Black Coke (50 page)

‘Seen anyone?’ Amonite said in Spanish.

He didn’t reply. His eyes were wide and his jaw was shaking. She took a step towards him. He put his hands over his face.

‘I asked you a question.’ Amonite raised the butt of her rifle. ‘Seen anyone?’

The guard nodded anxiously.

Amonite kicked him again. ‘Who then?’

‘The same man as last time.’

‘Where did he go?’

The guard shook his head. ‘Please, don’t hurt me.’

‘Why didn’t you stop him?’

The guard curled up into a ball. Amonite whacked him on the head with the butt of her rifle. He collapsed.

‘Kershner can’t be far,’ Amonite said. ‘Let’s get the bastard.’

Nathan hid in a small alcove as a group of guards rushed past towards the production lab. He eased himself out of the darkness and jogged ahead until he reached a staircase leading up a level. He reckoned he was somewhere near the centre of the complex. He could either continue searching the ground level, or go up one.

He took the steps three at a time. There was no time now for taking things slowly and carefully. He reached a room that had three desks, a few chairs, flipcharts, phones, radio equipment. Some kind of control centre. On the desk in front of him was a laptop. He put it in his rucksack. He placed some Semtex under the desks, then ran back down the stairways.

Footsteps.

Two people.

Coming closer.

He ran in the opposite direction to the one he’d come from, down a dark corridor that ended with a metal door. Nathan scanned the card and rushed through. He was in a large room piled to the ceiling with bags of black powder. Enough Black Coke to create a major disaster when it hit the streets. Next to it were stacks of crates. Some of them were open. They contained hundreds of British-made L85A2 rifles, ammunition, and rocket-propelled grenades. Several of them were stuffed full of C-4 plastic explosives. Enough firepower for a small army.

Nathan pulled a large chunk of Semtex from his rucksack. If he could blow up this storeroom, half the compound would be destroyed. As he was laying the explosives, he noticed a door in the corner, partly concealed by a cupboard. He pushed the cupboard away and opened the door. It was dark inside. He put on his night vision goggles and entered.

Something hit him on the head. He staggered backwards. A blow to the chest then the stomach. He gasped for breath. A kick to the knees. He crumpled. He tried to catch a glimpse of his attacker. Just a whirl of arms and legs beating down on him.

Nathan ducked sideways. He kicked out with his right foot, hitting his attacker in the groin. The attacker collapsed against the wall. Nathan jumped to his feet, aimed his gun.

The attacker looked up at him. Nathan stopped.

‘Manuel!’

‘Nathan, is that you?’

Nathan grabbed Manuel’s arm and dragged him into the light of the storeroom. He ripped off his night vision goggles.

‘I nearly blew your brains out,’ Nathan said.

‘Good to see you, my friend.’

‘You okay?’

‘Alive.’

‘Right, let’s get out of here.’

Amonite marched past the stairs to the control centre. Then she stopped.

‘Check he’s not up there,’ she said.

Dex ran up, three steps at a time.

‘Nobody here,’ he shouted down.

‘Grab the laptop.’

‘What laptop?’

‘On the desk in front of you, you dumb fuck.’

‘There’s nothing.’

‘What?’ Amonite ran up and pushed past him. She looked around the room. Dex was right. The laptop had gone. She yanked out her walkie talkie. ‘Block all exits. Now!’

She leapt down the stairs and headed down the corridor.

‘Where we going?’ Dex said, right behind her.

‘To check the storeroom, where that campesino’s locked up. It’s the only place left.’

Putumayo, Colombia
17 April 2011

N
athan ran down the corridor and hung a right. Manuel was just behind him, limping, but running regardless. This place was like a maze, but they had to find the exit quick. There was only so long they could wander around without getting caught.

They turned a corner. Nathan stopped. Two guards were coming the other way. They shouted and lifted their assault rifles. Nathan crouched and fired four times. The shots echoed against the walls. The guards collapsed backwards. Nathan ran up to them and finished them off. Then he grabbed their rifles and handed one to Manuel. They stepped over the bodies and pressed ahead, passing some alcoves on either side. The corridor ended with a double metal door.

‘It’s the exit,’ Nathan said, relief flooding through him. ‘Get ready.’

They raced up to the doors. There was a scanner to the left, on the wall. Nathan swiped it with his card. Nothing happened. He swiped it again.

Damn. Maybe his card didn’t work for the exits, or maybe it had been deactivated. He ran back to the two dead guards and searched their pockets for their swipe cards. He found them and threw them to Manuel.

‘Try these. I’ll stay here. Just in case.’

He crouched, weapon ready, facing back into the complex. His vision and mind were still unnaturally clear. A sense of invincibility flowed through him. The drug definitely had extremely positive effects. He felt an urge for more.

‘These aren’t working either,’ Manuel called from behind him.

Nathan’s mind was racing. He could hear running footsteps. Shouting. Weapons being chambered. They were trapped.

He grabbed the walkie talkie and switched it on.

‘Alert is over,’ he said. ‘Open all exits. I repeat, open all exits.’

A pause, then a crackle.

‘Nice try, Kershner,’ Amonite said. ‘That ain’t gonna work.’

Nathan shoved the walkie talkie in his pocket.

Amonite’s laugh came through, muffled. ‘We’re gonna get you.’

There was only one option left. Nathan ran back to the metal doors. He fumbled inside his rucksack for the remaining Semtex.

‘Cover me,’ he said to Manuel.

He placed the explosives against the door and the wall. Manuel took position next to the alcoves. Nathan unwound the wire and hooked up the Semtex.

Gunfire.

Shouts.

Manuel firing back.

Nathan cancelled out everything around him. He had to focus on now, get it all wired up properly.

More gunfire. A scream.

‘Nathan!’ Manuel shouted. ‘Can’t hold them much longer.’

Nathan finished wiring up the explosives. No time to check it. He sprinted back to Manuel, crouching against the gunfire. He pulled Manuel into one of the alcoves.

‘Fuck you, Amonite,’ he said into the walkie talkie. ‘We’re out of here.’

He pressed on the detonator.

The blast tore the metal door to pieces.

The explosions sent Amonite reeling. She dropped her weapon and fell flat on her back. Her face was hot. Thick smoke and the smell of burning filled the air. Scraps of metal pulsed scarlet. Screaming erupted up ahead, mixed with gunfire.

She did a mental body check. Just minor burns. She staggered to her feet. Dex was lying next to her, not moving. His torso was a bloodied mess. She checked his pulse on his wrist, then his neck.

dead.

She whacked the ground with her closed first. Dex, her closest collaborator, wasted by that maverick Soca agent.

‘Kershner!’ she yelled. ‘You’re going to pay for this.’

She ran into the smoke. The metal doors had been torn right off their hinges and were lying around on the earth and grass outside. Fragments of rock were everywhere. The ground was black in places.

‘He’s gone,’ a guard said behind her.

She spun round, ready to whack the guard in the face, when the whir of a helicopter cut through the air. Her heart jumped. Was this El Patrón, arriving so soon, just at the wrong moment?

She ran to the top of the hilltop, all thoughts about Nathan temporarily pushed to the back of her mind. A Lynx helicopter descended slowly, scattering bits of earth, grass, leaves and mud everywhere. Amonite put her hand over her eyes, nose and mouth and took a few steps back.

The Lynx landed. The side door swung open. Amonite felt her heart accelerate even more. Her hands felt sweaty and her head faint. What the hell was she going to tell El Patrón? Would he order her shot on the spot?

A Front guard jumped out and pulled someone behind him. It was a young woman with a slim body, dark hair and downcast eyes. Amonite had seen her somewhere before.

But where was El Patrón?

Amonite pushed past them and peered into the helicopter. It was empty.

She sighed with relief.

‘Who the fuck’s this?’ she said, turning to the guard and his captive.

The woman looked up at her. Recognition flashed across her pretty but bruised face. Amonite felt her mouth twist into a huge grin. She’d forgotten all about Lucia Carlisla being captured and flown over.

‘Come here, my dear,’ Amonite said, grabbing Lucia by the shoulder and tugging her forwards. ‘I’m so glad to see you.’

There was no way Nathan was going to escape now.

Nathan’s walkie talkie crackled again.

‘We’ve got someone who wants to speak to you,’ Amonite said.

A thin voice came through the static.

‘Nathan?’

‘Lucia!’ Nathan shouted. ‘You okay?’

‘Go, Nathan. Get out of here.’

‘Shut up, you little bitch,’ Amonite said.

The crackling stopped.

Nathan jumped to his feet. He had to go back and rescue Lucia.

But Manuel pulled him back.

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Remember the plan.’

Putumayo, Colombia
17 April 2011

T
he sun was low when Nathan crawled close to the complex once again. Manuel had disappeared into the forest, drawing with him the Front guards who’d been sent to track them down. The walkie talkie had gone quiet. Nathan guessed Amonite was plotting her next move.

Half the compound was destroyed, smoke billowing from gaping holes in the mound. Rocks, chunks of earth and fragments of trees were scattered around. The Semtex had done a good job.

Nathan set up an observation post in the undergrowth on the other side of the mound. He found a dip in the ground that was relatively dry and covered himself with leaves and branches. He took off his rucksack, pulled out his binos, and waited. His head felt dizzy from the after-effects of the Black Coke. Pinpoints of light danced at the edges of his vision. He still didn’t feel tired, although the feeling of invincibility had been replaced by a furious aggression. It took all his willpower not to get up and charge straight at the compound.

Three guards marched past, scanning the area. They took position outside what looked like another entrance to the compound. It was partly obscured by trees and lush vegetation.

Nathan began to plan his attack. Manuel had asked him to wait until he came back with his campesino reinforcements. They’d been preparing their assault and waiting for Manuel to make contact. But Nathan didn’t have the time. If Lucia was in there, he had to rescue her before it was too late. Still, he had to find the right moment for his assault. He needed to find a way of diverting the attention of the guards, of drawing them away.

After half an hour or so, the chugging of a helicopter filled the air. A Lynx circled above then descended. It landed, just in view, on the mound.

Nathan zoomed in. Four men stepped out of the chopper. Three of them were Front hitmen with black bullet-proof vests and sub-machine guns. The fourth was a tall but stooped Caribbean man who looked more like a zombie than a human being with his gaunt face and bony shoulders.

Rev Elijah Evans. The Jamaican mid-point. It had to be him.

A ramp descended from the chopper. Another hitman wheeled down an old man in a wheelchair. Half his face was twisted and deformed, with a glazed eye and a drooping cheek.

El Patrón.

Nathan zoomed in closer, trying to remember the photos he’d once seen of Pablo Escobar. There was a resemblance, with the chubby face, the now-greying curly hair, the piercing gaze. But it was hard to tell for sure. Maybe this was just an imposter, someone trying to play the role of Pablo Escobar and use his reputation, which still generated terror even two decades after his supposed death.