Troubleshooters (Jackson Chase Novella Book 2) by Connor Black

be a place for the locals, but more and more tourists were visiting there.”
    “So?”
    “So, he shook his head. Shook it like ‘shame on them’. I remember thinking that was strange, since most people are proud of their local markets, and happy to show them off. He was ticked off that westerners had moved in.”
    “That’s pretty thin. I get pissed off when there’s a crowd at my favorite burger joint. Doesn’t mean I’m going to blow it up.”
    Sterba was right, of course. And the tension in his voice hit the nail on the head. We were in a large city, with plenty of places for Naseeb to hide, and I was focusing on only one. But despite the fact that I was putting all of our eggs in one basket, I knew my instincts were right. They had to be, because we simply had to find Chen. And given the fact that Naseeb knew we were on his trail, we had to do so fast. There was no other option.
    “I’m right on this one, Sterbs. If you have a better lead, I’m all ears.”
    Eyes on the road, I couldn’t look at him. But I sensed his stare during an uncomfortable pause.
    “No. You’re on a roll. Go with it.”
    I pressed the accelerator further, pushing the car to its limit. As we wove through local traffic, my phone buzzed. Sterba took it from me and answered with a gruff “Sterba.”
    It was Landon back at Langley. Sterba gave him a sitrep and then the conversation became more heated.
    “Tell those assholes this isn’t a game!” Sterba said as he ended the call with a violent stab at the screen. “The dipshits at Langley finally located Chen’s phone. It’s back at the gas station. Must’ve been left in Naseeb’s vehicle.”
    “Useless now. We’re on our own,” I said.
    Sterba added a few choice words, and then resumed helping me navigate to the market. The adrenaline rush we’d felt from the fight at the station and seeing Chen knocked around had begun to ebb. It had been replaced by anger and regret in both of us, but it was hitting Sterba especially hard.
    To Sterba, Chen was coming to be like a younger sister. I had been noticing his gentle, encouraging way with her, as well as a hearty dose of protectiveness. Heaven help anyone standing between him and Chen.
    “We’ll get her, Joe,” I said.
    “Damn straight.”
    Unspoken was the thought that not only had she been taken, but she was riding around in a car bomb—a mobile IED. And one that she’d likely be left in when Naseeb pushed the detonator.
    We continued on, that thought floating silently between us. Sterba distracted himself by giving directions as we passed the soccer stadium. The market itself occupied several blocks and was a collection of buildings, tents, and carts. Vendors sold everything from local produce to Masai beaded goods, wooden carvings, clothing, and even farming and automotive parts. Locals visited the market daily to sell or buy, coming on foot or via the ubiquitous dala dalas. Parking was catch-as-catch-can on the dirt patches surrounding the market. When we arrived, the problem was obvious.
    The parking areas were filled more with tour operators’ Land Cruisers and small busses than local cars. It was clear that the market had become a stop on the standard safari route, which meant it would be filled with Europeans and Americans. A perfect target.
    Traffic was at a near standstill around the market, so we elected to proceed on foot. Seeing a small patch of dirt on the perimeter, I slammed the cruiser into the spot and we hopped out.
    “This way,” I said, directing us to circle the perimeter in a clockwise direction. We took off running, heads swiveling for any sign of the dala dala that had escaped the petrol station.
    It was immediately clear it was not going to be easy. The tall busses that brought backpackers up from South Africa blocked our sight lines. Throngs of visitors bunched together, making it difficult to distinguish individuals. And there were, frankly, a lot of silver vans.
    We made our way through as