“At least you got a Texan-sized knife to play with.”

“Damn right.” Clay held up the oversized weapon. “I’ve got one like this back home. Sturdy blades, won’t let you down in the field.”

Danny held out his hand as Clay passed him the knife. The outer box was eighteen inches long. The picture on the case showed a classic bowie design. The blade was more akin to a machete than a regular knife. Danny discarded the box. The smell from the leather sheath was a welcome aroma. “They didn’t have anything bigger?”

“Well, there was a barbarian battle sword, but I thought that might look a little conspicuous.”

“Hmmn. What’s that?” asked Danny, pointing to a smaller box.

“Backup.” Clay showed him the smaller weapon.

Danny again inspected the packaging. “Smith & Wesson tactical, spring-assisted opening. Nice.”

“You never know when you’re gonna need a toothpick.”

“Or to chop a tree down,” said Danny, pointing to the bowie.

“Exactly.”

“You okay driving for a while? I’ll be navigator.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Clay opened the packaging on a pair of Motorola two-way radios. The batteries came ready charged. He set the channel to three, then keyed the mike twice on each walkie-talkie. With all the newly procured kit unpacked and secured in the trunk space, both men climbed back into the Jeep. Clay started the engine as Danny brought his phone awake with a tap. The map screen still showed Chacchoben highlighted with a red pin. Danny wedged the phone into a holder on the dashboard. “Just keep heading south until I say otherwise. That should get us to where we need to go.”

“Wagons ho!” Clay guided the Jeep into the light traffic.

As the tourist-filled splendour of Cancún faded in the rear-view mirror, a new and raw natural beauty took effect. Thick bushes with spiky leaves replaced the cultivated palm trees and the land lay flat and even in every direction.

Clay slowed the Jeep as they approached a traffic checkpoint. A dozen or so vehicles queued in the two lanes ahead of them. Tail lights blinked on and off as each vehicle was waved through in turn by guards armed with M16s. All the guards, without exception, looked as bored as mall security. Clay nodded as he in turn was waved through the checkpoint with little more than a cursory glance.

A rusting moped sped past, its engine protesting as it struggled under the weight of three riders. The rider alone looked well over two hundred pounds. The other two girls on the back were hardly bikini models either. The bike cut in front of the Jeep, then without signalling veered off onto a side road. A cloud of dust marked their highway exit. None of the riders wore a helmet.

Clay’s thoughts turned again to Celine.