Incitement (35 page)

“There might be one more thing,” Mesi said.

Larsen turned to her. “What’s that?”

“There are three oil pipelines in Colombia which FARC had been extorting. Lobbyists for the oil companies had complained and asked the administration for protection. Some ground forces
were dispatched and it looked like they were getting the situation under control. Now they’ll probably be pulled out along with Plan Coca.”

“The pipelines. You’re right, I never even considered those and it doesn’t matter that the troops assigned aren’t there under the Plan’s aegis. US troop deployment
in Colombia is too sensitive an issue right now,” Larsen agreed. “So, the odds are that the oil companies will begin to have problems again. This time, though, they’ll find
themselves dealing with right-wing death squads who can operate with impunity. Quite a nice sideline, extorting multinationals.”

He stared at the subdued Wallace then looked back to her.

“The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

Wallace remained motionless on the couch, giving no indication that he was ready to continue. After a little while, Mesi stood up and said she was going outside for some air. The atmosphere in
the room was suffocating. Larsen remained slumped in his armchair and, taking the container from his jacket, popped a few more pills.

Larsen was feeling the strain of the last few days. It had been over three months since the ambush in Cartagena but he was nowhere near fully recovered. How he had managed to
make it back to the marina was still something of a mystery to him. Through a combination of first floating and later crawling, it had taken most of the night. One agonising yard at a time. He had
almost been discovered on more than one occasion, the closest call being when a couple of police officers patrolling the tourist area of the waterfront spotted his prone figure in the distance.
They had satisfied themselves with shouting a few derisive remarks, dismissing him as another partier who had overindulged. If he had not been discovered on his boat by a member of the assault team
who had arrived to link up with him, he would not have survived. The team arranged medical treatment for him and in return he ensured they were paid in full despite the aborted mission. During his
recuperation he had puzzled over why Brewer would have gone ahead and arranged for the team to travel to Cartagena. It didn’t make sense if he had intended for Larsen to be dead by that stage
anyway. Was he covering himself in case Larsen evaded the ambush, building a plausible way to refute the accusation of betrayal? Or had someone else arranged for the ambush and been either unaware
of their arrival or perhaps simply too complacent? He would probably never know.

He had been told that the physical effects of the ambush would take a long time to get over and that he must avoid stressing himself too soon. He had taken as much time as he could until, seeing
where events in Colombia were headed, he had to move.

The vigil outside Wallace’s house in DC illustrated how stumped he had been in relation to where he should start. He didn’t know where Brewer was or who he was working with and he
had no idea how he could go about finding out. He had hoped that somehow Wallace might provide the answers. He had only started his stakeout the previous night and luckily he was in time to see
Mesi. More than once during the drive to Charleston he had considered what would have happened had he arrived even one day later. Mesi would be dead and they would have no clue of Hughes’
involvement. Coincidence could be a powerful force.

Despite Mesi’s certainty regarding Hughes’ preeminence in the affair, Larsen was not so sure. Perhaps he was the man pulling all the strings, or he might just be a cog in a larger
machine, nonetheless his existence and his manipulation of Mesi meant Larsen had a hook into the enemy. His rage was the only thing keeping him going. All he wanted to do was curl up and sleep for
a year. He was done, drained physically and mentally, but rage transcended all of it. Whether Wallace’s plan would have succeeded without outside interference was impossible to say; perhaps
not but that was not the issue. Once again, his actions had been taken and used to fulfil an agenda he had no knowledge of. All he had wanted was one last opportunity, something to believe in, and
they, whoever ‘they’ were, had perverted that. This time, they would be disabused of any notions that they were untouchable. One way or another, he was going to face them and make them
answer. He wished there had been some way to thwart their plans regarding control of Colombia’s drugs – that would have been satisfying – but it was surely too late.

He looked at the almost catatonic Wallace, sitting across from him. For a long time since their last meeting, he had been angry at Wallace for his apparent weakness. He couldn’t understand
how the billionaire could have countenanced just giving up. He really had wondered, while he was recovering, if the ambush had not been Wallace’s attempt to rid himself of the irksome
gun-for-hire but he saw things more clearly now. Wallace was never the man Larsen had wanted him to be and that was no one but the Dane’s fault. He had wanted some paragon leading a righteous
crusade which he would be able to enlist in. Instead Wallace was just as flawed as anyone else and when he had seen his plans go terribly awry he had, understandably, faltered.

Mesi walked back into the room fifteen minutes later, more animated.

“We can still stop him!” she stated.

Larsen looked at her questioningly.

“Hughes,” she said. “We can still stop him getting what he wants.”

The remark roused Wallace. “Who is this Hughes?”

“The person behind the attempt to oust Madrigal and seize the territories.”

“We’re not sure of that,” Larsen corrected her. “He could know next to nothing. He might just be following orders.”

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “But whether I’m right or not, it doesn’t change what I’m saying. We can stop what’s being
attempted.”

“What are you talking about?’ Wallace asked. “It’s already too late. What can any of us do to stop it?”

“We can do the one thing that’ll jeopardise everything they’re attempting. We can provide proof of what they’ve done to Madrigal. He may be weakened but I’d be
willing to bet that he could still make a fight of it.”

Wallace rose quickly from his seat, eyes wide. “I thought he was finished.”

“Not quite. Given the right help, who knows?”

“You’re suggesting we throw him a lifeline? The culmination to all this is to attempt to save the most successful drug lord the world’s ever seen?”

“Actually, it’s probably the best option available,” Larsen interjected, clearly seeing the possibilities and warming to her proposal. “At least this way we ensure all
the control doesn’t reside with the same party. Yes, we know what Madrigal is but can you suggest another way?”

“No. No, no, no.”

At first she thought briefly that Wallace was agreeing that there was no other option, but as his voice rose and he became more agitated, she saw he was objecting to her suggestion. Mesi lost
her temper. She had spent weeks in the hospital, her career was in tatters and her personal life in ruins. There had been two attempts on her life and, whatever Hughes had done, it was
Wallace’s vendetta that had been the root cause. “What makes you think you have the right to object?’ she spat. “I’m not an advocate for Madrigal but you’ve
certainly given up any right you have to judge him.”

“That’s not fair,” Wallace protested. “Maybe what I did was misguided and I’ll have to live with my mistakes but I was trying to do right. If there hadn’t
been interference it might have worked. You don’t know.”

“Spare me! You lost a daughter and granddaughter and took it as licence to incite a war. This is the way we’re going to go. You don’t have a choice, just a moral obligation to
make up for some of what you’ve caused.”

She did not even attempt to control the viciousness in her voice. Her hatred for him was absolute and her entire frame shook with it.

“My God, listen to what you’re suggesting – prop up Madrigal! You’re a DEA agent; how can you even suggest it?”

“Do you think it’s easy? This is the best chance we have.” She stepped closer, standing within inches of him while she continued, her voice harsh. “Don’t try to
rationalise or justify your actions to me. You murdered countless people and caused countless more to die. That would have happened with or without interference. You’re not one of the
victims. Your pride and self-indulgence have brought us here.” She pointed over at Larsen who sat quietly, watching them argue. “If I had my way, you’d spend the rest of your life
in an eight-by-six cell along with your attack dog over there. Madrigal and Hughes could join you.”

“There has to be another way,” Wallace persisted.

“Anything else risks giving Hughes, or whoever, the opportunity to stop us. They’re helped by the fact that no one in authority will really want to pursue this, they’ll try to
pretend it never happened. We need Madrigal.”

“We could approach someone else in the Alliance?” he protested; anything would be preferable to resurrecting the Colombian.

“Who? Who could we trust? No one else would care as long as profits are assured and Hughes’ intention isn’t to cut the Alliance out, only to ensure they behave.
Madrigal’s the only chance. They want him gone for a reason: he’s too independent.”

“How will his survival help?”

“What we tell him will encourage him to become even more entrenched, less cooperative with the factions who now control the territories. First, though, he needs to consolidate his power in
the Alliance and to do that he needs our help.”

It was clear that Wallace was furiously trying to come up with something to counter her arguments and equally clear that he was failing.

“You don’t see any other way?” he asked Larsen.

“No.”

“Okay, what is it you want from me?” Wallace asked Mesi wearily.

“To help Madrigal we need to move quickly; give him proof he can use,” she replied. “Hughes may have some heavy hitters working with him but there are a lot more who had their
hopes pinned on Plan Coca. Political, military and intelligence. They’ve been screwed. If they knew how Hughes had orchestrated their misery, they’d want to stop him.”

“How would they do that?”

“If any hard evidence exists, some of the pro-Plan contingent would know where to look. The problem is access. I have a fair idea who to approach but I’m a lowly DEA agent with a
questionable reputation. I wouldn’t even get in the door; you would!”

“Why not just hand the matter over to these people and let them deal with it as they see fit?”

“From here on in, you take responsibility,” she warned him. “If we don’t drive this, if we leave it up to others, they’d either take too long to act or decide to
cut a deal for a piece of the action.”

“You think we can do this without alerting them?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

Madrigal put the document down and stretched out the knot of tension between his shoulders.

“Once more, please,” he said to the anxious man who was standing in the middle of the room.

“I received a call yesterday, advising me that a package containing information essential to your future was waiting at the reception of La Casa Magnífica.”

“So you went to the hotel?”

“Not immediately. At first I discounted the call as a hoax or some kind of foolish trap. But the more I thought about it ...” The man began fidgeting, searching for the words.
“If there was even a slight chance that it could benefit you then there was no other option. I had the package collected and checked for tracking devices and booby traps.”

Madrigal nodded. Each page had been placed in a separate plastic cover to protect anyone handling them from chemical solutions which might be present.

“And the envelope?”

“Plain brown with my name and nothing else on it.”

“Okay, you can go.”

The man exhaled heavily in relief and left the room quickly. Madrigal picked up a small rubber ball and began idly throwing it into the air then catching it while swivelling in his chair. He
tried to digest the document’s contents and divine the sender’s motivation. He had two days before he would have to face Rodriguez’s challenge at a specially scheduled meeting. He
had been determined to fight but had known that the odds were stacked against him. Did this represent a chance to shift those odds?

Most of the document was comprised of detailed reconnaissance reports which had been used for various attacks during the conflict. The specific attacks were discussed as part of a larger
strategy. Among the main objectives listed was his removal. A handwritten note accompanied the report.

The contents of this document confirm the planning that has gone into creating the crisis you face. There is more you need to hear. Knowing the full facts will enable you to survive this
challenge and purge the Alliance of dangerous elements. I will be in the lobby of the La Casa Magnífica at noon on Wednesday, alone and unarmed. I am willing to go through any security
procedures you feel are necessary. The one stipulation is that we meet in person; no intermediaries can be trusted.

Michael Larsen’s signature at the bottom brought a rueful smile to his lips.

The blindfold was removed from Larsen’s eyes and it took a few seconds for him to get used to the light and orient himself. He was standing beside a set of wooden table
and chairs under a large parasol on a huge manicured lawn. To the right was a small bar where a man was squeezing orange juice and in the distance he could see the roof of a large house behind a
group of trees. Beyond the house stood densely forested mountains, their peaks shrouded in mist.

“Sit,” ordered one of the three armed guards who were watching him intently.

He pulled out the chair facing the house and sat back, trying to relax. Five minutes passed, then it stretched to ten before he lost track of time.

One of the guards stirred and he looked out to see Madrigal approaching, flanked by two more bodyguards. As he approached, Larsen glanced around at the guards – the reverence they had for
Madrigal was obvious. Larsen had been around a lot of people over the years who fancied themselves as leaders and he knew how rare the genuine article was. The drug lord radiated an authority
undiminished by his current problems.