set up the Front’s distribution channels in the UK if he didn’t tell her what the British cops were up to? And why was he always so difficult to contact?
She pushed past a group of tourists, sending them staggering into the wall. She headed straight for the Queen Elizabeth II Conference Centre on the other side of Parliament Square. She flashed her fake Soca badge at the phalanx of security guards and dumped her bag and coat on the x-ray machine’s conveyor belt. She waited while they printed a name tag, then strode through the metal detector.
She marched across the lobby past the hordes of drug enforcement agents who had gathered from around the world, invited by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime for its annual conference. A colourful banner on the far wall announced this year’s theme in large bold letters: ‘A Drug Free World: It Is Possible’. Underneath it was the slogan: ‘50 years since the Single Convention on Narcotic Drugs: 50 years of success’.
Amonite snorted.
She rode the escalator to the third floor. A breakfast was taking place in a large conference room. Hundreds of delegates sat around tables, sipping fine Colombian coffee and slurping sausages, eggs and toast. On stage, lit by bright lights like a rock star, was General Juano Zathanaís, the dog-faced director of Colombia’s Agency for Security and Intelligence. His bushy eyebrows bobbed like caterpillars as he lumbered up and down, rambling on in a cavernous monotone. Behind him was a large screen with the words: ‘Colombia: winning the fight against narcotraffickers’.
Amonite waited near the back, where the world’s media had congregated with their television cameras brimming with wires. Small groups of men in dark suits milled around in corners, heads bent together in hushed but heated conversations.
The general was waffling on about ‘the successes’ of the past year: a ‘high impact’ coca fumigation programme, the destruction of a ‘record number’ of jungle labs, the ‘high quality’ training of ASI agents by British and American ‘special advisors’, the ‘hugely successful’ initiative to promote alternative crops such as coffee. All to a backdrop of vivid pictures showing smiling farmers dipping their hands into sacks of coffee beans and ASI agents posing next to stacks of confiscated cocaine.
‘What bullshit,’ said a female voice with a heavy South American accent.
Amonite turned. A young, slim woman with dark, lustrous hair was glancing up at her. She was in a loose shirt, jeans and trainers, looking like a student.
‘What was that?’
‘The Colombian government said it set up the ASI to make a clean break from the excesses of the previous secret services.’ Hazel eyes bored through Amonite. ‘Yet Zathanaís is as corrupt as they come. Whoever made him the head of the ASI was either mad or a genius.’
‘And who are you?’
‘Lucia Carlisla.’ The woman thrust out a hand. ‘CEO of Colombians Against the Front.’
Amonite ignored the hand. ‘Against the Front?’
Lucia nodded curtly. Her eyes twinkled. She dropped the hand.
Amonite opened her mouth, then closed it. She’d never heard of Colombians Against the Front. Was it a new campaign? She looked back at the stage. The general was shaking his fist and snarling about something.
‘And you are?’ Lucia said, peering forward to read Amonite’s name tag.
‘Nobody.’ Amonite covered it with her hand. ‘How d’you get in?’
‘I applied for a pass.’ Lucia flashed a row of white teeth. ‘So they gave me one.’
‘What does your organisation do exactly?’
‘We campaign against paramilitary groups and cartels in Colombia, particularly Front 154. Have you heard of them?’
Amonite shook her head.
‘They’re this new gang of thugs,’ Lucia said. ‘Ruthless scum. Murder, kidnappings, drug trafficking, extortion. You name it. They
She pushed past a group of tourists, sending them staggering into the wall. She headed straight for the Queen Elizabeth II Conference Centre on the other side of Parliament Square. She flashed her fake Soca badge at the phalanx of security guards and dumped her bag and coat on the x-ray machine’s conveyor belt. She waited while they printed a name tag, then strode through the metal detector.
She marched across the lobby past the hordes of drug enforcement agents who had gathered from around the world, invited by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime for its annual conference. A colourful banner on the far wall announced this year’s theme in large bold letters: ‘A Drug Free World: It Is Possible’. Underneath it was the slogan: ‘50 years since the Single Convention on Narcotic Drugs: 50 years of success’.
Amonite snorted.
She rode the escalator to the third floor. A breakfast was taking place in a large conference room. Hundreds of delegates sat around tables, sipping fine Colombian coffee and slurping sausages, eggs and toast. On stage, lit by bright lights like a rock star, was General Juano Zathanaís, the dog-faced director of Colombia’s Agency for Security and Intelligence. His bushy eyebrows bobbed like caterpillars as he lumbered up and down, rambling on in a cavernous monotone. Behind him was a large screen with the words: ‘Colombia: winning the fight against narcotraffickers’.
Amonite waited near the back, where the world’s media had congregated with their television cameras brimming with wires. Small groups of men in dark suits milled around in corners, heads bent together in hushed but heated conversations.
The general was waffling on about ‘the successes’ of the past year: a ‘high impact’ coca fumigation programme, the destruction of a ‘record number’ of jungle labs, the ‘high quality’ training of ASI agents by British and American ‘special advisors’, the ‘hugely successful’ initiative to promote alternative crops such as coffee. All to a backdrop of vivid pictures showing smiling farmers dipping their hands into sacks of coffee beans and ASI agents posing next to stacks of confiscated cocaine.
‘What bullshit,’ said a female voice with a heavy South American accent.
Amonite turned. A young, slim woman with dark, lustrous hair was glancing up at her. She was in a loose shirt, jeans and trainers, looking like a student.
‘What was that?’
‘The Colombian government said it set up the ASI to make a clean break from the excesses of the previous secret services.’ Hazel eyes bored through Amonite. ‘Yet Zathanaís is as corrupt as they come. Whoever made him the head of the ASI was either mad or a genius.’
‘And who are you?’
‘Lucia Carlisla.’ The woman thrust out a hand. ‘CEO of Colombians Against the Front.’
Amonite ignored the hand. ‘Against the Front?’
Lucia nodded curtly. Her eyes twinkled. She dropped the hand.
Amonite opened her mouth, then closed it. She’d never heard of Colombians Against the Front. Was it a new campaign? She looked back at the stage. The general was shaking his fist and snarling about something.
‘And you are?’ Lucia said, peering forward to read Amonite’s name tag.
‘Nobody.’ Amonite covered it with her hand. ‘How d’you get in?’
‘I applied for a pass.’ Lucia flashed a row of white teeth. ‘So they gave me one.’
‘What does your organisation do exactly?’
‘We campaign against paramilitary groups and cartels in Colombia, particularly Front 154. Have you heard of them?’
Amonite shook her head.
‘They’re this new gang of thugs,’ Lucia said. ‘Ruthless scum. Murder, kidnappings, drug trafficking, extortion. You name it. They
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