The Mexican was relaxed and evidently in a loquacious mood. “This is a good opportunity to show you how efficient our operation is. I think you will benefit from understanding the process—you only see the cocaine when it arrives to you. It is ready for the market then. I’m sure you cut it—add your baby powder, your laxative, whatever—but you never see what it is like before, when it is new. When it is pure. It will be good for you to know. You will treat it with more respect when you see how much work is required to bring it to you.” He chuckled. “From the jungles of Colombia to the noses of your gringo customers. You should be grateful, Señor Smith. This will be a useful education for you.”

“That’s what this is? You’re showing me what I’m buying?”

“That is part of it.”

“The other part?”

“I told you. The cartel wants to know more about the man who wishes to do business with it.”

“You’re the cartel,” Milton said. “We really couldn’t have done this in Medellín?”

“I have an opinion on your suitability. But others want to meet you, too.” He paused. “I say others, but there is only one person whose voice really matters.”

“And who is that?”

“The boss,” he said.

56

Ellie watched as the men checked their weapons and equipment. Now that they were getting close to go-time, they were all business. She had watched them over the course of the afternoon, and they had been relaxed and carefree, sharing jokes at their own expense and speculating upon what they would find when they arrived at the target. They had become progressively less relaxed as midday became one o’clock and then two, and now, almost ready to go, they had their game faces on. They were a fearsome proposition. Ellie did not rate the odds of survival for any traficantes who might be foolish enough to put themselves between them and WITCH.

“Nervous?”

Ellie turned. It was Fuentes. Miguel was behind him.

“Of course.”

“Same,” Fuentes said.

“It’s a good plan,” Miguel said.

“I know that.”

Fuentes nodded over at the SEALs. “And these guys don’t fuck around.”

She nodded. Neither do I.

Commander McSweeney joined them.

“You all ready to go?”

They all said that they were.

McSweeney nodded and turned back to his men. “Load up,” he said, pointing to the large truck that had pulled into the yard at the back of the garage. “Go get that murdering bitch.”

57

The rain came quickly and almost without warning. The skies had been clear when Milton had gone outside with his meal, but, as he returned from taking his empty bowl to the kitchen, clouds had started to gather. The locals looked up with knowing eyes, and, within moments, the clouds broke and a tumult of rain hammered down at them.