Black Coke

by James Grenton

  She was heading for the closest chopper. Nathan fired, missed, then raced after her. Another blast went off, sending him sprawling sideways into the grass. He picked himself up, rushed back, realising he’d lost her rifle. Amonite was pushing the dead pilot from his seat. Nathan ran after her. He pulled his gun from inside his jacket. He fired, but nothing happened. The magazine was empty.

  Another explosion.

  There was shouting and gunfire from the jungle. Nathan glanced over. Hundreds of men were charging towards the Front’s complex.

  Manuel’s campesinos.

  They’d arrived. They were launching their assault.

  The rotor blades were accelerating again, kicking up a storm of wind and grass and leaves that swirled around like a small tornado. Amonite was in the pilot’s seat, the dead pilot crumpled next to her.

  Nathan ran up to the chopper just as it was taking off. He jumped forwards, his fingers clamping round the side of the door, hauling himself aboard. The chopper lurched sideways, its blades skimming the ground, nearly dislodging Nathan, who clung on.

  He pulled himself into the passenger area. Amonite was shouting something, but he couldn’t understand. With one hand she was trying to tug the pilot’s gun from his holster. With the other she pulled the chopper’s grip stick.

  Nathan surged forwards, his hands clawing at her face. She pulled the gun and tried to twist it round. Nathan pushed it away. She whacked him in the jaw with the gun’s handle. Nathan clamped his elbow over her wrist and twisted. A gunshot went off. Nathan felt a stab of pain in his side.

  An explosion splattered earth on the chopper’s windscreen. The chopper jumped. Nathan slipped, falling to one side. Amonite glanced at him, her eyes wide, her cheeks red.

  They were barely a few metres above the tree tops. Amonite swung the gun round again. Nathan punched her just as another bullet went off, puncturing the cabin above Nathan’s head. He dived forward, pushing the gun sideways, diverting the bullets into the wall, then the windscreen, which cracked.

  He punched her in the face. She dropped the gun, swung her fist, smashing it into Nathan’s temple, stunning him. She swung it again. Nathan heard the crack of bone echo in his skull. Another blow to his head. He slumped backwards.

  Amonite clamped his neck with her right hand. She pulled him forwards, until their faces were nearly touching.

  ‘You fucking idiot,’ she said.

  She tightened her grip round his windpipe. Nathan felt on the verge of passing out. The whirring of the blades faded into the background, replaced by the roar of blood through his ears.

  In a desperate burst of energy, Nathan lashed out. His right hand hit the grip stick, sending the chopper reeling sideways. Amonite let go of his throat and tried to control the helicopter, which was now heading straight back for the mound. Nathan pushed forward, shoving Amonite’s massive frame against the door. He reached for the handle and yanked the door open. Warm air roared into the cabin, mixing with the sound of the blades.

  Nathan braced his feet against the inside of the chopper and pushed hard. Amonite slid half out of the pilot’s seat, one leg hanging outside in mid-air. She grunted and whipped round, hammering Nathan’s head with the back of her fist. She hauled herself back into the cabin and grabbed Nathan’s shirt. She yanked him over her and towards the open door.

  He tried grabbing onto the seat, the belt, even the grip stick. He clawed at her face, eyes, ears. She leant her head back, pulling him inexorably towards the open doorway. His head was facing down. The tops of the trees zoomed past.

  Nathan twisted round. He grabbed onto the door handle. Amonite was shoving him outside, until only his hips and legs were still in the cabin. Nathan kicked out towards Amonite’s head. He felt something crack. Amonite’s grip loosened.

  Nathan kicked again. The chopper lurched downwards, nearly making Nathan lose his grip on the door handle. The tree tops were too close. Nathan tried to pull himself back into the chopper. His fingers touched a piece of metal at Amonite’s feet.

  The gun.

  He grabbed it, twisted it round, pointed it at her. He fired twice. The first bullet hit her in the neck. The second in her chest. For a moment, she didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze was fixed on the landscape ahead. Then she grimaced, as though annoyed. Blood was already spurting down her neck. She looked down at Nathan, her eyes opening wide with surprise when she saw the gun. He fired a third time, right in her face. The force of the blast whacked her head backwards. Her right arm flicked out spasmodically, hitting the gear stick.

  The helicopter lurched with such force that he let go of the handle and slid forwards. He tried to grip something with his feet. The chopper jumped again. Nathan slipped away, into emptiness, glimpsing the mound hurtling towards him as he fell through the air, into the tree tops. Branches clawed at him, ripping his clothes, scratching his skin as he tumbled through.

  Another explosion.

  Pain shot through Nathan’s right arm. He kept falling through the trees. Vines slowed his descent. He tried to clutch onto them. He jolted to a standstill.

  He was hanging upside down, a few metres from the ground, his left leg caught in a tangle of vines. Explosions and gunfire went off nearby. Nathan gasped for breath, not quite believing he was still alive. He reached up to free himself from the vines. His right arm wasn’t responding and his left hip was in agony.

  He gritted his teeth and pulled himself up with his left hand. He ripped his shoe off and slid his foot out from between the vines. He let himself drop. He hit the ground and rolled, unable to repress a scream of pain.

  He staggered to his feet and headed back towards the complex.

  Chapter 101

  Putumayo, Colombia

  17 April 2011

  Nathan limped into a clearing with a huge lump of earth in the middle, like a giant molehill. The grass and plants around it were dry and brown and tinged white. Empty steel drums, like the one he’d seen in the lab, lay on their sides to one side, a viscous liquid seeping out of them.

  Nathan staggered round the clearing. Someone was stumbling up ahead, using a rifle as a crutch.

  Elijah Evans.

  Elijah must have heard him, because he spun round. He stumbled into the centre of the clearing, next to the giant molehill. He lifted the rifle and waved it at Nathan.

  Nathan dropped to the earth. Bullets whizzed over his head. He looked around, wondering how the hell he was going to escape from this madman. Elijah stumbled forwards, shouting and screaming.

  The molehill rippled black, like it was oozing oil. Nathan tried to crawl backwards, suddenly aware of what was about to erupt. Elijah kept shooting his rifle and laughing.

  The black turned into an army of beetles. They bit at Elijah’s ankles. He didn’t seem to notice at first, but then they swarmed up his legs, onto his chest, his arms. He screamed, dropped his rifle, tried to brush them off. The beetles were all over his body and head, rustling, gnawing, chewing. He dropped to the ground and rolled around as more beetles surged over him.

  Nathan struggled to his feet and hurled himself into the undergrowth. He glanced round. Elijah was just a jerking mass of boiling black frenzy. Nathan tore his gaze away and limped on, blindly, pushing away the leaves and branches with his good arm.

  He came to another clearing.

  ‘Alto!’ shouted a voice.

  He froze.

  ‘One more step and I shoot.’

  Nathan lifted his left hand. His right arm hung limply by his side.

  Three campesinos emerged from the undergrowth, AK 47s pointed straight at Nathan’s head.

  ‘I’m with Manuel,’ Nathan said.

  ‘You’re the gringo,’ said the shortest campesino. ‘Okay, come with us.’

  Nathan stumbled forwards, tripped, and crumpled to the ground. He grunted as his right arm twisted underneath him. He tried getting to his feet, but his left leg could no longer carry him. Blood seeped out of the wound in his side.

  The campesin
os reached down for him. The strongest one put his arm under Nathan’s armpits and hauled him to his feet. Nathan felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness as they half carried, half dragged him through the forest. He was vaguely aware of shouting around him. The explosions and gunfire seemed to have faded.

  ‘Nathan! Thank God. You’re alive.’

  He groaned as hands touched his side. He felt himself being lowered to the ground.

  ‘Lucia…’ he said.

  Her face drifted into his field of vision, which had all fogged up as if in a cloud of steam. He tried to reach up to touch her cheek, to check it really was her, but his arms were too weak, too painful.

  He passed out.

  Chapter 102

  Putumayo, Colombia

  17 April 2011

  The rumbling of an engine brought Nathan back to consciousness. He was bouncing along in the back of a truck, a drip in his left arm, his right arm in a sling. He tried to look around, but the pain in his side stopped him. He couldn’t move his left leg.

  ‘He’s awake.’

  It was Lucia’s voice.

  ‘Nathan, how you feeling?’ she said, leaning over so he could see her.

  Her face was covered in mud and scratches. Her hair hung around her cheeks like a tangled mop. Her eyes glowed as she gazed into his. He tried to answer. His tongue felt like it was stuck to the bottom of his mouth.

  Lucia’s face disappeared.

  ‘Manuel, more bandages,’ he heard her shout. ‘Quick. He’s bleeding everywhere again.’

  Nathan’s vision went red. He drifted back into darkness.

  The next time he came to he was in a small room with white walls and a neon light. His right arm and left leg were in casts. Through the knot of tubes emerging like tentacles from his left arm, he could make out the shape of someone, long hair hanging over a face, slumped in an armchair next to his bed.

  He tried to lift his head. A headache pounded like a hammer. He slumped back, panting.

  The person jumped up from the armchair.

  ‘Lucia…’ Nathan said.

  Lucia rushed to the door and flung it open.

  ‘Manuel, he’s awake,’ she shouted. ‘Nathan’s awake.’

  She ran back to his side and clutched his hand.

  ‘We thought we were going to lose you.’ She pointed at the big bag of blood hanging next to him. ‘That’s the third one.’

  Manuel appeared on the other side of the bed. A smile glowed on his usually grim face.

  ‘Welcome back,’ he said.

  ‘What happened?’ was all Nathan could say.

  ‘We’ll tell you later,’ Manuel said.

  ‘No. Now.’

  Lucia and Manuel exchanged glances.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Lucia said. ‘We’re all safe.’

  ‘Escobar. Amonite.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Lucia said. ‘We’ll explain everything once you’re better.’

  Nathan closed his eyes.

  He drifted back to sleep.

  Chapter 103

  Outside Bogotá, Colombia

  19 April 2011

  It was night-time when Nathan woke up again. Lucia was sitting in the armchair, gazing at him with an empty look in her eyes. Her cheeks were etched with fatigue. She had a laptop on her knees. Her face lit up when she saw he was awake.

  ‘How d’you feel?’

  ‘Terrible,’ Nathan said. ‘But alive.’

  ‘You’ve slept 36 hours. Doctor says your condition’s stable. No sign of that ochronosis. But you’re going to need lots of rest.’

  Nathan struggled to a sitting position. Every bit of his body ached. He touched his ribs and grimaced. At least two of them were broken. He lay back down. Memories of the final fight with Amonite flooded back.

  ‘What happened?’ he said.

  Lucia pulled her chair up close to the bed. Her neck and right cheek were bruised.

  ‘You okay?’ Nathan said, reaching out to touch her.

  ‘Nothing serious. They did head scans and everything’s fine. Just got beaten up a bit by those Front bullies.’

  Nathan swallowed. His mouth was parched and his head felt like it was going to split in two.

  ‘Pass me some water, will you?’

  Lucia handed him a cup that was on his bedside table.

  ‘So, what happened?’ he said.

  ‘Amonite’s dead. There was no way she could survive that helicopter crash.’

  Nathan nodded. Amonite was dead before the helicopter blew up. He knew that, because he’d killed her. But he didn’t have the strength to go over it just now.

  ‘Was El Patrón really Escobar?’

  ‘If it wasn’t him, then it was someone who’d been close to him, who took on his identity. Manuel’s guys hacked into the laptop you found. A ton of emails and files. El Patrón was the mastermind behind the Front. Hijacked it from the convicts who set it up. Brought Amonite on board, and George. Had access to hundreds of millions of dollars in bank accounts. Switzerland, the Cayman Islands. Could be the money Escobar stashed away twenty years ago. Or another source. We just don’t know.’

  ‘George must have known Escobar from when he was ambassador here in the early nineties,’ Nathan said. ‘What about the Front?’

  ‘Disbanded. Manuel’s guys gave them a good kicking. They found a place near the base where the Front was keeping all the helicopters and trucks that George was delivering. They were building an army. Strong enough to take control of half of Colombia. The other cartels wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell against them.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I escaped all by myself. Like a big girl.’ She smiled, touched his hand. ‘Manuel told me you came back for me. Thank you.’

  ‘But they knew.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The guards.’ Nathan clasped Lucia’s hand and grimaced at the pain in his leg. ‘They were waiting for us at the RV point. They caught Manuel.’

  ‘One of the campesinos was a spy for the Front.’

  ‘Did they get him?’

  Lucia nodded. ‘He was punished.’

  Nathan closed his eyes. The nightmare was over.

  ‘So what next?’ he said.

  ‘The president’s dead.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘At the gala. An assassin shot him, then the place blew up. Killed George, General Zathanaís, half the cabinet, and a bunch of others.’

  ‘The Black Coke? There must be stocks left.’

  ‘Manuel destroyed it.’ She gestured to the laptop. ‘You can read all about the Front’s plans in there. Sounds like that reverend was planning on distributing a whole lot more. What happened to him?’

  Nathan explained. Lucia shuddered.

  ‘Those horrific beetles,’ she said. ‘You saw the fields? The Front had been dumping the waste from the Black Coke production into them. Barrels of highly toxic chemicals. Mutated the beetles. They’re eating everything now. It’s not going to be easy to get rid of them.’

  ‘Where are we?’ Nathan said.

  ‘In a military hospital. A secret location.’ She stroked his head. ‘We’re safe.’

  It was days before Nathan could get out of bed and walk around with a crutch. His right arm and left leg were healing well, the doctor said. The side wound had been more worrying, but was now out of danger.

  Nathan and Lucia watched the news. Riots had erupted across Colombia, the people tired of the corruption and drugs war. The acting president called a state of emergency. Tanks rumbled onto the streets. Mercenaries trained by American and British forces charged at protesters, backed up by Colombian police in armoured vehicles with water jets.

  Hundreds died.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Nathan asked Lucia.

  ‘I’m going to continue the fight. The ASI is still around. The drug laws are still there. To be honest, I think the Americans and Europeans are happy that the president was assassinated. It’s all very nice having past presidents and statesmen argue a
gainst the drugs war, but presidents in office? Particularly for a country as central to the drugs war as Colombia?’

  ‘You think they were in on it?’