Working as a police officer in Mexico

Victor had just finished his conversation with Ah Gan and was preparing to meet with Alejandro when he received the news of his death!

Upon receiving this message.

He sat alone in his office for a long time.

In his mind, he remembered himself becoming allies with Alejandro, arm in arm, swearing to change Mexico together.

The other man was also a veteran of the Anti-Drug Force.

How long has it been?

Not even two years!

And everything had already changed beyond recognition. Discover hidden content at empire

Sometimes, the human heart is truly unfathomable, Golden Finger could see that the other party had betrayed him, but he couldn't see why they betrayed him.

He smoked cigarettes, one after another.

At that moment, Casare was arranging a musical for American guests, and upon receiving a phone call with the news of Alejandro's attempted defection to the CIA and subsequent suicide, he was so shocked that he couldn't speak.

Hurriedly handing over his work to his deputy, he rushed back to City Hall, barely parking his car and without waiting for his bodyguard to hold an umbrella for him, he pushed open the door and burst into the building, not even waiting for the elevator, running all the way to the top.

For Casare, who weighed 220 pounds, this was quite a workout.

When he reached the top floor, he saw Jason standing at the door.

"Where's the boss?"

Jason Bourne indicated the office with his chin.

"How could Alejandro have defected, how could he!" Casare frowned, "Is there some kind of misunderstanding here?"

"The man is dead, what misunderstanding could there be?"

The voice of Fat Casare got stuck right there, indeed, the man was dead, what use was it to say these things.

"I'll talk to the boss."

He was about to knock when the door to the office opened by itself.

Victor emerged with a solemn expression, and upon seeing the two of them, he decisively issued an order, "Lock down the news of Alejandro's suicide, nobody should spread it, and that CIA agent, shred him into 178 pieces and throw them at the U.S. Embassy in Mexico!"

"Put Guzman's name on it."

Victor handed a written draft to Casare, "Hold a press conference tomorrow, say it as it's written there, learn it by heart."

Casare took a look and his expression became very serious; he glanced at Victor and nodded vigorously.

"Don't disappoint me; we can either shoulder hardships together or enjoy luxuries together," Victor said, patting him on the shoulder, his tone laden with deep meaning.

Casare shuddered, watching his boss's retreating figure and then looking down at the speech in his hand, he tasted a bitterness in his mouth.

...

The next day!

The people of Tijuana had just gotten out of bed early in the morning, going to work, to school, to set up their stalls when a long, siren-like sound suddenly came from the radio!

"What's going on?"

"What happened? What happened?"

Many ordinary citizens were puzzled, not knowing what had occurred, and in the homes of many residents watching television, they suddenly found that all channels had been switched to a press conference.

Those paying attention noticed Casare in the camera frame, dressed in a black suit with a black armband on his left arm, as if in mourning.

Who died?

It's not Mr. Victor, is it?

No way!

Many "bugs" hiding in the sewers also thought of this possibility, their faces lit with ecstatic joy—had God finally taken Victor away?

That bastard got what he deserved!

"Victor! Victor! Victor!" In a neighborhood, a gaunt middle-aged man stared intently at the television. He was very thin, his bones visible; his eyes were red. In truth, he had no direct feud with Victor.

He was just a gambler and a drug addict, but damn it, all the drug traffickers in Tijuana had been hit, and those who dared to sell did so stealthily and with small quantities the price spiked severely, pushing him to steal and getting beaten half to death when he got caught.

Many times, during withdrawals, he wanted to jump off a building.

He wanted to gamble, but the casinos were also under control, and people like him, disheveled, were banned from entering, damn it, wasn't this targeting people like him at the bottom?

So, though they had no direct feud, he still hated Victor.

"It is with great sorrow that I announce to the people of Mexico that the Governor of Baja California State, the distinguished Drug Enforcement Warrior Mr. Carlos Alejandro, was murdered at his residence yesterday."

Alejandro?! Who is this?

The gaunt middle-aged man's face froze, and he cursed and swore in frustration. He hadn't even heard of this name, what the hell!

Governor? How would I know his name?

In front of countless TV sets, those who revel in chaos sighed in disappointment... Why wasn't it Victor who died!

"The murderer was caught on the spot by the guards who rushed in. According to the suspect's confession, he was hired to silence Alejandro, to stop him from investigating the major case involving the '31 FBI corpses' found in Tijuana!"

Casare's face was full of sorrow as he looked into the camera, and one could even see the tears welling up in his eyes, which were turning red, "We don't know if Alejandro's death is related to this case, and we hope someone can provide clues. The only evidence is a CIA dog tag found on the bodies of the FBI, but we will conduct an in-depth investigation into this matter!"

"We will also submit an inquiry letter to the CIA in an attempt to clear up any misunderstandings!"

The draft Victor gave him was not meant to criticize Alejandro for "betrayal," but rather to shift the blame for his death onto someone else. However, with the inclusion of explosive information about 31 FBI corpses, silencing, and the CIA in this leading statement, many people would automatically make their own connections and assumptions.

We still have to play the victim. We're going to bow to the CIA? What does that mean? Is the victim pleading with the murderer?

This is simply preposterous!

Melodrama + Victim + Murderer's Evidence = CIA is a bastard!

In the 21st century, when the internet is so developed and people spread rumors everywhere, now in the early 1990s, just a little bit of public opinion manipulation, and sending it back to the United States, could the FBI explode?

Looking for trouble with the CIA is something carved into the very bones of the FBI. Do you think they will sit down and talk nicely? Impossible!

31 corpses of "colleagues"!

Even if they aren't, they have to be!

Now that Alejandro is dead, let's capitalize on this.

Two agencies, do you think they will fight each other?

How far is Mexico from the United States?

It's nothing, a place where one could cross the border just by following the wind!

Casare had just finished speaking when, in just a couple of hours, the American public began to "spread" the news through various channels. Meanwhile, articles about the CIA's drug trafficking, originally banned in the United States, suddenly resurfaced en masse.

Even a lot of evidence was exposed.

"CIA Director William Webster accepted bribes exceeding 4 million US dollars from Colombian drug traffickers!"

"The 31 FBI corpses in Mexico were tortured to death by the CIA; screenshots from the video are leaked!"

But in reality, it was just a photo, pitch-black, where one could only see two figures and bodies lying on the ground. From this angle, it was completely impossible to tell it had anything to do with the CIA.

But!

People's imagination tends to spread.

The "enthusiastic" American public began to greet the "notorious" CIA!

Virginia, Langley!

The CIA headquarters, located on the banks of the Potomac River and spanning two hundred acres, looks quite grand.

The building was topped with the agency's emblem: a distinctively shaped badge, in the center of a round blue-gold-trimmed plate, was a silver shield. In the middle of the shield was a compass rose with 16 red points, and above the shield was the head of the American bald eagle, the national bird. Around the edge was inscribed "Central Intelligence Agency of the United States of America."

There were many people coming and going, any of whom could be geniuses in their own field.

Director's office!

William Webster, the 14th Director of the CIA, was at that moment grimacing and twisting his face!

This big shot, who had been in office for 3 years, was shaking slightly as he stared steadfastly at the few deputy directors in front of him.

"Did any of you take out FBI agents behind my back?"

Boy, he was starting to doubt it himself.

Employees of the CIA are bold; they can do anything overseas, even things like killing an entire family after refusing to pay for sex, but it was William Webster who kept a lid on these things.

Upon hearing that 31 FBI corpses were found, he wasn't afraid of retaliation but "hated" being deceived by his subordinates!

"Director, no such thing happened!" a bald man said with certainty.

"Are you sure??"

The bald man's expression suddenly froze. I was just talking, why are you taking it so seriously?

"If they killed the FBI, I'd hold a celebration for them, but who told you to kill Alejandro? You're in charge of Mexico, Jacob!"

"I didn't give the order to kill him," another deputy director said somberly.

"Then how did he die? Haha, don't tell me it was suicide!"

The deputy director was left speechless by the rebuke.

"Director, there's a conspiracy here. That Victor even held a press conference just to put us on the hot seat. He must have done it on purpose," the bald man said, his mind working quickly.

As William Webster was about to speak, his office door was knocked. A female office employee ran in, looking very anxious.

"Director, the FBI has blocked our front gate!"

…