The Last Bazaar (5 page)

“All we need to extract is a location,” Dahl said. “Apart from—the Amazon.”

“Something narrower would be better,” Yorgi agreed. “I have never seen so much greenery.”

“Seriously,” Alicia spoke up. “I need an
exact
location. Something we can just drop in on. This creepy-crawly, caiman-frog, poisonous-disease thing ain’t my cup of tea. C’mon, other horizons await, people.”

“But you’re not running anymore,” Drake said seriously. “Remember? Take each day as it comes and enjoy it if you can. If not, face it anyway. Survive. Become stronger.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Then you have a future. Tomorrow could bring . . . roses?”

Alicia almost guffawed. “Oh, really? D’ya think they’ll be poisonous?”

Drake did laugh. “Probably.”

Hayden urged them on. “So let’s get a move on. If my calculations are correct, our bazaar’s about to start and the crown princes of massacre and destruction are already in town.”

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.”

Drake and the rest of the SPEAR team waited for Yorgi to exit the seedy bar. Their vantage point was a narrow, filthy alley across the way where they could keep eyes on all the comings and goings. Yorgi had been chosen to reconnoiter the bar because he was the less European looking individual among them and more likely to pass with only a cursory glance. The Spider’s Web wasn’t among the most popular tourist traps in Manaus, though perhaps its name suggested it wanted to be.

Their target, a crooked official by the name of Almeida, drank here every night, bothering the local girls and the barmaids until it was time to move on to even less respectable neighborhoods. Almeida was a drunk and a drug-taker, and worked throughout the day only to feed his nightly habit. Known for his brutality, mercilessness and corruption, he was as much feared as he was abhorred, but so long as he continued to grease the right palms he would keep his position in the localized Manaus administration.

Drake crouched in silence, taking his turn at eyeballing the street. It was no secret that various American agencies had people in almost every major city around the world and much more. The team had purposely chosen Manaus as a destination because it was the closest city to the Amazon where the CIA and even less publicized acronyms kept a presence. Of course being the most populous city of the rainforest helped. He was aware of the others talking quietly behind him, planning the rest of the op. His gaze saw every movement, every coming and going and logged it, as his mind contemplated all the ways his life was changing. First, and most importantly, Alicia had reached a crucial turning point in her own life. No matter how it looked and no matter how much Dahl ribbed him, he would be there to help her. The motto ‘so far, so good’ was an overused one, but when it applied to Alicia Myles and her steady progress it was the most apt. That led him to Mai. The Japanese woman was currently overseeing Grace’s recovery with help from her sister and Dai Hibiki. The best news was that Grace would almost certainly completely recover; the rather tricky news was that she didn’t need Mai by her side to do it.

Would Mai return?

Was anything left of their relationship?

Drake didn’t think so, but it wasn’t as though Mai and he had discussed anything before she left. Or since, for that matter. The fluid, molten flow of their lives saw to that. Peace would be nice, he often thought. But they were soldiers. Peace might also deal them a slow death.

His eyes flicked around the entrance to the bar. The saving grace tonight was that the temperature had dropped at least three degrees, not exactly good old Yorkshire weather but a relief nonetheless. He watched a man with a brown weathered face enter the bar and then stiffened as Yorgi walked out.

The Russian thief headed away at first, ensuring he hadn’t been pinned with a tail before doubling back.

“Any minute now,” he said. “They’re tired of him and want him to leave.”

Hayden came forward. “Okay guys, be ready.”

Yorgi pushed in next to Drake. “This is not a nice man. How far do we go with him?”

The Yorkshireman didn’t move. “As far as we have to, Yorgi. But we’re not judge, jury and executioner. Remember the old saying—cut off one head and another three shall take its place? Something like that.”

“Is that a Yorkshire saying?”

“No. I think it was from
Jason and the Argonauts.
”

They watched as the bar’s door swung open once again and their target staggered out. Already weaving, he belched loudly, smoothed his black matted hair and then swung wildly down the middle of the street. When a car did come toward him he shouted at it loudly until it moved aside. Hayden split the team up to track his every step. They had already reccied up and down the street for the perfect abduction spot and it was now only twenty yards ahead.

Hayden keyed her throat mic. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Affirmatives came back.

Drake, Lauren and Smyth pulled back, their jobs to ensure nobody saw the seizure. The only people in the street were two youths trying to gain entry to the bar and a couple now occupying their old alley, closely wrapped up in each other and paying no attention to the rest of the world. Windows lined the street and couldn’t be properly verified, but everything Drake could see and control was acceptable.

“It’s a go.”

Behind them, Dahl rapidly closed the gap between himself and Almeida, Alicia a step behind. As a convenient alley came up the Swede pounced, dragging the Brazilian out of sight and clamping a huge arm across his windpipe. Alicia backed him up and then, seconds later, popped her head back out of the alley.

“All good. We have a homeless male down here but looks like he’s asleep. Target is ours.”

Hayden keyed her mic. “Mano. Bring the car.”

*

Forty minutes later the team stood facing Almeida who was tied to a chair in the middle of an empty warehouse, head hanging down toward his own lap. Alicia brought over a bottle of water.

“Ready?”

Hayden grunted. “Do it.”

Alicia emptied the contents of the bottle over their captive’s head, then stood back as he revived with a splutter and a nasty curse. Alicia decided that was out of line and slapped him across the face with the empty plastic bottle.

“Language.”

Almeida shook his head, droplets flying. “What have you done? Don’t you know who I am?”

Drake crouched down so that they were at eye-level. “We know who you are. We know what you do. Now, if you tell us what we need to know, we’re willing to let you keep doing it.” He didn’t add,
until the bazaar is over, then we’re gonna make sure your degraded ass gets its just desserts in the worst Brazilian prison this side of Hell.

Almeida laughed, as they had known he would. “Fuck off, American. You can’t intimidate me.”

Drake blinked hard as Dahl laughed. “What did you call me?”

Kinimaka moved into the man’s eyesight. “If you think he’s American then you’re gonna struggle with me, brah. Now listen. We know you helped establish a huge arms bazaar somewhere in the rainforest. We know you were paid to look the other way whilst they shipped men and goods in. We know it’s been underway for many months now. Don’t look away—” Kinimaka reached out to hold the man’s face in place. “All we’re asking is for a location. An area. And a list of attendees.”

The man spat on the floor. “How would I even know that? You think they would tell me that? Fucking idiot.”

Kinimaka stared to squeeze. “You are a parasite, Almeida. You hear things. You make sure you hear things. It’s how you survive. Your dirty little friends hear things. The game turns, the players going round and round. It has been months. I
know
that you have a list of attendees. You wouldn’t be the filthy, lazy, bloodsucking fuck we know you are if you didn’t.”

Almeida’s eyes bulged as his jaw was squeezed in an unbreakable grip. Drake could almost hear him wondering just how far the big Hawaiian would go. It was a little ironic that Kinimaka had stepped up to the interrogation, since he was probably the most laid-back person in the room.

Almeida clammed up, pretending not to be intimidated. Alicia then hefted a heavy bag of nails they had procured along with a claw hammer. The threat was obvious.

Almeida suffered in silence for a minute, then said, “I can’t. They would kill me. Not just that. They would crush, chop, obliterate me. They could do worse than you. Much worse.”

Hayden nodded. “That I can understand. Yes, they could because they are unconscionable psychopaths much like yourself. But how would they ever know?”

“I ain’t telling ya, bitch. An’ I ain’t telling this big fucking whopper neither.”

Kinimaka let go of the man’s face. “Then you die,” he said. “You die tonight. In that chair. With your hands tied behind your back and no hope. Are you ready to die?”

“Ah, fuck off with the flowery speech, man, and hand me one of those nails. If I stick it through my ears it might drown out your bleating.”

Kinimaka bowed his head. “I tried,” he said. “For you. I really did.”

Almeida stared. “What are you taking about?”

Dahl and Smyth stepped forward at the same time. “Me,” they said in unison, before glaring at each other. As Almeida stared, Drake watched Alicia step quietly up to the back of the chair, towel in hand. With one deft swoop she wrapped it around the shocked man’s face and held it tight. Dahl then stepped forward with another bottle of water and, without ceremony, upended its contents over the towel.

Almeida struggled soundlessly, inhaling the liquid until Alicia gave him a moment’s respite. Then they started again; and again until Almeida buckled.

“Stop.” He held up a hand, spluttering uncontrollably. “Please stop.”

Hayden sighed deliberately. “You don’t tell us when to stop, asshole. We tell you when we’re ready to hear you start talking.” She motioned at Alicia to continue.

Another three empty bottles hit the ground before Hayden ended it. Even then she only gave Almeida a few seconds respite before slapping his attention into focus.

“Here,” she said. “Right here. Now do you remember what we want from you?”

“It’s some kinda natural ground-clearing they’re using and widening, right next to the Jutai so they can boat everything in. Even people. This guy’s a major whack-job, thinks he can tame the jungle or something. King of Leopard, ha!” Almeida spent a moment spitting up water before continuing. “Coordinates are in my wallet. Please, please don’t rat me out for this.”

Dahl nodded grimly. “Not a problem.”

“Good . . . good. Some of the people I have helped gain passage,” even the hardened criminal blanched, “you should not even speak their names . . .”

“What?” Alicia flapped the towel ominously. “If you’re about to say Rumpelstiltskin I’m afraid it’s back to Water World for you, boy.”

“No, no! There is Abdel Nour, leader of the Black Light; El-Baz, leader of The Dozen Death Squads; Boutros, ultimate boss of the world’s biggest cartel; Ghannouchi,
leader
of the biggest crime family in the
world.
Not America or Italy. The world. Al-Macabre, terrorist leader of Devil’s Breath, and let’s not forget Ramses himself . . .”

Drake listened as the man rattled on. For a man so reluctant to spill the beans they could now barely shut him up. The names he reeled off would be amazing scalps, even a single one could be a game-changer in the unstable war on terrorism. But ten or more? Drake saw havoc ahead.

“And they’re just the ones arriving by barge, the ones I have facilitated. There are many more arriving by helicopter and other means. I don’t know many, but one is Tyler Webb, the leader of the Pythians.” Almeida stared at them as if expecting a pat on the back. “Y’know him, right? Most wanted man in the world?”

Drake steered him back to an earlier point. “Ramses,” he said. “What exactly do you know of him?”

Almeida’s eyes clouded over. “Crown Prince of Terrorism. Runs everything. Knows everyone. They say not a single attack passes that he doesn’t have previous knowledge of, not a hit happens without his sanction. They say some of these terrorist leaders don’t even know they work for him.”

Drake waited. “Is that it? So you know . . . nothing?”

Almeida shrugged. “Man’s a myth. I’ve heard whisperings that this is Ramses’ last bazaar, but it’s probably being run by some big cartel. They own most of the basin anyway.”

“They don’t
own
it,” Drake said. “They’re just squatting until a man with a bigger gun comes along. Or until the forest figures out a way to annihilate them.”

Dahl nudged him. “Whoa, that’s deep for a Yorkie bar. Have you been sneaking some of this guy’s coke?”

“Well, let’s hope it happens,” Drake said. “Save us a job.”

“You spoke of others arriving by chopper.” Hayden turned to Almeida. “What others?”

Now, the Brazilian dropped his gaze cagily. “I shouldn’t tell you,” he said. “I shouldn’t even know. It’s not even definite, just hearsay, and sounds like a deep pile of shit to me.”

Hayden shrugged. “Let me be the judge of that.”

“And what happens to me then?” Almeida asked. “After I tell all.”

“Then you can go. Free.”

“Do I have your word?”

“You have this,” Alicia barked, wrapping the towel around his face again. Almeida struggled and flapped his hands.

“Okay, okay!” he squeaked as the towel was removed. “I heard this from a dude I know, but like I said it could be complete bullshit.” Again he hesitated.

“Speak!” Dahl cried. “Do it now!”

“Okay, okay. Keep yer trilby on. It was the CIA,” he said matter-of-factly. “The CIA are coming.”

Hayden, perhaps naively, immediately shook her head. “No way. We’d have heard about a joint op.”

“No.” Almeida grinned maliciously at her misunderstanding. “The CIA are here . . . as clients. Customers. They’re fucking buying, lady.”

Drake touched Hayden’s shoulder as the ex-CIA agent gaped and then looked ready to explode. The truth was, the CIA had many shadowy arms as did most organizations. Black ops missions and black sites had to get their raw materials from somewhere. Maybe this was one of those places. But this was a revelation from which the whole team would have to take stock. Were they safe? Did this particular CIA entity know they were here? Or was it all, as Almeida said, complete bullshit?