The men dragged Milton from the chair and onto his knees. They left him on the ground as they went back inside. His head and shoulders were soaked, and the water was bracing against his skin in the cool night air. He heard the sound of the door opening and closing and got to his feet, swiping the water from his face. Back in his suite, he dried himself with a towel in the bathroom and then stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had passed the first test. They would have killed him if they had any proof that he was not who he said he was, or if they could be sure that he had framed Jackson.

They had not.

He had one main advantage in his favour: the cartel had just lost their way into a lucrative market, and Milton was offering alternative access. He had purchased a kilo, had paid for it promptly, and had successfully smuggled it across the border. They needed a way to ensure that the flow of product continued unabated and, right now, Milton probably looked like he was their best shot.

Greed would be their downfall.

He would see to it.

Milton tossed the wet towel into the bath, switched off the light and went back to bed. It was difficult to predict what tomorrow might hold, but he knew that his odds of navigating it successfully would be improved if he was rested.

51

Milton awoke with the dawn. He got out of bed, opened the shutters and looked out at a spectacular sunrise. The horizon had exploded with colour, reds and oranges that poured above the peaks of the mountain range in the distance and dappled the saguaro cactus, prickly pear and yucca that had been planted to obscure the fence that divided the casa from the rest of the property. Milton’s focus drew in closer, to the crystal-blue water of the pool and the chair that had been turned over during his interrogation last night. He remembered what had happened, and hoped that his story had stood up to the scrutiny that had been focused upon it.

The Scandinavian had taken his fingerprints. That had only happened twice in the years since he had left the Group: once in Texas when he had been arrested after a brawl, and then again in Michigan. Ziggy had told him that he had found those records and expunged them; once again, Milton found that he had no option but to trust that he had been as thorough as he had promised. He had used the name of John Smith during both of those arrests, but this John Smith—the ambitious London drug dealer—would have been in prison when the other John Smith was in the States. Milton would not be able to bluff his way around the questions that would inevitably follow if the discrepancies were found.