Belize, Philip S. W. Goldson International Airport.
Three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun was still scorching, making the concrete surface of the tarmac shimmer with waves of heat. The motorcade drove straight into the restricted area of the tarmac, stopping beside the white-tailed "Gulfstream IV" private jet painted with the Mexican flag.
Victor opened the car door, and a blast of hot air hit him.
He squinted at the plane and then looked up at the cloudless, azure sky.
The attendant and the guards with bulges at their waists quickly formed a security circle around him.
"Let's go." Victor said to the attendant, stepping toward the aircraft stairs.
Beside the stairs, the pilot and a flight attendant were standing at attention, waiting.
The pilot was a retired Lieutenant Colonel of the Mexican Air Force, who saluted briskly when he saw Victor, "Leader."
Victor nodded, about to step aboard, when there came the sound of hurried footsteps and shouting from behind.
