Moments earlier, Luciano had heard the gunfire and had signalled to his driver to make their way around to the rear of the building. As they entered the street, he gave his instructions in a calm, matter-of-fact manner.

“Franco, nice and easy. Just keep it at ten. Let’s see what’s going down.”

It only took him a few seconds to take in the scene, and then he knew instantly what he had to do next.

“Okay, pull over right here.”

The transit eased to a complete stop. The electric passenger window slid down and the barrel of an AS50 sniper rifle poked out. Luciano took careful aim and the single incendiary round took off the majority of López’s head. For a brief moment, Vargas and his men froze on the spot at the sight of the headless corpse. Most of them were close enough to be hit by the blood spray that filled the air. Torres was the first to react and shouted to his fellow detectives below him.

“The shot came from the black transit behind you!”

Vargas and his men spun around just in time to hear the screeching tyres of the van as it sped away. Within seconds, it had turned the first corner and was gone.

* * *

Paz and Herrera took their usual places in the cemetery opposite the statue of their favourite boxer. Paz sat in silence on the stone bench as he listened to his lieutenant’s grim report. Herrera took him through the whole sorry episode that ended with the killing of one of his own men.

“Boss, I figured we couldn’t risk López being taken in for questioning. He was tough but you never know.”

Paz put his arm around Herrera. “Luci, you had no choice. You took the only possible option. But how did those fuckers find out about García and where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know, boss, but it looked to me like our boys had nailed one of them before I got there, so they’re going to be pretty pissed. Plus, they’ll stake the flat out until García returns. What are we going to do?”

Paz stood up and walked over to the statue of Luis Ángel Firpo. He carefully studied the carved features of the boxer’s rugged but strikingly handsome face.

“I wonder what The Wild Bull of the Pampas would do.”

Chapter Eighteen

12 January 2012

Buenos Aires

Vargas left Torres and the rest of the men behind at the flat, as his immediate thoughts turned to the family of the fallen officer. He faced the unenviable job of visiting Miguel Pastor’s wife to break the dreadful news that her husband was dead. Moments like this were by far the worst aspect of his job and, as the patrol car weaved its way across the city, he pounded the steering wheel, desperately trying to find the right words for the task in hand.