PRIMAL Renegade (A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 8) (The PRIMAL Series) (15 page)

“Yeah, yeah I know.” He sighed. “OK, let's get the bird turning and burning.”

“Roger.”

Vance waited at the doorway a moment longer before joining Ice and Chua in the cargo hold of the helicopter. All three were clad in their black-armored assault rigs, with helmets and weapons laid out on the bench seating. The rear clamshell doors of the Mi-8 had been removed and Ice had attached a thick rope to a fastener on the ceiling, coiling it on the floor.

“Kruger's kit is over there,” Ice yelled as the twin turbines spooled up to an ear-splitting whine. He gestured to the black gear bag strapped to the side seating.

Vance shot him thumbs-up and the helicopter jolted forward as the ground crew towed it out of the hangar.

Once in the open it took a moment for the crew to detach the towing tractor then Vanko engaged the gearbox and the blades started turning. Fifteen seconds later they lurched off the ground and climbed skyward. Vance slipped his full-face helmet on and powered up the integrated iPRIMAL system. As he did he glanced out the back and spotted a white pickup racing across the taxiway.

“That might be Kruger,” Ice transmitted over the radio.

Vance strode into the cockpit and tapped Vanko on the shoulder.

The Russian glanced back and his eyes grew wide at the sight of the space-age helmet.

Vance pulled the helmet off. “Take us down, our man’s arrived.”

“OK, but we're burning fuel.”

A moment later the helicopter touched down and Kruger leaped into the back followed by a scruffy bearded man wearing a leather vest and pistol belt. Vance greeted the PRIMAL operative with a handshake and frowned when he spotted the swollen lump growing on the side of his head. “What the hell happened to you?” he bellowed over the turbines.

Kruger shook his head. “Don’t ask. Vance, this is an old friend, Toppie.”

The grizzled South African shook his hand then hurried through to the cockpit of the helicopter.

“Is he good to go?” asked Vance.

“Yeah, damn fine pilot.”

As the helicopter climbed skyward Vance grasped Kruger’s shoulder and directed him to his gear. Kruger slipped the armor over his shirt and strapped it in place with a grunt. Vance saw him wince as he slid the full-face helmet over the expanding bruise on the side of his head. “You going to be OK?”

“Yeah, bit sore is all,” Kruger replied as he strapped an iPRIMAL to his forearm and checked his MK48 machine gun. With a loadout similar to Ice, and an equally impressive stature, they could almost pass for twins. Once they had their fully-enclosed helmets on only Ice’s bionic hand and prosthetic leg would set them apart.

Vance opened a communications channel to the entire team. “Alright, Kruger, give us what you know.”

“Boys, sorry about the lack of information but I've been jumping through my ass to try and get things organized to get on the damn ship.”

“We understand, brother,” said Vance. “Do we know how many hostiles are embarked?”

“At least four shooters. I saw three men on the railing when Bishop got on board. With Mamba that makes four.”

“And Mamba is Bishop’s target?' asked Chua.

“Correct, we were loading ivory onto the ship when a police launch attacked us. Mamba escaped to the cargo ship and Bishop went after him.”

“So Bishop could be a hostage, could be hiding, or may have jumped overboard.”

“We have to assume he’s still on board because we’ve heard nothing.”

The helicopter finished its climb and tilted forward on a heading out to sea. The heads-up display in Vance's helmet told him the
Zenhai
was a little over a forty nautical miles away.

“Let's roll with the worse-case scenario, that he’s a hostage,” said Vance. “Now, I've never hit a ship before. Ice, you did this all the time in the Marines, so you’re running the show.”

A schematic of the
Zenhai
appeared in their helmets courtesy of Chua.

“If they're light on men they're going to post their security around the superstructure at the aft,” said Ice.

“If things go to plan the security personnel will be occupied,” added Kruger.

“With what?” asked Chua.

“Pirates, they're scheduled to attack at 1230 hours. That’s what I was doing in Mogadishu.”

The time indicated in their helmets was 1207. ETA on target was 1240.

“Cutting it fine. What if they request assistance from the anti-piracy fleet?” asked Chua.

“If they're smuggling ivory and have Bishop detained I'm guessing they won't.”

“Ice, what’s the best way to do this?” asked Vance.

“We fast rope down to the bow. If we're forward of the rigging and containers it will make us harder to hit. We work in pairs, one either side of the ship, and fight our way to the superstructure then search for Bishop.”

“Roger,” Chua said. “And once we get close we should be able to track him via his implant.”

“Wait, we've got tracking implants now?” asked Ice. “So we’ll know exactly where he is?”

“It only has a short range, dozen yards at best, and no not everyone has one,” replied Chua. “Just the high-risk individuals.”

“OK, that will make the search easier. Vance, you'll work with me. Kruger, you've got Chua.”

“
Ja,
no problems.” The broad-shouldered South African pointed at his designated partner. “Stay out of the way, little man. Uncle Kruger is going to bring the hurt.” He slapped the side of his MK48 machine gun.

“Try not shoot down my drone when you're blazing away, Rambo,” quipped the intel chief.

“We're ten minutes out,” said Ice.

Vance checked over his equipment and racked the action on his Tavor. Scrolling through the menus on his iPRIMAL heads-up display he confirmed all systems were green. Then he turned to his battle buddy, Ice, and checked his rig.

“Just like the old days,” said Ice. “Except the kit’s a bit better.”

“Gear or no gear, I'm too old for this shit.”

“What’s wrong, old man? Knees getting sore? You could always get Mitch to whip you up some new joints.”

He grasped the bigger man’s shoulder. “The terminator look suits you better, bud. Now let's go get Bishop out of the shit.”

“Like I said, just like the old days!”

CHAPTER 13

INDIAN OCEAN

Bishop sat in darkness listening to the dull throb of the ship’s engines as he contemplated his fate. The Chinese Triads, he assumed that’s who they were, had taken all his equipment including his watch when they locked him in the brig. Lapsing in and out of consciousness he’d lost track of time. Sleep would have been a welcome relief but chained to the wall all he could manage was few minutes slumped forward before the pain in his shoulders became unbearable.

Doubt and fear assailed him as he fought the urge to scream with rage. He should have listened to Vance and waited for PRIMAL to launch a full-scale operation. Now, his only hope was that Mamba or the Chinese made a mistake that he could capitalize on. It was far more likely that they would torture him to a point where he was incapable of escape.

Apart from the initial visit from Mamba the only other person he'd had contact with was an assault rifle-wielding guard who had given him a box of juice with a straw. The juice was long gone and Bishop’s mouth parched.

Despair washed over him as his thoughts turned to Saneh and their baby. He didn't even know if they were alive. Choking back tears he channeled his emotion into a ball of rage. If he failed to kill Mamba there would be no justice for either of them.

The creak of the door’s locking mechanism snapped him back to reality and he squinted as light streamed into the cell. A figure stood for a moment in the doorway before the light switched on and the door slammed shut. It was Mamba.

“Are you ready to talk?”

Bishop struggled to stay silent. He knew that as soon as he gave up the information Mamba wanted the game would be up. His usefulness would expire and he’d be tossed overboard.

The poacher sat on the bed laying his machete beside him. Bishop noticed he held a rhino horn wrapped in plastic.

“Don’t want to talk? That’s OK, you’ll talk soon enough. Now, I wanted to show you this.” He unwrapped the horn and held it up to the light.

Bishop struggled to keep his rage under control as he realized it was the horn cut from the snout of the black rhino at Luangwa.

“This is what it's all about. This is what makes me money.”

He could feel Mamba's eyes on him, studying how he reacted to the horn and his words.

“I need you to understand that this is only business. It was unfortunate your woman was killed. But, it happened and soon you will be joining her. It’s up to you if we make it quick, or slow and painful.”

Bishop strained against the ties securing his wrists. Every fiber of his being wanted to break free of the bonds, take the horn, and kill Mamba with it. That would be justice.

The poacher smiled as he wrapped the horn and stowed it in a thigh pocket of his cargo pants. “So now I need you to talk, and make things easier for yourself.”

He clenched his jaw.

“No?” Mamba stood and unsheathed the machete.

He braced himself as Mamba leaned forward testing the edge of the blade with his thumb. With his hands tied to the wall he was helpless; death was inevitable. As Mamba’s lip curled into a sinister smirk a dull thud shook the deck.

“What the fuck was that?” The poacher stood straight, turned, and pushed open the door. He pointed his machete at Bishop. “This has bought you minutes, that’s all.”

The door shut with a slam leaving Bishop alone in the dark. Despite the blood weeping from his raw wrists he started work on his flexicuffs, rubbing them frantically against the steel chain.

Mamba sprinted for his cabin located half way up the superstructure. Over the hum of the air-conditioning he could hear more gunfire. He pushed open the cabin door and grabbed a Type 81 rifle, borrowed from the Triads, and his assault vest. Stowing his machete in its sheath he shrugged on the vest and dashed along a corridor. Climbing up a stairwell he almost collided with Kehua running down with one of his men. They were also carrying rifles.

“What's going on?” he asked.

“Pirates!” said the gangster as he ran past.

Mamba climbed the final flight of stairs and burst into the bridge where he found the captain hunkered behind the ship’s console.

“More of your friends?” the captain snarled.

Mamba stormed out to the port side wing and surveyed the situation. Less than a mile away three Somali skiffs were in pursuit. He spotted a puff of smoke as a
RPG
launched from the lead boat. The rocket streaked toward them and slammed against a stack of containers with a muffled explosion. The other boats began pouring machine gun fire into the ship. Heavy-caliber rounds peppered the steel containers and superstructure. Mamba ducked as a fusillade of bullets ripped through the bridge shattering the windows. Below him weapons barked as Kehua and his men returned fire. A moment later the rattle of a machine gun joined the rifles; the Triads had broken out their own heavy weapons.

Mamba beat a hasty retreat inside as more rounds slapped against the ship’s steel walls. He hunkered low beside the captain behind the console. “Can they get on board?”

“At this speed, I doubt it. They'd have to disable us and the only way they could do that is to hit the rudder or the engines.”

“Then what the hell are they doing?”

“I don't know. I've tried hailing them but no one has responded.”

Outside the gunfight was growing in intensity.

“I know someone who will.” Mamba retrieved his phone from a pouch and scrolled through his contacts. Hunching he made his way across to the ship’s satellite phone and grabbed the handset. Dialing a number he held the receiver to his ear. When the call connected he yelled, “Get me Al-Mumit! Tell him it's Mamba.”

Seconds past and another round smashed through the glass showering him with shards.

“Mr. Mboya, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“No pleasure, are your people attacking the
Zenhai
?”

There was a pause. “Possibly, why?”

“Because I'm on the fucking ship!”

“Really, well I do believe we have a conflict of interest then.”

“Call them off, you're not going to get on board.”

“They don't need to. Well, I hope you enjoy your little cruise, Mamba.”

“Fuck you, I've been good to you and this is how you repay me?”

The Pirate King sighed. “I suppose one good turn deserves another. If I were you I’d find somewhere to hide. There is a very large white man with a bad temper about to come aboard your ship. It might pay to give him what he wants.” The line went dead.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Mamba threw the handset. It reached the end of its spring cable and retracted with the speed of a striking cobra, smashing into the console.

He flinched and the captain snorted with laughter.

Mamba turned to him. “Where the fuck are the crew?”

“In the safe room.”

“Where is it?”

“Behind the engine room. You can join them if you like.”

“And hide like a dog?” He picked up his rifle and caught a glimpse of movement out the window. Staying low he pushed open the side door and slipped outside. He squinted, spotting a white helicopter. It was a couple of miles out, flying in the same direction they were traveling and banking toward them. The large white man with the bad temper was coming. He turned and charged back into the bridge. “Do you have radio communications with Kehua?”

The captain nodded holding up his radio.

“Tell him we're about to be boarded.”

“By who?”

“By a fucking helicopter.” Mamba sprinted out of the bridge and down the stairwell. He needed to find Kehua fast.

***

Ice braced himself against the inside of the helicopter, his machine gun slung across his chest. His robotic hand held the thick rope in a death grip as they descended over the bow of the
Zenhai
. He stared through the missing rear doors across the ship’s cargo of containers to the superstructure a few hundred yards away. Out to his left he could see the three pirate skiffs. One of them burned fiercely and another had withdrawn from the battle. Glancing down he made sure the foredeck thirty feet below was clear of obstacles. “Hold her steady, Vanko.” As he transmitted he spotted a dark figure crouched alongside a container aiming a weapon. “Shooter!”

Next to him Kruger unleashed an automatic burst as bullets struck the chopper punching holes in the aluminum tail boom.

“Break away, break away!”

Ice grabbed Kruger by the shoulder as the helicopter nosed down in front of the ship. “You get him?”

“Negative.”

“Fast rope is not an option,” Ice transmitted to Vanko. “Can you go wheels down on the foredeck?”

“I can hover in front. You crazy Cossacks can jump.”

“Good, man, let's do this. People, we're going to jump. Kruger and I will cover you.”

The team now faced the looming bow of the Chinese freighter as Vanko kept them hovering a dozen feet above the water in front of it. The churning wave thrown up by the bow looked as if it was bearing down on them.

“OK, take her up.” Ice crouched with his MK48 held ready.

Vanko hauled up on the collective and they climbed above the ship’s railing. Kruger and Ice didn't take any chances. They laid down a withering hail of fire with their machine guns as the Russian pilot hovered a few feet above the ship’s railing.

“Go, go, go!” yelled Kruger.

Chua was first to jump. He leaped out the back, hit the deck, rolled, and found cover behind one of the rusted windlasses used to raise the anchors.

Vance was a split-second behind him and moved to the opposite side.

Before Ice and Kruger could jump the chopper lurched away from the ship. “I'm having problems holding her steady. It's the updraft coming off her front,” reported Vanko.

“Bring her down,” transmitted Ice as he readied himself. He could see Vance and Chua covering from their positions on the deck. The shooter who’d engaged them earlier was nowhere to be seen. The helicopter dropped abruptly, hitting the ship’s railing.

“Power on!” Ice yelled as Kruger dropped to the deck. The chopper's engines screamed and it soared skyward as he leaped clear, landing heavily on his prosthetic leg. The inbuilt shock-absorbers dissipated the energy and he recovered, shouldering the machine gun as he moved to Vance. Behind him the UN-marked helicopter climbed away.

“You guys better be quick and find me somewhere to put this thirsty bitch down,” transmitted Vanko over the radio.

“Will do. Keep us informed on your fuel state,” replied Ice. Using the iPRIMAL attached to his wrist he silenced the channel to the pilot. “OK, team, is everyone ready?”

“I'm good,” reported Vance.

“Team one is good to go,” replied Kruger from his position with Chua on the opposite side of the ship.

“Drone is up.” Chua had tossed the compact quadcopter skyward and it buzzed a few dozen feet above them.

Ice shouldered his machine gun as the video from the frisbee-sized aircraft appeared in his helmet. “OK, let's roll.” He rose and advanced swiftly down the side of the containers stacked on the deck.

***

Kehua watched intently as a rocket streaked toward the last of the pirate skiffs still engaging the merchant vessel. The high-explosive warhead detonated amidships and the craft exploded in a ball of flame. As the smoke cleared all that remained of the wooden boat was burning wreckage. He turned to the two men manning the
Type 98 rocket launcher
. “Well done.”

The Triads were lined up on the side of the ship’s superstructure with their weapons aimed at the fleeing pirates. At the first sign of the attack he'd ordered them to deploy their heavy weapons. Two machine guns and the Type 98 had quickly turned the fight in his favor.

“They're coming!”

The yell caught his attention and he turned to see Mamba sprinting up the stairs from the ship’s deck. “They're on board and they're coming.”

“Who?”

“Demons,” Mamba managed between breaths. “Black-armored demons. They landed in the helicopter up front.”

The Chinese gangster had spotted the UN helicopter but he'd assumed it was from the anti-piracy fleet. “How many?”

“No more than six. I shot at their helicopter.”

Kehua changed the magazine on his assault rifle and gave Mamba a look of contempt. “This is the second time you’ve brought trouble to this vessel. You’re lucky I don’t hand you to these men. Now, stay out of my way, I'm going to kill them.” He snapped out orders to his men and they leaped into action. The machine guns were orientated toward the new threat and the lower doors accessing the superstructure were secured.

His plan was simple; ambush the intruders as they tried to gain access to the superstructure. If they made it through the kill zone then they would have to cut their way through the steel doors, that’s if they had the equipment. In the time it took them to breach Kehua and his men would pull back and wait in the stairwells.