Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 681 Latin American Sima Yi!
Along the Mississippi River in Illinois, the morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the damp air, carrying a fishy smell, clung to the wool coats of Bramor Ramsfield.

He sat in a folding chair, his fishing rod resting diagonally on a metal stand, the fishing line dangling into the river.

The sound of leather shoes stepping on gravel came from behind me, neither too loud nor too soft.

Bramo didn't turn around, but he already knew who it was. "I thought you were going to be late. Did you not put enough sugar in your coffee today?"

"No way."

John Hawkins chuckled good-naturedly, "I've made you some Guatemalan beans, they're a bit richer than what you said last time."

He placed the thermos at Bramo's feet, then took a checkered tablecloth from his briefcase and carefully laid it on the stone next to him.

Bramo then turned his head, his gaze sweeping over Hawkins's neatly ironed shirt collar, which he had ordered from Chicago last month, and a small silver cufflink with the initials "B&R" engraved on it.

This is my "secretary," and also my childhood friend!
After he took over Illinois, his parents died, and he had no one he knew well, which made him somewhat...lonely.

One day, while at a gas station, he ran into John Hawkins, who was doing a car wash. He was overjoyed, and the two were thrilled to see each other.

With his patronage, the other person became his secretary.

On this point, Viktor wouldn't argue with him; even a puppet has to give others some freedom, right?

"Our people found out that the cause of death for Hudson's group was that their weaknesses were exploited and they believed promises they shouldn't have."

Bramo recalled the photos he had seen at the Pentagon three days earlier: Hudson's body hanging from a pillar in the main entrance, the wound on his neck so deep it exposed bone.

He immediately sensed something was wrong. Hudson was no fool who would easily walk into a dead end, having led the 32nd Infantry Regiment to capture Tacoma.

"What methods did Bush use?" Bramo asked.

He was very curious about this.

"swear."

Hawkins' voice was very low, even his breathing was light, "The oath was taken on the banks of the Mississippi River, in the St. Louis section. On the night of the 15th of last month, Bush Jr. led a group there and found many witnesses before Hudson and his men dared to go."

Bramo's fingers paused.

Taking an oath on the Mississippi River is an almost sacred ceremony in American politics. When Lincoln was running for president, he swore to voters on the banks of this river that he would abolish slavery!

Later, when Roosevelt implemented the New Deal, he also promised by the river that the unemployed would have food. For someone like Hudson, who came from a military family, the river god's "witness" carried more weight than legal statutes.

Who were the witnesses?

Hawkins swallowed hard. "The Kennedy family, specifically Joseph Kennedy Jr., the grandson of John F. Kennedy Sr., who is now in charge of the family's arms business in the Midwest, was the one who made the connection. He told Hudson that 'Bush Jr. genuinely wants reconciliation. After all, we are all Americans, and there is no need to push things to the extreme.'"

Bramo's breathing suddenly became heavy.

The Kennedy family, a behemoth that has dominated American politics for more than half a century, holds half of the connections in Congress and controls port trade on the East Coast.

Their involvement in facilitating the deal was like stamping a golden seal on George W. Bush's promise.

Even if Hudson and his group had doubts, they would be blinded by the words "guaranteed by the Kennedy family".

It's actually like...

If your village chief asks you to be a guarantor for a bank loan, you'd definitely tell him to get lost. But what if it's the county head or the mayor?

Different social statuses will produce different effects.

"What exactly did George W. Bush say?" he pressed.

"They said that as long as they were willing to lay down their weapons and go to the Pentagon to talk, they would let bygones be bygones."

Hawkins' voice held a hint of sarcasm, "He even said he would make Tacoma a 'military special zone,' let Hudson continue as commander, and even promised to replenish the 32nd Infantry Regiment with equipment. Little Bush even poured a glass of whiskey into the river and said that if he broke his oath, he would let the river god take his life, and he drowned in the Mississippi!"

Bramo suddenly laughed.

He recalled George W. Bush's ever-smiling face and his righteous accusations against Mexico for "human rights violations" at the United Nations conference. Now it seemed that all of that was just a performance for outsiders.

"Hudson believed it?"

"I believe it."

Hawkins nodded, then pulled another photograph from his briefcase. The photograph showed Joseph Kennedy Jr. and Hudson shaking hands on the riverbank, with mist rising over the Mississippi River in the background.
"Hudson's brother works at the Kennedy family's shipyard and was promoted to workshop foreman last year. Joseph Jr. told him, 'If you don't trust the government, you should at least trust me, right? We Kennedys never lie to our soldiers.'"

Bramo held the photo in his hand, his fingertips tracing the smile on Hudson's face. He suddenly felt a tightness in his throat, not because the coffee was too hot, but because the anger he had been holding in was about to burst forth.

"So, the Kennedy family helped set up the stage from the very beginning of Bush's scheme."

He threw the photo on the tablecloth, saying, "Hudson thought he had leverage in negotiations, but he had already become meat on someone else's chopping block."

Hawkins didn't say anything, he just picked up the photo.

Bramo looked at the fishing rod again, but the float remained motionless.
Why did the Kennedy family help George W. Bush?

"I think it's about interests, but we don't know exactly what those interests are."

"Hades, you deserved to die, you idiot."

Bramo's movements were tinged with barely suppressed frustration. The carbon fiber fishing rod crashed onto the gravel with a "clatter," the spool came undone, and the fishing line swept haphazardly across the river, startling several water birds that were roosting in the weeds.

He didn't look back at the fishing rod, but walked straight towards the black sedan parked in the distance.

"This is boring, I'm not fishing anymore."

After walking about ten steps, he suddenly paused. Bramo turned to the side and said, "Hawkins, do you think Victor might one day really use Illinois as a bargaining chip for profit? Or even... throw me away?"

Hawkins had just bent down to pick up the fishing rod when he heard this, and his fingers suddenly gripped the cold metal stand tightly.

He looked up and saw Bramo's gaze fixed on his face, which held none of his usual nonchalance, only a deep-seated unease.

Hawkins opened his mouth, but he couldn't respond: to say "no" would be self-deception, since Victor, who had pushed Bramo to this position, would never be bound by "favor"; to say "yes" would be to risk shattering Bramo's last bit of security.

He silently leaned the fishing rod against the rock, then carefully put the thermos flask from the tablecloth into his briefcase, his movements as slow as if he were carefully choosing his words.

He didn't look up until the zipper clicked shut, his voice deeper than when he was talking about Bush: "Brother, I can't figure out what Victor is thinking, but what I can see is that Ludwig Baker now has command of 60% of the troops stationed in Illinois, and last week even the keys to the Chicago armory were handed over to his people."

Bramo's brow furrowed even more.

"We are like standing on ice now."

Hawkins took two steps forward and lowered his voice, "You were promoted by Victor, but you have no troops and no real power. Last time you wanted to send two hundred men to clear out the refugees along the river, Baker rejected it with a single sentence about a shortage of troops. Do you think that when it really comes to making a choice, without military power as a backer, how much weight do we have in Mr. Victor's eyes?"

Bramo shivered.

To be honest, his brother-in-law was inhuman. He had been paying close attention to the recent situation in Latin America, and seeing how things had come to this point, he asked himself if he had "surrendered" long ago.

But Viktor stubbornly ignored it and planned to launch a full-scale attack!
He looked at the blurry spots of light on the river in the distance, recalling the deep, bone-revealing wound on Hudson's body, and then at Hawkins's "Kennedy family guarantee." It turned out that whether it was Hudson's "river god oath" or his own "puppet position," they were essentially rootless duckweed.

"You mean, I need to have my own armed forces?" Bramo's voice carried a hint of uncertainty.

"It's not that we have to have it, it's that we absolutely must have it."

Hawkins spoke with certainty, pulling a folded piece of paper from his briefcase and handing it over. “This is what I found out. There’s an abandoned National Guard training camp in southern Illinois with some old equipment left. Also, the driver who drove you last time—he’s a veteran of the 101st Airborne Division. He has a lot of connections with his old comrades, people who were ostracized under Baker and had nowhere else to go.”

“Brother, Hudson was stupid to believe someone else’s oath,” Hawkins said, standing behind him. “We can’t be stupid enough to not even have our own backers. Whether Victor will abandon you depends on whether you have the value he can’t bear to abandon.” Bramo folded the paper and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

“Let’s go, back to Chicago.” Bramo turned, his pace quickening considerably, his leather shoes clicking on the gravel with a resolute sound. “Call that driver over; I need to see him. And what about Baker…”

"Forget it, ignore him for now."

Bramo hesitated for a moment, then wavered again.

"clear."

……

The morning light in Mexico City had just spilled over the temporary fences of the redevelopment zone, and the smell of yellow earth and cement was still mixed with the lingering stench of the old slums.

Viktor was wearing a bright yellow hard hat, with the brim pulled down slightly.

"This area is the first batch of residential buildings to be topped out. It uses prefabricated building technology from China, which is nearly two-thirds faster than traditional construction."

Old Zhou, the Chinese engineer at the front, held a roll of blueprints in his hand and tapped the label "community hospital" with his fingertip. "As per your requirements, each building has a refuge floor, and the underground parking garage can be converted into a temporary material storage point, which can be used for war and disaster prevention."

Viktor nodded, kicked the newly poured concrete block at his feet with his toe, and traced the rough surface with his fingertip: "We need to keep a close eye on the quality. We can't make the kind of shoddy projects that European conglomerates build."

Old Zhou immediately stopped and took out a notebook from his pocket: "Don't worry, we have a three-inspection system. The steel bar type and concrete strength are checked, and three parties sign off on them every day. If there's a problem, I'll be the first to pack my bags and leave."

His eyes shone brightly as he said this, "Moreover, the headquarters in China said that this is a benchmark project for Sino-Mexican cooperation, and we can't tarnish its reputation."

The officials following him quickly echoed his sentiments, some praising China's advanced technology, others saying that the renovations would solve the housing problem for 100,000 displaced people, and still others offering bottled water, which Casare calmly turned away.

Viktor ignored the flattery and focused his gaze on the workers demolishing an old house not far away. Several young men in camouflage pants, with scars from anti-drug operations still on their arms, were carrying steel bars into a truck.

"Are these all retired anti-drug soldiers?" Victor asked.

"Yes."

The Mexican official in charge of the renovation project quickly replied, "You said you would give priority to the employment of the families of the martyrs and veterans. They worked harder than anyone else, saying they wanted to earn a stable place for their fallen brothers."

Viktor grunted in agreement.

Just then, I heard hurried footsteps behind me.

The secretary rushed to Casare's side, her lips close to his ear, her voice barely audible, yet a few words still reached Viktor's ears: "In America... Hudson... the evidence has been found..."

Casare nodded, then quickly walked to Victor's side, bent down and whispered, "Boss, the intelligence department just sent over some information. We have results regarding Hudson's death."

Viktor paused, glancing at Old Zhou and the officials who were still waiting for him to speak. "Let's call it a day."

Old Zhou paused for a moment, wanting to say something more, but was stopped by the look Casare gave him.

Viktor took off his helmet, handed it to the bodyguard behind him, and strode towards the black sedan parked by the roadside.

The car door slammed shut, shutting out the noise from outside.

“Boss, Smiley and the others found out that Hudson dared to go to the Pentagon because he had the Kennedy family as a guarantor.” Casare’s voice was tinged with resentment. “On the 15th of last month, George W. Bush met with Hudson on the banks of the Mississippi River and had Joseph Kennedy Jr. as a witness.”

Why should the Kennedy family help George W. Bush?

Casare swallowed hard. “Smiley’s men said that Bush promised that if the Kennedy family helped him deal with Hudson and stabilize the military situation, a member of the Kennedy family would become vice president after he officially took office as president.”

"Vice President?"

Victor was taken aback, then burst into laughter. "Damn! That little Bush kid, he really dares to gamble! Isn't he afraid the Kennedy family will turn around and take over his power?"

Casare also found it outrageous: "Moreover, the intelligence also said that the Kennedy family not only vouched for him, but also helped Bush stabilize Congress. All of the connections that the elder Kennedy had in Congress were mobilized by Joseph. Last week, the House of Representatives voted in favor of the anti-rebellion bill, which was pushed by the Kennedy family behind the scenes."

Viktor ran his fingers along the stubble on his chin, his eyes turning sinister.

He recalled that at the UN meeting, the US representative had righteously accused Mexico of "violating human rights." Now it seemed that it was all an act. Bush used the "Vice President" position as bait to win over the Kennedy family, while using the "River God Oath" as a pretext to trick Hudson into killing him, and then using Hudson's body to intimidate the military. This combination of tactics was even more ruthless than he had imagined.

Is he a living Sima Yi?

"That idiot Hudson, he probably didn't even realize he'd been betrayed until he died. He thought the Kennedy family was there to save him, but instead they pushed him even deeper into hell. Bush's move was more ruthless than that of drug dealers. At least drug dealers dare to kill openly, but he used his family's reputation as a weapon, killing people and still making others think he was 'putting the greater good' in his heart."

Casare nodded: "Smiley also said that Bush has now begun to purge the opposition in the military. Most of the soldiers in Hudson's 32nd Infantry Regiment have been scattered and reassigned to other units. Several officers who refused to surrender have been secretly executed. The bodies hanging in front of the Pentagon were not even hung for a day before they were dragged away and burned, leaving not even ashes."

Victor sneered, "Keeping the ashes will only cause trouble. What Bush needs most right now is stability. He doesn't want people to remember an officer named Hudson who was tricked to death by his lies."

He suddenly remembered the message he had received earlier, which said that Bush had British people around him. Now, combined with the Kennedy family's affairs, a thought suddenly occurred to him: "Casare, do you think that Bush dared to do this because there are other forces supporting him behind the scenes? For example, the domestic elites? Or the European Union?"

"Although the Kennedy family is powerful, they alone are not enough to keep the entire U.S. military in check. George W. Bush must have offered other benefits, such as opening the U.S. arms market to European conglomerates."

The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt: "Have Smiley investigate again, focusing on the connections between Bush's chief of staff and European conglomerates, especially BAE Systems in the UK and LVMH in France. The matter of LVMH sending money to drug dealers hasn't been settled yet. If they are colluding with Bush again, then it's not just a simple matter of drug control. It's a joint effort by Europe and the US to swallow up Latin America!"

Casare nodded vigorously.

Victor leaned back in his seat, watching the street scene rushing past the car window. The new buildings in the redevelopment zone receded into the distance, replaced by Mexico City's bustling commercial district. Billboards displayed advertisements for European luxury goods, and pedestrians came and went under the neon lights, seemingly unaware that a "power purge" was taking place in the United States to the north, or that the anti-drug war in Latin America could be turned upside down at any moment by Western powers.

"European media criticize us for killing every day, but why don't they see that George W. Bush killed more people in the Pentagon than we killed drug dealers in Brazil during the anti-drug campaign! The Kennedy family took the Vice President's benefits and helped George W. Bush trick people into dying, why don't they call that a human rights disaster?"

Casare remained silent. He knew that Victor was seething with anger. Mexico was doing the right thing, yet it was being condemned by the whole world. The United States was engaging in conspiracies and tricks, yet it was able to win people's hearts with lies and interests.

Anyone would be furious at such injustice.

Victor took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He knew this wasn't the time to lose his temper. Hudson's death was just the beginning. Once Bush had stabilized the domestic situation in the United States, his next move would definitely be to target Latin America, specifically Mexico.

Europe is already jointly condemning Brazil, and if the United States joins in, these fickle Latin American countries will probably back down even faster.

Viktor suddenly spoke up, "It's time to give some Latin American countries a proper warning."

His eyes hardened: "These opportunists won't listen to reason; we have to be tough! Brazil's war on drugs cannot be lost. If we lose, the whole of Latin America will be controlled by drug traffickers and European and American conglomerates. At that point, we'll either die at the hands of drug traffickers or become their puppets."

Casare nodded emphatically: "Understood! I will arrange it right away, so that the ambassadors can go and talk today, without giving them any time to hesitate, and also to give the United States a time difference."

The car drove through the central square of Mexico City, where traces of yesterday's public rally still remained.

The slogan "Drug Prohibition Never Dies" fluttered in the wind as several sanitation workers cleaned up scraps of paper on the ground.

Viktor looked out the window, his voice suddenly softening, "You mean... what are we fighting so hard for?"

Casare paused for a moment, then said seriously, "So that the elderly will no longer cry, children will be able to go to school, civilization will continue, so that all people can have a stable home, so that Mexico and Latin America will no longer be bullied by Europe and America."

Victor didn't speak, he just looked at the slogans outside the window.

The car finally stopped in front of the National Palace. Victor opened the car door, looked up at the white building, and walked with a firm step.

He knew that the days ahead would be even harder than before, but he would not back down—just like when he fought drug dealers with a knife in the slums, now he would take "evidence" and "fists" to fight those jackals from Europe and America, that liar George W. Bush, and everyone who wanted to sabotage the anti-drug campaign in Latin America.

“Let’s go,” Victor said to Casare, “to the conference room, and call Bennett and Prudgren—Hudson’s death is just the beginning. We need to prepare quickly and not let Bush Jr., the Kennedy family, and those American elites drive us to the brink.”

"The struggle has not been relaxed for a moment!"

……

(End of this chapter)