Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Clang~"

The wine glass slipped from the hand of the Juarez Drug Trafficking Group's boss Aguilar, ruining the Persian carpet worth tens of thousands of US dollars.

This big drug trafficker, who had emerged from the ranks of high-ranking officials in the Mexican Government, was now utterly dumbfounded!

"Stroke?!"

His mouth trembled slightly, not out of fear, but out of sheer confusion.

You're a big drug trafficker; can you not be so ridiculous?

He could probably be nominated for the "Most Flustered Crime Boss."

Of course, Egypt Sadat would definitely be on the list, as his death was indeed bizarre.

"Is he dead? Who's calling the shots in Sinaloa now?" Aguilar asked nervously, as they've been bearing the brunt of Victor's artillery.

You can't go down!

Arman, Arman! You're even closer to me now than my own father.

Aguilar was in a panic, strictly speaking, he was a traitor; caught by that tyrant Victor, could he still be of any use?

They say Victor likes to set people aloft in sky lanterns!

"The exact situation is unclear, but he's probably not dead. Currently, Guzman's several cousins are in charge together, and that Arturo has also been killed by them," said an underling nearby.

"The bunch from the Northern Governor's Office has already struck at Sinaloa. It won't be long before, perhaps..."

Aguilar took a deep breath, his first thought was to run!

Chihuahua State is right next door. Would it be too late if he didn't flee?

But where could he run to?

The United States had a permanent warrant out for him, and he'd be arrested the moment he crossed the border.

His brow furrowed, he fell into deep thought, until suddenly his musings were interrupted by a ringing phone. Aguilar walked over and picked up the receiver, and on the other end was Gulf Group's equally dumbfounded boss, Abrego.

"Aguilar, have you heard about Guzman's situation?"

"I just heard."

"Damn it, what do you think we should do? I'll listen to you..."

Aguilar forced himself to calm down, having been in the underworld for so long, he'd seen everything, life and death, and he understood one thing: the more panic, the faster you die.

"The Sinaloa Group cannot fall into disarray; we must help them stabilize internally quickly. If they fall apart, do you think we'd have any way out?"

Abrego thought, and agreed.

"Whom do you plan to support?"

"Whoever has the greatest power, I will contact them. What we need to do is alleviate some of their pressure first, like causing explosions in Victor's areas of control to slow them down. I'm worried that Sinaloa will collapse at the slightest touch; we must act fast, otherwise, we'll be left picking up their remains."

"Okay, leave it to me," Abrego agreed decisively. He hesitated for a moment, then uncertainly added, "Has the CIA contacted you?"

The entire room and the air suddenly fell silent.

"They have..."

Just as Abrego was about to laugh it off, Aguilar said solemnly, "If you have time, come and see me. It's not suitable to talk about it over the phone."

The Gulf Group's boss was startled but quickly understood. Victor supposedly had a tech-savvy intelligence unit that did hacks and wiretaps with ease; it was better to speak in person.

"Good! I will come see you tomorrow."

Aguilar slowly hung up the phone, squinting his eyes. His mind wasn't very sharp at the moment.

Has the CIA also contacted the Gulf Group?

Are they planning to take control of the Mexican Drug Cartel?

No way; they were involved in destroying the Statue of Liberty!

But on second thought, QTMD.

What wouldn't the CIA dare to do?

It's only the Statue of Liberty, isn't it?

You mess with the Twin Towers; they don't even get angry. What they want is only interest.

Victor seems to have a grudge against the CIA!

Aguilar's eyes glinted.

...

"The CIA is America's, not the President's," said CIA Director Richard James Curl, hands crossed on his chest, smiling.

The word "acting" in his title had been removed.

He looked at his confidant Ralf Feld and asked, "What do you think of Victor?"

"A very successful orator..."

"No, no, no!" Richard James Curl shook his head, "He reminds me of an old acquaintance from Germany, the same drive, the same effort to change his nation."

"If he truly manages to complete the detoxification of Mexico, what do you think a man of such ambition will do when facing the United States?"

The confidant hesitated for a moment, "But Victor seems to be close to the United States in any context."

"A dog wags its tail when it wants a bone from its master's hand," said Richard James Curl as he picked up a pack of cigarettes from the table.

Camel brand!

An old brand, with a peculiar taste.

He lit one for himself and continued, "But if the master's hand is out of bones, it will bite."

"Every kitten grows up. At first, they all seem harmless, small, quiet, licking milk from a saucer, but once their claws grow, they scratch. Sometimes, even the hands that raised them, and for us, who are climbing to the top of the food chain..."

"One must never show mercy, there's only one rule: you're either the hunter or the prey."

"We absolutely cannot allow Victor to continue growing!"

Richard James Curl exhaled a puff of smoke, "He is nothing but an apparition of subservience..."

Hehe...

You have a good eye.

No wonder you're the big boss of the CIA.

An intelligence chief is well-educated, having struggled with all sorts of people on covert fronts for a long time. What sort of folk has he not seen?

Victor's power frightened him!

That Mexican was far too good at stirring people's hearts.