Milton had seen the man, too. He had been loitering outside the terminal’s entrance in a position that offered a good view of the taxi drop-off zone. Milton had made him as a potential tail at once, his suspicions confirmed when he looked back in the reflection of a window and saw that the man had discarded a cigarette that he had only just lit and had followed behind him. Milton was entirely comfortable with that; indeed, it was reassuring that López and the cartel were continuing to take him seriously. He knew that they would have men waiting at the airport when he landed, and that he would be followed back to whichever hotel he chose, and that there would be employees there who would be taking the cartel’s shilling to report back on him. He would be watched whenever he left the hotel and, most likely, when he was inside it, too. He would operate on the assumption that his room was bugged.

“Where are you now?” Milton asked.

“At the gate for my flight.”

“Chase and Ziggy?”

“They’re just closing down the apartment. They’re on the ten fifty-five—they transit in Frankfurt.”

They had bought tickets that enabled Hicks to take a later flight than Milton so that he could watch him leave Schiphol yet still arrive first to begin the counter-surveillance at the other end. He was also flying KLM, but his flight took off an hour later. The time was made up by the fact that Milton had to change twice and Hicks just the once. Milton arrived at 22.23; Hicks arrived two and a half hours before that.

Milton gazed out of the rain-smeared windows as the final pieces of luggage were deposited into the hold and the cart was driven away. He was idly watching a jet coming in to land when he saw a reflection in the glass and turned to see the man in the leather jacket making his way to the front of the cabin.

“Milton?” Hicks said. “You still there?”

“I have to go.”

Milton ended the call, put the phone into flight safe mode and plugged it in to charge. He got up, opened the overhead locker and took down his carry-on luggage. He took the opportunity to look over the two seats in front of him to where the man in the leather jacket had sat down. He was not paying Milton much attention—at least not in any obvious way—but Milton knew that he had bought a ticket from the KLM desk so that he could keep an eye on him during the flight. That was fine. Milton would play his part as well as he could, and his tail could report back to López and his bosses.

The steward came by to collect Milton’s empty glass.

“Thank you,” Milton said.

“You’ll need to put your luggage back in the locker, sir. We’ll be leaving on time.”