Authors: David Leadbeater
Webb shrugged it off. “When should I arrive?”
“At the bazaar? Oh, from the very start of course. Enjoy. There will be live entertainment, food, banquets twenty four hours a day. Only the best. Slave auctions, dancing men and women, shooting ranges, drug boutiques. Private tents, Sky TV and sports channels so you need not miss a single minute of your . . . favorite wickedness.”
“You have got to be kidding.”
“Of course not! And there’s more,” Ramses was enjoying himself now. “There’s athletics. A daily hunt for crocodiles and other predators. Designer clothes stalls. Designer sunglasses and watch shops. Tents for secret meetings. Jet skiing down the river. Free Wi-Fi, of course, and secure connections. Any form of alcohol you might enjoy on a whim. And one extra special type of hunt—involving a live human.”
Webb’s face was a picture. Ramses wished he could take a photo, but that would just spoil the moment. Instead, he spread his hands. “Sound good?”
“So long as I get my fucking scroll you can keep your live hunts and jet skiing. But I will be there,” he added quickly, “from the beginning.”
“Excellent!” Ramses smiled. “In two days then.”
Webb rose, and made a point of looking out at the startling Peruvian landscape. “This place complements you, Ramses. The cold and wet tempers whatever searing madness stirs within your black heart. You should stay.”
“I might just do that. I do find it . . . soothing. Oh, and I guess certain parts of America will be a little
muggy
for at least a thousand years, eh?”
Ramses’ belly laugh filled the room, overwhelming. Webb motioned at his bodyguard. No more words were said as the two men departed. Once they had exited the inner castle Ramses motioned that Akatash could depart too. The demon withdrew without a word. Ramses wandered over to his window and stared down at the courtyard, down upon Tyler Webb and Beauregard Alain.
How easily men could be manipulated. How easily even a mad megalomaniac could be turned to malleable jelly. All you had to do was find the thing they loved or needed—and
squeeze.
First the bazaar, then the nuke business, and finally his revenge.
All of a sudden, Peru didn’t look so lackluster after all.
He pressed another concealed button. “Let’s begin,” he said. “In the years to come the world will look back upon this moment, this day, and this place as a turning point in history. A fulcrum to ultimate change.”
“So you’re saying—let the games begin?”
Ramses laughed. “That I am, my friend. That I am.”
The SPEAR team landed in Manaus, Brazil, a densely populated city forming the main entrance for visiting the wildlife and plant life of the Amazon rainforest. Once known as the ‘Heart of the Amazon’, it became more famous for its Free Economic Zone and cellphone manufacturing plants.
The team saw none of the colorful city as the plane landed at Eduardo Gomes International and then taxied to a stop near the smaller terminal normally reserved for regional aviation. They were met on the tarmac by officials who knew they were coming, locals firmly in the pocket of the local US agency way station, with instructions to let them pass. Of course, in theory this was easy but in real life nothing ever went to plan.
Before they left DC the team had been promised an utterly discreet passage and a final destination where they could equip themselves with all the latest weaponry—most of which they would unquestionably need—before being shown to a Manaus safe house. Drake trusted such seamless planning as much as he trusted most social media sites’ privacy policies and the small links at the bottom of spam emails that read: ‘click here to unsubscribe’.
The temperature was in the thirties and the ground looked as if it had recently received a soaking. Drake allowed Hayden to approach the authorities as he and the rest of the team fanned out to guard their flanks. He was also on alert for any kind of distant surveillance although actually spotting such a thing in any situation was even harder than it sounded. With the still grumbling plane at their backs and in the shadow of the terminal, the team could see only half a dozen windows overlooking them from a distant building and no activity in any of them. They waited until Hayden had produced the necessary credentials and then followed her through a small gate, passing two more smoking guards as they went. One of the guards blew smoke in the air, bored, whilst the other stared with deep interest at his belt. Drake guessed that this kind of thing happened all the time in this part of the world.
The Amazon rainforest, though known for many things including its great river, its immense flora that formed over half the world’s rainforest, its deadly creatures and biodiversity, had now also become a haven for drug dealers, arms smugglers and other similar scum-sucking types. Authorities were paid so little that they were always open to a little extra grease-money and those that weren’t were often found decaying by the side of quiet roads or, in many cases, never seen again.
It has been said that the Brazilians had lost control of whatever small influence they had in the Amazon basin, but then eight other nations also claimed a percentage of it, and with every nation offering up a different policy, who could keep track of that? Drake knew it would be best to concentrate on their own small mission whilst they were here—a quick ‘in-and-out’ demolition of most of the leading lights in international terrorism—but found himself wishing there was some way to preserve such an innocent area of the world. Not everywhere should feel the touch of human boots, of human avarice and arrogance. The futility of his thoughts saddened him. Someone, somewhere, would always be prepared to destroy everything that stood in their way in order to accomplish their own goals.
Beyond the terminal and the security fence a feeder road curved away from the main airport, vanishing into the distance. Their own personal Brazilian customs official ushered them toward a black SUV, conspicuous by its detachment, ticking over at the curb. Drake headed for the passenger seat but Dahl pushed him aside.
“Relax, pal. Sit in the back with your new bird. The big boys can handle this one.”
Drake steadied himself against the vehicle’s door frame. “Bird? Big boys? Nay lad, tha’s no need t’ get yer knickers in a twist.”
The Swede blanched at the Yorkshire accent. “Cut it out.”
Drake opened the door for the others, a little unsure if Dahl was ribbing him or trying to subtly point out that he wasn’t happy about what clearly might become a new relationship between Alicia and him. Subtle wasn’t usually Dahl’s strongpoint and, in addition, the Swede might also be warning him to stay focused. Who knew with the big lummox? Drake would find out when they grabbed a moment alone.
Hayden and Kinimaka took the back seats; Alicia, Yorgi and Lauren the middle set. Drake wondered if he might have to climb into the trunk. Smyth just growled.
Alicia patted her knee. “I’ll take the smallest.”
Dahl leaned over from the front. “See what I mean?”
Drake climbed in, leaving Smyth to wedge himself between Kinimaka and the window, not a pleasant task. Soon they were underway, tearing down the feeder road toward the airport’s exit. The driver used an ID tag to raise the barrier and then filtered into morning traffic, saying nothing as he threaded them toward the center of the city. The team remained silent, each formulating their own thoughts and plans of how best to deal with the journey ahead. Soon, at the safe house, they would be able to discuss.
A brief, light shower coated the car’s windows. Drake, who had jammed his body beside Alicia rather than risk the other ignominy, stared out at the passing streets, the bustling life. Manaus was an intense diversity, from the most orange and bright dockside he’d ever seen to houses on stilts arrayed along the riverside, to theaters, plazas and multi-million dollar football stadiums. Inside here, it was hard to believe one of the last great uncharted wildernesses lay just outside, and so in contrast with the last place they had faced down adversity. The Arizonan desert had been a vast wilderness, both hostile and stunning to observe and scoured by one of the worst storms he had ever seen. Even that phenomenon had been overshadowed though by the sight of the ghost ship itself, a part of the desert even after all these years, and a peculiar sadness now lingered that the American government were involved with excavating and removing it, and negotiating over its treasures. Such a mythical paragon ought to be allowed to remain in place, symbolic of what secrets this earth still had to yield. But men, power and greed trumped all that.
Their driver turned into a new road, leaving the main thoroughfare and heading across an area of flat wasteland. At the far side Drake spied a collection of dirty, rusting airplanes, parked haphazardly, wing to wing.
“An abandoned airfield?” Hayden questioned. “I thought our weapons cache might be more . . . state of the art.”
Smyth coughed raucously. “When did that ever happen? We’re lucky they didn’t HALO-jump us into here.”
Dahl nodded. “He’s right. They could have just inserted us into the canopy and taught us how to sharpen sticks.”
Drake grunted. “Sounds painful. Well let’s hope they sell more than bows and arrows and blowguns in here.”
The SUV stopped in between two of the larger planes, out of sight. The so-far-mute driver then nodded ahead and Drake looked over to see an aircraft door being lowered next to some large blue lettering—
Skymaster
.
A man descended the steps quite slowly, sporting a limp. He wore a battered brown leather jacket and faded denim jeans. The team stepped out warily into the heat as the man blinked near-sightedly at them.
“Well, come on,” he said. “It’s hotter than Satan’s scrotum in here.”
Alicia leaned into Drake as they walked. “Do you think he knows where he is? Y’know . . . the Amazon?”
Drake followed Dahl, with Hayden and Kinimaka bringing up the rear. Smyth grunted that he would remain outside on watch, and Lauren chose to stay with him. Drake ascended the aircraft’s steps lightly, staying close to the Mad Swede in case any surprises awaited inside.
The interior was dim, dingy, and dirty. Dust coated everything, traced through with finger marks and boot prints. Drake noted what he assumed to be droplets of sweat marking a trail along the aisle. Ahead, the leather-jacketed man stopped.
“So Jim’s not my real name but that’s what you can call me. What are your names?”
“James,” Drake said, indicating himself. “And Buffy.” He indicated Alicia, then turned to Dahl. “And this one’s Dolph Lundgren, in the flesh.”
Dahl shook his head. “Shall we get this thing done?”
Jim nodded enthusiastically. Drake sidestepped the flying sweat. Their host might be a breathing, festering pool of perspiration and his abode might stink to high heaven, but his wares were everything Drake could have hoped for.
“All this,” Hayden said, “on a derelict airplane in an abandoned airfield?”
Jim shrugged. “Easy all around,” he said. “And it’s not exactly
abandoned.
Kick-ass security system and lotsa guns.” He winked. “Surprised you didn’t spot it. Oh, and believe me . . . in Brazil finding guns ain’t a problem.”
He turned away, leaving Hayden staring at Drake. The Yorkshireman cast it off with a sigh. “Okay, mate, so what we got ’ere then?”
“Heckler and Koch MP5, about a million of ’em. A few UMPs, its successor. These fire 9x19 Parabellum cartridges. The MP5s are the same and semi-auto. Take your pick and whatever ammo you need. Other goodies? Follow me.”
Drake trailed him down the narrow aisle of the plane. Beyond the third row the seats had been taken out and replaced by long, flat tables. Weapons and other military necessities lay everywhere. The team ranged out a little, examining the wares. Kinimaka knocked a table of grenades over, but only Jim noticed. The rest of the team had known it would happen. They picked between flack-jackets, first-aid kits and field rations. The first-aid kits included more specialized antidotes than even Hayden could recognize, specific to the region.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about getting bitten,” Jim said without smiling. “Some of those creepy-crawlies out there’ll kill ya before you even think the word ‘antidote’.”
Alicia shuddered. “I’m starting to rethink this mission.”
“Ah, don’t worry, love,” Drake said. “No sand spiders here.”
Jim looked at them strangely. “Sand spiders? No. But there are black caimans, jaguars and anacondas. Poison dart frogs, piranha and vampire bats. Parasites and disease vectors and fevers. Bullet ants, howler monkeys—”
Alicia spun around. “That’s it. I’m outta here.”
Drake watched her exit the plane. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.”
Hayden continued to peruse the goods as if nothing had happened. Jim cleared his throat. “You guys wanna get a friggin’ move on. This ain’t a garden sale. I got places to be.”
Drake picked up a military knife and a night vision scope. “Running for mayor?”
“Something like that. I’d take those other tents if I were you.” He pointed to a pile beyond where Dahl and Yorgi were looking. “More protection from the insects.”
“Oh, I am so looking forward to this trek,” Kinimaka puffed.
“More predators out there than in any third-world shanty town. But luckily, you guys are the best, right?”
The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Drake. “Just trying to make a difference,” he said. “So the good folks can sleep easy.”
“Oh yeah? Aren’t we all?” Jim looked angry for a moment, but then his face slackened. “Listen, don’t mind me. And is there anything else you need? Be warned, those fuckers out there may live in the fucking jungle—but they got fifty cals, RPGs, anti-tanks, you name it. Not to mention Range Rovers built specially for ‘em. The chances of you beating them . . .” he shook his head sadly.
Drake took a final glance around. “We’ll risk it,” he said. “Believe it or not, we’ve done some weird shit in the last few years. And survived it all intact.”
Dahl shoulder-barged him on the way past. “Well, your body at least.”
“Oh, my body aches,” Drake said. “Even my bloody bones ache. Every time you speak.”
He imitated the rest of the team in choosing a Glock for his handgun and then adding as many spare mags as he thought it would be feasible to carry. Of course, they could get more ammo once they encountered their enemies, but it was sounding like this mission might have to be a more clandestine event than usual. It wouldn’t do to crash the party before all the special guests arrived.
Drake exited the plane. The heat outside actually felt air-conditioned for a few moments as he descended to the asphalt. The military surroundings turned his mind toward Karin, and what she might be up against right now. At the end of the last mission he had eased her way into Fort Bragg, the home of American Special Forces, and into an intensive training program. Yes, she was British, he thought. But the commander hadn’t batted an eye. Drake just hoped Karin might find some kind of peace in the strict regime of military education.
Now, the team congregated beside the SUV. Hayden surveyed the area, perhaps searching for the hidden security. After a minute she said, “Time for the next step. Let’s find the safe house, break this stuff down and then find our pet official.”
Drake glanced at the SUV. “Shit, so now we have to cram all this gear in there too.”
“And under the tarps.” Dahl nodded at the back end. “Don’t want the local constabulary sniffing us out.”
“Speaking of local constabulary,” Alicia said as she worked. “Do we have a location for this official? And exactly how far can we push him?”
Hayden looked grim. “We know exactly where he goes and what he’s into after his shift ends, so yes. And this is our shindig, remember? Most of the nine countries with a stake in the Amazon wouldn’t like it if they knew we were here. Some of them are clearly facilitating the arranging of this bazaar. Some are protecting it. If it weren’t for Beauregard . . .” she trailed off for a moment. “But yes, this official has clear ties to the terrorist, Ramses. We can push him as hard as needs be.”