Black Coke (35 page)

‘So why do you work for Soca?’ Lucia said.

‘I don’t anymore.’

‘Why did you? Do you really believe the drugs war is worth it?’

Nathan shrugged.

‘Because it’s not,’ Lucia continued, her neck going flushed. ‘Quite the opposite. Everything that people associate with drugs, whether that’s HIV, crime, violence, prison or death, is caused by prohibition, not the other way round.’

Nathan said nothing. He didn’t feel like getting into a big debate. Deep down, he agreed with her, although he didn’t want to say it openly. It would be like admitting that the past few years at Soca had been a waste of time.

‘Don’t you agree?’ she said.

‘What’s the alternative?’

‘Legalisation.’

‘That would be anarchy. Everyone would be taking drugs.’

‘No they wouldn’t. What do you drink?’

‘Sorry?’

‘What alcohol do you like to drink?’

‘Beer.’

‘No hard stuff?’

‘Don’t like it.’

‘Exactly.’ Lucia spread her hands. ‘It’s the same with drugs. Not everyone likes them. I tried cocaine once. Made me jittery. Stopped me sleeping. Never did it again.’

Nathan nodded.

‘So you see?’ Lucia said, moving to the edge of the bed. ‘It’s all overinflated hype. The more we repress, the worst it gets. Anyway, you wouldn’t just proclaim all drugs legal for anyone to buy from anywhere. That would indeed be anarchy.’

‘How would you do it?’

‘We’d move away from criminalising drugs to seeing them as a health and social problem. At the moment, the main controllers of drugs are groups like Front 154 and corrupt police officers, who are making billions. If we legalised drugs, pharmacists could provide them, along with advice on harm reduction. They’d be produced in sterile conditions by reputable manufacturers rather than in dirty underground labs in the jungle. You could even tax the sale of drugs and use the money for healthcare.’

‘We’re light years from that ever happening.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ Lucia’s eyes were bright and alive. ‘The legalisation movement is stronger than most people realise.’

Nathan glanced at his watch. They still had half an hour before meeting Manuel. He began to plan his next moves. Most large drug groups like the Front had a base or a series of bases where they hid equipment, stocks of drugs and cash. He needed to find it.

But how?

A thought crossed his mind. Had George taken up his position as British ambassador in Colombia? If so, could he be a route into the Front?

Nathan looked up. Lucia was studying him.

‘You never answered my question,’ she said.

‘Which one?’

‘Why did you join Soca?’

‘For the same reason most of my colleagues did. To make a difference.’

‘You think it has?’

‘I have no idea, and I’d rather not think about it at the moment.’ He went to the window. ‘Let’s keep an eye out. Manuel will be arriving any minute.’

Bogotá, Colombia
14 April 2011

‘H
e’s clean,’ Nathan said as they looked down the street at Josepe’s restaurant. Manuel had entered five minutes before. He was sitting at a table to the side, next to a window that was street side. Behind him, the restaurant was half full with families and young couples out for an evening dinner. Waiters slalomed between tables, plates full of food balanced on their hands and forearms. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a bright glow.

‘I’ll go see him,’ Lucia said.

‘We’ll both go.’

Minutes later, they were sitting next to Manuel, who had a newspaper under his arm. Nathan glanced around, taking note of all the exits. Nobody was looking at them.

‘So?’ he said.

Manuel put the newspaper on the table. ‘Tell me what happened to you.’

Nathan summarised his experience in the sewers.

Manuel nodded. ‘The whole ASI is after you. They’ve even got the police searching. They’re saying you’re a terrorist.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘Informers.’

‘What else do they say?’

‘Black Coke production’s increasing. And the Front’s launched a big onslaught.’ Manuel unfolded the newspaper and handed it to Nathan. ‘Read this.’

The front page article was about a spate of bomb blasts throughout Bogotá, Medellín and Cali over the past two days. Cars packed with up to 100 kilogrammes of ammonium nitrate and pipettes of propane gas were exploding next to government buildings. Fifteen people had died and twenty-six were injured. A large colour photo showed a woman clutching her child in her arms, covered in blood, with ambulances flashing blue in the background. There was a smaller photo, of a big building half reduced to rubble. Nathan immediately recognised it.

‘El Tiempo too?’ he said.

‘Last night. Most of the building was destroyed.’

‘You think Amonite’s behind this?’

‘We know she is.’ Manuel rubbed his good eye. ‘Her and the ASI. They’re trying to destabilise the country.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

Nathan closed the newspaper and pushed it to one side. The situation was getting worse by the day.

‘So where’s the good news in all this?’ he said.

Manuel pulled a small map of Bogotá out of his back pocket and spread it on the table. It was a typical tourist map. He flattened out the creases with the palms of his hands.

‘This was on the body of that man Lucia invited back to her room.’ He pointed to a spot that was marked with a small X and had writing scribbled in the margin. ‘Guess what this is here?’

‘No idea.’

‘It’s the Front’s base in Bogotá.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because it fits in with my other investigations,’ Manuel said, lowering his voice. ‘I haven’t been sitting around doing nothing while you’ve been away, Nathan. I’ve been speaking to other campesinos and organising the resistance. Everyone tells me the Front has a place in Bogotá. Until now, nobody knew where it was.’

Nathan studied the map. This seemed too easy.

He put it in his pocket and stood up. ‘I’m going to check it out.’

Half an hour later, Nathan was in the bathroom of the hotel room, shaving his beard off. It made him too recognisable. The Front would be looking for a Brit looking like a hippy. He gathered all the hair from the basin and put it in the bin. Then he plugged in the clippers he’d bought from a shop down the road and shaved his head to a number two cut. He checked himself in the mirror. He looked ten years younger.

He went into the lounge, which had a plush leather sofa in front of a wide-screen TV hanging on the wall. They’d moved hotel again, this time to an apartment hotel in Quinta Camacho, an area of northern Bogotá that Lucia said was one of the safest. There was more room for all three of them here. And changing location frequently was always a good idea.

Nathan was putting on the new dark brown leather jacket Lucia had bought him when there was a double knock on the front door, then a pause, then another double knock. He opened the door a crack. Lucia was in a denim blouse and cream trousers, her olive skin glowing in the light of the corridor.

Her eyes opened wide when she saw him. She smiled. ‘Wow. You all set?’ She slid past him and shut the door behind her. She placed a plastic bag full of food on the wooden dining table.

Nathan nodded, peeling his gaze from her figure.

‘You hungry?’ She pulled out a bread ring. ‘These pandebonos are good. Typically Colombian. Corn flour, cassava, cheese and eggs. You should try.’

‘No thanks.’

‘What about this empanada?’ She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a stuffed pastry. ‘This one’s got chicken and rice inside it. I used to love empanadas when I was a kid. That’s all I ate. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Drove mum and dad crazy. Here, have it.’

‘I’m alright, thanks.’

‘You’re not eating.’

‘I don’t work well on a full stomach.’

‘Oh, I see.’

She stared at the empanada. Then she dumped it back in the bag and sat on the edge of the sofa, looking at her hands.

‘You sure this is a good idea?’ she said.

‘If Manuel’s right, then I have to go there.’

He wanted to pull Lucia close and kiss her. He pushed the feeling away. She glanced up. Something flickered in her eyes.

‘Why can’t he go instead?’ she said.

Nathan checked his Glock.

‘Nathan?’

‘This is
my
job. Manuel’s got other stuff to do with the campesinos.’

‘You agents are so…’ She turned away, wiped her eyes. ‘You’re just like the ASI.’

‘Me?’

‘Soca, the ASI, the DEA. You’re all the same.’

‘What you talking about?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ she shouted.

Nathan zipped up his jacket. He had no time for this.

‘If I’m not back by morning, stick with Manuel and get out of the country.’

‘Nathan, are you listening to me?’

‘Here’s the number for Cedric Belville.’ Nathan scribbled a number on a notepad on the desk. ‘Ring him as a last resort.’

Lucia got up. ‘Nathan.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t—’

Nathan shook his head and left the apartment.

Bogotá, Colombia
14 April 2011

N
athan strolled past the high stone walls of the compound. A black armoured SUV with tinted windows drove up to the front gate, where two armed guards with wraparound sunglasses checked the underside for bombs using a mirror on a pole. After scrutinising the credentials of the driver and the passenger, they waved the car in, then lit up cigarettes and leaned against the wall, chatting. Their heads turned as two young women strolled past in tight mini-skirts.

Nathan caught a glimpse of the inside of the compound: the entrance to the building was straight ahead, in front of which was an empty parking lot. The ground was gravel. The gates swung shut before he could see any further. He kept on walking at the same pace, pretending to be a tourist on a walkabout.

He headed for a nearby cafe and ordered a double espresso. He pulled out the map and checked it again. He was definitely in the right place. But the compound looked more like an official government building than a hidden base for Front 154. Had Manuel got it wrong? Or was the Front even more powerful than he’d imagined?

The only way to find out was to get in. He stared at the compound. There was no way he could climb over the ten foot high walls and the barbed wire, while evading the CCTV and the guards. He felt like heading back to see Manuel and Lucia to figure out a new plan.

Lucia…

His mind drifted back to her outburst in the hotel room. She was a fiery type, but had he detected a hint of concern? Was that why she’d got angry? Or was it just his wishful thinking? How could any woman, especially such a bright and beautiful one as Lucia, be interested in a messed-up, lonely, emotionally confused man like him?

The caffeine tingled him back to reality. The compound was his only lead at the moment. He needed to get in through stealth. He paid for his coffee and walked up to a tourist shop to buy a disposal camera. Then he leaned against a wall, scanning the street. He didn’t have to wait long. Another black armoured SUV joined the slow-moving traffic further down.

This was his chance.

Just as the SUV drew closer, Nathan stepped to the edge of the curb and put the camera to his eye. The SUV skidded to a halt. The passenger door burst open. A burly man in a black suit, with close-cropped hair and wraparound sunglasses, stepped out.

‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing, amigo?’ he shouted in Spanish with a strong British accent. ‘Give me that camera.’

‘I’m awfully sorry.’ Nathan spoke in English and spread his hands. ‘I was just taking pictures to show the missus back home.’

‘I don’t give a damn.’ The man reached out to grab the camera. ‘Give me that or I’ll kick your teeth through the back of—’

Nathan grabbed the man’s hand. He twisted it so hard he heard the man’s wrist crack. In the same movement, Nathan stepped sideways and brought the back of his other hand down in a chopping motion against the man’s neck. Nathan stopped him from falling. He plunged his hand under the man’s jacket and whipped out a gun. Then he let the man fall to the floor and poked the gun through the open door into the car.