Working as a police officer in Mexico

But years of experience made him instantly alert!

He was heading down the stairs to the stadium when he saw two men in black coming towards him from the opposite side of the road, approaching with menacing expressions.

Damn!

Augustine Przybylski broke into a run, his long legs carrying him swiftly!

The two men in black charged right towards him.

The three of them sprinted down the street, passersby wondering what was happening and watching in astonishment.

The director of the Mexican Intelligence Bureau sprinted towards the street, just as the traffic light turned green, cars flooding in. He darted between the vehicles, narrowly avoiding being hit, as drivers rolled down their windows and cursed loudly.

Augustine Przybylski just flipped them the middle finger.

The two men in black caught up, but just as they reached the middle of the road, a taxi came barreling straight towards them, not even braking, hitting both men and then harshly running over them before driving off.

Their brains were squeezed out.

Just then, a motorcycle pulled up beside Augustine Przybylski, "Director, get on!"

He swung his long leg over, and with a whoosh, the bike sped away.

Of course, he hadn't come alone; plenty of his men were around, disguised as various people.

And the intelligence department also had branches in Germany.

The motorcycle weaved through the traffic to an underground parking lot, switched to a Mercedes-Benz, and took him to a farmhouse in Berlin.

As soon as he got out of the car, Augustine Przybylski frowned and hurried into the house, "Check, who were those people just now? We've been targeted."

He was always cautious; who would be watching him?

Could it be the KGB betrayed him?

Unlikely!

The Soviet Union was out of favor with the whole world now.

It seemed that other countries' intelligence agencies should not be underestimated.

The message soon came back.

"Mossad???"

What were they up to?

He hadn't done anything wrong!

Were they taking sides with the United States?

"What about the Soviet guys?" he asked, furrowing his brows.

"No conflict occurred, nor did we approach them. I think they were targeting us specifically," his subordinate said.

"We must find out why. I don't believe they'd be idle without a reason."

Augustine Przybylski, with a cigarette in mouth, felt even more annoyed.

Damn!

Troubles were mounting.

"Director, should we call someone?" his subordinate whispered, "I think the German intelligence agency must have joined in too. Otherwise, Mossad couldn't have found us. Since they want to play, let's make it big."

The subordinate was ruthless, "Let's slaughter Mossad people!"

Augustine Przybylski's eyes flashed, and he nodded at him, "You handle it."

"Don't worry! Director, I'll turn those bastards into dead Soap!"

Afterward, he called the other European branches of Mexico, instructing them to dispatch elite forces to Berlin.

A shooting arrow calls together a mighty force!

...

Tijuana. Governor's Mansion.
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In the private office at that moment.

Victor was meeting with a "special envoy" from the United States.

Donald Rumsfeld's son and Belsaria's father—Nick Ramsfield!

The current White House assistant.

"You're saying you want to sign a peace treaty?" Victor said with a half-smile.

"So, do you support our drug prohibition efforts?"

Nick, ever smooth, replied, "We do not oppose Mexico's drug wars."

"Mr. Governor."

"Just call me Victor. I'm dating your daughter, sir."

Nick's expression stiffened, almost losing his composure, but he took a deep breath, "That's even better, Victor. As someone who has been there, and as a... senior, I want to tell you that many things in this world don't go as one desires. Sometimes, turning a blind eye can yield more, compromise is an art."

"Don't chase so hard. Relax a bit. Drugs are also the cornerstone of politics."

Still smiling, Victor replied, "Do you know, Mr. Nick."

"What?"

"You are the only person who has talked me into a compromise on drug prohibition and still gotten away unscathed. The last one, I had him chopped into little pieces."

Nick's face froze.

"Those drug dealers and users, let them fend for themselves. I, Victor, won't let them sell, even if they are cockroaches! They'd better learn to eat crap like dung beetles!!"

"This is the first, and the last time, you say that. Next time, I will take action, Mr. Nick!"

...