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

by Jack Silkstone

  “Everything seems to have worked out.”

  Saneh's voice pulled him back to reality. He gave her a smile. “You did a good job Team Leader. Mission is a resounding success.”

  She sat next to him. “I guess so. You did pretty well yourself.”

  He turned back to the window. “No, I didn’t.”

  “You can't blame yourself for this one. Aleks knew exactly what he was doing. He put his life on the line to save Kurtz. You all did.”

  “Yeah, but he paid the price.”

  “You care too much sometimes, Aden Bishop. It's one of the reasons I like you.”

  He gave a slight smile. “Oh so now you like me?”

  “Well, you've finally started to grow up.”

  Mitch's voice interrupted them. “Hello, this is your captain speaking. Just wanted to let you know we've got a flight time of one hour and thirty minutes. I anticipate clear skies so feel free to walk around the cabin. Please keep all firearms in the unload position and refrain from using any electronic countermeasure devices. I hope you enjoy your flight and thank you for traveling PRIMAL air.”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “I'm looking forward to a rest after this.”

  “How about we head down to the beach huts for a few days?” Saneh referred to the recreation area on Lascar Island. A place the two of them had enjoyed when they were together.

  “I've got a better idea. Let's get away from it all. Take a trip, a real trip. Maybe Africa.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Africa, really? I've always wanted to go.”

  “I've got a friend working on a game reserve. I'd like you to meet her.”

  “A woman?”

  He laughed. “It's not like that. She's helping us put the nails in Pollard’s coffin.”

  “Christina Munoz, she's the journalist you saved in Mexico.”

  He snorted. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?”

  She winked. “I keep tabs on all my men. So she’s going to release an article?”

  “She will once I've sent through the last of the facts. Chen is also prepping an intel pack to leak to the FBI.”

  “And now they're broke they won’t be able to sue the Mexican government.”

  “Their world is definitely going to unravel very quickly.” He paused. “Hey, who do you think this Larkin guy is?”

  “Larkin?”

  “Pollard asked if we were working for Larkin.”

  She shook her head. “No idea, that's one for Chua and his guys to figure out. You need to focus on resting and… fixing us.”

  “You mean you want there to be an us?”

  She nodded. “No one else is going to put up with your antics.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze. “We make a good team.”

  “We make a killer team.”

  ***

  Pollard's eyes snapped open and he clutched his head. It was wrapped in bandages. He ignored the throbbing pain and looked around. Sitting in a chair at the end of his hospital bed, with his head resting in his hands, was Charles King. Next to him was the GES analyst who had led them into the ambush.

  “Did they fix my ear?”

  King snapped his head up. His shaved head nearly connected with the wall. “Yes, they managed to reattach it.”

  “Where the hell are my things?” he demanded.

  “They're over here.” He pointed to the folded clothes sitting on a table next to him.

  Pollard staggered out of bed, grabbed his phone, and dialed Ian Macmillan, his Chief Financial Officer. “Have you checked our accounts?” he snapped when the call picked up.

  “What? No.”

  “Well then fucking check them now.”

  He listened as the accountant fumbled with his computer. Then there was silence.

  “Oh my God!” said the CFO.

  “They're empty aren't they?” Pollard hissed through a clenched jaw.

  “This doesn't make sense. How could this happen?”

  “We've been robbed. Call the bank. Get their fraud team on it.” He terminated the call and locked eyes with King. “We're going to find these people and we’re going to kill them.”

  “Sir, the Venezuelans have been calling. We missed the meeting,” replied King.

  “That doesn't matter now we don't have the funds, does it.”

  Pollard grabbed his clothes and found the bathroom. As he dressed he caught his reflection in the mirror above the sink. The bandages wrapped around his head were stained with blood. “You're a dead man, Aden,” he whispered.

  He stormed out of the bathroom. “We're going.” He made another call as he strode down the polished corridor. “Get the jet ready, we'll be there in ten minutes.” As he pushed open the glass doors he nearly collided with a young man carrying a bunch of flowers. “Get out of the way,” he snapped.

  Antonio stood aside as the American barged his way through the doors and out onto the street with two other men in pursuit. So damn rude, the student thought as he walked down the corridor to Camilla's room. He knocked and her father opened the door.

  “Antonio, it's good to see you.”

  “How is she?”

  The smile melted from the elderly man’s face. “No change.”

  Antonio walked across to the bed. “Hello Camilla, I brought you some fresh flowers.” He laid them on her bedside table.

  She stared at him with sad eyes. Her long brown hair had been freshly combed. Sitting on the edge of the bed he bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “It's all been taken care of,” he said quietly, pulling out his phone. He held the screen so Camilla could see the photo the woman called Saneh had sent him. It was of a dead man who had been shot through the skull. Visible on one of the corpse’s forearms was a tattoo of a dragon clutching a trident.

  Tears formed in Camilla’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER 32

  LASCAR ISLAND

  They gathered in front of a rocky outcrop high above the island. It was a favorite spot of Aleks’s. A place where he would pause during one of his long hikes and gaze out over the Pacific Ocean. Many of the PRIMAL team had joined Aleks on his hikes but none had ever made the climb this early. They had commenced the ascent at four in the morning so they could be here at the crack of dawn.

  Bishop had insisted on leading the service. He carried a box of candles to the escarpment in a backpack and handed them out to the others. One by one they were lit. Vance, Chua, Saneh, Kurtz, Mitch, Kruger, Pavel, Flash, Miklos, Frank, and nearly a dozen more of the support staff, were all there.

  “We all know why we’re here,” said Bishop as the first hint of sunrise touched the horizon behind him. “We've lost a brother, a partner, a team leader, a warrior, but most of all, a loyal friend. Aleks Andreyev was a man who had no living enemies. He was a bear, with a big heart that had room for everyone.”

  Bishop took a deep breath trying not to choke up. “I first met him three years ago in the Ukraine, a contracted operative who thought he was working for the CIA. Within hours of meeting me he took me under his wing and saved my life. Months later when I invited him to join PRIMAL he leaped at the opportunity. You mean I get to help people, he said, and I get paid? This is amazing. That was Aleks. A man who would come to the aid of anyone in distress. A man who would stop to save a ladybug from being squashed on a footpath. A man who would give his life for any one of us at the drop of a hat. And, in the end, it's exactly what he did. He gave his life so others could live. Aleks left us a legacy to continue, a legacy of sacrifice, of commitment, of fighting for the little guy, and of loving your comrades regardless of the circumstances. I know each and every one of you will work hard to continue this legacy.”

  Behind him the horizon had taken on a soft glow that added to the solemnity of the moment. The jungle was silent and the only noise was the crash of waves hundreds of feet below.

  Bishop dipped his head. “They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them. Lest we forget.”

  As they stood in silence watching the sunrise the team huddled closer together. Arms were thrown over shoulders and tears flowed freely. A wind rose up from the west and snuffed out their candles. It was almost as if Aleks had given them one last farewell.

  ***

  Bishop walked into the recreation room and spotted Chua sitting at a table reading a tablet. “Hey, mate, what's going on?” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of sports drink. He was dressed in a gray gym shirt and a pair of loose fitting shorts. Sweat drenched the synthetic material from neck to groin.

  “Hey Bish, you been hitting the gym?” Chua replied.

  “No, Saneh's got me doing Bikram Yoga, bloody horrendous.” He tipped his head back and downed two-thirds of the bottle.

  Chua laughed. “You guys are all loved up again I see.”

  He gave a sideways glance.

  “Well you should probably check this out.” Chua nodded at the tablet.

  He sat down. “What is it?”

  “Christina's story, it made front page of the New York Times.”

  “No way, that's awesome.”

  Chua pushed the tablet across so he could see it.

  He spent a few minutes reading the piece over. When he was done he handed it back. “It's a great article, compelling. Jordan Pollard will be fuming.”

  “I think the article is the least of his worries.”

  “Why? What's going on?”

  “The intel pack’s been leaked to the FBI. Pollard and King are going to have a nasty surprise when the Feds turn up.”

  “Nice!”

  Bishop grabbed another bottle from the fridge. “Did you work out who this Larkin guy is?”

  Chua shook his head. “Vance knew a Larkin when he was in the Agency, though. A preppy Ivy League guy with ties to all the right people. You know, one of those Skulls guys. Vance remembers him being a bit of high-flyer. He got caught up in a black op gone bad but didn’t go down for it. Problem is I can’t find anything recent on him. We’ve been sniffing around but without direct access to the CIA's personnel files it’s a long shot.”

  “What if he's not CIA? Could be another private contractor.”

  “I've got the team researching but so far we’ve got zip.”

  He sat down again. “Hey, I think you did a good a job on this op, mate. We cleaned house on MVI and GES. They're not going to be hurting anyone else anytime soon. Or trying to track PRIMAL down for that matter.”

  “Thanks, Bish, that means a lot.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable. I'm still going to mess with your plans as much as possible.”

  Chua laughed. “I wouldn't expect any less.”

  “So what’s the plan from here? You and Vance finally going to take some time off?”

  “Sure are. What about you?”

  “Saneh and I are thinking of heading to Africa. I need to touch base with Christina Munoz and lady Ebadi wants to cuddle a leopard.”

  “Sounds good. So you two all good now?”

  “We're getting there.”

  “You know everyone just wants you to hurry up, get married and start making babies. PRIMAL’s going to need some new operatives eventually.”

  Bishop snorted in his sports drink. “What?”

  Chua winked and stood up with his tablet. “Good luck with the Bikram, I'll catch you later.”

  ***

  NEW YORK CITY

  The newspaper hit the polished wooden desk with a loud slap. “Have you read this crap?” Pollard screamed at the two men sitting in his office. He slumped in his chair and fought the urge to scratch at the bandage on his ear. “We've been completely exposed, robbed of all our capital, and had our tactical teams cut out from under us.” The other men in the office, King and the CFO Ian Macmillan, looked as defeated as he was angry. “This Christina Munoz bitch has ruined us. There's no way we can recover from this with our reputation intact.” He fixed King with an icy stare. “You were supposed to fix this.”

  King made to say something but stopped.

  Ian Macmillan sighed, reached inside his jacket, and pulled out an envelope. “This might not be the best time, Jordan, but I wanted to do it in person.” He rose and slid the envelope across the desk. “As of now I am tendering my resignation as CFO. All communication will need to happen through my attorney.” He nodded and made a beeline for the door.

  “Go fuck yourself, Ian. Get the hell out of my building.” Pollard grabbed a pewter statue of a soldier from his desk and threw it. It smashed through the opaque glass door as it swung shut. He gripped his desk with both hands in an attempt to control his rage.

  “Sir, GES is still in the black. We have enough capital to operate for at least a few months. The training facility will generate enough revenue to maintain itself.”

  “Shut the hell up, Charles.”

  King snapped his jaw shut.

  “All we need to do is cover the costs of the legal team for Mexico. I’ll finance the legal fees personally. We can sell the Virginia facility for all I care. Then we're going to find the criminals that did this and destroy them.”

  King shook his head. “They've won, Jordan. Let it be, for now. Rebuild and get stronger. Then, and only then can, we find out who did this.”

  “No! I want Wesley found. I want Munoz found. I want Aden and his buddies found, and I want them all dead.”

  The intercom on Pollard's desk beeped. “Sir, there are men here–” The call was interrupted.

  “What the hell?”

  Two men stepped through the shattered glass door. They were wearing dark blue bulletproof vests emblazoned with the letters FBI. “Get your hands in the air!”

  “Do you know who I am?” Pollard snarled at the pistol aimed at his face.

  The agent smiled. “I know exactly who you are, you piece of shit. Jordan Pollard, you're under arrest for accessory to murder of Mexican and Venezuelan citizens, blackmail, and securities fraud. I could go on but I think you get the drift.”

  Strong hands hauled him from his desk and pressed him against the wall. Metal handcuffs restrained his hands behind his back.

  “You're making a big mistake, gentlemen! I have powerful friends.”

  “So do we, ours is a Supreme Court judge. Maybe we should get them together sometime.”

  King had his head bowed and was fully compliant. He placed his hands in his lap and let the officer cuff him.

  “Keep your mouth shut!” hissed Pollard as he was marched out. In the corridor a team of agents carried computers and files from MVI's offices. Rage burned in him as he was shoved past his secretary and thrust into the elevator. “I want my call.”

  “All in good time.”

  They reached the lobby and the doors opened. The agent led him out through the foyer. He skidded to a halt. Through the glass front of the building he spotted an army of camera crews.

  “Keep walking.”

  He held his head high and jutted his chin as he was pushed through the throng. Journalists screamed out to him as the FBI agent rushed him to a waiting vehicle. He ducked his head inside and sat with his eyes to the front. The car pulled away from the curb with its siren wailing. Someone was going to die for this, he promised.

  CHAPTER 33

  FBI DETENTION FACILITY, NEW YORK

  King sat in an interrogation room barely three yards square. His hands were cuffed behind his back and he’d lost most of the feeling in his shoulders. There was no clock in the room but he guessed he’d been there for at least three hours.

  He heard the door to the side open and turned to see who it was.

  “Charles King, I told you I'd be in touch.” Thomas Larkin strode into the room. “No need for the cuffs,” he said to the FBI agent that accompanied him.

  “Sir, that's against policy.”

  “Take them off and then get the hell out.”

  The man mumbled something, unshack
led King, and left the room.

  “Thanks.” King rolled his shoulders in an attempt to get some feeling back.

  “Not a problem. Don't worry about the CCTV.” He nodded at the camera in the corner of the room. “One of my boys has taken care of it.”

  “Are you here to get me out?”

  Larkin smiled. “That's completely up to you.” He sat in the chair opposite and crossed his legs. “I mean you and Pollard have been very naughty boys. The stuff you pulled down in Mexico was downright nasty and the Venezuelan piece, well, that was unconstitutional. I mean, working directly against the CIA. I think they call it treason?” He dropped a bundle of photos on the desk.

  King looked at the pictures. They showed a burnt out church filled with charred bodies, a man who’d been stabbed in the chest, a young woman in a hospital bed, and a mangled corpse. “I didn't have a choice.”

  “Yes, you did. But, you chose money over morality. You’ve been sitting behind a desk with your head up your ass letting it all happen. I’ve got the records to prove it; emails, phone calls, the works. You and Pollard will be lucky not to get the death penalty.”

  He felt his gut twist. It had been so easy to distance himself from what the teams were doing. The photos brought it all home.

  Larkin shot him a smile that reminded King of a shark. “But hey, I can't blame you. Who’s going to go against Pollard? The guy’s an inflexible power-mongering asshole.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Straight to the chase. That's what I like about you, Charles. There’s no foreplay with you, no attempting to suck my dick, just a straight up question. It's pretty simple. I need you to continue to run GES.”

  King snorted. “GES is done. Pollard will dissolve the company to fund his legal fees.”

  “Don't worry about Pollard. I’ve arranged for him to… retire. I just need to know you and GES are onboard. No more resource pilfering shenanigans, you work exclusively for OSP. I'll fund expansion, technology, and resources. You provide manpower when and where I need it, no questions asked. Oh, and there will be complete deniability. I’ve got a new contracting system that will give you anonymity.”