PRIMAL Origin Read Free Page B

entry. I’ll lead.”
    Ice turned the door handle slowly. It wasn’t locked. With a click the door popped inwards. He pushed it open and stepped inside.
    He froze! Standing in the doorway that linked the office to adjoining workshops was a young man in white robes. They stared at each other for a moment, until the youth dove for the AK on the table. Ice’s UMP spat twice and the heavy slugs tore into the target’s torso. The body smashed into the table with a crash.
    “Shit,” whispered Vance as he followed Ice into the office.
    The former Marine was already moving. He stepped around the body and opened the door that joined the office to the workshop.
    Bright overhead lighting caused Ice to squint as he entered the open space of the warehouse. He sensed more than saw the tall figure that lurched at him from the side. Something blocked the UMP and he released the weapon, swung his right arm in an arc, pushing an arm holding a pistol into the wall. He turned his face away as a blow impacted on the side of his head. Ice’s vision flashed red and he staggered. With his right arm pinning the pistol to the wall he spun his left elbow, driving it into the face of the attacker. There was a crunch and a crash as the body fell backwards against the sheet metal wall. Before the body hit the floor, Ice swung his UMP up from where it hung across his chest and fired a short burst into the chest.
    In the few seconds it had taken Ice to dispatch his assailant, Vance had calmly stepped past him to clear the rest of the warehouse. Deeper in the workshop, another man in white raised a pistol, aiming it at the balaclava-clad operator. Vance shot him twice in the face, the M4 making a sharp, slapping noise. The 5.56mm bullets punched through the soft bone and tissue. The man dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
    The warehouse was new, shelves on the walls still empty. A white mini-van was parked centrally. Vance noted how low it was sitting on its axles. The smell of fuel hung in the air.
    Faintly, above the hum of the fluorescent lighting, Vance could hear someone chanting. It was coming from the van.
    He padded cautiously towards the rear of the vehicle, his weapon tight in his shoulder. As he rounded the corner, with a series of shuffling side steps, the red dot of his Aimpoint sight came to rest on the forehead of another young man. This one was sitting in the back of the van, eyes wide, chanting softly to himself.
    “Ice, we’ve got a big fucking problem.”
    “Moving.” The former Marine cautiously approached.
    In the back of the van, the teenager was sitting on a layer of small bricks wrapped in wax paper. He was clutching what looked like a slot car controller, his fist clenched around it.
    “Release-activated detonator,” Ice stated calmly, “and probably at least half a ton of C4.”
    “Fuck me swinging,” exclaimed Vance. “You see how he’s clean shaven, head and all. Smells real pretty too. I’ve seen this before in Yemen. He’s been purified for the big bang. Poor bastard’s well and truly been brainwashed.”
    “None of them are Arabs, Vance. Except maybe the big one by the door. At a guess I reckon this one’s Pakistani or maybe Bangladeshi.”
    Vance lowered his carbine and pulled of his balaclava. “It’s OK, son. You don’t need to do this. Just hand me the clacker, alright?” He reached out with one hand.
    The boy’s eyes grew even wider and his chanting more earnest. He threw his hands in the air with a scream, “ ALLAHU AKBA ––”
    There was a soft thud as Ice shot him cleanly through the head. The body fell backwards, blood splashing across the bricks of C4.
    Both of them waited for the flash that would send them to the afterlife.
    “How the fuck are we still alive?” Vance asked in a low voice.
    Ice climbed into the van and picked up the remote from where it had fallen. He traced the cable, lifting blocks of explosives to reveal the detonation system. The wire ran into a simple