My car was stuck in the forest. The forest was in the middle of a desert. The nearest people who could help me lived in a village a few miles through the trees, beyond the Moche pyramids; unfortunately, these forest gypsies had a ferocious reputation – for shooting unwanted intruders.
I stared at my Toyota Hilux, lodged in the Peruvian sand. The sun was going down. The evening was already chilly. I began to wonder if I’d taken my determination to research my thrillers, as authentically and thoroughly as possible, just a little too far.