The cold wind swept across his face, mixed with the scent of aviation kerosene.
Gilbert forced his eyes open, stung by the bright light.
In front of him was the tarmac of a small military airport, where a transport plane was parked.
A squad of soldiers stood beside the plane.
They were dressed in the dark combat uniforms of the Mexican Army Special Forces, well-equipped, standing tall, wearing dark masks showing only their emotionless eyes, all focused on Gilbert, who was being dragged out.
The leading officer slightly raised his chin. Two Mexican soldiers immediately stepped forward, moving with precision and force, taking Gilbert's place from the Italian soldiers. Their grip was stronger, more stable; Gilbert felt as if he was caught by two steel clamps.
He was roughly shoved forward, stumbling towards the transport plane adorned with the Mexican flag and military emblem.
