Milton watched as McCoy pushed down on the handle and opened the door. It swung back, revealing a yard outside. It was concreted over, with six cars and two vans slotted into the available space. It was a tight squeeze, with a channel down the middle that had been left to allow the vehicles to be driven out. The exit was blocked by a solid wooden gate. McCoy paused, his pistol aimed out into the space, his stance low and compact and ready for movement.

“We’re good,” he said.

They moved quickly, with McCoy and Rhames leading the way to the Chevrolet Captiva that was parked with its nose pressed up close to the gate. It was a seven-seater SUV, with manual transmission and a badge at the back that indicated a 1.5L petrol engine. It wasn’t an impressive car and would not be particularly resilient or useful if they were to find themselves in a chase. It would not have been one that Milton would have chosen save for the fact that it was anonymous. There were a lot of them on the streets and it would not stand out once they were beyond the gate.

The second car was a Renault Duster, a compact SUV in a five-door station wagon configuration. Two of the remaining three SEALs got into the Duster, with the third going to the gates.

The back door of the Chevrolet was opened and Rhames muscled La Bruja inside. He moved her to the rear seat, strapping her in and then sliding down next to her. She was still senseless, her head lolling against his shoulder. Ellie got in next, taking a seat in the middle row, and Milton climbed aboard to take the seat next to her. McCoy shut the door and went around to the other side, climbing up into the driver’s seat.

McCoy took a walkie-talkie and pressed the button to transmit. “Ready?”

“Ready,” came the reply from behind.

“Once we start, we don’t stop. Foot down all the way to the airport.”

“Copy that.”

McCoy signalled to the man at the gate. He withdrew the metal bar that secured the two gates and pulled them open. McCoy started the engine and rolled out onto the street beyond.

Milton looked left and right. A car went by, cruising slowly, and he saw kids playing soccer in a patch of open land on the other side of the road. It was quiet, with nothing out of place, no overt cause for concern.

That didn’t help.

Milton was still nervous.

86

Number Six was wearing TacPro concealable armour beneath her black shirt. It was equipped with lightweight panels that made it difficult to see, yet it offered decent stopping power. The edge was chafing under her arm and she loosened the strap a little and adjusted it.