“You don’t have a distributor in the UK. You’re not in the same negotiating position as you were when I met López in Amsterdam. I’ll move a little in your direction so we can get this done. One million for forty-five keys. Twenty-two per key. If you still don’t trust me, even after the first deal, then I’ll make a deposit of half a million tonight—you just need to give me back my phone so I can make a call. I’ll need longer for the balance, but I’m good for it.”

Del Pozo smiled. “How much longer would you need?”

“A week.”

The Mexican steepled his fingers. “Let me think about it.”

VI. Sunday

Part VI

Sunday

49

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough. Del Pozo employed a staff at the casa, and a uniformed waitress brought out a three-course meal that, del Pozo said, was a celebration of Colombian gastronomy. There was corn and tomato soup, scallops and heart of palm ceviche, yucca gnocchi with sweet plantain and pecorino foam, and freshly caught grouper with a tamal and criolla sauce. The chef brought out the chocolate dessert himself, and Milton complimented him on the food. They retired to the veranda again, where they were served tinto—freshly ground coffee served with sugar—and continued to talk as they watched the sun going down.

They did not discuss business again, although del Pozo asked him a series of questions about his past. He asked about conditions inside prison, comparing them to the institutions in Mexico that he said he had passed through as a younger man. Milton had expected there to be further references to Jackson, but del Pozo did not mention him again. Milton had no idea whether he had persuaded del Pozo that the cartel should do business with him.

“I hope you have a comfortable night,” del Pozo said as he finished his coffee and stood.

“Thank you,” Milton said.

“I will see you in the morning. We will talk more then.”

Milton thanked him again and returned to the guest suite. He shut the door and locked it, then gazed around at the room. He knew that he was being watched, and that there was nothing that he could do about it. It was no matter. He sat down on the edge of the bed and levered off his boots. His thoughts turned to Ziggy’s tracking device. He doubted that there was cellphone reception out here. He had noticed Hicks and Chase as they followed him from the hotel, but had known that there was no way that they would have been able to trail him all the way to the finca. There was no way that they could know where he was. He was alone.