“She’s in the back,” he said in Spanish. “They drugged her.”

“Si,” the man said.

Björn drew his pistol, led the way to the back of the van, unlatched the handle and rolled the door up. It was dark inside, but he could see the three people: La Bruja, slumped against the wall; Number Eight, his pistol in his hand; and John Smith, on his side with his hands bound.

“And him?” the narco said, pointing at Smith.

“Bring him inside, too,” Björn said. “He’s got some questions to answer.”

Björn stood to the side as Eight hopped down, both men observing as first La Bruja and then Smith were brought out of the van and taken through a door into the building. He was about to follow when he heard the sound of an engine. He turned to see a BMW roll to a stop behind them.

Benjamin Weaver opened the door and got out.

“Sir?” Björn said.

“We need to talk.”

“Now? What about?”

“John Smith,” he said. “He’s not who he says he is.”

VIII. Tuesday

Part VIII

Tuesday

93

Chase moved with care. It was late and the streets were quiet, but he knew that he would stand out here and that the area was likely one in which the cartel held sway. The neighbourhood had been built on the hillside, a steep climb from the road where he had stepped out of the car and where he was now. Chase paused in the shelter of a doorway and looked back down the alley that he had followed: it dropped precipitously, a series of steps and dizzy slopes. The lights of the city on the other side of the river shone in the darkness, a more prosperous neighbour to these slums. He had read that the government had tried to accelerate the sterilisation of the favelas, even going so far as to build outdoor escalators and a cable car that mitigated the sapping climb from bottom to top. Chase saw the metal struts reaching high above the buildings that had coalesced around them. The cars were shut down for the night.