PRIMAL Vengeance

Chapter 36



M72 66mm Rocket Launcher



Khartoum Palace Hotel, Sudan



Back at the hotel the two PRIMAL operatives were moving quickly to pack all of their equipment. They had changed out of their PETROCON coveralls and back into cargo pants and shirts.

Mirza moved to unplug the laptop that was hooked into the camera at the window. "Bish, we've got a real problem."

"What is it?" Bishop joined him at the window.

"Company, and lots of it."

Mirza had focused the camera on the street below the hotel. It was crawling with cops, at least four patrol cars, and a pair of green armored vehicles now blocked the exit from the car park.

"Shit!" Bishop swore. "How the hell did they find us so fast?" He grabbed his armor out of a grab bag and threw it on.

Mirza did the same, then pried the M72 rocket launcher from its case and slipped it over his shoulder. They checked their MP7s and left the rest of the equipment. The laptop and camera were already sanitized. Although they contained imagery for planning the Omar assassination, they contained no other data that could be traced back to PRIMAL.

"Let's hit the roof. Any luck we can zip line across to another building and get out that way," Bishop said. They had already prepositioned a rope and grappling hook launcher on the roof as part of their escape-and-evasion plan.

"Lead the way."

The pair moved cautiously out of their room and down the dimly lit corridor into the internal fire stairs. Moving up the stairs, it was only two levels to the top and they paused in the stairwell.

Bishop pushed the door open and peered out. The rooftop was empty and he scanned the city skyline before pulling back.

"Snipers?" Mirza asked.

"Not sure," Bishop said, wishing he had a longer range weapon with a telescopic sight. The nearest building that overlooked the rooftop was over 200 meters away, out of the effective range of their compact submachine guns.

"If they have their cordon in place, they should have snipers," said Mirza.

Bishop peeked out the door again. He could see their rope. It was where they had left it, attached to a railing on the rooftop's edge. A grappling hook launcher lay next to it, ready to be fired at the neighboring building.

"They should have a lot of things, but they leave most of it up to Allah," Bishop muttered. "I'll run out and launch the hook. Once it's secure, follow me and we'll bug out."

"Ah, Aden—"

Bishop pushed open the door and rounds snapped through the air. He threw himself backwards into the safety of the stairwell.

Heavy caliber projectiles slapped into the door, punching through the wood in a shower of splinters. The pair beat a hasty retreat back down the stairwell as slugs bounced off the walls.

"Don't even think about saying it," said Bishop.

"It's OK, we'll find another way out." Mirza patted the rocket launcher. "Or we can always 'make' a way out."

"I reckon they'll be sending a team up. I'm not one for sitting around so let's meet them half way."

They set off down the stairwell, weapons held at the ready. They were on level four when they heard boots on the stairs below.

Bishop pulled a concussion grenade from his vest and dropped it down the gap in the middle of the staircase. It took a second to hit the concrete floor at ground level. Enough time for some panicked yelling before it detonated with a crump.

The four Sudanese SWAT operators in the bottom of the stairwell were rendered combat-ineffective by the blast. Without hearing protection, the concussion punctured their eardrums, leaving them writhing in pain.

The wounded men stumbled back through the door into the foyer.

"We don't seem to have much luck with stairs," joked Mirza as he prepped a demolition charge. The slab of C4 was hooked up to a short timer.

"Tell me about it. We always seem to be fighting up them, down them, and out of them."

Mirza adjusted the timer and lobbed the charge into the stairwell. The blast breached the door, throwing it into the hotel foyer. A wall of dust and debris followed it, hurling Sudanese police through the air like rag dolls.

Mirza and Bishop gave the blast a moment to clear before moving down the stairs and into the lobby.

They caught the remains of the SWAT team cold! Bishop's MP7 spat 4.7mm rounds downrange, killing two of them before they could return fire. The rest of the team turned and ran as Mirza's automatic bursts joined the fray.

The PRIMAL team slid in behind the hotel counter as the SWAT operatives pulled back to their vehicles across the road. The lobby was empty. Employees and guests in the vicinity had long evacuated and all that remained were empty casings, the emergency exit door and the bodies of a few dead policemen. Outside, someone screamed an order and all hell broke loose.

Mirza and Bishop hugged the floor as thousands of rounds lashed the ground floor of the hotel. Assault rifles, pistols, shotguns and heavy machine-guns blasted away for a good ten seconds. Rounds snapped above the two men, shreds of glass and wood hitting them as they pressed as flat to the floor as they could get.

When it stopped a voice bellowed out over a megaphone. "COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

"You think they've got any ammo left?" asked Bishop as he consulted the map on his iPRIMAL.

"YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

"Shit's not looking good, Mirza. We've got what looks to be solid brick behind us and half the Sudanese army in front of us."

The Indian was studying his own device and broke out in a broad grin. "I've got a connection with the Wildcat."

"Awesome. Maybe we can hook into the comms relay, give Vance a call and let him know how screwed we are."

"No, you don't understand. Mitch built her from the ground up. If we are in range I can drive it through my interface."

Bishop looked across in disbelief. "The two of you have been watching too many Bond movies. So what are you thinking? We use it as a distraction?"

"In a word, yes! We detonate the eighty kilos of HE under the front seats."

The smile disappeared from Bishop's face. "You telling me I've been driving around sitting on a shitload of bang? F*ck you, Mirza. People have been shooting at us."

"I'm sorry. It slipped my mind."

"So we use your James Bond gadget out front and the rocket launcher out the back. Mouse hole through to the other building and disappear in the chaos."

Mirza nodded.

"YOU HAVE 30 SECONDS!"

"They're very impatient," commented Mirza.

"Let's not keep them waiting."

In the car park below the dashboard on the PRIMAL vehicle lit up. A flashing green symbol appeared next to the rev counter and the V8 rumbled to life.

The four-wheel drive edged forward slightly and bashed into the wall in front of it. Then the gear indicator changed to reverse and it crept backwards, turning away from the wall. The nose was now facing the ramp that led up the street.

"TEN SECONDS!"

The big V8 roared and the tires squealed on the cement as the truck lurched up the ramp. It swerved haphazardly and scraped the handrail before bursting out into the street.

The truck appeared from the side of the hotel, next to the foyer where Bishop and Mirza were hunkered down behind the counter.

"You're not very good at this, are you?" Bishop jibed as he watched the Wildcat's camera feed on Mirza's iPRIMAL.

The Sudanese started firing as soon as the vehicle appeared, riddling it with bullets. The firing continued as Mirza drove it in a wide circle.

As Bishop watched the camera feed, he spotted someone he thought he knew in the group of men clustered around the armored vehicles. On the small iPRIMAL screen it was hard to discern, but it looked like the Chinese operative from the 'Tian Hai'.

Mirza had finally sorted out the control function on his iPRIMAL. He turned the mortally wounded Land Rover towards one of the armored vehicles and gunned the engine. Men fled as it approached.

"Allahu Akhbar," he announced as he tapped the touch pad.

There was a huge explosion and the truck disappeared along with everything else. A cloud of debris and dust filled the street.

Mirza waited for the blastwave to pass over them and jumped up on one knee. He extended the 66mm rocket launcher, locked the tube in place and aimed it down the corridor towards the rear of the hotel. There was a loud bang as he fired and the rear wall flashed in the dust.

Bishop led as they scrambled through the debris of the two explosions. He used the tactical flashlight on his weapon to light up the rear wall. There was a hole the size of a large garbage can leading into the adjacent building.

Squeezing through the hole they appeared in the rear of a clothing store.

The store was closed but the light streaming through the front windows illuminated rows of women's dresses lining the racks .

"Not really my style," Bishop said.

"Perfect." Mirza grabbed a long black garment off a shelf and threw it to Bishop.

"What is it?"

"It's a burqha!"

"You want me to wear a goddamn burqha?" Bishop exclaimed as he examined the garment.

"Have you got a better idea on how we're going to get out of Khartoum?"

"No, you're right. This is genius."

The PRIMAL operatives donned the burqas, the black shapeless outfits completely covering their combat rigs and weapons.

"Should I take my Oakley's off?" Bishop asked.

Mirza struggled not to laugh. His friend looked slightly ridiculous in the burqa, the tinted sunglasses completely hiding him from view. "Keep them on, you're looking very fashionable," he replied, knowing their disguises were unlikely to stand up to any close scrutiny.

Doing their best to look effeminate, they unlocked the front door and walked out onto the streets of Khartoum.