There are many forms of ‘hit’ and very few of them are of the traditional shooting variety. Sometimes the situation warrants a more subtle and less obvious technique and that is my preference. I feel that you have to be creative, building a story or reason behind your actions so that the result seems perfectly reasonable to those in power who might otherwise be looking for evidence. At one time ‘asphyxiation by incorrectly installed water heater’ was popular but like all trends it ran its course. Natural disasters offer great cover for my job but also have their attendant risks and difficulties born of timing and access, plus the presence of many cameras. At the moment I rather like the use of ‘food poisoning’, especially in holiday areas, as it seems almost compulsory to suffer some form of Montezuma’s Revenge’ or Delhi Belly’. With that in mind I watched the Namaste delivery.

A taxi brings the food to the steel gate where SG answers the bell. No money changes hands, just a tab signed, meaning, I guess, that VIP1 has an account. SG walks into the villa and I can see him take the food into the conservatory so no silver service training there, then. More importantly, no checking or tasting, either. He then retires to his own room with some of the containers and leaves VIP1 and 2 to their meal. Fuerteventura means strong wind in Spanish so it was no surprise to notice that the taxi-drivers copy of the receipt blew out of his door as he closed it. Chasing it down, I had a huge stroke of luck in that it listed the order. Unfortunately it wasn’t in a language or shorthand I recognised but I know a man who will. My old friend Mr Google made short work of deciphering the note, so I can duplicate the order. I have a whole day before the next stage so I content myself with checking VIP2 as she visits the hairdresser, noting that SG has forsaken his usual black jacket for a shirt that reveals his muscles to the girls at the salon. I guess he needs the help as his language skills are not fantastic. The owner is out cleaning the windows as they arrive and VIP2 greets her like a sister, which, with her blonde hair, she may well be.

The salon looks a lot like a massage parlour so maybe that's why SG has his 'guns' out! Hair, nails and whatever was attended-to in the back room completed, VIP2 and SG share a table at the central  court of the Centro Commerciale, where he has a steak (for his muscle-building, presumably) and she a salad. Once again, his security protocols and general fieldcraft are dreadful but I make a mental note not to be complacent and accidentally put myself in the way of those big arms. Returning to the Villa, I park my rental Fiat Panda in its usual space and check the camera is sighted correctly. Now for a bit of tourist stuff to build my cover. Behind the port of Corallejo is a volcano crater that marks the start of a dirt track which winds its way scenically

up and over the mountains to El Cotillo, home of one of my favourite restaurants, so that’s my afternoon and evening sorted.