Colonel Martinez: How long since we heard anything from Escobar? A month? A month and a half?
Hugo Martinez Jr.: A month and a half, sir.
Colonel Martinez: And that whole time you've been in the van listening to static?
Hugo Martinez Jr.: Yes. Waiting. Stubbornness seems to run in my family. It's in our blood.
Colonel Martinez: [gives him a supportive smack on the shoulder]
Steve Murphy: [narrating] All that time hunting him and just like that, I'm looking down at Pablo fucking Escobar. For years I'd been building this son of a bitch up in my head. What a monster he'd be.
Steve Murphy: But here's the thing, when you lay eyes on him, the devil's a real letdown. Just a man. Beard grows if he doesn't shave. Fat and shoeless. You take a good long look at evil, and it reminds you of one...
Trujillo: [steps in shoots Pablo one more time] Long live Colombia!
Men: [men shout in response] Long live Colombia!
Steve Murphy: [narrating] Look up "magical realism" in the dictionary, and it'll describe a literary style incorporating fantastic or mythical elements into otherwise realistic fiction. Colombia is where it began. And anyone who's spent real time here knows why. It's a place where the bizarre shakes hands with the inexplicable on a daily basis. But just like in the novels of Gabriel García Márquez, the weird shit usually pops off at certain critical moments. When the whole place is on edge. When everything's about to change.
Spencer: Now, the king's dead. Long live the kings. Agent Peña, how much do you know about the Cali cartel?
Pablo Escobar: Tata wants me to surrender.
Pablo Escobar: She said I can be like Nelson Mandela.