“Was that Esguerra in the chopper?” Grimaldi asked.
“Yeah,” Bolan confirmed. “He’s toast.”
“All right, let’s move. We need to get her out of here, Sarge. Screw these other bums.”
Moving the wounded agent was a risk, but staying where they were meant almost certain death—for her, if not for Bolan and Grimaldi. He nodded, frowning by firelight, and told his partner, “Careful with her when we lift her up.”
“Careful is good,” Grimaldi said. “But right now, so is speed.”
Lifting the woman’s inert form between them, they got out of there. Another moment found them lost in shadow, slogging through the woods.
Epilogue
General Hospital of Medellin Luz Castro de Gutiérrez
The surgeon’s name tag read DR. ROGELIO ORJUELA. He was somewhere in his forties, just the faintest touch of gray around his temples, stethoscope around his neck, with a mustache that put Bolan in mind of actor Danny Trejo. Otherwise the two of them were totally dissimilar.
“I would advise you stay no more than ten minutes, Senor Cooper. While we hope that Miss Cabrera—”
“Agent,” Bolan said, correcting him.
“Of course. Pardon me. She needs her rest, in any case. I must insist that you be brief.”
“The quicker we get done here,” Bolan said, “the sooner I’ll be gone.”
“In that case, I shall not delay you further.”
As the surgeon walked away, Bolan thought, Maybe you should take that stick out of your ass, but kept it to himself. He entered Cabrera’s private room and found her sitting more or less upright in the adjustable hospital bed.
“I thought you might have left by now,” she said.
“Couldn’t run off without saying goodbye,” he answered. “Dr. Doright says you’re out of danger. Wish I could believe that.”
“From the present injuries, he means.”
“Twelve double-aught pellets are normally enough for most folks.”
“We have tougher constitutions in Colombia, I think.”
“That must be it.”
“You saved my life a second time, Matt, if I may call you that.”
“It works for me,” Bolan replied.
“So, gracias.”
“De nada.”
“Never mind. I need to ask you about... Pablo.”
“Back to being dead,” Bolan answered. “For good this time, I hope?”
“And Sarmiento?”
“I imagined that your people would’ve told you.”
“I am on suspension at the moment. Whether I shall be dismissed is still unclear. Acting without authority, some talk of insubordination.”
“I know people who could help.”
“No. I must deal with this myself, in my own way. About Rodrigo...?”
“Also dead, along with most of his men and Esguerra’s. Officially they took each other out. The National Police and DEA showed up in time grab a handful of survivors and a couple hundred weapons that are off the street now. Charges are starting off with murder and attempted murder, going down the scale from there. A couple of the goons have already rolled over, singing for reduction in their future sentences.”
“A job well done, then.”
Bolan shrugged. “My people are satisfied.”
“Your people. Will I ever know who sent you? Will I ever know your real name?”
“It’s need to know, and better for you if you don’t,” Bolan replied.
“You’re leaving now?”
“Your doc gave me ten minutes, and I’ve nearly used it up.”
“If you come back to Medellín someday...well...”
“Stranger things have happened,” Bolan said, and wasn’t that the ever-loving truth.
“Perhaps I’ll see you then.”
“Or if you ever make it to the States...”
“How would I find you there, Matt?”
“You’re right. Scratch that. I could say that it’s been good working with you—”
“But we both know that would be a lie, eh?”
Bolan couldn’t deny it, so he just said, “Get well soon.”
“Hasta la vista.”
“Adios,” he said, and left the room without a backward glance.
Grimaldi, waiting by the elevator, asked, “How did it go?”
“It went,” Bolan replied. “You ready to get out of here?”
* * *
ISBN-13: 9781488052309
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Michael Newton for his contribution to this work.
Killing Kings
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