Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 680 They're all so depraved!

The sixth day of the United Nations conference recess.

Newspaper Street in Manhattan, New York, was packed with newspaper and magazine owners buying stock, waving banknotes in their hands.

"Give it to me! Give it to me!!"

"I'll add 20%!"

The entrances to every newspaper office were practically bursting at the seams.

In the 90s, before the internet, newspapers, radio, and television were the main battlegrounds for information warfare.

The Mexican National Radio broadcasts the documentary "Sword of Anti-Drug" every morning, a documentary focusing on Mexico's fight against drugs.

Everything in this is real.

Even the heroes who sacrificed their lives were real, bringing tears to the eyes of viewers.

Anyone with a conscience would be moved by this.

However, the European media's counterattack was equally fierce.

The BBC evening news broadcast footage of "Mexican soldiers beating civilians".

But the upright and just official...

When you're beating people up, could you at least change your British accent? People who don't know better might think you have cow dung stuffed in your mouth.

This kind of petty trick...

It's so clumsy.

Italian television station RAI invited a "human rights expert" to tearfully recount the "at least 50 million civilian casualties in Mexico's war on drugs."

"Fifty million? That's the population of South Korea or Uganda!"

The host's exaggerated reactions immediately created a very lively atmosphere.

The expert nodded seriously, "We've confirmed with informed sources, it's fifty million!"

"Fifty million, gentlemen! Victor is a murderous monster!"

Compared to their "frog-like ramblings," the voice from the Mexican side was much more rational.

At a press conference in Paris, the Mexican ambassador to France slammed a stack of bank statements on the table: "These are remittance records from the French LVMH Group to drug traffickers through offshore companies. Take a look, how much of the luxury goods you buy are stained with Latin American blood!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than a reporter retorted: "Your special forces mistakenly killed civilians in Brazil, why don't you produce any evidence?"

The dispute escalated from data-related arguments to personal attacks, ultimately forcing French security to remove the agitated journalist from the venue.

Outside the EU headquarters in Brussels, protesters marched with signs that read "Stop the killing in Latin America," but a few oddballs were mixed in with the crowd holding signs that read "Drug dealers are human too."

It was later revealed that they were actors hired by a European consortium. Meanwhile, in Mexico City's Zócalo (Constitution Square), tens of thousands of people rallied holding signs that read "Drugs Never Die," and some posted photos of "tragic drug dealers" reported by European media on the ground, letting passersby step on them and shout: "These bastards who kill children, do they deserve sympathy?"

The verbal battles in the public sphere have gradually devolved from "civilized debate" into vulgar curses.

People are still very simple and honest.

Fuck your mother!!!

A columnist for the Spanish newspaper El Mundo called Mexico "a rogue state in Latin America" ​​in an article, to which the Mexican newspaper El País immediately retorted, "The Spanish haven't forgotten the bloodshed of their colonial past, what right do they have to criticize others?" A German journalist said on television that "Mexico's iron-fisted approach is fascist behavior," to which a Mexican journalist directly retorted on the radio: "How did Germany treat Jews during World War II? Now you're protecting drug traffickers the same way!"

Just as the war of words was raging, the positions of various countries gradually became clear, and Europe, the stronghold of capitalism, basically stood together.

The stance was almost unanimously one of condemnation.

The 15 EU member states issued a joint statement demanding that Brazil "immediately cease military operations and restart peace negotiations." Germany and France also announced a suspension of agricultural imports from Brazil. Although Hungary and Poland in Eastern Europe did not follow suit with sanctions, they voted in favor of the EU at the UN Human Rights Council.

Switzerland remained neutral, but quietly froze the assets of several Mexican companies involved in drug control. It's obvious to everyone that Swiss banks hold too much drug money from European conglomerates.

The situation in Latin America, however, is in complete chaos.

Cuba and Venezuela were among the first to stand up in support of Mexico.

Cuban leaders publicly stated at a mass rally in Havana: "The anti-drug war in Latin American countries must not be hijacked by European public opinion!"

Venezuela also announced a donation of medical supplies to Brazil, specifically for the aid of civilians in the fight against drugs. Colombia, due to the "Mexico-Colombia" triangular alliance, directly opened its borders, even saying that if Brazil is in trouble, Colombia is in trouble!

But the remaining Latin American countries are playing the "feigning madness" card.

When asked about his stance on Brazil's anti-drug campaign at a press conference, the Argentine president hesitated for a long time before finally saying, "We are more concerned about domestic beef exports, and we cannot comment on the affairs of other countries."
Peruvian President's National Security Advisor, Vladimiro Montesinos, announced the "temporary closure of the border with Brazil to prevent the conflict from escalating."

However, this did not actually stop drug traffickers from smuggling weapons from Peru into Brazil. Some people in the Peruvian government had received benefits from European conglomerates and did not want to offend Mexico, nor dared to offend the European Union, so they could only use "closed-door policy" to evade their position.

Trying to please both sides.

The most outrageous one is Chile.

Do you know Pinochet? He's a staunch "Western lackey," "capitalist conscience," and "dictatorial strongman." Although he stepped down in 1990, he still holds the position of Commander-in-Chief of the Army.

The 80-year-old man told reporters, "Latin America belongs to everyone, not just one person's Latin America."

This statement is quite clear: which way is his backside facing?

Inside the National Palace in Mexico City, Victor looked at the position reports from various Latin American countries and couldn't help but laugh out loud: "The Argentinians are afraid of losing their European beef orders, the Peruvians have accepted bribes and dare not speak up, and Chile..."

"The old man has lived too long. Living too long makes people tired of him."

Casare stood to the side, his eyes flashing, he understood!
Even if the boss doesn't say anything, he still has to do a good job.

Find a way to send that old man to his death.

He understands!

He understands!

Casare held the intelligence he had just received: "The Brazilian president just called to say that Argentina refused to allow them passage to transport food, and the number of drug traffickers' weapons on the Peruvian border is increasing."

Victor leaned back on the sofa, glancing at his cigarette and frowning. "Most of these Latin American countries rely on the European and American markets for survival. They don't dare to break ties with the EU, but they also know that if Brazil's anti-drug efforts fail, drug traffickers will spread across the borders to the whole of Latin America, and then they won't be able to escape."

Casare's eyes were almost overflowing with malice. He took half a step forward and said in a very low voice, "Boss, these opportunists are just a menace! Why don't we teach them a lesson? Let's show them what's what on their land and make them start making trouble!"

The cigarette between Viktor's fingers burned to the end, and he fell silent.

Politics is actually not that simple...

He wanted to blow them up, to fucking kill them all, but alas... he didn't have the ability.

If you throw the little mushroom over, oh dear, the crab's claws will come over and snap the little chick in half.

Just then, there was a knock on the office door.

"Come in," Victor called out.

The secretary clutched a telegram tightly in his hand, his voice trembling: "Mr. President! Something terrible has happened in the United States!"

Viktor frowned. His secretary was usually composed and rarely lost her composure like this.

He took the telegram, glanced at it quickly, and his pupils suddenly contracted.

Casare leaned closer to take a look and was stunned. Under the guise of peace talks, George W. Bush had set a trap in the Pentagon and killed more than twenty army officers who had led troops in a riot. The worst off among them was Major William Hudson, commander of the 32nd Infantry Regiment, who had plundered Tacoma. (Chapter 619, Characters).

"What exactly happened?" Viktor's voice was a little hoarse. He couldn't believe that someone who dared to lead an army in a mutiny would agree to peace talks.

Your grandma's legs!
Are you out of your mind?

You're rebelling, not just coming out for a meal.

Viktor was almost laughing in exasperation.

The secretary swallowed hard, composed herself, and slowly began to speak: "I heard that Major Hudson thought Bush really wanted to negotiate with him, after all, he held control of Tacoma and had quite a few soldiers with him. But as soon as he entered the Pentagon's conference room, the door was locked. Bush didn't waste any words with him and immediately ordered his men to take action. Major Hudson tried to resist, but his guards had already been subdued."

"Finally, he was pinned to the conference table, his throat was slit with a military dagger, and blood sprayed all over the table. His eyes were wide open and he didn't close them until he died. What's worse, Bush Jr. had his body hung in front of the Pentagon and displayed for two hours, supposedly to warn those who dared to rebel."

Viktor had seen ruthless people, the cruelty of drug dealers, and the bloodshed of the battlefield, but he had never seen such stupid idiots, and more than twenty of them at that. These guys had soldiers and territory; even if they didn't confront George W. Bush head-on, they could retreat to Tacoma and stand off the government. Yet they actually believed George W. Bush's peace talk and willingly walked into his death trap?

"Has he gone mad?" Casare muttered to himself, his eyes filled with shock. "They've already rebelled, and he still dares to go to the Pentagon alone? Does he think Bush is a philanthropist? Or does he think he's too tough to handle?"

"Has Hudson lost his mind? When it comes to mutinies, you either go all the way or surrender and beg for a way out. Who would agree to peace talks without adequate protection? George W. Bush already hated traitors in the army to the core, and yet he willingly walked into their trap to be killed, and to die such a gruesome death..."

Viktor took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

“Go and call Jeff Bennett, Augustine Prueucci, and George Smiley over.”

The secretary nodded vigorously, sensing the leader's dissatisfaction in his tone, after all... he had been addressed by his full name.

Casare didn't dare to speak and just sat there.

More than half an hour later, Jeff Bennett and Augustin Przeuchir arrived. As soon as they came in, Victor didn't say a word, just stood there with a gloomy face. The two men sensed something was wrong and glanced at Casare, hoping to get something out of him, but the other man didn't dare to look at them.

After waiting for another ten minutes or so, George Smiley finally came in. As soon as he entered, Donald glanced at his watch and asked, "Did you go to America to find prostitutes or to France to find men?"

After saying that, he picked up an ashtray and smashed it on the ground, startling everyone.

The sound of the ashtray shattering on the floor made the air in the office freeze instantly.

Jeff Bennett and Augustin Prueucci instinctively straightened up, even slowing their breathing.

Casare was completely absorbed in his own world, as if the shards of broken glass on the ground held an irresistible allure.

George Smiley's face paled. He knew Victor's temper all too well. They could usually be like brothers, joking and bantering, but being late when Victor's face was clearly grim was a major offense. Especially at this crucial moment.

“General, I…” Smiley opened his mouth, wanting to explain.

"Shut up." Victor pointed to the scattered crystal shards on the ground. "Pick them up."

Without the slightest hesitation, Smiley immediately crouched down and began picking up the sharp fragments with his bare hands.

Bennett and Prueucci exchanged a glance, both seeing seriousness in each other's eyes; the boss was truly enraged this time.

Victor stood up, walked around the desk, and strolled over to Smiley, looking down at him as he clumsily cleaned up the mess.

"That idiot Hudson, and his twenty-odd equally brainless accomplices, their bodies are probably not even completely cold yet."

"With their stupidity and bloodshed, they handed George W. Bush a knife that would quickly stabilize the domestic situation. Now that the pressure from the north has decreased significantly, tell me, who's next?"

"You haven't sent me any news at all?!"

Smiley's finger was cut by a shard of metal, and blood seeped out, but he dared not stop.

“Where are our men?” Victor looked at Bennett. “You want money? I’ll give you money. You want men? I’ll give you men. What? Now you’re all ready to enjoy yourselves?!”

"I think you've all forgotten what the front lines are like!"

Bennett immediately stepped forward, speaking rapidly but clearly: "Yes, boss. According to our latest intelligence, Bush's methods this time are extremely ruthless, and the deterrent effect is very significant. The previously wavering military forces have quickly sided with the government. The rebellion in Tacoma has been quelled, and most of the soldiers involved in the mutiny have been disarmed and imprisoned. Bush is establishing his authority!"

Bennett said in a somber tone, "It is expected that diplomatic and public opinion pressure will come first, and more direct intervention measures cannot be ruled out. They have certainly seen the movements in Europe, and they want to take advantage of this situation to make themselves famous."

Viktor then turned his gaze to Augustine Prueucci.

Finally, Victor's gaze fell back on Smiley, who had just finished cleaning up the debris and whose hands were still stained with blood.

"At a time like this, I was a full seventeen minutes late."

"Give me a reason that can convince me, or you can go to the front lines and replace Ethan."

Smiley stood up, ignoring the blood on his hands, and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his inner pocket, handing it over with both hands. His voice was hoarse with nervousness:
“Boss, this is why I’m late. It was sent out by a secret agent we planted at Credit Suisse, at great risk. It’s very important.”

Viktor's fingers held the crumpled note, the handwriting on it so messy it looked like it was written with his left hand, the ink still slightly damp, indicating it was passed on in a very rushed manner.

But when he finished reading the contents word by word, his originally gloomy face instantly turned so dark it could drip water.

"Does the US want Britain and other countries to help him quell domestic rebels? Does Bram Ramsfield have British associates around him?"

Victor held the note up to Smiley, who tried to explain, but was interrupted by Victor's next action. The note, which contained "important information," was suddenly torn into four pieces and slammed into Smiley's face with force.

"this one?"

“Smiley, I put you in charge of intelligence coordination so that you could keep an eye on the claws of those wolves in Europe and America, and this is what you’ve produced?”

"No one knows better than me who Bramo Rumsfeld is around, whether he has spies or not. Do you think I don't know?"

He turned and paced back and forth a couple of steps.

"You think I don't know that Bramo has British people around him?"

Victor suddenly stopped and turned to look at Smiley, his eyes almost overflowing with sarcasm. "When BAE Systems signed an arms contract with the U.S. Department of Defense last year, Carter's office gained a 'policy advisor.' That guy's grandfather was a retired rear admiral in the Royal Navy, and that guy followed Carter to Bramo's side. Do I need to tell you about that?"

"I summoned you here not to hear your reports of these trivial intelligence reports!"

Victor slammed his hand on the wooden tabletop with a dull thud. "What I need to know is why William Hudson was so stupid as to believe Bush's nonsense about peace talks!"

His gaze swept across Bennett, Prueuccier, and Smiley's faces. "Someone who can lead an army to capture Tacoma and dare to openly challenge the US government, wouldn't he know that a coup is a dead end with no turning back? He has territory and soldiers in his hands. Even if he doesn't confront Bush head-on, he could hold out for half a month by retreating to Tacoma and confronting the government! But he insisted on going to the Pentagon alone, with a group of equally brainless officers. This isn't stupidity; it's abnormal!"

Bennett's Adam's apple bobbed, and he stepped forward to try and explain, "Boss, we've investigated Hudson's background. He comes from a military family in Texas, has always been impulsive, and..."

"And what?"

Victor interrupted him, tapping his fingers heavily on the table. "And is he so stupid that he doesn't even understand that negotiations require leverage? Or is he so stupid that he thinks Bush would sit down with him over coffee to discuss terms?"

Prudl pushed up his glasses and lowered his voice: "We suspect that there may be an informant within the US government around Hudson, or... he received some kind of assurance that made him mistakenly believe that the peace talks were genuinely sincere. After all, Bush's scheme this time was too meticulous; even Hudson's bodyguards were controlled in advance. It's clear that he had laid a trap long ago."

"Suspect?"

Viktor tugged at his collar, suppressing the anger surging in his chest. "I don't want suspicion! I want evidence! Evidence that explains why he walked into the trap!"

He turned sharply to Jeff Bennett, who instinctively shrank back, but still stubbornly held his neck.

"You're in charge of foreign intelligence, you should know best what the US military is up to! After Hudson's coup, did he have any private contact with the Pentagon? Did any third-party forces pass messages to him? Did you investigate?"

Jeff Bennett's face flushed red. "We...we checked Hudson's communications, but after the coup, he cut off most public communications and used encrypted channels. Our people haven't finished cracking them yet, and Bush acted too quickly this time. By the time we reacted, Hudson was already..."

"So you've become a corpse hanging in front of the Pentagon, haven't you?"

Viktor picked up where he left off, "I gave you money and manpower, and put you in charge of keeping an eye on every little thing happening in America. And what was the result? A mutiny leader who could have influenced the entire North American situation died under mysterious circumstances. You can't even figure out why he died!"

He suddenly raised his hand, pointed at the office door, and his voice abruptly rose: "Get out! Get out now!"

The three of them froze, none of them daring to move.

"I say it again, get out!"

"I'm giving you three days! Within three days, I need to know whether Hudson has any accomplices, and what methods Bush used to trick him into negotiating."

"If three days later you still give me 'suspicion,' 'possibility,' or 'still investigating,' then don't come back; go straight to the front lines."

"Yes! We'll go right away!"

The three of them ran out somewhat disheveled, stood at the door, looked at each other, but didn't know what to say.

All I could do was sigh in exasperation.

Viktor was still angry in his office.

"Damn! I never dreamed you guys would become so depraved, all of you pampered and spoiled. Don't forget how hard we fought our way out with every single sword and spear!"

He picked up the red wine on the table, downed it in one gulp, spilling half the glass outside, staining his suit red. He then threw the cup on the ground and began to curse.

"Fuck your mother!"

"They're all such a worry!"

……

(End of this chapter)