“And what about the Major League Network?”
“You’ll get your opportunity to deal with them.”
He nodded. “And the charges against me?”
Larkin smirked. “What charges? You agree to work for me and they disappear.”
King didn't need time to consider the offer. He rose and offered Larkin his hand. This was an opportunity to hit back at the Major League Network, except this time he would have the full support and assets of the CIA behind him. No more dodgy security contracts burning villages; he would be back protecting the nation’s interests. “I’ll do it.”
***
Jordan Pollard stood in his cell staring at his reflection. The stainless steel mirror that hung over the sink was blurry but he could still make out the line of stitches that circled his right ear. He’d pulled off the bandages to check the damage. The pain from the wound only fueled the anger and hatred that had intensified during the twenty-four hours he had been in the cell. His life had collapsed around him and now he was going to focus everything on finding and killing the man called Aden and all his friends.
“Prisoner Pollard,” said a voice from behind the heavy steel door. “You've got a visitor. Hands please.”
A metal hatch slid open and he got off the bed, walked across, and thrust his hands through the opening. He was expecting a meeting with his lawyer. Cold metal snapped shut around his wrists and he pulled his hands back. The lock clunked open and two uniformed guards greeted him with smiles.
“After you,” said one of them.
He shuffled down the long concrete walkway past the other cells. A mechanical door swung open and he followed the guard’s directions into an interview room. They pushed him down onto a metal chair and chained his cuffs to a loop on the table in front of him. Pollard glared at them as they departed the tiny cell, slamming the door shut.
Five minutes passed before the cell door opened. “About fucking time.”
The man who entered the room wasn't his lawyer. He was dressed like his lawyer and carried the same briefcase but it wasn't him. “Who the hell are you?”
A smile crossed the imposter’s face as he reached inside his briefcase. “I'm your new defense attorney.” He pulled out a suppressed pistol, pointed it directly at Pollard’s face, and pulled the trigger.
***
LAS VEGAS
The knock at the door woke Howard. He checked the clock by the side of his hotel-room bed. It was ten in the morning. Way too early to be awake considering what he’d been through last night. He rolled over and gently shook the leather-clad Asian minx that lay next to him. “Hey, it's time to go.”
She moaned and he poked her again.
One of her eyes opened, the eyebrow arching. “Poke me again you little bitch and I’ll make you wish you didn’t.”
Howard felt the swell of an erection at the thought of it. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mistress Axera, I just have to get some work done.”
She shook her hair and arched her back like a cat. “Fine, you didn’t pay me for a full day anyway.”
Howard rolled out of bed, threw on a robe, and watched her strut toward the door. She was petite but by god she knew how to handle a riding crop and handcuffs. “Thank you, Pershing,” he mumbled as he watched her slip on a housecoat and grab her bag of tricks.
There was another thump on the door.
“OK, OK, I'm coming.” He gave the dominatrix a smile. “Will you come back tonight? I’ll make it worth your while.”
She curled the corner of her lip. “I’ll make it the most painful thing you’ve ever experienced.”
He moaned in anticipation then made for the door. As he opened it he was confronted by a concierge holding a package. The young man wore an enthusiastic grin. Howard grabbed the package at the same time Axera slipped out past them. The concierge’s jaw dropped.
“I will see you tonight, little piggy,” she said.
He was about to slam the door when the young man coughed. “Oh yeah.” He looked around and found his wallet. All he had was a twenty. He handed it to the man and slammed the door in his face.
Like a kid at Christmas he tore off the plastic wrapping and opened the box. Inside was a slim gray case made of carbon fiber. He turned it over examining it. On the front, under the folding handle, was a touch pad. He pressed his thumb against it. A green light flashed, there was a click, and it opened. Biometrically sealed. Very cool! thought Howard.
The computer inside was state-of-the-art. He powered it on and typed the log on details he had been texted earlier. The laptop booted up in seconds and displayed the main menu of the Redemption Network.
For the next hour he familiarized himself with what was by far the most sophisticated intelligence analysis platform he had ever used. He had access to all the CIA's databases as well as the FBI, NSA, TSA, and a number of other government agencies. Additionally, using a coalition gateway, he also could access the databases of over a dozen partner countries.
He was familiarizing himself with a powerful analytical tool when a message appeared on the screen. It was Larkin.
Welcome to Redemption Terry. I'm sending you a target pack that I want developed. I think you’ll find it interesting. Once you're ready to execute I'll give you access to the tasking system. Good luck!
He hit accept on the file transfer and a moment later a folder appeared on his desktop. He opened it and commenced reading. Five hours, four energy drinks, and a burger from room service later, he was abreast of the information. Someone, maybe even Larkin, had been working on the intelligence deck since 2012. What had started as an investigation into the death of two CIA paramilitary officers in the UAE, Vance Durant and James Castle, had evolved into a witch-hunt come conspiracy theory that read like the plot from an action thriller.
The deaths occurred in 2004 but the case had evolved in 2012 when James Castle had turned up in Afghanistan. A special operations mission in eastern Afghanistan had recovered an unknown wounded Caucasian during a raid on a Taliban facilitation node. DNA testing had confirmed it was Castle.
Around the same time an ODA patrol reported being ambushed and effectively being rescued by someone using the call sign Ice. It was the same nickname Castle had previously been given in Kosovo.
The assessment made by the CIA analyst responsible for the intel deck was that Vance and Ice had faked their deaths in order to join an underground mercenary organization that recruited former special operations personnel. What Castle was doing in Afghanistan was an area of contention. The analyst believed he was part of a training team providing assistance to a Hazaran warlord. Another theory was that he was contracted by a Ukrainian arms dealer who was selling weapons to both sides and wanted the conflict to escalate.
Howard opened another can of energy drink as he considered the analysis. It actually made sense to him. The mine in Mexico had suffered at the hands of mercenaries with special ops training. He remembered the photo of Aden and the German, Wilhelm Jager. It was taken in Ukraine in 2012, the same time Castle was in Afghanistan. Could Aden and Castle be part of the same mercenary outfit? He made a note in the analytical program he was using; a dotted line now joined Aden and Kurtz to Castle and Vance. The big problem as he saw it was how to get to the next level. He had zero details on half the players and the others would have gone to ground using fake identities.
He smiled as he remembered he had two potential leads. The names of two associates: Christina Munoz and Wesley Chambers. Two civilians who might be able to fill in the intel gaps. He typed a message to Larkin.
I need additional assets to locate two persons of interest.
Larkin responded almost immediately with a link. Howard activated it and was taken to a secure website. He studied the site for a few seconds then grinned. It was the Redemption tasking tool. It allowed him to anonymously offer work to vetted private contractors. Now he not only had the analytical tools he needed, he also had the means of executing missions and collecting addition
al intelligence. He cracked his knuckles; it was time to go to work.
Chapter 34
BEACH HUTS, LASCAR ISLAND
Bishop sat on a towel watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. He was drenched in sweat from another of Saneh's yoga sessions. She had surprised him with what she was calling her healing retreat. It was day one of three days down at the beach huts eating green things and contorting his body into painful poses. She hadn’t even allowed him to make an alcoholic drink from the bar.
It was hard to admit but even at the end of the first day he felt rejuvenated. The dull weight of fatigue had lifted and his energy levels were renewed. Peeling off his T-shirt, he got to his feet and was about to walk down to the ocean when Saneh's sensual voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Hey, where are you going?”
He turned and let his eyes linger on her curves. The sports bra she wore did little to hide the fullness of her breasts. A smile crept onto his face as he spotted the slight protrusions from her nipples. “You cold?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Are you ever going to grow up?”
He stepped forward and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Nope,” he said as he leaned in and their lips touched.
She kissed him passionately and he slipped a hand down onto her buttocks. She reached around, grabbed his hand, and applied a gentle wristlock as she pulled away. “You smell terrible.”
“How about a shower then?” He pushed against her so she could feel the bulge in his gym shorts.
She bit her lip. “OK.”
He broke the wrist hold, grabbed her around the waist, and hefted her over his shoulder. She laughed as he slapped her bottom and carried her to the beach huts the team used for recreation. They had them all to themselves.
The shower was located outside the hut. A giant rose head hung over a slatted wooden floor surrounded by a bamboo screen. He placed her down under the shower and turned on the tap. She gasped as the water streamed onto her body. In a matter of seconds her long dark hair was slick against her back. Tilting her head up she let the cool water rinse the sand and sweat from her skin.
Bishop traced his fingers around her rib cage and hooked them under the sports bra. She lifted her hands over her head and he slipped the garment off tossing it on the floor. She kissed him again as he cupped her full breasts in each hand. Slipping his arms around her, he pulled her tight against him.
“Your turn,” she said.
He peeled his T-shirt off and she traced her finger over the scars on his body as the cool water coursed over them. “You’re a battered and broken man, Aden Bishop.”
“Are you going to take care of me?”
“Do you want me to?” Her dark brown eyes locked on to his.
“More than anything.” He kissed her again. For a moment he managed to block out everything but her. His world of loss and pain was replaced with the presence of this amazing woman. I'm not going to lose her again, he thought. Not now, not ever.
***
Vance sat with Chua in his office to talk through a post-mission debriefing. It was something they did after every operation. It helped identify strengths, weaknesses, and lessons to be learned.
Vance poured three scotch whiskeys. He and Chua raised one each. The third was a tribute for their fallen comrade. “For Aleks,” he said as they downed their drinks. “OK, Chua, what's the go with MVI and GES? Did we shut those fuckers down for good?”
Chua coughed as he placed the tumbler on the table. “Man, that’s strong. Yes. MVI’s Venezuelan project is dead in the water and they’re broke. I also just got word that Jordan Pollard was killed in prison last night. I’m trying to get more information but they're releasing nothing to the media and I don't have anyone with access.”
“Assassinated?”
“It appears so, but I'm not sure by who. Bishop has a theory some guy called Larkin was out to get Pollard. He mentioned it in Caracas.”
“Thomas Larkin,” said Vance. “Sneaky self-righteous bastard when I knew him.”
“We haven't been able to dig anything up on him, or confirm if that’s the guy,” said Chua.
“If he's still in the CIA he's going to be involved in something dark and deniable. That's the sort of guy he is.”
Chua typed a note on his tablet. “Good to know, we'll keep working it.”
“So MVI is done, right?”
“Yes, MVI was all Pollard. With him dead, it's over. No one is going to be suing the people of Mexico anytime soon.”
“So that leaves Charles King and GES.”
“Correct, and we don't know what happened to King. He's dropped completely off the radar. Flash is going back over everything we have but there's not a lot of depth to it. He’s still running the numbers from the phone Bishop took off Pershing.”
“We gutted them of operators and we've torn out their funding. What more could be left?” growled Vance.
“They had a number of CIA contracts. We're not sure if they're still running or if the FBI investigation shut them down.”
“You'd fucking hope so. But, then again, I wouldn't put it past the CIA to ignore previous transgressions in the name of progress. OK, so we've dealt GES a serious blow. Let's monitor them and we can decide to take action when and if it is required.”
“I concur,” said Chua. “We add them to the watch list and go from there.”
Vance poured another finger of scotch into his glass. He held the bottle over the other tumbler and raised an eyebrow questioningly.
Chua nodded.
Vance spoke as he poured, “I've got a bad feeling we've exposed ourselves.”
“What do you mean?”
“The takedown at the CIA safe house was too close for my liking.”
“We had to. We had to get Kurtz back.”
“I know but there’s no way the Company won’t follow this up now.”
“We can mitigate that. I'll get my team to do a counter-intelligence review. Search for any security weaknesses.”
“I think we may need to do more than that.”
Chua placed his drink down. “You want to initiate the dispersal plan and shut down the island?”
“No, but we need to be ready.”
***
Keep reading for a preview of PRIMAL Redemption.
AUTHOR’S FINAL WORDS
I hope you’re enjoying the PRIMAL Redemption trilogy. I’ve certainly enjoyed crafting PRIMAL’s greatest challenge yet. The good news is you’re only two-thirds of the way through. PRIMAL Redemption is yet to come.
So what do I have in store for PRIMAL after Redemption? Well, I’ve got another mission planned then I start work on a PRIMAL sci-fi spin-off. PRIMAL in 2055 is going to be fast, furious, and geared up with all kinds of high-tech kit.
Remember if you’ve got any cool ideas for PRIMAL missions feel free to flick me an email at [email protected]. I love hearing from you all.
JS
EXCERPT FROM PRIMAL REDEMPTION
PROLOGUE
KUNAR PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN, 2012
The four Blackhawk helicopters thundered through the night sky. Skilled pilots held the aircraft in formation as they weaved through the valley, beating their way toward an unsuspecting target. The birds had launched from Jalalabad forty minutes earlier as part of a larger force. The other aircraft, having already peeled off, headed to their separate landing zones or circled above waiting to dive down and provide close air support.
In the cabin of the lead airframe Staff Sergeant Shaun Clem glanced at the Suunto watch strapped to his heavily tattooed forearm. He whispered a prayer and looked up at the loadmaster in anticipation. The helmeted aviator manning the side machine gun turned inward and raised two gloved fingers.
“Two minutes!” Clem bellowed grasping the shoulder of the man next to him.
The call rippled through the helicopter and the soldiers conducted final checks on their equipment.
Clem increased the illumination on the red-dot s
ight mounted to his M4 carbine. He was feeling confident; his squad of nine men had performed similar missions countless times. They were Rangers and they were ready to lead the way.
“Thirty seconds!” yelled the loadmaster.
The squad leader felt the nose of the helicopter lift as the pilot flared to slow their descent. He adjusted one of the night vision tubes that hung from his helmet and gripped his carbine. Glancing around the cabin, he gave the boys a broad grin and unclipped his retention lanyard from the floor. “Here we go, Ranger buddies.”
They touched down with a thud. Clem leaped through the open door into the maelstrom of dust thrown up by the rotor wash. They were now in the badlands. Jogging toward their RV he glanced over his shoulder to check that the two fire teams were following. He scanned the terrain to his front as the birds roared into the sky. The thud of rotors faded into the distance.
“Alpha Two-Zero, this is Alpha Two-One, we are in position,” he reported as they approached the shallow wadi to the south of their objective. His squad fanned out providing all round security while he checked his map. The choppers had put them down only a few hundred yards from their target compound. He scanned the terrain around them. Through his night vision he could see the steep valley walls glowing green. They were the reason the helicopters had been forced to land so close to the objective. He was surprised that shots still hadn’t been fired. Surely Terry Taliban hadn’t slept through the racket of a helo assault.
PRIMAL Nemesis (Book 2 in the Redemption Trilogy, A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 6) (The PRIMAL Series) Page 26
