Black Coke (41 page)

But there was something deeper. Honesty, passion, a desire for justice. Underneath the fierce exterior was a woman he knew he could relate to, maybe even love, on a profound level. He knew what Caitlin would have said.

He hit ‘call’ again.

Calling Lucia…

He hung up, sighed, put the phone in his pocket. He was useless at this. Whenever he tried, the words came out wrong, made things worse. Yet he wanted to go back to see her, to hug her, to kiss her, to tell her everything would be okay. He knew she was hurting, that something powerful was happening between them, that thin tendrils of attachment and attraction were weaving their way round them, pulling them closer while events crashed around them and threatened to tear them apart.

He looked outside again. They were heading down a dirt road, the driver slaloming the vehicle to dodge the potholes. By the side of the road, half in the shadows, a young couple embraced, their arms wrapped round each other like vines.

And still no call from Manuel to tell him where to go.

Nathan tapped the cab driver’s shoulder.

‘Sí?’

‘Change of plan. Can you turn round and—’

Nathan’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

‘Un momento,’ Nathan said to the driver.

Unidentified caller.

‘You on your way?’ It was Manuel speaking.

‘Yeah, although—’

‘I’ve spoken to them. We’re waiting for you.’

‘Right.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Just entered Ciudad Bolivar. But—’

‘Great. Here’s the address.’

‘Okay, wait a sec.’ Nathan put the mobile on speaker phone. ‘Can you explain it to the driver?’

Manuel rattled out directions in Spanish. The driver nodded, then answered back.

‘Nathan, you there? You’re about half an hour away,’ Manuel said, switching back to English. ‘And Lucia?’

‘What about her?’

‘She’s not answering her phone.’

‘Maybe she’s asleep.’

‘Okay. See you soon.’

Nathan hung up and put the phone away. His body felt tired and the bruises and bullet wound were aching. He needed to focus on the mission. He’d sort things out with Lucia later.

The cab headed deeper into Ciudad Bolivar.

Bogotá, Colombia
15 April, 2011

A
monite and Dex left the apartment. The front door slammed shut behind them with a sense of finality that made Lucia shudder. She tried to swallow her tears and glared at Rudolph, who was eyeing her up with a triumphant grin. He marched up to her, grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to the bedroom. She struggled to free herself, but his grip was too strong. She kicked at his shins. He let out a coarse laugh and slapped her across the face. She cried out.

‘Shut up,’ Rudolph said. ‘Or I’ll blow a hole through your head just like that friend of yours.’

He flung her onto the bed. She tried scrambling away, but he grabbed her foot and yanked her towards him. He towered over her, undoing his shirt and trousers. His face was twisted with lust and there was a bulge under his pants. He pulled them down, revealing his erect member, which he stroked with his hand.

Lucia couldn’t believe it. Two attempted rapes in as many days. Fear turned to anger. She lunged for the bedside lamp, but couldn’t reach it with her hands tied behind her back. Rudolph twisted her away. He slapped her repeatedly.

‘Lie back, you bitch.’

Lucia tried squirming away, but he had his whole body on her. He pinned her to the bed with his left hand while ripping off her bathrobe with his right. Lucia bit his neck. He headbutted her twice. Stars appeared before her eyes. She lost consciousness.

When she came to, he was tearing her underwear off. Lucia kicked him in the chest. He toppled backwards, teetering on the edge of the bed, off balance, then tumbled to the floor, whacking his back against the wall.

‘You slut!’

Rudolph’s eyes narrowed as he got up. Lucia tumbled off the bed, staggered to her feet and raced for the doorway. He grabbed her ankle and pulled. She fell and smacked her head against the floor. He jumped onto her back, pinning her face down. He grabbed her hair and yanked it backwards so that her face was a few inches off the floor tiles.

‘You are so stubborn,’ he said.

She twisted her face round so she could see him out of the corner of her eye. He was reaching for his trousers on the bed and pulling them towards him. He fumbled around, then pulled a hunting knife from a sheath on his belt.

Lucia swallowed. It couldn’t get much worse than this. Tortured, raped and killed at the hands of a psychopathic German mercenary. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the pain. This was her punishment for causing Joanna’s death.

‘See this.’ He put the knife in front of her, its blade sharp on one side and jagged like a saw on the other. ‘This is for you.’

He grabbed her shoulder and tried to twist her onto her back. As he did so, he lifted himself up, but lost balance again. He dropped the knife and put his hand out to stabilise himself. Lucia seized her chance. She rolled onto her back and pushed off the floor with her hands, putting Rudolph further off balance.

‘Hey, you little bitch,’ he said, as he toppled over sideways.

She tucked up her right leg and kicked him in the face. He howled and brought his hands up to protect himself. She kicked again, to his groin. He cursed and rolled away, clutching himself.

Lucia jumped to her feet. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel her chest trembling. She raced into the lounge and headed for the front door. It was locked. She scanned the room for the keys, but couldn’t find them. She ran into the kitchen, grabbed the scissors and snipped off the cable ties.

She ran back into the lounge. The baseball bat was lying on the floor next to the sofa. Dex must have left it here for Rudolph. She dived for it just as Rudolph stormed into the room, knife in his right hand.

‘You whore.’

He charged at her just as she picked up the bat. He had too much momentum and barely had time to lift his hand to protect his head as Lucia swung the bat straight at him. The bat crashed through his guard, hitting him on the side of the head. He swayed on his feet. The knife fell to the floor.

Lucia lifted the bat again, determined to finish him off. There was a thud as the bat hit his skull. He crumpled, blood oozing from his temple. She took a step back and studied him for a second. He rolled onto his back and opened glazed eyes. His hand groped around for his knife. He shook his head as though trying to clear it. Lucia just stood there, as though hypnotised, still clinging onto the bat. Part of her mind was screaming at her to escape while he was down. The other part was telling her to finish him off, to seek revenge.

Rudolph’s fingers curled around the hilt of the knife. His eyes flashed. Still Lucia didn’t move, her mind a mass of confusion and fear. Rudolph propped himself up on his elbows and smirked, as though understanding what was going through Lucia’s mind. He slowly, confidently pushed himself into a squat and was about to stand up when something clicked inside Lucia.

She brought the bat crashing down on his head. Rudolph’s eyes widened in surprise. She hit him again, feeling the skull crack. Rudolph swayed from side to side. He dropped the knife. She hit him a third time, the bat splitting his jaw. He collapsed to the floor and lay still.

She dropped the bat and knelt next to him. She felt his neck for a pulse.

Nothing.

She let out a deep sigh and collapsed into the armchair, trying not to look at Joanna’s dead body on the sofa. Sobs wracked her body. She picked herself up, staggered into the bedroom. She threw on her clothes. She had to get out of here.

There was no time for shock.

No time for fear.

No time for self pity.

Amonite would be getting in touch with Rudolph soon. She’d worry about his lack of response. She’d come back and go hunting for Lucia.

Lucia went back into the lounge and grabbed the knife. She dropped it into her bag, along with all the other bits and pieces she’d tipped out earlier. She found the keys under the coffee table, but couldn’t find her phone anywhere. She went into the kitchen and downed a large glass of water. She grabbed the bread and cheese and put it into her bag. She pulled a sheet from the bed and draped it over Joanna’s body, hardly daring look at her disfigured face. It was her fault Joanna had died. Her fault she’d been tortured.

Everything was her fault.

She left the apartment, glimpsing a frightened face peering through a crack in the neighbour’s door, which quickly shut.

She needed to find a safe place to recover, make contact with Nathan, and plan the next move.

Bogotá, Colombia
15 April, 2011

L
ucia stepped through the hotel’s lobby without looking at the receptionist or the doorman. Her legs shook as she walked briskly down the street without knowing where she was going. Her head was reeling. Rudolph’s crumpled, bloody face was stuck in her mind’s eye. She’d never killed anyone before, although she’d seen enough dead bodies, mainly friends and family murdered in the drugs war.

But Rudolph had tried to kill her. She had to remember that. It had been him or her. She couldn’t let herself feel bad about it, or she’d never recover.

She turned the corner and crossed the road without checking. A car beeped its horn and skidded to a stop barely fifty centimetres from her. The driver rolled down the window and shouted obscenities at her. She ignored him and kept walking.

After twenty minutes or so, she stopped and looked around. Had anybody been following her? Probably not. They’d have stopped her by now. She sat down at the terrace of a cafe and ordered a coffee. She tried breathing slowly, feeling the air enter her lungs, trying to relax her arms and legs and calm her mind. It was no use. Her thoughts were in too much turmoil.

She downed the coffee, left a bank note, and walked off. She turned a few corners until she reached a road lined with cheap hotels. She entered the first one and booked herself into a single room for the night. She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Images of Rudolph and Joanna’s corpses flashed through her mind. Her body ached with bruises and cuts. Her lips trembled and her breathing was shallow and fast.

She paced around the room. Bile rose in her throat. She rushed to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet until she was retching a yellow liquid. She turned to the washbasin and splashed water on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were gaunt, her eyes bloodshot, her lips blue.

Another urge to wretch. She turned towards the toilet, but too late. The bile dripped onto the tiles, where it formed a puddle. Lucia slid to the floor. She put her arms round her knees and tugged them towards her. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She shook her head. She couldn’t let herself break down. That would be admitting defeat.

She considered her options. Octavia and Joanna were dead. She had no way of contacting Manuel and Nathan. She had dozens of other contacts, but none she could trust. All that campaigning, lobbying, networking for Colombians Against the Front, and yet nearly all the relationships she’d built were superficial and no use when she really needed them. How she missed Nathan. If only she could track him down. She’d apologise for everything.

She lay on the bed, her thoughts bumping into each other.

She was so tired.

When she woke up a few hours later, she knew exactly what she had to do. It was as though a switch had been flicked in her head. She rummaged through her handbag. There it was, tucked away at the bottom: the note Nathan had given her. She picked up the hotel phone on the desk and dialled the number that was scribbled on the paper.

The phone rang once, twice, three times.

Answer, damn it.

‘Belville speaking.’ It was a soft male voice.

‘Is that Cedric Belville?’

‘To whom am I speaking?’

‘A friend of Nathan Kershner.’

A pause. ‘What’s happened?’

‘We need your help.’

Ciudad Bolivar, Colombia
15 April 2011

N
athan was sitting on an old sofa in the back of a dirty shack. A kerosene lamp glowed on a chest of drawers in the corner, casting shadows that danced on the grey brick wall next to it. The floor was covered in a dark brown carpet. In a corner was a small TV, with black and white images flickering across the silent screen. Particles of dust hung in the air. Nathan had on his knees an old laptop that Manuel had dug up. He scrolled through the contents of the USB key he’d found at the embassy house. He was trying to stop thinking about Lucia. There was no phone network here. He had to trust she’d be okay.