Read PRIMAL Inception Online

Authors: Jack Silkstone

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Crime, #War & Military, #Genre Fiction, #Historical, #Historical Fiction

PRIMAL Inception (12 page)

Zahir screamed in pain. Ice leaned in further and hooked the man under one arm. "I'll probably lose my job," he said quietly.

"Not if I say you stopped to help me," said Zahir between clenched teeth.

"What then?" Ice grunted and managed to drag the Albanian’s head and shoulder through the window.

"Then we leave all this behind us. Kosovo needs me. Kosovo needs a strong man."

Ice stopped as if to contemplate the offer. Then he leaned forward. "Kosovo doesn't need murderers, Zahir. Kosovo needs justice." He wrapped his powerful arms around the Mafia boss’s head and wrenched it sideways, snapping his neck.

Relief washed over him as he stood and glanced up. The rain had finally stopped. Vance was standing on the bridge watching. It was done.

 

CHAPTER 14

 

They were almost back at Pristina when Ice received a call from the office. It was short and direct. They were to report in to see Frank, immediately. It came earlier than they expected, but was not a surprise. They had ignored a direct order from a superior. Now, they were going to be disciplined, possibly even kicked out of the CIA.

Vance jumped out of the mud-streaked Land Cruiser and joined Ice at the compound gate. "I don't give a damn what he says. We did the right thing, bud."

Ice didn’t reply.

"You alright?"

He sighed. "I don't know if I can do this anymore." His shoulders slumped. "Am I going to look back at my career with regret?"

"Brother, I can't put my hand on my heart and say everything I've done is just. But this whole shit-show, this is by far the most messed up situation I've been involved in. At least we can say we put that right."

Ice punched the code into the gate. "But, did we?"

Inside, the ops room was in total pandemonium. A throng of embassy staff and uniformed US military officers were jammed into the small space. Everyone was fixated on the television news station. Frank Everton was in the middle of it, a phone pressed to his ear. He dropped the phone back onto the cradle. "Where the hell have you two been?" His eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard.

"Boss, if this is about Zahir I can–"

The chief held up his hand, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Zahir? I don't give a damn about Zahir. Do you guys even know what's going on?"

The two operatives looked at each other and shook their heads.

"What have you been doing for the last few hours? Running around with your heads up your arses? Don’t answer that." He dropped into a chair. "Only a few hours ago, terrorists flew two jetliners into the World Trade Center in Manhattan. A third crashed into the Pentagon, and a fourth in Pennsylvania. The death toll is expected to hit over three thousand."

Ice's jaw dropped. "What the fuck."

"Initial reports are pointing to Al-Qaeda out of Afghanistan. I need both of you to pack your gear."

"To go where?" asked Vance.

"Pakistan, gentlemen. Our Islamabad station has urgently requested paramilitary officers. The CIA is at war."

 

 

CHAPTER 15

 

Ice laid a flower on each of the graves. Marked with six white crosses, the family had been buried only a hundred yards from where Kreshnik had murdered them two years earlier. Ice had learned the names of all six members of the Pavlovic family. A father, a mother, two grandparents, a son and a daughter, all murdered because he was not man enough to stand up for them. It was a dark spot on his soul that would never be erased.

"You OK, buddy?" Vance asked.

"Yeah," he wiped tears on his sleeve and swallowed. "We did the right thing, Vance. But it's never going to change the fact that I let them die."

Vance stepped forward and hugged his friend. "You're a damn good man, Ice. This doesn't change that."

"Get off me, you big oaf." He extracted himself from the hug and turned to the other participants in the ceremony. The SAS patrol stood solemnly.

"Look at me. I'm crying like some kind of bloody girl," said Harry.

"Well, you lift like a girl,” cracked Mitch.

The team broke into laughter.

"Thanks for coming, guys," said Ice. "And thanks for your help. We couldn't have taken down Zahir without you." He looked each of the team members in the eye. "Make sure you pass that on to Gaz."

"Will do, mate," said Harry.

Ice walked across to the Land Cruiser and opened the trunk. He dragged a plastic case out and opened the lid. "I think we should raise a beer for the Pavlovics, and for Gaz."

"Bloody good idea," said Harry as he helped hand out the beer from the cooler.

They lifted the bottles and drank.

Mitch stepped forward, nodding at Ice and Vance. "And to everyone who lost their lives on the 11
th
. May they rest easy knowing men like these hard bastards will be seeking the justice they deserve."

"Well said, mate," added Harry.

They finished their beers in silence. Each contemplated his own demons. His own individual war against injustice. Because, to a man, that's why they served.

EPILOGUE

 

The parking lot at the Smoking Pussy was crammed with late-model vehicles but the usual UN markings were absent. Men in bulky jackets lingered around the cars smoking cigarettes, ready to remind any would-be customers that this morning the venue was closed to the public.

Barishna wore a satisfied smirk as he sat at the head of the long dining table and listened to his lieutenants report their monthly earnings. Since they had resumed smuggling drugs across the border from Albania his profits had more than doubled.

He reclined in a leather chair and lit a cigar. The Pussy had recently been renovated with new furniture and a paint job. He thought it gave the place a certain class. He listened through half-closed eyes as one of his men outlined a plan to move back into the lucrative organ trafficking market.

Six months ago he would not have dared to consider smuggling drugs, let alone body parts. Ice had given him clear instructions on what he deemed was acceptable. But Ice was gone, replaced by a junior CIA handler that he neither feared nor respected. He still fed the man snippets of information but had stopped reporting on his own group months ago.

He blew smoke from the cigar and tapped it in an ashtray. “We’re losing profit by sending the bodies across the border. We need to process them here.”

The men nodded in agreement.

“We had an initial facility set up at the factory. Is it still there?” he aimed the question at his new second-in-command.

The man shook his head. “No one’s been back since the raid.”

“Check on it. If it’s still there, we can use it. If not, we will buy more equipment.”

The man nodded.

“Is there any more business that needs my attention?”

The six men at the table were silent.

He rose out of the chair. “Good, I have a meeting in Pristina. Stay and enjoy yourselves. I will see you all at the end of the month.”

The men jumped to their feet and remained standing as he limped out of the bar. Unlike Zahir, he did not invite business into his home.

His new armored Range Rover HSE was parked closest to the entrance. A gift from a Russian mafia boss who wanted access into Kosovo’s lucrative sex trade that catered for the UN peacekeeping force. One of his bodyguards had already positioned the wooden step that he used to climb into the passenger seat. He reclined the leather seat and closed his eyes as they drove onto the main road.

Ten minutes later, he snapped his eyes open as the SUV slowed and came to a halt. “What’s going on?”

“KFOR checkpoint, boss,” the driver said as they were directed to park in a fenced-off search bay. British troops had parked a Warrior armored vehicle at the exit.

He sighed. In the last month, the security force had started yet another crackdown on smuggling. They had re-established many of the old checkpoints on the main roads and were randomly searching vehicles. He was not concerned. He had one of the blue stickers that excluded him from such intrusions. The perks of being a major supporter of Ibrahim Daçi’s election campaign.

A soldier rapped his gloved knuckles on the armored glass.

His driver lowered the window. “Yes, what do you want?”

“Identification please.”

The driver pointed to the sticker on the windshield. “Can’t you see we have a pass.”

“Everyone’s ID please, sir.”

The driver turned to Barishna. “Boss, they want ID.”

He sighed and reached into his jacket. “Fine, but tell them to make it fast.”

The driver handed the man their identification and the soldier inspected it. He peered across to the passenger seat. “Excuse me, Mr. Barishna, can you please step out of the vehicle.”

“Why?” asked the driver.

“We just need to have a quick word. Sir, please step out of the vehicle.” The soldier handed the IDs back and said something into his radio.

The turret of the Warrior rotated slightly so the 30mm cannon was pointing directly at them.

“Sir, it will only take a minute,” said the soldier.

Barishna snorted. “Fine.”

One of his bodyguards opened a door to help him out.

The soldier held up his hand. “Stay in the car, sir. Just Mr. Barishna.”

The bodyguard cursed in Albanian.

Barishna opened his door and struggled out. The soldier directed him to the small portable building next to the search bay. “This way. Just in through the door. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

He opened the door and limped into a waiting area. A soldier opened another door. “This way, sir.”

Inside a suited man was sitting at a desk. It was Adrian Ross, the CIA officer who had replaced Ice.

“Ah, this explains everything.” Barishna feigned a smile.

“Hello, Adem. Please take a seat.”

He limped forward and sat in the cheap plastic chair.

Ross gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about the bother. I just wanted to get a quick face to face. It’s been a few months.”

“It has.”

“I wanted to make sure there haven’t been any changes to your business structures. Is there anything you hadn’t mentioned in your reports?”

He shook his head and furrowed his brow. “No, it’s all in there. Is there something wrong with the information I’m giving you?”

“No, not at all. It’s proven to be very accurate. It’s just I’ve heard rumors about some pretty nasty activities going on, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t linked to you.”

He leaned forward. “What sort of activities?”

“Drug smuggling, sex slavery… organ trafficking.”

Barishna raised his eyesbrows. “Organ trafficking? In Kosovo?” he whined. “No, surely I would have heard about it.”

The door behind him clicked, then squeaked as it opened. Probably another weak-gutted CIA agent coming in to back-up this fool, thought Barishna. Then, he felt a breath on the back of his neck and the snap of a folding knife.

“I hear you’ve been a bad boy, Barishna.”

At Ice’s whisper, his blood ran cold.

 

AUTHOR’S FINAL WORDS

 

Since the release of PRIMAL Unleashed I’ve received numerous emails, tweets and messages asking for more on Ice. I’ve got to admit that he is one of my all time favorite PRIMAL characters. Why? Because he’s a soldier’s soldier. A quiet, patient professional. The type of man that every operator wants to fight alongside. It’s pretty easy to understand why I wanted to go back and tell his story. I hope you’ve enjoyed it.

 

PRIMAL Inception is one of three novellas that give the background to PRIMAL and some of the key characters. They are small projects that I’ve been working on concurrently with the development of the next two full-length PRIMAL novels, Reckoning and Nemesis. Rest assured that they will be released on schedule, maybe even a little early. Make sure you’ve signed up to PRIMAL on the
website
so I can keep you updated.

 

Thanks once again for joining me on the PRIMAL journey. Your support is the reason why the series has been so succesful. You are the reason why I write. Keep spreading the word and stay PRIMAL.

 

Back to it.

 

JS

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 

Jack Silkstone grew up on a steady diet of Tom Clancy, James Bond, Jason Bourne, Commando comics, and the original first-person shooters, Wolfenstein and Doom. His background includes a career in military intelligence and special operations, working alongside some of the world’s most elite units. His love of action-adventure stories, his military background, and his real-world experiences combined to inspire the no-holds-barred PRIMAL series, including
PRIMAL Origin, PRIMAL Unleashed, PRIMAL Vengeance, PRIMAL Fury, PRIMAL Mirza
and
PRIMAL Inception.

 

[email protected]

www.primalunleashed.com

www.twitter.com/jsilkstone

www.facebook.com/primalunleashed

 

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