PRIMAL Renegade (A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 8) (The PRIMAL Series) (7 page)

***

MOMBASA, KENYA

Mamba threw his backpack on the bench and wrenched open the refrigerator. Pulling a beer from the shelf he twisted the lid off and poured the ice-cold amber liquid down his throat. “Twenty two hours in the back of that piece of shit pickup. That cheap chink Zhou better pony up the rest of the cash.” He flung the empty bottle at the corner of the warehouse where it shattered.

He and Kogo had abandoned the shot-up four-wheel drive twenty miles from Luangwa where they had set fire to it burning their weapons and Colin's body. Kogo had haggled with a local farmer and purchased a battered single-cab truck with a missing passenger seat. Somehow the dilapidated vehicle had carried them the thousand miles across pot-holed highways back to Mombasa.

“My back is stiffer than a baboon's cock,” said Mamba as he reached for another beer.

“I wouldn't mind one of those.”

“What, a baboon’s cock?” Mamba laughed as he tossed his assistant a bottle and slammed the refrigerator door. He put his own bottle on the bench and unzipped the backpack. Inside, wrapped in plastic, was the bloodied rhino horn. “There she is, seven hundred grand’s worth of horn.”

“It cost four men their lives,” said Kogo.

Mamba snorted. “We can always get more men. Which reminds me, we've got a shipment due out in three days and we're short. You need to find some shooters and get us more ivory.”

“There's not enough time.”

“If we don't make weight it's coming out of your cut.” Mamba flashed him a smile and took another swig from the beer.

“I’ll find the men.”

“Yeah, that's more like it.” He inspected the horn before placing it on the bench. “Throw it in the safe. I'm going to go sleep. Don't wake me unless the place is burning down.”

“Should we let the families know?”

“What fucking families?”

“Colin and the brothers.”

Mamba spat on the floor. “You're an idiot, Kogo. What are you going to tell them? That they died poaching black rhino? If they don't report us to the police they'll come after us for their share of the loot. No, they can all go to hell. They knew the risks.”

“OK, I will find more poachers.”

Mamba pushed open the door to his office. “And get me a new four-wheel drive.”

Kogo picked up the phone on the bench. “Yes, boss.”

“Something nice.”

***

ZAMBIA - TANZANIA
BORDER

Bishop drove up to the checkpoint and handed their passports to the border guard. Both he and Kruger waited silently while the khaki-uniformed official inspected the documents. He watched another AK-wielding guard through the windshield as the man gave the battered Mazda hatchback the once over. Dom had helped them buy the car in Lusaka before driving Kruger's truck, with their weapons, back to the National Park.

“What will you be doing in Tanzania?” the guard asked.

“We’re just passing through to Kenya.”

“And what will you be doing there?”

“We're heading out to the game parks to take some photos.”

He peered in through the back window. “Where's your camera gear?”

“Camera gear?”

Kruger leaned across. “Our bags were stolen in Zambia,
ja,
along with our hire car. Our insurance people have arranged for replacement equipment to meet us in Mombasa.”

The guard handed back the two passports and directed them to drive through. Bishop gave him a nod of thanks, started the car, and they crossed into Tanzania.

“I should have thought more about our cover,” he said as they accelerated along the highway.

“You've got a bit on your mind.”

“We could have borrowed some gear from Christina.”

“It’s all good. My man in Mombasa, he can get us anything we need.”

“Guns?”

“Guns, tanks, intel, choppers, he can provide anything for the right price.”

“Good, we're going to need someone who can give us access to the underbelly of the town.”

“My man will get us in.” Kruger fished his phone from his pocket. It was vibrating and flashing. “It's Vance again, do you want me to answer?”

Bishop shook his head. “No, he's just going to try to talk us down. I'm not turning back now.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” said Kruger as he terminated the call and switched off the handset. “We've got at least another fifteen hours of driving before we reach Mombasa. You sure you don't want me to take over?”

“I'll drive for a few more hours then we can swap.”

“OK.” Kruger laid his seat back and tipped his cap low. “Let me know when you want to change.”

A few minutes later the South African was snoring gently. Bishop stared intently at the road as they raced along the highway toward Kenya. He doubted he could sleep if he wanted to. He was driven by a thirst for revenge, a burning desire to make Mamba Mboya pay for the pain he had inflicted.

CHAPTER 5

BAREEN HOSPITAL,
ABU DHABI

Vance paced the hospital corridor as he waited for the neurosurgeon to finish his initial assessment. To say he was uneasy was an understatement. There was every chance the specialist had bad news. A combat veteran, Vance had seen hard men felled with a blow to the head far less severe than Saneh's injury. At least the hospital itself reassured him. It was one of the most advanced medical facilities in the Middle East; funded by Emirati oil and equipped with cutting-edge technology. Tariq had arranged for a team of the brightest medical professionals available. He had gone so far as to dispatch a private jet to the UK to bring in a world authority on brain trauma and coma.

Vance turned as the door to Saneh's room opened and a nurse appeared. “You can go in now, sir.”

He gave her a nod and stepped inside the pristine white room. A doctor stood next to Saneh's bed checking the readout attached to the wall. He looked to be comparing the information against the tablet in his hands.

“What’s her status, doc?”

Doctor Edwards turned to Vance. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Is she going to live?”

Edwards frowned. “The question is not will she live. It is whether or not she will come out of her comatose state.”

“That's what I meant.”

He gestured to the seat in the corner of the room. “Would you like to sit down?”

Vance shook his head. “No, give it to me straight.”

“OK.” He paused. “Saneh suffered a highly traumatic head injury that inflicted significant bruising to her brain. The shock is what put her in a coma. There is a chance, once the bruising subsides, she could regain consciousness on her own. However, I want to warn you. I've seen a lot of cases where people never wake up.”

Vance sighed. “And the child?”

“She is perfectly safe.”

His eyebrows shot up. “It's a girl?”

“Yes, we had to do a detailed ultrasound.”

Tears welled in his eyes. “She wants a girl.”

“I'm not going to lie. The prognosis for Saneh is not great. I give her a thirty percent chance that she will come to of her own accord.”

He swallowed and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “We can’t improve those odds?”

“Yes, it's very expensive but we can significantly improve the odds.”

“Money is not an issue,” said an almost regal voice from behind them.

Tariq Ahmed strode in, impeccably dressed in a navy pinstripe suit with a crisp white shirt and a red tie. He held a huge bouquet of vibrant orange gerberas in one hand and had a book tucked under his arm. With his dark features and perfectly manicured beard he looked every part the modern Arab sheik. “Hello, Vance.”

Vance gave him a nod. “Tariq.”

The doctor extended his hand. “Mr. Ahmed, it's a pleasure.”

Tariq shook the doctor’s hand. “You were about to explain how we could improve Saneh's odds.”

“Yes, I've been working on a new treatment that may significantly improve her chances of recovery. There's only one issue...”

“And that is?”

“The treatment may have adverse effects on the child.”

Vance frowned. “What do you mean by adverse?”

“The drugs stimulate the body. They increase cognitive function but there is a chance it could terminate the pregnancy.”

“So our choice is between the baby and Saneh?”

The doctor nodded. “My team still need to conduct some more tests but we should be able to start treatment within the next twenty-four hours. After that, every day you delay the choice the chances of saving her decrease.” He paused. “Gentlemen, I realize this is a heavy decision. I'm going to leave you to discuss the options. If you need me to talk through any of the details I will be in my office.”

Tariq thanked the doctor as he left the room. Vance stood by the bed and gazed at Saneh.

“Have you been able to contact Bishop?” asked Tariq.

“No, he and Kruger have gone after a poacher in Mombasa and we don’t have comms.”

“This is not a decision I am comfortable making without his consultation.”

“Yeah, this is his decision to make,” said Vance.

“However, if we cannot communicate with him then he cannot make it in a timely fashion. That in turn could cost Saneh her life.”

“When he checks in he can make the decision.”

“And if he doesn't?” Tariq said as he laid the flowers on a side table.

“We'll cross that hurdle when we get to it.”

“Have you spoken to the rest of the team?” Tariq asked as he lowered himself into a chair.

Vance shook his head. “No, I came straight here.”

“You should go. They will want to know how Saneh is faring and you need to get onto Bishop.” He pulled a pair of wire-framed reading glasses from his suit and donned them. Then he opened his book and began reading to Saneh.

***

PRIMAL HEADQUARTERS (THE SANDPIT),
ABU DHABI

PRIMAL had started life as a small team of former intelligence and special operations operatives. Initially based out of a hangar at Abu Dhabi International Airport, it soon grew into a sizable organization enabled with customized aircraft, advanced weaponry, and intelligence assets.

It had been Tariq Ahmed who found the vigilante organization a home on an isolated island in the South West Pacific. From there Vance and his team had waged a relentless war on injustice for five long years. But, like all good things, it had come to an end. A potential compromise by an element of the
CIA
had forced them to abandon their island lair and shut down operations. Most of the PRIMAL operatives were now on leave until further notice. With orders to maintain a low profile and avoid compromise, they had handed in their signature equipment:
iPRIMAL
secure smartphones and state-of-the-art military-grade weaponry.

Now, the only part of the organization that remained active was an intelligence monitoring post based in Abu Dhabi. Vance and three others had moved to a luxury villa in an island resort for the sole purpose of making sure no one was hunting them.

Vance dropped his backpack in the tiled hall, strode through the open-plan living area and up a staircase to where two bedrooms had been converted into offices. When he opened the door to the makeshift operations center there were two men sitting at the computer terminals.

“Hey boss, how's Saneh doing?” asked Frank, a former British paratrooper and one of PRIMAL's operations officers.

“Not good, bud.”

“Is there anything we can do?” asked the other man in the room. James Castle, or Ice, was one of the original founders of PRIMAL. Tall and broad-shouldered with short blonde hair and a heavily scarred face, he had only recently re-joined the team. Presumed KIA on a mission in Afghanistan, the badly injured ex-CIA operative had been captured by US forces and spent four years in captivity. PRIMAL had rescued him from a CIA black site in Alaska and he'd spent the last few months regaining his strength and adapting to life with a prosthetic forearm and lower leg.

“Yeah, it’s imperative that I talk to Bishop.”

Frank shrugged. “Boss, there's nothing we can do. They’re not answering their phones and since they’re probably in Mombasa by now they’ll be using a local number. We've got to wait for one of them to contact us.”

“Damn it. I'm going to see what the intel guys can do.” As Vance walked out Ice rose from his chair and followed him to the corridor. He moved with ease despite the fact that his right leg, from just below the knee, was carbon fiber and titanium.

“Hey, Vance, can I have a quick word?”

They stopped outside the door to the intel room. “What’s up, brother?”

“If there's a job going downrange I want in.”

“Don’t know if there’s going to be a gig, bud. We’ll let the intel team do their thing and see if there are any targets worth hitting once Bishop’s done.”

“Yeah, but if there is a job.”

“You think you're ready?”

Ice nodded. “The gear Mitch has hooked me up with is state-of-the-art. I can shoot and move as well as I ever could.”

He had to admit that Ice’s recovery was impressive. The former Marine was now physically more imposing than he remembered, and with the artificial limbs he resembled something from a Terminator movie. He made a mental note to find out what supplements he was using. “I'll keep it in mind.”

“Thanks, bro.”

Vance left him in the corridor and stepped into the room being used by their Chief of Intelligence, Chen Chua, and his offsider, Flash.

Chua, a lightly-built Chinese American looked up from his laptop. “How's Saneh?” he asked as Vance dropped into a spare seat.

He shook his head. “Doesn't look good. There’s a new treatment that might help, but we could potentially lose either her or the baby.”

Chua grimaced. “You're kidding.”

“No, Bishop needs to make the decision, if we can get comms with him. What’s Flash up to?”

“He’s working up the intel on this poaching guy, Mamba.”

“What’ve you got so far?”

“His real name is David Mboya, a former Ugandan military officer. Smart guy, trained by the Brits, and reported to have an exemplary service record.”

Vance raised his eyebrows. “Not your average dirt-bag criminal then.”

“I’m sure Bish and Kruger will have no trouble dealing with him. What Flash and I are working on is the Chinese angle. We’re trying to find out who Mamba supplies.”

“Good, can you also have him focus on establishing comms with Bish?”

“Not a problem. Flash has already pulled data off Kruger’s sat phone.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s currently inactive but he last used it in Zambia the night Saneh was shot.”

“And?”

“Looks like he and Bish followed up the poachers. Before they met you at the hospital they’d covered over thirty miles on foot.”

Vance shook his head. “Why does that not surprise me. Let’s hope that goddamn crazy Aussie finishes Mamba before it’s too late.”

Silence filled the room as Vance stared into space, his thoughts back with Saneh at the hospital.

“You doing alright, Vance?”

He shook his head. “No, when we started PRIMAL I always knew we would lose people. But, I thought as long as we're doing good in the world it would be a sacrifice worth making. I never thought we'd face a decision like this.”

“What are we going to do if we can't raise Bishop?”

He sighed. “I don't know, bud. I really don't know.”

***

MOMBASA, KENYA

“Not bad,” said Bishop as he stood beside Kruger in the foyer of the New Palm Tree Hotel. The building looked well maintained and hospitable. He noticed the white walls had been freshly painted and the staff were dressed in clean, pressed uniforms.

“Don't get too excited, once we dump our gear we're going to head down to Mtongwe.”

“Tong what?”

“Suburb a few miles south of the harbor. Total shit hole.”

As they crossed a terracotta-tiled courtyard Bishop caught a whiff of frangipani and his heart lurched. The fragrant white flower was one of Saneh's favorites.

The room was cramped but clean with two single beds, a desk, and a wardrobe. An antique box TV sat on a stand in the corner. Bishop tossed his bag on a bed. “You good to go?”

Kruger shook his head. “No. You need a shower. You stink.”

“I don't care. We need to get out there and find this Mamba fucker.”

“Relax, Toppie is making some discreet inquiries.”

“Your dodgy mate?”

“Yeah, Mamba won’t be hard to find.”

“What about weapons?”

“He can hook us up with everything we need. How much cash do you have on you?”

Bishop took out his wallet and handed over some notes. “I've got more in my backpack.” He emptied his clothes out of the bag and used a knife to slice open the lining. He pulled out a thick wad of US dollars and tossed it to Kruger.

“This is a good start but we're going to need more. There's a bank around the corner. I'll see to it and get us a local phone to use. Get yourself cleaned up,
ja
.”

“OK, I'll sort you out later.”

Kruger shrugged. “I'll get Vance to cover it.” The big man tossed a room key on the bed. “I'll be half an hour at the most.” He disappeared through the door leaving Bishop alone with his pile of clothes.

For the first time since Saneh had been shot he felt tired. Checking his watch he saw it was only a little past midday. Laying back on the bed he contemplated calling Vance to check on Saneh. No, he needed to stay focused on the job at hand. He would take a five-minute nap then shower. As he drifted off his thoughts turned to killing the man called Mamba Mboya.