Incitement (28 page)

Manuel watched in horror as Larsen walked over to the weeping figure of Leti and yanked her off the ground. The knife-stroke was mercifully quicker than the one that had killed Freddie but
gruesome nonetheless. He screamed in rage and launched himself across the room at this monster. Reaching out savagely for Larsen’s neck, he was easily fended off. Larsen stepped in close to
him and Manuel caught the scent of mint on the killer’s breath. Everything slowed as the smile spread across Larsen’s face. Manuel’s head was yanked back and an indescribable pain
exploded in his lower abdomen when the knife was thrust in. Before he lost consciousness, he felt the blade being dragged upwards.

The modern port, with its rows and rows of stacked cargo containers waiting to be loaded or transported inland, was nothing more than an enormous metal warren, betraying no
trace of its rich history. A light rain had begun to fall, which obstructed visibility and helped him to evade the security personnel patrolling the port. Once he had gotten inside the perimeter,
he took some time to get his bearings. Although he had a map, he knew it would still be easy to become lost. He was making a mental log of specific structures when he thought he saw a flicker in
the darkness. He waited, motionless, for ten minutes, before deciding he must have imagined it. The next thirty minutes were spent making his way circuitously towards his destination. As he moved
in and out from the portside, he tried to get a sense of the place. If something was to go wrong during the actual mission, they would need to know as much as possible. Unlike previous operations,
they would be going in relatively blind. Given the calibre of the men they had lined up, that would not be too great a problem provided he did his job properly tonight.

He was about five minutes from his destination when something caused him to look back.

There.

This time there was no doubt. Movement, something too big for a four-legged inhabitant. Someone was following him. He quickly discounted the notion that it was security; why waste time stalking
him when they could just approach openly? That left only one obvious candidate. In the millisecond he spent deciding what he should do, he understood what had happened. Too late, things fell into
place: his nagging feelings over minor incidents throughout the course of their campaign, Brewer’s uncharacteristic delay in identifying the contact, the inexplicable difficulties in getting
events to conform to their projections. The Washington contractor had set him up. When the betrayal had begun was impossible to know, as was the motive behind it. Was Brewer engaged in some gambit
of his own? Or perhaps he had acted at Wallace’s behest, after the billionaire’s appetite for his crusade had waned.

On enemy territory, totally vulnerable, he cursed his stupidity.

Picking up the pace quickly, he ran along one of the docks. With no further need for concealment, he concentrated on speed. Depending on how many there were, he hoped he might be able to get far
enough ahead to circle around and escape the port somehow. From the corner of his eye he saw, between the gaps in the rows of containers, figures racing along parallel to him, trying to cut him
off. He was not distancing himself from them sufficiently and knew he would soon run out of quayside at this rate. He needed to change tactics. Drawing his Glock, he looked around frantically. His
pursuers also stopped and he could see some of them making their way towards him down one of the passageways between the containers. The remaining pursuers were, no doubt, spreading out so that
they could surround him. The only option he could see was to turn and run in the opposite direction towards some storage buildings at the other end of the quay. If he could reach them, it might
make it difficult for his pursuers to track him. As he set off, arms and legs pumping trying to cover the expanse, the absurdity of the image struck him. Sprinting, first one way then the other,
his lungs burning while they gave chase. It was like some demented version of a child’s game but he knew there would be nothing childish about the consequences if they were to catch him. Ten
metres ahead of him, one of them, who had obviously not tried to keep up with his initial dash, stepped out and raised a hand for him to stop. He dived head first through a large puddle and fired
four shots as he slid at breakneck pace towards the man. Whether it was a desire to take him alive or disbelief at his crazy manoeuvre, his adversary had not been prepared to exchange fire and this
gave Larsen enough of an edge. Three bullets had struck the man before he was able to retaliate. The returning burst went harmlessly over Larsen’s head and, back on his feet, he resumed his
dash, ignoring the large gashes in both elbows and one of his hips. Seeing their companion gunned down released the others from any restraint they had shown up to now. A fusillade of machine-gun
fire was unleashed. Most of the heavy torrent flew harmlessly by him but there were so many that one grazed his shoulder and another lodged in his thigh. He was just metres from the open warehouse
and hobbling along desperately when a shot rang out from between two rows of containers. The bullet entered him from the side, shattering his ribs on entry. The impact spun him from his feet and
only the momentum from the sprint carried him forward. He was tantalisingly close now to refuge. He struggled to make it back to his feet, the pain threatening to overtake him, and limped toward
the building. The air around him was lit up by gunfire and he realised he had no chance of making it. Left with no choice, he turned to face them and opened fire. He was hopelessly outgunned and
knew that it would be over in seconds. He had to concentrate to keep the Glock from slipping from his fingers, rain and blood hampering his grip. His return fire was ineffectual as he failed to hit
any of his pursuers. Another shot hit him in the chest and he staggered back, then one more before everything was enveloped in a blinding light.

“He couldn’t be taken alive?” Madrigal asked, barely controlling his fury.

“No, I’m sorry. It was impossible.”

“You knew where he was likely to be and had the opportunity to have as many men as you wanted waiting but still he was impossible to capture?”

“I’m sorry, sometimes these things are difficult to control. Dangerous situations –”

“Are you telling me about danger?”

“No, no. I’m just saying ... he opened fire, despite the futility. I believe he would have done anything to avoid being taken, even suicide, which is what I think this
was.”

Madrigal rubbed his temples. “You say there’s no sign of a body?” he queried into the speakerphone.

“No and I don’t think there will be either. The explosion would have obliterated it.”

“There’s absolutely no chance he got out?”

“No. No way ... he was hit repeatedly before the welding equipment exploded. There’s no chance anyone could have survived.”

Madrigal ended the call without a further word. One slight chance and now it was gone. There was no victory in killing Larsen despite the likely averting of a planned attack. A few days before,
there had been a faint glimmer of hope ...

It had seemed promising; they had caught sight of Larsen after only a day of searching. The intention had been to pick him up the next time he ventured out, which turned out to be the botched
episode at the port.

He had hoped that, by capturing the Dane, he might gain some insight into what lay behind all this. From the start nothing had made sense – the Kosovars never had any reason to declare war
on them. He felt as if they were all being moved around the board for someone else’s amusement and, now, an opportunity to get the answers he desperately needed had slipped away. Even if he
managed to defeat the enemy or somehow fashion a truce, it was too late to matter for him. His leadership had been weakened irreparably and he knew the vultures were circling.

The broadcast switched from the financial report back to Sandra Whittaker, the main anchor.

“Today the State Department made the announcement a lot of people have been predicting for some time. Plan Coca has been suspended indefinitely, pending a detailed review. No date was
given for when this review would begin. Longtime critics of the Plan have claimed today’s announcement as an unqualified victory. To discuss this development and share their views on how
history will record the Plan, we’re joined by Caroline Williams and Professor Thomas Nelson. Caroline will be no stranger to our viewers having spent the past two years as our correspondent
in Colombia. In that time she has received numerous awards for her coverage, most recently the prestigious Walter R. Randall award for best coverage of a foreign story. Professor Nelson is a
lecturer at the Georgia Center for Economics and author of a number of books on the international drug phenomena, including the best seller, Harvest of Tears.”

“Professor Nelson, if I can come to you first, the Plan once drew rave reviews, with only a few dissenting voices but today it ends its life mired in criticism and acrimony. What went
wrong?”

Nelson, a balding chubby figure with a jovial demeanour, greeted the question enthusiastically. “I don’t know if anything went wrong as such. Plan Coca was a military operation
funded by the United States. No protracted military operation can precisely follow a script or operate in a vacuum. I don’t believe proponents of the Plan understood this.”

“Are you referring to the negative coverage given to the death of US personnel in Colombia or what was seen as the external effect of the Plan, the widespread armed conflict which
ensued and social disturbance attributed to drug shortages?”

“Both. The death of the US contractors was a public relations nightmare, exacerbated by the State Department’s bad handling. The external developments provided ammunition for
critics of the Plan and, despite some questionable assumptions, no effective counter-arguments were ever aired.”

“What kind of assumptions?”

“The two most popular theories put forward painted the Plan in the most negative light. The first was that the Plan was so successful it prompted the other cartels to move in on the
South Americans’ markets. The other was that advocates of the Plan were cheap opportunists who tried to take credit for shortages the conflict had in fact caused.”

“Effectively a no-win situation?”

“Without a doubt. The Plan came to be viewed either as a cause of social strife or an expensive sham. The pro-Plan spin doctors failed miserably. Politics is all about perception, so
today’s announcement was inevitable.”

“Do you think the criticism was justified?”

“To an extent but not to the degree we saw. Yes, the Plan probably caused some unforeseen problems in the consumer countries –”

“Such as the closures we’ve seen of numerous drug treatment centres. Staff quitting, complaining of unworkable conditions?” Whittaker cut across.

“Yes, problems like these,” Nelson agreed. “Military solutions are blunt instruments, there’s always going to be some unforeseen consequences. As to whether the Plan
received undue credit for being the sole reason behind the fall-off in drug availability, that’s a little like arguing which came first, the chicken or the egg.”

“You do agree, though, with the consensus view that the war between the drug powers ultimately did more damage to the supply lines?”

“Yes but you have to ask whether the conflict would have occurred if not for the Plan?”

Whittaker turned her attention to her other guest.

“Caroline, from the outset humanitarian aid organisations maintained that unless the Plan placed more emphasis on social programmes rather than military initiatives it was doomed to
fail. Do you think a different focus could have been successful?”

“Yes, I think a long-term approach which addressed underlying social issues would have had more chance. Certainly, there would have been less potential for criticism. That said, people
wanted a quick fix and saw only a military effort providing it.”

“From the perspective of someone who followed the Plan on the ground as you did Caroline, do you think it’s fair to attribute the trouble related to drug shortages in the US and
Western Europe to Plan Coca’s efforts in Colombia?”

“I’d have to say no. Initially, especially during the early fumigation missions, the official line was upbeat about what was being accomplished and reports from US cities seemed
to agree.”

“But that was subsequently proven to be a false impression?”

“Yes, over time we developed sources close to the crop growers and rebels. We found it wasn’t the official manoeuvres that were causing them most problems.”

“So, what was?”

“Well the right-wing paramilitaries for a start, they inflicted far more damage than any of the official troop movements or fumigation runs. Even when the Colombian army did achieve
something notable, it was usually because the paramilitaries were helping them.”

“And the lower prices their harvest commanded also caused them difficulties, didn’t they?”

“That’s true, their ability to obtain arms was compromised due to the fall in revenue, which in turn undermined their efforts to hold territory. The lower prices were, of course,
because of the pressure the cartels came under from the conflict.”

“Professor Nelson, regarding the feud between the dominant producers and traffickers of narcotics, is it over? It’s been more than a month since the last major
incident.”

“I would guess that an uneasy truce has been reached, if for no other reason than the feud was hurting both parties equally.”

“Finally a question for both of you. Is there any aspect in which you think the Plan could be termed a success?”

“I think in absolute empirical terms the Plan was successful,” Nelson responded. “The amount of drugs being trafficked into countries diminished severely, albeit perhaps
temporarily. Whether the Plan was directly responsible or acted as a catalyst is immaterial.”