PRIMAL Vengeance (3) (34 page)

       "Where are we going?" Jonjo asked, following Mirza.

       "You'll find out in a moment. Tell me, Jonjo, what do you think you would like to study?" Mirza changed the subject as they crossed the lobby and entered the car park.

       "I want to be a doctor."

       "I think you will be a fine doctor," Mirza said as he unlocked a white Landcruiser and they drove out from the hotel. They passed a lush green golf course and the prestigious Windsor Lake Victoria Hotel.

       "It's very nice here," said Jonjo. "Maybe one day Juba will be like this."

       A few more blocks and the neighborhoods had changed, the buildings becoming poorer. They pulled into a street filled with single-story fibro houses and parked the Landcruiser by the side of the road.

       Before they exited the vehicle Mirza pulled a suppressed Berretta PX4 from his bag and cocked it. He pulled out a second identical pistol, handing it to Jonjo.

       "Who are we here to see?" asked the SFF warrior as he took the handgun.

       "An old friend."

       They approached one of the cheap houses, and without pausing, Mirza kicked in the flimsy door, his pistol held at the ready. Systematically he cleared the rooms of the bungalow: first the kitchen, then the living room and finally the bedroom. They found their target in bed.

       Garang stared up at them with hollow eyes. "I knew you'd come," he croaked. "Nobody gets away from the CIA." The former SFF commander's right hand was missing; all that remained was a stump wrapped in bandages. The wound inflicted by Bishop's exploding phone had obviously turned septic. His body was still trying to fight off the infection.

       Jonjo raised his pistol, pointing it directly at the face of the man he once idolized. Tears welled up in his eyes. "You cheated us, Garang. You betrayed us and now Doctor Hutton is dead."

       Mirza stood silently watching.

       The gun in Jonjo's hand shook. "Why did you do it? Why, Garang? Why?"

       "I...I didn't think it would end like that," Garang said. "She wasn't supposed to be there. It was the only way. We could never have beaten them."

       "But we did. We won." Jonjo wiped the tears from his face with his hand. He turned to Mirza. "I can't do it. I'm sorry." He lowered the pistol and left the room.

       "Where's the money?" asked Mirza.

       "Under the bed," replied Garang. "It's yours. Just please don't kill me."

       Mirza grabbed the aluminum attaché case from under the bed and lifted his Beretta.

       It hissed once and the round drilled a hole through Garang's forehead. His eyes glazed over and blood leaked down his face.

       "We always pays our debts," Mirza said. With that the PRIMAL Operative left the house.

       "What now?" asked Jonjo as they drove off in the four-wheel drive.

       "You will go to school and become a doctor. There will be a scholarship that will pay for your education."

       "Is there enough money for others to do the same?"

       "Perhaps."

       "Then I would like to go to school in Africa with other orphans of war."

       "That is good. People like you are the only way your country will rebuild, Jonjo. People willing to forgive, forget and help others."

       "And what about you? Will I see you again?"

       Mirza smiled. "Of course. I'll visit when I'm in this part of the world. There's still plenty of work to be done here."

Chapter 58

Lascar Island, South West Pacific

       "I'm standing here in the South Sudanese township of Malakal. What was once a small market town of five thousand has rapidly swollen to become a base for the recently bolstered UN mission in South Sudan."

       The TV journalist was talking to the camera in front of a checkpoint manned by soldiers wearing blue UN helmets.

       "In the last three days a regiment of crack French Foreign Legion troops, attack helicopters and British Special Forces have all descended upon this border outpost."

       Bishop was lying in bed and turned the volume up with the TV remote.

       "Why this enormous increase in military power? All because late last week a motion put forward to the UN Security Council was, for the first time since the campaign in Libya, passed without veto by China and Russia. China insisted that Western forces reinforce what they called, 'A woefully under-equipped and under-trained UN mission'".

       The PRIMAL operative sighed and wondered how Jess would have felt if she could see this success.

       "Within twenty-four hours of that vote, the peacekeeping forces started rolling in to Malakal. French, American, British and Australian Special Forces deployed at short notice. Within forty-eight hours the first patrols had pushed out to the border regions."

       Bishop would have loved to see that. The ragtag Janjaweed thugs up against some of the world's most elite soldiers. It would have been a one-way shooting range. The picture on the TV screen changed from the reporter to stock footage of Special Forces driving through the desert. Then it cut back to the journalist.

       "Sources report they have forced back Janjaweed and other Northern Sudanese militias. With the huge increase in military presence, even local warring tribes have chosen to lay down their weapons. For the first time in nearly fifty years, the region is reported to be secure, at least for now. Meanwhile, academics are asking how long will these forces have to stay? We cross now to Professor Ernest Dinkledum of the People for Peace Think Tank—"

       "That's enough work, Aden." Saneh strode in and switched off the television. She had been for a run, then come back to a swim and a shower before throwing on a robe.

       Bishop was propped up in the bed wearing floral shorts. His torso was bruised in half a dozen places and the bullet hole in his arm was freshly bandaged.

       "Just keeping track of the mission. Vance must be happy with the outcome."

       "Not as happy as I was to get rid of Ping."

        "Can't have been that bad. Chua told me the kid had lost five kilos, got a tan and didn't want to leave."

       Saneh dropped her robe to the floor. "Yes, it would seem that you're the only man that wants to run away from me all the time."

       Bishop placed the TV remote onto the nightstand as she slinked up the bed like a cat. His eyes hungrily consumed every inch of her supple body. He lingered on her breasts as she crawled up the bed towards him. Her hands ran up his thighs, tracing the bruises as they came up his torso. Their lips touched and he could feel his body responding to the energy arcing between them.

       The shrill ring of her pager shocked them both. Saneh got to it first. Rolling sideways, she grabbed it and flung it across the room. It smashed into the wall and broke into pieces. "For at least the next hour you're mine. Then Vance can send you to whatever dump he wants." She kissed him hard.

       Bishop laughed and she broke away, her brow furrowed in anger. "Does something about that amuse you, Aden?"

       "No, not at all," chuckled Aden. "It's just...that was your pager."

       "Mine?" Saneh jumped off the bed and picked up the pieces. "You're right." She looked back at Bishop, a look of concern on her face. "Do you think it's a mission?"

       At that moment Bishop's pager started ringing. He picked it up and read the message. "Both of us have been recalled. My guess is the boys are in trouble in Budapest."

       Saneh already had a singlet on and was pulling on a pair of cargo pants.

       "But, what about…" Bishop hadn't left the bed.

       "No hanky panky, Aden. We're on the job now."

       "Oh, come on."

       She pulled the cargo pants up over her hips and zipped them up as she walked over to the bed. "How about you get ready and get us over to the briefing. Then if we've got time before we head out, then maybe…" She leaned forward and kissed him.

       Bishop laughed, leaping out of bed to get dressed. "That's blackmail, Saneh, and you know how PRIMAL deals with blackmail."

       "I think you mean 'deals in' blackmail. Now hurry. First one ready gets to drive."

***

I hope you got a kick out of what I think is my best book yet. Writing PRIMAL Vengeance was a blast and if you got a similar rush reading it, then my job is done.

       Bottom line up front, I now need your help. If possible, I need you to throw a review on Amazon and tell your mates all about PRIMAL. As a self-published author I'm up against the big boys and without your help I don't stand a chance. Next time you see someone reading some crappy romance novel or teenage fantasy vampire crap, hit 'em with some PRIMAL. Spread the word so I can pump out more action-filled stories.

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Thanks again,

Jack