Page 322 of The Black Trilogy

“We have dinner every so often. Shoot the breeze.”

“You’re officially nuts, you know that, right?” Nate shook his head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Around the time the Frost thing kicked off, your cousin had just died from an overdose. After you spent half an hour ranting about the dangers of drugs, I thought it was best to keep quiet.”

“My cousin was an idiot. I got annoyed because I had to deal with the paperwork. Anyhow, that was a decade ago. You’ve been seeing Garcia all this time?”

“Yeah, but it’s not the kind of thing you bring up in casual conversation, is it?”

“Only you could think it was perfectly normal to drop around for dinner with the leader of a Colombian drugs cartel.”

“He’s still just a person like anyone else. Well, maybe not quite, but he’s not the monster everyone makes him out to be.”

“I’ll have to reserve judgment on that for now. So, what’s your plan?”

“Check into the Coralia Club Hotel and wait.”

“That’s it? That’s your whole plan?”

“Yes, but don’t worry. It’s a really nice hotel. The staff have always looked after me well. Mind you, Eduardo would put them six feet under if they didn’t—he owns it.”

With Nate sighing like an out-of-shape asthmatic, I pulled into short-term parking at Dulles International Airport. We split up once we were inside the terminal, queueing separately to buy tickets. Then, after half an hour of avoiding each other in the departure lounge and a much-needed gin and tonic for me, we took off for the sunny climes of South America.

CHAPTER 9

A COMPLIMENTARY GLASS of champagne and as many canapés as I could eat made the five-hour flight to El Dorado International Airport in Bogotá go quickly. Nate took a seat across the aisle from me, two rows in front, but he passed on the free booze in favour of sleep. I couldn’t. While the miles flew by, I thought about what to say to Eduardo.

For all my confidence over his innocence, I really didn’t know him that well. After our initial meeting, our contact had been limited to me flying out to Colombia once or twice a year, and never for more than a few days at a time.

The first time I went to Cali on business after the Frost episode, seeing Eduardo had been the furthest thing from my mind. As I recall, I’d gone there to search for a missing teenager who’d run off with a man of dubious character who also happened to be her maths teacher. We’d tracked her to Colombia, and her parents thought the troubled girl might respond better to my approach than a show put on by the Colombian police.

It was only my third trip to the city, and as I’d liked the hotel where I met with Eduardo, I decided to stay there again. The Coralia Club was a well-appointed five-star on the outskirts of town, but the area was still busy enough to enjoy the nightlife. Inside was an oasis of calm with its lush tropical gardens and a large, oval-shaped pool.

On my second night there, I’d sat back in the hotel’s Ristorante Solsticio, an elegant, old-world style lounge with excellent food and discreet yet efficient service. I only had my phone for company while I stared at the menu, trying to decide between the fish and the chicken. Maybe I could order both and eat half of each? Would that look greedy? I’d considered getting room service, but my table by the window had a view over the busy street outside, and my inherent nosiness won out.

Before I could make a decision, I felt a presence behind me.

“Would you mind giving me a m—”

Oh, it wasn’t the waiter. A heavyset man with a perfectly trimmed goatee glowered down at me, dressed in a black suit and not even trying to hide the fact he had a gun under the jacket.

After a brief moment in which I started calculating whether I could get the pistol out of my thigh holster faster than Danny Trejo’s uglier brother could draw from his shoulder rig, he spoke in a way that could only be interpreted as a command.

“Mr. Garcia has requested your company this evening.”

Well, I had my gun, and I hadn’t ordered dinner yet, so I figured I might as well go. That and I didn’t particularly want to cause a scene in a very nice restaurant where I might well want to eat again sometime.

“Why not?” I pushed my chair back.

The big dude ushered me into a waiting limousine which swiftly drove south for an hour or so. Neither he nor the driver spoke during the trip, and I was left to stare out of the window, watching the roads get smaller and the scenery get greener.

Eventually, we drew up at an ornate pair of gates, set into a wall topped with razor wire that stretched into the distance as far as I could see. The gates slowly swung open, and we continued up the driveway, past a pair of gun-toting security guards who gazed at us with bored expressions.

The instant the car came to a halt, a servant rushed over and opened my door. I stepped out into the muggy evening and he ushered me towards the house, a sprawling peach-coloured affair whose three storeys wrapped around a central courtyard. Little touches, like the gold-plated doorknobs and manicured topiary, screamed look at me, I’m rich.

I was just wondering what on earth possessed someone to have a life-sized statue of an elephant covered in gold leaf smack bang in the middle of their hallway when Eduardo stepped out of a side room.

“Emerson, I’m so glad you agreed to come.” He took my hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing it.

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