Black Coke (33 page)

‘Señorita?’

The cab driver was staring at her.

She gave directions to her hotel. The driver threw a disapproving look at Alberto, then joined the bustling traffic. They drove through downtown Bogotá, past more glittering bars where the new jetset hung out with up-and-coming drug smugglers. A fight broke out on the pavement. Three men punched a man to the ground then kicked him repeatedly in the head while everyone gave them a wide birth. Further along, armed police stood at a street corner, oblivious, uncaring.

Alberto was snoring. A steady stream of spit dribbled down his chin, onto his shirt. He looked like an enormous, revolting baby. It was an open secret that the Front controlled the strip joint. But was Alberto just a regular punter? Was her strategy going to work? She’d never been any good at this kind of thing.

They arrived at the hotel. She prodded Alberto awake. He staggered out of the cab. He nearly crashed into the wooden entrance doors, then stood in the centre of the hotel lobby, his body swaying, his beady eyes red and blinking.

The elevator was out of order, so they took the stairs. Alberto groped her as they headed for the third floor. Lucia wiggled her bum and stroked Alberto’s chest.

She wanted to scream with fury.

She led him by the hand to the door of her hotel room. It was unlocked. She flicked the light switch and pushed Alberto onto the closest twin bed, which creaked as though it was about to collapse under his weight.

‘Come here, my lovely babe,’ Alberto said, slurring his words. He held out his hands.

Lucia closed the door and stepped towards him, swirling round to show off her body. Alberto grunted with glee. Lucia felt bile in her throat. What was she going to do now? Alberto was too strong for her. Maybe she could get him so drunk he’d pass out. Then she’d tie him up and question him when he woke.

Alberto struggled to a sitting position. He grabbed her waist and yanked her towards him. His breath stank. For a moment, she was back ten years, in her dad’s bedroom, having just discovered her brother’s dead body. There’d been the same overpowering stench of male sweat, whiskey and cigarettes.

‘Not so fast,’ she said, trying to pull away. He put his hand up her skirt. She shuddered.

‘You like it, don’t you, you filthy cabrona.’

He buried his face into her breasts. She pushed him off.

‘Playing tough to get?’ Alberto sniggered. ‘Just you wait.’

He kept one arm firmly round her waist and fumbled with his belt with the other. He was breathing hard, his mouth open and panting, tongue half hanging out like a dog’s.

‘Let’s have another drink,’ Lucia said. ‘We’ve got all night to have fun.’

‘Later.’

‘There’s whiskey in the mini bar.’

Alberto relaxed a little. Lucia tried to twist away, but he tugged her close again. His other hand was pulling his trousers down, revealing a huge bulge under his boxer shorts.

Lucia shoved him backwards. He pulled her with him. She fell onto his chest. He wrapped his arms round her and tightened them.

‘I can’t breathe,’ she gasped.

He kept tightening, pinning her to his fat belly, grunting and puffing like an angry pig. She dug her fingers into his sides, clawed at them. Fear welled inside her. She’d made a terrible mistake bringing this man back.

‘Bitch.’

He threw Lucia sideways and held her down with one arm. He ripped off her skirt, revealing her suspenders and stockings. She tried to kick him away, but he rolled onto her, holding her down. She pushed at his shoulders, scratched his face.

‘Hey, stop that.’ He slapped her hands away. ‘Too late to change your mind, you slut.’

She reached out to her sides and felt the hard edge of the bedside table. She patted around its surface, desperately trying to find something, anything she could use as a weapon. Alberto had pulled down his boxer shorts. He rubbed his hard cock against her thighs and squealed with pleasure.

A door creaked.

Lucia’s fingers curled around the metal base of the bedside lamp. She fumbled with it, tugged it closer, wrapped her hand firmly round it.

Alberto was pulling at her underwear, tearing it off.

She brought the lamp down on Alberto’s skull. He shouted and whacked her chin with his elbow. Pinpoints of light sparkled before her eyes.

She fumbled with the lamp again. It slipped out of her hand, onto the bed.

‘You bitch.’ Alberto was rubbing the back of his head. ‘I’ll get you for—’

A spit.

Alberto’s eyes flickered. Lucia grabbed the lamp. She shoved one hand into his face. With the other, she rammed the lamp onto his head. Once, twice, three times, until the skull cracked.

Another spit.

Blood erupted from Alberto’s mouth. His eyes turned in their sockets. His body went limp, flopping around her and threatening to smother her. She pushed him away with her arms and knees, then kicked him off the side of the bed. There was a thud as he hit the floor.

Lucia scrambled to her feet. Her legs were trembling as adrenaline rushed through her.

There, standing in the bathroom doorway, gun in hand and staring at her with wide eyes, was Manuel.

Bogotá, Colombia
14 April 2011

T
he shouts were getting closer, like wild dogs closing in on their prey. Nathan flattened himself against the wall, his hands groping around in the darkness for an exit. He crouched in a corner, his fist curled around the sharpened screwdriver. There was no way he was going down without a fight.

An image of Caitlin tore through his mind.

I’ve let you down, sis.

The shouting stopped. The flicker of the flames on the far wall was dying out. There was the crunch of heavy boots on pebbles and stones.

Nathan crept along the wall, getting ready to swing the screwdriver as soon as the first man rounded the corner. If he was lucky, he could then grab the man’s rifle and attack the others, maybe even kill a few before they overwhelmed him.

A few rats scurried over Nathan’s boots. Then a few more. They seemed to be heading straight into the wall. Nathan put out a hand, expecting to feel a small crack.

His heart leapt. Just at knee height was a hole wide enough to crawl through. He pushed his hand in deeper. And felt stone. It was blocked. He checked to either side. Another hole. He pushed his hand in again.

And felt empty air. An exit tunnel?

Nathan crawled into the hole, glancing back just in time to see a silhouette with a powerful flashlight round the bend of the corridor. Nathan kept on crawling, pulling his knees up then pushing off with them as fast as he could. He brushed away the rats that nibbled at his clothes. The tunnel sloped downwards. Yelling erupted behind him. There was the fast crunch of running boots. He pulled himself down the tunnel.

Suddenly he was half in mid-air. He tipped forwards, falling into emptiness. He put his hands out. He hit the ground with a thud. He rolled.

Gunshots resounded in the tunnel overhead. Nathan scrambled to his feet. He groped around in the pitch black until he found a corridor leading out of the room. He tripped up over something that felt soft.

It stirred.

Amonite rammed the wall with the butt of her assault rifle. The ASI agents took a step back.

She spun round. ‘You incompetent fools.’

‘Do we go after him?’ Zathanaís said.

Amonite shone her flashlight into the hole. Dozens of pairs of beady eyes glinted back.

‘I’ll go,’ she said. ‘You guys get out and help Dex guard the exits.’

Nathan tried to step over the body. A hand grabbed his ankle. Nathan kicked it away, generating a yelp. He reached down and felt some hair. He yanked it up and put his forearm round his assailant’s neck.

‘Leave me alone.’ It was a young boy’s voice.

Nathan frisked the boy’s body, but found nothing.

‘Don’t kill me.’ The boy squirmed. ‘Please.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Nathan relaxed his grip. ‘Show me the way out.’

‘How much?’

‘A hundred dollars.’

Light flickered from the tunnel above. Then the slithering sound of someone crawling.

‘Who’s that?’ the boy asked.

‘Death squad.’

‘Okay.’ The boy’s voice was trembling. ‘This way.’

Nathan released his grip round the boy’s neck and grabbed his hand. He had no idea whether this street boy was any more reliable than the junkie.

‘Lead the way,’ he said.

The boy dragged him forwards through the darkness. Nathan stumbled over bits of debris and sudden dips in the ground. There was a thump behind him and some cursing.

‘Hurry up,’ he whispered to the boy.

A blue flame appeared. The boy had pulled out a gas lighter. They took a sharp turn in the corridor. The boy shook off Nathan’s hand. They sprinted ahead, barely seeing a few metres ahead of them.

‘I’ll get you, Kershner.’ It was Amonite’s voice, bouncing off the walls. ‘Nobody makes a fool of Amonite Victor.’

They ran up slippery stone steps. They reached a junction. Nathan followed the boy down the right-hand corridor, which dipped into knee-high sewerage.

Running footsteps echoed behind them.

They reached another junction, again turning right. Nathan was grateful for the boy’s guidance. He’d have got lost again by himself in here. The corridor sloped upwards. The boy switched off his lighter. A faint light appeared ahead.

Nathan grabbed the boy’s shoulder. ‘You sure this is safe?’

‘Nowhere is safe here. I’ll go first.’

‘No. I will.’

Nathan crept forwards. Up ahead, the tunnel emerged into the open. Shapes of branches hung around the exit. There was no sound from behind them. They must have lost Amonite in the tunnels. Nathan inched along the wall, staying in the shadows. The hum of traffic grew louder. A wind was blowing, brushing away the dark clouds, opening a space for a glowing full moon. He took a deep breath of fresh air.

A man in black combats was standing to the side of the exit, smoking a cigarette, half turned away, an assault rifle over his shoulder. Nathan edged closer, stroking the sharp edge of the screwdriver with his thumb.

Three metres…

Two metres…

‘Hey!’

The man had spotted him. There was gunfire. Nathan lunged. He plunged the screwdriver into the man’s neck. He twisted him round. Bullets shot past. Nathan fell to the floor, pulling the man with him. The man shuddered. Nathan yanked the assault rifle from the man’s shoulder. He spun it round in the direction of the gunfire. He fired in sharp bursts. There was a grunt, then a thud.

Nathan pushed the corpse away. He rolled sideways into a ditch. He scrambled to his knees, peering through the brambles, rifle ready.

No movement.

He crawled forwards and found the body of the second guard. He’d been out of sight, next to a tree. His hand was wrapped in a bandage. Nathan recognised him as the pig-faced thug who’d attacked them outside Lucia’s apartment. Nathan searched Pigface’s pockets. He pulled out a phone.

‘Hey, mister.’ The boy was right next to him.

Nathan found a wallet in Pigface’s back pocket. He handed it to the boy.

‘Thank you.’ The boy’s eyes glinted in the moonlight. His face was so young, probably barely eight years old, yet he had the cold look of a man five times his age. He ran off, heading for the road.

Nathan stripped off what was left of his clothes. He chucked them in the ditch. Then he pulled the trousers and shirt off the first guard, revealing a I V IV tattoo on the man’s upper arm. He slid the clothes on. They just about fit him. He found a Glock in the trouser pocket. It was full of ammo.

Now that he was armed, he wanted to go back into the sewers and kill Amonite. But he knew that would be suicide. The place was a maze, and she had it all covered.

He tossed away the rifle. He hurried past crumbling buildings and brick shacks towards a dark alley of dirt and stones leading off to his left. An emaciated dog sniffed around in a pile of rubbish, but otherwise the place was deserted. Nathan guessed he was somewhere in Ciudad Bolivar.

A few minutes later, he sank into a doorway that reeked of urine and vomit in an abandoned house. He flicked open the mobile phone and dialled a number.

It rang and rang.

Pick it up, Lucia.

‘Who’s this?’ It was Lucia’s anxious voice.

‘Me.’

‘Nathan! What happened?’

‘They didn’t capture you?’

‘I’m with Manuel. Where are you?’