PRIMAL Vengeance (3) (27 page)

       It was still early in the night and most of the booths were unoccupied. Aneke slid back the door on one and peeked inside. It was empty. She grabbed Ping by the hand and dragged him in, closing the door behind them.

       The room was themed in blue. Thick blue carpet covered the floor and velvet blue armchairs clustered around a low glass table. There was a bar in the corner and a huge flat-screen television bolted to one of the windowless walls.

       "You like to sing?" Ping giggled as he slumped into one of the chairs.

       "No, I like to dance," said Aneke lifting her foot onto one of the soft chairs. Her dress rode up her thigh exposing the top of her pull-up stockings. She smiled at Ping seductively as she slipped her fingers under the top and pulled out a small plastic bag filled with white powder.

       Ping smiled as she emptied the package onto the glass table. He took out his wallet and handed her a black AMEX credit card. She used the card to form thin lines of powder on the glass. Ping watched her closely as he rolled a 100 yuan note into a tube.

       "Ladies first," Ping offered Aneke the tube.

       "
Nyet
, you go first. I need it to make you sober for what I have in mind." She bit her lip suggestively.

       Ping smiled and leaned forward, the tube clutched between his thick fingers. Inhaling loudly, he sucked an entire line into his nose.

       Grinning, he slumped back into his chair. "Good stuff. You should try."

       "I will soon, my dear," Aneke said, reaching up to brush a strand of long hair from her face as she watched him.

       Ping smiled again as the euphoria of the drug washed over him. His head slumped sideways as the chemicals relaxed his muscles.

       "Target is under. Meet you at the service lift in five." The brunette had dropped her European accent as she spoke into her phone. Her English was naturally tainted with a Middle Eastern flavor.

       "Come on, big boy." She helped the heavily sedated Ping out of his chair. The drug running through his system was designed to make him passive, not completely immobile.

       She checked the hallway was empty before guiding the inebriated playboy out of the karaoke room and back towards the restrooms and the service lift.

       "Where are we going?" Ping's speech was slow and slurred.

       "Downstairs sweetie."

       A staff member stopped in the corridor, eyeing the pair suspiciously.

       "My friend he has too much to drink,
da
. I take him home now." She feigned her accent again.

       The waiter nodded and disappeared.

       The brunette reached into her bust and pulled out a security swipe card. The doors to the service elevator opened and she guided Ping inside.

       "Hey, you! STOP!"

       She stabbed the close button with her finger as Ping's security guard spotted them. He sprinted down the corridor towards them, reaching under his jacket for a handgun. The doors closed with a second to spare. The lift shuddered as he slammed into them.

       "Chen, we've got a problem. The guard, he's onto us," she spoke calmly into her phone.

       "OK, I'm downstairs. I'll keep an eye out."

       Above the door the floor numbers lit up as they dropped. Like a toddler, Ping watched them, enthralled with the flashing numerals.

       When they reached the ground floor, the doors opened revealing a service corridor. The brunette led Ping along and he followed passively.

       The service corridor took them to a loading bay where the hotel's deliveries arrived. The Audi was parked in the bay alongside large industrial bins and piles of boxes.

       "Hands up, whore!"

       The guard's English was halting but his intent was clear. His pistol was pointed directly at the brunette's face.

       Slowly she raised her arms.

       Ping, grinning like an idiot ambled forward and hugged his bodyguard.

       The hulking bodyguard kept the pistol aimed at her as he grabbed Ping with the other hand. "What did you do to him?"

       "He'll be fine; just a little drug."

       A Chinese voice piped up from behind the guard. Another Chinese man had joined the party. This one was dressed in a tailored black suit complete with a chauffeur's cap. He was shorter than the guard and lightly built.

       The two men conversed and the guard seemed to become more comfortable with the situation. He backed away from the brunette, pushing Ping along with his free hand. Once he let go of Ping, he reached into his jacket, pulling out his phone to make a call.

       The smaller man moved in a flash. He grasped the guard's pistol and snapped the wrist backwards.

       The guard was caught by surprise but reacted quickly. Using his superior size and strength, he launched forward, ignoring the crunching sound that his wrist made as the chauffeur bent it back even further. He lifted the smaller man off the ground and charged ahead.

       He made it a few meters before collapsing to the ground, the chauffeur pinned underneath him.

       The brunette's worried look turned into a smile as she noticed the hypodermic syringe sticking out of the guard's neck. The plunger was fully depressed.

       "Hey, Saneh, could you lend me a hand?" The chauffeur was trying to leverage himself out from under the dead weight of the slumbering guard.

       "Chen, you took your sweet time." Saneh helped push the two hundred pound guard off Chua, the organization's Chief of Intelligence.

       He extracted himself and stood brushing the dust from his suit. "Sorry about that. I had some trouble backing the car in." He gestured to the rear fender of the brand-new Audi. It had a large dent in it.

       "Didn't I say we needed something smaller? You men and your toys. You're just as bad as Bishop." Saneh strode across to where Ping was sitting on the steps that led from the dock down to the car park. "Come on, Ping, let's go." She helped him to his feet and opened the door of the Audi for him.

       Chua was already in the driver's seat by the time she joined him in the front of the car. Ping was stretched out on the back seat in a slumber. They pulled out of the loading dock and onto the street.

       "The Lascar flight is prepped and ready," said Chua. "As soon as we get to the airport we'll make our boy comfortable and get airborne. Short stop in Hong Kong to pick up his buddy and then on to the island."

       "Excellent," responded Saneh as she slipped out of her heels and replaced them with a pair of plain black flats. "Any news on Aden?" she asked with a hint of concern.

       Chua shook his head. "No, nothing new. He'll be fine. You know Bishop's always popping up at the worst possible time having escaped by the skin of his teeth."

       "Don't I know it," sighed Saneh as the streets of Shanghai flashed by. "Don't I know it."

Chapter 44

PETROCON Refinery, Kordofan District, Sudan

       "They have my son."

       The satellite link between the two phones was crystal clear, allowing Yang to detect the slight quaver in his employer's voice, something he had never heard before.

       "Who?" he asked calmly, not betraying his feelings.

       "Who do you think, Yang?" Zhu yelled. "The American scum who are trying to destroy us. They took him from a nightclub in Shanghai. My men have searched the city and found nothing."

       Yang forced himself to remain calm. "If they have him he will already be out of the country. I will put word out to all my contacts but I doubt they will help. These people are professionals. They will contact us shortly."

       "Will they hurt him?" Zhu asked softly.

       "No. They are going to offer us a trade. Your son for the man we captured."

       "How can you be so sure?"

       "What other reason would they have to take him? They know that if they hurt him, then you will become even more focused on destroying them. No. They will offer a trade." Yang reasoned.

       "This is true. If we must trade your prisoner, so be it. I will spare no expense to have Ping returned. If required I will burn South Sudan to the ground."

       Yang had no doubt that Zhu was willing to do exactly as he promised. In their culture they planned far into the future of generations yet to come; sons ensured the family's ongoing prosperity. The intelligence operative understood that a son was the most valuable thing a powerful government official could have, however the thought of trading Aden made him furious.

       "I need time to interrogate the prisoner before any trade is made," Yang said.

       "I have already requested an interrogator from Second Department. He will arrive in the capital tomorrow. You are to move the prisoner to our embassy in Khartoum."

       "That is not necessary. I am more than capable of extracting the information we—"

       "Enough! You are a capable agent but you are not an interrogator. This man will wring every piece of information possible out of this Aden. He will experience pain like he has never felt before. Xinhai will make him sing like a bird and I will have my son returned."

       "Xinhai." Yang smiled at the name of China's most notorious interrogator, a man known throughout their intelligence community as the 'The Butcher'.

       "The Commander of Second Department is family. He promised me the best."

       "And Xinhai is just that," Yang agreed reluctantly. "He will pry every detail from our prisoner. We will soon know who he is working for."

       "Yes, and then you will take this enemy apart piece by piece. Guard the prisoner with your life, Yang. He is the key to getting my son back."

       "I will ensure he is delivered in one piece. What do you want done with the girl?"

       "Dispose of her as you see fit."

       Zhu terminated the call.

       Yang placed his phone down on the plastic folding table that served as his desk. Aden's organization had displayed a capability far beyond his expectations. They had reached across the globe into China and shown the audacity to take action. There was no doubt in his mind, he was not dealing with a government agency. This organization had the potential to be far more dangerous.

Chapter 45

Abyei District, South Sudan

       "I want to help you rescue Bishop." Jonjo was driving the pick-up as it bounced along a rutted bush track. A handful of SFF fighters were huddled in the tray, wrapped in blankets to ward off the early morning cold.

       "You're already helping. The more Janjaweed your men kill, the less we'll be up against." Mirza was sitting next to the young warrior in the cab as they drove towards the extraction point. As a precaution against possible Chinese informants, they reduced the new SFF recruits' exposure to PRIMAL's tilt-rotor aircraft.

       "I know the ground better than anyone," continued Jonjo.

       "True, but you're responsible for the lives of nearly a hundred men now. You cannot simply run off and leave them. They need you."

       The SFF ranks had continued to grow and although Jonjo was only sixteen the militia relied on him to conduct operations with Mirza. Another SSF veteran had stepped up to replace Garang but it was Jonjo who was leading ambushes and exacting a heavy toll on a number of Janjaweed patrols.

       "A few hundred meters ahead, Jonjo."

       The bush thinned out and Jonjo stopped the truck.

       "Promise me you will come back," demanded Jonjo. "We need your help."

       "I'll come back, my friend. I just need to make sure Aden is OK."

       "Yes, I know. You're his guardian angel."

       "In a way, yes."

       He jumped out of the truck and grabbed his equipment from the men in the back. They clambered over each other to shake his hand and wish him well. Throwing his gear over his shoulder, he headed off into the bush.

       "Mirza," Jonjo yelled after him. "Remember to wear your talisman."

       The PRIMAL operative gave him a thumbs up and disappeared into the vegetation, heading for the clearing on the other side.

       The pick-up waited until the sound of an aircraft could be heard in the distance before heading back in the direction it had come from.

       Dragonfly came in low over the treetops, its giant props hammering the surrounding trees with their wash. The grey-colored tilt-rotor touched down and the side door slid open. Two men clad in camouflage uniforms and chest rigs jumped out, weapons held at the ready. They moved to either side of the aircraft, scanning for threats.

       Mirza keyed his headset. "Dragonfly, this is Mirza. Permission to board."

       "Permission granted."

       Mirza emerged from the bushes, walked swiftly to the side door and clambered in. As he secured his gear under the nylon webbing seats, the two armed men climbed back into the aircraft, sliding the door closed behind them. They dropped into the seats securing themselves for take off.

       The aircraft's engines roared and Dragonfly lurched into the air. It gained speed before the giant blades pitched forward and the flight smoothed out.

       "Hey, Mirza,
gut
to see you again." One of the men leaned forward, offering his gloved hand. He was tall and lanky with straw-blonde hair, hard Aryan features and a thick German accent.

       "Good to see you too, Kurtz." Mirza and the former
GSG9
operative were firm friends, training together regularly in the arts of covert entry and electronic surveillance.

       "I also am glad to see you, comrade." The other man grabbed Mirza by the hand and pulled him out of his seat embracing him in a bear hug. Aleks was a former Russian intelligence operative. Sporting a shaved head and a heavy beard, he looked like the type of man you'd find clad in a heavy flannel shirt swinging an axe on an Alaskan pine plantation.