He plucked a piece of lint from the thigh of his slacks, examined it, then flicked it away. He reached over to his briefcase and pulled it onto his lap. He popped the clasps, opened the lid and took out the background file the DEA had prepared. The agency was involved in interdicting the supply of cocaine from Colombia into Mexico and then the United States. The State Department had stated that it was prepared to increase the help it was providing to the Colombians, but there were preconditions that needed to be met first. Cochrane was the point guy to make sure those requirements were satisfied. That had been the focus of his work in the embassy for the last three months. The Colombians were proud, and it had been like pulling teeth to get them to agree to gringo help. It had taken all his skill—a mixture of cajoling and threats—but he had made it stick.

The report had been stamped with the logos of both the DEA and the CIA and had been composed by senior intelligence staff at both agencies. Cochrane opened it and saw that it bore red pencil markings all the way across the first page. He recognised the handwriting—if that wasn’t too generous a description of the scrawl—and laughed.

Jones looked over. “You okay, boss?”

Cochrane shook his head, his face breaking into a happy grin. “My six-year-old,” he said, proffering the defaced report. “I left the report in my study for five minutes when I went to the bathroom. She must’ve got hold of it.”

Jones read: “‘Come home soon, Daddy.’ Jeez. That’s so sweet. What’s her name?”

“Aimee.”

“Too cute.”

He should’ve been annoyed that she had defaced his report, but how could he be? Leaving Megan and Aimee was always the hardest part of a job that required extensive travel. He had been thinking for some time that he might look to take a more settled position once the accord between the Colombians, Mexicans and DEA was concluded. He had worked for the government for twenty years, and he was senior enough that he could exercise a little discretion in what might come next. Riding a desk in Washington didn’t sound so bad, especially if that meant he could be more involved in his daughter’s childhood. She was getting into Little League, and it killed him to watch the videos that Megan sent rather than being able to be there in person.