PRIMAL Unleashed (2) by Jack Silkstone

into the white-tiled mall. The text message from his security team was brief:
     
    Client is in location. Clean.
     
    Ivan had rehearsed the route. A short stroll through the crowds took him to the discrete location he had selected earlier, a small local-style restaurant.
    “ Salam ,” the well-dressed maitre d’ greeted him with a broad smile on his face and a flourish of his hand.
    “Good afternoon. The booking is for two. The name is Amin,” Ivan replied in English.
    The headwaiter was taken aback for a moment by the crisp British accent. He continued in English. “Of course, Sir, your friend is waiting.”
    The rough-hewn wooden tables were packed with businessmen consuming traditional Persian food, drinking strong tea and smoking cigars. A light haze had spread across the room; the rich aromas of the food and the earthy smells of the cigars created a comforting atmosphere.
    Ivan’s Iranian contact was sitting in a small booth near the rear exit. Two cushioned benches were built into the alcove, divided by a simple table. Dim lighting and ornate wooden barriers provided an element of privacy.
    “Ah, Ivan, I hardly recognized you with your hair,” the man exclaimed as he shook the Russian’s hand vigorously.
    Ivan self-consciously touched his wig as he sat down. “Ah well, don’t tell anyone I’m balding.” He cupped his hand to his mouth. “It’s a secret.” Although his appearance differed, his relaxed smile put the Iranian at ease.
    “So, my friend, what is this information you are so eager to share with me?” Ivan asked as he lent forward, pouring dark tea for both of them.
    “You must understand. This is very sensitive, very important.”
    “You know I am always generous. If the information is as significant as you say it is, then the reward will match.”
    The Iranian lowered his voice, “We have information indicating the Guards are attempting to source a weapon of mass destruction.”
    Ivan stopped pouring the tea, the cup left half full.
    The Iranian continued. “Reliable information, of course.”
    Ivan put the pot down and smiled. “How?”
    “They are talking to an arms dealer based in the Ukraine, a man known as Dostiger. This is everything we have on him,” the man said as he slid a memory stick across the table.
    Ivan listened intently as the Iranian explained. He took no notes, relying on the stick and his memory.
    The meeting finished quickly. Within an hour Ivan was in the back seat of a car headed for Tehran International Airport. He summarized the meeting into a few short paragraphs and typed the message into his phone. Then he attached the contents of the memory stick, compressed the file and embedded it into an innocuous-looking document. Within thirty seconds the file had passed through no less than fifteen separate email accounts before it arrived in an innocuous-looking Hotmail account monitored by staff in the PRIMAL bunker.
     
     
     
     

Chapter 13
     
    Sydney, Australia, Present Day
     
    Aden Bishop sat in a cafe alongside the Elizabeth Bay Marina, rolling the ice cubes in his gin and tonic and watching the sailing boats return from a day out on the blue waters of Sydney Harbor. He smiled as he watched a couple laughing and walking along the wooden decking of the wharf, their young daughter racing ahead, trying valiantly to catch a seagull. He was envious for a moment. Sometimes he wished he could lead a similarly idyllic life. Since that fateful day eight years ago when he’d accepted an invitation from Vance, he’d been exposed to the dark underbelly of the world. There was no going back.
    He downed his drink with a shrug and caught the eye of a passing waiter. “Another Bombay and tonic, thanks, mate,” he said with a smile.
    “Straight away, Mr Bishop.”
    He grimaced at the formality. As a regular at the café, he knew all the staff, yet they still insisted on Mr Bishop. Like most of the people in Sydney that knew him, the staff simply thought of Bishop as a