Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 260 Military Aid
Both CIA officers could hear Milton's words—to be honest, when their interrogations suddenly stopped and they were put in custody together, they had been looking for an opportunity to collude.

But the guards were too tight, and the time was too short. Milton came over not long after Winnie left, so the two had no chance to talk.

However, the two men still looked at Milton with disdain in their eyes, despite his blatant danger.

It's very simple. The CIA agents who carried out this mission were all carefully selected talents—not only were they good at fighting, but they also had various physical "advantages".

For example, the agent who was the most resilient and never uttered a sound no matter what methods Winnie used had a functional defect in the presynaptic vesicle release pool of the dorsal root ganglion nociceptive neurons TRPV1-CB1R, resulting in an overall dulling of pain perception.

Many excruciating pains that are unbearable for ordinary people, pains that many people cannot endure without opioid painkillers, are at the level of "barely bearable by gritting one's teeth" for him.

Having received professional training and still holding onto the hope that the US government would save them, torture had little effect on him.

Of course, he was also afraid of dying—his former colleague had such a foul mouth that he had now turned into countless bone knives.

Without thoroughly enraging Milton, he was certain that Milton would ultimately have no choice but to slink away and extradite the men back to the United States.

There might be a considerable sum of money waiting for them then.

As he was being led to his feet, he looked at the man who was even more imposing than he had imagined, hesitated for a moment, and then said, "'Hell Tax Collector,' we don't need to make things so tense... There are some things that you wouldn't find good if you knew them."

"As you know, the DEA can only do so much. If they leave any evidence on us, you will immediately be in a very passive position."

“You might be able to find a reasonable excuse for killing one of our colleagues before, but it’s difficult this time. You can’t kill another person… If you do kill someone, you have no way to verify the truthfulness of that one person’s testimony.”

“If you let us go, this matter will end here, how about it? I can assure you that for a considerable period of time to come, the CIA will no longer consider you a primary target.”

Milton stepped into the darkness, his voice echoing from within: "Your CIA assurances are nothing but empty promises... And besides, you don't think I'm afraid of the CIA, do you? Shouldn't you be the ones afraid of me?"

“You… fine.” The CIA agent shrugged. “I’m not trying to provoke you, I’m just stating the facts. At most, you’ll have to send me back to the United States in a week.”

Milton ignored the two men.

Perhaps they can return to the United States... but in what circumstances they will return is hard to say.

So the CIA followed Milton, waiting to enter a more "brutal" interrogation room. But after walking for a while, they only felt that the surroundings were becoming more and more empty, the guards that were everywhere were becoming fewer and fewer, and silence gradually became the main theme.

This environment put a strange sense of pressure on the CIA agents.

However, this pressure was quickly dispelled by the aroma of food.

food?

The CIA was somewhat taken aback—since being captured, to put it bluntly, Winnie had practically been feeding them shit.

The food was small, tasted awful, and was fucking rancid!

They can now smell the aroma of normal food? What are these "hellish tax collectors" up to?

Sitting down at the table and looking at the food, the CIA agent was even more astonished—it looked like authentic French cuisine!

Creamy mushroom soup, escargot in red wine, duck confit, beef stew in Burgundy red wine, mille-feuille, and you can even see dessert pudding prepared not far away!

Coca-Cola was provided as a beverage.

Appetizers, main courses, desserts... even in the United States, they only enjoy such a grand meal very occasionally.

These are all high-oil, high-calorie, and high-carbohydrate foods, which are like a godsend for the CIA, who have been starving for several days.

The CIA agent felt his feet being shackled, while his handcuffs were removed by the guards.

He didn't have the idea of ​​suddenly jumping up and wrestling with Milton—putting aside whether he could beat Milton, given Milton's cautious nature, there must be surveillance around the room, and if he made the slightest move, bullets would come from all directions.

"Was this prepared for us?"

Milton said calmly, "Enjoy your lunch. Even I rarely get to eat this kind of food."

The agent then sat down, scooped a spoonful of mushroom soup, and forked a piece of snail into his mouth. He felt the fat and protein flowing into his mouth, and his stomach, which had been tormented for so long, was being nourished by the delicious food. His brows relaxed comfortably.

The most direct source of carbohydrates provided by cola made the agents realize again how wonderful it is to be alive.

This delicious meal will surely become his most unforgettable enjoyment and most beautiful memory during this period.

"So, it seems you were actually planning to talk to me?" the agent asked curiously while eating. "Did you not say anything earlier because there were too many people outside?"

Milton watched him enjoy his food and replied coldly, "I think you're overthinking it."

The agent then laughed: "'Hell Tax Collectors' aren't as barbaric as we imagine... I can understand your outburst when you personally killed my colleague. If it were me, if my comrade fell beside me, I would be just as angry."

“At least I think ‘Hell Tax Collector’ is better than that barbarian Winnie; she won’t provide us with any decent food.”

"You just said you don't believe what the CIA says. Although I am a member of SAD and a combatant, I can still tell you with certainty that what you just said was not a lie."

"If you're willing, and you make certain compromises, the CIA can support you instead of supporting Arzu. You could even become the president of the new Guatemalan government!"

Milton glanced at the half-eaten mushroom soup, his face expressionless, and said nothing.

The CIA agent smiled and shook his head, taking a bite of stewed beef: "I know you broke your agreement with the CIA before and swindled a large sum of money, but that doesn't matter. You've demonstrated your value. Like I said, as long as you're obedient enough, you could not only become the president of this country in the future, but with our propaganda, you could even become a hero of this country."

"Think carefully about what I'm saying. Is it like this, where we're in the midst of war every day? If we defeat one enemy, another one immediately appears. If we defeat one army, an alliance immediately appears. We're surrounded by enemies on all sides. Every day we're struggling to keep our regime afloat, fighting to the death, spending all the money we've worked so hard to earn on stabilizing the people and on arms. If we fail, we'll die without a burial place."

"With our support, the enemy will completely lose its backer and vanish into thin air. The enemy's alliance will completely collapse, handing over the position of supreme ruler to you. From then on, you can do whatever you want, enjoy yourself to the fullest, put the wealth of the entire country into your personal pocket, have a few children in peace and send them to the United States, Australia and the European Union. Even if something really happens in the end, as the supreme leader of a country, you can easily leave the country and go abroad to enjoy a wonderful retirement life."

"It's entirely up to you."

“We are enemies now, but once you understand this, we can absolutely become friends.”

The agent's throat was dry from talking, so he picked up an ice-cold Coca-Cola and rinsed his mouth. In his view, these words were very deceptive and tempting. "Keeping your true self" was not a simple matter, and countless people would be tempted when victory was within reach.

That was a promise from the president of a country!
Milton didn't bother listening to any of this. He unconsciously tapped the table... This sumptuous meal wasn't actually about "appeasement and persuasion," but rather the most important step before the deprivation of perception.

When a person loses consciousness, their brain will unconsciously try to recall everything they can remember, starting with the most recent memories.

Why choose cola as a beverage? Why choose high-fat, high-calorie foods that are extremely stimulating to the taste buds?
It's all to reinforce that memory.

Moreover... Milton is not exactly a gentleman; there was something added to the food.

Haloperidol, an antipsychotic drug, has the side effect of causing extrapyramidal reactions, affecting balance and sense of direction.

In the vast, empty darkness, it is already very difficult to walk in a straight line. When the sense of direction is destroyed by drugs, even a trained CIA agent would have a hard time finding the edge of the "Grand Hotel" and would only be able to go around in circles.

At the same time, to disrupt the agent's sense of time, Milton also added a small amount of tetracyclic antidepressants. Milton certainly didn't mean any harm, fearing the agent might develop depression during interrogation... rather, these types of antidepressants can suppress "loss of appetite," in other words, they can stimulate appetite and increase hunger.

This would further disrupt the agents' sense of time, making them believe that 10 hours had passed due to hunger, when in reality only 3 hours might have passed.

Oblivious to the situation, the CIA agent continued eating, clearly enjoying the meal. He smiled and asked, "What's wrong? Thinking about it?"

“Sorry, I have absolutely no interest in what you’re saying.” Milton clapped his hands. “I’m not even interested in lecturing you on grand principles… There are many things that someone like you will never understand.”

"Ha! You think you're so noble?" The CIA agent finished the rest of his food, picked up the pudding, and scooped it into his mouth spoonful by spoonful. "Aren't you interfering in Mexico's affairs, getting involved in a war that isn't your own? What's the essential difference between you and us?"

Milton didn't bother to answer him: "Are you finished eating? If you are, then leave. Guards, take him away."

The guards immediately stood up, covered the agent with very thick blindfolds and earmuffs, and led him deeper into the interrogation room.

The agent cooperated perfectly when he was captured, and even provocatively thanked the agent, saying, "A delicious lunch. The 'Hell Tax Collector' is indeed a devil, not a demon. He's a man of principle."

"..."

After the two agents had walked away, Milton turned and left, returning to the interrogation room.

Milton could clearly see Quetzaltenango, which was now completely shrouded in night, with a grand official fireworks display taking place in the distance.

Beautiful fireworks shot into the sky, exploding one after another.

Although Milton couldn't see it, one could imagine that many people must be gathered together at this time, spending this peaceful and prosperous Christmas.

"Heh... Lunch. This idiot's vigilance is really low. Although he thinks he's firm enough not to say anything because of a meal, his vigilance has been weakened a bit by this meal."

Milton shook his head with a sneer. Just as he was deciding to watch the fireworks, then go to the special lounge to sleep for a few hours before directing the "sensory deprivation" after the agents were fully in the zone, a guard suddenly approached from behind.

“‘Godfather’, that’s a call from the State Taxation Administration. They say someone wants to see you.”

Milton glanced at the fireworks, turned and left, went to his room, and answered the phone.

A strange voice came from the other end, but the voice reported its identity as per procedure. Milton also remembered it; it was the deputy who had taken over Lutz's work when he was away.

"Reporting to 'The Godfather,' it's Eunice on the phone. She says she has something important to discuss with you."

He is one of the new generation of leaders in the Ubico family, which controls Guatemala's access to the Atlantic Ocean.

“Take me there,” Milton said.

"Yes!"

Soon, Milton picked up the phone, and a familiar, languid voice came through.

"I knew it, victory would be yours... the Napoleon of modern Central America. Isn't a Christmas spent in victory sweet? Don't you feel like you're missing someone to celebrate with?"

“First, it was unforgettable to have two CIA agents with me during the holiday,” Milton said calmly. “Second, get to the point. I’m busy, so I’ll hang up if there’s nothing else.”

Eunice's voice immediately cracked: "CIA...you're unbeatable. Okay, let's talk business. Just now, our nearly bankrupt President Arsou called me and asked me to convey something."

“Almost?” Milton, quick to pick up on something, interrupted, “Almost? Not bankrupt yet?”

Eunice's voice was tinged with laughter, completely unconcerned that Arsu was still a nominal government and that the two sides were still nominal allies. She said, "Yes... if the civil war had ended as scheduled, and if there hadn't been a food war, he should have been severely damaged, not to the point of government bankruptcy."

"But unfortunately, you tricked him out of a lot of money."

"I heard that the World Bank got involved and provided a large loan. Sigh~ I've heard that when they get involved and take over their loans, very few end up well. You played this move brilliantly."

World Bank...

Milton nodded. "Then let's continue. What did Arsu ask me to convey?"

Eunice chuckled again: "He said the U.S. State Department contacted him, saying that you arrested two Americans, and according to the Extradition Treaty between the United States of America and the Republic of Guatemala signed in 1903, these two prisoners should be handed over to the United States for processing."

"They will produce evidence and submit it to the Guatemalan Supreme Court for review."

"During this period, you should guarantee the basic rights of the criminals. So, what are you planning to do?"

They came so fast...

Milton said calmly, "If they want them, then give them to them. I need to take care of some things here, and I should be able to return them to them in less than a week."

Eunice's voice became more serious: "You absolutely mustn't do those artistic things anymore. Many eyes are watching, and if anything goes slightly wrong, international public opinion will overwhelm you."

“Heh…” Milton chuckled coldly. “You want basic rights, huh? No problem. I happen to have a video here that I can send to Arsu, to the Americans, so they can see how well ‘criminals’ are treated here.”

"No handcuffs, no forced interrogation, eating a French meal while being questioned in a relaxed and pleasant environment—is this evidence sufficient? Is this treatment in accordance with human rights?"

Eunice pondered for a moment, then said curiously, "It certainly meets human rights standards, but it seems a bit lacking in Milton's rights."

"Anything else?" Milton didn't have much time for small talk. "If not, I'm hanging up."

“Hmm… there’s another piece of news,” Eunice said. “According to reliable sources, a drug cartel appears to be forming in your northern Mexican neighbor.”

"A drug trafficking alliance?"

“Yes, it seems that ‘Shorty’ and ‘May’ took the lead in contacting the old groups in Guadalajara… They plan to reunite and join forces to fight against the emerging CJNG, and the biggest threat, which is you.” Eunice said slowly, “How about it, are you feeling a little pressure?”

Milton silently noted it down and said, "Anything else?"

“The Arsu government has received a loan, a huge cash flow, and now it’s importing weapons. I heard it’s specifically for your air force; they’ve ordered a batch of air defense weapons from the United States,” Eunice said. “Your planes might need to be a little more careful.”

Milton frowned: "Ordered from the US?"

"Yes, I don't know much about it either, but it's said to be a batch of vehicle-mounted anti-aircraft missiles, different from the man-portable air defense missiles we used against you before... Vehicle-mounted anti-aircraft missiles can be moved and evacuated immediately, and have a long range and a high altitude."

"He also modified the anti-aircraft guns; now all of his anti-aircraft guns are vehicle-mounted."

"Everyone saw how you defeated Badr. Your enemies aren't stupid; they're taking targeted defenses against it."

"In fact, the Guatemalan government may be procuring self-propelled artillery from its neighboring countries... Everyone has seen the power of self-propelled artillery."

Milton paused for a moment, then said, "I understand."

(End of this chapter)