PRIMAL Vengeance

Chapter 33



Khartoum, Sudan



The Wildcat probably wasn't the best choice for covert ops in Sudan's capital, reflected Bishop as they drove into Khartoum. Although from a distance the Land Rover did not attract attention, close up it was evident it was a high performance vehicle with an unusual number of antennas. Bishop checked the pistol stashed in his door pocket. If any Sudanese security forces pulled them over, he was ready to fight. The weaponry they were carrying in the back would be certain to land them in jail if discovered.

Mirza drove them directly into the business district. The medium-rise buildings and paved roads of downtown Khartoum were a change from the south, the first real city they had seen since arriving in East Africa. Fortunately the early morning streets were quiet and they pulled into their hotel without incident.

"Khartoum Palace, hey? This place is a goddamn dump." Bishop dropped his gear in the middle of the hotel room after checking in. The violent action disturbed a family of cockroaches. They scurried under the faded, salmon-colored lounge.

Mirza surveyed the worn carpet and peeling wallpaper. "Grass huts and Africa's finest night time skies; we've been a little spoiled, Bish."

Bishop laughed as he parted the curtains on the shoebox-sized room's only window. "Maybe I'm being a little picky. We're paying for the view anyway, aren't we?"

From twelve floors up their 'four star' room had a commanding view of what passed for Khartoum's business district.

"Bit of a one-dog show," Bishop observed, pointing out the PETROCON building that towered over the surrounding low rises.

Mirza dumped his own gear and joined him at the window. Chua had recommended the hotel because it had an underground car park and it provided excellent observation of their target's last known location, the PETROCON office building.

"Certainly doesn't fit in," said Mirza as he turned away from the window.

"Has to be at least fifty stories," said Bishop. "Tinted glass, sloped roof. Probably got a decent security system. It's going to be a pain in the ass to get inside."

Mirza returned with a tripod and digital SLR fitted with a powerful telephoto lens. He set it up next to the window, adjusting the tripod so the lens was only a few centimeters from the glass.

"According to Chua's source Omar hasn't left the building in the last few days."

Mirza looked up from one of the pelican cases he had started to unpack. "I guess we won't want this then." The case contained a long green tube: a 66mm rocket launcher. The PRIMAL operators had planned to use it to ambush Omar's limousine.

"Never know when you're going to need some extra bang, Mirza. Don't want to be the guy that rocks up to a rocket launcher fight with a rifle."

Mirza laughed as he shut the case and pulled a laptop from one of their drag bags. He opened it on the room's battered desk and synched it with the camera. Bishop looked over his shoulder as he brought up a satellite shot of the target location. The camera feed appeared in the top corner.

"Front door looks like the only way in, Bish."

"Not keen for any 'Mission Impossible' antics onto the roof?"

Mirza gave him a look that summarized his low regard for Tom Cruise's on-screen antics.

"Yeah, I thought so."

"Garang said there was an underground car park filled with service vehicles. If we could get our hands on one, it might make life a little easier." Mirza flicked through the floor plans Chua had included in the target pack until he reached the one for the basement levels.

Bishop leaned over his shoulder. "Good idea. Then we bang up the service elevator to floor thirty-six, slot Omar and take the same route out. Slap-up job: five minutes in, five minutes out, and we're gone."

Mirza changed to the floor plan for the 36th floor. It was exactly how Garang had described it. Elevators opened onto a foyer that led to a conference room. A side door linked it to a large office—Omar's office.

"Now we know why he never leaves." Mirza zoomed in on the layout. "Bathroom, bedroom, staff quarters, kitchens, dining hall; he's got everything here he needs."

"They probably bring the girls up the lift from the basement."

"The girls?" Mirza asked.

"Fatcats like Omar always have girls. Girls and guards. But they won't be a problem. The last thing Omar expects is a direct attack here in Khartoum."

"It could work."

"Trust me," grinned Bishop. "It'll work."