Milton followed La Bruja outside and saw that Geronimo was preparing food for them all.

La Bruja went over to the pot that was being heated on a small stove. “You like Bandeja Paisa, Señor Smith?”

“What is it?”

“The most traditional dish from Antioquia. In English it is the ‘Paisa Platter.’ White rice, red beans, shredded meat, chicharrón, chorizo, morcilla, fried egg, avocado, arepa and plantain. Peasant food. It fills the stomach and gives energy to those working in the fields.”

The Scandinavian and the two mercenaries who had arrived from the jungle were on one side of the fire. They had found a crate of beer and had shared them out between them, relaxing in the warmth and talking amongst themselves. Milton would have loved to have been able to hear what they were saying, but they were too far away, and the crackle and hiss of the fire and the chirping of insects beyond the treeline made it difficult to discern.

Del Pozo was next to Milton. The Mexican had drawn his pistol and was checking the load. Milton gritted his teeth in frustration. The arrival of La Bruja’s security made it much more dangerous to attack now. They had deposited their rifles inside one of the huts, but they still wore holstered pistols and knives in scabbards that were strapped around their legs or ankles. Milton knew that he was going to have to make a move sooner rather than later.

He knew, too, that might mean that he wouldn’t leave the jungle alive, but he could accept that. He had done his best to live his life by the Steps that had saved him from his disease, and had tried to atone for the things that he had done before he had come to his senses. He knew that he would never be able to balance both sides of his ledger, that the debt of blood that he owed could never be repaid, but he had tried to do more good than bad, and, on balance, he allowed himself to believe that he had achieved that. If his life was to come to an end, he could think of no better way to mark his exit than by eliminating the leadership of the cartel that was responsible for so much pain and misery and suffering.

It would be a fitting consequence for Beau’s murder.

And it would give Chase the revenge that he deserved.

Del Pozo slotted the magazine back into the butt of his pistol and clicked it home. He held the weapon in his right hand, his attention elsewhere.

Milton inched a little closer to him, then a little closer still.

He would assume the magazine was full.

La Bruja first.

Then del Pozo.

Then the mercenaries.

Milton gazed through the flames and saw that the woman and the Scandinavian were on their feet, and that they were coming around the fire to where he was sitting.