PRIMAL Origin by Jack Silkstone Page B

it is we’ve been compromised and now the hunter has become the hunted.”
    “There’s more good in this than bad, Vance,” stated Ice.
    “And how is that, big man?”
    “The way I look at it, the Ambassador’s done us a favor. Now we know for sure that this terrorist group has links to the Emirates government. We just need to flush them out.”
    Vance looked sideways at the former Marine. “Ice, you’re nuts. I tell you a bunch of jihadist motherfuckers are gonna try and blow us to hell and you think it’s a good thing.” He shook his head and laughed. 
    The corner of Ice’s mouth turned up in a slight smile. His eyes never left the crowded highway.
    Vance continued. “Only problem is that pompous cocksucker has given us the boot. It won’t take Langley long to follow that up and shit-can us.”
    “Just means we need to move fast.”
    “Yep. First things first, we need to get the Doc and his crew out.” Vance pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts, looking for the doctor in charge of the WHO team. “After that I’ll tee up a meeting with Tariq. We need to find out how Special Tasks got wind of the attack. You call FedEx and find out if the gear has arrived.”
    Ice pulled into the parking lot of one of Abu Dhabi’s entertainment complexes and slotted the four-wheel drive into a free spot. Vance was already talking to the head of the WHO team. Ice jumped out of the vehicle and dialed the local FedEx depot to check if the extra equipment he had ordered from Langley had arrived. With a direct threat to the team, he’d be happier packing a little extra heat.
     
    ***
     

 
    Chapter 2
     
    An hour later, Vance was waiting in an emergency fire escape at the Al Wahda shopping mall. A symbol of the Gulf city’s progress, the mall was a sprawling complex of over 120 high-end retail outlets. Vance hated it, all sparkling marble and glass, built by unskilled migrant labor with petro-dollars. Like so many things in the Middle East, the glamor was a thin veil. In the staircase, behind the scenes, the flaking paint and exposed wiring told another story.
    Vance checked his phone. His contact was late. A moment later it buzzed and an SMS displayed on the screen:
     
    Contact is moving towards your loc.
     
    Ice was watching the approaches to the emergency exit. Despite his stature, the CIA operative had an uncanny knack for remaining out of sight. Vance felt comfortable knowing the big man had his back.
    The door to the landing swung open and a security guard in a dark suit barged in. He gave Vance a cursory nod and scanned the stairwell for any threats. Vance lifted his arms, allowing the man to pat him down for a concealed weapon. Security procedures complete, the suit exited through the same door. A few seconds later Vance’s contact entered.
    “It is good to see you again, Vance.” Tariq Ahmed, the head of Abu Dhabi’s Police Special Tasks Branch was every inch the charming gentleman, his slim frame clad in an immaculate tailored suit, dark hair slicked back, beard and moustache trimmed to perfection.
    “You too, Tariq. Been a while,” Vance replied.
    Prior to assuming his current mantle, Tariq had been an Intelligence Officer in the UAE Army. He had worked with Vance while on secondment to the CIA in Afghanistan.
    Tariq’s face remained impassive as he spoke. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You should have listened to Mr Beecroft.”
    “What the fuck, Tariq? Some bullshit terrorist wants to take down my team and you want me to let some pompous asshole like Beecroft stop me from bringing the fucker down.”
    “Mr Beecroft is a powerful man, Vance. If you value your career, I would suggest you follow his direction.”
    “Fuck my career, Tariq. I’ve been in this business for long enough. Been cracking heads from Lebanon to Panama, and one thing I’ve learned is that Langley doesn’t give a shit about me. No, this is