They rode deeper into the jungle. The track ran down to the river, and they followed along it, the horses struggling through patches of shallow mud and loose earth before they turned away from the water and started a gentle ascent to a plateau. The jungle was thick and there were stretches where the vegetation was so close that they had to go in single file; even then, the branches scraped against their legs and the horses snorted nervously. Milton had absolutely no idea where they were; they could have been in another country for all he knew.

58

They rode in the back of the truck from the safe house in Medellín to the changeover point. It was a big boxy vehicle that was painted a grubby white, with the name of the business and a cartoon chicken painted on the side. It looked—and smelled—as if it had been an authentic delivery truck in the not-too-distant past, and that verisimilitude, combined with its generous capacity, made it an ideal vehicle for their purposes. They could move the SEALs and their gear, plus Ellie and the two DEA agents, without arousing attention.

That didn’t mean that the ride was comfortable; far from it. They had to sit on the floor of the truck, pressed tight against one another, feeling every bump and judder as the roads became progressively less and less smooth. Ellie closed her eyes and tried to take herself to a place where she could find peace and ignore the nerves that were already making her feel a little nauseated. She had seen action before, but this was something that was outside of her experience. McSweeney had told her and the DEA agents to stay back, behind the SEALs, but they were going to be assaulting a cartel stronghold that was surrounded by jungle, at night, and with only patchy intelligence from CHILD and Alpha Troop. It was impossible to be sure about what they might find and, in that uncertainty, in the greys between black and white, doubt was able to fester and spread.

Ellie heard the squeal of the brakes and felt the truck decelerate, eventually rolling to a stop. The engine was switched off.

Lieutenant Commander McCoy stood up. “We’re at Checkpoint Yankee,” he said. “Take a piss if you need to. We’ll be moving out again in two minutes.”

The roller door was unlatched and thrown up; bright late-afternoon sunlight streamed into the back of the truck. Ellie blinked into it, waiting for her eyes to adjust, and then followed the SEALs outside. She hopped down and looked around.