PRIMAL Nemesis (Book 2 in the Redemption Trilogy, A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 6) (The PRIMAL Series) by Jack Silkstone Page A
Authors: Jack Silkstone
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for the entrance to the training and operations facility. As they drove past Bishop gave the entrance a quick glance. “So far you're right on two accounts. They've got CCTV and dogs at the front gate.”
“So we slip in somewhere else, yeah.”
Bishop turned his attention back to the tablet. “The property’s huge, over five thousand hectares. That's a lot of fence line to manage. There’ll be a few spots where we can slip in.”
“That’s all good. What about the live fire ranges?”
Bishop flashed him a grin. “What's wrong, champ, getting cold feet? I thought you loved being in the field.”
“I'm not real keen to get shot by accident wandering onto a bloody rifle range.”
“Good point; there could be some kind of patrolling training going on. We're going to need some decent camouflage anyway.”
The pair had come prepared for a surveillance operation but they had packed light. Having traveled in the US before Bishop knew there wasn't much they couldn't buy from a local outdoor store.
“I don't know about you, buddy, but I could do with a bite to eat and a cup of joe,” said Mitch in his best American accent.
Bishop glanced up from the tablet with a frown.
Mitch shrugged. “Just trying to blend in.”
“You've got a beard and a flannel shirt. You fit in here just fine.”
They finally reached the end of the fence and the road continued for a few miles before reaching a town. It was small, only a few thousand people. Mitch pulled the wagon into a truck stop. “We better fill up while we're here.”
“I'll take care of that. Can you grab me a coffee and a chili dog?”
“Will do.”
Bishop jammed the gas pump in the fuel tank and leaned against the car as it filled. He stared absentmindedly at the buildings on the other side of the street as a rented sedan pulled alongside. He glanced sideways as a badly dressed and overweight thirty-something man got out of the car. From behind his shades he rolled his eyes; didn't these people exercise?
As Bishop was pumping gas Mitch was trying to work out how to extract coffee from a grubby urn located at the back of the shop. He pushed a button on top and managed to squirt brown lukewarm liquid onto the bench. In the end he gave up, grabbed his room temperature burrito and Bishop’s chili dog and walked across to the fridge. He waited for an overweight guy dressed in chinos and an ill-fitting suit jacket to select six cans of sugar-free energy drink from the fridge before grabbing two of his own. He dumped them on the counter next to ‘chino guy’ and waited for his turn to pay.
Mitch watched as the man reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. At the same time his ID card with a lanyard fell to the floor. Mitch bent down and picked it up.
“Thanks, dude,” said the man stuffing it back into his pocket.
Mitch gave him a nod, paid for his supplies and gas, and followed the man out through the sliding doors. Bishop was waiting in the station wagon and Mitch handed him the food and drink through the window before jumping back in the driver’s seat. As the hire car in front of them turned back toward the GES facility he followed.
“Thought we were heading into town to buy gear?” said Bishop.
“I want to see where this guy goes.”
“Why? You want to ask where he bought those awful pants? Or are you looking for some dietary advice?”
Mitch tried not to laugh. “No, he dropped his ID card and I picked it up.”
“So he's a GES guy?”
“No,” replied Mitch. “He's CIA and his name’s Howard.”
“No shit.” They followed the car as it drove down the road, slowed at the sign to GES, and turned into the security checkpoint. “Well that confirms the CIA and GES are definitely in bed together,” said Bishop.
“That a problem?” asked Mitch.
“Nope, let’s go buy some kit.”
***
NEW YORK CITY
While Bishop and Mitch searched for an outdoor store Saneh and Mirza were preparing for their own mission. They
“So we slip in somewhere else, yeah.”
Bishop turned his attention back to the tablet. “The property’s huge, over five thousand hectares. That's a lot of fence line to manage. There’ll be a few spots where we can slip in.”
“That’s all good. What about the live fire ranges?”
Bishop flashed him a grin. “What's wrong, champ, getting cold feet? I thought you loved being in the field.”
“I'm not real keen to get shot by accident wandering onto a bloody rifle range.”
“Good point; there could be some kind of patrolling training going on. We're going to need some decent camouflage anyway.”
The pair had come prepared for a surveillance operation but they had packed light. Having traveled in the US before Bishop knew there wasn't much they couldn't buy from a local outdoor store.
“I don't know about you, buddy, but I could do with a bite to eat and a cup of joe,” said Mitch in his best American accent.
Bishop glanced up from the tablet with a frown.
Mitch shrugged. “Just trying to blend in.”
“You've got a beard and a flannel shirt. You fit in here just fine.”
They finally reached the end of the fence and the road continued for a few miles before reaching a town. It was small, only a few thousand people. Mitch pulled the wagon into a truck stop. “We better fill up while we're here.”
“I'll take care of that. Can you grab me a coffee and a chili dog?”
“Will do.”
Bishop jammed the gas pump in the fuel tank and leaned against the car as it filled. He stared absentmindedly at the buildings on the other side of the street as a rented sedan pulled alongside. He glanced sideways as a badly dressed and overweight thirty-something man got out of the car. From behind his shades he rolled his eyes; didn't these people exercise?
As Bishop was pumping gas Mitch was trying to work out how to extract coffee from a grubby urn located at the back of the shop. He pushed a button on top and managed to squirt brown lukewarm liquid onto the bench. In the end he gave up, grabbed his room temperature burrito and Bishop’s chili dog and walked across to the fridge. He waited for an overweight guy dressed in chinos and an ill-fitting suit jacket to select six cans of sugar-free energy drink from the fridge before grabbing two of his own. He dumped them on the counter next to ‘chino guy’ and waited for his turn to pay.
Mitch watched as the man reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. At the same time his ID card with a lanyard fell to the floor. Mitch bent down and picked it up.
“Thanks, dude,” said the man stuffing it back into his pocket.
Mitch gave him a nod, paid for his supplies and gas, and followed the man out through the sliding doors. Bishop was waiting in the station wagon and Mitch handed him the food and drink through the window before jumping back in the driver’s seat. As the hire car in front of them turned back toward the GES facility he followed.
“Thought we were heading into town to buy gear?” said Bishop.
“I want to see where this guy goes.”
“Why? You want to ask where he bought those awful pants? Or are you looking for some dietary advice?”
Mitch tried not to laugh. “No, he dropped his ID card and I picked it up.”
“So he's a GES guy?”
“No,” replied Mitch. “He's CIA and his name’s Howard.”
“No shit.” They followed the car as it drove down the road, slowed at the sign to GES, and turned into the security checkpoint. “Well that confirms the CIA and GES are definitely in bed together,” said Bishop.
“That a problem?” asked Mitch.
“Nope, let’s go buy some kit.”
***
NEW YORK CITY
While Bishop and Mitch searched for an outdoor store Saneh and Mirza were preparing for their own mission. They
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