The Last Bazaar

by David Leadbeater

  “The reprisals for this will never end.” His voice resonated with a depth equal to the Mariana Trench.

  “Bollocks.” Drake laughed easily. “You megas . . . you’re all the bloody same.”

  “Megas?”

  “Megalomaniacs,” Drake said. “Dictators. Tell you what, bend over, ask somebody to snap a picture of your asshole, then take a look at your mirror image.”

  Ramses frowned, clearly stumped, but at least it stopped him spouting the self-important expletives. In the end though he reverted to type. “Your cities are already in ashes and they don’t even know it.”

  “Not yet they aren’t. Not yet. Now, you gonna flap yer mush at me all day or are we gonna tangle?”

  Ramses swallowed flies for a second before Drake became bored and attacked. His right fist struck first, impacting with Ramses’ chest. It was like hitting concrete protected by brick wearing a sheet-metal coat. “What are you wearing?”

  Ramses boomed out a laugh. “Virtuousness,” he said shortly and then flung a K-rail in the shape of a fist at the Yorkshireman’s head. Drake ducked thankfully, and skipped out of range. To add to the problems Ramses was fast and closed the distance almost instantly. Drake gave it a one-two punch, but barely made a dent. Time to start looking at more vulnerable options.

  To his right Mai slipped on the moist decking and Akatash leapt upon her. Only flinging her head hard from side to side stopped him from breaking her cheek bones as his fists rained down. She rolled and flung him aside but a side-kick caught her in the ribs and doubled her over. Damn, the damage she had been subjected to over the years was finally starting to take its toll.

  Akatash rose.

  Drake leapt away from Ramses, covering Mai. Alicia dropped to one knee, firing bullets into two adversaries who fell into the river. Dahl flung a man over his shoulder and then wrestled another over the edge of the dock, but found himself tottering on the edge.

  “Oh shit!”

  Dahl lost his battle with gravity, but Alicia jumped and grabbed the front of his jacket, jerking him back to stability. By that time Akatash had signaled Ramses and the two were swopping vengeance for prudence and hotfooting it toward a waiting, bobbing speedboat. As the SPEAR team rose, regrouped and evaluated, half a dozen choppers rose like black predators from the trees all around.

  “Hurry,” Dahl said. “He’s getting away.”

  Drake eyed the swooping, pitching, soaring choppers that blocked out the majority of the light.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “This battle’s just getting started.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  Hayden squeezed through the cave entrance first, hyper-alert for ambushes or booby-traps. She held a small torch in the same hand as her gun, slightly above the barrel, borrowed from Yorgi who had secreted many essential jungle supplies within the folds of his robes. Lauren took the other torch, as she and Smyth brought up the rear. Quieter than thought, they advanced.

  Inside, the cave broadened and then narrowed at the far end, a simple space. Footfalls echoed from some unseen passage, telling Hayden all she needed to know. “They’re running,” she said. “We have to keep up.”

  Discarding a good portion of vigilance they sped up, filing through another passage and following its many nuances into the heart of a hidden mountain. The rocky floor angled downwards and the torches picked out slick, black walls and a jagged ceiling. Creatures scuttled out of their way, the slower organisms crunching underfoot. Presently, they passed through another small cavern, this one illuminated by a discarded, faltering torch and then pressed on through an even narrower tunnel.

  “The CIA uses places like this?” Kinimaka whispered at her back. “Nobody ever told us.”

  “It is standard procedure, as you say,” Yorgi said, “for CIA to have stash.”

  “In comic books and Hollywood studios.” Hayden huffed.

  “Dah,” Yorgi agreed. “And in real life too.”

  Kenzie also voiced an opinion. “Never met a spook who didn’t have a secret account.”

  “Actually,” Kinimaka said. “You’ve met two. Ex-spooks.”

  Hayden heard noises up ahead and slowed dramatically. They were closing in. A disembodied flickering light showed them the way and, within a minute, they were creeping toward the jagged edges of a clearly man-made hole. Beyond lay a much wider cavern.

  They crouched, studying the scene.

  About twenty paces ahead Price, the four CIA agents and one of Ramses’ legionnaires paced around the edges of a large-diameter pit. Hayden could see parts of the rim had crumbled away to reveal a hard, serrated border. With more illumination Hayden was also able to view a large collection of boxes, crates, documents, scattered weapons and other paraphernalia within the cavern. It was immediately clear to her that the agents were headed for the weapons.

  The decision was instant.

  “Stop right there!” She ran out into view, expecting and knowing her colleagues would be at her side. Price twitched appropriately and his guards turned with calculated looks on their faces. Kinimaka, Smyth, Lauren and Yorgi fanned out to Hayden’s flanks, guns up, covering the cavern.

  “Kenzie, isn’t it?” Price stared insolently at Hayden and then flicked his eyes past her right shoulder. “I know of you. Two million dollars to switch sides. Right now.”

  Hayden kept her gun steady, but sidestepped to include Kenzie in her range of perception. “She’s part of the team, Robert. Didn’t you know?”

  Price chuckled. “Yeah. She sure looks it.”

  Kenzie drew her katana, allowing the blade to catch the quivering lights. “Two million? Can you put that in writing?”

  “Not until later.”

  “Ah. So you want me to trust you?”

  Hayden walked carefully forward, shadowed by her teammates. The CIA agents twitched uneasily, the legionnaire looking very lonely stood on his own. Price switched his attention to Hayden.

  “When did you know?”

  “Robert Price,” she said. “Secretary of Defense? Fuck you. You’re a damned traitor, a terrorist and probably a murderer. So fuck you, on behalf of the real American government.”

  “Down on your knees.” Kinimaka motioned. “Everyone. Hands behind your heads. One twitch toward those guns and we’ll leave you down here.”

  Hayden paused, momentarily surprised as she saw the depth of the pit that dominated the room. Its circumference had to be twenty feet, its depth fathomless. A fetid stench blew up from below accompanied by an eerie whistle.

  “Bottomless,” Price said quietly. “The pit is bottomless.”

  “Now I do like certain things bottomless,” Kenzie said. “Blondes and redheads normally, with rock-hard abs and sparkling baby blues. But pits? Nah, not my scene.”

  Price stared. “Are you going to use that sword or not?”

  Hayden flinched, then a moment later berated herself. Kenzie was close, but not threatening. But Price had bought himself and his agents an instant in time.

  The next few moments passed in a terrible blur. Hayden fired and Price ducked. Two agents fired and Kinimaka dropped his pistol as a bullet tore through his sleeve. Smyth and Lauren fired and two more agents fell. Yorgi squeezed his trigger and the legionnaire tottered on the edge of the pit.

  “No!”

  Hayden ran hard but nothing could save him from toppling over the side. His scream echoed for some time, but would it echo forever? Hayden forced the notion aside and ran at Price, the Secretary struggling to aim his own sidearm.

  Around the other side ran Kinimaka and Kenzie. Smyth dropped to one knee and made sure both fallen agents were of no further danger as the Hawaiian and the Israeli engaged the two remaining suited men. Both the Hawaiian and the Israeli emitted grunts of surprise as they were charged hard by their adversaries, and then both realized exactly why.

  Pushed toward the edge of the pit, they struggled to remain upright. Kenzie dropped her katana, holding onto her enemy’s Armani sleeves with both hands
. Kinimaka planted both feet, an unwavering, unbreakable tree, stopping the force that drove against him. At their backs the malodorous pit beckoned, mouth hungrily agape.

  Hayden subdued Price with her fists, the man bleeding from lips and cheekbone, and then made a secure binding with his tie and one arm of his expensive suit. She didn’t look him in the eyes once; sickened, dismayed that this man had tried to fill the shoes of Jonathan Gates, one of the best people she’d ever met.

  “You’ll never get me back to DC, Jaye.”

  Hayden twisted his arm. “I don’t intend to. First you’re headed for New York with me.”

  “What? Why? What’s in New York? The whole place is a cesspit of corruption.”

  Hayden bit her tongue. Clearly, the people who knew about the suitcase nuke were fewer than she had realized. It wouldn’t do now to broadcast any facts. She finished tying off the Secretary and then held up the remaining bunch of material.

  “Talk again and I stuff this in your mouth. Understood?”

  Price nodded.

  Kinimaka and Kenzie held on tight to their opponents, engaged in a peculiar combat which involved standing still and striking carefully with one arm. The Hawaiian grappled to and fro, finally wrenching a fist free and stunning his man with a full blow to the middle of the face. Still, this was one of the CIA’s hardened field operatives and he blew blood from his mouth and nose and grabbed Kinimaka again, low about the chest, trying to heave his hulk over the edge of the pit. At that moment Hayden stopped worrying about Mano. You might as well try to move a water buffalo.

  Kinimaka spun the man around and then broke his hold, knocking him out at the side of the pit. The sides broke away, crumbling slightly, and the comatose body started to slip. Hayden watched as, instinctively, Mano reach out to save him, knowing the opposite courtesy would never have happened. She then trained her gun on Kenzie’s struggle, hoping to help the woman.

  Kenzie gritted her teeth, matching the agent blow for blow. His head butt struck her quickly lowered skull, his viciously raised knee hitting only empty space. Kenzie spun around, tripping him as she went and impelling his body as hard as she could. The last agent sprawled to the ground, hands out as he tried to stop himself falling. Kenzie drew a deep breath and then crouched down to look in his eyes.

  “All the fucking same,” she said. “Those in authority. Those with power. Question is not if you’re corrupted—it’s how much.”

  She struck him a blow that sent him falling, screaming, over the edge.

  Kinimaka ran up to her. “What are you doing?”

  “Keeping it real, asshole. Staying on objective. I’ll have full vengeance for my family before I die. Believe me, I will.”

  Hayden turned and shook Price by the lapels. “What is this place? And why are the CIA running it?”

  Price looked deflated. “Black site. Safe house. Stash site. Black bag op. Call it what you will. All the clichés and more exist down here. They exist out in the field, Jaye, by necessity. But what would you know?”

  “You’re talking to me about the field?” Hayden asked incredulously. “I’ve seen more field than a friggin’ thoroughbred. So you people run black bag ops from here? Through Brazil, Panama, all the other countries. And what? You keep the winnings?”

  “I’m a patriot,” Price said. “This isn’t about money. It’s about furthering American interests overseas.”

  Hayden kicked Robert Price into motion. “So get moving, sir. Or as God is my witness you’ll be answering to her.”

  She pointed.

  Kenzie hefted her katana, pure wickedness flickering by torchlight along the contours of her face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  Drake evaluated the scene as the jungle shuddered.

  Black choppers with bristling rocket pods hovered to left and right, ascending slowly, their engines roaring. Men hung out of the open doors, searching it seemed for any target to take a pot shot. One whirling bird let loose a missile which streaked among the trees and exploded, sending gouts of flame toward the wavering canopy. Drake saw the pavilions falling; shards and larger beams of timber erupting and tumbling in every direction.

  The river’s surface was utter chaos—every predator known to man battling to take a bite out of the other. Caimans lined the far banks and floated dangerously just above the water. One dragged out a man as Drake watched, its jaws clamped around his midriff, his pin-wheeling arms punching the ground in agony. Skiffs and barges, speedboats and dinghies raced every which way, many colliding, most hampering the getaways. Ramses’ own speedboat started to nudge around to find an angle.

  Drake and Dahl met each other’s eyes.

  “Is it time?”

  Drake grinned and set off fast, the Swede struggling to catch him. Alicia gave chase too, her muttered comment only just reaching their ears.

  “Oh shit, what now?”

  The pair pounded down the length of the dock, timbers bouncing and fire at their backs, terrorists with automatic weapons all around them. Drake fired his Glock again and again, dropping guards where they stood and making a beeline for the end of the dock.

  Mai loped along with them. “No boat for us out there,” she said. “Just gators.”

  “They’re not gators,” Dahl observed as he ate up the ground. “They’re caimans.”

  “Oh, excuse me. So why are we running straight at them?”

  Dahl shrugged. “Drake made me do it. Geronimo, motherfucker!”

  Both men hit the end of the dock and then jumped, sailing out at full stretch over the churning waters. Alicia and Mai, also running at full tilt, could hardly pull up and followed.

  Drake came down hard on the foredeck of a drifting speedboat, scrabbling for a handhold. Dahl landed inside the craft, the white leather seat cushioning his fall. Within a second he was reaching over the windshield for the Yorkshireman.

  “Need a hand?”

  Then Alicia arrived, knocking him aside, and Mai hit the back end. Drake slithered and slipped across the polished prow, finding a grip for his fingers inside an ornamental venting. An enormous barge spun them around as it bashed their front end, its guards staring across the waters and not even seeing them below deck line. Alicia found herself in the driver’s seat and rammed the vessel into gear. A jerky instant take-off sent Drake skidding up the prow to within Dahl’s reach. He clambered into the boat and then they were threading through heavy traffic.

  Alicia guided the craft in pursuit of Ramses, piloting them between barges and skiffs lined by desperate men. Bullets whizzed between them and wreckage burned on the river. Bodies and boats floated alongside, flames licked at their hull as they parted blazing debris. Alicia opened the throttle again, lifting the prow and churning water at their backs. An avenue opened ahead. The Englishwoman spun the wheel, aiming the speedboat left and right. An overturned dinghy blocked her way.

  “There.” Mai pointed at another gap.

  Alicia steered the speedboat through. Ahead, Ramses’ men were similarly impeded. The enormous figure stood facing the front, not even deigning to take a look back at his burning epitaph. Akatash watched Drake.

  As they powered down the river, Dahl and Drake took up rifles and loosed some major firepower into the escaping barges. Large caliber rounds blasted through windows, portholes, door and bows. Guards fell sprawling to their deaths. Drake ducked as a volley was returned.

  “What the hell?” Alicia cried out. “You’re attracting their attention.”

  But Mai knew what they were doing. “This is about what’s right. We do this for free, any day of the week. A dead terrorist can’t plot a bombing now, can he?”

  Alicia slowed the craft as it passed a larger barge. “Good point. Give ’em a hundred or so slugs for lunch, boys.”

  Drake and Dahl peppered the boat with lead, then threw grenades through the holes. Huge explosions erupted behind them and detonated over the width of the river, reverberating back and forth and causing the trees to shake. Caimans slid into the
water and other river creatures gathered to feast as the barges began to sink. Cheers went up from surrounding boats a moment before Drake and Dahl turned their weapons on them.

  Two RPGs streaked by overhead, exploding out of sight. A whirling chopper screamed away, banking sharply and rising toward the gap in the canopy that snaked above the river. Another dogged their movements as if trying to get a bead on them. A third set down hard on the far bank, disgorging men who appeared to have been ordered to obliterate a particular barge. Alicia cursed them for their greed and viciousness and then turned her attention back to Ramses’ escape and rapidly began to close the gap.

  Drake saw a figure amid the tumult, a running black streak on the opposite bank and knew that Beauregard ran with them. The Frenchman approached the recently set-down chopper, a slice of darkness sent out of the forest to grab a little retribution. As they approached Ramses’ craft Akatash shouted orders and then simply wrenched an RPG from the hands of a legionnaire, aimed it at their speedboat and fired all in the blink of an eye.

  The rocket flew unerringly, straight at them!

  CHAPTER FORTY

  They reacted instantly and as one. Even under fire, guiding the boat and picking off the enemy the team were fully aware of their surroundings. Drake had already spied a third racing speedboat and knew it approached them from the right-hand side. Without a second’s hesitation he threw himself off their boat and into the other, holding his breath as he fell through thin air and hoped he’d gauged the distance correctly.

  The team came down hard, smashing the new speedboat momentarily beneath the waters and making it spin around. At that moment their old speedboat erupted, destroyed timbers arcing all around. One of the men who’d occupied the new boat fell out; the other faced the Mad Swede.