“I’ve heard about you,” the woman said.

“That so?”

“It is. You served, right?”

“I did.”

“What Regiment?”

“Three Para.”

She turned and called back to the other man. “Come here.”

He idled over to them. He was a big man, taller and heavier than Milton, although nowhere near as big as Eidur.

“He says he was Three Para,” she said.

“That right?” the man replied. “Where were you based?”

“Colchester,” Milton said, cleaving as closely as possible to the legend that Ziggy had created.

“Small world,” the man said. “Same. When?”

There was nothing for it. Milton had to stick to the script. “Ten years ago.”

The man was English, too. Milton thought he heard a West Country burr in his voice.

“You know Ian McKay?” he said.

“Can’t say that I do.”

“Really? Everyone knows him. QM at Colchester.”

Milton shrugged. He felt the buzz of adrenaline. He knew that if they were testing him, and he failed the test, there was a good chance that he would end up with a bullet in his head. The legend was thorough, and Milton had memorised it, but that didn’t make it any less fake. If this soldier had been in the same Regiment, he would easily be able to unravel Milton’s lies. The squadron quartermaster sergeant was someone John Smith would certainly have known.

“Doesn’t ring any bells,” he said. “But I wasn’t there for long.”

“No? What happened?”

“Drug test. I was court-martialled and binned.”

The man stared at him, his eyes cold and hard as flint. Milton couldn’t read him, but he prepared himself for the worst.

“So we ought to be able to get your discharge papers?”

“I imagine so.”

The woman was closest; if he moved quickly, he thought he might be able to separate her from her weapon. He would take it, then take as many shots at the men as he could before making a run for the jungle. He doubted he would be able to get very far, but that was the best he could do.

“You sure about all that?”

“What is this?” Milton protested.

“This is me doing my job, you lying piece of shit.”

La Bruja looked over at them. “What is it?”

“He’s lying. Ian McKay was killed in the Falklands. He got the VC. Any soldier who really served in 3 PARA knows his story. This guy?” She took out her pistol and waved it at Milton. “This guy doesn’t.”

Hector del Pozo rested his own pistol on his lap, lazily pointing it at Milton.

“Whoever checked you out really fucked up,” the woman said.

La Bruja’s expression changed; the wariness with which she had greeted Milton had never entirely gone away, but now it was underlaid with suspicion. “Ask him something else.”

The woman stared at him. “What’s the name of the Regiment’s mascot?”