The Last Bazaar

CHAPTER FOUR

Matt Drake sat with one foot pressed hard down on the Porsche’s gas pedal, the other hard down on the brake. Torsten Dahl’s voice came through the two-way radio.

“Stop revving the bloody nuts off it!”

“It’s called launch control,” Drake said a little huffily. “Something ole Aunty Aston probably never heard of.”

“Bollocks.”

Alicia stood to the left of the start-line, having borrowed a checkered flag from one of the track day organizers. She raised it up until it fluttered high in the air and then waited until all eyes were on her.

“Ready?”

Drake nodded. Dahl revved his engine.

Alicia mouthed: “Three, two, one…” and then brought the flag down swiftly.

Drake released the brake pedal, allowing the Porsche free rein of its howling engine, and felt his head pushed back into the seat as the vehicle surged forward. Black asphalt stretched away ahead, rising slightly, and he was aware only of the racing line that would take him to the first corner and the speeding car to his right. The Porsche was already ahead, but barely. Dahl had drawn the inside line, which would give him the advantage for the first corner. Drake flicked at the paddle-shift, gaining another gear and another few inches on the Swede. Alicia was already a speck in the distance, waving at their rearviews.

The first corner hit and Drake swung in hard, making it a few widths ahead of Dahl and almost cutting him off. Dahl veered to the right, huge in the Porsche’s sloping rear window. Drake knew a badly timed gear here would result in an accident, but more importantly a race loss. Corners two and three materialized fast and seemed to merge together. Drake felt the Porsche’s back end twitch as he accelerated out of the third and toward the fourth, but caught it as it slewed back into line. Dahl’s Aston used the slight mistake to gain ground, its front grill now sneaking back into Drake’s eye line.

“Fucking English,” Drake growled.

“Through and through,” Dahl said. “Made in Warwickshire.”

“I meant you, ya knob.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Both cars drifted around the final corner together, Drake concentrating hard to ensure he didn’t miss a beat coming out of the last bend and crossing the line a meter ahead. His great cheer was lost as Alicia’s voice blasted through the two-way.

“Get your asses back to the start line, boys. Some nice old man just leant me his brand new…” there was a pause as she reaffirmed the make of car. “Umm, Bugatti?”

Drake swore loudly. Trust bloody Alicia to get her hands on one of the best cars in the world. And trust Alicia to really start rubbing it in. He negotiated the turn-off and headed back to the start line, already dreading the sight of Alicia perched primly above the hypercar’s imposing front grille. Dahl motored up behind, the Aston’s exhaust note as intimidating as any starving predator.

Alicia waved as sweetly as she was able. The older man at her side looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Hey guys, wanna race?”

“Always.” Drake grinned up at her through the lowered window. “But does your new friend know what he’s getting into?”

“Oh, Bob? He’s cool.”

“Umm, my name’s George.”

“Bob. George. Whatever. It all looks the same after fifty, right? Well, maybe fifty five in your case. C’mon, Bob, take me for a ride in your, um… Bugatti.” Alicia’s eyes flashed.

Drake could only smile and nod as the older man gave him a desperate, pleading look. Dahl thought even faster on his feet and stepped out of his rental.

“I’ll lend you my Aston if you like,” he addressed the older man. “I’ll risk taking her round.”

George grinned and jumped at the chance. Drake cursed his Swedish friend. “Nicely done, mate. Nicely done.”

“Alligator,” Dahl said, which Drake knew meant see you later.

“Not if I see you first, pal.”

Drake lined up first, wondering which of his friends would end up driving. It would actually be an interesting contest to listen to, in particular now that George was questioning whether either of them should drive his two-million dollar car. He leaned over toward the passenger window just as his cellphone chirped into life.

X Ambassadors: Jungle.

This week that meant Hayden, and probably trouble.

With half an ear listening to his friends he punched the “answer” button. “Yep?”

“Matt? You guys really need to get back here.”

Drake caught Hayden’s urgent tone and tuned everything else out. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. But we need to get to the Amazon rainforest double time.”

Drake found that one hard to compute. “The Amazon what? Why?”

“Because we just found out that’s where the terrorist prince, Ramses, is holding his last great arms bazaar, in two days, and anyone who’s anyone in the murder for gain game is gonna be there.”

Drake was momentarily lost for words. “That’s bloody huge.”

“Damn right. So get your asses back here.”

Drake cut her off and shouted out the window. “Oy! You two! Time to go!”

Alicia looked up from where she had George in a playful headlock. “What? He’s enjoying it.”

“Work called,” Drake said. “We have a job to do.”

Dahl immediately focused. “Something big?”

“Something mega.”

Dahl headed for his Aston and Alicia climbed into the Porsche. “We’re taking the track day cars?”

Drake burned rubber as he swung the car’s tail around toward the exit. “The world’s safety is at stake,” he said. “And may depend on our speed. I think we owe it to ourselves, don’t you?”