“I would say that was unwise.”

“Or if I told you that I don’t want them? If I said that one gringo is enough, that three would make me look weak, like I needed to beg for help.”

“Then I am afraid that I would have to insist,” he said. “And I would remind you that the success that you have achieved over the last few months is almost entirely due to the help and support that we have been able to provide. I would ask you to cast your mind back to the favours that were done for you when you said that you were ambitious. Do I need to remind you what those favours included?”

He was ready to list them: the drive-by shooting of Felix Rivera, the head of the Colombian Ministry of National Defense; the bombing of the meeting between the capos of the Medellín cartel when the question of how to deal with El Centro was discussed; the eliminations—six killings, all within an hour of one another—of the recalcitrant old-timers who had been holding up the merger of El Centro and La Frontera. Group Fifteen had been busy on her behalf. Indeed, Six had been responsible for several of those deaths.

She looked as if she might argue, but she was nothing if not shrewd. She knew that it would do her no favours to make enemies of her friends. The intelligence that was being supplied by Lincoln—tip-offs on Colombian army action, satellite imagery, the location of rivals and the relative strengths and weaknesses at the Mexican border—was all invaluable. On top of that could be added the benefit of having a soldier with Number One’s pedigree as the notional head of her security. The flip side, which Weaver knew she was also smart enough to grasp, was that it could all be very easily turned against her.

She nodded to Six and Eight. “What are their names?”

Weaver indicated that the two agents should come over to join them.

“This is Rebecca,” he said, pointing to Six.

La Bruja squinted into the sunlight as she looked at her; then she turned to Eight. “And you?”

“Justin.”

“Rebecca and Justin. Not your real names, I suppose?”

Six shook her head. “No. But they’ll do for now.”

“Very well,” she said. “Welcome to Colombia.”

Weaver turned to Björn. “A word, please.”

33