PRIMAL Origin Read Online Free PDF Page B

small villa in the center. It was paradise.
    Tariq kicked off his loafers, enjoying the feel of the sand as he padded towards the villa. He ducked under some low hanging palms and emerged to an outdoor bar and restaurant. Three men were lounging around a table in similar attire to Tariq, an ice chest filled with beers nestled in the sand next to them.
    “Gentleman, I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” asked Tariq.
    The men stopped their conversation and turned to face the intruder. A broad smile appeared on Vance’s face as he realized who it was. “Tariq, good to see you, buddy.”
    Ice grabbed another chair, adding it to the table.
    The third man, a muscular-looking fellow sporting a bushy beard and a receding hairline, stood and offered Tariq a hand. “Mitch Freeman at your service.”
    Tariq grasped the British engineer’s hand firmly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mitch Freeman. Vance tells me your skills were critical to our operation.”
    Mitch laughed. “Vance exaggerates, and the pleasure is all mine, Tariq, or should I say ours. Your choice of location for this meeting is impeccable.”
    The three men had been on the island since the day of the Abu Dhabi bombings. Tariq had needed them to disappear, and what better place than an isolated tropical Island, free from the preying eyes of Emirates investigators.
    “I apologize for the wait,” said Tariq, “but there have been many things for me to deal with.”
    Ice pulled a beer from the chest and popped the top on the edge of the table. “Oh, it’s been hard,” he said, smiling.
    “I say,” Mitch added, “you two,” he used his beer to point at the two former-CIA operatives, “have been drinking a shitload of beer. For a pair of dead chaps, that is.”
    All four men laughed as Tariq eased himself into his chair.
    Augmented by Mitch, the bomb that tore apart the medical clinic had disintegrated the dead bodies of three of the four terrorists. The only identifiable traces had been pieces of equipment, including the personal sidearms of two CIA agents. The Agency had declared them killed-in-action.
    “So what’s the low down on the attack, Tariq?” Vance asked.
    “Your plan worked perfectly. There were no traces of Mitch’s remote control kit, just pieces of the dead suicide bomber. The police have attributed the attack to extremists and my father has been given a state funeral.”
    “If only they knew the truth,” murmured Ice as he brought a beer to his lips.
    “And what about the rich fucker’s empire?” asked Vance.
    “It is now under my care,” answered Tariq.
    “Good stuff. I love it when a plan comes together,” said Vance, giving his best impression of Hannibal from the A-Team.
    Tariq laughed. “You look more like Mr T.” The joke prompted grins from the rest of the team.
    “So what now?” asked Ice seriously.
    “Well, I’m afraid I can’t stay for long, for there is much work to do.” He had everyone’s undivided attention now. “Your mission is to build an organization capable of dealing with men like my father—across the globe. Men who think they are above the law. Men who sow hatred and pain wherever they walk. Men who are evil.”
    Vance nodded.
    Tariq continued. “I want you to find these men and I want you to stop them.” He reached into his pocket and placed a USB drive on the table. “Vance, I mentioned that my father was running a division of Lascar Logistics as a front to channel funding to terrorists. It seems that I underestimated how much he had invested into Priority Movements and Airlift. I can assure you that it is sufficient for our needs. That stick has all the account details and access codes for what I am calling the PRIMAL fund.”
    “PRIMAL. I like that,” said Ice.
    “Yeah, it rings true with me,” added Mitch.
    “Let me get this straight,” asked Vance. “You want to fund us to run around the world whacking all those evil fuckers that the CIA never let us touch?”
    “Not how I