The Last Bazaar

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The problem wasn’t with Dahl’s health or lack of it — it was with the big bruisers he’d head-locked under each arm. Two strapping guards were almost too much even for the Swede and he was having trouble keeping them subdued. Lying on his back, he looked down the corridor at Drake.

“A… little… help…”

Drake nodded at the upside-down face. He removed his knife from its sheath and moved in close. The guard on Dahl’s right struck up at him but Drake ducked to the side. Dahl could now concentrate on the one man and grappled alongside, the silent battle taking place on the floor with all four men crammed up against the passageway’s wooden walls. Drake struck fast and hard, but his blows were deflected by his opponent’s raised arms. When the guy found a way to strike back, Drake let it fly past and punched at the kidneys. The man’s yell of pain was a double moan, one for hitting the wall and another for the punishment to his side.

Dahl was slowly overpowering his own opponent, bringing strength and weight to bear until he gained an advantage. All four men dripped sweat like rain and grunted like rutting pigs — the air down here was stifling. Drake saw the glint of a knife in the other’s hand and caught the wrist, snapping it. A yelp ensued, but by then the Yorkshireman had his own knife unsheathed and to hand. One thrust was deflected, another pushed aside desperately by flesh that began to bleed. The eyes that stared into Drake’s own were merciless.

He plunged the blade to its hilt and watched the life extinguish, then rose. Dahl rose too, retrieving his own blade and wiping it off. Together, they trudged back into the room where Hayden held their hostages.

Dahl grunted under his breath. “Thanks… mate.”

Drake struggled to shrug off the terrible dread that seized him when the Swede failed to appear. “Next time, don’t hug them, put them down.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

Then Hayden fell against the door frame, arms flailing. Drake caught her and moved her aside, spotting the rising welt along the side of her face. A moment later the bare-chested man appeared, clutching an empty beer bottle to his chest as if it were a lifeline.

“Save yourself some pain, knobhead,” Drake growled. “Put it down.”

“I no understand.” The man rubbed day old stubble in agitation, hopping from foot to foot.

“We don’t have the time.” Dahl pushed past, gripped the man by the scruff of the neck and threw him against the far wall before the bottle even moved. A wall-light smashed and a narrow bookcase fell over, scattering paperback tomes everywhere. Drake prevented the Swede from causing further damage by holding him back.

“We need him alive and kicking.”

Hayden rubbed her face and walked over to the woman. Drake guessed from rings on the left fingers and even a framed picture on the wall that this was the man’s wife. Other tell-tale objects revealed that they were wealthy, well-traveled, and possibly hailed from the country of Albania. Tattoos on the man’s hairy arms appeared to be of Mafia origin, but Drake was no expert. Safe to say though, this man was about to be a guest at Ramses’ last bazaar.

“I no understand,” the man said again with a heavy accent.

Drake smiled softly, catching his eyes. “I’ll say this once and then we’re gonna resort to pain.” He allowed the blade of his knife to glint in the remaining light and watched the Albanian’s eyes widen. “Yeah, you understand all right. It’s very simple. Tell us about this bazaar, about Ramses, and why you’re here.”

The man’s face ran through a myriad of emotions, as if contending with an inner struggle. Drake would not hurt the man’s wife but he didn’t know that. With a flick of his head he indicated that Hayden should round the woman up. Popcorn fell to the floor. The woman’s long dark hair fell free as she began to sob.

“Start talking.” Drake raised the knife, keeping it neutral but projecting threat.

“I know nothing of Ramses. This is — how you say? A… third party made invite. Through my third party. You see?”

Drake actually did “see”. These parasites were too clever to get personally involved in such communications. “Go on.”

“Bazaar is—” the Albanian spread his hands, still clutching the bottle “—a way to make money. Buy and sell. Or buy something… want.”

Drake accepted by now that the man’s English was somewhat lacking in depth. These were only trial questions anyway — gauging the man’s honesty.

“We here… vacation.” The man shrugged. “It is different, yes? Just a few days away.”

Drake tried to ignore that statement, not wanting to become submerged in the innumerable questions it raised. “We want the passes,” he said. “All of them. And we want the protocols, the etiquette. Everything. Do you understand?”

The Albanian nodded. “You want in?”

“Exactly.”

Hayden added another question. “And these boats? Are they private? Your own?” She pointed to the man and then the room. “Or can Ramses’ men board when they like?”

“Mine.” The Albanian nodded again. “My boat. They not come here. Bazaar very private and…” he paused. “Anon… anony…”

“Anonymous,” Drake helped out. “Okay, okay. So they give you your own space. That’s good. What about entry?”

The Albanian indicated a low coffee table that sat in the center of the room, in front of the television. Upon its smoked-glass surface lay a number of glossy black plastic cards, oblong in shape and about the length of a letterbox. Dahl moved over to them, scooped them up and examined both sides.

“No ID pictures,” he said. “Just a chip embedded in one side. What information did you have to give?”

“Name. Country. Time of arrival. Any special needs.” A shrug. “No more.”

“And why are there five?” the Swede asked.

“Us, plus bodyguards. Protection is… must.”

Drake caught the man’s attention. “Did you have… shall we say an inventory? Or an index of items.” He searched for an easier description. “A wish list.”

“No. Ramses’ reputation is enough for me.”

“What were you hoping to buy?” Hayden asked suddenly, changing the flow of questioning.

The Albanian’s eyes fell. “I not know. Browse, you say? Yes… browse.”

Drake gulped down a rush of bile born of pure hatred for such creatures as this who murdered and destroyed lives because they thought they had a right to. He signaled and Dahl went off quickly to tell Alicia to shut the boat down. They didn’t want to be drifting too close to the bazaar just yet.

“So that’s it?” he said. “The bazaar is a basic market place with stalls and entertainment. Ramses is in it to make a few quick bucks and seal a few deals. Will it really be so easy to get in?”

The Albanian understood the last sentence. “All hard work done,” he said. “To get passes. They know you don’t keep… people waiting.”

Drake met Hayden’s eyes. “Five passes,” he speculated. “I wonder…”

With shocking swiftness the Albanian’s wife struck out, battering Hayden’s already bruised face with a mug and then kicking her in the chest. Hayden tripped over the coffee table and went sprawling. Drake ignored the shock and leapt at her. The Albanian man struck too. Drake reached the wife first, but she danced away, kicks and blows well aimed enough to make him slow down. The Albanian hit him from behind, the bottle coming down against his neck, but over the thick jacket he wore so the pain was dulled. Drake flicked his shoulders, throwing the man off. The wife came in again. Drake batted her foot away, grabbed her ankle and pulled, overbalancing her so that she smashed through the table. Hayden rose once more, face now bruised in two places, and shouted a warning.

“Quit!” she cried. “As of now, you guys live. Any more of this shit and I’ll personally gut the both of you!”

Drake spun to face the Albanian, hands ready, but the man backed off, holding his arms high but still clinging to the heavy bottle.

“Had to try,” he said, fingers grasping around the neck.

The wife picked herself up off the floor, brushing glass from her clothes and wincing from the dozen or so cuts she’d received. Drake noted that she still did not stop even as the blood flowed and caught Hayden’s attention.

“I think the two Albanian Kruegers really need to be restrained and guarded. No slacking. These two are bloody dangerous.”

“I agree.”

There was the clatter of footsteps and then the rest of the team joined them. Drake regarded Alicia.

“How close are we?”

“No sign of the bazaar’s guards. We’re okay for now.”

“Good. Because we have decisions to make before we go in.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Five passes,” he said. “Eight of us. Who stays?”

“Soldiers should go,” Yorgi said immediately. “More training if something go wrong. If I am needed I can help better alone.”

“Then that rules me out,” Lauren said. “But I agree. I’d be no good in there.”

Smyth watched her. “I’ll stay with them,” he muttered. “That makes it easy and they’re gonna need a guard.”

Drake agreed with him. His eyes took in Alicia and Dahl, Hayden and Kinimaka. “Then it’s all up to us. Are you ready to crash the last bazaar?”

“Are you kidding?” Alicia grinned. “Crashing parties is my thing.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Drake said automatically, then added, “In fact, I remember it.”

Dahl stayed serious. “We should conduct a little extra interrogation first. Get them to tell us about what we’re allowed to take in — weapons and the like.”

Kinimaka couldn’t take his eyes away from Hayden’s bruised face. “Shit.”

Hayden ignored him. “All right, let’s do this. And in there we’re in hell. Murder central. Surrounded by the worst of the worst. This is gonna be like nothing we’ve experienced before, boys, so be careful. Danger, literally, will be all around.”

“Better than that other fucker that they reckon is all around,” Alicia murmured. “Love.”

Dahl rubbed his hands together a little too gleefully for Drake’s liking. “So come on,” he said. “What are we waiting for? Ramses’ bazaar isn’t going to obliterate itself.”