Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 646 Mexico is my good friend.

The image of Colombian President Armando Benedetta returning to Bogotá in a high-profile manner, surrounded by Mexican armored convoys, was like a red-hot iron branding the opposition's heart.

Panic quickly spread among opposition members, who were naturally afraid of being purged.

In a secret hideout.

"He's back! With Mexican tanks!"

One of the lawmakers, his face grim and his voice trembling, said, "Armando will definitely seize this opportunity to brand us as traitors who collude with external forces and carry out a complete purge!"

"We can't sit still and wait for death!"

Another veteran opposition leader slammed his fist on the table, his eyes flashing with a desperate glint. "That fool thinks he's got the upper hand just because the Mexicans are backing him? Don't forget, General Carlos of the Bogotá city defense forces is one of us! He also has forces loyal to the country under his command!"

country?

The word sounded incredibly ironic coming from their mouths.

“Yes! We should make our move when the council is in session, when Armando is under the most stringent but also the most secure protection!” a third voice eagerly echoed.

"If we act quickly enough, eliminate Armando and his key henchmen, take control of the parliament building, and declare a state of emergency! Do you think the Mexicans would dare to start a war in downtown Bogotá? We'll also crush them with international pressure!"

"What did General Carlos say?" someone pressed.

"He agreed! His men will take over the perimeter of the parliament building tomorrow, under the pretext of preventing riots, when the parliament reaches a critical moment, and then elite squads will storm into the chamber."

The initiator lowered his voice, a hint of fanaticism in it, "The plan is simple: the action team enters, takes control of the situation, and eliminates the target. General Carlos will then announce that Armando has been eliminated by patriotic forces for colluding with foreign powers and betraying the country, and a provisional National Salvation Committee will be established! We will immediately take over the government!"

Inside the secret room, the opposition leaders were ignited by this insane plan.

They were out of options. If they didn't go all in now, they would truly have no chance left.

This world is not lacking in people who strive for their "ambition".

They quickly reached an agreement to launch a thunderous coup tomorrow in the parliament where Armando believed he had the upper hand, turning the tide with blood and fire!

They immediately relayed the final decision and operational details to General Carlos through the most clandestine channels, instructing him to prepare for everything. Every word was filled with a resolute determination to succeed or die trying.

However, their conspiracy was like throwing stones into a glass house.

Mexico's intelligence agency's powerful surveillance network has long since infiltrated the heart of Bogotá.

The communications that the opposition and General Carlos thought were top secret were being listened to by the Mexican intelligence agency at a listening station as clearly as a live broadcast.

The news quickly reached Manstein.

“The target has been identified, the plan is confirmed, the time of action is tomorrow during parliament, the target location is the Capitol Building, and the primary target is President Armando Benede and key members of his cabinet.”

He got the information faster than Armando Benede; Colombia was no secret to him.

“Time is of the essence,” Manstein said with increasing composure and reliability. “Cut off all of Bogotá’s external communications.”

"The other side are professional soldiers, and they are quite vigilant. We must approach the core area under the pretext of an emergency mobilization, catch them off guard, and disarm the troops as the primary objective. Anyone who resists should be executed on the spot!"

"Yes!!"

The order was given, and the entire Mexican force sprang into action.

At 2 a.m., Bogotá was completely silent.

General Carlos's command post and the camps where his elite troops were stationed had only a few sentries and patrolling soldiers.

Most of the soldiers were sound asleep, and the air was filled with the chill of the night and a faint sense of tension.

I don't know why, but I just feel nervous!
Suddenly, a deep, dense roar of engines came from afar, tearing apart the tranquility of the night.

Not just one or two, but dozens of armored personnel carriers and tactical assault vehicles, their headlights casting blinding beams in the darkness. In well-trained formation, they rapidly approached the camp gate and several key entrances and exits.

"Drill! Emergency assembly! All personnel, stand by!" The authoritative command came from the vehicle's loudspeaker, using the Colombian military's standard channel and terminology.

The sentry was somewhat confused, but upon seeing the familiar military paint scheme and hearing the "exercise" order, his tense nerves subconsciously relaxed a little.

That slight lapse in concentration determined their fate.

When the convoy approached to a very close distance without any hindrance, the mask of the "exercise" was instantly torn apart!

"Action! Action! Action!"

The piercing alarm and sharp gunshots rang out simultaneously!
The car door burst open with a bang, and commandos dressed in black combat uniforms and well-equipped surged out like ghosts.

Their movements were swift, precise, and perfectly coordinated; soldiers at several key outposts were killed before they could even raise their guns.

"Enemy attack! It's an enemy attack!!"

"This is not a drill! Open fire! Open fire now!"

Chaotic shouts rang out throughout the camp, but it was too late.

The attackers cut into the heart of the camp with surgical precision.

The command center's communications center was immediately paralyzed by EMP jamming and subsequently physically captured. Access to the weapons depot and heavy equipment storage area was heavily blocked by troops.

General Carlos was awakened by the loud gunfire in his bedroom.

He had just grabbed the pistol beside his pillow when several stun grenades rolled in.

The deafening explosion and blinding light instantly robbed him of his senses and ability to move. Only when he was roughly pinned to the ground and cold handcuffs locked around his wrists did he see the insignia on the intruder's uniform that did not belong to the Colombian army. It was the symbol of Mexico's elite special forces, with the insignia of the Colombian Ministry of the Interior's commando unit that was cooperating with the operation.

"What...what are you doing?! What are you doing?!"

Carlos's eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging on his forehead. He struggled and roared, his voice hoarse and distorted from anger and the effects of the stun grenade, "This is a Colombian military camp! This is an invasion! I will appeal to Congress! I will appeal to the international community..."

An officer stepped forward and slapped him, grabbing his hair. "General Carlos, you are suspected of plotting an armed rebellion with the intent to assassinate the president and cabinet members. The evidence is conclusive. You will be tried by a Mexican military court at the behest of President Armando Benedetta. You can save your charges for the judge." He gestured to his men, "Take him away! Note that the general is unwell and requires special care."

Like a caged beast driven mad, Carlos struggled futilely, cursing and spitting as he cried out, "Armando! You Mexican lackeys! You've ruined this country! You deserve to die! My soldiers won't let you get away with this..."

His roar echoed in the empty corridor, filled with the fury of being manipulated and the despair of failure.

Almost!
He was so close! His meticulously planned coup, his imagined Committee of National Salvation, and the power that was within his grasp all collapsed instantly like a sandcastle under Manstein's precise and preemptive strike.

He realized that everything he had painstakingly built was incredibly fragile in the face of the enemy's powerful intelligence network and overwhelming operational capabilities.

The anger at this moment is more like a lament for one's own powerlessness: "Prison! You can only lock me in a prison! But the Colombian people will know who truly loves their country!"

Idiot…

Even at this point, to say such foolish things is unacceptable. Only those who survive truly love their country.

The ordinary soldiers in the camp were completely thrown into panic.

Many people rolled off the bed, disheveled and barefoot, looking bewildered.

Gunshots, explosions, the commandos' stern shouts, the chaos of losing contact with their superiors... all of this happened in the blink of an eye.

"Where's the general? What happened to command post?"

"Who are they? Are they rebels or government troops?"

"My gun! My gun is in the gun cabinet!"

"Don't move! Drop your weapons! Surrender immediately!"

The commandos roared and the dark muzzles of their guns were pointed at anyone who tried to resist or run away.

The soldiers looked at the well-trained and overwhelmingly well-equipped enemy, at the key departments that were instantly taken over, and at their own officers who were being escorted out, their faces ashen…

The will to resist evaporated quickly, like dewdrops in the sunlight.

There was no unified command, no effective organization, and not even enough time to fully distribute the weapons.

Some people dropped their rifles, some huddled in the corner with their heads in their hands, trembling, and many more stood there blankly, their faces filled with shock, confusion, and fear of their unknown fate.

They were just ordinary soldiers following orders; there was no need for them to risk their lives.

The gunfire did not cease in the military camp.

That night, dark green armored vehicles rolled through the quiet streets of Bogotá, stopping precisely in front of the residences of key opposition members.

The heavy soles of boots shattered the tranquility of the mansion, and the rough sound of breaking down the door and harsh shouts replaced the chirping of insects in the dead of night.

Most of the leaders who were passionately plotting a "thunderous coup" in their secret hideouts were roughly dragged out of bed in their sleep.

When the cold touch pressed against my forehead and my hands were handcuffed behind my back, any thought of resistance crumbled instantly under the absolute force of the attack.

Three strokes of the baton, and I'll say, "Sir, I'm a scholar."

Some people tried to touch the hidden weapons, but they were met with only a few short, deadly gunshots that sounded particularly jarring in the luxurious room, along with screams.

The body was quickly dragged away, and where it was taken... that was no longer a concern.

The Mexican military has already mastered the art of eliminating this scourge.

The following morning, Bogotá was shrouded in a very tense atmosphere.

The gunshots and commotion last night silenced the entire city.

The atmosphere on the road to the Parliament building was as heavy as lead.

Members of parliament, especially those who were not directly affected but knew the inside story or had ties to the opposition, practically shuffled into the parliament hall.

Their faces were pale, their eyes darted around, and cold sweat soaked the backs of their expensive shirts. The air was thick with fear and relief at surviving.

No one spoke; only suppressed breathing and the rustling of leather shoes on the carpet, each step feeling like walking on a knife's edge.

They carefully searched for their seats, avoiding eye contact with anyone, especially not looking towards the podium.

After everyone sat down with great unease, even those who knew each other didn't dare to greet one another.

The heavy doors of the parliament hall were slowly pushed open.

President Armando Benede walked in with steady steps, surrounded by several sharp-eyed Mexican bodyguards.

He walked straight to the podium, his steps exuding unprecedented confidence and authority.

He stood still, his gaze slowly sweeping over the terrified, bewildered, and forcedly composed faces below the stage, a meaningful, almost gentle smile appearing on his face.

He didn't sit down immediately, but leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on the podium, like a tolerant parent welcoming a child who had gone astray and returned to the right path.

"Gentlemen," his voice carried clearly through the microphone throughout the hall, with a relaxed air of complete control, "welcome back."

Below the stage, the pre-arranged members of Congress loyal to the president's faction immediately erupted in deafening cheers and applause.

They clapped their hands vigorously, their faces beaming with the joy of "victory" and boundless support for the president. Their voices echoed through the hall, creating a tremendous wave of cheers. The cheers were so enthusiastic and so uniform that they stood in stark contrast to the silent, terrified, and ashen-faced members of Congress below.

Armando's gesture instantly silenced the hall, giving him an unusual sense of power he had never felt before. In a calm and powerful tone, he said, "A small group of traitors who colluded with foreign forces, attempted to overthrow the legitimate government, and assassinate me have been completely crushed with the timely and powerful assistance of our Mexican friends! Their conspiracy, like frost under the sun, melted away in an instant."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the audience again, this time with a barely perceptible chill: "General Carlos and his core henchmen have been arrested and will face the full force of the law! And those corrupt officials who were exposed in their sleep for attempting to divide the country have been brought to justice or are under control! The skies over Colombia have cleared once more!"

“Those sitting here today,” Armando’s voice suddenly rose, filled with power, “are the true representatives of the Colombian people, loyal to the Constitution, and committed to the peace and development of the country! We have removed the malignant tumors and left behind the pillars! Let us put aside past grievances, unite as one, and with the firm and selfless support of our Mexican friends, jointly build a stronger, more prosperous, and more united Colombia!”

Another wave of thunderous applause and cheers erupted, lasting for a long time.

Armando watched with satisfaction as the remaining opposition members of parliament trembled under the applause, forced to clap along. He opened his arms, embracing his kingdom like a true victor:
"Let's get to work! For Colombia's tomorrow!"

There was thunderous applause from the audience.

But how much of that applause was genuine support, how much was submissive out of fear, and how much was numb from surviving a catastrophe—only each person knows the truth in their heart.

"The first thing to do is to re-elect cabinet members."

Armando Benede stood tall and demanded, "Who's in favor? Who's against?!"

……

(End of this chapter)