The Last Bazaar

CHAPTER TWENTY

Drake tried to calm his pounding heart, tried to reel his eyes back in from the stalks on which they currently perched. Three men wearing Armani suits was bad enough; three men wearing Men In Black sunglasses was a tad worse…

But three men who were clearly agents of the American government, strolling along with smiles and handshakes and knowing glances, already holding wrapped purchases and designer carrier bags, one of them having inserted a red tag inside his breast pocket — which signified that he’d ordered a slave to be collected later — was mind blowing to say the least.

And that wasn’t the most shocking thing about the scenario.

Kinimaka still struggled to draw breath. Drake saw the world spinning inside his own head as everything he knew became unbalanced. Dahl grunted and grunted, trying to come up with a suitable remark and failing. In the end it was Alicia who finally put a voice to their utterly terrifying vision.

“I’m not mad am I? That is who I think it is?”

Drake nodded, mouth dry.

“It’s Robert Price.” Kinimaka’s knees were actually shaking. “The fucking US Secretary of Defense. I… I…”

Drake swallowed hard, caught in a gamut of emotions. It wasn’t simply a horrendous shock, a terrible betrayal, an unthinkable scenario; not only did it pull the carpet from underneath every hardworking, patriotic agent and solider on the planet, but it also besmirched the memory of Jonathan Gates. The old Secretary had been a good man, loyal to the core, a champion of his country and his friends, but his successor was now proving to be the complete opposite.

“We need to move,” Dahl finally blustered. “They’re heading over here.”

The team suppressed their shock and got to work. The actual act of concealment wasn’t hard — this was the jungle after all — it was the performance they required not to draw attention to themselves. Yorgi ended up facing Price as he strolled by, grinning everywhere as if he owned the place — and the rest stood around in a half-circle as if being berated. Price nodded to Yorgi as he sauntered past.

“Take no shit, lad. Take no shit.”

Drake stiffened and felt Kinimaka do the same. Robert Price was drawling it up, no doubt enjoying his dangerous freedom, acting a mean part. The man should be as far out of his comfort zone as Colin Firth playing one of the world’s most bad-ass assassins, but hey, he pulled it off.

Drake waited as the footsteps went away, loud on the mulch. At Yorgi’s signal the entire group headed back to the bazaar’s main street, quietly reeling from what they had seen. Webb, Beau and now Robert Price! Drake allowed the information to assimilate. This coupled with the appearance of the great and mysterious Ramses started to give him pause for thought.

Have we taken on more than we can chew this time?

“Yorgi,” he said. “The tent. Now.”

“I figure so.”

They took a meandering route past the river, wanting to hop over there and confer with Hayden but unsure as to what protocols might be in play. Smyth still stood atop the deck though, a dependable sentry. Kinimaka walked slap-bang into a tree, so disturbed was he, and failed to notice the flailing arachnid that came crashing down and bounced off his broad back. Alicia let out a stifled gasp as the monster scrambled away.

“Shit, let’s get this mission finished so I can get out of this place. My skin is crawling, my body itching. Even my toes are starting to curl.”

They continued in silence, finally reaching the tent and stationing both Dahl and Alicia outside. Kinimaka found his phone and dialed Hayden.

“Hope to fuck you’re sitting down,” he breathed when she answered.