the cop?’ George said. ‘That’ll be useful.’ He leaned closer. ‘I’m sure it was Nathan Kershner who was with him. He’s always been a loose cannon. If you speak to El Patrón, tell him not to worry. I’m going to shake things up a tad on my end. In the meantime, I want you to take action.’
‘Against Kershner?’
‘No, that would be far too bleedingly obvious. Use your brain, my dear. I could never bury that one. Even Cedric would go ballistic.’
‘Someone close to Kershner?’
‘Precisely. Ruffle them up. Give our friend a jolly good fright.’
George patted her on the shoulder again. Amonite went rigid. How dare he treat her so condescendingly. She felt like smashing his pointy nose into a flat pulp.
‘How was Jamaica?’ George said. ‘How’s the reverend?’
‘Fine.’
‘He can’t afford to mess this up. You know that?’
‘The reverend’s one hundred per cent trustworthy. He’s always delivered.’
‘Jamaicans, trustworthy…’ George checked his watch. Amonite knew the conversation was coming to an end.
‘Just another thing,’ she said.
‘Hmm?’
‘When do you go to Bogotá?’
‘Tonight.’
‘I need more hardware. Some Lynx. A couple more Apaches. Trucks.’
‘Consider it done.’ George’s phone buzzed. Without another word to Amonite, he flicked it to his ear and sauntered away. He sat at a table near the front, right next to Zathanaís, who had finished his speech.
Amonite downed another espresso. It tasted as bitter as she felt. She glanced back at the conference. George and Zathanaís were deep in conversation, heads so close they looked like lovers at a romantic dinner. Were they on speaking terms after their public spat a few weeks ago over Plan Colombia?
Amonite brushed a speck of dust from her black shirt. The world of politics didn’t make sense to her. She rode the escalator down to the lobby. She crossed Lucia, who was arguing with the security guard. He was holding her pass out of reach and pushing her towards the exit. Lucia was gesticulating.
Amonite found a quiet corner. She rang Dex.
‘Hey, boss,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
‘Find out everything you can about Nathan Kershner. Where he lives, who he hangs out with, who he screws. Then ping it over.’
‘Okay, gotcha, by when?’
She glanced at her watch. ‘Sixteen hundred.’
Chapter 19
North London, UK
9 April 2011
I t was past 1pm when Nathan stumbled through the door of his apartment. Caitlin was sitting in the kitchen, her fingers curled round a mug of coffee, her eyes staring into the distance. She was still in her dressing gown and her hair was unkempt. Nathan mumbled a hello and went straight into his bedroom. He kicked off his shoes, flung his jacket over the back of his chair, and threw himself onto his bed.
Steve wasn’t dead. When the medics came, they detected a tiny pulse, nearly imperceptible, which was why Nathan had missed it. But he was in a critical condition: an abdominal puncture with profuse internal bleeding and a chest wound that had just missed the heart. The medics said he was lucky to be alive.
Nathan had called Steve’s girlfriend and waited by his side at University College London Hospital until she turned up. She’d burst into tears at the sight of Steve, all pale, unconscious, and breathing with difficulty on the ventilator. Nathan had held back tears himself, the exhaustion washing over him. He’d jumped into a black cab and gone home. On the way, he’d thought about contacting Cedric, but decided against it. He needed time to think, rest, and plan his next steps.
He drifted off to sleep within seconds of lying down. He vaguely heard the front door slamming. Probably Caitlin leaving for the afternoon. He dreamt he was back in Mexico. He was trekking through the back streets of Juárez in an unmarked beaten-up van. The sun was blazing
‘Against Kershner?’
‘No, that would be far too bleedingly obvious. Use your brain, my dear. I could never bury that one. Even Cedric would go ballistic.’
‘Someone close to Kershner?’
‘Precisely. Ruffle them up. Give our friend a jolly good fright.’
George patted her on the shoulder again. Amonite went rigid. How dare he treat her so condescendingly. She felt like smashing his pointy nose into a flat pulp.
‘How was Jamaica?’ George said. ‘How’s the reverend?’
‘Fine.’
‘He can’t afford to mess this up. You know that?’
‘The reverend’s one hundred per cent trustworthy. He’s always delivered.’
‘Jamaicans, trustworthy…’ George checked his watch. Amonite knew the conversation was coming to an end.
‘Just another thing,’ she said.
‘Hmm?’
‘When do you go to Bogotá?’
‘Tonight.’
‘I need more hardware. Some Lynx. A couple more Apaches. Trucks.’
‘Consider it done.’ George’s phone buzzed. Without another word to Amonite, he flicked it to his ear and sauntered away. He sat at a table near the front, right next to Zathanaís, who had finished his speech.
Amonite downed another espresso. It tasted as bitter as she felt. She glanced back at the conference. George and Zathanaís were deep in conversation, heads so close they looked like lovers at a romantic dinner. Were they on speaking terms after their public spat a few weeks ago over Plan Colombia?
Amonite brushed a speck of dust from her black shirt. The world of politics didn’t make sense to her. She rode the escalator down to the lobby. She crossed Lucia, who was arguing with the security guard. He was holding her pass out of reach and pushing her towards the exit. Lucia was gesticulating.
Amonite found a quiet corner. She rang Dex.
‘Hey, boss,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
‘Find out everything you can about Nathan Kershner. Where he lives, who he hangs out with, who he screws. Then ping it over.’
‘Okay, gotcha, by when?’
She glanced at her watch. ‘Sixteen hundred.’
Chapter 19
North London, UK
9 April 2011
I t was past 1pm when Nathan stumbled through the door of his apartment. Caitlin was sitting in the kitchen, her fingers curled round a mug of coffee, her eyes staring into the distance. She was still in her dressing gown and her hair was unkempt. Nathan mumbled a hello and went straight into his bedroom. He kicked off his shoes, flung his jacket over the back of his chair, and threw himself onto his bed.
Steve wasn’t dead. When the medics came, they detected a tiny pulse, nearly imperceptible, which was why Nathan had missed it. But he was in a critical condition: an abdominal puncture with profuse internal bleeding and a chest wound that had just missed the heart. The medics said he was lucky to be alive.
Nathan had called Steve’s girlfriend and waited by his side at University College London Hospital until she turned up. She’d burst into tears at the sight of Steve, all pale, unconscious, and breathing with difficulty on the ventilator. Nathan had held back tears himself, the exhaustion washing over him. He’d jumped into a black cab and gone home. On the way, he’d thought about contacting Cedric, but decided against it. He needed time to think, rest, and plan his next steps.
He drifted off to sleep within seconds of lying down. He vaguely heard the front door slamming. Probably Caitlin leaving for the afternoon. He dreamt he was back in Mexico. He was trekking through the back streets of Juárez in an unmarked beaten-up van. The sun was blazing
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