“Ziggy found your mother’s details somewhere—probably best not to ask how—and I called her to tell her what had happened. Don’t worry. I downplayed it, and I told her the doctors were certain that you’d recover. She’s fine.”

Chase closed his eyes and exhaled. “What about… her?”

“La Bruja?”

He nodded. “She’s dead?”

“She is,” Milton said. “Her bodyguard put one into her head.”

“Why would he do something like that?”

“He wasn’t what she thought he was,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t press it any more.

“Where is she now?”

Milton shrugged. “My guess would be that the police have the body. They’ll autopsy her and then hand her back to her family. You don’t need to worry about her anymore. She got what was coming to her.”

“Not at my hand, though.”

“Does it really matter? She’s dead. It’s justice—whoever pulled the trigger.”

“I guess.” He shuffled up the bed, wincing with the effort. Milton moved to help him, but Chase waved him off. “What about the bodyguard?”

“He’s in custody,” Milton said. “I imagine they’ll be getting ready to charge him.”

“You know anything else about him?”

“Not much. They’re saying he was a mercenary.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Milton knew more about Thorsson—much more—but he had decided that there was no reason to share it with Chase or anyone else. He doubted that there would be consequences for any of the others following their interference with what had been—clearly, yet perplexingly—a Group Fifteen operation. There would be consequences for him, though; of that, Milton was quite certain. He had poked the bear. They knew he was active, and that he had caused them difficulties. He knew what would be coming next.

Chase reached for the glass again, taking it without Milton’s help this time.

“Where’s Hicks?” he asked.

“He flew out with Ziggy two days ago. They’re in Amsterdam.”

“Why?”

“Unfinished business with López.”

“Shit,” he said. “I remember. You closing that operation down, too.”

“I’m going to cause as much damage as I can.”

Milton got up and stretched his shoulders. He went to the window and looked outside. It was late, and the evening was quickly drawing in.

“What’s next?” Chase asked him.

“You’re laying up here until they let you out.”

“What about you?”

Milton shrugged. “I’ll wait.”

“They say how long that might take?”

“A couple of weeks.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Chase said.

“Got anyone else in Colombia to look out for you?”

Chase smiled and shook his head. “No, but I’m a big boy. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“It’s not up for negotiation,” Milton said. “I’ve already had to tell your mother about your father. I don’t want to have to tell her about you, too. Understand?”