The immense shockwave made him instinctively close his eyes, and his body, equipped with 180 pounds of gear, flew out. His helmet blasted off and spun furiously in place far away.
The lower half of his left leg was gone, and the bones inside were clearly visible.
Pablo, who had run inside the building, dived into the elevator.
Guzman followed, gasping for breath; the little man could run quite fast. The others like Abrego from Juarez, Aguilar from Gulf, and the four godfathers from Cali Cartel were all there too.
Outside, people tried to rush in.
They were pushed away by Ochoa and a few bodyguards.
"Get lost! Go take the stairs yourself," he said, pulling out his gun and pointing it at them.
Which trash do you think you are, taking the same elevator as the boss?
Ochoa quickly pressed for the top floor and turned back to Pablo. The atmosphere inside the elevator was very heavy.
"Shake people up, get the armed helicopter out!"
"Boss, this is Santa Fe de Bogota, we can't rule out the involvement of the Colombian Government," Ochoa said calmly.
No matter what, isn't bringing armed helicopters crossing the line?
"Do I need their consent for what I do?" Pablo glared, "Mobilize all drug traffickers, trap them here! They want my life, I want theirs!"
Ochoa knew he was really furious.
At the most vain moment in life, someone had disrupted his plans. Do you think everyone is Zhang Wei, whose wife runs off and it's fine?
The elevator chimed upon reaching the top floor.
A group of people hurried out. Pablo's talent for escaping was formidable; he had evaded joint operations by the United States and Colombia, including bombings, and had developed a method of escape.
You need to be ready by land, sea, and air.
So, he had prepared two helicopters on the roof for the press conference to escape.
Two helicopters nicknamed "Squirrel," the AS 550s.
There was also a Lark armed helicopter, his personal aircraft.
Just as he was about to climb aboard, he suddenly turned and asked, "Where's Sister Blanco? Why haven't I seen her?"
Ochoa was taken aback, looked around, and indeed, didn't see the familiar face. With a furrowed brow, he said, "Boss, you first. I'll go look for her."
Pablo frowned, "Never mind! Don't worry about her, let's pull out!"
He climbed onto the Lark and signaled the pilot to take off. The two helicopters ascended, preparing to flee.
Jonathan Pannier below was getting anxious!
"The rocket launcher! The rocket launcher!"
Maysca, the black man serving as the fire support, took the FIM-92 "Stinger" passed to him by a teammate and aimed at the helicopter, pulling the trigger!
Alarms on the three helicopters buzzed non-stop.
The retired pilot hired from the United States busily deployed flares, sweating heavily, while Pablo, Ochoa, and Guzman gripped the armrests tightly.
Does it have to be this thrilling?
The Stinger was a bully that feared the tough; it circled and directly targeted the other "Squirrel" AS 550. The opposing pilot was also a veteran, struggling to pull the control stick as his facial muscles began to tremble.
The rocket hit its tail rotor, and the AS 550 started spinning wildly in the sky before dropping down like a spinning top.
Pablo watched with his own eyes, "Who's in that plane?"
Ochoa carefully thought for a moment, "The representatives from Guatemala and Panama, and... "
"The second-in-command from Cali Cartel, Miguel, Aguilar from Juarez, and Abrego from Gulf Group."
Pablo cursed furiously. The alliance hadn't even been settled, and some had already "died"?
Guzman, on the other hand, showed a complex emotion in his eyes when he heard this.
Surely, for the unity of the alliance, he wouldn't want them dead, but from a personal standpoint, with two people dead, wouldn't Sinaloa's territory expand?
It's hard when brothers can't live well, yet it's also hard if they drive Range Rovers.
"Send people to save them!" Pablo looked again; all he could do was send his underlings.
Guzman muttered in his mind: "You all better die."
The Lark flew off into the distance.
As the AS 550 fell, it scraped against the wall beside it and brushed against some branches, which provided some cushioning.
There was no explosion, but flames ignited nonetheless.
Abrego, covered in blood, crawled out from the inside. The head of the Gulf Group had decent strength. He turned his head and saw the pilot dead, with a pipe protruding from his neck, blood dripping everywhere.
The man was practically stiff.
Aguilar from Juarez reached out a weak hand, pleading, "Save me! Save me!"
Abrego, a man of warm heart, vigorously pulled him out and dragged him to safety. As he thought about rescuing Miguel, Aguilar patted his shoulder, "Run! It's going to blow!"
The former hesitated but then quickly fled, supporting the other man.
"Save me, you bastard!"
Miguel watched them leave, screaming desperately, his voice loud and his eyes bulging as if they were about to tear apart. "You curs! May you die a horrible death, torn to pieces!"
The helicopter exploded.
The flames swallowed Miguel's curses.
The other hovering AS 550,
Gilbert shut his eyes in pain, clenched his fists tightly, and the other people in the back couldn't suppress their panic and urged the pilot to leave quickly.
"Miguel... my brother!!"
"Go! Move it!" A Guatemalan warlord representative yelled at the pilot.
The AS 550 flew into the distance.