by David Graham
“Spare me! You lost a daughter and granddaughter and took it as licence to incite a war. This is the way we’re going to go. You don’t have a choice, just a moral obligation to make up for some of what you’ve caused.”
She did not even attempt to control the viciousness in her voice. Her hatred for him was absolute and her entire frame shook with it.
“My God, listen to what you’re suggesting – prop up Madrigal! You’re a DEA agent; how can you even suggest it?”
“Do you think it’s easy? This is the best chance we have.” She stepped closer, standing within inches of him while she continued, her voice harsh. “Don’t try to rationalise or justify your actions to me. You murdered countless people and caused countless more to die. That would have happened with or without interference. You’re not one of the victims. Your pride and self-indulgence have brought us here.” She pointed over at Larsen who sat quietly, watching them argue. “If I had my way, you’d spend the rest of your life in an eight-by-six cell along with your attack dog over there. Madrigal and Hughes could join you.”
“There has to be another way,” Wallace persisted.
“Anything else risks giving Hughes, or whoever, the opportunity to stop us. They’re helped by the fact that no one in authority will really want to pursue this, they’ll try to pretend it never happened. We need Madrigal.”
“We could approach someone else in the Alliance?” he protested; anything would be preferable to resurrecting the Colombian.
“Who? Who could we trust? No one else would care as long as profits are assured and Hughes’ intention isn’t to cut the Alliance out, only to ensure they behave. Madrigal’s the only chance. They want him gone for a reason: he’s too independent.”
“How will his survival help?”
“What we tell him will encourage him to become even more entrenched, less cooperative with the factions who now control the territories. First, though, he needs to consolidate his power in the Alliance and to do that he needs our help.”
It was clear that Wallace was furiously trying to come up with something to counter her arguments and equally clear that he was failing.
“You don’t see any other way?” he asked Larsen.
“No.”
“Okay, what is it you want from me?” Wallace asked Mesi wearily.
“To help Madrigal we need to move quickly; give him proof he can use,” she replied. “Hughes may have some heavy hitters working with him but there are a lot more who had their hopes pinned on Plan Coca. Political, military and intelligence. They’ve been screwed. If they knew how Hughes had orchestrated their misery, they’d want to stop him.”
“How would they do that?”
“If any hard evidence exists, some of the pro-Plan contingent would know where to look. The problem is access. I have a fair idea who to approach but I’m a lowly DEA agent with a questionable reputation. I wouldn’t even get in the door; you would!”
“Why not just hand the matter over to these people and let them deal with it as they see fit?”
“From here on in, you take responsibility,” she warned him. “If we don’t drive this, if we leave it up to others, they’d either take too long to act or decide to cut a deal for a piece of the action.”
“You think we can do this without alerting them?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
Madrigal put the document down and stretched out the knot of tension between his shoulders.
“Once more, please,” he said to the anxious man who was standing in the middle of the room.
“I received a call yesterday, advising me that a package containing information essential to your future was waiting at the reception of La Casa Magnífica.”
“So you went to the hotel?”
“Not immediately. At first I discounted the call as a hoax or some kind of foolish trap. But the more I thought about it ...” The man began fidgeting, searching for the words. “If there was even a slight chance that it could benefit you then there was no other option. I had the package collected and checked for tracking devices and booby traps.”
Madrigal nodded. Each page had been placed in a separate plastic cover to protect anyone handling them from chemical solutions which might be present.
“And the envelope?”
“Plain brown with my name and nothing else on it.”
“Okay, you can go.”
The man exhaled heavily in relief and left the room quickly. Madrigal picked up a small rubber ball and began idly throwing it into the air then catching it while swivelling in his chair. He tried to digest the document’s contents and divine the sender’s motivation. He had two days before he would have to face Rodriguez’s challenge at a specially scheduled meeting. He had been determined to fight but had known that the odds were stacked against him. Did this represent a chance to shift those odds?
Most of the document was comprised of detailed reconnaissance reports which had been used for various attacks during the conflict. The specific attacks were discussed as part of a larger strategy. Among the main objectives listed was his removal. A handwritten note accompanied the report.
The contents of this document confirm the planning that has gone into creating the crisis you face. There is more you need to hear. Knowing the full facts will enable you to survive this challenge and purge the Alliance of dangerous elements. I will be in the lobby of the La Casa Magnífica at noon on Wednesday, alone and unarmed. I am willing to go through any security procedures you feel are necessary. The one stipulation is that we meet in person; no intermediaries can be trusted.
Michael Larsen’s signature at the bottom brought a rueful smile to his lips.
The blindfold was removed from Larsen’s eyes and it took a few seconds for him to get used to the light and orient himself. He was standing beside a set of wooden table and chairs under a large parasol on a huge manicured lawn. To the right was a small bar where a man was squeezing orange juice and in the distance he could see the roof of a large house behind a group of trees. Beyond the house stood densely forested mountains, their peaks shrouded in mist.
“Sit,” ordered one of the three armed guards who were watching him intently.
He pulled out the chair facing the house and sat back, trying to relax. Five minutes passed, then it stretched to ten before he lost track of time.
One of the guards stirred and he looked out to see Madrigal approaching, flanked by two more bodyguards. As he approached, Larsen glanced around at the guards – the reverence they had for Madrigal was obvious. Larsen had been around a lot of people over the years who fancied themselves as leaders and he knew how rare the genuine article was. The drug lord radiated an authority undiminished by his current problems.
Madrigal sat down across from Larsen, and the newly arrived bodyguards positioned themselves six feet back either side of his chair. The barman walked over to the table with a serving tray and placed a large jug of orange juice, two glasses and a bucket of ice on the table. He moved to pour a glass for the drug lord, who waved him away. Madrigal grabbed a handful of ice, dropped it in his glass and poured the drink himself.
“You?” he asked, gesturing with the jug.
Larsen shook his head, knowing Madrigal had to go through the motions. He was demonstrating that he was not so desperate to get on with it that he would compromise his dignity.
Madrigal took a sip from his glass and put it down, taking a moment to savour the freshness of the drink. He studied the mercenary who looked to be in less than perfect health.
“I suppose it’s some small consolation that you didn’t escape Cartagena totally unscathed. The file you sent contained incredible detail regarding the attacks against us and the Kosovars. Tell me how you came to possess this information?”
“The reconnaissance reports were delivered to me before the attacks. The status reports I wrote, after the individual operations,” Larsen told him.
“After you’d participated in their execution?
”
“Yes.”
“And the rest of the report?”
“The part outlining the overall objectives comes from a separate source. I’d been working towards another goal and was unaware of them. We’re meeting now because we each have an interest in seeing those objectives aren’t realised.”
Madrigal smiled. “Does your interest stem partially from what happened in Cartagena?”
“It’s related, yes,” Larsen answered honestly.
“Before we discuss the goals outlined in the document, you say you were working to other ends. What were they?”
“A significant drop for an extended period in the amount of illegal narcotics produced and distributed.”
Madrigal laughed and then saw that Larsen was not joking. “Why?”
“It hurts a lot of people. Limit it and you spare them.”
“It was a humanitarian mission?” he asked incredulously.
“To a degree. I was contracted for a fee.”
“This is preposterous.”
“Maybe, but achievable. It was starting to work.”
“In the short-term perhaps but the market would have recovered in the next few months regardless of what had happened between us and the Kosovars.”
“I’m not sure I agree but we’ll never know.”
“And who funded your operation?”
“That’s beyond the scope of our discussion. You’ll have to accept my word that the people behind it won’t be resuming their campaign. The price involved was too high.”
Madrigal considered this for a moment. Larsen knew the drug lord could always return to the topic later if he wished. Madrigal had all of the power and Larsen’s life was in his hands.
“Okay, the document mentioned seizing the territories, which has been accomplished, and my overthrow, which ... has not yet been decided. Your note said there was more to tell?”
“One of the Alliance’s inner circle knew about it. More than that, he participated in it for his own advancement.”
Madrigal’s surprise was visible as was the fury which very quickly followed when the full implications of Larsen’s statement sank in. He might have suspected there were leaks but for them to be coming from the top level would be galling. It would mean that the person responsible would have been fully aware of the consequences of this campaign. All the hardship and setbacks that the Alliance had endured had been orchestrated with the help of one of their own. Just as Larsen then Mesi and Wallace had reeled from the implications, Madrigal was now going through the same process.
“You have proof of this?”
“Transcripts of reports referring to someone using a codename and describing actions taken to further his ascent. I also have intelligence reports, attributed to the same individual, essentially him selling out his own associates.”
“How extensive are these transcripts?”
“Enough to demonstrate a strong correlation between the person and the codename. The guard over there,” he pointed to one of his escorts, “took the copies from me at the hotel.”
Madrigal gestured and the guard placed a number of individually wrapped pages on the table in front of him. Madrigal read through them carefully, taking his time. When he had finished, he sat back.
“These are interesting.”
Larsen nodded.
“But not enough,” the Colombian said. “He could say it’s all a clever concoction, I need something more. Something to clinch it.”
“In one of the reports the attack on Francisco Zaragosa is discussed. In order to ensure the traitor was locked in, tapes were made of his discussions relating to the assassination. He details how and where Zaragosa could be most easily reached.”
“And these tapes?”
“When we’re finished, I’ll make a phone call and they’ll be delivered to you. He might be able to convince people that the documentation is fiction, but combined with the tapes ...”
“Okay, let’s get down to the guts of it. You’ve spelt out what you can do to help me but what’s in this for you?”
“I’m ensuring that the people behind this don’t get what they want.”
“You find their objectives that abhorrent, or is it injured pride?”
“I might not have cared what they were doing, if they hadn’t involved me,” he agreed, “but that’s not my sole problem. They tried to have me killed. When it comes to their attention that I’m still alive, they’ll try again.”
Satisfied with Larsen’s answer, Madrigal moved on.
“You’ve admitted your part in what I’ve had to endure, and while I may have other concerns, what you did is hardly insubstantial. Why should I let you walk away from here? Why not force you to turn over the tapes and even the score a little in the process?”
“I don’t have the tapes and I don’t know where they are. Only a call from me from a specific location a day’s journey from Colombia can release them. You could gamble, torture me and have me beg on the end of a phone. But I should say that the others involved had reservations about my approaching you. If the procedure’s deviated from, you risk not getting the tapes.”
Larsen waited in silence while Madrigal deliberated. This was the moment in which it all hung in the balance. Madrigal might choose to try coercion or he might just kill Larsen and gamble that the material he had been given, incomplete as it was, would be enough for him to see off the threat.
Finally, after what seemed like minutes to Larsen, Madrigal said, “Okay, I’ll accept that, but tell me, why do you think I won’t come after you and your accomplices when I’ve dealt with my current situation?”
“Assuming your gratitude wasn’t enough?”
“Assuming that.”
“If it was me, I’d do a risk-reward analysis. You’re going to have your hands full reasserting control and trying to restore some balance to the relationship with the growers. Maybe it’s easy enough for you to get rid of us but why take the chance?”
“To prevent you relaunching your humanitarian mission?”
“The moment is gone. Besides, we’ve seen the alternative to you.”
“You’ve only given me part of it, the objectives concerning the Alliance and the traitors in its midst. What about the identity of those who conceived this scheme to displace me?”
“They’ll be dealt with.”
“Some of them directly by you, no doubt.”
Larsen shrugged his shoulders.
“I think that covers everything,” Madrigal said. “Although there is something I’d like to ask you. It occurred to me when I was reading your file. I know how I got here but how does the son of a Portuguese fisherman from Northern Denmark, an affluent, comfortable country, wind up negotiating with the head of a Colombian drug cartel?”
“I’ve asked myself that. Whatever the answer is, I think I’ll be taking the more-travelled road from now on.”
“A shame considering your capabilities.”
Larsen did not reply.
“Well, I think we’re finished. My men have taken the liberty of packing your luggage. They’ll escort you directly to the airport.”
With that, the blindfold was placed back over Larsen’s eyes.
thirteen
Rodriguez had arrived early and watched the men file in for the summit meeting. He couldn’t remember a time when he had been happier. This was the day he had waited for and he intended to savour every minute. What was about to unfold would have been unthinkable only twelve months earlier. Everyone in Mexico now looked to him for leadership and Lora, the other Mexican at the meeting, was only here because it suited Rodriguez. Appearing too much like a solitary leader might create the wrong impression.
The meeting began with a review of how they had fared since the conflict with the Kosovars had ceased. It was reported that, while they were almost back to former levels of supply, there was now more competition in the markets where other players had exploited their difficulties and moved in. To combat this the cartel had taken
a conscious decision to subsidise the product until they had reasserted their position as market leaders. One factor that was undermining this effort, however, was the greed of the middlemen who were not passing on the full benefit. It was decided to continue with the current distributors for one more month and then, if the matter had not been resolved, to evaluate other candidates. When the lengthy review of recent business had finished, the men broke briefly for refreshments before the second half of the meeting, which was traditionally a forum for individual members to raise specific issues.
Rodriguez enjoyed the opportunity to mingle. Influential men from all over South and Central America appreciated the shift that had occurred and greeted him with deference. When he looked across the room at Madrigal, the Colombian appeared relatively isolated. A few stalwarts still stuck close, showing their allegiance. He supposed their loyalty was to their credit but made it a point to memorise who they were.
The break finished up and they made their way back to their seats to resume the meeting. He watched with detachment as a number of minor items were discussed and put to a vote. The unspoken expectation in the room was palpable. When it reached the point where he felt it could not be dragged out any further he nodded across the table to Cabieses who stood up and requested the floor. The elderly Peruvian was one of the most respected members of the council. In the past he had often been the calming influence and had averted many potential disputes. Regardless of the issues, he could generally be counted on to find the reasonable middle ground. His sterling reputation and reluctance to become involved in personal agendas at the expense of the Alliance made him the perfect man for the job. There had been no bribery or blackmail involved; both would have been impossible. Once he had been convinced of what was in the best interests of the majority he had volunteered himself.
“Gentlemen, I wish to discuss a serious matter,” he began. “I do not raise this lightly but only because I see it as essential to our future. Before the recent difficulties we enjoyed unparalleled prosperity under Luis’s direction.”
The old man turned and bowed his head slightly to Madrigal who gestured for him to continue.
