Within thirty minutes of the shooting, Paz was back in his office giving Herrera a blow-by-blow account. He could hardly contain his delight as he regaled his number two with the gory details of the sensational assassination.

“Luci, this ghost guy is a fucking genius. No one heard the shot, and there was no sign of a gunman. Straight through the fucking heart. He could have been a mile away for all I know.”

Herrera laughed as his boss continued his ecstatic rant.

“No one will ever know where that bastard, García, hid his share. That secret is buried with him. For once, I can’t wait to talk to old man Franklin. He’s been kicking my arse since this whole mess blew up. Tell the boys, tonight we are going to hit the casino. I’m feeling lucky.”

The Ghost left Retiro railway station, part of the central travel hub for Buenos Aires, and took his reserved first-class seat on the fast train to Rosario. It was the third largest city in Argentina and, essentially for The Ghost, it had an international airport. He knew he faced an onerous five-hour journey ahead but he always followed the same rules on a foreign assignment: never use the same airport or airline for entry and exit, and always use a different alias.

He slept for most of the journey and, a few minutes before arriving at Rosario station, he retrieved a small, soft travel bag from inside the black suitcase that still contained the rifle. As the train slowed to a halt, he placed the case in the rack directly above his seat number and walked through the carriages to the very front compartment. When he stepped onto the platform, his local contact, who had made the same journey in standard coach, walked along the aisle and entered the first-class compartment, making his way to seat 5A, where he promptly collected the black case stowed above it.

Fifty minutes later, Italian businessman Marco Rossi waited in line at the Aerolíneas first-class check-in desk for his one-way flight to Rio. He sensed his mobile buzz and, when he glanced at the screen, he saw an alert from his bank confirming he was two million dollars richer.

* * *

The red phone burst into life. Franklin deliberately let it ring for a good few seconds before taking the call from Paz.

“Sir, I have very good news – García is dead. Your ghost pulled off an incredible hit. I was right there when it happened, just a few yards away when the round cut him down.”

Franklin’s reply was not exactly what Paz was expecting. “I know you were there, you cretin. I spotted you lurking in the crowd outside the courthouse. The shooting is currently the fucking lead story on CNN rolling news.”

“Shit, what are they saying?”