Black Coke

by James Grenton

  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.

  Chapter 82

  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.

  Chapter 83

  Bogotá airport, Colombia

  16 April 2011

  Amonite 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.

  Chapter 84

  Bogotá, Colombia

  16 April 2011

  Lucia 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 ag
ain.

  ‘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.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Who did you say you are?’

  ‘Annetta,’ she lied. ‘A good friend of Carlo’s. We go to golf together on Wednesday afternoons.’

  ‘Look, Annetta, I’m from the police. I’ve some bad news. Carlo’s dead.’

  Lucia felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.

  ‘Annetta?’ said the policeman. ‘Could you come to the police station? We’re taking statements from friends and family.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Come here and we can speak more.’

  Lucia hung up. Her hands were trembling. She reached into her bag and pulled out Cedric’s number. She dialled it. The phone rang and rang. She dialled again. It kept on ringing. On the fifth time, a man answered. She recognised his voice immediately.

  ‘Nathan, it’s me,’ she said, her voice a thread. ‘It’s Lucia.’

  Chapter 85

  Bogotá airport, Colombia

  16 April 2011

  Nathan put the phone away and walked up to Manuel, who was deep in conversation with the police.

  ‘We need to get going,’ he murmured into Manuel’s ear.

  ‘What were you doing in the car park?’ one of the cops said.

  ‘Waiting for a friend,’ Manuel said.

  ‘This man?’ The cop jabbed a thumb towards Cedric’s body and the medics crowding around it.

  ‘We don’t know him.’

  ‘Why were you next to him?’

  ‘Can we come to an arrangement?’ Manuel said, lowering his voice. ‘Maybe a small donation?’

  The cop shook his head. Sweat rolled down Manuel’s brow. It was time to get out of here quick. Nathan pulled his wallet from his back pocket and flicked it open.

  ‘I’m from the UK’s Serious Organised Crime Agency.’ He flashed his Soca badge at the cop. He gestured to Manuel. ‘This man here’s my Colombian contact. Let us go before I call the British embassy.’

  Another cop, with a big moustache and a frown, grabbed Nathan’s badge. He scratched it and twisted it in all directions. Then he handed it back.

  ‘You can go,’ he said, before turning to the other policemen and speaking heatedly in Spanish.

  Nathan picked up Cedric’s briefcase as though it was his own. He grabbed Manuel’s arm and pulled him away.

  ‘Lucia just rang up on Cedric’s phone,’ he said when they were out of earshot. ‘We need to go get her.’

  They jumped into the pick-up truck and sped into town. Nathan’s heart was beating fast. He stared at the road ahead, trying to contain the sinking feeling growing inside him.

  Manuel was saying something.

  ‘What was that?’ Nathan said.

  ‘We’ll get them.’ Manuel put his hand on Nathan’s shoulder. ‘I promise.’

  Nathan nodded grimly. Images flicked through his mind. The large man with the guitar case—probably Amonite. The glint on the window—a sniper rifle. Cedric’s destroyed head, lying in a pool of blood on the tarmac. He’d been their only hope of getting official support against the Front. Now they were back on the run, and Amonite had the upper hand, again.

  They stopped a couple of streets away from Lucia’s hotel. Nathan walked round the block one way. Manuel round the other. They met just outside the entrance.

  ‘Stick around here,’ Nathan said. ‘I’ll see you in a minute.’

  He walked past reception and leapt up the stairs three at a time until he reached the fifth floor. He made his way to room 512, the number Lucia had indicated on the phone, and knocked.

  There was a pause, then a light in the eyehole. The door flung open and Lucia jumped into his arms. He pushed them both into the hotel room and closed the door with his foot. They kissed. Waves of relief flooded over him. He wanted to hold her, clutch her tight, never let her out of his sight again.

  He tore away. ‘We need to get out of here.’

  She grabbed her bag and flung it over her shoulder. They hurried down the steps. They met Manuel outside and followed him to the pick-up truck. Nathan dumped Cedric’s phone in a waste bin, then climbed into the passenger side, next to Lucia.

  They headed out of town.

  ‘Alkaptonuria-ochronosis,’ Nathan read out loud from one of the files he’d found in Cedric’s briefcase, which was on his lap in the front seat of the car.

  ‘A new terrorist group?’ Manuel asked, gaze firmly on the road as the car tore through the light traffic.

  ‘Alkaptonuria is a rare disease caused by a missing enzyme, leading to the accumulation of a substance called homogentisic acid at 2,000 times the normal rate. This acid binds to cartilage and bone, turning it black and brittle in a process called ochronosis, which is like an extreme form of osteoarthritis.’

  ‘Sounds nasty,’ Lucia said.

  ‘Urine goes red then black as the acid oxidises with air. Other symptoms include black spots in the eyes, calcification of the heart valves, kidney stones, prostate problems, blue-black colouring of the ear cartilage, and sweat staining clothes black. There is no cure.’ Nathan looked up. ‘Explains the symptoms on those junkies.’

  ‘Let’s see.’ Lucia reached over for the report.

  ‘Wait a sec. I haven’t finished. Patients with Alkaptonuria-ochronosis generally develop health problems during the third or fourth decades of life. Animals genetically modified to have the disease also take a long time to develop symptoms. Our rats, however, developed it within days of being administered the Black Coke. We believe the drug acted as a mutagen. It somehow modified the rats’ genes, which mutated rapidly to spark a fast-onset, virulent form of ochronosis.’

  ‘This can’t be what the Front intended,’ Manuel said.

  ‘Maybe they don’t realise it,’ Lucia said. ‘Maybe they’re happily producing this thing, thinking it’s all fine, just some new designer drug or whatever.’

  ‘Findings of a post-mortem of a drug addict,’ Nathan said, pulling out another file from the briefcase and reading the title page. ‘Must be the stiff I found in the basement of that crack house in Hackney.’

  Lucia leaned over. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘Levels of Black Coke detected in the blood: four grammes. Subject died of heart failure due to overdose. Autopsy revealed severe osteoarthritis and widespread black pigment deposition in the articular cartilage of the synovial joints, costal cartilages and intervertebral discs.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Lucia said.

  ‘Search of the scientific literature shows these symptoms to be similar in severity to those of ochronotic patients well into their seventies and eighties. Look at this. That’s a photo of an elbow joint.’ Nathan held up the report so Lucia could see it. ‘And that’s a hip joint.’

  ‘They’re jet black.’

  ‘This one’s the spine,’ Nathan said, pointing at another photo. ‘Can you see here? It’s fused together where the discs caved in.’

  Nathan handed the files to Lucia and picked up the third file from the briefcase. It was about the Jamaican drug lord called Rev Elijah Evans and his links to yardie gangs in Brixton and Miami. Soca agents working with Miami police had tracked him down and found out he’d imported the Black Coke. They’d caught him just as he was dropping off the last part of his shipment at a large mansion in the Florida Keys. They blackmailed him into setting up a trap for Amonite.

  Nathan guessed Cedric had come here to meet Elijah. Which meant that Elijah was most likely in Bogotá. With Cedric now dead, Elijah would be looking for a way back into the drugs trade, unless Amonite had found out about his betrayal and killed him.

  There was a fourth and final folder with Nathan’s name on it. It had the Interpol logo: a sword through a world globe. Inside was just o
ne sheet of paper, with Nathan’s photo, a short description, the Interpol logo in red, and the words ‘Wanted’ in large. It was a red notice: Interpol’s official alert for seeking the arrest and extradition of internationally wanted people. Nathan had seen hundreds of red notices in the past for drug traffickers and other criminals, but had never expected to see one for himself. Had Cedric come here to arrest him?