The Last Bazaar

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ramses took his time climbing out of the chopper that deposited him in the exact location he’d demanded. Most of the time, his bulk came in handy for intimidation, as a deterrent and even in combat, but occasionally it could be an impediment. Like today — one wrong shift in muscle mass and he’d be paying his first visit to the hallowed turf of the Amazon jungle on his face. Akatash went first, of course, and Ramses waited until he nodded the all clear.

Outside, the saturated heat descended, an uncomfortable blanket. He concentrated on his reason for coming, and tried to forget he would be remaining here for days to come. The end result would be worth any discomfort. The canopy stretched above, completely intact, but the area he occupied had been cleared. His scouting party had no doubt found a small open spot and enlarged it as best they could. This was only a small part of the bazaar, and the construction crew were even now building stalls and erecting tents, wrestling with timbers and clearing undergrowth for just under a kilometer all around. A man would be able to walk an entire circuit of the bazaar in around fifteen minutes, but it was the diversity, delight and destructive capacity of the various commodities on offer that would make him linger for days.

Ramses walked the circuit slowly, taking pleasure in seeing the emerging skeleton of the dream he had created. The shops were small but well built, and currently being draped with fineries to hide any remnants of the jungle. Inside the larger pavilions, heavy-duty tables and crates were being positioned to display items like nuclear warheads and artillery. Refreshment stands were being installed. Staff were being trained, flown in sightlessly from various camps that Ramses owned. They would respect their new minimum contract — work hard or die — for obvious reasons.

Crates cracked and revealed their exciting possibilities as Ramses wandered around, the variety of goods he’d acquired lending a carnival atmosphere to proceedings. A nuke here. A prototype ray-gun there. A missile with guiding capabilities there; some sarin over here. Communications devices, passwords to dark web forums and the computers on which they were operational. Pounds of yellowcake. The list went on.

Ramses soon found another clearing, and here sat several great prizes for lucky customers. Attack choppers once owned by the Americans and one by the British, captured, repaired, ready for action. Akatash then took him toward the edge of the camp where a wide river flowed, the largest and deepest in the general area. This was a far tributary of the Jutai River, a twisting body of water whose extremes were largely unexplored. Ramses watched the river flow at a rapid pace, then turned to his bodyguard.

“This is where the barges will land?”

“Yes.”

“We need a dock. A landing area.”

Akatash nodded toward a new pile of timbers. “It will be ready in time.”

A barge appeared as they waited, loaded down with more product, eager men ready to disembark and offload the floating vehicle. Ramses nodded. “All seems to be in order.”

“It will soon be ready.”

“I want to see the pond,” Ramses said. “Is it where I specified it should be?”

“Almost to the precise inch,” Akatash said. “The crew had to dig the hole, fill it with river water and then haul the — um, new residents — by hand.”

Ramses laughed. “What fun. I hope nobody got eaten.”

He followed the map in his own head now, the one he’d drawn by hand and expected to be able to follow on foot. Soon, he arrived at a freshly dug hole ringed by a high chain-link fence. Beyond, and deep down, the water churned.

Ramses stared. “Are they being fed human flesh?”

“Of course. As per instructions.”

“Excellent. But I want them starved for the start of proceedings.”

Ramses let his eyes linger onto those that stared back at him, unblinking. Black caimans were dark in color, carnivorous, and the largest predator in the ecosystem. They would make a good spectacle for his more jaded guests.

“Akatash,” he said, “show me my tent.”

“Of course, sir.”

The bodyguard led the way and Ramses easily followed. He had employed the man many years ago now, and still shuddered a little when recalling his story. Born into privilege, Akatash had rebelled time and again until his parents could stomach the insubordination no more. With pure malice aforethought they explained what would happen, took him to some squalid warehouse and handed him over to slavers in exchange for nothing except the promise of future favors. Akatash grew up hard; old enough by then to know the difference between a life of honor and a life of adversity. Old enough to know what his indiscretions had cost him.

The lesson had been learned. But by then it was too late. Still, in later years, Akatash made sure he dealt out his own lessons. He was now the sole surviving heir of that family, though he could never set foot in the country again. At least, not officially.

Ramses entered his own luxurious tent, smiling at what he saw. All the comforts of home had already been shipped in: clothes, watches, oils, enormous TV, delicacies, guns… and much more. He could manage three days here, especially considering the diversions he had planned.

With a deep sigh of acceptance he turned once again to his bodyguard. “Security?”

“The men you call your ‘legionnaires’ have run every possible scenario, time and again. They are ready. Your own abode is under the usual scrutiny, no change there.”

“No mercenaries? Not one?”

“Of course not, sir. These men are deserving of the title you give them.”

“And the camp? The bazaar?”

Akatash never sugar-coated the truth. “This is the Amazon, sir. Dangerous and unpredictable by definition. I mentioned at the outset that we cannot control everything and we can’t. But we’re as close as anyone can be.”

“Contingencies? Escape routes?”

“All in place.”

Ramses thought about all they had accomplished. “It will be a grand occasion, Akatash. Good for us and for our brothers. The consequences of this day will alter the course of history. Do not underestimate this… pure beginning.”

“I don’t.”

“We begin tomorrow. The last great bazaar will open for business, my friend, and the world will shudder in the aftermath.”

“Hallelujah, sir.”

Ramses blinked. “Hallelujah?”

“Isn’t that what they say, sir?”

“Yes, hallelujah. What do they say in the Middle East?”

“How the hell should I know?” Akatash laughed. “I’m a terrorist, sir, not a cleric.”