The Last Bazaar

CHAPTER THIRTY

Drake listened as Dahl picked up the bazaar’s laminated agenda and read out a relevant part.

“On the last day at 10:00 a.m.,” he read. “Morning speech, thank yous and final acquisitions,” he said. “Wind up. It’s the best news we’ve had since we arrived. Everyone should be there.”

The Yorkshireman nodded. “And if we plan it right, we can use it to pick up on all our targets. Let’s assign villains.”

“I’ll take Webb alone,” Alicia said. “Beau will help.”

“Are you sure?” Drake met her eyes.

“Jealous much?”

“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?”