“He was on his way to sign an accord that would have presented a serious threat to the cartels, both here and in Mexico. The Colombian, Mexican and United States governments had agreed to work together in a significant pushback against the cocaine and methamphetamine that is flooding over the border. The cartels were aware of what we had planned, and they decided to let us know that it’s not something they’re prepared to take lying down. Besides Cochrane and his aide, three members of his security detail were killed.”

She pressed the clicker and cycled through the images of the dead: Cochrane, Harrison, Fitzpatrick, Martinez, Jones.

“We’ve had plenty of business down here before. Escobar and the Cali Cartel both took up a lot of time and energy in the eighties and nineties. The difference between the Escobar way of doing things and El Centro is discretion—they’re quiet, they don’t make a fuss, they stay in the shadows. Escobar made it impossible for the government to ignore him. El Centro just wants to get on with business.”

“Until they take out a serving US ambassador,” Schmidt said.

“Until then,” Ellie said. “Agreed. It’s out of character, but you can understand why they might have done it. The accord is an existential threat.”

“And taking out the ambassador isn’t?” Schmidt spread his hands incredulously. “I mean—seriously?”

It was hard to disagree with his assessment.

“Go on, Ellie,” Baker said.

“Yes, sir.” She gestured to York. “I was going to ask Nicholas to speak about La Bruja.”

The DEA representative stood and took the clicker from Ellie.

“All right, then,” he said. He pressed the clicker, and an image of a woman was projected against the screen. “Say hello to La Bruja, otherwise known as the Witch. I’ll get to the reason for that in a minute. She’s been hard to pin down. You all know how little we have on her—trying to get more has been like trying to pin smoke against a wall. She’s a ghost. This is the only picture we’ve ever been able to find.”

Ellie looked at a picture that had become all too familiar to her over the course of the last week. It was a grainy, long-distance shot that had been zoomed in until the pixels were visible. The picture showed a slender woman, medium height, early middle age, with long brown hair. Not much more was discernible beyond that. She was standing next to a wooden shack surrounded by jungle. There was a Jeep behind her, and men with rifles were milling around it.