Ben walked back around to the nose of the van and positioned himself fifteen yards in front. Wolf edged to one side as Ben took out his pistol and aimed at the van’s windscreen where Alejandro was sitting. He put five shots through the glass, then popped a couple more into the bonnet and radiator for good measure, to make it look like he’d been rattling off a stream of gunfire as the truck sped towards him. He put the pistol away and went back to the driver’s window. Three of his bullets had punched a group into Alejandro’s chest. Good enough. There was barely any blood. Dead men don’t bleed.

There was a green five-litre plastic petrol can in the rear of the van. Ben gave it a shake. Empty. He carried it back around to the fuel tank, which was bolted to the vehicle’s underside below the filler tube. The metal tank was as badly pitted with red rust as the van’s chassis, pretty much ready for the scrap heap. Ben knelt and used the sharp tip of the stiletto blade to punch a hole about halfway up the side of the tank, and held the opened mouth of the can underneath as the stream of petrol arced out. By the time the level in the tank had dropped below the hole, the can was nearly full.

Ben carried it back to the cab, opened up the driver’s door and cranked down the driver’s window. He looked around him, spied a dead branch lying by the track and picked it up. Using the knife to slash a strip of cloth from Alejandro’s shirt, he wrapped the material around the end of the stick, tying it into place. He dipped the cloth end of the stick into the petrol can. Sloshed the rest of the can’s contents all over Alejandro’s lap, then up to his chest and then over his head, soaking the dead guy’s clothes and his hair, careful not to get any on himself.

Wolf was closely observing every move. ‘So what’s the story, you shot me and then the van somehow, magically, caught fire like in a movie?’

‘Something like that,’ Ben said. ‘Unless you’d rather take his place to make it more realistic?’

‘Thanks, I’ll settle for this way.’

Ben tossed the empty can inside the cab and slammed the driver’s door. Then stepped away from the vehicle, took out his Zippo, clanged it open and thumbed the flint. The petrol-soaked rag burst alight at the first touch from the flame. Ben tossed the burning stick through the open window, where it landed in Alejandro’s lap.