PRIMAL Renegade (A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 8) (The PRIMAL Series) (12 page)

“We should dispose of him,” said Kehua as he locked the door.

“Not yet. I'm going to get something to eat and then I’m going to question him further. I want to know who helped him infiltrate my organization.”

The gangster directed him toward the kitchen. “You have forty-eight hours. Then he is going over the side.”

“He’ll talk before then.” Mamba opened the refrigerator and helped himself to a tray of cold meat. He took a six-inch butcher’s knife from a magnetic strip fastened to the wall, tested the blade’s sharpness with his thumb, and hacked off a sizable chunk of meat. “Plenty of time to find out everything he knows. Mamba stuffed the food into his mouth. “Is there anything to drink on this tub?” he said as he chewed.

Kehua gave him a hard stare. “You will not drink alcohol on this vessel.” He snapped his fingers at one of the Chinese stewards. “Find him a cabin.” Then he spun on his heel and strode out of the kitchen.

“Rude fuck,” muttered Mamba at his back.

CHAPTER 10

MTWAPA, KENYA

Kruger's feet touched sand and he waded through the surf until he hit the beach. Dropping to his knees in the soft sand he checked his watch. It was a little after midnight. Pulling his phone from his vest he tried to power it up. Not surprisingly, it showed no sign of life.

Climbing to his feet, he staggered up the beach and into the tree line. He stripped his pistol and knife from his vest before dumping it in the bushes. Tucking the gun in his belt and the knife in his pocket he pushed through the scrub to a road that followed the coastline.

By his estimate he was at least three miles from Mtwapa, possibly more. What he knew for sure was that he needed to head south. He broke into a trot and followed the road. The moonlight revealed shacks and houses on either side. A dog barked as he slapped his way along the road, his wet clothing rubbing against his body. The undersides of his arms were raw from swimming and the inside of his thighs stung from chafing. It didn't slow him though. Every minute he delayed the
Zenhai
steamed away from the Kenyan coast and further out of reach. He focused on getting back to the car to use his satellite phone to contact the PRIMAL team.

A flash of headlights caught his attention and he glanced over his shoulder. He paused as a vehicle approached, and held up a thumb.

The car slowed to a halt but left its high beams on. He squinted, the doors opened, and he caught a glimpse of a uniformed figure.

“Hold it right there.”

Kruger recognized the voice from earlier in the evening. The cop was one of the two Mamba had hired to protect the transfer to the boat.

“Where is Mamba?” the officer asked as his partner climbed out of the blue and white pickup.

“I don't know. Look, I fell overboard and swam ashore. I don't know what happened.”

The two men spoke in hushed voices as Kruger waited in the headlights. He held his hands by his side and closed his eyes relying on his hearing to give him the location of the two men. He recognized the telltale click of a safety catch and dove into action. One hand lifted his shirt and the other snatched the pistol from his belt. His eyes snapped open and he fired two rounds through the open driver’s door. One of the police officers grunted as the bullets shattered the window, hitting him.

He leaped sideways as the second policeman let off a burst from his AK stitching the road. He felt a round tug at his wet pants and he rolled firing again, this time at the man’s exposed legs.

The cop screamed as he fell and Kruger clambered to his feet, finishing him with a double tap to the head.

He checked the first officer was dead before loading both bodies and the AKs into the back of the police pickup. Only then did he check his leg. The bullet had carved a groove along his calf that oozed blood; a flesh wound.

Jumping in the truck he took off down the road toward Mtwapa. When he reached the marina he skidded in the gravel and halted alongside the battered Mazda. It was exactly where he and Bishop had parked it a few hours earlier, alongside the bank of the tidal river.

Grabbing a rag from the trunk he wiped down his pistol and tossed it off the jetty into the water. Then he took a jerry can of fuel from the back of the police pickup and doused the bodies inside. As he waited for the truck’s cigarette lighter to heat he took his satellite phone from the Mazda’s glove box and dialed the emergency number for the PRIMAL headquarters in the UAE. Following the open line protocol he waited for someone to answer.

“Kruger, what’s going on?” It was Vance.

“Listen up, I don't have much time. Bishop is being held on a Chinese freighter called the
Zenhai
. He boarded off the coast from Mombasa. I'll call back in an hour to explain the details. You guys need to track it and get some of the boys together for a boarding party.”

He could hear Vance scribbling notes.

“OK, bud, we've got it. I'll stand by for your call.”

Kruger hung up, reached in through the window of the police vehicle, and pulled out the cigarette lighter. He tossed it in the back of the truck and the fuel ignited with a soft thud. He watched it burn for a few seconds then climbed into the Mazda.

As he raced down the highway he called Toppie’s number. The arms dealer answered after a few rings. “It's Kruger. Shit's gone south, I'm going to need your help.”

“We going to war?” croaked Toppie.

“Yeah, we're going to war.”

***

THE SANDPIT,
ABU DHABI

Vance glanced over Frank’s shoulder, checking the personnel tracker. A map of the globe was annotated with the location of all the PRIMAL personnel that had been stood down. Most of their assaulters, Kurtz, Pavel, and Miklos, had last checked in from Eastern Europe. Mitch, their tech support guru was in Israel. Only Mirza Mansoor was operational, flying humanitarian missions for Priority Movements Airlift, their cover organization. His icon flashed in Irbil, Kurdistan. “Do we have anyone close enough to respond in time?”

Frank shook his head. “No, does Tariq have any guys we can use?”

“Not that we can trust.”

“We've got enough shooters here.” The voice from the doorway belonged to Ice.

Vance turned to face him. Ice had been training relentlessly since he’d been rescued. His shoulders were broad and he stood confidently on his prosthetic limb. The scarring on the side of the face had transformed him from a handsome soldier into a lethal terminator. “We don't know who's on the ship, Ice.”

“No, but we've got you, me and Chua. Plus Kruger who is already on the ground. Frank can run the back end with Flash. We move fast and we get Bishop off that ship before they know what’s hit them. We've got all the gear we need at the hangar. We just need a chopper to put us on the ship.”

“That's the main issue,” said Frank. “We can get on board but without helicopters it’ll be a challenge to get back to shore.”

“We could take over the ship,” said Vance. His eyes were still fixed on Ice.

“Not in those waters, boss. The anti-piracy task force will be all over us in minutes,” added Frank. “A helicopter is our best option.”

“If she's still within range of a shore-based helicopter,” said Vance.

“She is.” Chua appeared in the doorway behind Ice. “Flash found her on the marine traffic website. She's making twelve knots two hundred nautical miles south of Mogadishu. We also downloaded a copy of her schematics.”

“She's still broadcasting her location?” asked Vance.

“Yes and on her current heading she's going to be in range of Mogadishu for the next eight hours. If we want to make a move I recommend launching now.”

Frank raised his hand in the air. “Hey guys, I've got Kruger on the line.”

“Put him on speaker.”

Frank hit a key and Kruger's thick Afrikaans accent filled the operations room. “Vance, I'm just outside of Mombasa with a mate of mine,
ja
. He's got friends in Somalia; we can get up there and organize a helicopter to get on the ship. I need you to grab our gear and bring the boys to Mogadishu, OK.”

Vance shot Chua a questioning glance and was rewarded with a nod.

“Roger, that's workable, but timings will be tight. You’ll need to have the chopper turning and burning.”

“Will do, boss.” Kruger could be heard talking to someone else on his end. “Oh, and you need to bring lots of cash. Make sure it's US and high denomination.”

“How much?” Vance asked.

“Couple of mill,
ja
. Hey, I've got to go. I'll see you in the Mog.”

The phone went dead and the room fell silent as the PRIMAL team looked at each other with a combination of raised eyebrows and concerned expressions.

Vance broke the silence. “Ice, you and I are going to head to the hangar and sort out gear. We leave in five minutes. Frank, you’re holding the fort here with Flash. I want you to contact Tariq's people and get us a Lascar jet ready to go in an hour.”

“Sleek is fully serviced she should be good to go,” said Frank referring to the highly modified Gulfstream jet PRIMAL used for many of its covert operations.

Vance shook his head. “No, I don’t want to mess with Mitch's gear when he's not around. Get us something basic and unmarked with a long range.” He turned to Chua. “We need all the intel we can get. Have Flash pull everything he can on the ship. I want the schematics loaded on the iPRIMAL network with real-time location updates. Meet us at the hangar as soon as you’ve got it worked up.”

“Will do,” said Chua.

“You want me to recall Mirza and the boys?” asked Frank.

Vance shook his head. “No, they’ll arrive too late and we can't afford to bare our asses at the moment. The CIA could still be sniffing around so we need to keep this low-key.”

Chua laughed. “We're talking about Bishop, nothing he ever does is low-key.”

“Yeah, that's for sure. OK people, let's get moving.”

***

INDIAN OCEAN

Bishop spat a mouthful of blood on the deck and glared at Mamba as the poacher flexed his fingers. “I don't know how many times I have to tell you, I'm not a goddamn cop.” With his hands secured behind him he had no way of protecting himself from the onslaught of blows.

“Then who the hell are you?” Mamba balled a fist and made to strike again.

Bishop tensed in anticipation.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” hissed Mamba. “You know, I think you’re telling the truth. No cop would go this far for someone like me.” He sat on a foldout bed and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “No, there is something else going on here. If you’re not a cop, who do you work for?”

Bishop strained against the flexicuffs securing his wrists behind his back. “I'm a poacher just like you.”

“Tell me how you got to Kogo. Who facilitated the introduction?” Mamba picked up his machete from where he’d laid it on the bed and tested the edge with his thumb. “We’ve got all the time in the world. If you don’t talk I can make you hurt like you’ve never hurt before.”

The bed creaked as Mamba rose. Stepping forward he leaned over and scraped the machete against the stubble on Bishop's jaw. “Tell me who you work for, or I'm going to start cutting you. I'm going to peel back your skin and watch you bleed.”

Bishop flinched away from the blade and grunted as he fought against his bonds. The plastic cuffs cut deep into his wrists.

“Fine, it's your decision.” Mamba reversed the blade and ran it down Bishop’s cheek. The razor sharp edge parted the flesh from his cheekbone to his jaw leaving an angry red wound that quickly filled with blood.

He stared his captor in the eye as warm liquid ran down his face. “You want to know who I am, Mamba?”

The poacher nodded.

“I'm the man who is going to kill you. You took something from me and you’re going to pay the price.”

Mamba frowned. “Did I kill your favorite elephant? What are you, some kind of insane anti-poaching vigilante?”

Bishop saw the moment of realization on his face.

“The women at Luangwa.” He smiled proudly. “One of them was your woman and you blame me for killing her.”

Mamba watched Bishop’s expression intently. “I’m right, aren’t I? I didn't shoot her, you fool, one of the others did.” He leaned closer, their noses almost touching. “Those men are dead now.”

Bishop could smell the stench of his breath. “I know, I killed them.”

Mamba pulled back in surprise. “No shit, you and the big man were the devils chasing us through the park. You know, you nearly got us. But hey, I should be thanking you. You saved me a lot of money. Four greedy men all dead before I had to pay them and I still got the horn.” He sat back on the bed, relaxed now he knew Bishop wasn't an undercover policeman. “I respect you for coming to avenge your woman. I’d do the same. We're very alike you and I.”

“You've got more in common with a baboon’s asshole than me.”

Mamba laughed. “You're resourceful and tough. The sort of man I could make very, very, very rich. Your friend is probably in a Kenyan prison now. We could get him out, I could pay you for your loss, and then we could go to work.”

He struggled to control the rage boiling inside. Ignoring the searing pain from the gash on his cheek he gritted his teeth and stared at Mamba.

“She was just a woman, you know. There are plenty more out there. I could give you two or three.” Mamba chuckled waiting for a response.

He continued to stare.

“But you’re not the forgiving type, are you?” The corners of Mamba’s mouth turned up in a sickly smile. “If you tell me who put you on to Kogo I’ll make your death quick.” He paused. “How about you think it over?” He rose from the bed and tapped the machete on the door. “I mean, it's not like we don't have time.”

Mamba opened the door, switched off the light, then slammed the door shut behind him.