Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 699 Fire!
Belize Special Economic Zone, daytime.

At the port, cranes, like steel behemoths, tirelessly churned up and down containers, emitting a dull roar.

You can see many different ethnic groups.

If you want money, you'll inevitably have to loosen your purse strings sometimes.

Isn't this what "a man's paradise" is all about?

(I can't say, I can't say too much.)
It is located dozens of kilometers away from the core area of ​​the special economic zone, adjacent to the northern border checkpoint of Guatemala.

A dilapidated, dusty long-distance bus, panting heavily, waited to pass through the checkpoint.

The faded lettering on the vehicle still identifies it as belonging to a remote transportation company in Guatemala.

Behind the car windows were tired, numb faces, mostly women with children, their eyes filled with a mixture of bewilderment about the future and a faint glimmer of hope.

They came to the Special Economic Zone looking for job opportunities or to join family members who had come earlier.

The border police officers wore crisp new uniforms, but the expressions on their faces were worlds apart.

Some were newly transferred employees, carrying a hint of nervousness and seriousness, while others were seasoned veterans, their eyes lazily scanning the convoy, searching for "familiar faces."

The veteran sheriff leading the team, Valentine, squinted at the slowly approaching dilapidated bus. He saw the license plate and a barely perceptible smirk appeared on his lips. He recognized the bus, and he recognized the driver even more—a seemingly honest and unassuming, but actually very well-connected, experienced Guatemalan driver.

The bus stopped, the window rolled down, revealing the driver's face, etched with wrinkles by time and hardship.

He forced an almost obsequious smile: "Good afternoon, Sheriff Valentine."

Valentine returned the greeting casually, his gaze seemingly sweeping over the anxious women and children inside the car. "José, it's you again. What are you hauling this time? Future cleaners and dishwashers for the special economic zone?"

"It's all for making a living, Sheriff."

The driver, Jose, smiled and skillfully picked up a beautifully packaged box from the passenger seat, handing it out the window. "It's just a small token, a new flavor of pastry from Asia. It's very sweet, so you and your crew can try it out."

The box looked like an ordinary gift you could buy at any airport duty-free shop. Valentine took it, weighed it in his hand, and subtly pressed his finger on a corner of the box. Then he gave a knowing smile and said, "You know how to handle people. Alright, go ahead and don't block the way."

A newly arrived young officer frowned and subconsciously stepped forward: "Sir, aren't you going to check carefully? Regulations require..."

Valentine's smile vanished instantly. "Regulations? Look closely, hundreds of cars pass through here every day! If we search each one like a terrorist, turning them upside down, the queue will stretch until tomorrow morning. If that affects the efficiency and image of the Special Economic Zone, who will take the blame?"

He poked the young officer's chest hard with his finger: "This is a familiar car, an experienced driver, someone who knows the place inside and out! They're here to do the dirtiest and hardest work for our special zone, not to cause you trouble. Learn to use your brain to do things, instead of just memorizing rules and regulations from books."

The young officer was speechless. Looking at the sheriff's unquestionable gaze and then at the women and children in the bus who certainly didn't seem like dangerous individuals, he could only reluctantly take a step back and watch as Valentine waved his hand, the barrier rose, and the dilapidated bus, belching black smoke, slowly drove into Belize.

But something just doesn't feel right.

The bus arrived at the capital city station.

After dropping off the passengers, the driver, José, started the car and drove through a maze of turns into an inconspicuous car repair shop on the edge of an industrial area, instead of heading to any parking lot.

The roller shutter behind his car quickly fell shut, blocking out the outside light.

Inside the repair shop.

Several men with gloomy expressions and casual clothes surrounded him. Without exchanging any pleasantries, one of them handed José a thick envelope. José felt the thickness, his eyes lit up, and he silently stuffed it into his pocket. Then he stood aside and lit a cigarette.

Those people immediately sprang into action, pulling out all their tools.

Their movements were frighteningly skilled; they quickly removed the interior trim panels, pried open the floorboards, and even used hydraulic shears to cut through the heavy steel tubing of the chassis.

Many more crawled under the car, removed the tires, and pulled out bricks wrapped tightly in waterproof tarpaulins from a specially made interlayer. Some people disassembled the tail section of the exhaust pipe and pulled out bags of white powder. Most astonishingly, they actually used tools to open the fuel tank and fished out "goods" wrapped in special sealing material and suspended on the inner wall of the fuel tank!
Damn it!

Drug trafficking; this is smuggling drugs into Belize.

In just half an hour, this seemingly dilapidated bus was like a dissected frog, from which an astonishing number of "extraterrestrial objects" were extracted!
A man who appeared to be the leader counted the "bricks" piled on the ground, took out a satellite phone, and reported in a low voice:
"The goods have arrived, and they are in excellent condition."

Meanwhile, in the glitz and glamour of the special economic zone's nightlife district, Russian Ivan Petrenko sat in a cheaply decorated private room at a nightclub, with several bottles of expensive champagne in front of him, but he didn't touch them.

His hands trembled slightly, both from excitement and fear.

Winning means getting the young models at the event; losing means… one, two, three, fire!
One of his henchmen pushed open the door and excitedly whispered, "Boss, the goods have arrived!"

Ivan stood up abruptly, took a deep drag on his cigarette, and tried to calm his wildly beating heart.

A greedy, sinister smile spread across his face as he said to his underlings:
"Tell Sergei that the cooperation was successful! And then..."

He paused, his voice slightly hoarse with excitement:
“Give our best samples free of charge to the head of security at the Red Coral nightclub, the operations manager at the Neptune casino, and Jonathan, that lecherous old man at the port customs who loves to play around!”

"I've already made the contact."

"Just wait to get rich!"

……

Neptune Casino, Belize District.

The lights were dim, the noise was deafening, the roulette wheel spun, the dice clattered, and the slot machines emitted deafening noise and the occasional burst of jackpot bells.

The air was filled with the rich aroma of fine cigars, the ambiguous scent of expensive perfumes, and the anxiety of money.

In a private VIP room on the second floor, the atmosphere had turned icy cold.

Alvarez, a wealthy young man from Belize, stared grimly at a small glass dish handed to him by the casino operations manager. The dish contained a white crystal with a strange iridescent sheen that he had never seen before.

"What...what is this?" Alvarez's voice trembled slightly. He had just lost the equivalent of a new sports car at the card table and his mood was at its lowest. Seeing this, his scalp tingled.

Operations Manager Fermín leaned slightly forward, his voice low and seductive: "Mr. Alvarez, a little... a small comfort. Top-quality stuff from the East, outsiders call it something from outer space. It can make you forget all your troubles and experience true paradise. Try it, this one's on me." "Are you crazy! This is drugs! In this territory?!"

Alvarez recoiled as if burned, looking in horror at his two companions in the private room.

They were all young people from prominent families, and they too looked horrified.

Fermín's smile remained unchanged. "Young masters, relax. This is a VIP room, absolutely private. This stuff is clean, pure, not addictive, just ultimate pleasure."

"Young people should always experience the world, and brave people enjoy life."

Another young man, Carlos, licked his dry lips, the alcohol emboldening him considerably: "Damn it... Victor's in Mexico City... what can he do about us having some fun here? Besides... who would know?"

"Carlos!" Alvarez shouted to stop him.

But Fermín had already smiled and pushed the glass plate in front of Carlos, handing him a delicate straw: "Mr. Carlos is a wise man. Life is short, so enjoy it while you can. Trying a little bit won't hurt."

Carlos's hands trembled, and his inner defenses completely collapsed under the influence of alcohol and Fermín.

He glanced at his companion, then at the strangely alluring crystal, and finally bent down abruptly…

A few minutes later, Carlos leaned back on the expensive leather sofa, his eyes unfocused, a rapt, almost delirious smile on his face, muttering to himself, "It really is heaven...it's amazing...everything is so beautiful..."

Alvarez and his companion were terrified by his bizarre state.

Fermín watched all this with satisfaction, then subtly winked at the hidden camera.

He put away the remaining "extraterrestrial objects" and smiled, "It seems Mr. Carlos is enjoying himself. Rest assured, everything that happened here tonight will not be leaked. If you need anything else, please feel free to contact me."

Outside the private room, Fermín whispered to his men waiting in the shadows of the corridor, "It's been filmed, very clear. Another piece of trash has taken the bait. We need to make these young masters addicted to this stuff, and then through them, sell the goods into their circles—those truly rich and powerful fools who are afraid of death but also crave excitement."

The subordinate nodded and quickly disappeared at the end of the corridor.

The same drama was quietly playing out in the VIP rooms of the "Red Coral" nightclub, at private yacht parties, and in the "secret gatherings" of certain customs officials.

These are the people who are most easily corrupted.

Poor people?

All I know is which way the factory gate and the bar gate face; I don't even know that way.

……

Mexico City, police headquarters.

The office of Police Undersecretary Friedrich Karl Eberstein was filled with the smell of cigars and old paper.

At that moment, he was speaking into the microphone in fluent English, his brow furrowed.

“Yes, Superintendent, these people’s fake passports are very well made, almost indistinguishable from the real thing. They are definitely not products of some small street workshop. More importantly, the tattoos on their bodies…”

Eberstein picked up a faxed black-and-white photograph from the table, which vaguely showed a tattoo on a man's arm: a twisted, unique dragon pattern surrounding a seemingly ancient Chinese character.

"This pattern has appeared in the police files of at least 70 murder scenes involving Asian gangs or on the bodies of arrested small drug dealers in Mexico and several Central American countries over the past six months. We previously thought it was just a common gang symbol, but now it seems that the connection may be deeper than we thought."

“Some of them hold Hong Kong passports.”

On the other end of the phone, an official from the Hong Kong Police Force frowned.

Eberstein pressed on: “Superintendent, smuggling, drugs, and murder are not isolated incidents. The storm of ‘extraterrestrials’ is sweeping across Europe and slowly engulfing the world. I have reason to believe that there is an Asian criminal network that we have not yet figured out, which is taking advantage of globalization to infiltrate.”

He leaned forward and said, “I formally request that you send a highly skilled team to Mexico City. At the same time, I believe it is necessary to invite experts from the East Coast Public Security Narcotics Bureau to participate. The core of this network is Chinese. To crack it, we need the people who know them best. This is no longer a case of a certain country or region, but a transnational crime.”

Hong Kong officials were eventually persuaded: "Okay, Mr. Deputy Minister, we will form a joint investigation team as soon as possible, with members including elites from the Organized Crime Bureau (O-Division) and the Narcotics Bureau (NB)."

“Thank you very much. The Mexican police will fully cooperate and assist.” Eberstein hung up the phone and let out a long sigh of relief.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his temples.

The tattoos on the fax paper of the suspects had a strong Asian religious flavor.

He picked up the internal phone and connected with his secretary: "Prepare a top-secret briefing immediately. I need to report to Mr. Victor. At the same time, in my name, issue a warning to the security department, requesting them to strengthen background checks and activity monitoring of Asian personnel, especially those who have recently entered the country."

Undersecretary Eberstein finished compiling the briefing, sealed it in a folder labeled "Top Secret," took a deep breath, picked up the internal line, and connected directly to Victor's office.

"Sir, I have an emergency that I need to report in person."

Shortly afterward, in Victor's top-floor office, Eberstein placed the folder on the large desk.

He listened to Epstein's concise report without any change in expression.

After a few minutes of silence, Viktor picked up a pen and neatly signed his name and a large "Approved" on the blank page of the briefing.

"The seriousness of this matter has gone beyond the scope of ordinary transnational crime."

“Immediately assemble a top-level task force, with myself as the leader and you, Eberstein, as the executive deputy leader, responsible for specific command, and select elite personnel.”

He turned around and stared at Eberstein.

“Tell Hong Kong and Southeast University that we welcome their expert team. I don’t want to catch a few small fry; I want to uproot them completely, eradicate the core of this network, find their leader, cut off their funding chain, and destroy their transportation channels.”

Viktor took a drag of his cigarette, his lips moved slightly, but he said nothing.

...

(End of this chapter)