Primal Exodus
Page 8
Forty minutes later Bishop and Saneh had finished with Jarvis and returned to their suite. Bishop sat at a desk in the corner of the room as his partner lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
“You OK?” he asked after he’d updated his notes on a tablet computer.
“Yeah, why?”
“You didn’t say much through that entire meeting. That’s not like you.” He left the desk, sat next to Saneh and touched her hand. “You feeling OK?”
“I’m a little under the weather.”
“Hopefully you’re not coming down with something.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Rising from the bed, she grabbed her bag. “A workout and a sauna will clear my head. What time is our first movement with Jarvis?”
Bishop checked his watch. “Nineteen hundred. You’ve got a couple of hours.”
“Great.”
Bishop went back to his tablet as Saneh dressed for the gym and left without saying goodbye. As she rode the elevator down to the basement and fitness center she almost broke into tears. Lisker had ordered her to kill a man who by all accounts was completely innocent of wrongdoing. What made it worse was the fact that Tariq had tasked her and Bishop to protect the very same man. She was at a crossroads. Failing to complete her mission could result in the death of people she cared deeply about. Successfully completing it would mean betraying the man she loved and killing Isaac Jarvis.
***
LASCAR TOWER, ABU DHABI
The mellow crooning of Buffalo Springfield’s Stop Children What’s That Sound filled Tariq Ahmed’s opulent office as he scrolled through the Wikipedia page for the Central African Republic. Despite being rich in resources the country was the tenth poorest in the world. It had also been wracked by civil war for as long as it existed. Originally a French colony the region was dominantly Christian with a small population of Muslims. There was also currently a Peacekeeping contingent deployed to monitor a cease-fire between the government and rebel forces.
Tariq turned his chair and gazed out over the Arabian Gulf as he contemplated these facts. Why would Lisker be covertly shipping arms to a former French colony two and a half thousand miles from Tel Aviv? Was Israel trying to secure a foothold in the area? From what he understood of their international engagement they were focused on East Africa, in particular, Uganda, Sudan and Ethiopia. Then again, what did it matter? Lisker and Israel’s motivations were not his concern. He needed to focus on gaining leverage that would, in turn, allow him to negate Mossad’s influence over him. He needed to find dirt on Lisker and he needed to find it fast.
For a moment he contemplated contacting Chua. PRIMAL’s Chief of Intelligence seemed to have connections into almost every intelligence agency. Then, as quickly as he considered the idea, he discarded it. Exposing Chua and the team to Lisker would only make the situation worse. It was bad enough that Saneh and Bishop were exposed; he couldn’t risk the rest of the team.
He’d been forced to sell out Saneh to protect the PRIMAL team, his family and the eight thousand Lascar Logistics employees that relied on him for their wellbeing. However, despite knowing that Saneh was the former Iranian assassin known as the Mantis, Mossad had yet to make a move against her. That meant that Tariq still had a chance for redemption.
He turned his attention back to his computer. He needed to know more about the arms shipments.
The sharp trill of his desk phone interrupted his thoughts and he answered.
“Sir, Mr. Bishop confirms that they have met with the client and established security protocols. He will be attending the conference tomorrow.”
“Very good.”
“Did you have anything you wanted to pass to them?”
“No. Everything seems in order. Can you have my driver ready, I’ll be leaving in the next ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tariq returned to his screen. The protection mission was a favor to an old friend who’d provided most of the seed capital for Intelligent Responsive Systems. Additionally, it gave legitimacy as to why he would have the likes of former Australian and Iranian intelligence operatives on his payroll. He also figured if he kept Saneh and Bishop within the UAE, then Mossad was less likely to go after them.
He closed his laptop with a sigh, rose and donned his jacket. Investigations into Lisker would have to wait. His wife had scheduled a family dinner and Famika Ahmed was one person you didn’t keep waiting.
***
LIFEBRIGHT FOUNDATION FACILITY, RWANDA
As Tariq Ahmed was being chauffeured across Abu Dhabi in the comfort of his long-wheelbase Range Rover, several thousand miles away Bianca Paquet lay in the darkness below a bush that smelt like it had been used as a urinal by a football team. The heavy stench of musk clung to the hessian sacking that she’d shredded to form her makeshift sniper suit.
After the Lifebright Foundation’s security had killed the woman in Nyagatare she’d ordered some equipment online. The Chinese night vision scope she’d purchased was nowhere near as good as the thermal one that had graced her HK417 when she was on team, but it got the job done. Instead of the rifle, the scope sat on a tripod beside her long lens camera.
The position she’d selected was a little over three hundred meters from the Lifebright Foundation’s facility. She’d trimmed vegetation and constructed a hide giving her line of sight into the facility’s loading dock and rear access point. From here she hoped to take images that she could use to expose the foundation and shut it down. So far she’d observed trucks making deliveries of boxes and crates, but nothing untoward and nothing relating to the abduction of children.
Bianca yawned, fighting the urge to nap as she took a pinch of roasted coffee beans from a bag that lay next to her and slipped them into her mouth. It was a technique she’d first used during basic training. As she crunched the beans she heard the rumble of an engine.
A moment later a truck emerged from the bush and stopped at the facility’s security gate.
She’d already scouted the perimeter and spotted the extensive security measures protecting the facility. No, protecting wasn’t accurate. Yes, the cameras, tremble sensors and electrified razor wire fence were designed to keep people out, but they were also there to keep people in. Innocent girls being pumped full of god knows what.
Through the night vision scope she watched as the truck passed through the gates and turned into the parking area in front of the loading docks. As it came to a halt a figure exited the building. She instantly recognized the stocky head of security as he greeted a man who stepped from the truck’s cabin. She grabbed her camera and aimed it through the scope as the men talked, snapping a dozen shots as guards surrounded the truck.
She gasped as the tailgate was dropped and a line of manacled figures appeared from inside the truck. She adjusted her focus and captured more images. Then she lowered the camera and placed the night vision scope against her eye.
Even though the image was grainy she could tell that the figures were children. Fury boiled inside her as she clutched the tripod. If only it were her rifle. She fantasized about sending a 7.62mm bullet slicing through the head of security’s skull. With her 417 she was confident she could clean up the majority of the guards, but that was never going to happen. She was on her own now with a cheap night scope instead of a rifle, and a greasy cab driver as backup instead of a platoon of gunned-up operators.
The children were marched inside and the guards disappeared. A moment later the truck passed out through the security gates.
Bianca shrugged off her camouflage suit as she climbed to her feet. Leaving her equipment she crashed through the bushes toward the road as the truck’s headlights grew in size. She crouched by the side of the road, waiting for the vehicle to pass so she could see its license plate.
As it flashed past she caught a glimpse of where the plate should have been, it was missing. The truck continued on its way, taillights fading into the darkness. She felt a moment of frustration before rem
embering the photos she’d captured and managed a smile. Finally, she might have the evidence to shut down the Lifebright Foundation.
CHAPTER 8
DUBAI, UAE
Saneh stood a dozen feet from Isaac Jarvis as the engineer discussed something of incredible complexity with another attendee of GITEX, held in the Dubai World Trade Centre.
The CEO of Intelligent Responsive Systems was in his element surrounded by the fellow engineers, technicians, enthusiasts and geeks who were attending the Middle East’s largest computer and electronics fair.
Bishop, a notorious gear fiend, had initially been excited to attend the event. However, after four hours of motherboards and logic algorithms even he was bored.
Saneh had purposefully distanced herself from Jarvis, or the objective, as she had mentally named him. The last thing she needed was to develop a relationship with a man she had been ordered to kill.
“You doing OK?”
She turned to Bishop and managed a half-smile. “Yeah, just a little tired. I’m going to do a room sweep.” Saneh left Bishop and made her way around the perimeter of the tennis court-sized exhibition room.
The space was jammed full of stalls and salespersons pitching their electronic wares. Saneh avoided eye contact as she scanned the room. Being a woman at a male-dominated forum was proving to be more of a hindrance than she’d anticipated. If it wasn’t a salesman trying to grab her attention it was another guy making a pass.
She was making her way along the rear of the hall when she spotted a familiar face. Avi, her Mossad handler, was standing at an information booth that looked to be promoting a brand of thermal camera.
A glance toward Bishop’s position confirmed that she wasn’t going to be seen by him or the objective. Casually she moved across and took a pamphlet from the stand next to Avi.
“Now you can see the dilemma,” she said, softly. “I can’t kill a man I’ve been hired to protect.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“If I do, I’ve blown my cover and my use to you ends.” She turned and met his stern look with a glare. “And I don’t know what happens after that.”
He considered her point. “Give me your hotel pass.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I need it.”
“You can have it back.”
Reluctantly she took the pass from the pocket of her suit jacket, slipped it into a pamphlet and passed it to him. The card disappeared into his coat and a few seconds later he handed it back.
“What now?” she asked, imagining jamming her stiletto blade into his chest.
“I’ll be in touch.”
Avi turned away and disappeared into the crowd. Her mind raced as she pretended to read the information board in front of her. Was she off the hook regarding Jarvis? Was Avi going to reallocate the job to another operative?
Stepping away from the booth she made her way back to where she’d left Bishop and the objective. As she approached, Aden turned and flashed her the roguish smile that seemed to always adorn his rugged features. The look hit her like a sledgehammer to the heart. If Jarvis was killed on Bishop’s watch, he was going to be devastated. What’s more, if he ever found out she was linked to the death he’d probably never forgive her. She forced a smile in return, and went back to scanning the room.
***
MADIINO, SOMALIA
Kurtz’s boot connected with a rusty tin and the container sailed through the air with a loud clang. It landed in the scrub that surrounded the team’s makeshift camp.
The sense of satisfaction from returning the girls they had found in Ethiopia had long since been replaced by frustration. It was another seemingly hopeless dead end. Booyah and Toppie had been unable to find any additional information on Krenich, the name the militia leader had given them. They had a satellite phone number, but without the assistance of Chua and his team, there wasn’t much they could do other than ring it. Kurtz had considered doing precisely that. However, all that would achieve was alerting Krenich to the fact he was being hunted.
“You want a beer, bro?”
The lanky German turned to find his South African teammate with a bottle in each hand. Behind him, Toppie sat on a fuel drum smoking as he conversed with Booyah.
“Ja, that would be good.”
Kruger twisted the cap off an ice-cold Heineken and handed him the beer.
“Maybe we should ask Chua to run the number?”
“Maybe,” replied Kurtz.
The two men strolled across the clearing to where Toppie’s Mi-17 helicopter was parked with the rear doors open. They sat in the tail of the chopper and gazed out across the scrubby landscape as they drank their beer.
“We’re going to find the rest of them,” said Kruger between sips. “We won’t stop till we do.”
“Won’t matter if they’re all dead.”
Kruger went silent as he contemplated the grim prediction. Like Kurtz, this mission had become intensely personal for him. While he didn’t have children of his own, he’d chosen the life of a warrior, he did have two nieces who were a similar age to the kidnapped girls. “Isn’t there someone else who can run the number?”
Kurtz frowned. He could possibly ask Saneh or Bishop, but inevitably they’d go straight back to Chua. He had some contacts from his former life as a police officer in Germany’s elite counter-terrorism organization, GSG-9. However, none of them knew where he was or what type of work he was doing.
“The Sandpit is probably the best option.” Kurtz referred to PRIMAL’s safe house in Abu Dhabi.
“Pretty much our only option.”
“What are you reprobates up to, eh?” asked Toppie as he and Booyah joined them at the rear of the chopper. “You found this Krenich guy yet?”
“Nein.”
“Comes after eight. Look, the trail is going cold and we need to get after this guy,” snapped the portly pilot.
Kurtz glanced at his watch. It was late in Abu Dhabi. “I’ll make the call first thing in the morning.”
***
KIGALI, RWANDA
“The Human Rights Advisor will see you now,” said the assistant, a twenty-something from Boston who thought her service with the UN was making a difference.
Bianca checked the clock on the wall of the UN Human Rights office in Kigali as she rose. It was 1115. Her appointment had initially been scheduled for 0900. She had been waiting over two hours despite making it perfectly clear she was here to report a violation of human rights.
The UN website hadn’t included a picture of Doctor Jay Philips but had summarized an impressive academic background in the study of human rights. She’d assumed the regional human rights advisor was a man. Bianca was pleasantly surprised to find that the doctor was a middle-aged woman.
Philips was reading a document at her desk when Bianca entered. She glanced up and gestured to a low table with a sofa on either side. “Please, take a seat.”
Bianca sat, placing a brown envelope on the table.
“Elaine, be a dear and bring us some tea,” Philips said as she left her desk and sat opposite Bianca. “So, Miss Paquet, what compelling evidence have you brought me that couldn’t be discussed over the phone?”
“Ma’am, for the last two months I’ve been investigating the Lifebright Foundation under suspicion that they’ve been testing drugs on kidnapped children.”
Philips raised her eyebrows. “Investigating? Are you a journalist?”
“No.”
“Interpol?”
“No.”
“Sorry, I’m confused. Who exactly are you?”
“A concerned international citizen. Look, I first heard rumors regarding the foundation when I was teaching English in Nyagatare.”
“So you’re a teacher not an investigator.”
The woman’s tone told Bianca that she needed to cut to the chase. “I met with a former employer of Lifebright who reported the presence of children at their facility. After meeting me she was killed by their security people.”
“I heard about that. She was hit by a car at night, all too common in a town with no street lighting.”
“She was murdered. I was also threatened by Lifebright security guards.”
At that moment Elaine returned with cups and a pot of tea. She poured two servings as Bianca continued.
“For a research foundation, Lifebright’s security is unparalleled.”
“Not surprising considering the importance of their work. You do realize they’re developing technologies that may cure diabetes?”
Bianca opened the envelope and removed copies of the photos she’d taken. “This is actual evidence that they’re shipping children into their facility.”
Philips took reading glasses from her jacket pocket and inspected the images one by one. “You say these are from the Lifebright building?”
“Yes, by the border. You can see that’s a military truck.”
“If you say so.” She put down one photo and picked up another. “How did you get these?”
“I spent a night watching the facility.”
Philips eyeballed her over her glasses. “You spied on them.”
“It’s called surveillance, and it’s an investigative technique.”
The Human Rights Advisor placed the photos on the table and leaned back into the sofa as she removed her glasses. “Miss Paquet, what you have here is not an investigation. It’s an accusation based on rumors and barely interpretable grainy photos. The Lifebright Foundation funds more than a dozen medical clinics across Rwanda and provides financing to a range of other projects. The idea that they would test on kidnapped children is utterly ridiculous.”
Bianca was lost for words.
“What’s more your investigation is borderline criminal and I have half a mind to refer you to the police.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she managed through gritted teeth as she gathered up her photos.