The Last Bazaar

by David Leadbeater

  “There are always books,” someone said. “Always.”

  “Not on my watch,” Price said a little theatrically. “Not on this watch. Am I understood?”

  “Sir,” the most vocal of the three spoke up. “Considering where we are and what we’re doing I think we should be perfectly frank here. Are we talking treason?”

  Price didn’t answer directly. “We will buy arms for our allies in Africa,” he said. “And we will cause chaos there. And we will become rich. I don’t see any government not currently employing that tactic in the third world, do you?”

  “The chaos helps to fuel drug wars, inflates prices, causes wars and makes us money,” another said. “Same as it always is.”

  “And stay out of the hot zone.” Price let out a laugh. “I hear Ebola’s bigger than Britney out there.”

  Guffaws ensued. Dahl clenched both fists until the knuckles hurt. It took all his training and composure to remain aloof. Price and the CIA splinter team were planning the worst kind of genocide and all for their own gain. He listened closely for a few moments more but then it started to shower and the sound of raindrops overpowered all other sound. Dahl crept away into the jungle and made his way carefully back to the bazaar.

  Turmoil raged through his thoughts, tearing them apart.

  By the time he met up with Drake and Alicia he was fuming. “One more snake in this nest of vipers.” He spat. “One more poisonous mouth that needs closing forever.”

  Drake frowned. “Mate, I’m all for the reptilian metaphors, especially out here, but what exactly did you hear?”

  “I’ll explain. But now, it’s even more essential we act fast. We can’t let any of these power-mongers escape. Not one.”

  Drake blinked. “That’s easier said than done.”

  “But it’s the right thing to do,” Dahl said. “And believe me, we’re going to do it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  They returned to their tent, and explained all that had happened to the entire team with help of the sat-phone. It was getting on for lunchtime now on the middle day of the last bazaar, and the morning’s shower was descending in full force. Still, the security that surrounded them was first class and the attendance was high, which in itself provided many more capable enemies. Drake listened to the chatter, then nodded in approval as Kinimaka proposed a quick trip to buy some food.

  “I’ll go with you,” Alicia said. “Get my shower for the day.”

  Drake attacked what they brought back with gusto. Sausages, bacon and beans went down well at any time of the day and in any corner of the world. He listened to Kinimaka rave for a while about the choices on offer before being brought back to reality by Hayden’s tone.

  “And where did Webb go?”

  Drake ate slowly. “Haven’t caught up with him again yet.”

  “Ramses?”

  “Ditto.”

  “There are too many players,” Dahl said. “What we need is to herd them all into one area.”

  “Ain’t the bazaar an area?” Hayden drawled.

  “Shit, not exactly. And it’s crawling with hostiles. You should see this place, Hay.” Kinimaka nibbled at a slice of bacon as he talked.

  “Well, I see you guys’re running out of time. People are already leaving. We can’t follow all of them once they float or fly away so make a plan. And let’s do this.”

  “She’s right,” Drake said. “Time is running out. We don’t want to be choosing between the Crown Prince of Terror, the leader of the Pythians and the treacherous American official now, do we? We want all of them, trussed, boxed, bagged and tagged. It’s time to make a play.”

  “All right,” Alicia mumbled, her mouth full. “Soon as I’ve finished this bloody lovely bacon and brie sandwich I’ll go save the world, but not a moment before.”

  *

  The scene rasped on Drake as roughly as if a cheese-grater had been dragged down his skin. A diverse group of guests were gathered at the clearing where the caiman pit lay, and at their head, raised on a podium though he barely needed it, was Ramses. To Ramses’ right was the man who appeared to be his bodyguard and to his left stood a prisoner.

  Restrained by two burly men, the prisoner stared, terrified, in all directions. His eyes were wide, his nostrils flaring. Panic etched his face, carved into every furrow. Ramses—or more likely his slaves—had dressed the man in beachwear: brand new Speedos, sandals and a classic vest, all in bright pastel colors. His hair was brushed, his skin glowing. Among the crowd were those who watched in silence, those who laughed out loud and those who shuffled eagerly from foot to foot.

  Drake looked across at Dahl. “This isn’t gonna happen.”

  The Swede nodded, grim-faced. “The fight starts with this man. Right now.”

  Ramses’ voice boomed over the heads of the crowd. “And here we are, my good friends! As promised, one of the highlights of the weekend—a live hunt! The prey shall be loosed in one minute, and then yourselves in five. The person who brings me his head wins a free toaster!”

  Laughter broke out in the face of the prisoner’s terror, but Ramses’ voice cut through it all. “No, no.” He turned and smiled at the prisoner. “Just a joke at your expense, I’m afraid. I think it would be fairer to offer a tank for your head. Yes, an Abrams tank, delivered anywhere, for this beach-bum’s head. Oh, and remember, both Akatash and I will be joining the hunt.”

  Yorgi pulled himself upright as if in anticipation. The other four fixed their game faces. Drake counted eighteen other people in the huddle. This hunt was going to get intense, violent and bloody.

  “Don’t worry,” Alicia whispered. “We ain’t scrapped in the jungle for a while. This should be interesting.”

  “We still have to keep it low profile,” Kinimaka said with worry in his face. “The three main targets are well divided.”

  Before anyone could answer, the individual dressed as a beach boy was let loose, kicked in the back and shown a game trail to escape on. The young man bolted like a rabbit, glad to be free and making the most of his four minutes head start. His sandals slipped on the mulch, but he caught the fall and plunged into the jungle.

  Ramses smiled magnanimously as his audience chuckled. Akatash flexed his muscles. Dahl eyed the bodyguard dubiously. Men and women all around tightened clothing, cracked knuckles and readied weapons. The frantic sounds of the man fleeing soon died away and all that was left were the seeping trees, the sparkling midday sun and the almost tangible, rising humidity. Drake inched his way around the group and considered breaking away among the trees but guards watched over them all as if expecting such trouble. Even making their way carefully to the front of the pack put them under scrutiny.

  Ramses held up one huge arm, showing off a rose gold Rolex. “Get ready.”

  The hunt was on.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Drake charged into the rainforest with the pack, just to keep up appearances. As expected, most of the crowd rushed on, their bodyguards resigned to following when they most likely should have lead, but a half dozen held back, inspecting the trail. It wasn’t hard to find footprints, but it was hard following the crowd and finding where the imprint of sandals veered away from the trail. Drake saw the distinction first and tried to hide it by muddying the impressions as he went, but it soon became clear that at least Akatash was following closely. The group fell silent as they went, partly to conserve energy and partly to help conceal their path. As the minutes passed all around became silent and they could have been the only people on the face of the world.

  Drake found another imprint, this one so fresh it might only have just been made. Dahl’s job was to scan the trees and look for any telltale signs; Kinimaka’s job was to keep an eye on the pursuit. The path veered again and again, the prisoner perhaps trying to throw them off but more likely scared out of his wits. Drake saw movement ahead and crouched low, expecting the others to do the same.

  Three Asians crossed their path; the primary guest and two bodyguard
s. This man was using his hired help, and they were tracking well. As Drake watched he saw a flash of pastel green ahead, the color though widespread, not natural in this place, and saw how close the Asians were.

  “You see that?” he murmured.

  Alicia placed a hand on his shoulder. “Yes.”

  Drake crept toward the three Asians, who were making very little noise. As the moment neared when he could go no closer without alerting them to his presence he rose and laughed aloud, giving their leader a shock that registered clearly on his face. Both minders turned, weapons raised. Drake saw military knives in their hands and remembered this was a hunt, not a war.

  Alicia walked right up to one of the guards. “How’s it going? Find anything?”

  Drake skirted her and neared the other. “Bloody hot day, what?” He affected the poshest accent he could manage, and not well. “The sodding mozzies are knackering my A-negative count, eh, eh?” He snorted out laughter.

  The knives lowered and the SPEAR team launched their attack. Alicia struck at her opponent’s throat and slammed his wrist. The knife fell and the man choked, but he remained in her face. He blocked her next attack, moving aside. His eyes watered. He brought a knee up to fend off her kick, found a tree and slipped around its wide trunk. Alicia followed, to be met with a swift kick to the face. Her nose bore the brunt, making her own eyes water and blood to start dripping down her face. Kinimaka then appeared on the Asian’s other side, forcing him into a swift decision. Of course, Alicia anticipated the decision correctly. He came at her, fast and deadly, striking like a true denizen of the jungle.

  Drake grappled with his opponent, bearing him to the forest floor. They fell as one, landing softly amid the forest floor’s organic matter. The smaller Asian was fast and sprightly, squirming snake-like in Drake’s grip and trying to shift his blade around. Drake gripped the wrist hard, but as the men rolled, their flesh and clothes became slippery and he found it increasingly hard to hold on.

  Dahl approached the main guest and told the well-dressed man to fall to his knees. When a confused expression lit his features the Swede moved in closer, and that’s when the Asian struck. Three blows, fast, hard and debilitating, connected with Dahl’s head, chest and groin and sent him falling to his knees. The next was a knee to the side of the head, but Dahl resisted the temptation to collapse.

  Tricky little . . .

  He bore another breath-taking blow to the vest and grabbed the leg that apportioned it. Pulling hard he sent the man toppling backwards. When he hit the floor, head-first, the Swede scrambled atop him dispensing hammer blow after hammer blow. The first responses were strong, skillful, but Dahl would have none of it. His fists rained down like the deluges they had endured in this very forest, but bloodying and bruising and bordering on terminal.

  Yorgi motioned at Kinimaka as the pastel green shirt broke cover. The Russian thief was off like a gazelle, fast on his feet, and the big Hawaiian plunged right after. Yorgi called to the man to slow down, but the line between too much shouting and not enough was ambiguous enough to be non-existent. Yorgi closed the gap, but not nearly fast enough.

  Alicia backed away from her own dazzling opponent, barely seeing some of the strikes but far enough away so that they glanced off. The jungle slowed him down. Seeing his ankle snag between branches the Englishwoman plucked out a knife and stabbed. Her attack was deflected, blades clanging. Alicia thrust it harder on the backstroke, nicking her assailant’s neck.

  “Good to see you can bleed too,” she muttered.

  He launched himself at her. They fell back among the fallen branches, foliage surrounding them. She grabbed his arms and felt the muscles tense. He drove the blade at her. She deflected it so that its point sank into the ground, then used her legs to scramble onto his back. Bringing everything she had to bear she put pressure onto the back of his skull, forcing his face into the same earth and readying her own blade once more. The final thrust went between his ribs and through his heart and the struggle was abruptly over.

  Twice now, Drake found his textbook grip spoiled by slippery skin. Luckily, it was the same for both men, and the Asian had lost his knife among the trees. As they parted once more Drake saw a new party following a trail to their right. Alerting them to the struggle could end everything. He punched his opponent in the teeth, receiving split knuckles for his trouble, and then fell upon him. Yorgi and Kinimaka were long gone. Drake rolled as his opponent grabbed hold of his thick vest and pulled. The fist that then came at him missed as he turned his head, instead striking a tree. Drake slammed the palm of his hand into the man’s mouth to stifle the scream. Stunned, the Asian blinked twice.

  And that ended it all. Drake finished it quick and then rolled off.

  Dahl trotted to his side. “Took your time. Playing doctors were you?”

  “Make sure you tie them up, and gag them.”

  “No need.” Dahl shrugged.

  Alicia crouched beside them. “Same here. My guy’s already spider food.”

  “Give me a sec.” Drake used nearby twine to secure his unconscious opponent and then fashioned a gag. “If the animals don’t get him,” he said, “we’ll send someone when this is over.”

  They bounded away, following the path taken by Yorgi through impossibly overhanging trees and a huddle of jagged rocks down which a waterfall rushed. The stream at its base gurgled happily. Another few meandering jungle bends and they saw the pastel green easily through the vegetation. Then they saw Yorgi and Kinimaka.

  Half a dozen men stood facing them in a semi-circle with guns drawn and faces inwardly lit at the prospect of committing murder.

  “Last chance,” one of them shouted. “Give us the prey or you die too.”

  “Look guys,” Kinimaka rumbled. “It’s a fair hunt. We found him first. Come on.”

  “So give us his head.” One of the men laughed. “You keep the rest.”

  Yorgi stood in front of the prisoner. “He is ours.”

  “Have it your way.”

  Drake gasped as the six men opened fire.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Bullets ripped into the ground at Kinimaka’s feet as Drake leapt forward. Yorgi danced away, his own shoes also being used as target practice. Dahl and Alicia circled the six men, weapons leveled. The prisoner in the pastel colored T-shirt quivered in fear, pressed up against a withered tree.

  “Cool it,” Drake said. “Or you all die.”

  Three gun barrels rotated in different directions, giving Kinimaka chance to draw his own gun. Drake breathed almost silently as a sudden tension fell over the clearing, each man eyeing his enemy in the Amazon-Mexican standoff. Even the breeze dropped and the only sound was the quiet ooze of the forest.

  Ramses stepped into view. “Well!” His voice boomed so loud every eye swiveled except those of the SPEAR team.

  “It seems we have a problem.” The prince chuckled. “I see no winner here and I really don’t want to see guests shedding each other’s blood. Put your weapons down, my friends, the prey is going nowhere.”

  Drake saw Akatash sidling up behind the prisoner. Never even saw the asshole coming.

  Weapons were lowered; Ramses was respected in the wild as much as in his element, even outgunned. The Crown Prince of Terror nodded with satisfaction.

  “Good. Good. So what say we let the quarry loose again? After all, the game is unfinished, yes?”

  A flick of his head and Akatash jabbed at the prisoner’s spine. When he flinched, rooted to the spot, Akatash persuaded him some more, then drew a wicked, blood-encrusted machete. Even Dahl’s eyes widened slightly at the size of the thing, which had to be three feet long. Ramses smiled as his future victim departed.

  “The hunt resumes. Shall we give him, oh, sixty seconds? And dear guests, please know that committing murder at my last bazaar comes with the punishment of death by machete.”

  Alicia motioned at the still-twitching underbrush. “Then why are we chasing this guy?”

  “Of co
urse, I should have specified Ramses’ law only protects human beings. Animals, they’re fair game.”

  The countdown commenced and Drake made a point of moving away from the six-man pack. Ramses and Akatash watched, easy in their surroundings and confident with their expertise. Drake rendezvoused with his team and leaned in for a quick confab.

  “Any ideas?”

  “Distraction,” Dahl said. “Melee. You guys cause it and I’ll grab the kid.”

  “And where will you stash him?” Alicia scowled.

  “There is only one place,” the Swede said. “Back at the boat.”

  Drake exhaled. “You might be mad, mate, but even I don’t think you’re crazy. You’d never make it.”

  Dahl tightened his grip on his rifle. “As a team we wouldn’t make it, but two men might.”

  “Ready?” Ramses called out.

  The team straightened and rolled out stiffening muscles.

  “Go!” Ramses and Akatash turned and sprinted. Drake raced after them, leading his team down a parallel game trail. The track was narrow, the ruts and channels perilous, winding to and fro, but Ramses had the same problem. Drake assumed Akatash, ranging a dozen steps ahead, was tracking the boy.

  He nudged Alicia as she panted behind his right shoulder. “You’re the distraction.”

  A shake of the tied blond locks. “And nothing really changes.”

  She sped up, taking the lead, and employed skill and risk to close the gap between herself and Ramses’ bodyguard. It took a moment for the man to notice her, so intent was he on following their quarry’s trail, but when he did she immediately saw the deep light of cunning in his eyes.

  “ ’ow’s it hanging?” she asked as she ran. “The machete, I mean.”

  Akatash ignored her. Alicia took in his frame, his physique and posture. “Work out, do we?”