Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 730 Internal Troubles...External Threats?
Just as George W. Bush was in a private room in Washington, attempting to mend a divided America with substantial leverage.

Chetumal, the capital of the Mexican state of Quintana Roo, and the tourist hotspot Cancun are being swept by a chill from the highest levels of government.

After Governor Conrad Adenauer tumbled off Victor's train, he knew he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and Victor was giving him few more chances.

The first thing he did upon returning to the state government building was to summon the state police minister, the security minister, and the head of the Department of the Interior in Quintana Roo.

"Investigate! Dig deep and search every inch of the place. That mine, those missing tourists, everyone connected to this—don't let a single one escape. I want results within eight hours!"

He stared at the police minister. "Your divisions, especially the ones in Cancun, have the closest ties with all sorts of people in the area. Don't tell me they haven't heard a thing. Make them spill everything they know right now. Anyone who hides anything is an accomplice."

He then turned to the Minister of Security, saying, "Coordinate all available law enforcement resources, set up roadblocks, and check all suspicious vehicles and individuals, with a focus on those with criminal records or those potentially involved in illegal organ trafficking or human trafficking!"

Finally, he looked at the head of the Internal Affairs Department and softened his tone slightly, "The Internal Affairs Department has independent investigative powers. Please be sure to assist us; we need the expertise of the Internal Affairs Department."

The head of the Ministry of the Interior nodded expressionlessly. "The leader has personally given the order, and the Ministry of the Interior will naturally intervene with all its might."

The orders were passed down layer by layer, and the violent machinery of the entire state of Quintana Roo began to operate at breakneck speed.

Inside the Cancun Police Department, the chief stood before an investigator from the Department of Internal Affairs and a special envoy sent by the governor.

“That mine, located in the northern suburbs, belongs to the abandoned ‘Yucatan Mining Company’ property. According to land records, it was acquired three years ago by a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands.”

"Can't find it?" the Internal Affairs investigator repeated.

“We are working on it! Some villagers nearby have reported that in recent months, they have frequently seen enclosed vans driving in that direction late at night without their lights on. We thought they were just illegally dumping garbage…”

"Illegal dumping of garbage?" The special envoy scoffed. "Does illegally dumping garbage require hundreds of people, and then sealing it off with cement?"

Just then, another officer rushed in, his face showing excitement. "Chief, we've found something! The tire tracks we extracted near the mine have identified several suspicious vehicles. One of them, a van, was found in an abandoned repair shop in the north of the city. There was a lot of blood on the vehicle, and this too."

He handed over an evidence bag containing several different styles of earrings, a ring engraved with an English name, and a small piece of clothing with exotic patterns that had been torn off.

“After comparison, we found that the ring belonged to a Canadian female college student who went missing on a Cancun beach three weeks ago, and the piece of clothing matched the pattern of the skirt in the last photo of an American female backpacker who went missing on Isla Mujeres two weeks ago. These were all clues provided by the police.”

When the bureau chief saw how capable his subordinates were, he immediately straightened his back.

Meanwhile, the military's intervention brought an even stronger sense of pressure. Major General Model of the 179th Army kept his word, deploying soldiers to cooperate with the police in setting up multiple checkpoints to rigorously inspect vehicles entering and leaving Cancun's main roads.

With this kind of display, who wouldn't be intimidated?
The main strategy is to use numbers to your advantage, to stir up trouble and alert the enemy.
A crucial clue surfaced under pressure.

An old police officer in charge of records at the Cancun Police Department approached the investigation team and provided a seemingly insignificant piece of information. About six months ago, he overheard two former colleagues who had been transferred drinking and bragging, mentioning that "Boss Chejo's business is so big now that he doesn't bother collecting protection money anymore. He specializes in the 'high-end seafood' business, which makes him a lot of money quickly."

“Chejo?” The Internal Affairs investigator immediately seized on the name. “Which Chejo? What are his characteristics?”

"He had terrifying snake tattoos on his face and neck," the veteran officer recalled. "He was a pretty notorious local gang leader. He used to mainly collect protection money from street vendors and do petty theft, but then he suddenly became rich and started a small freight company as a cover..."

“Snake tattoo? Freight company…” The investigator quickly jotted down notes. “Do you know where he usually hangs out? Or, what’s the address of his freight company?”

"There's a spot in that old warehouse district in the south of the city. I don't know the exact address, but he seems to really like going to the 'Wild Palms' bar. It's owned by one of his girlfriends..."

The investigator reached out and patted the other person on the shoulder. "Thank you."

In the south of the city, there is the "Wild Palm" bar.

It wasn't peak business hours yet, and there were only a handful of customers in the bar.

Chejo was sitting in a corner booth, embracing a heavily made-up woman, drinking tequila with a restless mood. Although he had done a clean job at the mine, he still felt uneasy.

The sudden order to dispose of all the "goods" was unusual in itself, and he also vaguely heard rumors that a big shot was coming to Cancun.

"Damn it, they're not coming for us, are they?" he muttered, taking another swig of his drink. He had climbed to his current position through ruthlessness and caution, having worked his way up from the bottom, and possessed a beast-like instinct for danger.

This time, something seems off.

The woman he was holding seemed to sense that he was in a very bad mood, and she was careful not to say anything.

Just then, the latest 8848 titanium mobile phone that he had casually tossed on the wooden table began to vibrate wildly.

Chejo glanced at the caller ID, then sat up abruptly and shoved the woman beside him roughly. Caught off guard, the woman gasped and fell onto the sofa next to him.

Chejo took a deep breath, pressed the answer button, and held the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

On the other end of the phone, Deputy Health Minister Alfred Márquez's voice was agitated, "Cejo! Where the hell are you right now?!"

Chejo glanced around the bar and saw nothing amiss.

But he remained cautious like a mob boss, not revealing the real location: "Outside. If you have something to say, Mr. Márquez."

"Stop fucking loitering around outside. Listen to me, take your core brothers and leave Cancun right now! Right now."

"I've already arranged for your rendezvous in Guatemala. You'll be safe once you get there!"

Chejo's brow twitched violently.

“Run away? Mr. Márquez, you make it sound so easy. My brothers and I can’t just run away naked. Where’s the money? Without money, we can’t go very far. We’ll either get caught or starve to death sooner or later.”

"I've already prepared the money for you!" Márquez said hurriedly, his words coming out so fast it was as if he were racing for his life. "10 US dollars! That should be enough for you to get by for a while!"

"10 US dollars?!"

Chejo laughed as if he'd heard the biggest joke in the world, his anger turning into a mocking laugh. His voice suddenly rose, causing the bartender at the nearby bar to instinctively shrink back. "Are you trying to fob us off like a beggar?! Dozens of us brothers have done so much dirty work for you! Now that something's happened, you think you can just settle for $100,000?! $500,000! At least $500,000! Not a penny less, and we can't survive! How are we supposed to live?!"

A deathly silence fell on the other end of the phone, broken only by Márquez's heavy, disordered breathing, as if he were engaged in a fierce internal struggle. After a couple of seconds, Márquez almost gritted his teeth as he forced out the answer: "Fine! 500,000 it is! You guys go! The backup will be here soon, the license plate is..."

"Got it!" Chejo slammed down the phone before he could finish speaking. The muscles in his face twitched.

"Boss, what's wrong?"

A trusted henchman with a mohawk and a scar on his face approached and asked in a low voice. Several other henchmen sitting in the surrounding booths also sensed that something was wrong and gathered around, their eyes filled with questions and unease.

Chejo grabbed the tequila bottle from the table and smashed it to the ground! With a loud "bang," shards of glass and leftover liquor flew everywhere, startling the heavily made-up woman who let out a short scream and scrambled to the back of the booth.

"Fuck Alfred, that son of a bitch is trying to kill us after we've served our purpose! He's trying to silence us!"

"Silence them?!" The henchmen were stunned. They exchanged disbelief, their faces filled with astonishment. "No...no way, boss? We've been working with them for so long, helping them make so much money...our relationship has always been..."

"Screw your connection!"

Chejo interrupted him rudely, spitting almost in his face, "Are you out of your mind? What official would genuinely care about us thieves?! They're just using us! Once they're done using us, they'll kick us aside and shut us up forever! Hurry! Get out of here! It'll be too late if you wait any longer!"

"Let's go through the back door!" Chejo, experienced as he was, didn't choose the front door. He kicked aside the chair blocking his way and rushed towards the kitchen at the back of the bar.

Several henchmen followed closely behind, the group like frightened wild dogs, flustered yet exuding a vicious aura.

However, just as Chejo's hand touched the handle of the greasy wooden door leading to the kitchen—

A sudden change occurred!

"boom!!!!!!!"

A deafening roar suddenly erupted from the direction of the bar's main entrance without any warning!
The sound was so loud that it instantly drowned out the noisy music in the bar, and even caused temporary hearing loss in people's eardrums!

The bar's fairly sturdy wooden and glass-paneled main entrance, along with the adjacent wall, was smashed into by the cab of a massive heavy truck!

Chejo only had time to see a huge shadow of steel rushing towards him before a tremendous force slammed into his side!

Lucky you!

“Crack! Crack!!!!”

He was sent flying through the air by the impact; even a big man can't withstand such luck.

"puff--!"

A mouthful of thick, fresh blood mixed with pieces of internal organs gushed out of his mouth.

The fate of his henchmen who followed behind him was even more tragic.

Some were run over directly by the wheels, not even having a chance to scream before being reduced to a bloody mess amidst the agonizing sound of flesh and bone being crushed. Others were pierced through the chest or skull by flying shards of wood, dying instantly. One of his henchmen with a mohawk had half his head severed, his red and white excrement splattered on the graffiti-covered wall behind him, like the most outrageous masterpiece of an abstract painter.

Destroy the group!

The out-of-control truck, carrying the kinetic energy to crush everything, continued to rush forward until it had plowed through most of the bar's interior, smashed through several load-bearing pillars, and finally came to a stop with another dull thud as the front of the truck was deeply embedded in the innermost wall of the bar.

Inside the bar, it was a scene of utter devastation.

He didn't even leave a last message.

Nearby pedestrians were stunned by the sudden disaster. After a brief silence, there were piercing screams from women and panicked shouts from men.

"Oh my God! Something's happened!"

"Quick! Call an ambulance!"

"Is anyone still inside? Quick, go save them!"

After a brief period of panic, some bolder residents and passersby began to flock from all directions to the entrance of the now-ruined bar.

People's faces showed fear, but even more so, an instinctive sense of compassion and urgency in the face of disaster. Some tried to clear away the rubble and debris with their bare hands, while others shouted loudly into the dark bar, hoping for a response.

"There's someone trapped here!"

"Watch out! The structure above is unstable and may collapse again!"

"Can someone lend a hand and move this cabinet?"

The scene was in chaos.

Just at the edge of this noisy rescue scene, several black sedans and vans without any markings drove up.

The car door opened, revealing the investigation team that had come to arrest Chejo and his associates.

The investigator's facial muscles twitched slightly. He strode forward, his gaze sweeping across the ruins. He could vaguely see a body crushed beyond recognition. Chejo's body was half smashed, and his wide eyes still held the horror and disbelief of his dying moments.

"what……"

The investigator let out a short laugh from his throat, sounding somewhat exasperated.

"What a coincidence, isn't it?"

"We had just gotten to the beginning of the investigation when the guy was killed in his own hideout. They even managed to wipe him out so cleanly and efficiently."

The police officer opened his mouth, as if to say something, but he just couldn't find the words.

What a coincidence!

This is not an accident at all!
The investigator took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his anger. "Seal off the scene, notify the forensic team and our technical group. Even if you have to sift through every inch of soil here, you have to find something!"

……

On the special train.

Chief of the Guard, Rohus Misch, strode briskly into the carriage where Victor was and whispered the clues.

Viktor's voice carried an undisguised weariness. "These bureaucrats' methods are still so monotonous and unoriginal. The key to solving problems is to deal with the people who raise the problems, or those who might become the problems. It's incredibly crude."

He gestured to Casare: "Go tell Conrad he doesn't have much time left. If he can't solve the problem within the timeframe I've given him, and can't produce a satisfactory replacement, then he should resign and be replaced by someone more capable."

Casare immediately straightened up: "Yes, boss!"

Viktor paused, walked to the sofa, sat down, picked up the still-burning cigar, and took a puff.

If all else fails, then I'll just have to get off the train myself.

At worst, we can summon all the big-name officials from the Quintana Roo state government to this special train and inspect them one by one.

When there are many people, it can be a bit cramped and tiring to use.

There are some things he can't get involved in first. What's that called?
Give the locals face!
If you have to do everything yourself, what's the point of doing anything? You'll just exhaust yourself sooner or later.

People always have times when they lack energy.

Just as Victor was pondering, footsteps suddenly sounded again, and Casare began to walk around again. This time, his fat face became somewhat serious.

"Boss, Arkansas, Mississippi, and South Dakota all announced their return to the United States ten minutes ago."

Viktor's hand trembled.

"Rebellion can be played in turn-based mode?!"

“Well done,” Victor said in a low voice, his tone ambiguous, neither praising nor sarcastic. “Bush is telling everyone that America isn’t really dead yet. He, the new captain, has the ability to patch up a leaky ship. This is about rallying people’s hearts and minds, and it’s also a demonstration to us, to Bramo, and to all the onlookers.”

"If he is weak, he will be slowly devoured; only by being tough can he survive."

“Boss, this is for us…” Casare was somewhat worried.

"It's alright, let him consolidate his, we'll clean up ours. Even if the US temporarily pieces together a few states, the internal rifts and conflicts can't be solved with money and slogans. What's the use of just applying a band-aid to a rotten root? However..."

"Wush's move really disrupted the rhythm. It tells us people in the north to be on high alert and keep a close eye on the movements of the US military, especially the troops near the border. Also, send a message to Bramo that his neighbor has started repairing his fence and ask him how he feels."

"Yes!"

……

Meanwhile, in the United States, the reactions of the public in front of their televisions in countless homes were even more complex and difficult to describe.

In a typical East Coast left-wing intellectual's home, the living room television is playing a CNN special report.

On the screen, George W. Bush said with a resolute expression: "Today, Arkansas, Mississippi, South Dakota, these great states have heard the call of the motherland and chosen to return and unite. This is not a defeat for anyone, but a victory for all who believe in the American spirit! Our Union is now more complete and stronger."

The scene cuts to George W. Bush shaking hands with several state delegates, his face beaming with a victorious smile.

"boom!"

A mug was slammed onto the coffee table, spilling its coffee. The man of the house, a history professor at a university, exclaimed, "Hypocrisy! They must have promised astronomical bribes. This is a deception of the people in those states!"

His wife, a social activist, expressed her concern: "This means a renewed strengthening of central power. Bush is trying to rebuild the federal monster we've always opposed to overexpansion. What's next? More surveillance? More stringent control?"

Their teenage son, wearing headphones, glanced casually at the TV and muttered, "Oh, it's back again? Will the server latency be better when playing games across states?"

He has no interest in politics; he only cares about his online experience.

In a bar in a conservative agricultural town in the Midwest, the atmosphere was quite different. When the news was announced on television, many men in overalls and baseball caps raised their beer glasses and cheered.

"Well done, President Bush!"

"This should have been done a long time ago; splitting the country is treason!"

"Hopefully Illinois is next! Hang that son of a bitch Bramo!"

"We should take back Texas and California and kill the Mexicans!" a young farmer shouted, instantly setting the entire bar ablaze.

"Cheers, brothers, let's drink this up and go cause some trouble for those Mexicans tonight!"

American farmers are actually the biggest destabilizing factor in society. If they have a good harvest, they buy alcohol, tractors, and cattle. If they have a bad harvest, they get drunk. Once they're drunk, oh my god, they become completely unrecognizable to their own family and friends.

He grabbed a shotgun and started shooting.

Moreover, they are also the largest market for extreme racism.

……

(End of this chapter)