The Last Bazaar

by David Leadbeater

  “Who? Me? Stop blethering, y’ daft apath.”

  “Shit, is that some kind of Martian tongue?” Dahl looked over.

  Drake realized he’d reverted to type in his non-jealousy. “Anyway. Price is mine, Dahl’s and Mano’s. Yorgi, you can watch Ramses and wait for everyone to regroup before we move on him.”

  “It makes sense,” the Russian said. “Ramses will be one of the last to leave.”

  The foot traffic passing outside the tent began to rise and grow more vocal. A sound echoed through the bazaar, deep and booming, the reverberation of a huge gong.

  The team rose at once, Drake eyeing Kenzie one more time. “Remember what we said.”

  “I’ll do my best, lover.”

  Outside, the crowd strolled noisily toward the large clearing that also held the caiman pit. Drake kept his eyes on the jungle at first, ensuring the guards were positioned as before, then turned his attention to the crowd and scanned for targets. A flash of red caught his eye as he turned from the jungle, just a flicker, but the location and quickness told him one clear and obvious thing.

  Somebody else is out there, watching. His heart sank. Not another enemy, I hope.

  No time to worry about that now. It could even be one of the local drug gangs or a native. Drake blended with the crowd, following Yorgi and Alicia with Dahl and Kinimaka at his side. Conversation pummeled him from all sides. The ground squelched with every step and sunlight filtered intermittently from above. Drake was so sick of the thick, fetid rainforest stench by now that he considered holding his nose. Soon though they were streaming out of the narrow trail and grouping around a podium—the same one from which Ramses had issued his welcome speech. Drake joined his friends in scrutinizing the bobbing, talking heads of the crowd.

  “This is more like it,” Alicia said. “I see Webb already.”

  “Oh, and who’s the tight hunk next to him?” Kenzie craned her neck, a crafty glint in her eye, proving that she’d read the situation between Drake and Alicia correctly.

  “The French Condom,” Drake said. “At least, that’s what his friends call him.”

  “And his enemies?”

  Dahl nudged Drake. “Look.”

  “Thanks for the bruise. Where?”

  “Bruise? All I did was give you a prod. Two o’clock, front row.”

  Drake saw the suits, the mostly shaven heads, the gray hairs of Robert Price. “Gang’s all here,” he said.

  “It is now.” Kinimaka wiped sweat from his forehead as the terrorist prince appeared.

  Ramses took the stage, closely followed by his bodyguard, Akatash. The bazaar’s patron stood bigger than Drake remembered, as tall as a garage door and unbearably bulked out, as if he’d had basketballs implanted alongside his normal muscles. His face broke into a smile as he took the podium and stared out across a sea of faces.

  “My friends, my friends! What an occasion, what a magnificent affair. Am I right?”

  Cheers erupted, a wall of sound flooding toward and swallowed whole by the all-encompassing rainforest. Ramses basked in its wash, a happy man.

  “Make no mistake,” he said, his voice amplified by unseen speakers. “This mission of ours will not see an end in our lifetime. It will take time. But we are already the aggressors, not the pacifists, and they will lose. We are stronger together. Stronger by far. These deals we make in places like this, they will have far, far reaching successes. Look to New York for some solace—” he smiled malevolently “—next week. But do stay away.”

  Drake turned wide eyes toward Kinimaka and Dahl and then did his best to hide them. What could this Prince of Terrorists mean?

  “Coalition airstrikes?” Ramses laughed. “They will soon learn the futility of their actions. We have no timetable, no clear path to resolution or retribution. We will never die. We will never stop. And our gods will make an eternity of shining days for us all!”

  In closing, Ramses held both hands aloft, face turned toward the skies, and waited once more for the overwhelming wave of applause and approval to pass. Drake watched Dahl’s face, and reached out a steadying hand to stop the man exploding right there and then.

  “For New York!” Ramses called out.

  Another swell of applause.

  Drake was watching Tyler Webb, and saw the terrible smile as the man turned knowingly to gauge the crowd’s reaction. A female hand on his arm made him glance to the right.

  “I’ll be back soon.” Alicia, her blond hair caught by the sun, gave him a grave smile.

  “What?”

  “I have to go see Beau. This is about to go down and it’s gonna be the hardest thing we’ve ever tried to do. He has to know.”

  “But . . . Beau?”

  “Don’t worry. Been there, done that. Won’t try it again.”

  Drake grimaced. “Oh, thanks for sharing. And, in any case, that’s not what I . . .”

  “Sure it isn’t. Bye lover.”

  Kenzie’s face suddenly blocked his eye line. “Hey, hey. You crying?”

  CHAPTER THRTY ONE

  As Ramses rambled on a little more, Alicia threaded her way through the crowd. Though this mission necessarily entailed a constant level of watchfulness, a level that soon became stressful to a point where she couldn’t even wisecrack properly, the blonde was actually reveling in it. Different, yes, but then so am I.

  For the first time she could remember she was totally focused, able to push all other considerations to the back of her mind and work on a new future. With Drake? The thought came fast and unbidden, and with surprise. She’d been trying to suppress that profound nugget until she could figure out a way to understand her own feelings.

  The two of them had been burned enough in this lifetime. Neither of them needed a new heartache.

  Alicia stopped close to Beau, but the bodyguard was focused entirely on his charge and the areas around him. Also the jungle, where Alicia fancied she saw a flash of something or someone on their way to the bazaar. It was gone before her mind could form an opinion, fleet and fast like smoke and rain, but maybe Beau had noticed the same thing. Alicia found her mind wandering, and for a moment old fears started to fight their way back to the surface, claws flashing above the still waters, but then she thought back to Arizona and their quest for the ghost ships, and remembered her own storm amidst the mega-storm. Decisions had been made that day, a willingness to try, and try she bloody well would.

  Beau was staring at her, face betraying his surprise.

  Alicia inclined her head. Beau would understand. He immediately nodded at Webb though, indicating that he would only draw attention by leaving the madman’s side. Alicia wondered what expression Webb’s face would snap into if he saw Kinimaka approaching and desperately wanted to see that darkly comedic scene, but understood it couldn’t happen.

  Not yet.

  Just then, Ramses finished his ridiculous tirade and several people rose quickly and moved toward him, needing perhaps some clarification or just trying to bask in his wicked magnificence. Webb was one of them. Alicia followed Beau, grabbing his shoulder and moving him a few feet away from Webb as the Pythian king stared up at Ramses, his lips working quickly as he tried to grab some attention.

  “What do you know?” she asked. “Webb. The Pythians. New York. All of it.”

  Beau glared. “And nice to see you too. Do you know how many nights we have been here? I have been,” he rolled his hips suggestively, “saving it all for you.”

  Alicia coughed. “Well, that’s very nice of you, Beau, but you’re gonna have to tie it off around your waist for now because we’re in the middle of a crisis. Too many targets and no time. We’re struggling. Your input and help is required.”

  The Frenchman checked his ward, who had sidled right up to Ramses by now, and turned back. “It is very bad.” His manner changed on a dime. “For New York, it is very bad. The last Pythian, Julian Marsh, is smuggling a suitcase nuke into the country, into the city, with an intention to prove its authenticity and then
extract many dollars from the American government. What he doesn’t know is that Ramses’ men intend to hijack the bomb once it’s in the city and set it off.”

  Alicia took a moment to digest that. “What? And you haven’t communicated that to anyone sane yet? Fuck!”

  Both looked to the ground as heads turned their way. Then Beau said, “I didn’t know where you were sleeping. There are many men’s tents.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. But you obviously did not know where I was sleeping, since you have not come to visit.”

  Alicia breathed deeply, annoyed and confused that Beau was making this about their relationship. It was pure jadedness, she knew, from a man who had seen it all and lived it all almost every day. Familiarity bred contempt, yes, and also complacency. Cynicism. She resisted the urge to shake the Frenchman.

  “Marsh doesn’t know Ramses’ intent,” Beau clarified.

  Alicia thought about their very immediate future. “Tell me where your tent is.”

  Beauregard began to smile and then realized her mind was working in an entirely different way to his. Quickly, he explained, then sighed loudly.

  “I also think you should know Webb’s true intent for being here. It wasn’t the nuke. Nothing like that. He’s bought some kind of scroll that was part of a journal compiled by Leopold—a German who spent his whole life researching Saint Germain.”

  “Fuck, that wanker again. What is it with old bell ends and their bloody secret lives? I’m pretty sure that in fifty or a hundred years, someone will be studying the secrets of people we see as famous now.”

  Beau blinked. “Really? Who?”

  “Dunno. Terry Wogan? Jay Leno? Jennifer Lawrence?”

  Beau grimaced. “Now who is kidding around?”

  Alicia tended to agree. “All right, but New York has just taken priority.”

  “Of course. That was always Webb’s plan. Distraction so he can focus entirely on the journal, working out its secrets.”

  “That man is a devil with a demon’s heart and mind,” Alicia said. “I’m really gonna quarter the bastard and bury the parts at separate ends of the earth.”

  “I will help you.”

  “We’ll see. Now, is there—”

  Alicia stopped abruptly as she saw Beau check on the whereabouts of Tyler Webb—now physically talking to Ramses—and then lean in, put an arm on her shoulder and his lips to her own. Alicia immediately felt a rush of heat and an urge to drag her own personal python off into the jungle, but then stood stock still and forced it all down. Gently, she pushed Beauregard away.

  “Not now.”

  “Not now?” He watched her. “Or not ever?”

  “I don’t know. Damn, being normal is so complicated. I’m trying to be different, a new person, and I won’t lose my way in that stuff anymore. Does that make any sense to you?”

  “I am not sure. All I offer is hot, sweaty sex.”

  Alicia gulped. “Stop it. I need more than that. Longer lasting emotions and some kind of commitment. Is that what you’re offering too?”

  Beau turned away, torn, as Webb wound his conversation up with Ramses. Or had he averted his eyes because of Alicia’s question? His next words illuminated her. “I can’t offer that. I don’t think so anyway.”

  “Well, make your mind up fast. Because one day, I’ll be gone.”

  The Englishwoman slipped away, already thinking about their targets and New York and how to get a message to Hayden on the boat. People had to be made aware. How long had Marsh been on the road anyway?

  He might already be there.

  *

  Drake stared at her when she returned, reminding her of Beau’s own expression as she left. Mixed feelings plagued every nerve in her body.

  “What happened?” Drake asked.

  “Yes, he tried to kiss me,” Alicia blurted. “Yes, he succeeded. No, we didn’t slip off for a short interlude. Not that anything’s ever short where Beau’s concerned, if you get my meaning. Yes, he wants me and yes, I have no idea what to do about it.”

  Dahl touched her. “We meant—what does Beau know?”

  Alicia patted the gun holstered at her waist, and then explained everything she knew. “All I know,” she finished, “is that we need to roll the credits on this shameful bazaar and get our beautiful butts en route to New York.”

  Her comrades were still reeling from the shock. Alicia held her hand sup. “Don’t worry, we have time. Ramses is still here, yes? And he wants to be the orchestrator of New York’s final symphony.”

  The team gathered a little closer, sensing a new and terrible severity to their already challenging mission.

  “We’re on the edge,” Drake said. “If that bomb goes off . . .” He shook his head. “We’re on the edge of Armageddon.”

  A shout brought their heads up fast. Ramses had taken to the podium again and was calling for attention. Guards moved up behind the small structure, partially hidden, and Alicia strained to see why. They had caught some prisoners, it seemed. Maybe they had captured drug runners in the surrounding jungle and were about to execute them as a final gesture.

  Ramses’ eyes swept the crowd. “Some of our guests, it seems, are imposters.”

  The crowd went deadly silent. Alicia felt Drake stiffen and saw Dahl’s face turn to white granite.

  “But how do we find out who they are?” Ramses made a show of clicking his tongue in thought.

  Alicia saw Beau turn, his face appalled. Then she watched in horror as the prisoners were dragged into view—Smyth, Lauren and Hayden were escorted around the side of the podium, hands tied and pushed along by a dozen men.

  “If you want my input,” Ramses grinned, “I say we feed their friends to the caimans and see what shakes out.”

  He laughed uproariously.

  “To the pit!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Drake forced his limbs to stop working, wanting to charge forward with all guns blazing. He reached out to both Kinimaka and Dahl too, steadying them.

  “Timing,” he said.

  Hayden, Smyth and Lauren looked a little beat up. Bruises stood out on their foreheads and blood trickled from their lips. Their bonds were tight, painfully so, causing them to grimace in pain with every movement. But thank God they were still alive and Ramses enjoyed his awful spectacles. This entire situation was about to explode big time. Drake checked his guns, his knives, his spare ammo. He checked the positions of Ramses, of Webb and of Robert Price. He fixed Kenzie with a momentary stare, wondering how she might take advantage of such an unforeseen dilemma.

  All the while, their three teammates were herded amid a gaggle of squawking guards ever closer to the stinking caiman pit. One ran ahead and started working on the padlock that allowed entry. Ramses walked behind them, an extremely attentive Akatash at his side. The two men now sported AK47s, borrowed from guards. All of a sudden the strangely cheery atmosphere of the bazaar had turned very deadly indeed.

  Drake and his colleagues drifted ever closer, using the crowd for cover and remaining as placid as they could. This outcome was all about surprise, made harder by the clear fact that everyone was expecting something to happen.

  Hayden stumbled. Smyth bent down to steady her and received a rifle-butt to the back of the neck. He didn’t go sprawling, but took it with a glare of anger, making sure Hayden was stable before staggering to his own feet. Drake dogged the guards now, still amid the crowd, and was surprised when Kenzie put an arm around him.

  “You might be surprised, soldier boy, but this shocks even me. What they’re about to do.”

  “They’re terrorists,” he mumbled. “What did you expect?”

  “Professionalism. Restraint. This is a public forum despite its secrecy.”

  “These are the people you chose to run with.”

  “I take my own path. I am not like them. I can’t help what they do in private or among themselves but this, feeding humans to animals . . . this is beyo
nd reprehensible.”

  Drake nodded. Maybe this woman did have some heart after all, buried beneath all those layers of hardiness, hatred and dreams of vengeance.

  “I will help you,” Kenzie said. “Until they are free or we’re dead.”

  “And then?”

  “Don’t get in my way.”

  Drake grimaced inside. Somehow, he believed she might help them and then try to kill them. With this woman it made sense, and at least she was open about it. The guards reached the edge of the pit and halted, waiting patiently for Ramses to pick his way through them as their captives continued to struggle. At length, the Prince of Terrorists stared down into the hidden depths of the deep hole.

  “Ahh, my friends, you do look hungry down there!”

  Spontaneous laughter broke out. Hayden stood upright, no fear on her face as she eyeballed Ramses. Smyth moved next to Lauren as if his body might shield hers from harm. Drake wondered briefly how the angry soldier might have been surprised, then decided it didn’t matter. Tension settled over the crowd as most of them watched each other, waiting for some kind of reaction. Hands hovered over weapons. Hammers clicked back on dozens of guns as the tension rose high enough to trigger lightning.

  Ramses was ready.

  “Throw them into hell!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Drake stood as close as he dared without arousing suspicions. It was whilst he scanned a dozen different positions and possibilities, the guards’ faces and stances, that he noticed the red flash among the nearby trees.

  For the second time.

  One moment it was there, the next it was gone. The distraction cost him though—as the guards pushed their bound prisoners to the edge of the pit and only then slit their bonds. Smyth immediately lashed out, as did Lauren and Hayden, but their feet were already slipping over the edge, dirt and vegetation crumbling beneath them, the hands of the guards driving them, the unstoppable force of sheer momentum thwarting them.

  Time slowed, stretching out like elastic. Everyone moved. Everything changed. Drake raised a rifle in one hand, a Glock in the other and charged the guards. Dahl battered men aside and raced headlong toward his falling friends.