PRIMAL Unleashed (2) by Jack Silkstone Page A

business executive: the kind that was successful enough to forego a suit and tie, comfortable in a polo shirt and jeans.
    To the casual observer Bishop was nothing special. An average-looking man with a crooked nose, short dark hair and a strong jaw. Yet, subtle differences set him apart from the soft corporate types. Piercing eyes, dark brown to the point of being black, showed an alertness absent amongst those enduring the daily grind of office work. His casual clothing hid the solid build of an athlete, a conditioned warrior. Not many noticed these subtleties and even fewer guessed at who the real Aden Bishop was, nor the shadowy world he inhabited.
    Today was an opportunity for Bishop to reveal this world to an old friend, something he eagerly anticipated. He had just checked his battered watch when a familiar voice startled him.
    “Hello, Aden.”
    Bishop looked up into the smiling face of Mirza Mansoor.
    “Mirza, it’s bloody good to see you.” Bishop jumped to his feet and grasped the lightly built Indian’s hand. “Been far, far too long. I haven’t seen you in over a year.”
    “Closer to two, I think.”
    “You might be right. The last couple have sped past, that’s for sure.” Bishop directed Mirza to the other chair as he spoke. “And you—look at you. Haven’t changed a bit.” Bishop may have developed a few gray hairs and a few more wrinkles but Mirza still looked the same as he had in Sierra Leone. His fledgling moustache had grown into a neatly trimmed beard but his hard Asiatic features showed no signs of age. Bishop had always thought he looked like a modern version of a Mongol warrior. There had to be Genghis Khan’s blood somewhere in his lineage.
    “We all grow older as surely as we grow wiser, my friend,” Mirza said as he sat down.
    “Well, I don’t know about wiser,” Bishop replied with a grin, as the waiter delivered his next gin and tonic. Mirza ordered an iced tea; a practicing Muslim, he didn’t drink alcohol.
    “So, Mirza, what do you think of Sydney?” Bishop asked, gesturing out towards the harbor where the sun’s rays had only just started to drop behind the white sails of the Opera House.
    “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. Thank you for bringing me here.”
    “Not a drama at all, mate. Means a lot to me that you could make it. Although I do have an admission to make,” Bishop said, pausing to sip from his glass. ‘I may have brought you to Sydney under false pretenses.”
    Mirza turned to him with a look of shock on his face. “Do you mean tomorrow is not your birthday?”
    Bishop snorted into his drink. Wiping the gin from his face, he laughed, “No, Mirza, my birthday is December. Remember we visited the temples in Cambodia on my thirtieth.”
    Mirza frowned. “I believe you are right, so why did you say it was your birthday?”
    “Because if I didn’t have a good excuse, you wouldn’t have cut short your job in Papua New Guinea. You’re far too loyal to your employer. You’ve never had a day off and you’ve never turned down a job. You’re the most steadfast man I know.”
    The Indian dropped his head and studied the tablecloth.
    “Mirza, I invited you here because I have a proposition.”
    Mirza looked up as the waiter placed his drink on the table. He thanked the man and took a sip from the glass. “What sort of proposition?”
    “I want you to come and work with me.”
    “In logistics? I don’t think I’m cut out for that sort of work. I’m a soldier, Aden, not an officer.”
    “A soldier that guards oil pipelines. Come on, Mirza, is that what you really want to be doing? Let’s face it, you’re a glorified security guard,” Bishop said.
    Mirza’s hard features darkened with embarrassment. “I have a good job, Aden. A good job that lets me support my mother. Some of us have responsibilities, not all of us can run around the world chasing pretty girls and driving fast cars.” 
    Mirza was back studying the