PRIMAL Inception (13 page)

EXCERPT FROM PRIMAL ORIGIN

CHAPTER 1

ABU DHABI, 2004

The US Embassy in Abu Dhabi didn’t impress Vance. Like so many other buildings in the Emirates city, it was a monstrosity of steel and glass, chilled to almost arctic temperatures by an army of air conditioners. A CIA field operative, the solidly built African American wasn’t bothered by the heat of the Persian Gulf. He’d been in the country for over a month and was fully acclimatized. So much so, he was shivering as he waited for an audience with the ambassador.

“They always have it up way too high,” the ambassador’s receptionist said.

Vance attempted a smile. “Yeah, it keeps the penguins working.”

The pretty blonde laughed and returned her attention to the screen of her computer.

Vance scanned the room again. It was lavishly furnished, some new vogue designer’s attempt to give it some warmth. The marble floor was laid with ornamental Persian rugs. Expensive paintings graced the walls on either side of a pair of solid mahogany doors that barred entry into the ambassador’s office. It was nothing like the rough compound he’d called home for the past five weeks.

Vance and his sidekick, a former Marine known as Ice, were working with a World Health Organization team in an industrial sector of the desert city. They had set up a health clinic to support thousands of the city’s impoverished workers. In a US Government–sponsored initiative, the team was currently checking for any signs of a superflu pandemic.

In reality, the WHO team was providing cover for the CIA to track down a deadly terrorist group. In the last month, a spate of suicide attacks had rocked the Gulf States, targeting Western aid workers and government officials. CIA analysts believed the attacks were linked to the recent US invasion of Iraq. However, one of the suicide bombers had been identified as Bangladeshi, recruited from the UAE’s migrant workforce.

Vance and Ice had been sent to Abu Dhabi to track down the recruiters and follow the link back to the terrorist command structure. So far the few leads they’d found had been dead ends. Despite this, Vance’s experience and gut instinct told him they were hunting in the right place.

A buzzer sounded on the receptionist’s desk. “Sir, the ambassador will see you now.” She rose and walked across to open the heavy wooden doors.

Vance extracted his muscular frame from the sofa and followed her into the ambassador’s office. The opulence of the waiting area was magnified tenfold in the huge room. Tall, blast-proof, tinted windows reduced the sun’s glare but allowed a sweeping view of the malls, hotels, and high-rises that had sprouted from the oil-rich sands of Abu Dhabi. This was the office of a man at home with wealth and power.

Howard D. Beecroft sat behind his antique desk and examined Vance with a critical eye. He noted with scorn the dusty boots, grubby khaki cargo pants, and faded blue shirt. His gaze lingered on the weathered features of the bull-headed CIA veteran.

“So this is the renegade running black ops in my Emirates,” Beecroft said.

“I’m sorry: black ops?” Vance returned the scornful gaze, equally unimpressed with the ambassador.

Beecroft sported a portly frame and ruddy complexion, the result of years on the cocktail circuit. “Yes, the CIA didn’t seek my approval for your little mission.” The ambassador’s voice was clipped and pompous. His chins wobbled as he spoke.

“Last time I checked, the CIA didn’t work for the State Department.”

Beecroft tipped back in his soft leather chair. His belly strained against a tailored waistcoat under a dark blue suit. Vance almost expected to see a gold chain disappearing into the vest pocket.

“I don’t think you understand, Mr . . .” The ambassador searched for a last name, then realized he had never been told. “I don’t think you understand just how important the Emirates is to America. The lifeblood of our nation flows through this relationship and it is my job to ensure that nothing damages that. That no obstacles block the flow. Obstacles like you.” Obstacle was a good word to describe the hulking African American.

Vance looked a little puzzled. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand the situation. But what I don’t get is how a discreet CIA operation could be considered an obstacle.”

“Discreet? Is that what you think your little mission is?” Beecroft selected a manila folder from a pile on his desk. “If it is so discreet, then explain to me why the head of the Special Tasks Branch is sending me reports warning that you are, in fact, the next target for the very terrorists you’re supposed to be hunting?”

He threw the folder on the desk in front of Vance. “Your operation has the potential to severely embarrass my standing with the emir. I can only hope that he isn’t aware of your presence already.”

Vance stepped forward to pick up the folder. It contained a single-page police report. He skimmed it quickly and dropped it back on the desk. “How the hell did they find out we’re here?”

“Evidently your World Health Organization cover isn’t as good as you think.”

“That’s total bullshit, Mr. Ambassador, and you know it.”

“How it happened doesn’t matter.” Beecroft was waving his finger at Vance as he spoke. “The simple fact is you’ve been compromised and now you’re out. My aide has arranged tickets for you and the—”

“Get the WHO team out, but I’m staying.”

Beecroft pushed back his chair and struggled to remove his corpulent frame from its clutches. He finally jumped to his feet, drawing himself up to his full five feet nine inches. “You will do no such thing. This is my post and I will—”

“You will sit the fuck down, Ambassador!” Vance growled from a height advantage of almost six inches.

Beecroft shrunk like a deflated balloon, dropping back into his chair.

“The only way I could have been compromised is through this office.”

The ambassador opened his mouth to object but Vance cut him off again. “Now. You’re probably not harboring Bin Laden and his boys, so my guess is you blabbed to one of your buddies at poker.”

Beecroft opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.

“Now usually I would get very, very upset about that, but this time I’m gonna let it slide. What I won’t be doing is getting on any airplane.”

The ambassador’s face turned a brighter shade of red. “You will get on that plane. Otherwise I will submit a report to Washington.”

Vance smiled. “You go right ahead and do that, Mr. Ambassador. By the time your report gets read and someone takes notice, my job here will be done. So you just get back to protecting the flow of oil and I’ll get back to tracking down killers.” The CIA operative turned and walked toward the door.

“This will be the end of you, Vance. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Take your best shot, Mr. Ambassador. Better men than you have tried.”

***

Ice was waiting in the parking lot when Vance left the main building. He wore a similar outfit to Vance: desert-tan cargo pants and a loose-fitting shirt. The former recon Marine was chatting with a member of the Embassy’s Marine security detail. The guard was a big man, at least six feet, but the paramilitary operative towered over him. With short blond hair, a square jaw, and the build of an NFL quarterback, Ice was a formidable-looking individual.

Spotting Vance, he shook hands with the Marine and walked back to their Toyota Land Cruiser, starting the engine. Both men sat in silence as they pulled out from the embassy lot, until the battered four-wheel drive had merged into Abu Dhabi’s hectic traffic.

“Where’re we heading, boss?” Ice asked.

“Find a place to park. I need to make a few calls.”

“That bad?”

“Yes and no.” Vance gave him a rundown on the conversation with the ambassador. “The crux of it is we’ve been compromised and now the hunter has become the hunted.”

“There’s more good in this than bad, Vance,” stated Ice.

“How's that, big man?”

“The way I look at it, the ambassador’s done us a favor. Now we know for sure that this terrorist group has links to the Emirates government. We just need to flush them out.”

Vance looked sideways at the former Marine. “Ice, you’re nuts. I tell you a bunch of jihadist douche bags are gonna try and blow us to hell and you think it’s a good thing.” He shook his head and laughed.

The corner of Ice’s mouth turned up in a slight smile. His eyes never left the crowded highway.

Vance continued. “Only problem is that pompous cocksucker has given us the boot. It won’t take Langley long to follow that up and shit-can us.”

“Just means we need to move fast.”

“Yep. First things first, we need to get the Doc and his crew out.” Vance pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts, looking for the doctor in charge of the WHO team. “After that I’ll tee up a meeting with Tariq. We need to find out how Special Tasks got wind of the attack. You find out if the gear has arrived.”

Ice pulled into the parking lot of one of Abu Dhabi’s entertainment complexes and slotted the four-wheel drive into a free spot. Vance was already talking to the head of the WHO team. Ice jumped out of the vehicle and dialed the FedEx Custom Critical depot to check if the extra equipment he had ordered from Langley had arrived. With a direct threat to the team, he’d be happier packing a little extra heat.

CHAPTER 2

An hour later, Vance was waiting in an emergency fire escape at the Al Wahda shopping mall. A symbol of the Gulf city’s progress, the mall was a sprawling complex of over 120 high-end retail outlets. Vance hated it, all sparkling marble and glass, built by unskilled migrant labor with petrodollars. Like so many things in the Middle East, the glamour was a thin veil. In the staircase, behind the scenes, the flaking paint and exposed wiring told another story.

Vance checked his phone. His contact was late. A moment later it buzzed and an SMS displayed on the screen:

Contact is moving toward your loc.

Ice was watching the approaches to the emergency exit. Despite his stature, the CIA operative had an uncanny knack for remaining out of sight. Vance felt comfortable knowing the big man had his back.

The door to the landing swung open and a security guard in a dark suit barged in. He gave Vance a cursory nod and scanned the stairwell for any threats. Vance lifted his arms, allowing the man to pat him down for a concealed weapon. Security procedures complete, the suit exited through the same door. A few seconds later Vance’s contact entered.

“It is good to see you again, Vance.” Tariq Ahmed, the head of Abu Dhabi’s Police Special Tasks Branch, was every inch the charming gentleman, his slim frame clad in an immaculate tailored suit, dark hair slicked back, beard and moustache trimmed to perfection.

“You too, Tariq. Been a while.”

Prior to assuming his current mantle, Tariq had been an intelligence officer in the UAE Army. He had worked with Vance while on secondment to the CIA in Afghanistan.

Tariq’s face remained impassive as he spoke. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You should have listened to Mr. Beecroft.”

“What the hell, Tariq? A pack of terrorists want to take down my team and you want me to let some pompous asshole like Beecroft stop me from bringing them down?"

“Mr. Beecroft is a powerful man, Vance. If you value your career, I would suggest you follow his direction.”

“My career? Tariq, I’ve been in this business for long enough and one thing I’ve learned is that Langley doesn’t give a shit about me. No, this is personal now. I want the murdering motherfuckers double-tapped in the face!”

Tariq raised an eyebrow at the CIA man’s tirade. “As do I, Vance, and I assure you we have the situation well in hand.”

“Yeah, twelve dead in three months. Looks like you’ve got it well in hand.” Vance gave a hard stare. “Does it bother you that someone in your government is sponsoring the murder of innocent civilians?”

Tariq’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t, but I suspected as much. Now you’ve all but confirmed it.”

“There is more to this than you think, my friend.”

“Clearly. That’s why you’re meeting me in a goddamn stairwell.”

“Leave this to my people; the CIA has no role to play here. This is an Emirates problem and we will resolve it. You can stick to Iraq.”

It was Vance’s turn to fold his arms. “No role? You feed us some crap about a terrorist group targeting my team and then you tell me I don’t have a role to play in it. Screw you, Tariq, I thought we were friends.”

“We are, and that is why you were warned.”

“Don’t think I’m not appreciative, buddy, but you need to give me a whole lot more than that. Who’s your source?”

“I cannot reveal that.”

“Then give me some details. Who’s leading the attack? When’s it planned for? What type of attack? A suicide bomber? A car bomb? For fuck’s sake!”

“The attack was to occur in the next twenty-four hours; a VBIED into the medical clinic. That is all I know.”

He didn’t believe for one second that the well-groomed Arab was sharing everything.

“Vance, trust me when I say this.” Tariq’s gaze had softened slightly. “There is nothing more the CIA can do here. I know your Embassy has already booked a flight for you tonight. You would be well advised to take it.”

There was silence as the two men stared at each other.

“Maybe you’re right,” Vance said.

Tariq smiled halfheartedly. “You’re making the right decision, my friend. Have a safe trip and perhaps we will meet again under better circumstances.” With that, the head of Special Tasks Branch disappeared through the door behind him.

Vance waited a few seconds before moving down the stairs to the underground parking level. He exited the stairwell and walked across to where the Land Cruiser was parked.

A few minutes later Ice crossed the parking lot to join him. “Only the one guy with him. He’s trying to keep it discreet.”

“Yeah, could mean he’s being watched.”

“Do you trust him?”

“I’m not sure,” Vance said, shaking his head, “but I’d wager he knows a shitload more than he’s telling.”

“Any more intel on the threat?”

“Yeah. Car bomb into the compound. Next twenty-four hours.”

“That’s pretty specific. Think it’s good?”

“Tariq and I worked together in the 'Ghan. He pulled my nuts out of the fire a couple of times. If it wasn’t for him, I would’ve ended up getting my head cut off on YouTube.” Vance opened his car door. “So yeah, I think it’s good. I’ve just got the feeling he’s still hiding something from us.”

The two men climbed into the Land Cruiser and Ice started the engine. “From what I’ve read in Forbes, his father’s a very powerful man.”

“Damn straight he is. The emir’s chief security advisor, and in his spare time he runs a billion-dollar logistics company.”

“So if Tariq’s hiding something, it’s going to be pretty high-powered.” The tires of the four-wheel drive screeched on the polished concrete as Ice nosed it toward the exit.

“You’re right. If the US found out there’s a terrorist cell operating inside the UAE government, it would be a major embarrassment. That’s why he wants the CIA out. Not that it would matter. That prick Beecroft would sacrifice his own mother to keep the oil flowing.”

“The terrorists could have a royal link,” added Ice.

“True. Some rich, bored asshole getting his kicks out of playing jihad. Whoever it is, he fucked up though.”

“How so?”

“By trying to kill us.”

“So what’s the plan from here?” Ice asked as he wound down the window and paid the Pakistani worker who manned the parking booth.

“We get our gear from the depot and stake out the clinic. Jihad jerk-off’s posse are bound to do one last recon. We’ll leave the lights on and maybe they’ll still be keen to join our little party.”

***

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