Hicks squeezed the gas and pulled away, taking the next right and sliding the Nissan against the kerb next to a café with cheap plastic tables laid out beneath the cover of a corrugated iron sheet. The café was too far away from the car wash to use as a place to watch, but it would serve as a staging post. He switched off the engine and killed the lights.

“What do we do?” Chase asked.

“We need to scout the area. We need to find a spot where we can keep an eye on the buildings. I don’t want to do anything unless I’m one hundred per cent confident that he’s in there.”

“He’s in there,” Ziggy said defensively.

“The tracker is in there,” Hicks corrected.

“He wouldn’t have taken off his boots.”

“Probably not. But I’m not in the business of taking chances. I’d like to be sure.”

79

Weaver walked to the window, gently pulled back the edge of the newspaper that was covering it, and looked outside. A lorry rumbled along the road to one of the other warehouses, and cars trundled slowly in its wake.

“So?” Thorsson said. “What’s next?”

“I spoke to Control. She’s spoken to our friends from Langley. The FBI and the DEA have La Bruja in a safe house on the outskirts of the city. The plan is for her to be flown from Medellín to the United States.”

“How do they know that?”

“They’ve managed to find a source inside the operation.”

“I wish they’d done that sooner.”

“It is what it is,” Weaver said.

“What do you want us to do?”

“Make sure that doesn’t happen,” Weaver said. “Go get her and take her back to the jungle. Her and the FBI agent who she’s likely to be with.”

“Name and description?”

“A woman: Ellie Flowers. I’m expecting a file on her—I’ll forward it when I get it.”

“Do you have a location?”

“Yes,” Weaver said. He pointed down to the laptop that was set up on the floor. “Open a map for me.”

Six lowered herself down to the laptop, woke it and navigated to Google Maps. Weaver read out the address and she typed it in. The map that was displayed was of the west of the city, with the location pin a mile to the east of the university campus. Six switched to Street View and turned the screen around so that they could all see it.

“There’s a garage there,” Weaver said. “It’s been a DEA safe house for years, since Escobar. That’s where she is.”

Thorsson knelt down and dragged the cursor around the screen, changing the angle so that he could see through three hundred and sixty degrees. “Mix of residential and commercial. We know anything else about it?”

“All I have is the address. You’ll have to scout it.”