A roar went up as the black Ford Transit came to a stop by the front of the courthouse steps. The Ghost sensed a slight increase in his heart rate as he waited for the appearance of his prey. It seemed an eternity before the side door of the van slid open and García emerged, flanked on either side by a uniformed police officer. At that exact moment, all hell seemed to break loose. A cacophony of noise erupted among the hysterical crowd and, as the trio moved slowly forward, reporters screamed out questions, digital cameras beeped, and news cameramen jostled for position. Chaos reigned, and, for a brief moment, time seemed to stand still for Pedro. A random thought flashed into his mind: this must be what it’s like to be a celebrity. It was the last thought he ever formed. A thousand metres away, an elite contract killer calmly counted to himself.

“… ten, eleven, twelve …”

The Ghost’s index finger gently began to apply pressure on the trigger. The movement was strangely elegant and perfectly controlled. It appeared as if everything was moving in slow motion. His body refused to flinch as he felt the sensation of the round leave the barrel of the rifle. The bullet took just over a second to reach its target. It ripped into García’s back just to the left of his spine and exited through the right atrium of his heart. His body slumped to the ground like a rag doll. Mayhem broke out and two of the onlookers in the crowd reacted in completely different ways. Vargas ran towards García’s stricken body while Paz moved in the opposite direction.

The man known as The Ghost collected the spent cartridge, broke down the sniper rifle and packed it neatly back into the suitcase. He dumped his white medical coat and stethoscope down one of the air-conditioning vents on the roof of the hospital and five minutes later was in a taxi heading for the central train station.

Pandemonium broke out on the steps of the courthouse. The large crowd scattered in all directions, although a number of news cameramen held their positions to film Vargas and the two officers who surrounded García’s body as if they were trying to protect the corpse from further punishment. As he stared at the large gaping hole in García’s chest, Vargas suddenly noticed a second body prone on the ground about ten feet away. The round had gone straight through Pedro and struck a female news reporter in the abdomen. The centre of her blue cotton dress was covered with a large red stain and she continued to leak a pool of blood onto the stone steps.

A screaming siren cut through the manic hubbub, and Vargas knew that meant the paramedics were close by. All they needed was a pair of body bags.