Hayden checked her watch. Coming up for 8:00 a.m. now on the last day of the last bazaar. No matter what happened, this was the end. The variables though — they were endless.
“We know where Ramses’ tent is,” Dahl was saying. “But not Webb’s or Price’s. We’re still outgunned and outmanned, though several players have already left. The worst of the bunch though — they’re still here, cavorting until the very end.”
“Distraction?” Hayden sipped from a bottle of water.
“Hard to pull off. The guards are well laid out and unlikely to bunch.”
“Shock and awe?”
“If we had reinforcements.”
Hayden wondered about that. Time was fast running out, and they were eight against hundreds. Their direct boss couldn’t exactly help them. She saw only one course of action.
“Dahl,” she said. “Give me an hour. I have to call someone.”
The connection was verified, passed through countless channels and then verified again. One more time, one more connection, and she addressed the most powerful man in the world.
“Sir?” she said.
President Coburn’s voice held tones of stress but came across as warm as summer DC sunshine. “Hayden Jaye. What can I do for you?”
Hayden took a huge breath and then gave him the bare facts, straight up. This was no time for embellishments, and Coburn listened without interrupting. When she had finished he stayed silent for about a minute.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Jaye, I’m here. Just picking myself up off the floor. And there’s no chance Price might be there undercover, like yourselves? No chance he’s playing this Ramses character?”
“From what my team saw and heard,” she said. “No chance at all.”
Coburn fell silent again. Hayden could imagine the thoughts running through his head — of black bag and need-to-know, of rendition and dark sites, of intelligence gathering and the lives of ordinary Americans.
“The logistics are… thorny,” Coburn said. “Brazil’s Department of State are working well with us at the moment but assets in the region are too minimal to make a difference. Unless…” he paused, and Hayden could almost see him smile. “Unless there’s something I don’t know, of course. Which is perfectly possible. An additional problem is the region you’re in — it is teeming with criminals, desperadoes, gangsters, you name it.”
“It’s okay, sir.” Hayden heard the regret in his voice quite clearly. “We can still do this. I only want… clarification… on Price.”
“Ah, well, that’s not such a gray area. Resolve that situation, Jaye. In any way necessary.”
The comment surprised her a little. She had fully expected Coburn to insist that Robert Price be allowed to return to the States to stand trial, or face interrogation, but instead he’d given her carte blanche. As a soldier in the field, she couldn’t ask for more.
“Understood, sir, and thank you.”
“What’s the time scale on this?”
“Eighteen hours, maximum,” she said. “We’re counting down, sir.”
“I want to know the moment you settle this,” Coburn said. “Good luck to you and your team, Jaye. And please, be careful.”
“We always are, sir,” Hayden said, her head filled with images of Torsten Dahl grinning like crazy and Matt Drake leaping after him into battle. “Our team is as sane as they come.”
Coburn hesitated. “All right, then.”
The call died. Hayden put her face to the window and viewed what she could of the bazaar and the lightening skies. The conversation had turned out better than she had hoped in one way, but worse in another. Price was expendable, but they were on their own.
Again.
She called Dahl back and told him the news. “I did tell the President that we would be careful,” she said. “And that we’re all well-balanced, rational human beings able to make sound decisions in the heat of battle.”
“Fuck, yeah,” Dahl growled.
Hayden closed her eyes. “Have at it then.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Drake listened as Dahl picked up the bazaar’s laminated agenda and read out a relevant part.
“On the last day at 10:00 a.m.,” he read. “Morning speech, thank yous and final acquisitions,” he said. “Wind up. It’s the best news we’ve had since we arrived. Everyone should be there.”
The Yorkshireman nodded. “And if we plan it right, we can use it to pick up on all our targets. Let’s assign villains.”
“I’ll take Webb alone,” Alicia said. “Beau will help.”
“Are you sure?” Drake met her eyes.
“Jealous much?”
“Who? Me? Stop blethering, y’ daft apath.”
“Shit, is that some kind of Martian tongue?” Dahl looked over.
Drake realized he’d reverted to type in his non-jealousy. “Anyway. Price is mine, Dahl’s and Mano’s. Yorgi, you can watch Ramses and wait for everyone to regroup before we move on him.”
“It makes sense,” the Russian said. “Ramses will be one of the last to leave.”
The foot traffic passing outside the tent began to rise and grow more vocal. A sound echoed through the bazaar, deep and booming, the reverberation of a huge gong.
The team rose at once, Drake eyeing Kenzie one more time. “Remember what we said.”
“I’ll do my best, lover.”
Outside, the crowd strolled noisily toward the large clearing that also held the caiman pit. Drake kept his eyes on the jungle at first, ensuring the guards were positioned as before, then turned his attention to the crowd and scanned for targets. A flash of red caught his eye as he turned from the jungle, just a flicker, but the location and quickness told him one clear and obvious thing.
Somebody else is out there, watching. His heart sank. Not another enemy, I hope.
No time to worry about that now. It could even be one of the local drug gangs or a native. Drake blended with the crowd, following Yorgi and Alicia with Dahl and Kinimaka at his side. Conversation pummeled him from all sides. The ground squelched with every step and sunlight filtered intermittently from above. Drake was so sick of the thick, fetid rainforest stench by now that he considered holding his nose. Soon though they were streaming out of the narrow trail and grouping around a podium — the same one from which Ramses had issued his welcome speech. Drake joined his friends in scrutinizing the bobbing, talking heads of the crowd.
“This is more like it,” Alicia said. “I see Webb already.”
“Oh, and who’s the tight hunk next to him?” Kenzie craned her neck, a crafty glint in her eye, proving that she’d read the situation between Drake and Alicia correctly.
“The French Condom,” Drake said. “At least, that’s what his friends call him.”
“And his enemies?”
Dahl nudged Drake. “Look.”
“Thanks for the bruise. Where?”
“Bruise? All I did was give you a prod. Two o’clock, front row.”
Drake saw the suits, the mostly shaven heads, the gray hairs of Robert Price. “Gang’s all here,” he said.
“It is now.” Kinimaka wiped sweat from his forehead as the terrorist prince appeared.
Ramses took the stage, closely followed by his bodyguard, Akatash. The bazaar’s patron stood bigger than Drake remembered, as tall as a garage door and unbearably bulked out, as if he’d had basketballs implanted alongside his normal muscles. His face broke into a smile as he took the podium and stared out across a sea of faces.
“My friends, my friends! What an occasion, what a magnificent affair. Am I right?”