Black Coke (49 page)

Nathan peered at him through narrow eyes. Herbert was carrying a small suitcase, which he placed on the floor. He flipped it open, revealing rows of vials full of different liquids. Nathan’s heart sank. He knew exactly what was about to happen. He staggered to his feet, but two Front guards stormed in and pushed him to the ground again. They tied his hands and feet with a chain and kicked him until he passed out.

When he came to, Herbert was crouching over him, a syringe in his hand, the needle in Nathan’s forearm. Nathan cried out and tried to squirm away. The two Front guards pinned him down.

As the liquid entered Nathan’s body, a warm sensation flowed through him, soon growing into a pleasure akin to an orgasm. He let out a moan of delight and felt his arms and legs go limp. A kaleidoscope of colours span in front of his eyes, turning into images of paradisiacal women glowing like angels. Energy coursed through his veins, making him tear at the chain and shudder. Herbert’s face was twisting and turning. The room was expanding and closing in. Amonite’s eyes glowed like red coals. A rushing sound, like a waterfall, became louder and louder.

Nathan closed his eyes and lay back. He lost track of time, couldn’t feel the pain, forgot where he was. Just intense pleasure. Then a voice.

This is how life should be. Enjoy.

When Nathan came to again, everyone had gone. He had a pounding headache and a piercing pain like razor blades scraping under his skin. He’d lost track of time and could barely remember where he was.

The door slammed open again. Amonite marched in, Herbert just behind her.

‘Would you like some more?’ Amonite said, bending down so close he could smell her putrid breath.

Nathan shook his head.

She nodded to Herbert, who pulled another syringe from his briefcase. Nathan writhed around on the floor, trying to get away. But his strength had vanished. And part of him desperately wanted the pleasure of the drug to wipe away the pain.

Herbert knelt next to him. This time, the effects were even stronger. So strong he passed out for long moments, the pleasure so intense it was painful. Voices swirled in his head, speaking in an incomprehensible language, until one stood out, clear and sinister.

There is a way.

Nathan closed his eyes, willing himself back to normality.

A way to ease the pain.

Bolts of agony shot through Nathan’s brain. Images of skulls dripping molten skin filled his vision.

Then nothing.

Two voices.

‘He’s out cold.’

‘You sure?’

‘See. No reaction.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘We wait.’

‘We could rough him up a bit.’

‘And have him die on us like the other ones? Amonite would go crazy.’

‘She’s a bitch.’

‘Yeah, well. Let’s come back later.’

Pain, like a burning iron being pressed against his forehead. Thoughts mashed together. Bones creaking.

The voices again.

‘He’s still out cold.’

‘Let me chuck some water on him.’

‘There’s no rush.’

‘That’s not what Amonite said.’

‘I don’t care what she said.’

‘I’ll be back in a minute. She wants him ready.’

Footsteps. A metal door clanged shut. Shuffling of feet.

Nathan groaned. His brain felt like it had been liquefied and sloshed around in his skull at the slightest movement. The skin on his bare back was raw from rubbing against the stone floor. Colours and patterns danced at the periphery of his vision.

‘Welcome back to the land of the living.’

A face swam before him. Short, curly black hair, a moustache, pock-marks on the cheeks like hundreds of tiny needle marks. The face gave a bored, disdainful smile.

‘Feel like shit?’

A hand grabbed Nathan’s chin, turned it from side to side.

‘You look like shit.’

The hand patted Nathan on the cheek.

‘That’s too bad.’

A sudden rush of energy and anger surged through Nathan. Before he even realised what he was doing, he lashed out with his right hand, curling the chain round the man’s neck in two loops.

‘What the—’

Nathan’s left hand covered the man’s mouth, smothering him. He twisted him round and tugged him to the ground. He yanked the chain tight. The man clawed at Nathan’s face. Nathan leant back, pulling ever tighter with the chain, feeling it dig into the man’s neck. The man was grunting, moaning, thrashing around, elbowing Nathan’s chest.

The man reached for his gun.

Nathan kicked the man’s hand away, hammering it against the floor with his heel. A cruel force flowed through him. He kept pulling, now with both hands, bringing his knees up and pushing against the man’s shoulders until it felt like he was going to rip the man’s head clean from his body. The grunting turned into gurgling, then whimpering, then gasping. The man’s arms went limp, then pummelled Nathan with a frenzied burst, before going limp again. Nathan kept tugging, the blood pumping through his temples, the lights dancing around him.

After a while, he let go. The man’s body slumped to the stone floor. Nathan rummaged through the man’s clothes and found an electronic swipe card. He tried to shake away the confusion and dullness from his brain and replace it with the chemical energy erupting inside him.

Where were the keys for his chains?

Not in the dead man’s trouser pockets. Not in the shirt. Not round the belt.

Footsteps in the corridor outside. Someone was approaching.

Nathan tugged at his chains.

The door handle moved.

Nathan fumbled for the dead man’s holster, yanked out the gun.

The door creaked open. A guard stepped through.

‘Hey, you’ll never believe what—’

The guard stopped in surprise when he saw Nathan. His hand went for his weapon.

Nathan shot him in the head.

Putumayo, Colombia
17 April 2011

N
athan lay flat against the wall, listening. All of his senses were acutely switched on. His eyesight was clear despite the dim lighting, his hearing was sharp, even his touch was ultra sensitive.

Footsteps. There were three pairs of them, marching down a corridor ahead. He narrowed his eyes and spotted a junction. The guards walked straight past without seeing him.

Nathan turned right and reached the metal door leading to the production lab. He waved the swipe card in front of the scanner. The door slid open.

Three men in white lab coats were pouring over a line of test tubes. Their heads swivelled round to look at him. One of them was Herbert. A look of annoyance crossed his face, as though he was asking who dared interrupt him. Then he recognised Nathan, and his mouth fell.

Nathan lifted his gun. Any sense of remorse at killing people dissipated, replaced by a cold fury amplified by the drug still pulsing through his veins. He fired six rounds. Herbert fell first. The other two collapsed on top of him like puppets whose strings have been cut. Nathan strode up to them and finished them off with a single bullet to each head. They twitched and shuddered and lay still.

Nathan looked around. His bag was on a table in the corner, next to a steel drum with the overlapping circles of a biohazard symbol emblazoned on it. He pulled out the night vision goggles, the Semtex, wires and remote detonator. He walked around the room, placing the Semtex at key spots and wiring it up. It took time, but his mind was lucid and he knew he had to do it properly. He’d seen too many botched operations because the explosives guy went too fast.

He checked the set up. He could detonate it remotely, once he was out of here. Satisfied, he headed for the door leading to the other prison cells.

Amonite swivelled in her chair in the control room.

‘Get El Patrón on the line,’ she said.

Dex punched a number on the phone and handed it to Amonite.

‘El Patrón?’

‘Didn’t I say I’d be the one calling you?’

‘There’s been a slight problem.’

El Patrón’s voice went grave. ‘What’s that?’

‘Nathan Kershner. He’s back.’

There was silence on the other end of the line.

‘I’m sorting it out as we speak,’ Amonite said, her throat tight.

‘You incompetent fool. I’m coming over.’

‘That would be dangerous.’

‘Nothing is too dangerous for El Patrón. By the way, a special friend of yours has come to see me. He’s spoken to me about a few things concerning you. I’ll bring him with me. I think we all need to talk face to face.’

‘A friend?’

But El Patrón had hung up.

Amonite stared blankly at the computer screen in front of her. How dare he speak to her like that. And who the hell was he referring to? For a start, Amonite didn’t have any friends.

Dex took the phone back. ‘Did he say anything about the gala? Was he happy with the result?’

Amonite whacked the desk with her fist. El Patrón coming over was not good news. She slammed her laptop shut, stood up and reached for her assault rifle that was leaning against the wall.

‘Let’s go hunt the fucker,’ she said.

Nathan tried the card against the scanner for the cell where the other prisoners were kept. Nothing happened. He tried again, then realised he probably didn’t have the right security clearance. He jogged back towards the production lab and searched around in Herbert’s clothes, found his card and jogged back.

The door slid open. A stench of death and decay hit him so hard he nearly gagged. The place was pitch black. He switched on his night vision goggles.

All of the prisoners were dead. They lay on top of each other, like a grotesque statue of death. Nathan stepped round them, nearly slipping in a puddle of blood, and headed for the doors on the far wall. It looked like a row of cells. He swiped his card on the scanner next to the door the most to the left. The cell was empty. He tried the next one, and the next. Empty.

He pushed the desperation from his mind. If Manuel wasn’t in the last cell, he’d have to keep on searching. But he was running out of time. Everyone must have been on high alert by now.

The door to the last cell slid open. Nathan peered in. A man was huddled in a corner. Nathan shook the man’s shoulders. The man didn’t move. Nathan checked the man’s heart beat: he was alive. The man opened two bleary eyes.

It was the young soldier Nathan had stuffed in a cupboard. He’d clearly been locked up and punished.

‘Where’s the campesino?’ Nathan said.

The man recoiled and stammered something.

‘My friend,’ Nathan said. ‘Where is he?’

The man shook his head frantically.

This was getting nowhere. Nathan rushed out of the cell, over the piles of bodies, and back into the production lab. Maybe Manuel wasn’t even in the complex.

He heard a crackle of static. He ran towards Herbert’s body and unclipped the walkie talkie from his belt.

‘Herbert?’ It was Amonite’s voice. ‘Answer me, you dumb fuck.’

Nathan switched off the walkie talkie and attached it to his belt. He left through the far door.

He had to keep searching for Manuel.

Amonite burst into the production lab. Three bodies lay on the floor amid a pool of blood.

‘Herbert!’ she shouted as she turned over his body. She knelt next to it and felt for a pulse. She shot to her feet and kicked Herbert’s corpse repeatedly in the head.

‘You idiot, Herbert,’ she yelled. ‘You fucking idiot.’

A strong arm grabbed her shoulder.

‘Chill out, boss,’ Dex said. ‘Kershner must be close.’

‘He’s wasted my main scientist. What the hell’s El Patrón gonna say to that? This is a disaster.’

‘Let’s get Kershner first. We’ll deal with this later.’ Dex gestured to the open doorway leading to the prisoners’ cells. ‘Maybe down there.’

Amonite grunted and undid the safety catch on her rifle. Kershner was going to pay for this. They headed for the cells, Dex right behind her.

‘What’s happened here?’ Amonite said as they stepped over the rotting corpses of the prisoners.

‘Looks like they’re dead.’

‘I can see that. But why the hell did Herbert let them die?’

‘I guess he didn’t need them anymore. Or the drug was too strong.’

Amonite grunted again. They reached the far right cell and found the young guard huddled against the wall. Amonite kicked him in the ribs. He looked up, then recoiled into a corner, his body shaking.