A mobile rang out and Paz turned to see one of his men lower his gun to answer it.

“Boss, it’s Luciano.” He handed the phone to Paz.

“Yes, Luci. What news?”

“The news is not good. The flat is empty and it looks to me as if García has gone away, but not necessarily forever. Most of his clothes are still here, but the fridge is practically empty, which suggests he knew he wouldn’t need it for a while. It just doesn’t have the feel of a sudden escape. I’m sure he’ll be back.”

Paz was reeling from this unexpected setback, and he instantly dreaded his next call with Franklin. “Fuck it. Okay, Luci. Search every inch of the flat and then leave four men to run twenty-four-hour surveillance outside the apartment.” Paz’s eyes fixed intensely on his new captive. “This news makes my talk with Señor Ramos even more important.”

Paz handed the phone back to his henchman and reached inside his jacket for his own mobile. He flicked through the menu to his photo album and selected a picture. He held the phone directly in front of Ramos’s face. The image displayed the pulverised body of Ricardo Gonzales. His face was a mushy, bloody pulp with a bullet hole directly in the middle of his forehead. Ramos felt the bile rise in the back of his throat and couldn’t stop himself retching. Galvanised by a mixture of shock and fury, he lashed out at the phone, knocking it from Paz’s grip. It smashed against the wall before falling onto the wooden floor.

Paz lunged forward and assaulted Ramos with a flurry of punches. For the next few seconds, he gave him a savage beating, before his mind cleared and he remembered he needed the man to be compos mentis, at least until he gave up the information they needed. He stepped back and picked up the mobile. The screen was cobwebbed where the glass had shattered from the impact with the wall. Paz cursed as he put the broken iPhone down onto the wooden dining table. Next to it was a small black toolbox that one of his men had brought into the flat. A few seconds later, he was armed with his current favourite instrument of torture. He held the power drill high in the air above Ramos’s head.

“Señor Ramos, I have only three questions for you. Firstly, where have you hidden your share of the haul? Secondly, where has your friend Pedro García hidden his cut? And thirdly, where is he right now? Where has he gone?”

During the following few minutes, despite enduring unimaginable pain, Ramos was only able to answer the first of the three questions and, just before Paz shot him in the head, he knew the thief was telling the truth.