PRIMAL Inception by Jack Silkstone Page A

between tracing his finger along the route and searching out the window. “Our target is a silver Skoda taxi,” he relayed to everyone on headsets.
    The pilot banked the chopper, following the road Ice had pointed out. “This shouldn’t be too hard. All I saw on the way down were tractors and trucks.”
    Vance’s voice came through over the headsets. “Problem is it could already be there by now. Or they might be using a different route."
    “Do you want me to radio through to KFOR HQ?” the pilot asked. “Have them lock down the city?”
    Ice reevaluated the risk, If KFOR got involved, there was a chance Zahir would be tipped off, and the car bomb hidden. On the other hand, if they could intercept it now, they might be able to keep Zahir and Kreshnik in the dark a little longer. “Give it a few more minutes.”
    “OK buddy, but no more,” said Vance.
    Ice’s eyes were glued to the landscape. He checked every vehicle as the seconds counted down. He spotted tractors, trucks, and a van, but no silver taxi.
    Vance leaned forward from the cabin and tapped the pilot on the shoulder. “Time’s up. Radio it in.”
    “Pristina Traffic Control, this is Uniform November Three Four requesting a patch to KFOR HQ, over.”
    As the tower responded Ice caught a glimpse of a silver car disappearing into the forest. “Wait, I’ve got visual.”
    The pilot brought the chopper in low and banked it onto its side, giving the team on Ice’s side a clearer view.
    “You sure? I can’t see shit, mate,” said Gaz. Like the other troopers he sat with his legs hanging out the open side door, leaning forward as far as his helo-strop allowed.
    “It’s in there. Bring us to a hover where the road leaves the woods.”
    The pilot swung the Bell into an s-turn that took them to the far end of the forest. Ice’s stomach lurched as the chopper flared and dropped into a hover over the asphalt.
    In the back of the chopper, Vance grabbed Barishna and held him half out the open door. “Is that it?” he screamed as the car appeared.
    Barishna nodded his head vigorously.
    “Target confirmed,” Vance broadcast over the intercom.
    The pilot turned the chopper and brought it alongside the car. The driver lowered his window and fired a pistol.
    “Jesus Christ!” The pilot pulled away.
    Ice stuffed the map inside his chest rig and grabbed the Mk18 wedged between his knees. “Get ahead of him. Like before.”
    “Roger.” The pilot dropped the nose of the helicopter and they roared around a corner banking hard. Then he flared and flicked the chopper sideways over the road.
    Ice spun in his seat and jammed the door open with his boot. “Hold her steady,” he yelled as he lifted the carbine.
    The car accelerated around the corner, filling his red-dot sight. It was only twenty yards away when he took up the slack in the trigger, exhaled, and put a bullet through the driver’s side of the windshield.
    The car slewed across the road, ran up an embankment, and crashed into a tree.
    “Put us down.”
    The chopper’s skids were still a foot off the ground when the two SAS troopers leaped out. They raced to the silver taxi, covering it with their weapons as the rest of the team caught up.
    Ice dragged the driver from the front seat and laid him on the ground. The shot had gone through the man’s right lung. Blood frothed from his mouth, his eyes wide with fear. “Mitch, I need you to render that bomb safe.”
    “On it.” The technician was already inspecting the vehicle.
    Gaz dumped the med kit from the chopper next to the wounded Albanian.
    Ice propped him up and used shears to cut the man’s leather jacket and shirt off. “Gaz, seal that exit hole.” He tore open a field dressing and tossed the bandage to him. Cutting the plastic cover into a square, he taped it over the entry wound. He left the bottom side loose, creating a one-way valve that let the man breath and the blood escape.
    “What’s your name?” Ice asked.
    “Murat,” he