Black Coke (40 page)

There was nobody in the lounge.

She turned up the sound on the TV. It was that obnoxious power-dressing newsreader, Sylvia Lituni. She was speaking to a government official. Both sounded surprised at the power of Front 154 and rumours of its links to the ASI. If Sylvia had only let her finish the other day, Lucia could had told her all about it—and maybe even saved lives. The discussion switched to the president’s upcoming gala for the victims of Colombia’s civil conflict. Lucia let out a hollow laugh and switched the sound off. A gala. Such a hypocritical PR stunt for the great and the good to feel better about their disastrous policies.

An idea struck her. She pushed it away. The president would never want to see her again. She was too tainted, too high risk. Still, he’d been a good family friend. The images on the TV changed to devastated farmland in the middle of the jungle, then a close-up of a revolting black beetle. Probably another environmental disaster caused by coca fumigation.

She turned back towards the kitchen.

A footstep on the wood floor.

Lucia felt her pulse accelerate again. She crept down the corridor, past the hallway. She looked in the bathroom. It was empty. She went into her bedroom.

A hand covered her face and pulled her head back. She screamed. The sound was muffled. Another hand grabbed her arm, forcing her to drop the knife. It clanged to the floor. She was yanked backwards, into the lounge. She tried to pummel her attacker with her elbows. The grip was too strong. She twisted round, but the hand on her face tightened and stopped her from breathing. She bit it, sinking teeth deep into flesh. Still she was dragged backwards.

A gag in her mouth. A hood over her head. Her hands were pulled behind her back, lashed together. She was shoved onto the sofa. She tried to get up, kicked out with her feet. A blow hit her so hard in the stomach that she fell back, gasping for breath, grunting. Her head was dizzy.

‘Where’s Kershner?’

It was a deep, rusty voice, not quite male or female. Another blow, to her chest, sent shards of pain shooting through her. Tears welled in her eyes.

That voice again: ‘Let her speak.’

Someone reached under and pulled the gag out. A blow landed on her cheek, softened by the hood. Blood mixed with saliva on her tongue. She spat it out.

‘Tell me where Kershner’s gone,’ the voice said.

Lucia shook her head. Fear had been replaced by rage.

‘Told you she was the tough type,’ the voice said.

‘Let me try.’ It was a male voice. She’d heard it somewhere before.

‘Be my guest.’

The gag was stuffed back into her mouth. She tried to scream as blows rained down. She threw herself to the floor, tried to roll away. She cried out, but nearly choked on the gag. Desperation cut through the agony. This was Colombia, where kidnappings and murder happened daily. Even if her neighbours heard her, nobody would call for help.

‘Stop!’

Another blow. This time to Lucia’s shins.

‘For fuck’s sake, Dex,’ the first voice said. ‘I said stop.’

‘Okay, okay,’ the man called Dex said. ‘She’s indeed a toughie, this little slut.’

‘Take her hood off, and the gag.’

Lucia blinked as the lights of the room blinded her. Through the haze of pain, she discerned two silhouettes towering over her. She tried to lift her hands to protect herself, but they were attached behind her back. She rolled over and started crawling away.

‘Hey, where d’you think you’re going.’ A strong pair of hands threw her back onto the sofa. Lucia kicked out, hitting her attacker in the groin.

‘Stupid bitch,’ Dex shouted, lifting a baseball bat.

The other person grabbed his arm. ‘Drop it.’

Dex struggled, then dropped the bat. He sat on the armchair across the coffee table and nursed his groin. Lucia recognised the scar zigzagging down his cheek, and nearly fainted. Dex was that man from the bar who she’d covered in beer.

She tried to focus on the person in front of her. He was tall and built like a rugby player. His face was blunt, with a stubby nose, thin lips and dark eyes that were too close together.

Then it hit her. It wasn’t a man at all.

‘Amonite Victor,’ Lucia muttered through damaged lips.

‘Hi, Lucia.’ Amonite grinned, showing bust-up teeth.

Lucia gasped for breath.

Amonite knelt next to her, hands resting on her knee. ‘Are you going to tell me where Kershner’s hiding, or do we have to use the thumbscrews?’

Lucia shook her head.

‘Just because a guy’s fucked you doesn’t mean he loves you, my dear.’

Lucia spat in Amonite’s face. The blob of saliva dribbled down her cheek and onto her lips. Amonite wiped it away with the back of her sleeve.

‘You’re gonna regret that,’ she said.

A phone rang. Dex pulled it from his pocket and checked the screen.

‘It’s that German guy,’ he said, handing the phone to Amonite.

‘We’ve found her,’ Amonite said into the phone. ‘She’s not being very cooperative.’ She listened, scratched the hairs on her chin. ‘Good idea. Bring her here.’

Amonite threw the phone back to Dex.

‘Got a buddy of yours turning up,’ she said, smirking at Lucia. ‘He’s got a little present.’

Lucia collapsed backwards onto the sofa. The German guy could only be Rudolph. He’d threatened her in the shack if she didn’t sleep with him, but she hadn’t imagined he’d turn her over to the Front. He must have tailed Nathan and her to the apartment and told Amonite their location.

Amonite made a chuckle that sounded like a pig squealing.

‘This time, my dear,’ she said, ‘I think you will talk.’

Bogotá, Colombia
15 April 2011

L
ucia regained consciousness, her arms and legs aching, her lips pulsing. She wiggled her fingers, trying to get the circulation through the plastic cable ties digging into her wrists. She struggled to her elbows and looked around with eyes brimming with pain.

Dex’s baseball bat was on the carpet next to the hood and gag.

She swung her legs off the sofa and sat up. She stumbled towards the bathroom. On her way there, she checked the bedrooms and kitchen. There was nobody there.

They’d beaten her senseless. But now they were gone.

Or maybe they were coming back.

She went to the bathroom, relieved herself, then staggered back. She needed to get her head together, call for help.

But who?

Her handbag was under the coffee table. She knelt and turned round so she could rummage inside it with her hands. She fell over, swore, pushed herself back up and tried again. Where the hell was her phone? Not in the inside pocket, which was full of pens, coins, cards, notes and pieces of paper. Not in the side pocket, which contained her diary.

She looked around the lounge. Where could it be?

She tipped everything out of her handbag. It was too difficult to feel anything with her numb hands. She prodded the pile of things with her foot.

There it was. Under her diary.

The elevator in the corridor dinged as though announcing a prize.

Lucia knelt down, picked up the phone and twisted her head round so she could see the screen. She typed in her password and fumbled through the numbers, trying to find Nathan’s new one.

The elevator doors whirred.

The phone’s screen flashed. An incoming call.

Nathan calling…

Footsteps down the corridor.

In her panic, she dropped the phone.

A key rattled in the front door.

The phone bounced under the sofa. Lucia dived and rolled and tried to pluck it out with her tied-up hands.

The front door was flung open.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Amonite said, striding towards her and kicking her in the back. Lucia curled up in a ball.

‘Get up, you bitch,’ Amonite said.

Lucia struggled to her feet. Dex and Rudolph entered, carrying the body of a woman.

‘You!’ Lucia said.

Rudolph grinned. The door slammed shut. They plonked the woman on the sofa. Lucia looked down, and immediately recognised the long blonde hair and slim body.

‘Joanna!’ Lucia shouted.

She hurled herself head first at Amonite, who brushed her aside. Lucia staggered back, leaning against the wall, helplessness and fear washing over her.

‘If you hurt her,’ Lucia muttered, ‘I’ll—’

‘You’ll what?’ Amonite laughed. ‘Kill us?’

Rudolph was staring at Lucia with lecherous eyes.

‘Don’t you worry, buddy,’ Amonite said to him. ‘You’ll have your fun.’

Rudolph’s smile sent a sliver of dread down Lucia’s spine. He retreated into a corner, next to Dex, and stood there, arms crossed, face dark.

Amonite gestured to the armchair. ‘Sit down, Lucia. We need to talk.’

Lucia stayed standing.

‘Okay, suit yourself.’ Amonite plonked herself in the armchair and crossed her legs as though about to engage in polite conversation. ‘Tell me where Nathan’s gone and I’ll spare this girl’s life.’

‘I dunno where he is.’

‘You’re lying.’ Amonite picked up the baseball bat from the floor. She whacked Joanna once in the stomach. Joanna groaned. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused.

As if reading Lucia’s mind, Amonite said, ‘She’s loaded with Black Coke, so no pain. Yet.’ She patted one hand with the bat. ‘So, are you going to stop lying like a bitch? Or do I have to smash every single bone in her pretty little body?’

Lucia’s shoulders slumped. ‘He’s in Ciudad Bolivar.’

‘See.’ Amonite grinned at Dex and Rudolph. ‘All she needed was a little encouragement.’ She turned back to Lucia. ‘What for?’

‘He wouldn’t say.’

‘Don’t be a pain.’

‘I swear.’

‘Does anyone else know?’

Lucia shook her head.

‘Bullshit,’ Amonite said.

The bat landed on Joanna’s chest. Ribs cracked like twigs. Joanna squirmed.

‘He’s looking for your base.’ Lucia fell to her knees. ‘That’s all I know.’

‘Does he know where it is?’

Lucia shook her head.

Amonite smashed the bat onto Joanna again. More ribs broke. Joanna’s eyes opened wide. She let out a long moan, thrashed around. Amonite hit her on the head. She went limp.

‘I’ll ask you one last time.’ Amonite lifted the bat. ‘Who else?’

Lucia launched herself at Amonite, head down again like a battering ram. Amonite dropped the bat, but was thrown off balance by Lucia’s attack. Lucia was all over her, pushing her to the floor, fury surging through her. She tried biting Amonite, headbutting her, whacking her shoulders into Amonite’s face. Strong arms peeled her away and threw her into a corner, where she curled up into a ball again. Amonite rose to her feet. She brushed herself down and reached into her jacket. She drew a gun and a long barrel, which she screwed onto the gun.

She pointed it at Lucia, who closed her eyes. So this was it. Her final moments. Murdered like a dog, in a hotel room, by the very organisation she’d vowed to bring down.

‘Hey, you promised,’ Rudolph shouted.

‘Yeah, I did.’

Lucia opened her eyes. Amonite had swivelled round and was pointing the gun at Joanna’s head.

‘No!’ Lucia screamed, trying to crawl forwards.

Amonite pulled the trigger twice. There were two loud spits. Joanna’s body jerked like it had been given an electric shock.

Lucia’s head was spinning. She slumped onto the floor, sobbing.

Amonite unscrewed the barrel from the gun and put both bits away. She gestured to Rudolph.

‘We’re off,’ she said. ‘She’s all yours.’

Ciudad Bolivar, Colombia
15 April 2011

N
athan looked blankly out of the taxi window. Why had Lucia yelled at him? She’d completely lost it, with her neck flushed and her eyes blazing. It was no surprise they’d kicked her out of Colombians Against the Front.

And yet. There was something else. An intense concern.

Anguish.

Dread.

Nathan clicked through his mobile until he found Lucia’s number. He hit ‘call’. The screen flashed.

Calling Lucia…

He hung up. It was just wishful thinking. She’d rejected him in bed. She’d shouted at him twice now. She was disturbed, furious at him, at others, at the world. He gazed at the lights flickering outside the rows of red bricked shacks of Ciudad Bolivar that streamed past under the tangled web of electricity wires that hung overhead.