Ms. Clark squints down at the steaming Jamaican tarmac. Her skin prickles under the dark suit as she exits the plane. Gripping the handrail, she staggers down the steps holding a simple black briefcase. “‘Business class’ must mean something else here” she thinks while walking out to the car-park. She approaches the idling black Bentley and smoothly enters. As Ms. Clark slides across the leather seat, she closes the door, isolating herself in a dark sanctuary of air conditioned solitude. The driver wordlessly pulls away. She’s off to meet the new boss, and discuss her stake in the cartel.