Black Coke Read Free Page A

trained and well-equipped professionals. Whatever Manuel said, Front 154 was more than just another group of bad guys. It was an organised criminal network. But who was behind them? Who was funding them? Who was supplying them with such firepower?
     
    He shook his head. He’d been fighting the war on drugs for years now, yet it wasn’t getting any better. Quite the opposite. Many believed that the heyday of the drug barons had been in the eighties and nineties, when Pablo Escobar became one of the richest men in the world because of his global cocaine trafficking empire. They were wrong. So wrong. Some modern-day cartels were turning into full-scale military outfits, employing ex-special forces soldiers as attack forces, buying the latest in high-tech weaponry, their influence reaching to the summits of power. The more the anti-drugs agencies clamped down, the more violently the cartels retaliated.
     
    But none, so far, with the intensity of violence and sophistication of weaponry of the elusive Front 154.
     
    Nathan opened his eyes. Manuel was crouching to his left, like some kind of ninja. The outline of his silhouette was barely visible against the shapes of the trees in the darkness.
     
    ‘No sleep?’ Manuel said.
     
    Nathan shook his head.
     
    ‘You’re a good man,’ Manuel said. ‘I’m sorry about earlier.’
     
    ‘That’s okay.’ Nathan sat up. ‘I understand. How about you?’
     
    ‘My eye. It hurts.’
     
    Nathan’s legs itched again. He lit another cigarette and rolled up his trousers.
     
    ‘What happened?’
     
    ‘Nine years ago,’ Manuel said quietly. ‘A death squad attacked my village. They raped my mother and sisters. Beat them to death. A sicario shot my father in the head.’
     
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ Nathan said.
     
    The leeches dropped off his shins as he sizzled them. He’d heard so many stories like Manuel’s since he’d been here. Sicarios were assassins who carried out hits for a few dollars. Many of them were just young teenagers, desperate for cash to feed their drug habit.
     
    ‘I hid under a pile of bodies,’ Manuel said. ‘Nobody else survived. I got shrapnel in my eye. I walked in the jungle until I found a village doctor. The paramilitaries have hunted for me ever since. They don’t want witnesses alive.’
     
    ‘That’s why you hate them so much.’
     
    ‘I hate everyone who invades my land. Paramilitaries, the Front, the DEA. All of them.’ He paused, as though reflecting on what he’d just said. ‘And you? What’s your story? Why did you join this NGO?’
     
    ‘To investigate human rights abuses. We write reports and publicise them.’
     
    ‘You think that makes a difference?’
     
    ‘I hope so.’
     
    ‘Believe me, Nathan, it doesn’t. Nothing makes any difference in Colombia. Only guns and money. How old are you?’
     
    ‘Thirty-four.’
     
    ‘You have a family?’
     
    ‘A sister.’
     
    ‘A wife? Children?’
     
    ‘Not yet.’
     
    ‘Why not? A wife is good. Children are good. They look after you when you grow old.’
     
    ‘I guess I haven’t found the right person.’
     
    ‘I’ll find you a beautiful Colombian wife. She’ll make you happy.’
     
    Nathan laughed, surprised at Manuel’s uncharacteristic talkativeness.
     
    Manuel inched forwards. ‘Tell me why you’re really here.’
     
    ‘I already told you. I work for the NGO Third World Justice. I’m here to help.’
     
    ‘Nobody comes to Colombia just to help. ‘
     
    Nathan shifted uncomfortably, glad for the cover of darkness. He focused on burning the leeches. Manuel would never forgive him if he found out Nathan’s true mission here.
     
    Manuel grunted, but didn’t probe further. He shuffled back.
     
    Nathan tossed the cigarette away. He lay down, his mind buzzing. The night-time cacophony of the jungle pulsed in the background, like an orchestra of chirps, squeaks, flutters, knocks, rattles, warbles and clicks. The air was soupy and dense, the