Turning right, I ran for the other treeline. The back of my throat was dry and I swallowed constantly, trying to moisten it as I fought to get my breath back. At least I was out of the immediate danger area.

Once I'd got about half-way towards the trees I turned right again and started moving up the crest, back towards the house, my Timber lands squelching in the mud and pools of water. I'd been concentrating so hard on what I was doing that I hadn't realized the rain had stopped: it was the racket of the crickets that made me aware.

I slowed when I was maybe a hundred and fifty metres behind the house, and started to move more cautiously, now with the b.u.t.t of the rifle in my shoulder, placing each foot carefully, keeping my body as low as possible. There was still complete cloud cover, and I felt confident I could get closer.

My angle of view gradually changed. I could see the glow coming from the side bookcase window, not strong enough to reach the ground, and then the area in front of the veranda, caught in the headlights of a large 4x4 parked next to the Mazda. On the roof, upside down and strapped on tight, I could see a Gemini, an inflatable rubber boat.

I knew there were tubs in front of me somewhere and I'd be b.u.mping into them soon. Slowing even more, I crouched as low as my legs could bend. The low revs of the engine became audible as I finally reached the rows of white plastic. I got on to my knees and right hand and, with the weapon balanced in my left, moved like a gorilla between the rows. I made three or four movements, then stopped to observe. A small animal rustled nearby and scuttled away between the tubs, which were less than an inch apart. I could hear frenzied scratching on plastic as it ran for its life.

Making sure I didn't get tangled in the irrigation tubes trailing along the ground, I carried on feeling my way through the gra.s.s and mud. The noise of the crickets was horrendous, but with luck drowned out any sound I made.

I was starting to get sticky again from a combination of tension and sheer physical effort as I inched forward. The scene on the veranda slowly came into focus: I was about eighty metres away and could see two male figures with Carrie. All three were bathed in light and shadow. One man was quite a bit shorter than the other, and all I could see of him was his dark-checked shoulders, each side of a supporting pillar. He looked as though he had skipped a good few sessions with his personal trainer.

There seemed to be no weapons involved, and I couldn't hear their voices.

Keeping the weapon in my left hand and out of the mud, I eased myself down into a fire position between the tubs, making my movements as slow and deliberate as possible. Gloop immediately began to soak into my front.

The safety catch clicked gently as I twisted it to the right and got a blurred sight picture owing to the rain on the lenses.

Carrie's head filled half the optic through a haze of cigarette smoke, with moths fluttering around the light on the wall behind her. I focused on her face, trying to read it. She didn't look scared as she spoke, just serious.

More smoke blew into my sight picture from the left. I panned and picked up the taller of the two men taking another drag of his cigarette before speaking. He was Latino, round-faced, with a crew-cut and rough-looking beard, and wearing a black collarless shirt. I panned down to see muddy green fatigue bottoms tucked into equally dirty boots. He was quite animated, pointing first at Carrie, then at the shorter man. Something was wrong: I didn't need to lip-read Spanish to know that.

The movements stopped and he looked at Carrie again, expecting some sort of answer. I panned right, on to her. She nodded slowly, as if not too happy with what she was agreeing to, and I followed her as she pulled open the mozzie screen and shouted into the house, "Aaron! Aaron!"

I looked over at the vehicle. Moths, and anything else airborne, were jiggering about in the headlights. It was a CMC, its block shape high off the ground and its body work splattered with mud. All the doors were closed and the engine was still running, probably for the air.

The mozzie screen squeaked and slammed shut. I aimed back towards the veranda and saw Aaron. There weren't any greetings for him: Carrie just spoke to him for less than a minute, then with a nod he went back into the house, a worried-looking man. Carrie and the other two followed. Black Shirt threw his finished b.u.t.t on to the veranda decking. The check-shirted guy carried an aluminium briefcase that I hadn't seen until then.

He, too, was looking rough, with a patchy b.u.m-fluff beard over his chubby face.

I watched as they pa.s.sed the bookshelf window, heading towards the computer room. There was nothing else to do now but wait.

All of a sudden, to my left, there was a flash in my peripheral vision. I turned to see the last of a match burning in the dark of the CMC's interior, its yellow light illuminating the two dirt-free semicircles on the windscreen.

I brought the weapon back into the aim, and saw a bright red glow from the rear seat. Some long, hard drags were being taken in there. I ran the optic down the side windows of the CMC, but couldn't tell whether or not they were blacked out until another drag was taken. That wasn't long in coming; I couldn't see anything from the side apart from a gentle red triangular glow in the rear door window. It had to be the CMC from the locks. What was the chance of the same VDM? Another long, deep drag illuminated the triangle.

I watched as the cigarette was sucked to death, and the glow disappeared, then slowly brought my weapon out of the aim, resting it on my forearms to keep it out of the mud. At that moment, the rear door furthest from the veranda opened and a body stepped out. I slowly lifted the weapon back into the aim, at the top half of a man taking a p.i.s.s. I recognized the long features and nose, even without the CMC.

This wasn't good, not good at all. The Pizza Man had been at the locks; the locks were on the webcam here. He had been at Charlie's; I was on my way there now. He knew George; George knew about me. No, this definitely wasn't good.

The mozzie screen squeaked, followed immediately by the two guys stepping down from the veranda as he jumped back into the wagon mid flow The little fat one was still clutching his briefcase. Carrie followed them out but stayed on the veranda, hands on hips, and watched as Blackshirt threw what was left of a cigarette into the mud before they both climbed in.

The engine revved and headlights flooded the area around me as the wagon turned.

I hugged the ground, waiting for the light to wash over me, then got on to my knees and watched and listened as the engine noise and tail-lights faded back into the jungle.

Pulling myself out of the mud, I applied Safe and moved towards the house. As I let the mozzie screen slam back into position, I could see Aaron and Carrie both in Luz's room, comforting her in bed. Neither looked round as I went to the fridge and pulled off the black-and-white beach picture of the Pizza Man. The round magnet keeping it in place dropped and rolled across the wooden floor. I stopped, had second thoughts. There had to be a reason for him not wanting to be seen. Could I make the situation worse for myself if I told them, and they told George? Maybe even jeopardize the job altogether?

I found the magnet and replaced the photograph. I took a deep breath, calmed down and thought business as I headed for the storeroom. The light was on now, and I placed the weapon gently on the cot as Carrie came into the computer room, sat at the PCs, and buried her head in her hands. I closed the door behind her.

Tell me."

She just held her face as if in another time and s.p.a.ce as the fans thudded above us. She looked very scared as her face came up to look at me, pointing out towards the veranda. This whole thing is creeping me out have you any idea how crazy those people are? I hate it when they come, I hate it."

"I can see that, but who are they?"

They work for my father. They're doing some sort of operation against PARC, on the Bayanyo somewhere. It's part of Plan Colombia. ' She wasn't just scared but physically shocked. Her hands trembled as she brushed her hair back behind her ears.

"It's a drugs-surveillance thing .. . we have the relay board for their communications. It's secure, so it comes through us, then to George. He said to keep it from you for operational security."

"So why did they break OP SEC by coming when I was here?"

"The webcam ... they're monitoring ships suspected of drug-trafficking on the ca.n.a.l. I was told to close it down before you arrived, but I forgot. Good spy, huh?"

She looked a sorrowful sight, eyes puffed up and red.

"Make Daddy proud. It seemed that when I eventually did close it down, it messed up their other communications, something to do with the relay." She pointed to the ma.s.s of wires under the tables.

"They had to come and fix it. That's what George was telling me when you came in. We didn't want it to get mixed up with the job he's sent you to do-' "Hold on your dad sent me?"

"Didn't you know? He's controlling both operations. Nick, you must believe me, this really is the first time we've done anything like this."

I moved from p.i.s.sed-off to depressed very quickly. It was just like old times. I sat in the other chair as she sniffled herself back to normality. Aaron came into the room, his eyes darting between the two of us, trying to a.s.sess the situation.

She looked up at him, eyes red, wet and swollen.

"I've told him," she said.

"I've told him everything."

Aaron looked at me and sighed.

"I've always hated this. I told her not to get involved." It was as if he was talking to me about our child.

He turned his attention to Carrie.

"George should never have gotten you into this. It isn't worth it for what you want, Carrie. There has to be another way."

This was anger, his lips were wet, but it didn't last long. Taking two paces forward, he threw his arms around her, stroking her head when she laid it against his stomach, making soothing sounds, just as I imagined he'd done with Luz and I used to do with Kelly.

I stood up and walked back into the living room, following my own mud trail back towards the veranda. The mesh door squeaked open and I joined the mozzies by the wall light as I threw the pillows on to the floor and started untying the hammock, feeling quite sorry for both of them, and Luz.

I was very clear about what was happening a total gang f.u.c.k Everything she'd said would have made sense, if it weren't for the Pizza Man. If he had seen Aaron at the locks, or even the Mazda, it made sense why he'd bolted so quickly: if Aaron and Carrie didn't know he was on the ground, then of course he didn't want to be seen by them. I was tempted to tell her, to pump her for more information on him, but no. That would stay in my pocket in case I needed it especially as there was still the question of his going to Charlie's that I couldn't work out.

I undid the knot at the end attached to the hook in the wall and let it fall, then started on the thick rope wrapped round one of the veranda's supports. The other tie fell to the floor, and I left it and stepped off into the mud.

What now?

I opened up the back of the Mazda and saw in the light from the veranda that everything had been packed into an old canvas bag. I dragged out the blue towrope, which reeked of petrol, and walked back towards the house.

I still hadn't answered the question: What now?

I stepped up on to the veranda and peered through the mesh into the house. Aaron couldn't be seen but Carrie was still in the director's chair, bent over, arms on her thighs, studying the floor. I watched her for a few moments as she rubbed her hair before dabbing her eyes.

As I bent down to gather up the hammock I realized what I was going to do about it. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I didn't have the luxury of doing anything other than I'd come here to do: keep Kelly alive.

I had to keep mission-orientated; that was the only thing I had to concentrate on. f.u.c.k everything else. My sole focus had to be keeping the Yes Man happy: he was the one who could f.u.c.k life up big-time for both of us, not whatever was going on down here.

I cut away from all extraneous thoughts and mentally confirmed what my whole life should have been about since Sunday. The mission: to kill Michael Choi. The mission: to kill Michael Choi.

With the hammock and tow-rope gathered in my arms I pulled the mozzie screen open just as Aaron tiptoed out of Luz's darkened bedroom and gently closed the door. He put his hands together against the side of his face as he walked towards me.

I kept my voice low.

"Listen, I didn't know anything about Carrie, her dad, or any of the other stuff until today. I'm sorry if life is s.h.i.t, but I've come to do a job and I still need to be taken to do it."

He rubbed his face so hard that the bristles rasped, and drew a long, deep breath.

"You know why's she doing this, right?"

I nodded, shrugged, tried to get out of it, and failed.

"Something to do with a pa.s.sport, something like that?"

"You got it. But you know what? I think she would have done it anyway. No matter how much she hates to admit it, she's just like George, takes the Stars and Stripes gig to the max, know what I mean?"

He placed a hand on my shoulder and forced a smile. I nodded, not really having a clue what the f.u.c.k he was on about, and not really wanting to explore it further.

There was a pause before he withdrew his hand and held up his wrist to show his watch.

"Anything you need?" He was right: it was nearly ten o'clock, time to go.

There is. I put all of that explosive from the hut in one of your tubs, and I've left it down there."

'You taking it with you?"

I nodded.

He took another of his deep breaths, trying hard not to ask why. It seemed there were other things apart from the move north that Carrie didn't talk to him about.

"OK, gimme five."

We parted, him to his bedroom and me back to the storeroom. Carrie was still sitting on the director's chair, her elbows on the desk, cradling her head. I left her to it and packed the hammock and other stuff into the bergen.

The mozzie screen squeaked and slammed as Aaron left to collect the device.

Remembering that I still needed dry clothes, I went back to the computer room.

"Carrie?" There was no reply.

"Carrie?"

She slowly lifted her head as I walked into the room, not looking too good, eyes and cheeks red. Things had changed: I felt sorry for her now.

"I need some more clothes." I pulled at my mud-covered sweatshirt.

"A complete set of stuff."

It seemed to take her a second to understand what I was saying.

"Oh, right." She stood up. 'I'll, um ..." She coughed to clear her throat as she left the room.

"Sure."

I rummaged around under the cot and shelves for more thin polythene blanket wrappers. With several ripped ones in my hands, I picked up the rifle and checked chamber by pulling the bolt up and back slightly to expose the bra.s.s case and head of the round. I already knew it was there, but it made me feel better to see it and know that when I fired I wouldn't just hear a dead man's click. Satisfied, I swathed the muzzle and working parts in polythene again, completing the seal with tape before checking the muzzle protection was still intact.

Carrie reappeared with a thick brown cotton shirt and matching canvas trousers.

She never seemed to provide socks or underwear; maybe Aaron didn't use them.

They went into the protective plastic in the bergen, which I then closed down with the other two mozzie nets on top.

She watched as I checked my leg. The bandage was covered with mud but that didn't matter; the important thing was that there was no sign of leakage.

I gave my trousers a good squirt of Deet before tucking them into my very smelly socks, then doused them as well. Once I'd finished the front I got to work on my forearms, my hands, all round my neck and my head, even getting it into my hair.

I wanted to be armour-plated with the stuff, and I'd go on replenishing it all the time I was on the ground. I carried on squirting it over my clothing and rubbing it in. Anywhere that wasn't covered in mud got the good news. I threw her one of the bottles as she stood, zombie-like.

"Do my back, will you?"

It seemed to snap her out of her trance. She started rubbing it roughly into my sweatshirt.

"I'm taking you."

"What?"

"It's my job, I'll take you. I'm the one who wants the pa.s.sport."

I nodded. I didn't want to get involved and talk more about it. We had done enough of that. All I wanted now was the lift.

The rubbing stopped.

"We ought to be going."

The half-used bottle appeared over my shoulder.

"But first I want to tuck my child in."