This couldn’t be happening. It was not possible. Harlan was stunned and Javier’s people were furious. The week’s shipment hadn’t even left Santamaria for Rotterdam and then on to Southampton, before Customs swooped.
‘We had them in our pocket, we had everything sewn up tight, and now this?’ Javier bellowed down the phone at Harlan. ‘Suddenly they come in – new people, not the ones in our pay – and they start breaking open the scrap metal ingots and there is the cocaine, and they take it, they seize it, our product.’
‘Something must be going wrong at your end, there must be a weak link in the chain,’ said Harlan.
‘There is a weak link, and it is you, my friend. It is your people, your operation. We are hearing there was a call made to your Customs and Excise, and they passed it on to ours.’
A call? What the fuck?
‘Hold on, Javier. We’re tight at this end. Water-tight.’
‘Bullshit,’ said Javier. ‘Hijueputa!’
Harlan’s back went up. ‘What you calling me, you wop bastard?’ But he knew. Lots of trips with Charlie to meet with the Colombian cartel had made it very clear that hijueputa was son of a bitch.
Javier lapsed completely into his mother tongue then. Tossing more swear words down the phone at Harlan.
Harlan counted to ten.
Finally, Javier fell silent.
‘Look,’ said Harlan. He was choking with rage but he couldn’t afford to fall out with Javier. ‘Let’s meet, shall we? Discuss this. You in London?’
‘I don’t know, I . . .’
‘You are, yeah? Then come out to the house. Let’s sit down and talk. We can work this out.’
Javier said nothing.
‘Come on, Javier. How long we been doing business? I can sort this, I promise you.’
‘No. We’ll meet somewhere neutral.’
‘OK. The Savoy for lunch? One on Wednesday? I’ll book it.’
‘You are not the man your father was,’ said Javier.
Harlan gritted his teeth at that. ‘Next week, yeah? At the hotel. That’ll give me time to straighten this.’
‘All right! I will be there,’ said Javier, and slapped the phone down.