Black Coke (44 page)

He dried his face with a towel hanging from a rusty rail. There were voices in the neighbouring room. He pushed open the creaky wooden door and entered the small dining room. Manuel and another man were sitting at the table, tucking into a breakfast of eggs and bread.

‘Good sleep?’ Manuel said.

‘Very good, thanks.’ Nathan pulled a chair up and sat down. ‘So, all set?’

‘Cedric’s sent through his arrival details. Here, have something to eat. Then we’ll go pick him up.’

Bogotá airport, Colombia
16 April 2011

A
monite picked up the sniper rifle and checked the telescopic sight. She’d bought it when she was working in Mexico. She hadn’t used it for ages, but it felt good in her hands again. She stroked the smooth barrel then checked the firing mechanism. She’d given it a good clean.

She took the rifle apart and put it in its guitar case. She looked at her watch: twenty minutes to go. She opened her bag, which was on the bed in the middle of the hotel room. She pulled out a grey wig and placed it on her head. She went into the bathroom and studied herself in the mirror, noticing again with annoyance her stubby nose and gaunt cheeks. She made a mental note to book an appointment with a plastic surgeon.

She took a small vial from her pocket and popped two pills into her hand. She put her mouth under the tap to swallow them with water. She grimaced. She had to cut down on the steroids. They were messing with her mind and stopping her from sleeping properly. She splashed her face with cold water. She looked at herself in the mirror again. Bloodshot eyes stared back.

Her thoughts went back to her phone call with El Patrón earlier on. He was getting increasingly rude with her, bossing her around and treating her like a small child. Was he really such a hero? Was he the real El Patrón or just an imposter? She’d tried digging around a few months ago, but hadn’t found anything more about him, until a few days later a scribbled note had appeared in a brown envelope on her doorstep telling her not to sniff around ever again. She’d heeded the message. El Patrón only ever warned you once.

She put on her dark glasses and grey overcoat. El Patrón had seemed worried, but hadn’t said why. Probably those problems with the Colombian president.

She picked up her case and bag. She had too much admiration for rich and powerful criminals. That was the problem. It’d been the same with Don Camplones. Whatever he ordered her to do, she’d done it willingly. Maybe it was time soon to go her own way, to set up her own organisation.

She shook her head. Too much thinking.

A text came through on her mobile. It was her contact at airport security.

He’s just landed.

She checked the hotel room one last time to make sure she hadn’t left anything incriminating. Then she walked out of the airport hotel and down the street towards the main terminal. A row of cops in uniforms stood outside, smoking, looking bored and alert, if such a mix was possible.

Amonite nipped into the entranceway to a side building and climbed to the third floor, three steps at a time. She knocked four times on a door and waited. She pulled a key from her pocket. She slowly unlocked and opened the door, peering in. The place was empty. No furniture. Just bare white walls and wooden floorboards. Her contact at airport security had assured her it would be available and secure.

Amonite went to the window and looked through the blinds at the terminal across the road. She had a clear view of the entrance. She pulled the window up. She opened the case and put the rifle together. She poked the barrel of the rifle ever so slightly through a gap in the blinds. She opened another gap in the blinds so that she could see through it when she looked into the telescopic sight. She adjusted it to get the right focus, then looked through the cross hairs at the people exiting the terminal. One of them was a young man with short cropped hair and a black suit. He was babbling into his cell phone. Amonite could see the hairs in his ears.

She stroked the trigger. Just one small press and the bullet would shoot out of the barrel and into the man’s head. A shiver of excitement crept down her spine. She loved the feeling of power at having someone else’s life between her fingers. She put the rifle down and lifted the window, keeping it open on the latch and making sure she kept out of sight. She waited for five minutes to be sure nobody had spotted the open window.

Satisfied, she grabbed the rifle again and put herself in position. Just a few minutes to go. More travellers streamed past in the cross hairs. Some were fat, some were skinny. All looked stressed.

Amonite took deep breaths. She didn’t want her arms to tremble even slightly. There was no wind outside, so no need to adjust her shot. She glanced at her watch: any time now.

As if on cue, Cedric Belville appeared out of the airport doors and stopped to look around. He looked so small and ordinary with his ill-fitting tweed jacket, his tussle of brown hair, his flat nose and small briefcase. How someone so nondescript could have risen so high within the ranks of Soca was beyond her.

She followed Cedric in the telescopic sight as he paced up and down. Where were Nathan and Lucia?

Her finger curled around the trigger. Cedric pulled out a phone.

A fat tourist with loads of suitcases got in the way.

Shift it, buddy.

The tourist moved away. Cedric was back in the line of sight. Amonite gritted her teeth and waited. She wanted Nathan too. He was the one who’d messed up her plans one time too many, along with that bitch of his.

Cedric walked into the car park. He put his phone away and seemed to know where he was going. She zoomed out, trying not to lose him among the cars.

Damn. He was heading for the covered part of the car park. Within seconds he’d be out of sight.

She zoomed in again.

She pulled the trigger.

Bogotá airport, Colombia
16 April 2011

‘I
’ll go meet him by myself,’ Nathan said to Manuel as they climbed out of the pick-up truck in the airport’s indoor parking lot.

Manuel shook his head. ‘He’s important. As campesino representative, I need to greet him too.’

‘It’s risky.’

‘I insist.’

‘Okay, but I’ll do a recce first. See you back here in ten minutes.’

Nathan walked around the enclosed car park, checking each level. Then he looked out onto the open air car park. Just tourists and business people entering and leaving their vehicles. There was a couple dragging a large suitcase past a row of cars. The security guards were smoking. A massive man with long greyish hair and an overcoat was walking past with his back to Nathan on the other side of the parking lot. He had a bulky case that looked like it could carry a musical instrument such as a guitar.

Or a rifle.

Nathan pulled his binos from his bag. He caught the back of the grey-haired man just as he disappeared into a side building. Nathan scanned the building up and down. Sunlight reflected back from the windows. He turned his gaze to the terminal’s entrance. Why Cedric had said in his message to Manuel to meet in such an open and vulnerable space was beyond him. You could tell Cedric hadn’t worked in the field for years.

Nathan checked his watch. Cedric had landed a few minutes ago. He’d be exiting soon after taking the diplomatic lane. Nobody except Nathan and Manuel knew he was coming, so there’d be no British embassy or Colombian welcome party.

Nathan went back to the pick-up truck and joined Manuel, who was sitting in the front, studying his map of Putumayo.

‘Let’s go meet him,’ Nathan said.

They descended the steps to the ground floor. They waited in the shadows, with a good view of the exit to the terminal. A movement and a glint caught Nathan’s eye. He looked up at the side building. At first, he didn’t spot it, but then he saw it. On the third floor, a window was half open. He pulled out his binos and zoomed in. The window had blinds, which prevented him from seeing inside. Nothing moved. He put the binos away and turned his attention back to the terminal exit.

He had that feeling in his stomach that something was wrong.

Gut instinct.

Always trust it.

Cedric emerged. He stood there, looking around. A fat tourist appeared next to him with a large suitcase, then moved away. Nathan dialled Cedric’s number.

‘Covered car park,’ he said. ‘Ground floor.’

‘Okay, mate.’

‘Use the cars as cover.’

‘Why?’

‘Just do it.’

Cedric walked across. All he had was a small briefcase in his left hand. He was twenty metres away when Nathan saw a glint on the third floor of the side building.

‘Cedric, get down!’ he shouted.

But it was too late.

There was a whoosh, then a crack.

Cedric’s head exploded.

Bogotá airport, Colombia
16 April 2011

A
monite put the sniper rifle away and hurried down the staircase. She’d wanted to wait, to see if Nathan was around and came to Cedric’s assistance, but decided against it. Airport security and the cops would soon have the place cordoned off.

She exited through the same door on the ground floor. The security guards were peering in the direction of Cedric’s corpse. One of them was speaking on a walkie talkie. Two others started running towards the car park.

Amonite tucked her head between her shoulders and headed the other way. Her vehicle was parked at the other side of the car park, near the exit. She made her way through the rows of cars, ignoring the shouting behind her. Sirens wailed closer. Two police cars burst their way into the car park and sped towards the security guards.

Her car was thirty metres away. It was a black SUV with tinted bullet-proof windows. She kept walking as more police cars raced past. Travellers were running towards their vehicles, shouting. The indicators flashed as she pressed the button on her key ring. She put her hand on the door handle.

‘Excuse me, sir.’

A male voice, behind her.

‘I said excuse me.’

She turned round. A young cop in a shiny uniform was standing there.

‘Can I help?’ she said.

‘There’s been an incident. We’re checking all travellers. Please move away from the car and drop your case.’

‘Something bad?’

The cop’s hand was resting on his holster. ‘Please step away from the car.’

‘Of course.’ She took a step back and placed her case on the floor.

‘Passport, please.’ The cop put out his hand.

Amonite reached into her inside jacket pocket and pretended to search for her passport. She whipped out her Glock and fired at the cop: once in the chest, once in the head. He crumpled to the floor. Amonite rolled his body away. Then she yanked open the door to the SUV, hurled in her sniper case, and jumped into the driver’s seat. She started the engine, hit the gas, and sped towards the exit, wheels screeching.

She glanced in the rear-view mirror. A man was running towards her vehicle, gaining ground, hand plunging into his jacket. She accelerated. Her vehicle smashed through the exit barrier and skidded off down the road. She squinted hard into the mirror again. The man had slowed to a jog. It was difficult to see his features from a distance. But then she recognised him.

It was Nathan.

Bogotá, Colombia
16 April 2011

L
ucia paced around her hotel room. Why hadn’t Cedric called her yet? He said he’d call as soon as he landed, and he was meant to have landed half an hour ago. Had something happened? Had the Front or the ASI intercepted him? Should she try to call him?

She picked up the phone from the table, then put it down again. Cedric had made it clear he didn’t want her to call back.

‘Just sit tight,’ he’d said. ‘I’ll call you. Everything’ll be fine.’

She sat on the edge of the bed.

I need to do something. Anything.

She dialled Carlo’s number. With Octavia dead, he’d be acting chairman of Colombians Against the Front. He was a good guy, despite failing to back her at the board meeting. Maybe he’d let her join forces with CAF again.

The phone rang for ages, then went onto voicemail.

She tried again.

‘Hello?’ It was a man’s harsh voice.

‘Who am I speaking to?’

‘May I ask the same question?’

‘I’m a friend of Carlo,’ Lucia said. ‘Can I speak to him?’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’