“Shit, we’re in trouble here.”
“Don’t worry,” Dahl said, “I’ll look after you.”
“Thanks, Dad. Now, what the hell do we do next? We can’t just follow ’em around.”
“I’m thinking—” Kinimaka began, but then just stopped. The expression on his face put Drake in mind of a coronary and he moved closer to his friend.
“Mano? You okay, pal?”
The Hawaiian’s mouth moved but nothing came out. Shock and quite possibly terror controlled his every decision.
Drake noted the man wasn’t looking in the direction of Ramses but to his left. To another group of men. To…
Drake gaped.
“But that’s… that’s impossible.”
“It is.” Even Alicia sounded shaken. “But he’s standing right there. Large as life. Attending a fucking repulsive terrorist bazaar with the scum of the earth. Oh shit, guys, what the hell do we do now?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Drake tried to calm his pounding heart, tried to reel his eyes back in from the stalks on which they currently perched. Three men wearing Armani suits was bad enough; three men wearing Men In Black sunglasses was a tad worse…
But three men who were clearly agents of the American government, strolling along with smiles and handshakes and knowing glances, already holding wrapped purchases and designer carrier bags, one of them having inserted a red tag inside his breast pocket — which signified that he’d ordered a slave to be collected later — was mind blowing to say the least.
And that wasn’t the most shocking thing about the scenario.
Kinimaka still struggled to draw breath. Drake saw the world spinning inside his own head as everything he knew became unbalanced. Dahl grunted and grunted, trying to come up with a suitable remark and failing. In the end it was Alicia who finally put a voice to their utterly terrifying vision.
“I’m not mad am I? That is who I think it is?”
Drake nodded, mouth dry.
“It’s Robert Price.” Kinimaka’s knees were actually shaking. “The fucking US Secretary of Defense. I… I…”
Drake swallowed hard, caught in a gamut of emotions. It wasn’t simply a horrendous shock, a terrible betrayal, an unthinkable scenario; not only did it pull the carpet from underneath every hardworking, patriotic agent and solider on the planet, but it also besmirched the memory of Jonathan Gates. The old Secretary had been a good man, loyal to the core, a champion of his country and his friends, but his successor was now proving to be the complete opposite.
“We need to move,” Dahl finally blustered. “They’re heading over here.”
The team suppressed their shock and got to work. The actual act of concealment wasn’t hard — this was the jungle after all — it was the performance they required not to draw attention to themselves. Yorgi ended up facing Price as he strolled by, grinning everywhere as if he owned the place — and the rest stood around in a half-circle as if being berated. Price nodded to Yorgi as he sauntered past.
“Take no shit, lad. Take no shit.”
Drake stiffened and felt Kinimaka do the same. Robert Price was drawling it up, no doubt enjoying his dangerous freedom, acting a mean part. The man should be as far out of his comfort zone as Colin Firth playing one of the world’s most bad-ass assassins, but hey, he pulled it off.
Drake waited as the footsteps went away, loud on the mulch. At Yorgi’s signal the entire group headed back to the bazaar’s main street, quietly reeling from what they had seen. Webb, Beau and now Robert Price! Drake allowed the information to assimilate. This coupled with the appearance of the great and mysterious Ramses started to give him pause for thought.
Have we taken on more than we can chew this time?
“Yorgi,” he said. “The tent. Now.”
“I figure so.”
They took a meandering route past the river, wanting to hop over there and confer with Hayden but unsure as to what protocols might be in play. Smyth still stood atop the deck though, a dependable sentry. Kinimaka walked slap-bang into a tree, so disturbed was he, and failed to notice the flailing arachnid that came crashing down and bounced off his broad back. Alicia let out a stifled gasp as the monster scrambled away.
“Shit, let’s get this mission finished so I can get out of this place. My skin is crawling, my body itching. Even my toes are starting to curl.”
They continued in silence, finally reaching the tent and stationing both Dahl and Alicia outside. Kinimaka found his phone and dialed Hayden.
“Hope to fuck you’re sitting down,” he breathed when she answered.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Torsten Dahl listened in silence to the exchanges between Hayden Jaye and the rest of the ground team. SPEAR’s leader was understandably upset and shocked to hear of the US Secretary of Defense so blatantly attending a terrorist arms bazaar but reminded the team that his bodyguards weren’t CIA, and that they had yet to spot that element of the game. She told them they had to be on Price closer than the paparazzi at a Miley Cyrus photo-shoot. Dahl understood that the presence of Price trumped all else for now, but that still left several angles uncovered.
Webb. Beauregard. Ramses. Dahl wasn’t exactly sure Robert Price was a bigger threat to the world than Ramses right now. But he knew where the heated conversation was going. There really was no alternative. As he listened he sat down, relaxing for a moment. For several months now he’d been feeling a little frazzled. Family time was not extensive enough and taking out one enemy was always going to lead to the emergence of another. It was a defeatist attitude, he knew, but it was more than time to take a short break.
A family holiday.
He dreamed a little now, taking himself away from the debate, cutting himself a small slice of heaven. Maybe the Caribbean, no pirates, no bloody terrorists. Just Johanna and the kids, the sapphire seas and a cool breeze.
Soon, he promised himself. Very soon.
The Swede shut away the guilt and the hurt, saving it for another hour, another day. It would still be there lingering like a knowing predator, waiting to strike. Johanna had removed herself from home once for him, uprooted the kids, and now they lived in Washington DC, still as lonely and even more isolated. The world would continue without Torsten Dahl fighting evil, but his marriage wouldn’t survive much more.
Forcing it down, burying it deep, he shrugged on the armor required for the work day and faced Matt Drake.
“We ready?”
“Aye, lad. That we are.”
“You do know they hate Yorkshiremen out here in the Amazon basin, don’t you? They think you’re all just a bunch of pie eaters.”
“And I guess they love super-smooth Swedes, eh? The baby-soft bone structure don’t get caught in a cannibal’s teeth.”
“Stereotypical ass.”
“Local pub lunch.”
Then Hayden’s voice became louder. “Please tell those two asses to tone it down, will ya? This is one of the biggest threats to national security in recent years and has to be taken seriously. We need photographic, video, recorded evidence. Something. We have to know why he’s there.”
“Remember General Stone?” Kinimaka put in at that point. “Back in the Pandora event. He warned us about Price even then.”
“I remember. “ Hayden said. “And I took him seriously despite his many catastrophic failings. But Price has been clean and surprisingly helpful the last few months.”
“Do we have a plan?” Kinimaka looked around.
Drake smiled. “Do you have to ask?”