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?
“And the Big Dog,” the Brazilian added. “He’s coming with them.”
Now Drake frowned. “Big Dog? What the hell are y’ blathering about?”
Almeida seemed confused. “What?”
“Explain,” Smyth growled.
“That’s all he said,” Almeida blurted. “My friend. The man I talked to who helped them with the choppering in. We spoke often,” he admitted. “Compared notes in case there was someone we—” he stopped abruptly.
“Could blackmail,” Dahl completed it for him. “Yeah, we know.”
“He told me about a guy the CIA were bringing to meet the man of myth — Ramses. Called him the Big Dog. That’s all.”
Hayden turned to Drake, shock embedded into her features. “Surely not the director? The assistant director? The—”
“It could be anyone,” Drake affirmed. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”
Alicia flung the towel at Almeida’s head, making him flinch. “We done with this bottom-feeder? Can we fling him back to the sewer now?”
Hayden nodded. “Take him back. Keep his wallet.”
As Alicia and Smyth led him away the SPEAR team leader regarded the rest of them. “That’s some roster,” she said. “And some target. Security will be absolute and top-notch. Are you guys ready for true jungle warfare?”
“Always,” Dahl said.
“I do like to enrich my resumé,” Drake said. “Bad ass is an easy label to achieve. But jungle bad ass? That’s special.”
“Then let’s move.”
CHAPTER NINE
Tyler Webb was as unhappy as he’d ever been in his life. He sat alongside Beauregard in the back of a luxury chopper, minutes away from landing at Ramses’ ridiculous flea market, compelled to attend by the one thing he desired most of all in this world.
The scroll. The final piece of the puzzle on the path to Saint Germain.
Call it a life-revolution, a game-changer, a world-ender. It was all of those and yet didn’t matter. It was the last thing he needed to lead him to the treasures of Saint Germain. It was a much-deserved redemption.
For now though he needed to temper those desires, almost impossible though that was. Their unstoppable itch ran in his blood. But even this close the scroll still stood a world away. Just a little while longer, went the mantra inside his head. I’m almost there…
The chopper descended. Webb clung on as the canopy rose toward them — a seemingly impenetrable bed of green. Beauregard sat like a statue beside him, unreadable. Webb choked and hyperventilated as the pilot deftly inserted them into the canopy, veering through stepped gaps and then deposited them with a bump onto terra firma.
Beauregard yawned. “Ready?”
Webb gulped hard. “Sure. Of course. Yes.”