“We’re staying at the Cayena. Room 403. Go and check in. I’ll meet you there. We’ll debrief properly tonight.”

6

Beatrix spent the rest of the afternoon acclimatising herself to the city. She liked to get a feel for the rhythms and routines of a place, so she wandered the streets like a tourist and soaked everything up. She visited the Jardín de las Piedras Marinas Soñadoras and enjoyed the peace and quiet away from the bustle of the city; she took in the Museo de Bellas Artes, using the quiet galleries to confirm once again that she was not being followed; and she finished her afternoon at El Museo de los Niños, a series of galleries that were designed for children. She wandered the rooms, looking at the exhibits of toys and the interactive displays that delighted the children that were engaging with them, parents and teachers watching behind them as they played. She caught herself daydreaming, the conversation with Wells and then Lucas’s consoling words returning to her, and she forced herself to move on.

As the afternoon drew to a close, she stopped to eat an arepa—corn flour bread that was served with beef—and then took a taxi back to the hotel.

Milton was waiting for her. He had set himself up on the sofa.

She went into the bathroom and changed out of her hot clothes, choosing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts to replace them. Milton was standing at the minibar when she returned to the main room.

“Want a beer?”

“No, thanks,” she said, shooting him a disapproving look as he popped the top off a bottle of Solera, a local brew.

Beatrix sat down. “I need your report,” she said. “We need to work out the best way to go about this. What do you know?”

Milton took a slug of the beer and then sat down in the armchair.

“Okay,” he said. “So—I’ve been here three days. The intel was excellent. I found Koralev right away. He comes into the city every morning and has breakfast at Danubio on Mata de Coco. Sunday, yesterday and today, the same time all three days. Eight thirty on the dot. I’ve been able to follow him afterwards, too. He’s not experienced. I’m confident he hasn’t made me.”

“Confident?”

“I’m sure he hasn’t,” he said.

“His routine?”

“Breakfast for an hour. Then he goes and buys a newspaper and reads it on the terrace of a coffee shop on Avenida Mohedano. Stays there for an hour, then goes for a walk in the Jardín Hidrofítico. He got into his car and went home after that on Sunday. But yesterday he had a meeting. He went to the observatory in the park and met a man there.”

“Any idea who?”