Fitzpatrick shook his head. “He told me his mind was made up, that there was no point in trying to change it, and that I should make the arrangements.”

“Shut your mouth and know your role?”

“Words to that effect.”

* * *

Cochrane couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept more than four hours in a single night. Putting together the coalition had been a Sisyphean task. It had required hours of hand-holding and backslapping and smiling until his face ached just to get all the parties on board. But he had done it. His patience and flexibility had paid dividends, and now he had everyone on the same page.

He leaned back in his seat and turned back to the start of the report. The diplomatic effort had been an urgent one; the Americans had needed to address quickly changing events. The Mexican cartel responsible for moving Colombian cocaine over the border was La Frontera. Three years ago, the head of the cartel—a man known as El Patrón—had been assassinated by an unknown shooter in the highlands of the Sierra Madre. La Frontera was itself an amalgamation of smaller cartels; El Patrón had brought them together and then held them in thrall with the fear of his retribution should they ever cross him. His death had changed things; chatter intercepted by the Mexican military suggested that the constituent parts would split away without him.

To the surprise of the analysts who had provided the briefings, that implosion had not taken place. There had been a flurry of murders as someone—the Mexicans didn’t know who—had eliminated rivals and then consolidated power. And then La Frontera had outsmarted everyone by making common ground with El Centro, the most durable of the successors to the Escobar cartel in Medellín. The two organisations had cemented an accord to work together. The Colombians would be responsible for the production of the cocaine, meth and marijuana that the North American market consumed in such vast amounts. The Mexicans would be responsible for distribution and retail. The arrangement was mutually beneficial, with both cartels making outsized profits.

The arrangement was not a happy one for the United States.

The merger ensured that the cartels could pool their resources. The leadership realised that the sheer volume they could now move meant that they could slash prices. Lower prices meant they could sell in greater volume, more than making up for the price cuts. Using La Frontera’s long-established supply chains, they started moving vast amounts over, under and around the border.

Cochrane uncrossed his legs, then recrossed them. “How long?”

“Traffic’s heavy,” Harrison said. “Fifteen minutes. Twenty at the outside.”