regime guys, exited a room. He was holding his suit jacket in one hand, and he was wearing a shoulder holster. He looked at Brodie, who kept his own gun out of sight, then said something in Spanish; it seemed to Brodie that it was a question that needed a response, so he replied, “Sí,” ready to paint the guy red if that was the wrong answer.
The man laughed, then turned and walked unsteadily toward the metal door. He pushed the bar and the door opened, letting in the sound of thumping dance music. As the man parted the curtain, Brodie could see the pole dancer, who had a larger audience now. The place was filling up.
He also caught a glimpse of the table where the two MBR guys had sat. It was empty. One guy was confirmed dead, but where was the other guy? Probably with Luis. The regime guy disappeared into the smoky lounge as the automatic door swung shut by itself.
Sometimes the best solution to a problem is the most direct, and sometimes it’s the most unexpected. With that in mind, Brodie went to the end of the corridor and put his back to the rear wall of the building. He raised his silenced Beretta and yelled out, “Luis! Dónde estás?”
He listened, but there was no reply.
Brodie moved quickly along the rear wall to the corridor he’d first entered, and again called out, “Luis! Dónde estás?”
No reply.
But a door opened right in front of him, and the second MBR-200 guy stepped into the corridor, holding a gun. He and Brodie looked at each other for a half second before they both realized that the other guy needed to be dead. The MBR guy raised his pistol, but Brodie was already in firing position and he shot first, hitting the guy in the chest, which sent him back into the open doorway. Brodie followed up with a kick to the guy’s groin, causing him to drop his gun and slump to the floor.
Brodie quickly entered the room, kicked the gun aside, and closed the door behind him.
The MBR guy was on his back, frothy blood gushing from a sucking chest wound.
Brodie stayed in a firing stance and quickly scanned the dimly lit room.
Luis was sitting on a chair in the far corner, his head resting on his chest, and Brodie thought he was dead, but then saw his chest heave.
He moved quickly to Luis, whose hands were tied to the arms of the chair with multicolored bondage scarves. Brodie lifted Luis’ head by his chin and saw that he had a bruised cheek and puffy eye. “Luis!”
Luis opened his eyes and stared at Brodie.
Brodie asked, “You okay?”
Luis nodded.
The MBR guy had a sheathed knife on his belt, and Brodie took it and cut through the ties on Luis’ wrists. “Okay, amigo. Can you stand?”
Again Luis nodded, then stood unsteadily.
“You okay?”
“Sí…”
“Can you run like hell?”
Luis took a deep breath. “Sí…” He looked at Brodie. “Thank you.”
“Hey, I got you into this, I’ll get you out.”
Brodie retrieved the MBR guy’s gun, which was another Beretta with a silencer, and gave it to Luis.
He took Luis’ arm and led him toward the door. The MBR guy was now fighting for air and a pool of blood spread from under his back where the bullet had exited. The Rules of Land Warfare stressed that you never shot a wounded enemy combatant—you offered aid where possible. But this guy could conceivably crawl into the hallway and cause a problem. As Brodie looked at the guy, trying to decide if he should tie and gag him, he heard a soft pop, and the guy sprouted a third eye on his forehead.
Brodie looked at Luis, who kept the Beretta trained on the MBR guy to see if he needed another bullet in the head. Luis was obviously looking for payback for his battered face. Or maybe for his dead nephew, or for everyone he knew who’d been victimized by the unholy alliance of the regime, the military, and the colectivos.
Brodie said softly, “Okay. It’s done. Let’s go.”
Luis seemed not to hear and walked over to the bed to retrieve Brodie’s Glock, which he handed to him. Brodie stuck it in his waistband, but Luis was not finished collecting armaments, and he went to the foot of the bed where the MBR guy’s AK-47 was propped against the footboard. He looked at the automatic rifle as though trying to decide who should get it, then handed