Despite all that, she had started to wonder whether now was the time to leave the bureau and strike out on her own. Her brother’s private investigation business was doing well; he had been on her case for years to come and work with him. They had just scheduled an exploratory meeting when Cochrane had been blown up in Colombia, and Ellie had been dropped into the FBI team that had been established to find out what had happened.

* * *

Ellie refreshed herself with a session in the hotel’s gym. She ran for half an hour and then lifted weights, finishing with twenty laps of the pool and then a sauna. She went back to her room and showered, then picked out a pair of jeans and a white shirt together with a pair of boots. She checked her reflection in the mirror. She was five eight and knew that she was pretty when she could be bothered to try. She had a delicate face—smooth, pale skin with freckles that she had hated at school—thick hair that she had to work on all the time, and spirited grey eyes.

She checked for any messages that might have been delivered while she was in the air. There was some fluff, plus one missive that was more important: the walk-in who had contacted the DEA in Medellín had given a preliminary briefing, and the intel that had been provided was being checked. If it held up, half of the money would be advanced and a full debrief would be undertaken. CHILD was now promising that he could name the men and women responsible for the murder of the ambassador, together with the cartel higher-ups who had green-lit the assassination. CHILD had stipulated that, in addition to the money, he would require an extraction plan for both him and his family. The DEA and State were liaising to draw that up.

Ellie mused on the message for a moment. She had expected that the investigation would be protracted, and, indeed, she had told her brother that she didn’t expect to be back in the States for weeks. This new lead promised a significant abbreviation of the time that would be necessary in prosecuting this investigation.

The meeting was at ten. She had time for breakfast. The hotel catered to Western visitors, and there was a smattering of businessmen and women at the tables. Ellie ordered arepas de huevo—corn cakes filled with egg—and a strong coffee.

“Excuse me?”

Ellie turned and looked up. Colonel Jaime Valencia was standing behind her.

“Colonel,” she said, starting to stand.

“Please, Ellie. Sit.”