The Last Bazaar

by David Leadbeater

  The Last Bazaar

  (Matt Drake #12)

  By

  David Leadbeater

  Copyright 2015 by David Leadbeater

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher/author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase any additional copy for each reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Thriller, adventure, action, mystery, suspense, archaeological, military, historical

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  The Matt Drake Series

  The Bones of Odin (Matt Drake #1)

  The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake #2)

  The Gates of hell (Matt Drake 3)

  The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake #4)

  Brothers in Arms (Matt Drake #5)

  The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake #6)

  Blood Vengeance (Matt Drake #7)

  Last Man Standing (Matt Drake #8)

  The Plagues of Pandora (Matt Drake #9)

  The Lost Kingdom (Matt Drake #10)

  The Ghost Ships of Arizona (Matt Drake #11)

  The Alicia Myles Series

  Aztec Gold (Alicia Myles #1)

  Crusader’s Gold (Alicia Myles #2)

  The Disavowed Series:

  The Razor’s Edge (Disavowed #1)

  In Harm’s Way (Disavowed #2)

  Threat Level: Red (Disavowed #3)

  The Chosen Few Series

  Chosen (The Chosen Trilogy #1)

  Guardians (The Chosen Tribology #2)

  Short Stories

  Walking with Ghosts (A short story)

  A Whispering of Ghosts (A short story)

  Connect with the author on Twitter: @dleadbeater2011

  Visit the author’s website: www.davidleadbeater.com

  All helpful, genuine comments are welcome. I would love to hear from you.

  davidleadbeater2011@hotmail.co.uk

  Contents

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kono Kinimaka placed her empty sandwich wrapper carefully beside her on the step and weighed it down with a plastic bottle of water. The sandwich tasted good. She’d prepared it before stepping out earlier and purchased the water on the way. The morning’s walk to the Lincoln Memorial and Reflecting Pool was her compromise to a day off the gym and several hours of contemplative quiet.

  Not everything was about top speed and sweat, although some guys she knew would disagree. Her years in Hawaii had taught her that peace of mind can be just as important as physical comfort. So she had tied her long, dark hair back, tucked it beneath a Malcolm Reynolds baseball cap, shrugged into a pair of joggers and a hooded jacket, then carried her small bag of food all the way down to Constitution Avenue. She hid her doe eyes behind blue reflective Oakleys. It was only after she set out that she remembered to convince herself that the camouflage gear was to ward off the sun and unwelcome male gazes rather than a dangerous stalker’s eyes.

  Kono had been living with the attentions of a stalker for some time now, culminating recently in an attack that was barely thwarted. Nothing transpired since, and Kono was starting to feel almost human again. It would be even better though when Mano returned from whatever mission the SPEAR team were currently undertaking. Kono had lost track of the madcap adventures her brother and his colleagues constantly accepted.

  She had smiled at the cop outside her house and wondered just how much longer the surveillance would stay. Yes, it made her feel safer but God it was so oppressing.

  “Jim,” she said in acknowledgement as she passed the parked car.

  “Ma’am,” he murmured as she continued on, the title making her both smile and frown at the same time.

  Now she sat basking under the sunlight, a dozen steps down from Lincoln’s immortalized feet, content to contemplate and observe and people-watch with the rest of the locals and the oft-bemused security guards. The Reflecting Pool lay ahead and below her, ever changing and yet so very still under the drifting clouds and sparkling sun. Kono tried not to gauge the eye of every passing person—it didn’t help and that was what they wanted. And anyway, those days were over weren’t they?

  The first indication she had that something was wrong came from far away—a bright glint catching her eye. She remembered those movies where the target only knew they were under surveillance when sunlight caught a distant lens, but immediately shrugged it off. Tyler Webb liked his stalkings up close and personal—that had always been his way. Kono finished her sandwich and took a swig from the water bottle. Again the distant glint flashed across her vision. Of course it could be anything—a watch, a car windshield, a bottle.

  Unable to help herself, Kono fished out her cellphone.

  Then jammed it back in her pocket, breathing deeply and cursing that such an innocent incident could so easily ruin her morning. Brushing off and disposing of the sandwich wrapper, she rose and started the walk back to her apartment, sparing a last look for Lincoln.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  The return journey didn’t last long; Kono was walking fast. Jim looked surprised to see her, then resumed his cop’s gaze and merely nodded. Kono strode past up to her front door and pushed the key into the lock.

  Her cell rang. “Mano? I was just about to call you.”

  “Where did you go? I had you in my sights and then . . . pshh. All gone.”

  Kono stared at the screen as a rush of ice water flooded her veins. “What?”

  “Where did you go, Kono Kinimaka?”

  The screen read: Caller Unknown. The vo
ice turned to laughter that was neither happy nor menacing—just . . . neutral. Odd. Weird.

  Kono turned the key, glancing back toward Jim as she did so. The thought of police backup was suddenly much more comforting.

  Jim’s head sat on top of the car, his body still inside.

  Kono screamed, unable to see the man that had murdered her bodyguard, unable to see anything but Jim’s terrified, frozen, unseeing eyes. She barged open the door and leapt inside, only remembering at the last moment to reach around for the key . . . terrified that a strong hand might then close over her own . . .

  It didn’t. Kono slammed the door behind her, now remembering she still held the cellphone and the channel was open. The voice came again: “Nice to see you made it.”

  The words echoed strangely; both cellphone robotic and crystal clear as if . . . as if the words were being spoken by someone standing right next to me . . . Kono experienced shock like electrocution and staggered ungainly into the large front room. She flicked at her shoulders, her hair, her scalp, as if a tarantula had just landed there. She clutched her water bottle like a weapon.

  And the man stared at her, chuckling, from the couch. “Good you could join us.”

  Us?

  She spun. More figures stepped out of the kitchen. Too many to count. The front door—which she hadn’t even locked behind her—swung open and another man stood there, black-gloved hands dripping blood.

  “Tried a choke hold,” he growled. “Head just came right off in my hands. I hear that can happen when you reach a certain age.”

  Kono backed away, a cornered animal staring between a dozen primed sights. The man still connected to her cellphone rose slowly, lips curling into an evil smile.

  “Webb wants it done messy,” he said quite amiably. “You gonna run, or what?”

  Kono bolted before he finished speaking, hoping to gain even a fraction of a second, which she did. The stairs were at her back and she whirled, hitting them hard, expecting enemies to be lying in wait above but knowing she had no choice but to move forward. It would be a cold day in hell before she just lay down to die. With help, she had thwarted these attacks before. Now, alone, she could do so again. The knowledge was in her blood. To her disappointment and fear the men didn’t stand around laughing and jeering as she had hoped—they pounded after her, grim-faced. A hastily thrown knife slammed into the door jamb she passed through, at head height, proving she’d be offered no quarter. Messy was just messy after all. She didn’t have to be alive. Kono gained the top of the stairs and ground to a halt, panting, face and hair wild, posed with a terrible choice and no time in which to make it. Footsteps thumped hard behind her. Crazily, she recalled Mano regaling her recently with a story about the team’s two new catchphrases.

  One sprung to mind: What would Drake do?

  The shit that just popped into your head . . . well, what would he do?

  She had an advantage here, but it was a small one, easily lost. Before that could happen, Kono whirled and booted her closest attacker in the middle of the chest. As hoped for, he looked surprised, then staggered back, right into his colleagues on the narrow staircase, driving them all downwards. Not the domino effect she’d been hoping for, but a gain to her advantage. Kono now had two desperate choices—the small toilet or the bedroom. Only one of those places offered a way out.

  Angling sideways she edged into her room. The window stood wide open, a welcome invite. She quickly decided that chancing a broken leg from the high jump was worth the risk. Once outside, her options opened wide up, and wouldn’t just end with screaming. It was only as she started moving toward that avenue of freedom that she saw the small coffin on the bed.

  “It’s for you,” came the quiet voice from behind her. “Yeah I lied about it being messy. He wants you all folded up and delivered to your brother. It’s a bit small, but it’s all we could get at short notice. Don’t worry.” He cracked his knuckles ominously. “We’ll make some adjustments.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kono staggered away as he grabbed for her, a finger grazing her arm. Fighting to stay focused, she forced the flooding fear from her mind. Debilitating terror was what these bastards worked to achieve. They would not beat her so easily.

  “You think you’re gonna get out that way?” The man nodded at the window, knowing her only exit. “Take a look. Hey, don’t worry, I can wait.” He studied his knuckles.

  Kono inched over to the open window, enjoying the breeze on her hot skin. One look outside showed several craggy upturned faces. They were waiting for her.

  “Just scoop you up and carry you back inside.” The man’s voice dripped malice. “Save us a job fitting you in that coffin though.”

  Kono prayed for inspiration. “Why are you all doing this?” Maybe help was on its way.

  “Those guys downstairs? Well, they enjoy the payday. Me? I just love breaking beautiful things.”

  Kono shuddered. “Webb sent men before. They all ended up in the ground.”

  “Que sera.” He spread his arms. “I don’t care.”

  Trapped, out of options, Kono prayed for some luck. She broke for the window, expecting and receiving no reaction from the man taunting her. She climbed over the window sill, looking down into the blank eyes of those who waited. Then she did something totally unexpected.

  She jumped.

  Angling to the right, she caught hold of the water pipe with both hands. It took an enormous amount of courage to relinquish her hold on the window and dangle above the street but a moment later she was doing just that and crab-walking up the side of her own building, ignoring next door’s small but functional balcony. Even if she gained entry she would be no better off and poor old Mr. Calabretta would end up dead too. The roof lay only a few feet away though and soon she reached for the gutter to help pull herself over the top. The metal felt thin and sharp, almost coming away with her weight. But Kono held on, breathing hard, feeling gravel scraping her belly as she squirmed over the top but knowing that meant she still lived.

  Quickly, she glanced down. One of the men was speaking into a two-way.

  Kono rose, suddenly screaming in shock as her taunter’s face rose above the roof’s edge. He had followed right behind her and now reached out with extreme confidence.

  “It’s a nice bit of exercise, sweets, but we’re getting short of time.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Kono started to scream. The noise would send cops, she knew. Maybe they were already on the way. The roof of her apartment was flat, concrete, and empty. No outlets to run behind, no air-conditioning ducts. For a moment she paused, again a scared rabbit caught in the headlights of this man’s smug proficiency, but then the sound of sirens split the morning air. She leaned over and vented her lungs.

  Her heart leapt. She had a chance, the sound of sirens galvanizing her like nothing else could. And the man saw it. Determination replaced the superior set to his features and he quickly darted at her. For once, Kono anticipated it and jumped out of range. Her eyes swept the roof. What would Drake do? Again that phrase, keeping her alive, sharpening her wits. She would not panic. But catchphrase or not it offered a solution.

  Jump.

  Kono ran hard, the force of her launch spinning tiny bits of gravel out from the back of her heels. The edge of the roof came up fast, but there wasn’t even a millisecond to spend entertaining doubt; she leapt across the gap, landing askew on top of the next roof. Pain exploded in her ankle and she tumbled. Thoughts of Mano and his absence flashed through her mind. She ended up against the far edge, crawling, groaning and then sitting up to watch her would-be killer make his leap perfectly and then approach.

  “Too bad.” The outer smugness was back, though the eyes were dead. “A millimeter either way, like me, and you’d still be running. Pfft. Into the horizon.” He keyed his two-way. “Move around to the side of the apartment. I’ll kick her off the roof.”

  And just like that this man decided her fate. The morals of it meant nothing.
His principles were below gutter-level. To have lived for this long, experienced all that she had, harbored hopes and dreams and made plans—all for this. To be kicked ignominiously off a two-story roof.

  “Wait.” Kono held up her hands. “Dude, just . . . wait.”

  “Be quick with your pleadings.” The man checked his watch. “I have someone else to kill at one o’clock.”

  “Oh, well,” Kono had never pleaded in her life and wasn’t about to start now. “If that’s how it is . . .”

  Without knowing exactly what she was doing she kicked out with her heels, aiming every ounce of power at the man’s knees. It was all she had, all she could do. The movement itself sent trails of fire through her damaged ankle. The impact caused explosions. But it also produced a raft of emotions to finally emerge from the empty-seeming man—pain and hatred and several doses of anguish.

  “You . . . you bitch!”

  “Oh the temerity,” Kono struggled to her feet despite her own discomfort, “that the poor little victim should fight back.

  The man stumbled toward her now, experiencing some agony of his own. Kono in turn stumbled away, the two of them performing an unusual dance. Inch by inch she backed away until the edge of the roof lay at her back.

  “The good news is you didn’t break my leg.” The man grimaced as he spoke. “Bad news? You’re still head-diving off this roof.”

  He leapt at her, trying to force her into a sudden step back, but Kono didn’t move. Not at first, instead she waited and waited until the man was close enough to place his hands on her waist and just push. Their eyes locked together.

  “You feel nothing?” she asked.

  “Life gave me no conscience,” the man said evenly. “You’d be surprised how many people it dealt similar gifts too. Right from the top of the food chain and downward, believe me.”

  “You think it is a gift?”

  “Depends on your perspective.” The man glanced over her shoulder. “Yours ain’t so hot, right now.”