PRIMAL Nemesis (Book 2 in the Redemption Trilogy, A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 6) (The PRIMAL Series)

by Jack Silkstone

Antonio's eyes opened and he panicked. All he could see was a blur of bright white. His brain throbbed and his arms failed to respond as he tried to sit upright so he could see what was going on.

  “Steady, steady.” The voice was warm and feminine. Gentle hands pushed him back into the bed. “It's OK, you're in hospital. You're safe.”

  “Where's Camilla, is she OK?”

  “I'm sure she's fine. You need to rest.”

  The room spun and Antonio closed his eyes. Images from the attack flashed through his mind. The forearm with its intricate tattoo was etched in his memory. For what felt like an hour he focused on the image. Then he forced open his eyes. The fog had started to lift and he could almost see clearly. A young nurse was watching him intently, a clipboard held in her hands. “Did anyone else come in with me?”

  “Yes, there were a number of you.”

  “Are they all OK?”

  “I would have to check.”

  “Can you help me sit up?”

  The nurse wound the bed to a sitting position and left the room. A minute later she returned with a tray of food. “Eat slowly or you’ll be sick.”

  He was so groggy that he hadn’t realized his left arm was strapped across his chest. His shoulder and upper arm were bandaged heavily. Then he remembered the savage blow that must have shattered his shoulder.

  “Antonio, how are you?”

  He turned his head toward the new voice. One of his fellow demonstrators, Chabi, was standing in the doorway. The student was sporting a black eye and stitches in the brow above it.

  “You can go in,” said the nurse as she walked out.

  His friend approached slowly and stood next to the bed.

  “How is Camilla?” Antonio asked.

  “She's alive.” Chabi’s face was grave.

  “Where is she?”

  “They've got her in the room down the hall.”

  Antonio threw the blankets off and swung his legs out. Fighting the urge to vomit he grabbed the IV stand next to the bed for support.

  “You need to stay in bed.”

  “No, I need to see her.” He staggered to the door. “Show me the way.”

  His friend shook his head but led him to the room down the corridor. “She hasn't spoken since they brought her in.”

  Antonio made it to his girlfriend’s bedside and took her hand. “Camilla, it's me. I'm here.”

  She stared at the ceiling with lifeless eyes. Her hand was cold and limp.

  “Camilla, speak to me.”

  A single tear ran down the pretty brunette’s cheek and hit her pillow.

  “They did horrible things to her,” his friend whispered.

  “Do her parents know?”

  “Yes. They are coming today.”

  “Who else was hurt?”

  “The others are fine but…” Chabi fell silent.

  “But what?”

  “They found the body of the woman from the Voluntad party.”

  The news hit him like a punch to the chest. “The colectivo killed Caitlin Bracho?”

  His friend nodded solemnly.

  “They can't get away with that! We’ll hold them to account.”

  Chabi shook his head. “The fight’s over. Look what they did to Camilla. Look what they did to you. We can't fight them. The Movimiento is finished, it's over. Stay here with your girl and take care of her.”

  He turned and watched another tear stream down Camilla’s face. He knew he wasn't going to be able to walk away from this. There was no way he would run scared from criminals who didn't deserve the freedom he and his friends fought for. They would pay. He would find a way.

  ***

  KINGSTON, JAMAICA

  Paul ‘Flash’ Gordon leaned back from his laptop screen and rubbed his eyes. He’d been hunched over the keyboard for two hours sifting through all the intel he had on the private equity firm, MVI, and GES, the security company. There was a lot to process, not just what he’d managed to pull from open sources but also the information they had hacked from MVI’s servers. The connection had been severed but he still had plenty of material to work through.

  “Hey, Flash, how you tracking?” Chua entered the office with a can of energy drink in each hand. He tossed one to the analyst.

  “Thanks, bro. I won't lie, I'm hurting tonight.”

  “You've been working for nearly 48 hours straight.”

  “Made some good headway.”

  Chua dropped onto a chair. “What have you got?”

  “Couple of things that are interesting. MVI have definitely got a big deal going down range in Venezuela. It's mentioned in a few different emails. They've been building capital for something big.”

  “Another mine?”

  “Possibly, they've got a history of it. Their last major project before Mexico was a rare earth minerals mine in the Congo.”

  “There seems to be a modus operandi developing here. Unstable environments and ruthless resource exploitation. They provide the capital, their in-house mining company does the work, and GES deals with any local security issues.”

  “Or GES could be working to destabilize the government. That would tie into CIA objectives and possibly pave the way for MVI to strike a deal with a new regime.”

  Chua nodded. “So how do we get some fidelity?”

  Flash popped his can of drink with a hiss. “Well, it just so happens I may have found a way in.”

  “Go on.”

  “One of the main guys in MVI goes by the name Wesley Chambers. From his emails I think he's some kind of investment banker. Brings in the big cash from high net worth individuals and other brokers.”

  “Mirza met him in New York, right? You got him to hack his phone.”

  “Yep and from what these emails are saying, this clown likes to party hard. The CEO of GES thinks he's a liability. He was real pissed when they discovered his phone was hacked.”

  “That aligns with what Mirza told us. Do you know what Jordan Pollard thinks about it?”

  “Not sure, he rarely sends emails. I've got a feeling he does most of his business face to face or over a secure phone link. However, King, the GES boss, does remind the CFO to limit Wesley’s exposure to operational details.”

  “So neither of them trust him?”

  “Nope, and Wesley likes bitching about King to some of his other banker buddies. Even after the phone hack. This guy’s OPSEC is looser than a–”

  Chua cut him off. “OK, I get it. That's our in. We go after Wesley in New York and monitor King at the GES facility in Virginia. He’s got a residence on the estate when he’s not at his apartment in New York. Spends most of his time there.”

  “What about Venezuela?”

  “Ivan's already in country.” Ivan was one of PRIMAL's deep cover agents. A 'blade' as Chua called them; someone who, when they had enough warning, could infiltrate a target country and establish HUMINT networks and safe houses. “He's going to set up a base of operations and start putting feelers out. Do you have anything for him to investigate?”

  “Not yet. MVI’s next project might be linked to one of their CIA contracts; they've got a few. Problem is all the payment invoices are generic. I've got no idea what they're actually doing or where they are doing it. They might even be running independent operations for a private client.”

  “Keep digging. I'll brief Vance on what we've got. Once we get the teams out on the ground we should be able to uncover more.”

  Flash finished the can of caffeine-laced sugar, crushed it, and flung it into the trashcan. “I'll ride this wave for a few more hours then I'm gonna get my head down.”

  “Copy that.”

  CHAPTER 3

  GES FACILITY, VIRGINIA

  Pershing drove his buggy in through the sliding doors of the GES holding area. The massive shed contained everything a special operations team needed to discreetly train, plan, and prepare for a mission. There was an indoor range, accommodation, kitchen, planning room, and a vast hangar where mockups co
uld be built for rehearsals. It was an impressive facility, out of sight from prying eyes, that was occasionally used by the CIA, FBI, and JSOC.

  He brought the ATV to a stop and strode across the concrete floor to where Shane 'Shrek' Cameron and his five-man team were running through a vehicle drill. A black SUV was parked in the middle of the hangar.

  “Ambush right, vehicle disabled.” The bald-headed goatee-wearing team leader was standing in front of the vehicle in his assault rig.

  Pershing watched as the doors on one side of the vehicle burst open and the Team 2 operators exited smoothly. Dressed in cargo pants, T-shirts, and assault vests, they moved into fire positions behind the SUV and started engaging targets on the far side with paint rounds from their AR carbines. They fired over the bonnet, under the chassis, and from the back of the trunk. Then, after an initial volley of rounds Chris, Shrek’s blonde-haired second-in-command, issued an order. “Go, go go!”

  The team peeled around the back of the SUV and assaulted directly toward the targets, riddling them with the paint rounds as they advanced.

  “OK, that’s a wrap!” bellowed Shrek.

  Pershing smiled. He’d seen the team in action in Mexico and knew their slick drills transitioned seamlessly into the field. Shrek’s team was a finely tuned killing machine that was itching to be released against the Major League Network.

  Shrek strode across and thrust out a gloved hand. “Henry, you found those assholes from Mexico yet?”

  Pershing grasped his hand. “The bloodhounds are baying, Shrek. It's time to go hunting.”

  “Hell yeah! What have you got for us?”

  They walked across to a bench where the men were re-filling their magazines.

  “Any of your boys speak German?”

  “Yeah, Matt does. Spent five years with 10th Group in Stuttgart.”

  A tall operative wearing tactical wrap-around glasses glanced up and gave Pershing a nod.

  “Excellent, the two of you need to get packed.”

  “What about the rest of the boys?”

  “Keep training. I've got a feeling you're gonna be out hunting before the week’s out. Your colleagues in Team 1 have been killing it in Venezuela. Soon it’s going to be your turn.”

  “Fuck yeah,” said Chris, the 2IC.

  “You might get a chance to hit that dude who chest shot you,” joshed Mikey, a handsome square-jawed former SEAL.

  The team laughed and Chris shook his head. “You motherfuckers, that shit hurt.”

  Pershing joined the laughter then slapped the bench. “Shrek, once you’re ready, drop by the SCIF and I'll brief you on the job.” He spun on his heel and strode back to the buggy.

  “This going to be wet work?” Shrek yelled after him.

  “Not yet,” Pershing said as he walked. “Not just yet,” he added under his breath.

  ***

  PATONG BEACH, THAILAND

  Aleks slumped at the bar and waved over the Thai bartender. “Vodka.”

  The man slid a shot glass over and he downed it in a single gulp.

  He had spent the better part of three nights searching the beachside town of Patong for Kurtz. This seedy dive was exactly like others he’d visited. Pop music blared from tinny speakers and neon signs barely lit the dark corners. To say he was disappointed was an understatement. For nearly a week he’d been searching Thailand for any trace of Kurtz. At least three expats had remembered the tall blonde-haired German but no one knew where he’d gone.

  Aleks pushed the empty glass away. “One more.”

  The Thai flashed him a toothless grin and sloshed in more vodka. Aleks sighed and let his broad shoulders drop before he tipped back the glass.

  “More?” the man asked.

  He shook his head. The alcohol took the edge off his stress but last thing he wanted was to get drunk. He already felt guilty about leaving the Critical Assault Team. Kruger was a capable leader but the CAT was his responsibility. Being intoxicated would just make that guilt worse. He needed to focus on finding Kurtz and getting him back to the team.

  The pair had often discussed where life would have taken them had it not been for PRIMAL. Kurtz had always said if he hadn't fallen in with the vigilante group he would have ended up in South East Asia rescuing young girls from sex slavery.

  He felt an arm snake around his waist and turned to face a moon-faced girl with long black hair. She winked at him. “Hey mister, you seem sad. I bet I could make you smile.”

  He reached into his pocket and took out a photo of Kurtz. “Have you seen this man?”

  She studied the photo and shook her head. “No, but if you want I can do a special deal for two.”

  “No, thank you.” He paid the bartender and walked out into the throng of tourists exploring the nightlife of Bangla road. He wasn't sure where to go now. He had visited most of the go-go bars and spoken to everyone involved in rescuing children.

  “Come on, big boy. I could make you so happy.” The girl from the bar had followed him out to the street.

  He stopped at a vendor selling coconuts and bought one. “You want?” he asked the girl.

  “No, I've got my own right here.” She pushed her breasts together to form a deep cleavage.

  He laughed and paid for two coconuts. The vendor hacked a triangle out of each green husk with a machete, popped in straws, and passed them over. Aleks gave one to the girl.

  “See, you like me.” She fluttered her eyelids.

  “No, you have it wrong. I think if you’re drinking coconut you’ll be quiet.”

  “You aren’t like the other Russians around here. Are you just searching for your friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you tried where you last saw him?” She slurped coconut juice through the straw.

  Aleks sighed. “No, he won't go back there.”

  “What about his family. Has he gone home?”

  He’d already thought about that. It was his next port of call, a final lead that he had not wanted to use. Kurtz had left his parents’ address on file, as his next of kin and sole beneficiaries, but Aleks knew the German had not visited them during his time in PRIMAL. It would probably be a dead end and rub salt into wounds not yet healed.

  He pulled out his wallet and took out a hundred baht note. Pressing it into the girl’s hand, he turned and stepped onto the street to hail a cab. It was time to book tickets to Germany.

  ***

  LASCAR ISLAND

  Kruger scanned the jungle through his dual-sensor fused night vision goggles. He had chosen to ditch his full-face helmet in favor of a lighter, and cooler, head harness. Despite being the early hours of the morning, the air was stifling and humid. The trees were alive with the screech of insects and god knows what else.

  The jungle was the South African’s least favorite operating environment. The six-foot-five former Recce sergeant was much happier in the African bush. At least there you had a chance to see the animal trying to kill you. “You boys got anything?” he whispered into his throat mike.

  “Negative,” replied Miklos. The Czech was patrolling to his left. Through the state-of-the-art night vision goggles he appeared in shades of red and orange against the monochrome backdrop of the jungle.

  “Nothing, comrade,” confirmed Pavel from the right where he trained a suppressed MK48 machine gun down a slope that ran into a creek.

  The three-man team was missing one vital component, Aleks, their leader. He was still searching for Kurtz, leaving the Critical Assault Team with an uneven number.

  All three CAT operators were dressed in mottled green battle fatigues, faces painted with camouflage cream. They wore matching lightweight body armor festooned with pouches.

  “Advance.” Kruger stalked slowly, his Tavor assault rifle held at the ready. He placed his feet gently, avoiding any sound that could give away his presence over the buzz of the jungle wildlife. As he scanned ahead he caught a glimpse of movement and a heat signature. He instinctively fired a series of rapid shot
s, the subsonic 300BLK rounds barely audible through the integral suppressor. “Contact front!”

  Pavel opened up with the machine gun. Tracer flashed through the darkness and the reek of gunpowder replaced the musky stench of rotting undergrowth.

  More of the glowing man-sized targets appeared behind the first and the team bounded forward, blasting the jungle with lead.

  “Check fire,” Kruger commanded. The aiming laser on his weapon switched off.

  The jungle fell silent.

  “All clear left flank,” transmitted Miklos.

  “All clear right,” added Pavel.

  He cocked his head to one side and tried to identify what sounded like a faint whistle in the air. “Incoming!” He dove to the ground as an explosion flashed through the trees and the ground shook.

  Another blast followed the first, closer. Mortar fire was being adjusted toward them.

  “Peel right, peel right!” he yelled as he leaped to his feet and ran. He almost collided with Pavel as the smaller man struggled to maneuver his machine gun in the dense jungle. They slid through leaf litter down a slope into a creek.

  Behind more bombs rocked the ground. He glanced back and angry explosions of energy flashed in his goggles.

  Miklos was the last in. He skidded off the bank and disappeared underwater. A second later he reappeared, spluttering, “I found a hole.”

  The creek offered protection from the blasts on the ridgeline above. Kruger checked his iPRIMAL strapped to his forearm. It had automatically updated the location and navigation path displayed inside his goggles. It led them straight up the creek. “Let's keep moving, ja!”

  The three operators waded through the waist deep water, scanning the banks for any heat signatures. After a minute the explosions above them ceased and the jungle went silent. A few more minutes and the insects restarted their orchestra with vigor. Fuck I hate the jungle, Kruger thought as he swatted at a mosquito buzzing in his ear. He swore he’d find leeches inside his pants once this was over.

  A few hundred yards further along the creek he led them up the bank through a patch of thick undergrowth to the edge of a clearing. He clenched his teeth as his goggles started fogging. Fifty-thousand dollar night vision technology and they still used a stick of anti-fog wax to ward off the humidity. He adjusted the goggles pushing them further from his face and focused on a cluster of buildings ahead. The hostage they were searching for had to be inside one of them.