PRIMAL Renegade (A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 8) (The PRIMAL Series) (16 page)

Kehua used his radio to check his fire teams were ready then turned to Mamba. “Go and get the rhino horn. It will be safer with me.”

“Zhou will get it when I see him and not before. Your job is to protect this ship and the cargo. That's me and the horn.” He turned and disappeared inside.

The gangster cursed in Mandarin.

The gunner next to him unleashed a long burst, startling him. He turned and scanned the length of the ship. Spotting a figure duck behind a container he fired his own weapon and waited for the target to appear again. He smiled; the open deck in front of the bridge was a perfect killing ground.

***

Ice spotted the muzzle flash of the machine gun high up on the superstructure. He laid down suppressive fire from behind a ventilation stack as bullets sparked off the deck.

“Vance, you OK?” His battle buddy had been advancing along the deck when they were hit.

“Yeah, I'm good but those motherfuckers got me dancing like Fred Astaire on speed.”

Ice suppressed a laugh as he viewed the drone feed in his heads-up display. Two machine guns were firing from the near the ship’s bridge, one aimed at him and Vance and the other at Kruger and Chua. “How's the port side tracking?”

“Taking cover, same as you guys. So much for the Pirate King,” reported Kruger.

Ice glanced out at the ocean and spotted the burning remains of a wooden skiff. The other two vessels were nowhere to be seen. “The pirates may have come off second best,” he said.

“As will we if we don't get off this deck.”

Ice had to admit the situation was less than optimal. Using the feed from the drone he held the MK48 out from cover and squeezed the trigger. In his HUD he could see the rounds striking the superstructure where he had spotted the flash from the machine gun. His efforts were met with a long burst forcing him to pull the gun back in.

“We can't stay here,” Vance transmitted.

Ice spotted a crane jutting out between a gap in the containers. “Vance, you remember that time in Kosovo?”

“Gotta be more specific, bud.”

“Never mind, I'm going to pop smoke, they're going to blast it, and then I'm going to move to the gap in the containers. Once I'm in place you bump forward.”

“Got it.”

Ice took a smoke grenade from his vest, tore out the pin, and lobbed it past Vance. It bounced once and clattered to a halt a dozen yards ahead of them where it began belching thick pink smoke.

“Pink, haven't seen that before,” Vance said as the gunfire from the ship’s defenders focused on the smokescreen. “You get it specially made?”

“Couldn’t help yourself could you.” Ice activated his helmet’s thermal sensors while waiting for the gunfire to pause. “I know you swapped them out, Vance. I checked them back at the Sandpit.”

“I thought you’d like it. I mean, you've always been in touch with your feminine side. Think of it as a welcome back gift.”

“Thanks, bro, nice to know you care.” Ice ducked out from behind cover and sprinted along the walkway. As he slid into the gap between the containers a machine gun started firing again.

“They don't let up do they,” said Vance.

“You're next.”

“Woo hoo,” Vance said dryly.

When the firing paused Vance rushed forward and joined Ice.

The space between the shipping containers housed a massive derrick used to hoist containers when ports lacked the necessary infrastructure.

The clatter of another machine gun announced the arrival of Chua. He appeared from the other side and a moment later Kruger joined him.

“How the fuck are we going to get inside?” spat the South African. “Pricks have got the bridge sealed up tighter than a nun’s–”

“Listen, I've got an idea,” Ice interrupted. “Does anyone know how to operate a crane?”

“Yeah,” said Chua.

Vance turned to the intelligence officer. “Where the hell did you learn how to use a crane?”

“Before I switched to intel I was an army engineer.”

“You've kept that quiet.”

“So what exactly are we going to do, Ice?” asked Chua. “We're running out of time.”

“According to our drone feed their defenses are focused on denying access to the superstructure and the bridge. The crane is going to get me around that.”

***

Thirty-eight nautical miles north east of the Chinese freighter a sleek gray warship knifed through Somali waters on a patrol of the primary shipping lanes. The
USS Roosevelt
was a nine thousand ton Arleigh Burke-class destroyer assigned to
Combined Task Force 151
, the international anti-piracy fleet. For the past month she had been patrolling the waters off Somalia with little in the way of action. Boarding attempts by the pirates had all but ceased since the Task Force commenced operations.

The ship’s captain sat perched on his command chair flicking through a copy of the latest intelligence reports from CTF headquarters. It made for some pretty dry reading. So much so he welcomed the interruption from the officer of the deck.

“Sir, we've got a distress signal from a Chinese-flagged merchant ship forty nautical miles south,” reported the dark-haired female Lieutenant. “They claim she is under attack from pirates and...”

“And?”

“And a UN-marked helicopter.”

The captain raised his eyebrows. “A UN chopper? Sounds like the Chinese are a little confused.” The only piracy incident they’d responded to in the last month had been a false alarm, a fishing boat that had strayed near a cruise ship.

“Sir, the Captain of the
Zenhai
sounds calm and his English is good. Perhaps the pirates have managed to steal one of the UN helicopters?”

The captain gave her a hard stare.

“Or maybe the Russian contractors are outsourcing their services.”

He sighed. “What's the status on our helos?”

“One bird is down for maintenance. The other is refueling and can be in the air within 30 minutes.”

The captain looked out through the bridge windows. “I want a SEAL team on board that ship. Have them airborne in the next twenty.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Helmsman, bring us about. I want to close with the vessel at full ahead.” He rose and tossed the intelligence file on his chair. Bracing against one of the bridge consoles he felt the deck slant as they adjusted course. As unlikely as the Chinese captain’s report was it was his responsibility to respond to all distress calls. He smirked as the ship came around; helicopter-borne pirates verged on the ridiculous. Still, at least it added a little excitement to an otherwise monotonous day.

CHAPTER 14

INDIAN OCEAN

Kehua knelt next to one of his machine gunners, scanning the approaches to the superstructure. “Watch the containers, they could try to come over the top,” he said in Mandarin. His men had managed to stop the black-armored figures from advancing but now they had disappeared behind billowing smoke. With the walkways either side of the shipping containers denied he anticipated they would come over the top of the containers and attempt to suppress his positions. Surprise was the only advantage available to the attackers and now they had lost it the battle was all but won.

He spotted a tiny drone hovering in the air and aimed his assault rifle. Four shots later and the flying robot had dropped out of the sky, bounced off the ship, and fallen into the ocean.

He smiled. Now the attackers were without both surprise and knowledge. It was only a matter of time before they made their move and his men gunned them down. Thumbing the empty magazine from his weapon he caught a glimpse of movement on the port side walkway. “Get ready, here they come,” he said ramming home a fresh magazine.

Kehua frowned as he realized the movement he had spotted was of objects not people. More smoke grenades bounced over the stack of containers and down the walkways. With a hiss they spewed thick pink smoke across the ship. “Fire, fire!” he bellowed as he blasted at the top of the containers.

Gunfire assaulted his eardrums as bullets snapped through the billowing smoke and punched into the steel superstructure. The gunman next to Kehua cried out as return fire clipped his arm. “Ready with grenades,” he ordered as he waited for figures to appear through the smoke. The thick cloud had already started to dissipate as it wafted toward them. Soon the breeze created by the forward motion of the ship would render the smokescreen useless.

“Up there!” the yell came from one of his men.

Kehua glanced skyward and spotted a figure sailing through the air. He raised his rifle but bullets sang on the steel railing in front of him and he ducked for cover. Beside him he heard a wet slap followed by a thud. Turning he saw his machine gunner lying face down on the deck, shot through the head. “An intruder is on the bridge,” he transmitted over the radio.

High above the defenders, hanging from the crane, Ice swung through the air. The steel hook looped through the drag handle on the back of his armor, allowing him to concentrate on firing his MK48. He hammered the lower levels of the superstructure as he soared toward the bridge. The crane jolted to a halt only six feet from the bridge wing. Momentum swung him forward and he reached out with one hand for the steel weather shield. Falling short he swung back.

“I can't extend the boom any further,” transmitted Chua.

“Pull me back. Turn it as fast as you can and feed out the cable,” Ice replied between firing bursts from his machine gun.

“Roger”. Chua swung the crane back then forward again. As Ice sailed through the air and reached the furthest point of the boom he released the cable.

Ice soared toward the wing and managed to grab the edge of the bridge railing. The weight of the cable jolted him back. With his MK48 hanging from its sling, he used one hand to draw his knife, reach over his shoulder, and slice through the nylon strap cutting the hook free. He sheathed the knife and hauled himself over the weather shield. Hitting the steel decking with a thud he clambered to his feet, weapon ready.

Through the glass he could see a single figure hunkered down behind the bridge console. Wrenching open the door he stormed in and the uniformed man screamed with fright.

“You speak English?”

The terrified Asian nodded frantically. “Yes, yes I speak English.” He wore the gold bars of a ship’s captain.

“Good, how many armed men are there?” Ice checked the captain for weapons and secured his hands with flexicuffs.

“Seven... eight if you count the black man.”

Ice’s eyes darted toward the access door on the opposite side; it was partially ajar.

His MK48 spat lead, the 7.62mm rounds punching through the metal. He heard a cry and gave it another burst for good measure. Transferring the machine gun to his back Ice drew his
Glock
and pulled a teargas-laced concussion grenade from his vest. Dropping it through the shattered window in the middle of the door he braced himself against the wall.

The explosion threw the door open and Ice charged in, pistol ready.

Gunfire echoed off the steel walls and he felt a round glance off his armor. The thermal sensors in his helmet gave him near perfect vision through the gas and he shot the gunman in the chest as he stepped over a body. Readying another grenade he dropped it further down the stairwell. It clattered as it bounced down the stairs and exploded with a heart-stopping boom.

Stepping quietly down the stairs he heard coughing a level below. Taking a
Taser
from one of his pouches he held it ready under his pistol. In the confined corridor the CS gas hung thick. Despite the filters in his helmet he could taste the metallic tang. Reaching the landing he spotted the thermal signature of a man fumbling for the door handle.

The Taser’s barbed electrodes shot into the gunman’s back and he convulsed dropping his rifle. It clattered to the deck and Ice released the trigger on the Taser before smashing the butt of his Glock down on the man’s skull. He collapsed to the ground, out cold.

“I'm on the same level as the gunners,” Ice reported over the communications link.

“Roger, we've taken out the port side. We can't get a bead on the starboard weapon,” replied Vance.

The staccato hammering of a machine gun confirmed he was in position to deal with the remaining weapons team. He waited for the gun to fire again and shoved open the door.

The gunner spotted him and turned. Ice rushed forward and grabbed the smoldering barrel with his robotic hand. With the other he shoved the pistol against the man’s forehead. “Hands in the air.”

The Chinese gunman let go of the weapon.

“Kneel.”

He dropped to his knees next to the body of one of his comrades. Ice secured his hands and feet leaving him lying beside the corpse.

“Second gun is down,” he reported.

“Roger, heading to the superstructure.”

He checked the port side landing and confirmed the men there were neutralized before moving down the stairs. At the next level he unlocked the door that led outside. Pushing it open revealed the smoking barrel of Kruger’s machine gun. It was the rest of the team.

“Love your work, bro.” Kruger bumped knuckles with Ice as he stepped inside.

“I've cleared from the bridge down. The Captain is detained along with two shooters. There are four KIA.”

“Copy,” said Vance. “Now we clear the rest of the ship and find Bishop. Then we get our asses off this rust bucket.”

“Has anyone contacted Vanko?” asked Ice.

“Yes, he's putting the bird down on the forward containers,” replied Chua as he unslung his backpack and removed a device resembling a satellite phone. He turned it on, extended a thick black antenna, and it immediately began emitting a beeping sound. “OK, I suggest we start at the bridge and work our way down.”

Vance turned to Ice. “Alright, big man, lead the way.”

***

Mamba wiped the tears from his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath. He’d been in the bottom of the stairwell when the first gas-concussion grenades had exploded. His ears were still ringing. One glimpse of the black-clad assassins slaying the Triads was all he needed to prompt his retreat into the bowels of the ship. He had the rhino horn tucked into his vest and planned to hide until the intruders had departed. They’d come by helicopter so he assumed they would leave the same way.

Clutching his assault rifle he followed the stairs down to a door with a glass portal. He glanced inside and spotted machinery in the gloom; the engine compartment. Pushing open the door the noise and heat from the massive diesel engines hit him. The room stank of oil fumes and the walkway was slippery with grease and grime. Looking around he searched for somewhere to hide. The captain had mentioned a safe room but he couldn't see any other doorways in the dark recesses. Carefully navigating the steel gantry above the rows of engines and generators, he spotted a coverall-wearing figure standing at a console below. He slung his rifle, climbed down a ladder, and approached.

The man threw his hands in the air, a mask of terror on his face.

“Where's the safe room?” asked Mamba.

The elderly engineer shook his head and mumbled.

“Fucking hell.” Mamba shoved the man aside, unslung his weapon, and followed the walkway deeper into the shadows.

***

Bishop had no way of knowing what was going on outside his tiny cell. He’d heard what could be gunfire and explosions but it was difficult to discern over the throb of the ship’s engines. At one stage he thought he felt an explosion reverberate through the steel floor and swore the air coming through the vent above him was tainted with tear gas. A far as he knew it could all be his imagination. He'd finally lost track of time, having drifted off into a fitful sleep.

The blood on his cheek had coagulated so he knew it had been at least half an hour, possibly more, since Mamba had last come to see him. His wrists were raw but he'd come no closer to breaking the plastic cuffs that bound his hands behind his back. Helplessness washed over him as he realized the severity of his situation. If Kruger was dead or in prison then no one in PRIMAL could know he was on the ship. Unable to break the ties on his wrist he would inevitably end up the same way. If he still had tears they would have flowed freely.

In his mind he could see Saneh lying in a hospital bed with wires and tubes running from her body into banks of machines. He imagined the moment the doctor turned them off, dropped his head, and sobbed.

The door creaked and he lifted his eyes, squinting as he waited for the light to flash on. It didn't. Instead a figure stood in the doorway and called out.

“It’s him. I’ve found Bishop.”

The voice sounded synthetic and harsh. It took him a moment to identify it as human.

“Who, who is it?”

“Bish, it's me, Chua.”

Relief flooded his body as the figure entered the room and pulled off its helmet. A light snapped on and Bishop looked up to see a second hulking black-clad operative. “Kruger?”

“
Ja,
it's me.”

“Saneh,” he said frantically. “Saneh and the baby.”

“They’re still alive. She’s hanging in there,” replied Chua as he used a combat knife to cut the flexicuffs. “Damn it, buddy, they made a real mess of you,” he murmured examining his face.

“Did you find Mamba?” Bishop croaked as he staggered to his feet. The blood rushed back into his shoulders and hands as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Not yet.”

“We've searched the entire superstructure. There's no sign of the rat,” added Kruger.

“Give me a weapon,” he said gesturing to Chua.

The intelligence chief drew his Glock and handed it to Bishop along with a spare magazine. “Vance is up on the bridge with the prisoners. There's a chopper at the bow ready to take us back to Mogadishu.”

“I'm not going anywhere till Mamba is dead.”

“Bish, we need to get out of here.”

He walked stiffly for the door. “This won't take long. That bastard will be hiding in a dark hole somewhere. I'll find him.”

Kruger blocked his exit from the room. “I'll come with you.”

He reached out and plucked a concussion grenade from the South African's chest. “Stay the hell out of my way, this is personal.” He stormed out the door and down the corridor.

“You better follow him,” said Chua.

“
Ja,
I know.” Kruger turned and jogged after the renegade operative.

***

Bishop knew Mamba would have fled, leaving the defense of the ship to the Chinese gangsters. The poacher must have found somewhere to hide. The team had already cleared the superstructure so he wasn't in one of the cabins. That left the cargo hold and engineering compartment. Mamba wouldn't risk being caught with the ivory stowed below, which narrowed it further.

He found the staircase leading down and as he reached the bottom a door opened. A Chinese man wearing coveralls stepped out and seeing Bishop, flung his hands in the air, eyes wide with fear.

“English?” Bishop lowered the Glock.

The grease-covered man shook his head. “Bad, bad, bad,” the engineer said pointing back through the door he had emerged from.

“Thanks, mate.” Bishop stepped past him his pistol held ready.

The multi-level space was dark and stank of fuel. The throb of the diesel engines added to the pounding in his head; a symptom of dehydration. He exhaled in an attempt to clear the pain and focus on finding Mamba. Walking along the gantry linking the entry point to a ladder he surveyed the compartment. Half way across he felt the frame rock slightly and he looked back. A dark figure stood at the entrance to the catwalk, Kruger.