Carrillo nodded, and the guns chattered just long enough to send two magazines and a short belt of slugs slamming into Special Agent Sharp. His body shuddered under the impact of the point-blank gunfire, shaking like a leaf in a gale as the rounds punched him.
When the last echoes of the drumming fire fell silent, Carrillo handed over the briefcase.
"Thank you for an excellent demonstration. I shall have another, larger order for you shortly."
McIntyre grunted in reply, his attention fixed on the dripping remnants of Sharp.
The gunrunners took to their vehicles, speeding out of the darkened warehouse while one hitter paused to chain and padlock the door.
Inside, the flies were beginning to settle.
2
It was early afternoon, and the fierce southern sun drove the pampered residents of Lima from one air-conditioned oasis to another. The humidity sapped the energy of the few citizens who dared to venture out at that hour, temporarily slowing the heart of Peru's great metropolis.
Four men huddled nervously in a narrow side street close to the Plaza de Toros de Acho, Lima's famous bullring. At their backs, the foothills of the Andes rose abruptly, dominating the city sprawled at their base. The nearest peak was surmounted by a giant cross, testament to the Catholic heritage of Peru ever since the Spanish conquistador Francisco Pizarro had destroyed the Inca empire and founded Lima in 1535.
The four men had come from the squatters' settlements that covered the slopes of the hills. The tar-paper shanties were a world apart from the wealth of the city, far from the riches of Lima's Camino Real, the royal road, lined with shops where the price of one dress was more than a year's salary for the impoverished peasants.