The Last Bazaar (19 page)

Drake returned to the dock area and a hellish scene of battle.

Barges and large boats fled the docks, scattered all across the river and at all angles underneath a sky darkened by the smoke from many fires. Rockets were being loosed between vessels and into the surrounding jungle, either as an attempt to destroy rivals or for interference. The jungle was starting to burn. Grim-faced men stood on decks, RPGs pressed to their shoulders. Others held machine guns with bullet belts wrapped around them. Still more had their entire decks lined by gun-toting guards. Upon another a deck-mounted missile launcher swiveled for a target. One more was the scene of a party, the guests oblivious or uncaring of what surrounded them.

“It’s all gone to hell,” Dahl said. “But then what do you expect of terrorists, drug runners and arms smugglers?”

“The prize.” Drake pointed their way through the ferocious extravagance.

Ramses stood poised on the wooden dock, men with weapons stationed at his back and the bodyguard, Akatash, at his side. He surveyed the fiery scenes with impassive regret, probably wondering where he’d gone wrong. Even the jungle area where he’d sited the bazaar itself was under fire now, flames and explosions erupting from the place and the sounds of buildings and trees collapsing reverberating through the jungle. Flames climbed the trees like fiery apes, crackling along the timber despite its wetness.

“The Crown Prince of Terror doesn’t look so smug about it now, eh?” Alicia grinned.

Mai picked foliage off her clothing. “His reputation exceeds all. Be very careful how you handle him.”

“You know about this guy?” Alicia asked. “Why didn’t you mention him before, ya damn Sprite?”

“I have been away,” Mai said matter-of-factly. “Out of the loop. You have no idea what I have had to endure.”

Drake gave Dahl a speculative look. “Oh, I dunno. We all have our burdens to bear.”

The Swede grunted. “Yeah, and Northmen being one of them. Shall we stop the chat and finish this?”

Drake slapped his friend on the shoulder. “After you, Agnetha.”

Dahl started forward and then stopped, turning even as an RPG streaked past them and exploded high in the trees. The team marched together, side-by-side, four abreast along the dock, raising weapons and taking aim as fires surrounded them. It took a moment but Ramses finally saw them . . .

And recognized them.

Loathing burned from those eyes, almost of a depth to burn everything to a crisp.

Ramses stood head and shoulders above the rest of his legionnaires, and he strode through them straight at the SPEAR team, Akatash at his side. Surprise made Drake question this confrontation, but his face and body betrayed no doubts. Ramses tried to come at them first, but Akatash squeezed past his master, suddenly to be blocked by Mai.

“I know of you,” the Japanese woman said. “Better than Beauregard Alain? Better than Mai Kitano? Let’s see, shall we?”

Akatash moved faster than a viper, fists, elbows and knees all striking in rhythm. Mai matched him move for move, a blurry, reactionary speedster. Akatash clearly sought to retain the momentum as he pressed forward without relenting. Mai slipped a little Aikido into her fighting, allowing Akatash’s pure force to work against him, but he countered almost instantly with a similar method, holding back on the power and trying to read her moves. The dock’s timbers shivered beneath their feet.

Drake felt Dahl and Alicia pass him to either side, taking on Ramses’ goons as the prince himself stopped only meters away. His size was quite literally shocking, and his eyes and facial expression right then could have quashed a volcanic eruption.

“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.”

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.