Black Coke (26 page)

His good eye narrowed. She kept going, telling him about Herbert, the problem with the Black Coke, Nathan Kershner, Lucia Carlisla and Rev Elijah Evans.

‘What’s your plan?’ El Patrón asked.

She told him.

‘Are you sure this Colombians Against the Front isn’t a distraction?’ El Patrón said.

‘They’re increasingly influential. Something has to be done about them.’

‘What about the Haitians? Any news?’

‘None yet.’

‘The Haitians are an unruly people,’ he said. ‘Even more difficult to control than those pesky Jamaicans. Their allegiances shift with the wind. We need to be careful about working with them.’

‘So why are we doing it? Why not just go with the reverend?’

‘To break-up the supply chain. It’s safer that way. Makes it harder to trace the source. Now, tell me about George.’

‘It’s his fault Kershner’s on the loose.’

‘Is that so?’

He let go of her. For a moment, he seemed displeased, even angry. The good side of his face was twitching. His bad eye was rolling like a marble. He slapped his armrest. The bodyguard tugged the wheelchair back a few metres.

Amonite shuffled her feet.

El Patrón coughed once, twice. Then he crumpled over. The bodyguard rushed round to face him, whipping a see-through plastic mask out of his pocket and sticking it onto El Patrón’s mouth and nose. The coughing subsided, replaced by a deep wheezing. El Patrón pushed the bodyguard away, keeping the mask to his face with his good hand.

‘You know why the logo is a black beetle?’ he said between breaths.

‘Herbert wanted it because of those insects that are everywhere in Putumayo.’

‘I hear they have become serious pests. Eating crops. The farmers are complaining. Ha!’ He took another deep breath of oxygen. ‘I agreed to the logo because beetles are one of the most common species of insects. Yet they are beautifully built and strong. That’s how we want our drug to be. Do you understand?’

Another fit of coughing overwhelmed him. He looked up, blood trickling from his nose.

‘Your plan meets with El Patrón’s approval,’ he whispered. ‘But there’s more that I want you to do. That junior minister, the pro legalisation one.’

‘He’s dead.’

‘He had the ear of the president. It worries me.’ El Patrón breathed into the mask. ‘I want the Front to strike terror into the heart of Bogotá. I will communicate my instructions shortly.’

He slapped his armrest. The bodyguard wheeled him out. Amonite stared in silence at the place where El Patrón had been. Had she just imagined all this? Part of her felt relieved: she’d heard horrific stories about what happened to people who met with El Patrón’s disapproval. But she also felt disappointed. She hadn’t expected him to be so severely disfigured and crippled.

There was a clanking behind Amonite. Giovanni was peering round the heavy door. All of a sudden, Amonite wanted to be out of here, away from this underground palace that stank of decay. Without a word, she shoved past Giovanni. She ran up the stairs and through the restaurant, pushing over a waiter who was hurrying past. Plates crashed to the floor and smashed.

She burst out into the street. She blinked to adjust to the early evening light. Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. Her heart accelerated again.

Had El Patrón changed his mind?

She flicked open the phone as she weaved through the traffic jam to cross the road.

‘Yeah?’

‘We got us a problem.’ It was Dex, his voice clipped, subdued.

Amonite grunted, relieved. ‘Spit it out.’

‘It’s about that reverend.’

‘Did he hand it to the Haitians?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘So what’s that dumb-ass piece of shit done now?’

‘He’s split, Amonite, with all the Black Coke.’

Bogotá, Colombia
13 April 2011

‘Y
ou sure you don’t want to meet her?’ Lucia said as they climbed out of the yellow cab. They were next to the vast expanse of green and water that made up the Parque Simón Bolivar, in the centre of Bogotá. A young couple strolled past them, hand in hand, sparking a shot of envy inside Lucia.

Nathan shook his head.

Lucia paid the driver and watched the cab zoom off. She turned back to Nathan. Beneath the bushy beard and wavy hair were sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, and a piercing gaze that darted around, resting for a split second on a passer-by, then moving to another, scanning the traffic.

A frisson of desire ran through her.

She pursed her lips. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind speaking to you.’

‘They may be watching her.’

‘Couldn’t you spot them?’

‘Amonite’s a pro.’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘Too risky.’

Lucia shrugged and started walking down the path. They passed the black bust of Simón Bolivar, the Latin American liberator after whom the park was named. He was looking to his left, as though he’d just noticed something. The ever present mountains towered in the background, their tips covered by a mass of grey clouds.

She glanced at Nathan again. His forehead was furrowed into a dark frown. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw clenched, as though driven by a fierce determination. What had happened to him to make him so angry?

They reached the edge of the park and crossed a road. They stopped in front of a sprawling complex of pink buildings. One of them had the El Tiempo logo on the side. Traffic rushed past to their left on the Avenida El Dorado highway.

Lucia headed for the entrance, but Nathan touched her arm. ‘You sure you can trust her?’

‘I’ve told you already,’ she said. ‘She’s a friend.’

‘She kicked you out.’

‘I’ll reason with her.’

‘She has strong political connections,’ Nathan said. ‘That makes her dangerous.’

‘She’s not like those people. She investigates them.’

‘Then why has she pulled out?’

‘That’s what I’m going to find out.’ Lucia took a step away. ‘Where do we meet?’

‘Back here. Wait, tell me your mobile number, just in case.’ He memorised it as she rattled it out. ‘Now, get in there before someone spots us.’

Lucia wanted Nathan to come with her, to stay close. She’d only met him a day before, but already she was finding herself attracted to him in a way she’d never felt with anyone before.

She walked briskly into the building.

Bogotá, Colombia
13 April 2011

I
t was the sheer boldness of Amonite’s move that took Nathan by surprise.

He’d bought a copy of El Tiempo from a street vendor and was leaning against a wall across the junction, pretending to read. He had a good view of the glass entrance to the office block as well as the streets leading up to it. Red bendy buses, yellow taxis and a mish-mash of cars were rumbling behind a row of mopeds poised at a red light like the cavalry about to charge. Pedestrians hurried across as engines revved and fumes spilled out.

There was an article in El Tiempo about Colombian drug smugglers using submarines to bring drugs to Mexico, from where they’d go overland into the USA. They were semi-submersibles: vessels cruising just below the surface of the sea with only air and exhaust pipes sticking out. There was a photo of armed soldiers in combats standing on a captured sub in what looked like a swamp in the middle of the jungle. Was the Front also using subs? That was highly possible. Drug cartels often tried to diversify their supply chains. It was a way of reducing risk, just like any business would.

Nathan glanced at his phone. No message from Manuel, who’d rung up when they were in the cab to say he was going to meet his campesino friends waiting to hear back from the Haitians acting as go-betweens for the Black Coke shipment. The Haitians were meant to ambush the Jamaicans and seize the Black Coke. Nathan had asked what was in it for the Haitians.

‘Control of the Caribbean,’ Manuel had answered. But he’d sounded worried.

Nathan studied the crowd for any break in pattern that might betray a tail.

A sudden change of direction.

A lingering look cut short.

A face seen once too many.

His fingers clutched the newspaper so tight he nearly ripped it.

There, to his left, on the other side, just about to cross the busy street, was Amonite. She had a dark blue bomber jacket, black trousers and black leather boots. With her short cropped hair, square face and beefy figure, she looked like one of those neo-Nazi thugs Nathan had once arrested in a drugs bust in Tower Hamlets in east London.

Nathan stepped behind a tall metal railing. He glanced at the entrance lobby to El Tiempo. People were milling around or waiting on chairs. Why was Lucia taking so long? Had everything descended into a big argument again?

Amonite was dodging some mopeds. She looked round. For a split second, Nathan thought she’d spotted him. Then she looked away. She reached the pavement that led to El Tiempo.

Nathan dumped his newspaper in a bin. He pulled up his collar. He rushed across the street, weaving through cars and buses. Amonite was twenty metres away. She was stuck in a crowd on the sidewalk. She was elbowing people out of her way, sparking shouts of outrage. Nathan circled the crowd and waited behind a pillar. How the hell was he going to stop her? He peered round at the entrance to El Tiempo. People were lining up around the elevators. Still no sign of Lucia. He curled his fingers round the Glock in his jacket. He didn’t want a firefight in broad daylight, but it could turn out to be the only option.

A large man had grabbed Amonite and was shoving her away. She was twisting herself free, but the man was persistent, shouting in her face, shaking her shoulders. There was a blur of movement. Suddenly, he crumpled to the floor, groaning. The crowd scattered, panicked. Nerves were even higher than usual in Bogotá following the recent spate of bombings. Amonite surged forward.

An elevator door opened. Lucia stepped out, a frown on her face. She looked around and tossed her mane of hair back over her shoulders, but didn’t spot Nathan next to the pillar. She walked out of the entrance. She hadn’t yet seen Amonite, who was looking over her shoulder at the man on the ground.

This was getting tricky. If Lucia wasn’t careful, she’d walk straight into Amonite’s arms.

Nathan was about to run forward when Lucia spun round and hurried away in the other direction, just as Amonite rushed into the building.

He sped after Lucia. He clamped a hand on her shoulder. She spun round, eyes wide.

‘Nathan!’

‘Did you speak to her?’

‘Who?’

‘Octavia.’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

Lucia shook her head.

Nathan felt like telling her ‘told you so’, but decided to save that conversation for later.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, tugging her away.

‘I just saw Amonite.’

‘I know. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

She shrugged him off. ‘We need to stop her.’

‘Too risky.’

‘We can’t abandon Octavia.’

‘She just turned you down.’

Lucia turned round. ‘I’m going back in.’

‘No you’re not.’ Nathan grabbed her forearm. ‘You wouldn’t stand a chance in hell against her.’

‘You don’t know me.’

‘This isn’t the time to argue, Lucia.’

‘Amonite will kill her.’

She had a determined, stubborn look in her eyes.

‘Okay, I’ll go in,’ he said. ‘What floor’s she on?’

‘Fifth floor, through the newsroom, in the corridor near the back.’ Lucia grasped Nathan’s hand as he pulled away. ‘Be careful.’

‘See you back at the hotel.’

Bogotá, Colombia
13 April 2011

N
athan marched into El Tiempo, part of him thinking this was a big mistake. A pitched battle inside could turn into a massacre if staff got caught in the crossfire. He pushed through the crowd of people near the reception desk. The security guard looked straight at him, bulging arms folded over a barrel-shaped chest.

‘Papels de identificación, por favor.’

Nathan pushed towards the barrier. The guard reached out with a fat paw. Nathan brushed him off.

‘No entra!’

Nathan shoved him away. The guard stumbled, then lunged forwards. Nathan launched a side kick that sent the guard sprawling into the reception desk. People screamed and headed for the exit. The guard rushed Nathan again. Nathan looked around. A metal chair. He grabbed it and hurled it at the guard’s face. Then he jumped over the barrier and sprinted for the stairway sign. He burst through the door, breathing hard. He leapt up the stairs three at a time. This wasn’t the discrete insertion he’d been hoping for.