Black Coke (34 page)

‘Can’t say. Where can we meet?’

She gave him the address of a cafe in the centre.

‘See you there in two hours,’ he said. ‘And dump your phone. They’ll track it.’

Nathan hung up. He threw the phone on the ground and crushed it with his heel. Police sirens wailed in the distance. He dug his hand into his pocket and curled his fingers around the handle of his gun. He looked up at the night sky. Colombia was in the southern hemisphere, which meant the layout of the stars was different, but he remembered enough from his orienteering training to figure out which way was north-east, the direction of the city centre.

His pulse beating in his temples, sweat pouring down his back despite the wind, Nathan headed further into the unknown gloom of Ciudad Bolivar.

Bogotá, Colombia
14 April 2011

N
obody said a word as Amonite marched towards the armoured humvee next to which they had congregated. Dex was gazing at the floor, rubbing the zigzag scar on his cheek. He shuffled his feet as if he was looking for something in the dirt. His Front hitmen were smoking cigarettes.

‘Where are they?’ Amonite said, trying to contain her fury.

‘In the back of the hummer.’

‘Burn them.’

Dex opened his mouth. Amonite glared at him. He nodded to two hitmen, who ground their cigarette butts and opened the humvee’s doors. They dragged out two corpses. One of them had a screwdriver sticking out of his neck and was naked.

‘Where?’ Dex said.

‘Right there.’ Amonite pointed to a spot ten metres away, next to the sewer’s exit. ‘As an example to what happens to dumb-ass losers.’

The hitmen pulled the corpses along. A third hitman pulled a jerry can from the humvee.

‘Where’s the general?’ Amonite said as she watched them douse the two corpses with petrol.

‘Gone back to his base.’

‘We’ll make him pay.’

‘Isn’t that a bit…crazy?’

‘Watch your mouth, boy.’ Amonite prodded the air with her index finger. ‘It’s his fault Kershner escaped.’

‘Won’t George go apeshit?’

One of the hitmen pulled out a box of matches. He struck one and threw it onto the corpses. Then he stepped back and joined the others, who were looking sullen as the flames lapped round their dead comrades.

‘Let’s go,’ Amonite said. She headed for the front passenger seat of the humvee as Dex barked orders to the others.

‘What do we do now?’ Dex said as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

‘The doctor tells me production’s ramping up. Five tons this week.’

‘What about the reverend? How are we going to ship it out?’

‘Don’t you worry about that. I’m working on other avenues.

‘And Kershner?’

‘We keep hunting.’

Amonite’s phone buzzed. ‘Yes?’

‘Amonite Victor?’ It was one of the new American mercenaries she’d hired for the Front. Amonite couldn’t remember his name.

‘What do you want?’

‘The cops have just got in touch. Alberto’s been found dead.’

‘Who?’

‘The new fat dude. Started last week. Used to work for the Colombian government. Found dead in a hotel room. Someone shot him. Had his pants down.’

‘So he got wasted by some pimp,’ Amonite said. ‘What do I care?’

‘You asked us to track that activist woman’s phone.’

‘Get to the point.’

‘She was in the same hotel, at the same time.’

‘Lucia Carlisla? He was screwing her?’ Amonite sneered. ‘Crafty bitch.’

‘The receptionist reckons another Colombian guy was in there too. He called the police and they found Alberto stone cold dead on the floor.’

‘Find them.’

‘Shall I call the ASI?’

‘No way. They’re too fucking incompetent.’

‘There was something else. She received a call on her mobile an hour or so ago. It was from one of our guys. Henry Caxton.’

‘Put a tracer on his phone.’ Amonite hung up and turned to Dex. ‘Who’s Henry Caxton?’

Dex jabbed his thumb as they drove past one of the corpses engulfed by flames.

‘It’s him.’

Bogotá, Colombia
14 April 2011

N
athan spotted Lucia just as she rounded the corner. She was glancing furtively around and heading straight for the cafe they’d set on the phone as the rendez-vous point. Heads turned as she walked by, but she seemed oblivious. Either she was good at ignoring them, or she didn’t have a clue just how attractive she was. Nathan sank further into the darkened doorway. He tapped Lucia’s shoulder just as she walked past. She spun round to face him. Her eyes softened.

‘Nathan, you look terrible.’

Nathan touched his hair. It was caked and hard. His face was covered in grime.

She took a step away. ‘You stink.’

Nathan scanned the pedestrians going by. Some were giving them curious glances. Further down, cops in black uniforms had blocked one end of the street. They were checking people’s ID papers.

‘I’ll explain later.’ Nathan grabbed Lucia’s arm and led her the other way. ‘Where’s Manuel?’

‘Gone to meet a contact. We need to hook up with him.’

‘Is the hotel safe?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Let’s find another one.’

They hopped onto the transmilenio bus. The crowd shuffled away as Nathan pushed through. A woman pulled her son from a seat and moved to the side.

Nathan sat down. ‘I guess the stench must be pretty bad.’

‘Can’t you smell it?’ Lucia said, leaving an empty seat between them.

‘Nope.’

She tutted. Nathan caught the boy’s eye and winked. The boy giggled. His mother tugged him away.

Two ticket inspectors climbed on board at the front of the bus. Nathan leaned his head against the window and pretended to be asleep. Last thing he needed was hassle with the authorities.

He could hear the inspectors asking for tickets. They were moving closer towards him. He tucked his chin into his neck and turned his face away.

‘Boleto, por favor.’

One of the ticket inspectors prodded his shoulder. Nathan slumped forward as though drunk. The inspector pushed him backwards. Nathan clenched his fists and opened his eyes a slit. The inspector was a small man with a neat moustache and a frown. An argument erupted in rapid-fire Spanish. Lucia was saying something to the inspector about ‘leaving the poor man alone’. The inspector shook Nathan’s shoulder. Nathan tensed, ready to jump out as soon as they reached the next stop.

Coins jingled. Lucia said something about taking the money. The other inspector shouted at her. The one with the moustache cupped Nathan’s chin. Just as he tried to drag Nathan to his feet, a ding resounded and the doors slid open. Nathan leapt up, shoving the inspector with the moustache into his colleague. Nathan dived through the open doors, Lucia right behind him. There was shouting and yelling. He caught a glimpse of the ticket inspectors glaring at them as the transmilenio eased off.

‘People don’t like drop-outs in Bogotá,’ Lucia said as they marched down the pavement.

‘I know. I’ve seen what they do to them.’

‘We need to get you cleaned up. You’re attracting too much attention.’

They stopped outside a three star hotel. It had pillars at the front and a double door with a gold-painted frame. A red carpet led up some steps into the lobby. A hotel guard in green combats and black boots stood to one side, clutching a sawn-off shotgun.

‘Wait here,’ Lucia said. ‘I’ll come to get you. Don’t get into any more trouble.’

Nathan leaned against the wall. The hotel guard eyed him up and down. Pedestrians weaved in and out of the cars. Some cast him suspicious glances. Mopeds roared past. Police sirens echoed in the distance.

The city had a sinister feel to it. Nathan felt sorry for all the drop-outs, tramps and drug-addicts who lived on the street. He was experiencing first hand the rejection they felt on a daily basis.

Lucia came through the revolving doors. ‘We’re done. Follow me.’

They headed through the marble floored lobby to a row of elevators. Five minutes later, they were in a twin bedroom on the third floor, with a window overlooking the street. There was a small wooden desk in a corner with a desk lamp with a dark blue lampshade. Photos of Bogotá with the mountains in the background hung on the wall. The floor was made of large white tiles.

Lucia went straight to the bathroom and threw a towel to Nathan.

‘In the shower. Now.’

Nathan hesitated. Lucia’s eyes glimmered. She turned away.

‘I’ll get you some clothes,’ she said as she left the room.

Fifteen minutes later, Nathan emerged from the shower and wrapped a towel round his waist. He checked his body in the mirror, ignoring the beard and long hair that stared back at him. His chest and sides had large patches of blue and were painfully tender where he’d been beaten. It would take a good few days to get better. His fingernails were still full of grime, so he rubbed them with soap under running water.

He went into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, his head swimming with the events of the past few days. He was fortunate to have escaped, but now Amonite would have half the Front searching for him. He lay back on the bed, arms spread out. An image of Caitlin swept through his mind. Her throat was slit. Blood was everywhere.

I’ll get them Caitlin. I’ll make them pay.

He drifted into a half-sleep full of weird dreams, vaguely aware of the patter of rain drops on the window, when the bedroom door opened. Lucia was standing in the doorway, staring at him. Her dark hair was wet and clung to her cheeks, framing her round face.

‘There you go.’ She dumped a plastic bag on the bed next to him. ‘Straight from the Gap.’

Nathan rolled onto his front and rubbed his eyes. A hint of perfume hung in the air. Lucia had another bag of clothes and kept on glancing at him. She looked distraught.

‘You okay?’ he said as he pulled the bag towards him.

‘We need to find Manuel.’

‘Does he know we’re here?’

‘How would he?’

Nathan slipped into a pair of jeans. ‘Do you have his number?’

‘I dumped my cell phone, as you told me.’

‘Something wrong?’ Nathan said as he pulled on a white t-shirt.

Lucia didn’t reply.

Nathan shrugged. ‘Let’s go find him.’

They headed outdoors. Now that Nathan was clean and dressed properly, nobody spared him a second glance. He spotted a payphone across the road. Lucia handed him some coins. He dialled Manuel’s number.

‘Sí?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Nathan! I was worried.’

Nathan looked up and down the street. A lit-up sign caught his eye. ‘Josepe’s restaurant. On Calle Ciudad. Meet you there in an hour.’

‘Is Lucia with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve got good news.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I’ll tell you when we meet.’

Bogotá, Colombia
14 April 2011

N
athan and Lucia went back to the hotel to wait. Nathan sat at the desk and clasped his hands to stop them trembling. He could barely believe he’d got out of the sewers alive. An image of the overdosed junkie flashed through his mind. Then one of the burning junkie. Their miserable lives had ended tragically, devastated by the Front.

Lucia dropped onto the bed and leaned against the wall. She seemed to look less distraught than earlier. She kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

‘Do you think we’ll succeed?’ she said after a while.

‘In what?’

‘To bring down the Front?’

Nathan looked down at his fingers. There was still some dirt under his nails. He tried not to let himself get discouraged by the scale of the task ahead of them. Just three of them against a major drugs cartel.

‘We have no choice,’ he said. ‘If we don’t try, who else will?’

‘We could ask the DEA.’

‘Do you really think they’d help?’

‘Probably not.’

Nathan had worked with the Drug Enforcement Administration in the past. In typical American style, they tended to favour the all guns blazing approach. Not surprisingly, their results were well below their objectives. In fact, the more money they poured into anti-drugs work, the worst it seemed to get.