Working as a police officer in Mexico

Secretary Ajit shuddered.

Assassinate Cuauhtémoc?

Another assassination?

Humans, when reason fails, always think of resorting to violence first.

Carlos had ascended to power through fraud, forcing voters to change their ballots to his favor with drug traffickers' armed threats, and if that didn't work, he would escalate his actions and kill his rivals!

During his time in politics, Quintero had taken out more than 70 opponents for him, otherwise why would the media joke about him being "the luckiest president in Mexico's history"?

When he ran for legislator, an opposing candidate had drowned in a bathtub at home... A big guy of 189 centimeters tall, and then drowned at home.

There was also a politician who had accused him on TV of having ties with drug traffickers who was run over by a large truck on his way home one night... all four members of his family were killed.

Such incidents were numerous.

Eliminating opponents meant no more competition for him.

Raul Salinas, who was executed, was also involved in many murder cases.

Secretary Ajit swallowed, "Sir, who should go? It's probably not easy to make a move in Mexicali."

Carlos frowned, trying to calm himself, "He must be seeking Victor's help and will definitely return to Mexico City. Let him die on the road, contact Guzman and Valdis!"

Valdis was the commander of the Mexican National Security Intelligence Agency (Cisen) and was also Carlos's brother-in-law, the blood-related kind.

"I don't want him to come back alive."

"Understood, sir," Secretary Ajit replied with his head bowed, waited for a moment to see if there were any further instructions, then slowly walked out, closing the door behind him.

He didn't rush to carry out Carlos's orders.

Instead, he stood in the hallway to catch a breath of fresh air.

Mr. Victor... seems like he might not make it.

As a secretary, Ajit could sense the storm coming. If Cuauhtémoc lived and came back, with Victor's support outside and the backing of big party heavyweights inside, he would surely take the position.

Would he, as a confidant, be purged?

Ajit panicked and suddenly thought, "Should I betray Carlos?"

He didn't even call him "sir" anymore.

But he quickly shook his head; his own hands weren't clean, and he was bound by mutual interests with Carlos.

Maybe...

Escape?

...

Mexico International News Department, interrogation room.

Quintero... both ears gone, no nose, the flesh of his face meticulously peeled apart layer by layer, and then honey placed in between.

B2 was like a psychopath from the movies, smiling, "Don't be nervous, it needs to be spread evenly to really bring out the flavor."

His fingers coated with honey, he smoothed it over the victim's face.

Quintero no longer had the strength to resist and could only stare with his eyes, emitting feeble sounds from his throat.

They hadn't damaged his eyes and throat, since the DEA would need them.

After all, they had to leave some place for them to cut, right?

B2 saw that his face was completely covered with honey and nodded with satisfaction, licking his sweet fingers.

Quintero looked on in horror. Were all the people under Victor like this monster?

B2 took out four tubes, filled with teeming ants, "These are Black Pear Bullhead Ants, very aggressive, with sharp, saw-toothed mandibles and a hard stinger, powerful venom, and they love sweets."

As he spoke, he opened the tubes and poured them onto Quintero's face.

The man's eyes rolled desperately downward, watching as the ants scurried across his face before viciously biting into the rotten flesh!

"Aaaahhhhh!!!!"

His screams were heart-wrenching.

"B2, inject an adrenaline shot," a colleague's voice came over the speaker.

"No worries, Mr. Quintero still has a strong voice, seems in good spirits, let him witness his own torture," B2 responded.

On the wall, Camarena's photo seemed to be watching this unfold.

It was as if he were smiling.

"I've told you, I've told everything! I've given the specific amounts and dates for the bribes I paid to Carlos on the computer at my Sinaloa mansion."

B2 burst out laughing, "Are you kidding me? Expecting us to run off to Sinaloa? Do you think we're fools? Find some other evidence!"

Sinaloa is Guzman's stronghold, heavily guarded for sure. The Mexico International News Department is made up of agents, not superheroes.

You'd get riddled with bullets.

"I tattooed an address on a prostitute in Mexico City; it's my residence in Tijuana. Inside, you'll find what you want, the US Dollars Carlos left with me."

B2's eyebrows raised, "Why would you tattoo the address on a prostitute?"

Quintero hung his head, and B2 slapped him thinking he'd fallen asleep, sending a few ants flying off his face.

"I... I have too many houses, I can't quite remember them all." Quintero said.

B2 looked up...

The colleagues in the command center also stared at each other, speechless.

Damn!

Does that sound like something a person would say?

Ask for a raise, demand a raise from the boss.

Drug traffickers are really loaded, no wonder so many people get into this business.

When the Chinese-Mexican drug lord Ye Zhenli got arrested, the Mexican government investigated his assets: approximately 177 mansions and over 300 luxury cars just in Mexico, almost 500 residences worldwide.

Hmm...

He mainly dealt in importing ephedrine, purchasing it for a thousand per kilogram. Once off the ships at Mexican ports, Sinaloa would snap it up at 30,000 US Dollars per kilogram.

Can one really live in so many mansions?

However, Victor has quite a few mansions now too, all spoils of war. He plans to give these residences as rewards to his subordinates who perform well.

"What's the name of this prostitute? What does she look like? Any distinctive features? How much does she cost?" B2 asked meticulously before synthesizing the information Quintero provided.

Operatives will go to verify this in due time.

If it's a lie.

At the very least, Quintero will lose two legs.

...

After finishing negotiations with Cuauhtémoc, Victor treated them to a dinner and even specially prepared a cake.

"My colleagues tell me it's your son's birthday today."

Cuauhtémoc looked at the cake in front of him, "You don't need to be so polite."

"This is nothing, we're partners on the same front, comrades in arms. Your son is like my child. Come on, make a wish!" Victor stood up and said.

The latter glanced at his father; from the look in his eyes, Cuauhtémoc saw longing.

Cake...

It had been a long time since he'd tasted one. The cake they had on his mother's birthday was just a regular pancake.

Cuauhtémoc smiled and patted his head, "Thank you, Uncle Victor."

"Thank you, Uncle!" McClure said, lifting his head with a smile.

"Make a wish! Make a wish!" Santos was always the mood setter, chiming in from the side.

McClure closed his eyes, pressed his hands together, "I wish my family is always happy, and that Mr. Victor is always safe, and that Santos and Stephanie are forever happy!"

A child's heart is simple.

He doesn't differentiate whether people are nice to him for some ulterior motive; he just knows he's happy.

Perhaps, that's the innocence that needs to be protected.

"You have to be happy too, McClure!" Santos embraced his new friend, his expression resolute, "Don't worry, under Mr. Victor's leadership, everyone in Mexico will be happy."

"You have to believe in us, the path we're on is definitely the right one."

Cuauhtémoc looked at Santos in surprise, then at Victor. Were these words that a child could say?

Was Victor already training the next generation?

He was preparing for a long battle!

...

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