A silk suit, a steel gaze, and a rain-slicked airstrip at midnight. The thumping rotors of a helicopter cut through the air, the scent of diesel is sharp, and mud spatters the boots of Colonel Scott McCoy. Across the tarmac, the drug lord Ramon Cota offers a smile that’s as smooth as velvet and just as sharp as the razor hidden beneath. This is where the battle begins.
The film’s narrative tig...
