Milton followed the man through the house, exiting through a rear door and then taking a gravelled track between paddocks to a wide, flat field in which sat a helicopter. It was a Bell 505 Jet Ranger, a medium-range transport that Milton knew would have cost more than a million dollars. Hector del Pozo was leaning against the fuselage.

“Get in,” he said.

Del Pozo opened the door at the side of the chopper and waited for Milton to embark. There were three seats in the back and then two for the pilot and a fourth passenger ahead of them. Milton took one of the seats in the rear, sliding his arms through the safety harness and clipping the straps into the receiver between his legs. Eidur took the seat next to the pilot. Del Pozo clambered in, slammed the door and secured it, and then got into the pilot’s seat.

Milton settled in as del Pozo went through his preflight checks. The engine fired up and the rotors began to turn. Milton looked out of the window as the helicopter lifted into the air, turned through ninety degrees and, with a dip of its nose, started to accelerate away.

52

Hicks cleared away the empty pizza boxes from last night’s meal and dumped them in the trash. He was restless. The three of them had been in the hotel room for hours and it had very quickly become tiresome. He had never been good at sitting around doing nothing. His career in the Regiment had included lots of it—waiting for hours for the right moment to take action—and he had hated it then, too.

The hotel room was starting to smell a little funky. They had a balcony, and Hicks went over and pulled the door back, allowing the morning heat to wash over him as he went outside. Medellín was laid out beneath him; he looked down on the chaotic grid of streets and wondered where Milton was.

The door slid open again. Hicks turned his head and glanced back; Chase had joined him on the balcony. He had two bottles of water and he offered one to Hicks.

“Thanks,” Hicks said, taking a sip. His throat was already dusty.

Chase rested his elbows on the balustrade. “How long do you think we’ll be waiting here?”

“As long as it takes,” Hicks said.

They stared out onto the city in silence for a moment.

“Can I ask you a question?” Chase said.

“Sure.”

“Who is he?”

Hicks shifted. “Who? Milton?”

Chase nodded. “He doesn’t say much, does he? I can tell he’s capable. You can see it—he’s got plenty of notches on his gun.”

Hicks shrugged. “He’s capable.”