And so on. If Barranco resented the steerage, it didn’t show. He let the tides of the conversation carry him, and stayed polite throughout. Chris knew from the look on Carla’s face that she saw what was going on, but she said nothing.
Only once, when Mike Bryant retired to the toilets for the second time, did the veneer crack. Barranco nodded after him.
‘That kind of thing’s not a problem where you work?’
‘What kind of thing?’
Carla sniffed delicately. Chris looked in the direction of the toilets. He’d honestly not thought anything of it.
‘Well,’ said Barranco. ‘I wouldn’t say your colleague has a problem. But nor is he particularly subtle about it. In the Bogota Hilton, in a restaurant full of people, things would be a little different. Even our ruling families have to watch their drug stance in public these days.’
‘Must be why Francisco Echevarria spends so much time in Miami.’ It hit Chris, just too late, that he’d drunk a little too much.
Barranco’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, I imagine it is. Meanwhile, his father uses the helicopter gunships you buy him to firebomb coca farmers into oblivion. Ironic, isn’t it.’
The silence opened up. Carla made a small noise into it, a mixture of amusement and disgust that told Chris he’d get no help from that quarter.
‘I, uh, that isn’t,’ he stumbled. ‘Shorn policy as such doesn’t outlaw coca production. In fact, we’ve done feasibility studies on bringing the crop into the legitimate commodities market. Shorn’s Financial Instruments division actually commissioned work along that line.’
Barranco shrugged. ‘You expect me to be impressed? Legitimisation will only send coca the way of coffee. Rich men in New York and London will grow richer, and the farmers will starve. Is that part of the package you plan to sell me here, Chris Faulkner?’
That stung. More so, with the fierce satisfaction he saw rising on Carla’s face. Mike had not reappeared. Feeling suddenly very alone, he scrambled to salvage the evaporating good humour around the table.
‘You do me an injustice, Senor Barranco. I merely mention the study to demonstrate that at Shorn we are not blinded by moralistic prejudice.’
‘Yes. I find that easy to believe.’
A small, colourless smile from Carla. Chris plunged on doggedly.
‘In fact, I was going to say, the study found legitimisation on the commodities market would be too problematic to consider seriously. For one thing, there’s a very real fear that it would drain immediate finance out of practically every other investment sector. And clearly we can’t have that.’
It was meant to be funny, but no one laughed. Barranco leaned across the table towards him. His blue eyes were bright and marbled wet with anger.
‘I give you fair warning, Chris Faulkner. I have little compassion to spare for the spoilt stupid children of the western world and their expensive drug problems. I look through the lens that your free marketeers have sold us, and I see a profitable trade. So.’ A short, hard gesture, one upward-jutting calloused palm, halfway between a karate blow and an offer to shake hands. ‘Sell us your weapons, and we will sell you our cocaine. This will not change when the Popular Revolutionary Brigade takes power in Colombia, because I will not sacrifice the wealth it can bring my people. If your governments are so concerned about the flow of product, let them buy up the supply on the open market like anybody else. Then they can burn it or put it up their noses as they see fit.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Mike Bryant was back, clapping slow applause as he circled the table back to his seat. His eyes burned bright enough to match Barranco’s pale blue glare. ‘Hear, hear! Outstanding analysis, really. You were right, Chris. This is the man for us. No doubt about it.’
He seated himself with a grin.
‘Of course, it’ll never happen. Our governments don’t really care enough to take that rather obvious step. They operate a containment policy in the cordoned zones, so crack and edge addiction there costs them almost nothing. And the rich, well, you can always rely on the rich to take care of their own misdemeanours without recourse to public process.’
Barranco looked at him with open dislike. ‘Strange, then, Senor Bryant, that there should have been so much loudly publicised military activity devoted to destroying the coca trade over the last seventy years.’
Mike shrugged and helped himself to more wine. ‘Well, of course, things weren’t quite as clearly defined a few decades back. There was a lot of playing to the gallery back then.’ He smiled again. ‘Something we don’t have to worry about these days.’
‘And yet the frigates sit at anchor in Barranquilla harbour still, flying foreign flags. Our coastal waters are smart-mined in contravention of UN law and our people are showered with napalm for trying to make a living.’
Another shrug. ‘Matters of control, Senor Barranco. I’m sure you’re familiar with the dynamic. It’s distasteful, I agree, but it is the stance the Echevarria government and its creditors have settled for. That, in a very real sense, is one of the reasons why we’re all here right now. If we can reach a realistic agreement with you, Senor Barranco, you could be the man to change that stance.’
Barranco’s lip curled. Bryant, seeming to miss it, sniffed and rubbed with a knuckle at both sides of his nose.
‘In the meantime, you have my word as a representative of the Shorn Conflict Investment division that until the time comes to implement those changes, you’ll be given access to the same covert export routes Hernan Echevarria currently turns a blind eye to.’
‘You’re going to take me to the table with Langley?’ Barranco’s gaze shuttled back and forth between Chris and Bryant. His tone had scaled towards disbelieving.
‘Of course.’ Mike looked surprised. ‘Who did you think I was talking about? They’re the premier distributors of illicit narcotics in the Americas. We don’t believe in doing things by halves at Shorn. I mean, we’ll hook you up with some other European and Asian distributors as well, naturally, but to be honest none of them are in the same class as Langley. Plus you’ll probably shift the bulk of your product in Langley’s back yard anyway, and they can do pretty good onward sales to most of the western Pacific Rim if you’re interested. More wine? Anybody?’
Carla drove them home, focused wholly on the road ahead. In the dashboard-lit warmth of the car, the silence came off her in waves. Chris, still smarting from the way she’d lined up with Barranco, turned away and stared out of the passenger-side window at the passing lights of the city.
‘Well, that was fucking great,’ he said finally.
Carla picked up the motorway feeder lane. She said nothing. If Chris had looked at her, he would have seen how close to the edge they were.
‘Mike in the bathroom powdering his fucking nose, Barranco on a political rant and you backing him up every fucking—‘
‘Don’t start with me, Chris.’ The Saab never wavered from its accelerating trajectory up the feeder ramp, but there was a ragged edge in Carla’s voice that did finally make him look across at her face.
‘Well, didn’t you?’
‘You should be overjoyed I did. Wasn’t that my job tonight? Make your client feel good. Relax him. Isn’t that what you said?’
‘Yeh, that didn’t mean hang me out to dry in front of him.’
‘Well perhaps you should have made yourself clearer. I’m your wife, remember, not some grinning whore out of the escort pages. I don’t do this shit for a living.’
‘You fucking enjoyed watching Barranco lay into me!’
It drew a sideways look from her. For a full two seconds she stared at him in silence, then her eyes went back to the road.
‘You going to shout like that at Mike Bryant tomorrow?’ she asked quietly. ‘For his bathroom manners?’
‘Don’t avoid the fucking question, Carla!’