Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 698 Victor, can you still control everyone?!
"Liu?"

Chinese, male, a vast drug network, a ghostly modus operandi...

suddenly!

An image, long buried deep in my memory, suddenly sprang to life—

He had a plump figure, a perpetually smiling, seemingly harmless face, simple and even somewhat sloppy clothing, and eyes that flashed with an all-seeing glint.

Zhao Hua!!!

That "rich spectator" he had seen in his previous life when he was fighting in underground boxing matches in Southeast Asia!
At that time, Victor was just a low-level boxer who made a living with his flesh and blood and fists, while Zhao Hua was one of the few "weirdos" who would come to watch such bloody underground matches.

He was extremely generous, often stuffing thick wads of US dollars into the hands of outstanding boxers. Viktor also received money at the time, but he himself wore a faded T-shirt and shorts, and flip-flops, looking like a chubby uncle next door.

Victor had thought he was just a wealthy individual with eccentric tastes.

Many years later, he saw Zhao Hua's photo on the news. He was no longer smiling, but wearing handcuffs and shackles, with bailiffs standing behind him.

There's even a very famous saying.

"This is your first-class merit!"

The news headline was shocking: "Century Drug King" Zhao Hua (Liu Zhaohua) brought to justice! The quantity of drugs involved shocked the world!
He was a "Breaking Bad" type of person who truly used his chemical talent to the extreme on an unprecedented scale, and even once left drug enforcement agencies in several countries helpless!

"Second brother"...

"Liu"...

All the clues connected at this moment!
Above "Third Brother" Xie Zhile and "Teacher Ye" Ye Zhenli, a ghost that controls the entire "extraterrestrial" supply chain and turns Europe upside down, is a chemical genius.

That is to say...

All-Chinese class?
Goodness…

Viktor's breathing quickened slightly, but he instantly regained his composure.

Viktor, holding the phone, said, "This information is priceless; we need to dig deeper."

“Understood, sir.” Ethan Hunt’s voice was absolutely firm, and he hung up the phone.

Viktor slowly put down the microphone and turned around.

“Jeff.” Victor looked at Bennett.

"gentlemen?"

"Immediately review all reports related to the chemical composition analysis of the 'extraterrestrial object,' especially its synthesis pathway and impurity characteristics. In addition, utilize all your deep network of informants in Asia, especially Southeast Asia and the mainland, to find one name—Liu Zhaohua."

Although Bennett didn't understand why his boss had suddenly focused on a specific name, he didn't hesitate at all: "Yes! I'll get on it right away!" He picked up the file and quickly left the office.

Only Victor and Casare remained in the room.

Casare looked at Victor and couldn't help but ask, "Boss, this Liu Zhaohua...?"

"Times have changed, but people seem to remain the same." Viktor didn't reply to his message; he was just talking to himself.

Actually, he searched for this name using a cheat code.

However, it shows that the other party is within the territory of the University of Tokyo.

This is going to be difficult.

"Notify the Narcotics Control Bureau of Tokyo University and request that they conduct a joint search."

That guy has used too many names, such as Liu Linbin, Liu Linyang, Liu Linquan, and Chen Guisen. He runs away faster than anyone else at the slightest sign of trouble.

They are very difficult to catch.

“Okay!” Casare replied.

Looking at the brightly lit Mexico City, Victor felt a little tired.

杀…

When will we be able to kill them all?

……

Surinam, outside Paramaribo.

Far from the hustle and bustle of the city, as night falls, only the chirping of insects can be heard.

In a riverside villa, the lights were deliberately adjusted to a soft, warm yellow.

The high-end audio system played soothing classical music, Pachelbel's Canon.

Wearing a silk nightgown and with his feet on a soft carpet, Ye Zhenli gently embraced his wife, Yu Zhiyi, as they slowly moved and danced in the living room.

His wife rested her head on his shoulder, a lingering worry on her face.

"Let's go back to our hometown and take a look after this storm has died down a bit."

Ye Zhenli's voice was very soft, "It's been a long time since I offered incense to my ancestors."

Yu Zhi looked up at him and said, "Old Ye, I'm always feeling uneasy. That Viktor is different. We've made more money than we could spend in several lifetimes. Let's quit, okay? Let's find a place where nobody knows us and live a peaceful life."

Ye Zhenli smiled, a smile that contained helplessness and a kind of insightful mockery. He patted his wife's back: "Stop? Darling, we're not walking on a carpet, we're walking on a tightrope. If we keep going, we might live a few more days."

He shook his head. "Below is a bottomless abyss. The people waiting to eat our flesh could line up from Mexico to Shanghai. If we give up, we're doomed, and we'll die quickly and in a very ugly way."

He paused, then commented, "Victor? He is indeed a ruthless character, a thorough pragmatist and tyrant. He believes that money and bullets can solve everything. But he doesn't understand that humans are animals whose greed is endless. He can control Mexico with fear, but he can't control the desires in people's hearts."

"The better the 'extraterrestrial artifact' sells, the more chaotic Europe becomes, and the more people crave it. This craving itself is a force more powerful than any weapon. Viktor wants to use violence to stifle this craving? Ridiculous. He can't control it, because what he wants to control is human nature itself, while we..."

Ye Zhenli raised her chin slightly, "What we provide is the ultimate product of this 'emotional value,' the ultimate pleasure, the ultimate escape. This is a business with no solution."

His wife, Yu Zhiyi, seemed to understand but not quite, and simply hugged him tighter, as if that would give her some sense of security.

Just then, the music was interrupted by a very faint electronic notification sound.

It wasn't the phone in the room, but a specially made satellite communicator from inside Ye Zhenli's pajamas pocket.

Ye Zhenli stopped dancing instantly, released his wife, patted her arm to reassure her, smiled, and then quickly walked to the study and locked the door.

He took out a device smaller than a mobile phone, which had only a line of constantly jumping code and a constantly changing countdown number on it.

This is the highest level of alert, meaning that a critical node in his vast network may have a fatal vulnerability, or has been compromised.

His eyes quickly input a series of commands onto the device.

A few seconds later, a stream of information, encrypted and scrambled multiple times, was received and decoded. The information was short and its source was unclear, but its content sent a chill down his spine:
The "fisherman" remains silent; the church cleaning is complete, but the "cleaner" may have been marked. A sudden change in wind direction suggests a "monsoon" may be approaching from the east. The "gardener" is advised to dive.

"Fisherman" was the code name for one of his key contacts in Europe; "Church" clearly referred to the distribution point in Naples where the bloodshed had just occurred; and "Cleaner" referred to the task force that was cleaning up the mess.

And "the monsoon comes from the east"...

East!

Ye Zhenli's pupils suddenly contracted.

This suggests a qualitative shift in the focus and approach of the investigation, with the involvement of forces more familiar with the internal workings.

What troubled him most was the last sentence, "The Gardener Dives Deep." "Gardener" was one of his own pseudonyms.

This message was a warning to him that danger was approaching and that he himself might have been exposed to the scope.

Who was it? An Italian? Impossible, they're not at a level to issue this level of warning.

Victor from Mexico? His reach is mainly in the Western Hemisphere, so his penetration into Asia may not be as precise and rapid.

The answer is almost obvious.

That vast motherland to the east.

That inescapable net they initially thought they could avoid simply by fleeing overseas.

Ye Zhenli took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, and deleted the message.

He walked out of the study, his face now calm, even with a relieved smile, and said to his wife, "It's alright, just a small business problem, I've taken care of it."

He downed the strong liquor in one gulp, the burning sensation going down his throat. He gave his wife, Yu Zhiyi, a kiss, and whispered, "Don't worry, once I've earned another 300 million, I'll find a way to quit."

Under the influence of medication and exhaustion, his wife, Yu Zhiyi, finally fell into a deep sleep, but her brows were still slightly furrowed, as if she couldn't even find peace in her dreams.

How many drug dealers can sleep soundly?
Ye Zhenli quietly got up and went into the study, which had excellent soundproofing.

He locked the door from the inside, and the heavy curtains were already drawn tightly shut.

He didn't turn on the main light, but only lit an old desk lamp with a green shade on his desk. The dim yellow light enveloped the desktop and cast his shadow on the wall.

He picked up a satellite phone, hesitated for a moment on the buttons, and finally dialed a number he remembered.

This number belongs to "Third Brother" Xie Zhile, a network core that is even more deeply hidden than him and controls a vast network of channels across Asia.

The phone rang for a long time before being answered. There was no greeting on the other end, only a silent wait.

"Third Brother, it's me, Old Ye." Ye Zhenli's voice was very low.

"Knowing it's you, this time of day is definitely not good news." "Some information has leaked out from within; we might be being watched by the East."

There was an even longer silence on the other end of the phone, so long that Ye Zhenli almost thought the signal had been lost.

He could even imagine Xie Zhile rapidly weighing the pros and cons on the other end.

Finally, Xie Zhile's voice rang out again, his pace quickening: "The east is indeed troublesome. When they do move, it's a massive trap. It seems Europe is making a huge fuss."

He paused, then decisively issued the order: "Execute according to the second plan. All routes in Asia, especially the mainland and Southeast Asia, are to remain silent. In Hong Kong, let the 14K and Wo Shing Wo, those local gangsters, test the waters. Haven't they always wanted a share of the pie? Give them a little incentive, let them be the vanguard and draw fire. All our people will retreat and go underground, leaving only the most core financial channels intact."

Ye Zhenli listened silently, which was in line with his usual cautious style: "What about the demand in Europe and America? They're fighting tooth and nail over there now, and if supplies run out, it could cause a huge mess."

"Chaos? Chaos is good." Xie Zhile sneered. "Chaos can eliminate the useless and make prices fly higher. The goods will not be cut off, but we need to find new routes. Africa, Nigeria, Kenya, the port inspections in those places are practically non-existent. The police are easier to bribe than robbers. We can divert some of the goods there and import them into Europe from Africa. Although the route is longer, it is safer."

Ye Zhenli agreed: "I'll arrange for someone to open up the African route immediately. There's another matter; Victor in Mexico is a major concern. His Belize Special Economic Zone has become a free trade haven, but also a haven for money laundering and transshipment. Should we cause him some trouble?"

He's not very magnanimous. Viktor likes to meddle so much, so let him meddle to his heart's content. Let's solve the internal problems first.

Xie Zhile interrupted him, his tone laced with a sinister calculation: "Mexico! Yes, Victor thinks he's built an impregnable empire? What a joke. Every port has its weaknesses."

"Find a way to get these 'extraterrestrial goods' into the Belize Special Economic Zone. We don't need a lot, but we need quality. Target the customs officials and the high-ranking officials at the port authority. Use the best goods, the cheapest prices, or even give them away for free. Once we get them involved, the Special Economic Zone will become our backyard. At that point, even if Victor has three heads and six arms, he can only watch as his territory is gradually eroded!"

If successful, it would be like planting a poisonous thorn in Viktor's heart.

“I understand, Third Brother. I will personally arrange the selection and make sure to take down the key figures in Belize Port.”

"Remember, Old Ye."

Xie Zhile's tone hardened, "We're dancing with giants right now. One wrong step and we're in an abyss. We can make money all we want, but we only have one life. Deep Dive. Don't contact us again without my orders."

With a "click," the phone was abruptly and decisively disconnected.

Ye Zhenli rubbed her temples, feeling immense pressure.

...

Belize Special Economic Zone, Mexico.

This place seems like a completely different world from the chaotic Naples.

Skyscrapers rise from the ground, giant ships shuttle through the port, and containers are piled up like mountains. Goods, capital, and people with dreams of getting rich from all over the world converge and flow here.

The special economic zone adheres to minimalist regulation and business freedom, which has attracted huge investments, but it is also like a piece of fat meat, attracting countless flies that come for the smell.

As night falls, the special economic zone is ablaze with neon lights, and nightclubs, upscale restaurants, and clubs stand side by side, the air thick with the decadent scents of alcohol and perfume.

Here, as long as you have money, you can buy almost any service and satisfy any desire.

Just like that special economic zone across from Guangzhou, hehehe.

However, beneath the glamorous surface, undercurrents are surging.

Gangs from all over the world seek opportunities here. They dare not harass large corporations and government projects, but collecting "protection money" from the vast number of small shops, bars, and restaurants has become their "traditional business" for survival.

You can't control them.

Which country claims it can completely control gangs?
Wherever there are people, there are rivers and lakes!
Among these gangs, a group of Russians led by Ivan Petrenko stood out.

Most of them are veterans or unemployed youths who fled overseas after the collapse of the Soviet Union. They are tough, violent, and believe in vodka and violence. They control a few blocks on the edge of the special zone, barely making ends meet by collecting protection money and running some low-class strip clubs.

Inside a smoke-filled Russian-style bar.

Ivan Petrenko and a few of his men were drinking cheap vodka and watching a blurry boxing match on TV.

The bar was rather deserted with few customers.

Their "business" has been tough lately. The regular security forces in the special administrative region are getting stronger and stronger, and small shops have learned to band together for mutual support or even hire private bodyguards, making it increasingly difficult for them to collect "protection fees".

Just then, Ivan's phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID; it was a blurry European number. He frowned, but answered anyway.

"Ivan, my old friend!"

A voice with a heavy Eastern European accent spoke in English on the other end of the phone, almost excessively enthusiastic.

The person making the call was named "Sergei," an arms dealer whom Ivan had met in his early years when he was involved in Eastern Europe. He was later said to have gone to the Netherlands to make his fortune.

“Sergei? You son of a bitch, you’re still alive?” Ivan replied gruffly, his tone carrying a hint of long-lost familiarity.

"Haha, God still doesn't want me? I heard you're doing quite well in that paradise in Mexico?"

"Heaven?" Ivan scoffed, taking a swig of vodka. "It's a gilded hell, barely enough to make ends meet. What, you have a way to get rich?"

Sergei lowered his voice, making it sound mysterious: "Ivan, I've heard that in the Belize Special District, anything can be sold, as long as you have the connections?"

Ivan became alert: "That depends on what it is. Weapons? Viktor's men are watching closely. Touching that is suicide."

“No, no, no, old friend, it’s more profitable than weapons.” Sergei’s voice was seductive. “It’s a kind of happiness powder, the newest and the best. It’s called ‘Alien Goods’ on the market.”

"An object from outer space?" Ivan was taken aback, then sat bolt upright, sobering up considerably.

"Are you fucking insane?! You want to get that kind of stuff into the Special Zone? If you want to die, don't drag me down with you! Victor's men will chop us all up and feed us to the crocodiles!"

He had heard of this new drug and was well aware of Viktor's zero-tolerance policy towards drugs, especially on his turf.

"Calm down, Ivan, calm down!"

Sergei hurriedly said, "Let me finish! The higher the risk, the greater the profit; the bigger the storm, the more expensive the fish. Do you know how much this sells for per gram outside? 130 euros! Or even more! But my boss can give you the best wholesale price..."

Sergei reported an alarmingly low number.

Ivan and his trusted aide pricked up their ears, their breathing instantly becoming heavy.

They were all people who had worked at the bottom of society, and they knew all too well how terrifying the profits were.

"If you can get it into the special economic zone and distribute it among wealthy tourists, businessmen, and those outwardly glamorous but inwardly empty prostitutes, you can easily increase the price 60 or 100 times! If you have the ability to sell it to other parts of Mexico..."

Sergei paused, then emphasized, "300 times! Ivan, just think about it, how much money is that? Do you still need to work so hard collecting those pitiful protection fees? You can become a real millionaire instantly!"

Ivan's heart pounded wildly, his hand gripping the wine glass tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

A 300-fold profit! This number, like the devil's whisper, frantically assaulted his reason and fear.

“But…Victor…” Ivan’s voice was a little hoarse.

“Vic is in charge of the bigger picture!” Sergei interrupted him. “The special zone is so big, how many people come and go every day? Can he manage it all? As long as you are careful enough, only sell to foreigners, and only circulate quietly in high-end places, who will know? Wealth always favors the brave. Ivan, think about your past. Do you want to spend your whole life like a stray dog ​​scrambling for bones in the slums? The opportunity is right in front of you!”

There was a long silence.

Ivan's mind was racing, a fierce battle raging between fear and greed. Ultimately, his loathing for poverty and his intense desire for wealth overcame his fear of Viktor.

He downed the vodka in one gulp, slammed the glass on the table, and growled into the phone:
"Damn it! Let's do it! When will the first batch arrive? How do we handle the handover?"

Sergei on the other end of the phone revealed a triumphant smile.

"Soon, my friend, very soon... you'll be glad you made this decision today. I'll let you know the details later. Get ready for your new life, Boss Ivan Petrenko!"

The phone hangs up.

Ivan was panting heavily.

"Boss, are we really going to do this?" Vasily, the trusted henchman, leaned closer, his voice low, filled with barely concealed fear and a hint of excitement fueled by the prospect of huge profits.

Ivan whirled around, his bloodshot eyes fixed on him: "Are you short of money, Vasily? Do you fucking want to live the rest of your life in this doghouse, drooling over the pitiful tips from strippers?"

He pointed at the dilapidated and deserted bar, his tone full of disgust.

Vasily swallowed hard, his eyes hardening as he thought of his empty wallet and his mother back home who needed money. He nodded emphatically, "I need it! Boss, I need money!"

"If you're short of money, you'll have no choice but to risk your life!"

Ivan growled, grabbed the bottle on the table, and took a big gulp straight down the throat. The cheap alcohol burned like fire in his throat, but it only made him more excited.

"So what if he's Viktor? He's a human being, not a god! The Special Economic Zone is so big, with so many ships coming and going every day, how can he possibly keep track of everything?"

He slammed the bottle on the table with a bang, splashing liquid everywhere.

"We'll do business with those foreigners, those rich American pigs and Europeans. They're playing the wildest game! If we keep it discreet, who will know? Once we've made enough money, where can't we go? Moscow? St. Petersburg? We'll be fucking millionaires!"

His words sounded like encouragement to his men, but more like a plea for self-consolation. The fear was temporarily suppressed by the promise of 300 times the profit and the alcohol; a reckless fervor took hold. He could almost see bundles of euros and dollars piling up in the run-down bar.

“Get ready, Vasily,” Ivan gasped, his eyes sharpening with a dangerous glint in them. “Our new life… is about to begin.”

Back then, Boshe Village was beaten to a pulp by armored vehicles.

But you see…

Those who are not afraid of death are still not afraid of death.

Money is the root of all evil!

……

(End of this chapter)