The Last Bazaar

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In the heat of battle and the intense pressure of a soon-anticipated conflict the wisest person will always grab a little respite when he or she can, and Matt Drake’s came in the form of watching Alicia Myles play dress-up. It had now been decided that Yorgi would play the Albanian mafia boss and Alicia his wife, as they were the closest physical match team SPEAR could find at short notice.

Out in the Amazon, Drake had said. It’s you, Alicia, or a cougar.

That one earned him a bruise.

But there were more, so many more potential wisecracks, as Alicia and Yorgi donned the bespoke clothes of the wealthy terrorist couple and figured out a way to conceal their new, slimmer body armor and several weapons. Alicia in particular looked uncomfortable wearing civilian clothes, not to mention customized fabrics, and took some time to tug at the neckline, hemline and sides of her black dress.

“Is it me?” she asked. “Or is this a little inappropriate for the fucking Amazon?”

The Albanian terrorist’s wife shrugged, her blond locks bobbing. “I just dress nice. All places we go are same.”

Alicia stared. “Do you even know what the Amazon is?”

The wife shrugged again. “It is the next place we go. After that it is Cairo. Then the Atlantis Dubai. Then—”

Her husband cut her off with a hiss. Drake grunted. “Don’t count on it, love.”

Alicia gestured feverishly at the window. “Don’t you ever look out the window? There’s a jungle out there not a fucking shopping mall!”

Drake burst out laughing as Dahl grinned. The Yorkshireman said, “You’re perfect for the part, Alicia. A proper terrorist princess.”

“One more crack out of either of you and we’ll be a guard short. Believe that.”

Yorgi stepped up, adjusting a tie and shrugging into a dinner jacket. The young thief also looked out of place, but Drake thought he carried it off quite well. Maybe it was the criminal in him — his life of wearing a disguise. Of course, Lauren would have been better for the job Alicia had been lumbered with but the team would not take her quite literally into the dragon’s den unless there was no other option.

Drake, Dahl and Kinimaka donned new jackets taken from the now trussed-up guards, the Hawaiian having most trouble and having to tear several ambiguous holes to get the right fit. “Next time,” he told the Albanian, “get some guards with a proper set of muscles on ’em. Not toothpicks.”

“Be careful you don’t rip that jacket in half,” Hayden fretted a little. “Just… be careful in there, okay? All of you.”

The five-person team nodded, ready to go. Smyth managed a grimace, still with his weapons trained on the Albanians, and Lauren manned the helm to guide them closer to the site of the bazaar. Very soon, Drake saw guards appear dotted at the top of the riverbank, all with weapons pointed at the skies but on full alert. Again he was reminded that these men weren’t the complacent mercs they had grown used to. Some stood in full view whilst others lurked in the dark, covering their colleagues. Dahl pointed out what appeared to be an anti-aircraft set-up and inhaled loudly without speaking. What was there to say?

Soon, a makeshift dock appeared ahead and Lauren guided the craft slowly in. Once they were docked and tied, the five-person team climbed up on deck, attitude and pass-keys at the ready. Drake stayed close to Alicia and Dahl to Yorgi whilst Kinimaka hung back a little to gauge reactions and study the area.

Drake took in as much as he could without appearing suspicious. The rickety dock led to a flat, muddy area that had clearly been cut out of the jungle and leveled off. He was lucky to be wearing boots but didn’t hold out much hope for the Albanian couple’s shoes. More fortunately it appeared Ramses had thought of everything — including his special guests underestimating the jungle’s hostility — and pairs of rain boots were provided as they came ashore. Drake glared at the bright lights that emanated through the densely packed trees and caught the sounds of laughter, shouting and music, but for now they were stopped at a polite but necessarily suspicious guard station. Here, Drake noticed, the gun barrels were much lower.

Without a word or barely a glance Yorgi handed five pass keys over. The inspector, suitably attired in a penguin suit and white gloves, plucked the pass keys from the Russian’s hand and placed them all, golden micro-chip up, on his table. With an emotionless smile he glanced past them toward the boat, then surveyed the rolling waters and silent banks. Drake said nothing, but prayed there wouldn’t be a series of questions.

Moments dragged on for hours. Drake eyed the guards and they eyed him back. His weapon was holstered but close at hand. The white-gloved concierge waved the first black plastic key onto a portable scanner and waited for a beep. Information must have flashed up on a hidden screen for the man then asked for names and nationality.

Yorgi spoke for the both of them, as haltingly as the Albanian, and trying to keep any Russian inflection from his voice. Drake saw the concierge’s eyes flick and a flex in his fingers, but the look was only a surreptitious one to take in Alicia’s form and soon passed. Drake however noticed Alicia’s sudden tension and prayed that she wouldn’t decide to teach him a lesson. Not here. Not now.

“All keys are good.” The man smiled. “As expected, of course. Please,” he stood aside and indicated a path of stones that had been inlaid into the jungle floor, “follow the… yellow brick road.” His polite laugh at the end was well rehearsed and clearly performed hundreds of times. Yorgi ignored him and pushed past, waving at Alicia to follow but not watching to see if she did. Drake thought the Russian had the terrorist’s mannerisms down to a T and followed Alicia across the unstable stones.

The noise and light drew nearer. Drake saw more guards, their eyes roving the group and nearby shadows. Then they rounded a huddle of trees and entered the bazaar and paused for a moment, looks of shock on their faces. What could only be described as state-of-the-art market stalls lined a wide pathway, their supports and coverings wound among upstanding trees and foliage. Floodlights illuminated all, and helped keep unwanted insects at bay. Vendors hawked their wares, but their offerings were not ordinary merchandise. Drake saw compact sub-machine guns, boxes of grenades, rocket launchers and a missile battery at just a glance. Guards were stationed everywhere, and groups wandered the winding pathway, stopping to peruse stalls at their leisure. Rising at the end of the path Drake saw a pavilion, its opening framed by lights. An odor of cooked meats drifted on the wind. A mini-explosion in the jungle testified to the presence of interested predators.

“They don’t care,” Dahl said, nodding at the buyers. “It’s just another day on the road to them.”

Drake also whispered. “They buy and they buy and it funds more terror,” he said. “Many of them don’t see what they reap. These people are the money, not the zeal.”

Yorgi pretended some interest in a crate of missiles, pointing out the fact that they did possess the Albanian’s pre-paid credit card. More stalls offered knives, swords and military gear. More pavilions appeared ahead and, on quick inspection, presented every sort of deadly paraphernalia Drake could think of, and more besides. All in all, the bazaar was an extreme show of incredible excess, tailored toward the more mature lunatic and his doting wife.

Alicia spoke little as they walked, so far out of her comfort zone even she couldn’t poke fun at it. Banquets lay spread alfresco on tables covered in satin. Auctioneers sold men and women to left and right, so blatantly that the entire five-person team were forced to employ all of their self-restraint not to step in. By contrast the next cleared area along had been overlaid in some kind of thick fabric to allow men and women an area to dance slowly to quiet tunes.

The owner of a shooting range encouraged them to take a try, whispering that he would take any currency that they had. A quiet, domed tent required inspection by Yorgi and turned out to be a drugs boutique. Drake was surprised to see Italian and French designer stalls too, though who could say if the goods were genuine or fake? Certainly not him. None of this interested him too much, but what he did find noteworthy was that none of the guests spoke to or barely glanced at each other. He wasn’t sure if this was sheer snobbery or precautionary but, if pushed, would have bet on the former.

A small array of private tents passed and then they were nearing the end of the bazaar, a railed hole ahead. Drake briefly wondered what might lay inside when Dahl leaned in to Yorgi.

“Think we should buy something? For appearances sake?”

Drake took that one. “Let’s leave it tonight, it’s getting late. We’ve done the groundwork. Tomorrow the real work begins. We find Webb, Beau, and the bloody CIA. And whomever this main man may be.”

“And then Ramses,” Alicia breathed. “After all I’ve been through, I am so looking forward to putting that guy in his rightful place.”

“All you’ve been through?” Yorgi echoed, looking a little hurt. “Playing at being my wife, you mean?”

Alicia scowled. “You’re too young for me, Yogi. And too dainty.”

The thief’s expression was a study in hurt.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I like my men with a bit more meat on them. And more definition. Experience. Weathered. Been around the block a few times…”

Yorgi held up a hand. “Please don’t go on. I understand you.”

Drake still stared at the railing. “Not sure where you’re gonna find one of those around here, Princess.”

“Are you sure?”

Drake turned around to find Alicia considering him. Quickly, he coughed and gave Kinimaka a push. “C’mon, pal, let’s find our tents.”

“Maybe I don’t want to go to bed.” Alicia pouted. “The night is yet young.”

“Big day tomorrow. Huge day. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“Nothing worth doing ever is,” Dahl said.

The group took a last look around the meandering throng, the sparkling tables with their gritty, dirty commodities and the attentive, well-spaced guards. The main players, it seemed, had all retired for the night.

Tomorrow would be madness, Drake thought. Without a plan, backup, or up-to-the-minute intel they somehow had to take down and capture what amounted to a village full of high-class terrorists, a splinter of the CIA and the Pythian leader, not to mention the revolutionary myth himself — Ramses.

Dahl caught his eye, clearly thinking the same thing. “Let the games begin.”