Working as a police officer in Mexico

He emerged from the interrogation room.

Casare's face still bore a look of shock.

The information divulged by Raul Salinas was utterly mind-shattering.

He pressed the button on his radio.

Zzzzt~

After some interference, Raul's voice came through.

"The Salinas Family had been cooperating with Aviles, the very first drug lord of Mexico, 50 years ago, when my father was still a member of parliament."

…

"We were getting more than 1.6 million US Dollars a year in revenue back in 1967, and with that money, we bribed other officials and steadily expanded the family's power."

"We weren't the first to collaborate with drug traffickers, but we won't be the last either, Mexico is beyond saving! Beyond saving! Beyond saving!"

…

"We never care who is in charge of the Mexican Drug Cartels, as long as our cut doesn't decrease each year. Whoever can make money for us is the leader!"

…

"And do you really think it's only us behind this drug trafficking group? Impossible! Ha ha..." Raul Salinas's mocking laughter emanated from the radio, like a duck's quack, "Besides us, there are Americans! We work for them...the CIA is..."

He didn't finish his sentence when a series of thuds were heard.

That was the boss knocking him out.

The General's voice, detached, came from the radio, "Cut out that last line."

Casare's brows trembled intensely as he remembered Raul lifting his head, staring at them with dead eyes — he knew then that he must be telling the truth.

His own family had also been farmers.

As a child, he watched his father sigh over their fields, unable to understand why the golden, appetizing corn couldn't fetch a good price.

As he grew up, he came to realize — Mexico serves as America's dumping ground, and local farmers could only plant other cash crops. Yet, he still harbored aspirations for that country.

Because...

It was paradise.

He had naively hoped to live to 100 to receive the insurance payout, then emigrate to the United States, where his descendants could become Americans. But now you're telling me that the country of my dreams is engaging in such deeds?

Suddenly, it felt as though the entire sky had collapsed.

"What are you thinking?"

A cigarette was passed to him.

Casare, with tears on his face, turned, and saw Victor holding a cigarette, "Boss, is Mexico beyond saving?"

"Are we dead?" Victor looked at him and said with a smile, "Not yet."

"The world is just like this, some are lost in the night, while others reach for the light. We are not dead, so we can still fight. But when the enemy is too powerful, you have to play along at first. Nobody sleeps with their eyes open every night. One day we'll take a bite out of it, a piece called 'freedom'!"

Was the CIA's involvement in drugs really a secret after the Millennium?

Its ties with narcotics trace back to the Cold War, when to counter pro-Soviet regimes in Latin America, the CIA conducted extensive activities abroad, thus starting to support groups including armed drug traffickers.

In Latin America, traffickers oppressed by pro-Soviet governments began using drug money to buy arms from the CIA, eventually turning it into a simple exchange of drugs for arms.

The CIA workforce consisted of roughly 20,000 employees, but even with an annual budget close to 50 billion US Dollars, it wasn't enough for their expenses, so some individuals resorted to "dishonorable" means to gain their share.

This issue was blown wide open only in 1996, when an American named Gary Webb tore away the veil, revealing the CIA had set up a drug network within the United States, secretly hiring traffickers to sell vast amounts of narcotics to the public.

On December 10, 2004, Gary Webb, who never ceased to talk, died under mysterious circumstances, shot twice in the head.

After an in-depth and fair investigation, the police determined that Webb's death was suicide, using a police-issued .38 caliber revolver.

Suicide...with two shots.

That seemed all too familiar.

Moreover, it was said that when DEA agent Camarena was killed by drug traffickers, there were CIA operatives by his side. This matter can't be verified, but it was quite obvious the atmosphere between the two departments turned sour after 1985.

"They will eventually reap what they sow!"

But to say that the entire US upper echelon is involved with drugs, that would be an exaggeration; after all, the drug market is only highly profitable, not highly beneficial, a market capped at a few hundred billion US dollars at most per year.

Some sell shoes, reaching a market of over a trillion US dollars per year, and most importantly, they control a sufficient weapon market.

For the real top dogs, dealing in drugs is just too low.

But it can't be denied that there are still many involved, and these people, to the present Victor, are simply colossal!

"In the war on drugs, we are never fighting alone, pal! Mexico needs us, Latin America needs us, the world needs us!" Victor gently patted Casare's shoulder.

"While life endures, the fight goes on!"

The CIA may want to mess with me now, but I stand on the side of drug enforcement. They can't possibly say that they would start a war for my trivial part, can they?

The Russian Bear might be collapsing, but it's not dead yet.

This is the best time to expand one's influence.

Victor wants to gather more strength for himself before the fall of the Russian Bear.

...

Raul Salinas was kidnapped in broad daylight at a Mexico City café, an incident known by almost all the important figures.

And three days later.

On the outskirts of a small village near Mexico City, someone discovered a male corpse tied to a tree, with a message written on it: Please respect the law! Respect the civilians!

The farmers were terrified and hastily called the police. When the police arrived, they realized the corpse was none other than Raul Salinas.

They reported the matter immediately.

Carlos didn't come, but his secretary did. Looking at the nearly decomposed body, even the secretary couldn't help but hold his nose.

"He's been dead for about three days, and he obviously suffered abuse before dying," the forensic examiner said.

The Secretary-General sighed deeply. Things were really going south.

Just as he was about to leave, the police captain stopped him and handed him a letter, "This was found on Mr. Raul's body, I haven't looked at it."

Provocation?

The secretary raised his eyebrows, but being a germaphobe, he took out a disposable glove from his briefcase and accepted the letter.

Upon returning to the Official Residence.

In the office.

Carlos Salinas, with his back to the door, eyes fixed on the family portrait on the wall where the three brothers were shoulder to shoulder, smiling happily. Back then, Carlos Salinas still had hair.

"Sir," the secretary called softly.

"What is it?" Carlos Salinas asked, voice trembling despite trying to suppress it, clearly clutching at straws of hope.

"It's Mr. Raul Salinas."

Carlos let out a long sigh...

"There's also a letter, found on his body." The secretary placed it on the table, and seeing no response, slowly retreated out.

As the door closed, the office darkened.

Carlos Salinas looked up, he was actually in tears? He walked to the desk and opened the envelope, his hands trembling.

On it was written a single sentence: Please die along with your drugs, don't cry, you're next. — Nemesis!

Only an idiot would leave a real name.

"Victor!" Carlos clenched his fist, crushing the piece of paper, feeling the mockery washing over him, clenching his teeth.

...