulled at the collar of his crisp white shirt and wriggled his toes in the stiff brown lace-ups. This was the first time in nearly five years that he was not wearing his fatigues and did not have a weapon close at hand. He had never felt more uncomfortable.
"You look very smart, Jonjo."
He turned to face the voice. Mirza was standing on the terrace of the resort, dressed in light slacks, a shirt and a linen jacket. He was carrying a small leather sports bag.
"Mirza, it is so good to see you." Jono jumped up, spilling the orange juice across the tablecloth. He grabbed his mentor's han
d with his own, a broad smile painted across his face. "I was so glad to get your message and to know that Aden was OK."
"It is good to see you, my friend. I was worried I wasn't going to be able to pry you away from your war."
Both men sat down and Mirza waved a waiter over to deal with the spill.
"My war?" Jonjo said once the waiter had finished. "Your friends in the SAS have made it their war. It took them two days to split the SFF up and allocate all of my men to their different patrols."
"That's not a bad thing, Jonjo. Sometimes it's better to leave the fighting to the professionals."
"Yes, but what happens when they leave? That is the big worry. What if the Janjaweed come back? Then Doctor Hutton will have died for nothing." A sullen look crossed the youth's face as he mentioned the dead doctor.
"I don't think that's going to be a problem. Your country has plenty of oil. Once it starts flowing, the West will make sure nothing jeopardizes it. The biggest problem your country will face is having young men and women with the education to be doctors, teachers, engineers, even lawyers."
"Yes, we will need schools," said Jonjo. "And more people like Doctor Hutton to come and teach in them."
"What about you, Jonjo? What do you want to do now?"
"Me? I...I don't know. I cannot do anything other than fight, Mirza. It's all I know."
The waiter dropped off a bottle of water and Mirza poured them both a glass while he spoke. "You can learn, Jonjo. You can go to school and you can learn."
A smile spread across his face. "School? Me? Where?"
"America, Canada, Australia, wherever you like. The choice is yours."
"Really? But who will pay for this?"
"I can arrange a scholarship. But first I think we have some business to finish off, yes?"
Mirza reached into his jacket and dialled a number on his phone.
"Hello, Mr Mirza? Is that you?" a deep African accent answered the phone.
"Yes, any update on the location?" asked Mirza.
"No change," said Chua's agent. "He is alone as usual. The nurse left yesterday."
Jonjo watched the PRIMAL operative with a look of curiosity.
PRIMAL Vengeance (3) Page 24
