Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 627 Luring them in to kill them!

Viktor woke up in the middle of the night with a throbbing headache.

After the conference, a banquet was held, and the American capitalists vented all their anger on the alcohol, each toasting Viktor, who soon got a few drinks.

Wearing my pajamas, I went to the balcony and smoked a cigarette.

He heard a soft pattering sound behind him, and then felt a coat being put on his body. He turned around and saw Belsaria saying, "Don't catch a cold, the weather is getting colder very quickly these days."

Victor smiled and nodded. "Why don't you sleep a little longer?"

Belsaria sat beside him, looking up at the sky. "Isn't next month Mexico's Day of the Dead? I want to pay tribute to my father and my grandfather."

Viktor was taken aback; it had almost been a year already.

"Then let's hold a big parade this year on Day of the Dead, so that people can also remember their fathers. True death is not dying but being forgotten."

He reached out and hugged Belsaria, saying, "I'll go with you to Mount Tepeya to pay our respects to them."

"it is good."

The two nestled together, quietly gazing at the sky, enjoying a rare moment of tranquility.

When Viktor got up the next day, he took a deep sniff.

"Boss, you've caught a cold? Should I call him for you?" Casare asked worriedly from the side.

"It's nothing, it's nothing, achoo~"

Victor was too embarrassed to admit that he and his wife were sitting on the balcony. He leaned back in his chair, looking somewhat dejected. "I'm thinking of organizing a Day of the Dead parade this year. Mexico City has about 7 million people now, and with tourists, it'll be a gathering of over 10 million people. It could boost our local GDP."

"Won't the safety pressure be quite high?"

"Afraid of security and then not doing it? No way. Here's what we'll do: in my name, mobilize the garrison and police forces to ensure the Day of the Dead goes on smoothly. Also, all four war zones will be on high alert on that day. As long as we remain vigilant, the saboteurs will never find a loophole."

"I personally estimate that we can earn more than 10 billion rials between November 1st and 2nd." Seeing that Casare was still somewhat hesitant, Victor dropped a bombshell.

Sure enough, Casare, who had been struggling under financial pressure, suddenly perked up. "I think we can't forget Mexican traditional culture, especially its great role in cultural and spiritual development."

"You, you, you must have been a miser in your past life."

"Also, build an altar on Mount Tepeya, where Belsaria will go to pay respects to her elders."

"Okay, I promise I'll get it done."

After pouring Viktor some hot water, Casare left the office. No matter how busy he was every day, he would always be in Viktor's office early in the morning.

In his words.

I have to report to you, boss, every day.

This sometimes moved Viktor to tears.

He smiled and shook his head, took a sip of hot water, and swallowed two cold pills. Just as he put down the cup, he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Augustine Prueuccier was excited. "Your Majesty, our press office has intercepted a message. According to the latest news, Pablo has been hospitalized, and his condition is very bad. He may not live much longer."

This news came as a surprise.

Viktor thought for a moment, "Tell the message to the front-line command, and also use the power of public opinion to make the whole world believe that Pablo is dead, so as to undermine the morale of the enemy resistance."

“If panic breaks out within the Medellin Cartel, it will be too much for Carlos Rider, the third leader, to handle. The organization may even disintegrate.”

The Medellín Cartel was not an individual organization; it was simply consolidated by Pablo's powerful charisma. In the eyes of many Colombians, he was a Robin Hood-like hero. But if he were to die, things would change.

Augustine Prueucci thumped his chest, making a loud thumping sound, "Leave this to us, we guarantee everyone will know by then."

"Once rumors start, they are not so easy to dissipate."

Augustine Prueucci left excitedly, while Viktor's gaze was deep. He died of illness?
How could I possibly let you have such a happy ending!
Even if you die, I will dig up your tombstone and drag your corpse out to whip it.

...

On October 24, The New York Times suddenly published a news item as its front-page headline:

“Pablo Escobar, Cocaine Kingpin Who Terrorized Colombia and US, Dies at 44“

(Cocaine kingpin Pablo Escobar dies at age 44 – he plunged Colombia and the United States into terror)

The news spread incredibly fast!
At this point, who cares whether the news is true or not? Just spread it first.

Media outlets in the United States, Mexico, South Korea, Japan, Colombia, and other countries all reprinted the story.

When the news reached the Cali Cartel, Gilbert, the head of the company, was shocked. He kept asking those around him, "Really? Pablo is dead? Why didn't I receive any news?"

He was also a little flustered.

No way, no way...

The third brother, Ceppe Santa Cruz, frowned. "Fake news. I haven't received it yet. I think this is a propaganda campaign by external forces, a rumor. I'll call them and see if they can get Pablo to testify."

As he spoke, he hurriedly walked to the table and picked up the phone.

Gilbert didn't stop them either. He also wanted to know what had happened. As someone in intelligence, he knew the harm that such rumors could cause.

Even before the collapse of the Soviet Union, rumors were already circulating within its ranks that the empire was beginning to crumble from within…

The Medellín Group has dozens of bulk collections.

"Grass!"

Chepe Santa Cruz angrily slammed down the phone and said to his older brother, "Carlos Ryder on the other end told me it was a rumor, but I wanted to speak with Pablo, but he refused, saying it was inconvenient for him."

"I think something has happened."

Gilbert sat up straight immediately, a strong sense of unease welling up inside him.

"Go and fetch Herrera and William here, quick!"

Chepe Santa Cruz also realized the importance of it, so he didn't let anyone call out to him. Instead, he ran outside and shouted, and his voice could be heard throughout the corridor. People thought he was calling a dog.

About four or five minutes later, the group of people, covered in sweat, arrived.

"Big brother, what's wrong?" Herrera looked like an old farmer. He was the one in charge of "planting" among the four brothers from the beginning, but later his colleagues all switched to technology and hard work, so he started to study hard now.

“We’ve reached a point of life or death,” Gilbert, the eldest brother, said gravely. “Something’s happened in Medellín.”

"I suspect Pablo is really dead."

! ! ! !
Miguel's son, William Rodriguez Aurejuela, narrowed his eyes. "Uncle, isn't this just a rumor?" Gilbert took a deep breath. "Medelllin's side is being vague, but we need to take action. Otherwise, if we continue like this, we'll just be waiting to die."

"Then, brother, what do you suggest? We'll do as you say," Herrera, the fourth brother, asked nervously.

"Yes, Uncle, we'll listen to you."

"Try to get some of you out of here. Go to countries that don't have extradition treaties with Mexico and the United States, get the money, and you'll be set for life. Stop trafficking drugs."

"how about you?"

Gilbert's eyes sharpened. "If I stay here, someone has to draw their fire. If we all leave, the intelligence department will definitely find out, and then none of us will be able to leave."

For Gilbert, who always sought hope even in dire straits, to say such a thing, it meant that a life-or-death situation had truly arrived.

The atmosphere became somewhat oppressive and heavy.

"You guys go ahead, I'm not leaving either." The fourth brother, Herrera, smiled. "If I can't grow crops, then there's no point. Going to other countries would just be living under someone else's roof, so why bother?"

Chepe Santa Cruz and the younger William Rodriguez Aurejue also wanted to speak, but Herrera stopped them, saying, "The family must have someone to carry on the family line."

This statement silenced everyone.

"You son of a bitch Victor, you son of a bitch Mexico! We've stopped doing business in Mexico, so why are they still trying to kill us?" William said with a hint of resentment, his head bowed.

Gilbert, seeing his nephew's mentality, did not refute him, but was somewhat worried. He thought that the boy was unwilling to give up and would become even more arrogant when he had no elders around.

and…

Will Victor let the Cali Group's top executives off the hook?

He'd even step on a roadside ant to death, and shake the yolks of eggs in a drug dealer's house until they're broken!

Hey!
If even the Cali Group is starting to think about its future, then it goes without saying that others are too.

The atmosphere of panic and despair made Medellín tremble, and the whole city seemed to lose its luster.

Third-in-command Carlos Ryder was somewhat flustered. He didn't dare answer the phone anymore, as one call after another came inquiring about what had happened. People weren't treating him with the same courtesy they had shown Pablo.

The tone gradually became impatient, the demeanor became increasingly unbalanced, and some even started swearing on the phone.

Carlos Ryder wasn't a very capable person to begin with; he had always been an executor following Pablo and Ochoa. But now that he was being put in charge of issuing orders, he must be feeling quite nervous.

His first orders were "No newspapers are allowed to circulate today" and "No internet access is allowed."

Isn't this the kind of person who gets more curious the more you forbid it?
The people of Medellín, who learned of Pablo's death two or three hours later than the mainstream society, panicked immediately. People lay on the roadside, staring blankly, as if their energy had been drained.

Some people even lay down on the road and cried loudly.

Mourning the passing of Pablo.

Even the frontline troops were starting to feel like surrendering on the spot.

"Carlos!"

Pablo's bodyguard, John Jero Veracruz, rushed in, looking anxious. "This can't go on. We need to get the boss out and clear things up. Otherwise, morale will plummet, and the team will be really hard to manage."

“But…but the boss is still in the ICU.” Carlos Ryder frowned, his voice trembling with emotion. “Am I supposed to shove the boss in front of the camera and make him talk? I’m a drug dealer, not some fucking God!”

He hung his head dejectedly, at a loss for what to do.

You might say that it would be better if Pablo had gone mad, at least he would still be alive, and everyone would regard him as a spiritual symbol. But if the spirit dies, then he is truly dead!
John Jero Veracruz's lips moved slightly. "Or we could negotiate with the Colombian government. We can lay down our arms and surrender, but we'd have to serve our sentences in Medellín. We could also stop the drug trade, but everyone would have to be acquitted?"

Carlos Ryder stared at him in astonishment. If the other man had said this a day ago, he would have sworn to kill him. But now, he suddenly felt that it made sense.

"Will Mexico and its allies agree?"

John Jero Veracruz breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing this. "As long as you agree," he said, patting the other man on the shoulder. If Pablo were alive or Ochoa were here, he would have chopped off his hand.

Anyone can pat you on the shoulder.

But Carlos had no objection; instead, he listened intently.

“Colombia is Colombia. We still have our inside contacts, right? Just tell them we’re willing to pay for their lives. As long as they agree, we can give them the money. Is the government willing to give up those billions or even tens of billions of dollars?!”

"It makes sense, it makes sense!"

Carlos Rider nodded vigorously. "I'll contact Colombia right away."

"Wait a little longer, don't panic too much, otherwise they will really think we have no power to fight back. I think it's best to fight a battle and suppress them for two or three days."

? ? ? ?
I am willing to call you Syngman Rhee of Medellín.

They're already ready to surrender, why are you still fighting?

But Carlos Ryder, who had long lost his own opinions, agreed without hesitation, and even took John Jero Veracruz's hand and patted the back of his hand, saying, "Now Medellín depends on you and me to carry it together."

"Don't worry, Carlos, I'll help you."

After they talked for a while, John left. He glanced back at Carlos, who was still pacing back and forth, not calm at all.

Sure enough, people call Medellín "one dragon, two tigers, three dog shit"!

There's absolutely no future in relying on him.

...

In fact, as soon as Carlos and John discussed surrendering, the Colombian frontline command received a secret report.

As for who gave it to him?
That doesn't matter, since everyone in the world knows how to write.

Erich Manstein reviewed the confidential report and discussed it with Chief of Staff Frederick von Paulus and Deputy Commander Gerd von Lundstätter.

After much discussion, the three of them finally came up with a good idea.

Erich Manstein slammed his fist on the table. "Fine, that's how it is. Get the Colombian government to agree to his policy, then lure them in and kill them!"

"Once the troops enter Medellin, they should quickly arrest the main leaders and drug traffickers. What's the difference between drug dealers who have laid down their weapons and mutineers?"

"Wouldn't this be condemned, and wouldn't the government be greatly affected?"

"It's alright, Führer Viktor can handle it."

Erich Manstein waved his hand dismissively, not caring at all. He squinted and said, "We are soldiers; we are only responsible for the results."

Military courts…

Victor goes first!
(End of this chapter)