three others had moved to a luxury villa in an island resort for the sole purpose of making sure no one was hunting them.
Vance dropped his backpack in the tiled hall, strode through the open-plan living area and up a staircase to where two bedrooms had been converted into offices. When he opened the door to the makeshift operations center there were two men sitting at the computer terminals.
“Hey boss, how's Saneh doing?” asked Frank, a former British paratrooper and one of PRIMAL's operations officers.
“Not good, bud.”
“Is there anything we can do?” asked the other man in the room. James Castle, or Ice, was one of the original founders of PRIMAL. Tall and broad-shouldered with short blonde hair and a heavily scarred face, he had only recently re-joined the team. Presumed KIA on a mission in Afghanistan, the badly injured ex-CIA operative had been captured by US forces and spent four years in captivity. PRIMAL had rescued him from a CIA black site in Alaska and he'd spent the last few months regaining his strength and adapting to life with a prosthetic forearm and lower leg.
“Yeah, it’s imperative that I talk to Bishop.”
Frank shrugged. “Boss, there's nothing we can do. They’re not answering their phones and since they’re probably in Mombasa by now they’ll be using a local number. We've got to wait for one of them to contact us.”
“Damn it. I'm going to see what the intel guys can do.” As Vance walked out Ice rose from his chair and followed him to the corridor. He moved with ease despite the fact that his right leg, from just below the knee, was carbon fiber and titanium.
“Hey, Vance, can I have a quick word?”
They stopped outside the door to the intel room. “What’s up, brother?”
“If there's a job going downrange I want in.”
“Don’t know if there’s going to be a gig, bud. We’ll let the intel team do their thing and see if there are any targets worth hitting once Bishop’s done.”
“Yeah, but if there is a job.”
“You think you're ready?”
Ice nodded. “The gear Mitch has hooked me up with is state-of-the-art. I can shoot and move as well as I ever could.”
He had to admit that Ice’s recovery was impressive. The former Marine was now physically more imposing than he remembered, and with the artificial limbs he resembled something from a Terminator movie. He made a mental note to find out what supplements he was using. “I'll keep it in mind.”
“Thanks, bro.”
Vance left him in the corridor and stepped into the room being used by their Chief of Intelligence, Chen Chua, and his offsider, Flash.
Chua, a lightly-built Chinese American looked up from his laptop. “How's Saneh?” he asked as Vance dropped into a spare seat.
He shook his head. “Doesn't look good. There’s a new treatment that might help, but we could potentially lose either her or the baby.”
Chua grimaced. “You're kidding.”
“No, Bishop needs to make the decision, if we can get comms with him. What’s Flash up to?”
“He’s working up the intel on this poaching guy, Mamba.”
“What’ve you got so far?”
“His real name is David Mboya, a former Ugandan military officer. Smart guy, trained by the Brits, and reported to have an exemplary service record.”
Vance raised his eyebrows. “Not your average dirt-bag criminal then.”
“I’m sure Bish and Kruger will have no trouble dealing with him. What Flash and I are working on is the Chinese angle. We’re trying to find out who Mamba supplies.”
“Good, can you also have him focus on establishing comms with Bish?”
“Not a problem. Flash has already pulled data off Kruger’s sat phone.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s currently inactive but he last used it in Zambia the night Saneh was shot.”
“And?”
“Looks like he and Bish followed up the poachers. Before they met you at the hospital they’d covered over thirty miles on foot.”
Vance shook his head. “Why does that not surprise me. Let’s