January 25, 1998, Guinea-Bissau.
Black Mamba stayed in that abandoned cashew plantation for three more days.
A hundred tons gone. Three hundred containers gone. The route that had run smoothly for over half a year was also gone.
Hendrick came by every evening with news from the outside. None of the news was good.
"Kosovo is pressing again. Cheku says his men are waiting for weapons and are cursing."
"In Greece, 'Scorpion' is asking what to do next. Strios is still in prison and hasn't spoken, but he knows too much, and he will spill sooner or later."
"From the Italians, the Camorra people said they are willing to continue the trade, but the prices need to drop by half. They said the risks are too high."
Black Mamba sat in a broken wicker chair, looking at the sky outside that was about to turn completely dark.
"Anything else?"
Hendrick hesitated for a moment.
