Black Coke (43 page)

An hour later, they were driving through another shanty town. Kids played in puddles from the latest downpour. Women sold fruit and veg by the side of the road. Men glugged beer in makeshift bars.

The pick-up stopped in front of a large shack. They hopped out and entered a room that was full of people, mainly men apart from a couple of women. Silence descended as Manuel entered, proof again of his status within the campesino community. Manuel spoke in Spanish for a few minutes, then gestured to Nathan.

‘This is Nathan Kershner,’ he said. ‘A good friend of mine. Saved my life.’

A round of applause.

Manuel waited a moment, then continued: ‘He has strong military training. He’ll help us fight Front 154. We need to listen to him.’

All eyes were on Nathan. For a second, he was transported back to his disastrous presentation in front of the Soca board. His hands felt sweaty and his breathing short.

I’m among friends here. This isn’t a board meeting. Just tell it like it is.

He took a deep breath and spoke slowly and precisely so everyone could understand.

‘Manuel and I have a map of the Front base here in Colombia. Do you have access to weapons?’

A ripple of laughter.

‘Hey, this is Colombia.’ Manuel smiled wryly. ‘What d’you expect?’

‘Okay.’ Nathan smiled back. ‘This is the plan.’

Bogotá, Colombia
16 April 2011

A
monite didn’t like waiting, particularly when it was for a double-crossing Jamaican drug smuggler who’d disappeared with her shipment of Black Coke and then reappeared out of nowhere begging to meet her. She leaned against the side of the warehouse. It was part of an industrial estate that had been abandoned in the mid nineties. Rain dribbled through holes in the corrugated iron roof. Obscene graffiti splattered the walls. Scrap metal was stacked to the ceiling. In a corner were three burnt-out hulks of abandoned trucks. The place stank of oil and waste.

‘Any sign of them?’ Amonite said into the mike under her collar.

‘None yet, boss,’ Dex replied in his curt voice.

‘No punctuality. No wonder their country’s such a damn mess.’

She went back to ruminating about how much she now hated Elijah Evans. He’d made a fool out of her. El Patrón wasn’t happy. And that was unforgiveable.

The sound of vehicles rumbled through the air.

‘Wait for my signal,’ Amonite said.

She put her earpiece in her pocket and stepped into the entrance to the warehouse. A convoy of four black SUVs skidded to a halt in the parking area just outside. Four Jamaicans with Ingram Mach 10s jumped out of the first, second and fourth vehicles. Elijah hobbled out of the third one, an AK 47 hanging from his stooped shoulders.

‘Amonite, good to see you,’ he muttered, his eyes scrunched up, his gnarled right hand outstretched.

‘Likewise.’

Amonite showed her widest, friendliest grin, but ignored his hand. She put her palm on his shoulder, which tensed, and walked him into the warehouse.

Elijah glanced sideways at her. ‘We’ve had a few problems.’

‘Is that so?’

‘The Haitians were late.’

‘How unprofessional.’

Elijah glanced over his shoulder at his men standing in the doorway.

‘They attacked us,’ he said.

‘I hope nobody was hurt.’

‘Mainly the Haitians.’

‘Did any escape?’ Amonite put slightly more steel into her voice and relished how it made Elijah squirm.

‘We don’t know.’ Elijah wiped the sweat off his forehead. ‘Amonite, as I said on the phone, we’ve sold out the Black Coke. I’ve got thirty million bucks in the back of my car.’

‘In yours?’

‘Uhuh. I sold it in Miami. Through my network. The punters keep asking for more.’

‘Oh, really? But I hear your network got hit by the DEA.’

‘I’ve got new dealers and I’ve bribed some DEA officers. Give me all the Black Coke you’ve got. I can shift it before anyone figures out what’s going on. Millions of dollars. Billions. Just think of it.’

Amonite studied Elijah. He looked so pathetic, with that hungry look in his eyes she’d seen in so many drug smugglers ensnared by the promise of vast wealth.

‘Come with me.’ She tugged Elijah towards the far side of the warehouse, behind the burnt-out trucks. ‘I will hunt down the Haitians. D’you understand that?’

Elijah nodded rapidly.

Amonite patted his shoulder and left her hand there.

‘What’s wrong with those spots in your eyes?’ she said.

‘Nothing.’

‘Doesn’t look good. You should get them checked.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Okay, now listen here.’ Amonite lowered her voice so much that Elijah had to bend closer to hear her. ‘The Front doesn’t take kindly to being double crossed, you two-faced Jamaican punk.’

‘Please, Amonite, you have to understand.’

‘Understand what? That you can disappear with all my drugs and then come crawling back for more?’

‘That’s not what—’.

Before he could finish his sentence, Amonite slid her hand round Elijah’s neck. He tried to pull away, but she yanked him forward and headbutted him with such force that she felt and heard his skull crack. He crumpled to the floor.

‘Go for it, guys,’ she said into her mike.

Gunfire erupted from Amonite’s men. She peered round the side of the truck. The Jamaicans were shooting wildly, sending bullets ricocheting off the metal walls. Two of them were already face down in rapidly expanding pools of blood.

Amonite kicked Elijah in the temple, just to make sure he stayed unconscious. She picked up his assault rifle and shot one of the Jamaicans, leaving a punched-out hole where his face should have been. The remaining Jamaicans were charging back towards their vehicles.

Amonite put her earpiece back in. ‘Hold your fire.’

The Jamaicans looked around and fired a few rounds as they yanked open the doors to their vehicles and climbed in.

‘Get ready,’ Amonite said.

‘All set,’ Dex said.

‘Keep the reverend’s car intact. It’s got the cash.’

‘Roger that.’

The doors to the vehicles were closing.

‘Wait for it,’ Amonite said.

The first vehicle started its engine.

‘Now!’

There was a rush of air. The first two vehicles erupted into balls of flame. They jumped up, shards of metal flying in all directions. Then they crashed back to the ground. A burning man climbed out of the front vehicle. He stumbled before collapsing to the floor, screaming. The other two SUVs began reversing. The fourth one blew up, hit by more rocket-propelled grenades that instantly killed its occupants. The third one, Elijah’s SUV, was stuck between the burning wreckages. Dozens of Front men jumped out of their hiding places and charged towards it. They yanked the doors open, pulled out the three occupants and threw them to the floor, whacking them unconscious with their rifle butts. Amonite picked up Elijah and dragged him to the middle of the warehouse, ignoring the raging fires of the burning vehicles in the parking lot.

‘What do we do with these guys?’ Dex said, pointing to the three on the floor.

‘Dispose of them. Then get everyone else out of here. Make sure no cops come wandering over.’

She looked away, ignoring the series of gunshots that indicated the summary execution of the three Jamaicans. They were expendable, foot soldiers in this brutal war.

Their job done, the Front hitmen wandered off, weapons on their shoulders and joking to each other as though coming back from a normal day’s work. Amonite pointed to a rusty metal chair leaning against the wall.

‘Dex, bring that here. Tie Elijah to it.’

Dex lashed Elijah’s wrists and ankles to the chair with cable ties. Amonite glanced around, just to make sure all the Front men had gone.

‘Let’s deal with this dumb fuck.’

She slapped Elijah on the cheeks until his skin went red. His eyes fluttered open. He screamed and thrashed around.

‘No point struggling,’ Amonite said, taking a step back.

Elijah was staring with wide eyes, taking in the burning wreckages behind Amonite, the dead bodies on the floor.

‘I never double crossed you,’ he said. ‘I swear it on my mother’s grave.’

‘What happened on that island?’

‘They attacked.’

‘Let’s be reasonable.’ Amonite put her face so close to Elijah’s she could feel his hurried breath. ‘We’re both reasonable people, aren’t we?’

Elijah nodded fervently.

‘Purely business,’ Amonite said. ‘Yeah?’

‘Just business.’

‘Good.’ Amonite straightened up. ‘In business, the losers pay.’

Elijah’s Adam’s apple bounced up and down.

‘Wait a minute,’ she said.

A look of relief flooded Elijah’s face as she walked away towards the side of the warehouse. She rummaged around behind a pile of rusty metal. There it was, just where she’d left it. A long, solid axe: the type used by woodcutters to fell large trees. She patted it in her hand and strolled back, laughing out loud when she saw the fear on Elijah’s face.

‘Amonite, don’t do it.’ Elijah’s voice was trembling.

Amonite stood in front of Elijah, legs a shoulder width apart, the axe resting on her shoulder.

‘So, my dear reverend, what really happened?’

‘It was us!’ he shouted. ‘My cousin, Wes, he lost it. He wanted the Black Coke. I couldn’t—’

‘Why did you lie?’ She lifted the axe high over her head. ‘Don’t you know the Front’s punishment?’

‘Trust me,’ Elijah screamed. ‘Please!’

‘I can’t hear you,’ Amonite yelled.

The axe came down, slicing into the concrete floor right next to Elijah’s feet. He shrieked and jumped around as though he’d been electrocuted.

‘What else you done?’ Amonite shouted, raising the axe again.

‘Belville! Belville!’

Amonite was about to swing the axe again when Dex lifted an arm to block it.

‘I think he’s saying someone’s name, boss.’

Amonite lowered the axe. ‘Speak clearly, you Jamaican fuck.’

‘Cedric. Belville. English cop. Wants to meet me. Tomorrow.’

‘You bastard.’ Amonite lifted the axe again. ‘After all I’ve done for you, you were going to betray me.’

Elijah yelled in terror, which made Amonite even angrier. But then she lowered the axe. She’d brought him here to teach him a lesson, not to kill him. She wiped her forehead. Elijah had passed out, his head lolling forward.

Amonite went to her vehicle, which was hidden behind the warehouse. She pulled out a jerry can of water and marched back to Elijah. She poured the water onto him. He spluttered and shook his head, sending drops spinning out.

‘Amonite, please!’

He looked so pitiful, with his hunched and skinny shoulders, his ripped clothes, gaunt cheeks, bony arms and legs and black marks all over his knuckles. But he was smart. He’d got the Black Coke through the Caribbean, to Miami, and shifted it within hours, even if half his gang in Miami had been caught in the process. Amonite didn’t have time to find another smuggler, especially one as good as Elijah. The Haitians were useless. The Mexicans hated her since Don Camplones had died. And her Colombians had enough problems to deal with already.

‘What did Cedric Belville want?’

‘He offered immunity if I grassed up on you.’

‘And?’

‘No way, Amonite. I swear on my mother’s grave.’

‘I’m gonna give you a last chance,’ Amonite said.

Elijah’s eyes lit up.

‘Listen up.’ Amonite leaned close. ‘This is what you’re gonna do.’

Ciudad Bolivar, Colombia
16 April 2011

N
athan woke up feeling fresher than he had in days. He’d slept on a mouldy mattress in a dirty shack in the middle of one of the worst shanty towns in South America, but the night had been restful, without any of the nightmares of previous ones. Lucia was alive and okay, Cedric was on his way with what sounded like promising news, Manuel and the campesinos were building a strong movement against the Front. Things were looking better than they had in a long time.

Nathan went to the wash basin in the corner of the room and threw some water onto his face. He wondered what Lucia was doing at the moment. Why had they lost contact with her until Cedric got in touch? Had something happened? He went back over their conversation about the drugs war. Maybe she was right. Maybe legalisation was the right way of sorting this out. He smirked as he imagined how Cedric would react when he’d meet Lucia for the first time later today. Her fiery personality was the opposite of Cedric’s calm demeanour.