Hicks drove them to the north of the city. Ellie had her phone in her hand and was looking at a map of the surrounding area. Ziggy had sent her a link that, he explained, would initiate a short program that would then pass the data that he was collecting on Milton’s location to the phones of anyone else who opened the link. The blinking dot that denoted the most recent transmission from his tracking device placed him in the same Moscú neighbourhood that they had visited earlier.

Hicks’s phone was on the dash. He tapped the screen to place a call and waited for it to connect.

“I’m here,” Baxter said, his voice low.

“You need to get out,” Hicks said.

“That’s a negative. If I’m not here, she could leave and we wouldn’t know.”

“The Colombian army are going to seal the district,” he said. “There won’t be any way in or out once that happens.”

“Appreciate the concern,” he said, “but I’m staying where I am until she’s either dead or in chains.”

“It’s not safe,” Hicks protested. “And you don’t need to be there. She’s not going anywhere.”

“I hear you, Hicks, but the answer is the same. Keep your phone close. I’ll let you know if they make a run.”

The line went dead.

Hicks slammed his hands against the wheel. “He’s impossible,” he said. “He’s going to get himself shot.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “And it will be helpful to have someone on hand who can update us.”

“You don’t trust the Colombians?”

“No,” she said. “Not at all.”

* * *

They turned off Avenida Carabobo and started to follow Carrera 50 as it commenced its steep climb up the hill. They switched back twice until the road reached the junctions with Calle 103 and 104 and saw that the way ahead had already been closed. A military vehicle had been parked across the road, and soldiers toting automatic rifles stood guard.

“Jesus,” Hicks said. “They don’t hang about.”

He brought the car to a stop at the side of the road and they both stepped out. Ellie led the way to the nearest soldier.

“¡Alto!” the man said, holding up his hand.

She took out her badge and showed it to the soldier. “FBI,” she said, and then, in awkward Spanish, “Estoy trabajando con el coronel Valencia.”

The soldier told her to wait, and went to confer with his colleague. A radio was produced, and the man conversed with someone else before bringing the unit over to Ellie. He handed it to her.

“Hola?” she said.

“Special Agent Flowers, how can I help you?”

It was Valencia.

“I want to be there when this goes down,” she said.

“I’m not sure that is wise.”

“I told you where she was.”

“After pretending that you did not know.”