Clubhouse balcony where she had met de Quesada. The drug lord was seated at the very edge of the picture, almost out of shot and distorted by the fisheye effect of a wide-angle lens; the video had been shot on a concealed camera amongst his belongings. Callas, however, was almost dead centre, instantly recognisable in his uniform.
De Quesada had apparently edited the raw footage down to the most incriminating highlights. Again, Macy translated. ‘So, just to be perfectly clear about our deal,’ she said as de Quesada spoke, ‘in return for twenty per cent of the value of my drugs that cross Venezuela, you will give them completely unrestricted passage from the Colombian border to the ports where they are shipping to America and Europe. Yes?’
‘Yes, agreed,’ said Callas.
‘And what about the DEA? If you take power from Suarez—’
‘When I take power.’
‘When you take power,’ de Quesada corrected himself, ‘you will not let them back into your country?’
Callas smiled. ‘I only want the Americans’ money, not their policemen.’
A cut, the Colombian leaning forward in his seat. ‘And what about Venezuelan drug policy under your rule?’ he asked. ‘It’s not a big market, but it’s still worth millions of dollars a year. Since I’m helping you, I don’t want to have my . . . subcontractors being arrested.’
‘Your dealers will have immunity,’ said Callas, though with evident distaste. ‘Providing they keep a low profile.’
‘They will be very discreet, I assure you.’ De Quesada smiled again, then stood. ‘So,’ he said, extending his right hand, ‘we have a deal?’
Callas shook it. ‘We have a deal.’
‘Thank you.’
The screens went black, then Suarez returned, looking off to one side at a monitor and seeming as astounded by what he had just seen as those in the lobby. But Nina was more interested in the one TV still showing what was happening outside. ‘Eddie, look!’
The soldiers were staring up at the big screen beneath the cameraman’s vantage point. The protesters were doing the same, everyone’s attention captured by the broadcast. The camera zoomed in on the troops. Confusion was clear on their upturned faces . . . quickly turning to shock and outrage.
Eddie watched as the new emotions rippled through Callas’s forces. ‘This should be interesting . . . ’
Callas, standing with a group of his commanders amongst the military vehicles, struggled to conceal his dismay as Suarez returned to the giant screen. Part of him knew that the game was over; the incriminating recording had just been broadcast to the entire country, and more worryingly to his forces outside the television station. While he was using carefully chosen corrupt men to ensure that narcotics traffic across the Orinoco followed his rules, he knew that the vast majority of Venezuela’s soldiers despised the drug lords.
But another part refused to give up. He had come so close! And Suarez was inside the building. He could still be captured, some fairy tale about the recording being faked with computer graphics and a vocal impersonator concocted. ‘Well?’ he snapped. ‘What are you waiting for? We’ll take the building – I want Suarez to pay for these lies!’
A young captain faced him. ‘General, was that – real?’
‘Of course it wasn’t real!’ But Callas could see that doubt had taken root. He decided that sheer volume was the best way to overcome it. ‘You idiots! This is exactly what Suarez wants, for you to think I’m in league with drug lords.’
‘But that was the Clubhouse, I recognised it.’ Other men nearby voiced agreement.
‘Never mind that.’ He jabbed an angry finger at the studios. ‘I want Suarez captured, now!’ Nobody moved. ‘Do what I tell you!’
Other soldiers closed in, faces dark, betrayed. Another officer spoke. ‘We want an explanation, general. Did you really make a deal with some Colombian so he could sell drugs to our children?’
‘Get back,’ Callas warned. The advance continued, more troops surrounding him. ‘I’m warning you, do as I say!’
‘Get him,’ growled the captain.
Several men lunged at Callas. He grabbed for his sidearm, but they pinned his arms behind his back. ‘You bastards!’ he snarled. ‘Suarez will wreck the entire country – I’m its only hope! Everything I do is for the good of Venezuela!’
The captain stood before him, lips tight. ‘Let’s find out who is telling the truth.’ He nodded to the men holding the general. ‘Bring him.’
Stikes observed the scene below through binoculars as the Hind continued its orbit. ‘Looks as though we’re out of pocket on this job, boys,’ he said coldly as he