Working as a police officer in Mexico

"That was really a fine encounter, and it was also the most perfect day of my life," Victor spoke up from beside him, sweeping his eyes over the other man before raising his voice again.

His words evidently took both men aback, then Old Bush's expression turned weird as he glanced at Belsaria Ramsfield, whose ears... instantly reddened.

"Let's stick to business, shall we? I only have ten minutes before I need to return to Washington."

Victor sat up straighter.
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"We're quite satisfied with your crackdown on drug traffickers, but it's far from enough. We need to retaliate against them, yes, retaliate! They have made the United States weep, now we shall make them bleed. Besides the previous aid plan, do you have any other requests?"

The real show had begun.

"I permit the United States to send military advisors, but I don't want the CIA to interfere with my police force, that's the first point."

"The second point, I hope for the delivery of our 'Mustangs,' P51, the dive-bomber model."

"The third..."

Victor hesitated, grinned sheepishly at Old Bush, and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, its back covered in dense writing.

This left everyone in the room looking bewildered.

We were just being polite, and you come out swinging like this?

"Ahem, let me take a look at that, please."

Victor handed the paper to Casare who was beside him, and it was passed to the other man with both hands.

Old Bush squinted, his eyesight wasn't what it used to be.

"The third point, we hope the American side can sponsor the individual equipment for a battalion."

"The fourth, we hope the American side can sponsor 10 M1A1 main battle tanks and 20 M113 armored personnel carriers (APC)!"

...

Do you think Old Bush is a wishing well?

Can't you see the old man's veins almost bursting?

The "Abrams" M1A1 isn't cheap, the least you'd pay is upwards of eight million US dollars each, and you want him to sponsor ten at once?

You...

You...

Old Bush is still polite, at least he didn't curse out loud.

Victor is shameless, still smiling, looking hopefully at the man.

"I think we need to be more realistic, sir. These weapons...," said an office worker standing behind Old Bush when he saw this scene, promptly stepping up to defuse the tension on behalf of his boss.

I'm not afraid of you beating down the price, just afraid you won't offer at all.

"Then how much can you sponsor? Pablo's firepower is ferocious, I think we need more to overcome him."

CIA Acting Director Richard James Curl, who had been watching from behind, stepped forward, "If that much military sponsorship is needed, perhaps, the United States doesn't have to support you. Anyone could take down Pablo, and furthermore, what can you offer the United States? Sorry, I'm being blunt, but isn't it true?"

"I can offer my loyalty," Victor said seriously.

"That's not funny at all; in Latin America, no one is disloyal to the United States," Richard James Curl scoffed.

Victor ignored him, focusing on Old Bush, "The whole world knows about the war above the Persian Gulf, and I believe, Iraqi soldiers won't withstand the Americans, but you will need to maintain local order, eventually shifting to a counter-terrorism phase. By that time, I could send my officers to keep the local security."

As is well-known, the most intense time of death in warfare is during city counter-terrorism following large-scale wars. The United States had a deep understanding of this in Vietnam, where the casualty rate was so devastating that it overwhelmed four generations of Presidents from Kennedy to Ford.

Domestic anti-war sentiment was fierce.

But if it's Mexicans doing the cleaning up, Mexicans dying, what does it have to do with us?

The public approval rating is all that matters.

"All these weapons..."

"I know the tanks are expensive; I can purchase them, just need a price cheaper than the market rate," Victor said directly, seeing the man's hesitation, "as long as the United States agrees."

In fact, he understood that it wouldn't be possible to make the other side agree to such a big "aid," all he wanted was a way in. For example, if you don't agree, then please allow me to purchase.

I'll negotiate with the Chrysler Motors Company defense department myself, then buy a few and trade points for some, it's all about having the right connections.

Then change up that iconic paint job, get a little creative, sell them to Africa, do you know how many I have?

Bush furrowed his brows and checked his watch, "Sorry, I'm pressed for time; I need to discuss with my staff and will get back to you as soon as possible."

"No problem, sir, I really like the United States, I'll stay here a couple more days," Victor said, showing obedience.

He stood up to see Bush out. As he was leaving, the CIA boss gave him a look, that inverted triangle gaze fierce.

"It seems that Mr. Richard doesn't like you," Belsaria said from the side.

Victor glanced at her, and due to the height difference, he could just... see...

But the gentleman that he was quickly averted his gaze, "Only one thing in the world is liked by everyone."

"What's that?"

"Money," Victor rubbed his fingers together, "I'm not Mr. Richard's mistress. Of course, he wouldn't like a man."

Belsaria was taken aback, but then she laughed heartily.

"It's my first time on Liberty Island, do you have time? Maybe you could show me around. Of course, I can treat you to lunch."

"I've got to get back to my department..."

Belsaria glanced at Victor, a look of disappointment in her deep eyes, and for some reason, she felt a twinge of guilt.

"Actually, it might be possible if I take some time off."