PRIMAL Inception (11 page)

Vance flashed a smile. “With your pal out the back.”

Ice was confused for a moment, then he remembered they still had Barishna detained. “And we’ve got a plan.”

CHAPTER 13

The two four-wheel drives pushed through the crowds and came to a halt at the stairs to the Mitrovica mosque. Zahir waited in his Nissan Patrol as his men established a security perimeter. He was glad it had stopped raining. It had poured down all morning and the skies were still gray.

Lifting his phone, he punched in Barishna’s number for the third time. No answer. He assumed the cripple had gone into hiding since the bomb failed to detonate.

At least Kreshnik had got the job done, he thought, even if his death could have linked Zahir to the assassination. Fortunately, the morgue was easily bribed and the corpse had been cremated immediately. Rumors would spread but they would prove nothing. In the end, it was all too easy to lay the blame on the Serbs, which was exactly what he intended to do now.

His bodyguard opened the door. “All clear, boss.”

Zahir stepped out and greeted the Imam who waited at the top of the stairs. After removing his shoes, he entered the hall. Inside, he rolled out a mat on the freshly scrubbed floor and prayed to a god he neither believed in nor respected. As he knelt, he glanced up at the bullet holes in the stone. Only a few days earlier, he reflected, Kreshnik had stood here and gunned down innocent people. That was real power. Kosovo needed a leader who knew how to wield that sort of power. Not a liberal weakling like Ibrahim Daçi.

He rolled up his mat and returned it to the pile before joining the Imam on the steps. Over three hundred locals had gathered. They looked up at him with grief and rage.

He sighed and cleared his throat. “This is a day of great sadness.” He shook his head. “No, a week of great sadness. We have lost brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, and we have lost a great leader. But it is not the end. Those that have attacked us will pay. We will hunt the Serbs who did this to the ends of the earth. I will hold them accountable. I will not rest until all the oppressors have been thrown from our land.”

There were a few cheers and claps, and Zahir had to remember not to smile. This was supposed to be a trying time, a time for solemn mourning. He was about to continue when the honking of a horn cut him off. The crowd parted as a pair of UN Land Cruisers crawled along the road.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked one of his men.

The doors on the closest vehicle opened and the crowd went silent. Then the air was filled with cheers.

“What is it?”

“We’ve got to go, boss.” One of his men tried to guide him to his car.

“What? I’m not leaving, don’t be ridiculous.”

“We need to go boss, it’s Daçi.”

He went deathly white. The crowd parted and he stared straight into the face of the man he had ordered killed. “It’s not possible. It was on the news. He’s dead.”

Daçi smiled at him while a ring of heavily armed Special Forces types pushed the crowd back. His arm was in a sling and his face pale. He mounted the steps with a bodyguard on either side. “Zahir, it’s so nice to see you.”

For the first time in years, the mafia boss was lost for words. He watched, stupefied, as Daçi turned to face the crowd.

“Yesterday this man tried to kill me.” He pointed at Zahir with his good arm. “He planted a bomb outside my office. When that didn’t work, he had a sniper shoot me. Last week, in this very mosque, his men, not Serbs, killed our brothers and sisters. And he ordered the kidnapping of our girls.”

Daçi let the words sink in before continuing. “This man is a criminal and a thug. This is not the type of leader that Kosovo needs. This is not the type of leader that Kosovo wants.”

The crowd remained silent. Then a few people closest to the stairs of the mosque started to chant. “No Mafia. No Mafia. No Mafia!” The crowd took up the cry and in seconds they were all screaming it at the top of their lungs.

“Boss, we’ve got to go.” One of his men grabbed him by the shoulder and Zahir allowed himself to be bundled into his vehicle. His remaining men got into the other four-wheel drive and drove off, forcing their way through the angry mob.

Zahir regained his composure. “Can someone please tell me how that goat-fucking liberal isn’t dead?” He punched the headrest. “And where the hell is Barishna?”

***

The two CIA operatives waited at a gas station in their Land Cruiser. Vance laughed. “I really wish I could have seen the bastard’s face. Bet he shit his goddamn pants.”

The UHF radio he held crackled. “Zahir and his people are on the move,” a British voice said, the chanting almost drowning it out. Harry and three of his men had augmented Daçi’s security. “Two vehicles, one blue, one black. Zahir is in the black Nissan Patrol.”

Ice started the Land Cruiser as the convoy raced past.

“Roger, we’ve got them,” said Vance. “He’s in a bit of a hurry. Must have seen a ghost.”

Ice gave a wry grin and drove them out the gas station onto the highway.

Picking up his phone, Vance dialed Mitch. “We’re tailing the target heading south on Route Hawk. Lead vehicle’s a blue older model Mitsubishi Pajero. The second, a new black Nissan Patrol is Zahir’s. I repeat, Zahir is in the black Nissan.”

“Tell him to get Barishna to make the call,” added Ice.

After relaying the order, Vance hung up and relaxed in his seat. “Damn, I’ll be glad when this is all over. I need a massage and a long sleep. Getting too old for this shit.”

***

Zahir tried half a dozen numbers but no one had any idea where Barishna was.

“Maybe he’s been picked up by KFOR,” said the man in the front.

He grunted and tossed his phone on the seat.

“What if it was him that sold us out, boss? Maybe he warned Ibrahim?”

There was an awkward silence, then his phone rang. He checked the number and picked it up. “Barishna! What the fuck is–”

“Look, I can’t explain now.” Barishna’s whiney voice sounded stressed. “People are listening. Things have gone bad. We need to meet. Come to the factory, I’ll explain.”

“What are you talking about? I’m going to the house, meet me there.”

“They’re watching the house. You need to come to the factory.”

The phone went dead and Zahir was left to consider the call.

“What did he say, boss?” the driver asked.

“He wants us to meet him at the factory. Says we’re being watched.”

“Those CIA bastards.”

“No doubt. Maybe it was the cripple who betrayed us?” Zahir looked out the window as he weighed the risk. Between the two vehicles, he had seven men. More than enough to deal with any problem. He turned to the man in the front seat. “Contact the lead car. Tell them we’re going to the factory. The cripple better have a damn good explanation.”

***

Zahir’s lead vehicle turned onto the dirt road that ran along a heavily wooded valley to the factory. The dark blue Mitsubishi slid sideways on the muddy track. The driver braked and it skidded slowly into a tree. The doors opened and men jumped out to lock in the wheel hubs.

He leaned forward to see what was happening. “For fuck’s sake. Just pass them.”

The driver activated his car’s more modern four-wheel drive system and powered past the mired vehicle.

It had started raining again, heavily, and Zahir regretted not bringing an umbrella. “There’s a loading dock at the factory isn’t there?”

“Yeah, boss.”

The driver slowed, letting the car behind catch up. “Boss, do you want me to let them back through?”

“No, just get us there.”

They drove around a bend and the driver slammed his brakes on. The rain had dislodged a section of the bank and a tree had slid down onto the road. Someone had already driven off around it. He slowed and followed the tire tracks, glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure the other car was behind them.

An explosion hit the car like a sledgehammer. The heavy vehicle was thrown forward and Zahir’s face smashed into the back of the driver’s chair. He turned and looked through the shattered back window. The blue Pajero had flipped onto its roof. A flaming wreck of twisted iron.

“Fucking go, go!” screamed Zahir.

***

“That’s the wrong damn car.” Ice guided the Land Cruiser around the burning wreck. He stopped where the makeshift track rejoined the road and lowered his window. “Where the hell is the black Nissan?”

Mitch appeared out of the woods, muddy and wet, with a scowl on his face. “Bloody hell. We hit the second car. Couldn’t see shit in the rain. They must have swapped over.”

Ice stomped the accelerator and the four-wheel drive sat back on its springs as it scrambled for traction. He fought the steering wheel keeping the heavy vehicle on the road as they gathered speed.

Vance clung to the handrail over the door. “Just bad luck, bud.”

He held the Land Cruiser in a controlled slide as they shot past the factory. The road turned into a narrow logging track that ran through the fields into pine tree covered hills. The rain was relentless, but Ice refused to back off. “Got them. A hundred yards ahead,” he said as the black Nissan disappeared around a corner. He down shifted for more torque.

Vance braced himself against the dash as they slid sideways. “Take it easy."

Bullet-sized raindrops pummeled the windshield and the wipers worked furiously to clear the glass. With both hands, Ice gripped the steering wheel as the two and a half ton vehicle plowed through wheel ruts filled with water.

They skidded around the curve in time to see the Nissan sliding off the track. The driver had panicked and slammed on the brakes, sending them it into an uncontrolled skid down a grassy slope.

He down shifted and kept his foot clear of the brake as he followed. The diesel engine grunted and snarled.

The Nissan bounced off the bottom of the slope into a shallow creek. Its tires managed to grip the coarse creek bed and it hauled itself out of the water, scrabbling up the bank like a waterlogged dog.

Ice hit the creek with pace, exploded through it in a shower of water, and charged up the hill closing in on the Nissan.

Vance pulled out his pistol and lowered the window. Rain and wind howled into the cabin as he leaned out. "Can't see a damn thing."

They bounced over tussocks. Vance was launched against the door. He barely managed to hold on to his pistol as his head slammed into the roof. "Goddamn it!" He slumped back into his seat.

Ice hit the button that brought the window back up. "I've got this."

The Nissan managed to stay a car’s length ahead as it raced down another hill and skidded back onto the track. There was a thirty-foot drop on the other side. Ice backed off as they lost traction and fishtailed. The track leveled out and entered a pine plantation, providing relief from the wind and rain. He turned on the headlights as the overhanging branches blocked out the light.

He was mere yards from Zahir's vehicle when its brake lights flashed and they rammed into its rear. The Nissan skidded sideways onto a main road.

Ice made the turn late and jammed on the handbrake as he spun the wheel. They slid across the road and slammed into a bank on the opposite side. The engine roared as he dropped it into first gear and planted the accelerator.

The Nissan was pulling away. He shifted into second and pushed the screaming engine to the redline.

"Bridge!" yelled Vance.

They were doing sixty miles an hour when the road curved to meet the bridge. The Nissan’s brake lights flashed as its driver slowed enough to make it safely.

Ice stayed off the brakes, holding them on a knife’s edge as they slid around the bend. They rapidly closed the gap. Ice pulled out into the oncoming lane. He swung back hitting the Nissan hard.

Zahir's vehicle was pushed sideways. The driver over-corrected and they skidded. The tires caught and it flipped, sliding along the bridge.

Ice straightened up after the impact and slammed on the brakes. The ABS rattled angrily as it brought them to a shuddering halt.

He watched as the Nissan hit the crash railing on the bridge and catapulted off. A split second later the sound of a gut-wrenching impact filled the air. Leaping from the Land Cruiser, he sprinted to the railing. Zahir’s vehicle had landed upside down on the rocky riverbank.

He slid down the muddy slope. Once on level ground, he approached the wreck with his pistol drawn. The underside of the car hissed as drops of rain hit the engine and turned to steam. The metal pinged and ticked as it cooled. He checked the front seats. Both men had been crushed. The rear of the car was remarkably intact.

He heard a moan, then a scraping sound from the other side. He circled the wreck cautiously, his pistol ready.

Zahir was still alive. He lay on the ceiling among the broken glass clutching a broken arm. His pig-like eyes glared at Ice as he struggled to free himself. "You stupid piece of shit. Your people are going to hang you out to dry for this."

Ice holstered his pistol. "You're probably right." He reached in, grabbed the man’s collar and started to drag him from the wreck.