Original Language: Pashto.
PERS 1: Khan, it’s Khalid.
PERS 2: What happened?
PERS 1: We ambushed American forces moving up the valley, report five armored vehicles destroyed.
PERS 2: Very good. Did you take any casualties?
PERS 1: We have had no losses, although we …………static………..
PERS 2: Good work brother, Dostiger will be pleased. Did any of the infidels escape?
PERS 1: No we took care of them all, the jammer stopped them contacting …………static…………
PERS 2: “Good, good the engineer says it will take no more than five days for us to finish the excavation. Do you………..static………
TRANSMISSION BROKEN
Ice’s brow furrowed as he read over the transcript. “Is this telling us that a bunch of Talibs wiped out a whole goddamn Stryker patrol?”
“Related coalition reporting indicates the patrol is missing,” Chua replied. “I assess it’s been destroyed. Obviously these are not your usual run-of-the-mill Taliban. They’re not hiding in the hills shooting off rockets willy-nilly and blowing themselves up with IEDs.”
“So what are they doing?” Ice asked. “Sounds like some sort of recovery op.”
Chua nodded. “That’s exactly what they’re doing. A Taliban unit led by someone called Khan is defending this excavation site in Oruzgan. The wider offensive is orchestrated to slow down the Coalition response and buy time to complete the excavation.”
The Chinese-American looked back down at his notes before continuing, “So what are they excavating and why? Well, further communications analysis has indicated that these Taliban are working for an arms dealer in the Ukraine known as Dostiger. Additionally, one of our agents in Iran has revealed that the Revolutionary Guards have contracted Dostiger to acquire a WMD for them.”
Chua took a sip from a can of energy drink before continuing. “We assess that this Dostiger is using the Taliban to recover some sort of WMD the Soviet Army left behind in Afghanistan, possibly buried inside one of the many caves or tunnel complexes. Historical CIA reporting reveals that the Russians were conducting experimental weapons testing on the Afghan population in the 80’s. My assessment is that the remains of a biological or chemical weapons testing facility still exists in vicinity of the Khod Valley.”
Mirza slowly raised his hand. “Ah, Sir, apologies for interrupting but I was wondering why the Guards need a WMD. Doesn’t Iran have its own weapons program? From what I’ve seen in the news, it’s nearing completion.” A number of the other PRIMAL operators nodded in appreciation of the query.
“I am glad you asked, Mirza. Although the Revolutionary Guards were initially created to protect the regime, they have become so powerful that Iran’s leadership no longer trusts them. The Iranian government has isolated the Guards from WMD development. They are concerned that with a WMD the Guards could rally enough support to launch a coup.” The intelligence officer paused to look back at Mirza. “Does that answer your question?”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you,” Mirza said.
“OK, so the Guards are running unsanctioned operations to acquire this weapon. Our source reveals that the Iranian intelligence organisation, MOIS, are currently aware of what the Guards are doing and have initiated an investigation. MOIS don’t seem to know about the Afghan link, but they are going after the arms dealer, Dostiger, and have deployed a team to the Ukraine.”
The corner of Chua’s mouth turned up in a slight smirk as he caught Bishop’s eye. “Oh, and Aden, the MOIS team leader is reported to be a very beautiful young woman by the name of Alfsaneh—probably not your type though. My reports indicate she speaks half a dozen languages and holds a masters in English. Not exactly catwalk material, if you know what I mean.” Chua smiled at Bishop and everyone in the room laughed.
Bishop looked embarrassed. He didn’t think anyone but Ice knew about the model he had briefly entertained in Spain a couple of months back. “Yeah. Thanks, Chen, that’s very interesting, but tell us more about this arms dealer. How long has he been working with the Guards?” Bishop questioned, sitting forward in his chair, eyes burning intensely. It was no secret that Bishop was obsessed with the Iranian Revolutionary Guards and their links to terrorists ever since the attack on Flight 395 that had claimed the lives of his parents.
“We’ve just received a comprehensive file on Dostiger. You’ll get it after these orders,” Chua answered.
Bishop wondered why he hadn’t been given the file yet. He slouched back in his chair. “What about our coverage in Kiev?“ He knew from an earlier warning order that he was going to be tasked with the Ukraine job.
“At this stage it’s very limited.” Chua’s tone was serious again. “The Forward Integrated Support Team that you’ll be working with have minimal knowledge of the area. One of the FIST members was born in the Ukraine but hasn’t lived there since he was a boy.”
“And our own HUMINT? Does Ivan have any of his old connections?” Bishop queried.
“Our network doesn’t extend to the Ukraine. I’ve tasked Ivan to start recruiting sources in the area but initially you’ll be starting from scratch. In the intelligence pack you’ll be given, we’ve identified Dostiger’s frontman who works for Antonov. It should provide a start point.”
Chua checked his notebook before concluding, “OK, that’s all the intelligence we have at this stage. Any updates will be provided directly to the field. Are there any further questions?” Chua looked around the room before returning to his seat.
“Thank you, Chua,” Vance said as he moved to the front. “Team, from the Intelligence Chief’s brief I’m sure you understand that the shit is rolling down hill at a rapid rate.”
He nodded at Bishop before continuing. “I appreciate that we don’t usually do ops in the ‘Ghan but if we don’t step in, the Guards could have a WMD within 4 days. With everyone else bogged down fighting terry towelhead down south, there ain’t gonna be anyone else to stop ’em. As for Dostiger in the Ukraine, we’ve leaked this to both the Israelis and the US but their cluster-fuck bureaucratic systems mean that by the time they decide to act, it’ll be all over.”
“Bottom line is we have to mount an operation in both Ukraine and Afghanistan. We can’t risk the Guards supplying a bunch of Jihad-preaching fuckers like Hezbollah with a WMD. They get their hands on this shit and war is gonna break out in the Middle East!”
Vance looked over the room. Satisfied that he had everyone’s complete attention, he crossed his arms and continued. “Alright, team, these are the initial orders for the op. Our mission is to target Dostiger’s operations in order to deny the Iranian Revolutionary Guards access to a WMD.”
Vance directed his intense gaze at Ice, then Mirza. “Our main effort will be the insertion of a recon team into the ‘Ghan. Task? To locate the Taliban WMD extraction team and use offensive fires from the Pain Train to destroy them before they can recover the weapon. Ice, I need you and Mirza on the ground ASAP. You’ll be fully supported by the Pain Train for both surveillance and fire support: locate the site and Mitch’ll smash it. I’ll give you confirmatory orders once you’re in the air.”
Ice looked across at Mitch sitting opposite him and gave the bearded tech officer a slight nod.
Vance continued. “Remember, Ice, you need to stay out of the shit. These aren’t the same Taliban we fought in 2001. They’re gunned up, well trained, and spoiling for a fight. There are thirty dead Americans that can vouch for that.”
“Acknowledged, boss. We’ll be in and out like ghosts. The Talibs won’t even know we’re there,” Ice said.
“Bish, you’ll take the lead on the Ukraine side of the op. Yeah, Ice is the main effort, but we still need to cover all our bases. We can’t count on MOIS to deal with this Dostiger fucker, so you’re gonna have to fly to Kiev, RV with the FIST, and commence a surveillance operation. Ivan will provide additional covert support if you need it and we’ll position another aircraft in Kiev.�
��
Bishop nodded. “So if anything goes wrong in the ‘Ghan, I’ll be positioned to interdict the WMD, yeah?”
“Bingo,” Vance said.
Bishop looked across the room to Ice and Mirza. “Mirza, if old man Ice is slowing you down, don’t stress, I’ll take care of things from the Ukraine,” he said with a wink.
“Remember, Bish,” Vance growled, “this is a covert op. No blowing shit up or jazzing up the local law enforcement. If Dostiger realizes we’re on to him, he’ll just get the fuck out of Dodge. Keep this clean, not like that shit-fight in the Philippines.”
The recent Philippines operation that Vance was alluding to had started as a simple case of surveillance, followed by a precise assassination. Instead, Bishop and his team had taken it upon themselves to sink a people smuggler’s ship, initiating a gunfight with the criminal’s guards and the local authorities.
“OK, OK, I get it.”
“This is strictly low-profile, Bish. Chua has worked up your cover. We’ll discuss it with you immediately after these orders.” Vance cast his gaze over the room before concluding. “OK, y’all, that ends the initial orders for the op. Anyone got any final questions?” The silence was a solid indication that the team was focused and understood their responsibilities.
“OK, team, we’re making this job the highest priority. All other operations have been placed on the back-burner. The Bunker will now commence twenty-four hour ops in support of both teams. Chua will update you as the situation develops and I’ll deliver additional orders on the fly. In the meantime, you all know your duties. Let’s go to it!”
Chapter 17
The Bunker
The Bunker pelted into a flurry of activity. The staff hit their terminals, scanning for information. Others clustered round the wall-mounted monitors, discussing the finer details of the plan. The cavern echoed with staccato keyboard taps and intense discussions. It was business as usual at PRIMAL HQ.
Chua caught Bishop’s eye and nodded to a briefing room. Vance followed. They huddled at a small table.
“This should be everything.” Chua slid two large manila envelopes to Bishop. “Passports, credit cards, and enough hard currency to buy your way out of trouble.”
Bishop swept the envelopes from the table and slid them into his cargo pants. “Thanks, mate.”
“I take it you’ve already had a look at the initial intelligence package I sent to your phone?” Chua asked.
“Yeah. The new FIST looks good to go.” Chua’s package included photos and biographical details for the members of Bishop’s new Forward Integrated Support Team. PRIMAL used these mercenary teams to do the dirty work. Usually led by an operative like Bishop, these expendable hired guns were the best money could buy. It was a way of ensuring a minimal number of people ever knew about the covert organisation. Only the PRIMAL operatives ever knew who they really worked for.
Chua nodded in agreement. “Ivan always recruits the best.”
“Yeah, he’s certainly got an eye for it,” Bishop reflected. “Alright, so tell me more about this Dostiger character. His file was pretty light?”
Vance leant forward to address him. “Two things I want to cover first.”
“Firstly, Alfsaneh Ebadi. Son, this bitch is one badass intelligence officer. She’s compromised more Mossad agents than the Rainbow Warrior. She’s got brains and she’s got some killer assets that she ain’t afraid to—”
Bishop interrupted. “Look, I get it, Vance. I’ve read her bio and whilst I’d just love to sit here and discuss my track record with women, I do have a plane to catch.”
Vance paused for a moment then his voice took on a deeper tone. “You sit—and you listen, Bish. There is too much at stake here for mistakes. You fucked the Philippines mission up something beautiful and you—”
Bishop cut in. “I got the job done!”
The head of PRIMAL spoke slowly, “Taking out one people-smuggling piece of shit was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be real discreet. The amount of blowback we had to deal with had the potential to compromise all of PRIMAL’s operations. The US Military’s investigation into the incident is still open and they’re still wondering who the hell is running black ops on their turf.”
Bishop said nothing and Vance continued. “If PRIMAL is going to be able to continue its operations, under the nose of the CIA and every other spook agency around, then we need to stay the fuck out of the news. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Bishop replied.
“Look, buddy, I know you’re under the pump. We all need a decent break. I just need to know that you can do this job right.”
“I hear you, boss. I’ll do my best.”
Vance nodded at Chua. “OK, tell him.”
Chua pressed some buttons on his phone before speaking. “Aden, I’m transmitting you the Dostiger file. Our man in Iran milked this out of a source this morning.”
Bishop said nothing.
Chua continued, “According to the Iranians, Dostiger was responsible for supplying the missile that downed Flight 395.”
Bishop stared at him.
“Bish?” Vance exchanged glances with Chua.
“I thought the Israelis followed up all the leads?” Bishop said.
“As far as they were concerned, they did. They bombed a number of Hezbollah facilities and assassinated the Commander they thought responsible. Latest reporting suggests it wasn’t Hezbollah that conducted the attack.”
“So who the fuck did?”
“According to this, it was Dostiger.”
Bishop was stunned. It had been over eight years since his parents were killed in the attack on the Israeli airliner and this news opened up old wounds. The retaliation by the Israeli Air Force had inflicted significant damage on Hezbollah and Bishop had consoled himself with the likelihood that the men responsible for his parents’ death had been brought to justice.
Chua continued. “MOIS are under the impression that Dostiger’s men carried out the attack as a test; a precursor to delivering the missiles to the Revolutionary Guards.”
Bishop’s fists were clenched. The colour drained from his face. He breathed out, forcing an element of calm into his voice. “So Dostiger supplied and fired the missile as a test? A fucking test?” He jumped to his feet. “It would seem that we have some unresolved business with this arms dealer.”
“Indeed,” Vance said. “Look, Bish, you’ll have your chance with Dostiger but for now this operation must be dealt with delicately. Can you handle that?”
Bishop nodded, his eyes hard, his knuckles white as he grasped the back of a chair. “Absolutely.”
Vance stood up. “Good, now get your ass to Kiev.”
Chapter 18
The Pain Train
The Pain Train, South West Pacific
Ice had long ago come to the conclusion that traveling by military transport was for suckers. Cargo aircraft made for terrible airliners. The constant drone of the engines, lack of heating, hard aluminum seats and absence of in-flight services made for a dull and uncomfortable transit. He hoped Bishop was enjoying the Gulfstream jet.
The Pain Train was one of the most sophisticated airborne support platforms in the world but it still failed dismally in the provision of creature comforts. Despite having an impressive 24-meter long internal cargo space, only a small section at the front of the aircraft was free for Ice and Mirza to prepare their gear. The rest was filled to capacity with the munitions pods and UAVs. These remote control drones could be launched out of the cargo hold when they were needed.
As the big Ilyushin winged away from Lascar Island, Ice and Mirza sat silently wedged in the nylon fold-down seating under a red fluorescent glow. They both wore similar clothing; cargo pants, desert boots and dark green polar fleece jumpers. Once they reached the ground they would wear Afghan robes over their equipment. The drab native garb provided good camouflage and would help them blend into the rocky terrain.
The Pain Train leveled out at crui
sing altitude and Ice slipped on his comms headset, gesturing for Mirza to do the same.
“How ya doing, buddy?”
“Good. Just trying to familiarize myself with iPRIMAL.” Mirza had attached the device to his forearm and was inspecting it closely. The new PRIMAL recruit’s head was still spinning from the last twenty-four hours. Being whisked from Sydney to Lascar Island was enough of a shock, but being sent on a last-minute mission was totally unexpected.
“Once we get on the ground you’ll get it quick enough. It all makes sense when you have live feeds,” Ice said as he pulled a laptop out of a kit bag and opened it.
Mirza nodded, but he was still determined to learn how to use the iPRIMAL before they parachuted in. He was acutely aware of how well trained the PRIMAL team was. Yes, he had over five years combat experience in a premier special operations unit and also jumped HALO into five live missions but that didn’t alleviate the feeling that he was a bit of a random cog, not quite meshed in with the rest. He had a lot of catching-up to do.
Ice continued. “I’ll patch into the Bunker now. Vance wants to talk through the mission.” He activated the laptop and established a video conference.
Vance’s face appeared on the screen, his voice through their headsets. “How you guys doin’ up there?”
Ice replied, “All good. My ass is numb from these damn seats, but we’re good.”
“Stop it, Pollyanna. I don’t hear Mirza bitching.” PRIMAL’s commander gave them a wink before sliding back into a serious demeanor.
“Gentleman, I hate to say it but we’re going in half-cocked on this one.” Vance’s face disappeared off the screen, replaced by a satellite map of the Khod Valley in southern Afghanistan. “Once we find the location of the ambushed US patrol, we’re gonna drop the two of you in somewhere behind this ridgeline.” A small marker appeared on the screen identifying the position. “We’re looking at a covert approach on the Russian facility - before the hostiles evac the package.” A red circle appeared on the likely position of the target. “Once you have eyes on, you’ll call in the Pain Train and waste the tangos. That’s it, nice and simple.” Vance’s face reappeared on the screen. “Any questions?”
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