Black Coke

by James Grenton

  ‘We can’t trust them,’ he said.

  ‘Trust?’ George said. ‘Who the heck do you think you are, young man? Since when do you decide Her Majesty’s foreign policy?’

  Nathan clutched the remote behind his back. The board directors were shifting nervously in their seats. George’s outbursts had become legendary at Soca. Only Cedric appeared oblivious to it all, head down and doodling on the report.

  ‘We send an undercover officer into Colombia without even telling their government?’ George was saying. ‘Is this what we call partnership?’

  ‘There are reasons for—’

  ‘What about the Americans?’

  ‘We didn’t tell them either because, well, we… the DEA isn’t the most—’

  ‘This is unacceptable.’ George turned to his left. ‘Cedric, we can’t accuse the Colombians and the Americans. It’ll cause a diplomatic furore.’

  ‘Quite, quite, of course.’ Cedric meticulously placed his pen parallel to the side of the report. ‘Yes, quite.’

  Nathan clicked on the remote. A photo appeared of a dead and severely disfigured soldier with a 154 tattoo on his shoulder next to an ID card of the Agency for Security and Intelligence, Colombia’s newly formed special police division.

  Several board members gasped.

  ‘Looks like concrete evidence to me,’ Nathan said with a barely suppressed smile.

  ‘Rubbish.’ George wagged his finger from left to right. ‘I don’t believe any of this. Could be pictures of anything, anybody.’

  ‘What?’ Nathan said.

  Cedric leaned forward. ‘You’re right, Sir George, of course. We need to know much more about this.’

  ‘What do you propose?’ George said.

  ‘Well, erm, subject to your approval, we’d like a team of agents to go to Colombia to investigate.’

  ‘Five people,’ Nathan cut in. ‘Hand picked from the intervention, intelligence and enforcement directorates. Three of them fluent Spanish speakers. All with years of experience of hostile environments.’

  ‘And when would this wonderful little expedition take place?’ George said.

  ‘They’d fly tomorrow to Bogotá,’ Cedric said. ‘Top secret.’

  ‘Will he be on it.’ George jabbed his thumb towards Nathan.

  Cedric nodded.

  ‘Who’s idea was this?’ George said.

  Cedric glanced at Nathan.

  ‘I can’t approve it.’ George picked up the report and threw it back on the table as though he was a teacher handing back a useless piece of homework. ‘I’ve read the file. I’ve heard this chap speak. There’s no hard evidence.’

  ‘That’s exactly why we need to go,’ Nathan said, his voice rising. ‘We need to infiltrate the Front, find out who runs it, investigate the role of the ASI. If the Front sets up a supply chain to the UK, we’re going to see a flood of drugs that nobody can stop. There’ll be more killings like at that pub. They’ll buy more guns, bribe more—’

  ‘Okay, then.’ George raised his palm to silence him. ‘Let’s vote. Those in favour, hands up.’ He scanned the table. No hands went up. ‘Those against.’ All directors, including Cedric, raised a hand.

  ‘Now, if you’ll leave us.’ George shot Nathan a smug stare. ‘We have a packed agenda.’

  ‘I’m telling you Front 154 is committing major international crimes, and you’re… you’re doing nothing?’

  ‘Nathan, please.’ Cedric wobbled to his feet. ‘We’ll discuss this later.’

  ‘Next year?’ Nathan shouted. ‘Next decade? Next century? When it’s too fucking late?’

  ‘Nathan, don’t.’ Cedric was shuffling round the table towards him. ‘You’ve worked hard.’

  ‘You messed up with Don Camplones.’ Nathan slammed the remote on the table. ‘You’re about to mess up again.’

  Cedric gripped Nathan’s arm. Nathan shrugged him off. Cedric grabbed him again and yanked him towards the door with surprising strength. George was sneering. The other members of the board were studying their fingernails.

  ‘Don’t expect me to save your skin this time,’ Nathan yelled.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ George said as he turned to the other directors. ‘Let’s move on to the next item while Cedric deals with this troublesome individual.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I have an important announcement. The Foreign Office has contacted me. I’m very pleased to say that I’ve just been appointed by Her Majesty’s government to—’

  Nathan and Cedric left the room. The door slammed shut behind them.

  Chapter 9

  Central London, UK

  5 April 2011

  ‘You knew this would happen, didn’t you?’ Nathan said, his body shaking. He felt like charging back into the meeting room and punching George’s face to a bloody pulp.

  Cedric opened the door to a small meeting room and peered inside.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, moving to the next door, and then closing that one too.

  ‘You can’t let him get away with this,’ Nathan said behind him. ‘The bastard. He had it all prepared.’

  ‘Ssshhh.’ Cedric put his finger to his lips. ‘Keep it down.’

  The open plan office had gone quiet. Staff were focusing on their computers, although Nathan could feel them all studying him from the corner of their eyes. They’d all be gossiping about this in the coffee room as soon as he stepped out of the door. He felt like shouting at them all to mind their own business.

  Cedric led Nathan into the stairwell and shut the door behind them. ‘This’ll have to do.’

  ‘Why don’t you stand up to him?’

  ‘He’s got friends in high places,’ Cedric whispered, pulling Nathan into a corner.

  ‘That’s never stopped me.’

  ‘You’re not the director general of Soca.’

  ‘Clearly.’

  ‘Look, you know I don’t like arguments.’ Cedric turned away from a group of staff coming up past them. ‘I promise I’ll get to the bottom of this.’

  ‘He’s got them wrapped round his finger. And you too.’

  ‘He just needs convincing. You need rest. I don’t want to see you burn out again.’

  Nathan slumped against the wall, suddenly exhausted. ‘Did you hear him on the radio? What a hypocrite. Does he realise what’ll happen if we don’t stop them?’

  ‘Go home for the day, Nathan. You’ve done a great job.’

  ‘How the hell can you say that when you just voted against me?’

  ‘Lower your voice,’ Cedric hissed as a young woman walking up the stairs threw them a curious glance. ‘I had no choice.’

  ‘Of course you did.’

  ‘Just take the day off, will you?’ Cedric headed for the door. ‘We’ll chat tomorrow.’

  Nathan was about to turn away, when a thought struck him. ‘Any news from the lab? Is it really supercoca?’

  ‘I’ll explain that tomorrow too.’

  Nathan pursed his lips. Should he mention who he’d seen in Colombia? Cedric would have a heart attack.

  ‘Just another thing,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t have time.’ Cedric twisted the door handle. ‘I need to get back to the meeting.’

  ‘Amonite Victor.’

  Cedric let go of the handle as though it had turned into a snake. ‘What?’

  ‘I saw her. In the jungle.’

  ‘Impossible. I saw them kill her with Don Camplones in Mexico.’

  ‘So did I.’

  Cedric steadied himself against the wall. ‘You sure it was her?’

  ‘Positive. I have the pictures to prove it. Unless she has a twin sister who’s every bit as ugly.’

  ‘Amonite Victor. The Butcher of Juárez. Alive?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I—’

  The door to the stairwell swung open. Florence, Cedric’s secretary, peered round. Her thin face harboured a frown like a scrunched up sheet in a wastepaper basket.

  ‘Sir George is waiting for you, Mr Belville.’

  ‘Tell
him I’m on my way.’ Cedric turned back to Nathan as Florence closed the door. ‘I can’t tell George about this. He’ll go nuts. Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  ‘I didn’t want to influence the meeting.’

  ‘Anything else you’re not saying?’

  Nathan shook his head. Cedric studied him for a few moments, then left.

  Nathan went to his desk. He snatched his jacket from the back of his chair and picked up his rucksack. As he waited for the elevator, he looked back at the board room. Cedric and George were just outside it, heads close together, in heated discussion. George glanced towards Nathan. Their gazes locked. For a split second, a look of fear crossed George’s face.

  Nathan took the elevator down to the ground floor. He headed for his car. He’d gone through hell to bring back the photos, spending days carrying Manuel through the jungle, trudging endlessly until he was so exhausted he could barely lift his leg another step, chewing roots and covered in leeches. If he hadn’t stumbled across some friendly farmers who’d taken them to the nearest town, he’d probably still be out there, and Manuel would be dead.

  ‘Still here?’ Nathan said as he entered his apartment. Caitlin had her coat on and was brushing her hair in front of the mirror in the hallway. Her handbag was at her feet, half open with make-up and bits of paper sticking out.

  ‘I’m running late. How did it go?’

  ‘You were right. They’re all bastards.’

  ‘Oh, Nathan.’ Caitlin hugged him. ‘I don’t care what they say. I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks, sis.’ He peeled himself away. ‘Hey, what you doing tonight?’

  ‘Meeting John.’

  ‘I thought you’d chucked him.’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘How about afterwards? Just one drink.’

  ‘You know I don’t do just one drink.’

  ‘Please, Caitlin.’

  She waved a hand at the rows of shelves that lined the hallway. ‘Don’t you have books to study? Chapters to write? A PhD to finish?’

  ‘Don’t take the piss.’

  ‘Alright then.’ She smiled. ‘The Slug and Lettuce at nine.’

  Chapter 10

  North London, UK

  6 April 2011

  The shrill of his phone jolted Nathan awake. His head was throbbing. He didn’t drink often, but last night he and Caitlin had crawled from bar to bar on Upper Street until the early hours of the morning.

  He fumbled for the answer button.

  ‘Nathan, where are you?’

  Hell. It was Cedric.

  ‘At home.’

  ‘I thought we were meeting. Do you have any idea what time it is?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t give a damn,’ Nathan said, surprised at how much he was enjoying saying it.

  ‘We can’t act without hard evidence. You know that.’

  ‘That was hard evidence. Anyway, I knew I should’ve done things differently.’

  ‘Waded in and blasted them all to bits? Come on.’

  ‘Give me the right team and I could take out the leaders of the Front.’

  ‘That’s the squaddie talking, not the Soca officer.’

  Nathan looked at the letter from the LSE on his bedside table. A lectureship sounded like a nice idea. Flexible hours. Time to study what he wanted. Intellectual debates at international conferences rather than getting shot at in the middle of the jungle.

  ‘I’m out,’ he said.

  ‘You’re resigning?’

  ‘Thinking about it.’

  ‘And then what? Live in your ivory tower?’

  Nathan hung up.

  ‘Sure told him there, bro,’ Caitlin said in a sleepy voice from the other room. ‘Although I thought you said last night you were going to stick with them after all.’

  Nathan reached for the pack of painkillers and the glass of water on his bedside table. ‘I dunno. I need time.’

  He tried going back to sleep, but his mind was churning over the events of the past few days. How was Manuel doing? He’d been semi-delirious when Nathan had left him in the hands of other campesinos, although he’d gripped Nathan’s hand and promised him he’d do anything for him for saving his life. His thoughts turned to George, and he felt like punching the wall. Why was George being so obstructive? Did he have a hidden agenda?

  There was no point trying to sleep. He switched on the bedside lamp and picked up a book he’d been reading for his PhD: Drug War Zone: Frontline Dispatches from the Streets of El Paso and Juárez, by a sociology professor at the University of Texas. Caitlin thought Nathan was insane doing a PhD, let alone on the same topic he worked on every day. Yet he needed the intellectual stimulation. And he wanted a way out of this job.

  The author was discussing the ritualised use of violence by drug gangs: traitors shot in the neck, philanderers castrated, spies shot in the ear, people who talk too much shot in the mouth. Sometimes, if the victim was a police informer, the cartels would cut off the fingers or the tongue and place them in the victim’s mouth as a warning to others. ‘The construction of dread,’ the author called it. Its aim was to generate a climate of fear and reinforce the power of the cartels. Nathan hadn’t seen that behaviour yet from the Front, but he knew it would come soon.

  He got up and went to the kitchen to prepare a strong cup of coffee. Caitlin followed him from her bedroom, wearing her purple gown.

  ‘What’s up?’ she said.

  ‘Sometimes I wonder why I ever took this job. I’m sick of the politics. George spends his time blocking everything. The directors are his cronies.’

  ‘Cedric isn’t.’

  ‘You should have seen him yesterday. Like a puppet.’

  ‘He helped you with the Camplones case.’

  ‘Took a lot of convincing.’

  ‘You need to do the same again.’

  ‘It’s different now.’ Nathan put coffee beans into the machine. ‘George is here.’

  ‘Not everyone’s like you.’ Caitlin smiled gently. ‘Cedric’s just a bit more subtle, that’s all. Anyway, it’s about the job, not the organisation.’

  Nathan nodded. Those were Dad’s words originally when Nathan had been fed up with being a squaddie. He poured a coffee for Caitlin.

  ‘Maybe resigning would be a good move,’ Nathan said. ‘I could apply for that lectureship.’

  ‘Now that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Not sure they’d consider me without a finished PhD, though. I wish I could find time to complete it.’

  ‘Take a holiday. You haven’t had one for nearly a year.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  Nathan took his mug and went back down the hallway towards his bedroom. He stopped to study the photo framed on the wall. It was of him in Sierra Leone, posing with a group of lads in front of a captured rebel truck. Two had died the next day, hacked to death by drug-crazed child soldiers.

  ‘Why don’t you just put that picture away and forget about it all?’ Caitlin said, coming up next to him.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘It’s history.’

  ‘Dad’s history too.’

  Caitlin followed him into his bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Spend some time at home. We could go for walks, visit some pubs, take it easy for once.’

  ‘Not sure about pubs right now.’

  ‘You’ve given them a lot, you know.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The forces. Soca.’ Caitlin leaned against the wall. ‘Why?’

  ‘Let’s not get into that again.’

  The phone rang. It was Cedric’s number again.

  ‘Don’t resign,’ Cedric said.

  ‘Give me one good reason why.’

  ‘At least not before I’ve had a chance to convince you that we can make this work. I’m making progress with the board. If you resign, the whole investigation falls apart.’

  Nathan said nothing.

  ‘Nathan, you still there?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So
?’

  Nathan thought back to the board meeting, to George’s arrogant face and the sense of humiliation. Then he thought of the underground lab and the bags of drugs he’d found, of Amonite Victor examining the results of the Front’s attack with a satisfied smile, of the destroyed villages, of Manuel squirming in agony.