The Last Bazaar

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The morning welcomed them in spectacular and now sadly familiar fashion. The heavens spared no quarter as they opened up a deluge of gargantuan proportions, the rain slamming against the tent with a fury none of them could have imagined. Dahl thrust his head into the downpour to get a look at the morning’s proceedings but soon reported that the bazaar seemed to be taking a break.

“Funny that,” Drake said.

An hour later the torrent subsided and the group made their way out of the small tent village. A huge snake lay across their trail but even as they all paused, startled, it slithered away, its lazy undulations almost mesmerizing. Alicia took a deep breath as if she’d just faced down the worst horror of her life and then moved off. Drake grinned at her back. Dahl warned him with a finger to his lips.

“I’d stay quiet, mate, if you fancy keeping your wedding tackle.”

Drake nodded. The bazaar was back in full flow, gaudy market stalls open, tents with openings flung wide and pop music drifting in the background. Groups and couples were already wandering the byways, stopping to browse at various stalls. A group of tired-looking men dressed in white thawbs and keffiyehs emerged from one of the privately marked tents, moving as if they’d been involved in negotiations all night. Drake would have given a year of his life to know what they’d been plotting. If only the CIA had been concentrating more on surveilling this event rather than attending they might have made the world a safer place for decades to come.

As they paused near the end of a trail, dripping trees all around, a chopper rose into the air carrying some unnamable extremist back to his homeland. This was the bazaar’s middle day and some deals had already been struck. The team made a point of heading back toward the river and watched their boat for a while. Smyth made an obvious figurehead, standing atop the deck, looking fresh and staring at the skies as if daring them to drench him again. Nothing passed between the team but judging by the sight of him, Drake had to assume all was well. The nearby guards eyed them carefully, and soon Yorgi signaled that they should return to the bazaar. As they walked away one of the river boats started up and also left the bazaar, its owner’s deals all done.

They made a point of attending the slave market, having agreed the previous night that this was one place they would ensure was liquidated of scum before they left. Crowds of buyers and their entourages were now walking outside and gathering in the tents, the bazaar at its busiest. Drake saw how the deals were made, where the slaves came from and then were stored for later collection, and which guards were the most vicious. The auctioneer in particular warranted something special, maybe a visit from one of Kinimaka’s spiders. The evil, vile glint in his eyes and his actions were not those of a man whose humanity might be salvaged.

Half an hour later, sick to their stomachs, the team exited the slavers’ tent and huddled for a brief confab.

“It’s time to find Ramses,” Kinimaka said. “Vulnerabilities. Targets. Weapons of major interest…”

“Dude,” Alicia breathed. “What the hell do you think we’ve been doing? Ramses’ tent is a two minute stroll that way, and his neighbors are probably worth a prod or two.” She indicated a game trail made larger by the men. “Guards are either facing in or out, not both. Also they don’t appear to call in at all, for some reason, so if one disappears the rest don’t know. No communications center, either. We haven’t identified who’s in charge yet. As for weapons — didn’t you see the suitcase nukes, the PU94 plutonium inside their radioactive carrying cases, the stock of prototype RPGs and fluid body armor? Man, we can’t let a single terrorist get away with a single item of that lot. And as for targets, well why the hell do ya think we’re doing all this strolling? For our good health?”

Drake grinned. Alicia was clearly on her game, making up for last night, and the Hawaiian scratched his head as he absorbed all she had just said. “The CIA don’t work that way,” he said. “When we’re gonna do something we say so. At least, we do to the one percent we trust.”

“Not in the CIA—” Alicia tapped his shoulder “—any more.”

“Yup, I got that.”

Again they emerged from the enlarged trail close to the fenced off pit, and now saw several men and women peering down through the bars. With a horde of people between they walked soundlessly toward it, peering at every face and inwardly bemused by the absolute lack of eye contact.

It was then that Drake saw familiar faces. One that caused even him a moment’s panic. Quickly, he caught everyone’s attention and pulled them aside to stare with interest into the forest as two men walked by.

Tyler Webb and Beauregard Alain.

Drake allowed his head to hang, his shoulders to slump. Anything to appear different. Alicia struggled not to send a quick glance at Beauregard. Not one of the team could safely stare at the passersby because they knew of Webb’s stalking abilities and that he would no doubt know them all by sight, but they did manage to piece together the scenario between them.

“Webb’s here to buy,” Drake said as they turned to watch the men’s backs move away. “And Beau’s here as his bodyguard. Shit, Beau might have purposely let this thing slip but I didn’t realize they would be attending.”

“Nor me,” Alicia muttered. “Whoa, that man looked good.”

“If Webb’s here to purchase,” Dahl said, “then it can’t be good. We have to mark them down as a definite target.”

“The leader of the Pythians? Most wanted man in the world?” Drake said. “Oh yeah, he’s on the list.”

As the group watched, Webb and Beauregard abruptly stopped, confronted by a small entourage of bearded men. All wore the traditional Arab dress except two, and it was these two who looked to be the most interesting. Drake studied a huge man, up to seven feet tall, and the other who appeared to be his bodyguard. It was a giveaway how both he and Beauregard squared up to each other, equals, and stopped studying their surroundings for danger. It was enough that they watched each other. Drake saw Webb engage in conversation with the lofty individual — whom, he noted, was also quite muscular and probably capable — and tried to read lips.

“Now there’s a shocker,” Dahl said. “You see the big guy? How he holds himself? How the others all defer to his gestures and looks? He’s royalty, I’m sure. That’s our man.”

Kinimaka tried his best not to stare. “Ramses himself? Are you sure?”

“Who else could it be? Expert bodyguard. You can tell by the way Beauregard is so hyper-alert. Entourage of normal guards. His comportment. And the other giveaway — Webb, the so-called Pythian king — has actually been stopped by him and is holding a conversation.”

The group stood carefully, stealing glances, but careful of the vigilant guards both beside Ramses and close by in the jungle. Danger lurked everywhere. As if to corroborate this a thin, bright snake slithered past their feet with no real interest, one of the deadliest creatures on the planet. Drake found himself suddenly unsure which predator to look at next.

“Shit, we’re in trouble here.”

“Don’t worry,” Dahl said, “I’ll look after you.”

“Thanks, Dad. Now, what the hell do we do next? We can’t just follow ’em around.”

“I’m thinking—” Kinimaka began, but then just stopped. The expression on his face put Drake in mind of a coronary and he moved closer to his friend.

“Mano? You okay, pal?”

The Hawaiian’s mouth moved but nothing came out. Shock and quite possibly terror controlled his every decision.

Drake noted the man wasn’t looking in the direction of Ramses but to his left. To another group of men. To…

Drake gaped.

“But that’s… that’s impossible.”

“It is.” Even Alicia sounded shaken. “But he’s standing right there. Large as life. Attending a fucking repulsive terrorist bazaar with the scum of the earth. Oh shit, guys, what the hell do we do now?”