Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 458 - 312: Having a Skill is a Good Thing_2

"This is a premeditated political assassination. Mobilize all forces, we must find out who the murderer is."

...

Clark and Bahash Johnson walked out of the office.

The former passed over a cigarette.

Bahash smiled, "I don’t smoke, thanks."

The FBI boss didn’t mind, took a puff on his own, and casually asked, "Who do you think the murderer is?"

"Africa? The Soviet Union? The Middle East? Or Mexico?"

"Based on intelligence, you should know better than I do, I’m just an ordinary secretary," Bahash Johnson said modestly.

Clark nodded, but suddenly his tone shifted, his gaze fixed on him, "Before Richard died, he suspected you were a spy..."

Bahash Johnson looked at him calmly, "Do you believe that?"

"I don’t know."

"Then investigate properly, I’d like to see who’s been undercutting us."

Bahash Johnson finished speaking, nodded at him, and left. He didn’t look back, feeling a pair of eyes on him, making his scalp tingle slightly.

"Could it really be him?" Clark muttered, frowning.

Could anyone become the Director of the FBI if they were incompetent?

He had long been aware of a problem within, but who exactly it was, he and Richard shared the same view, Bahash Johnson was highly suspect.

If Old Bush’s Executive Secretary, the Assistant to the President for National Security Affairs, were to betray...

Clark shivered abruptly.

November 21st.

The U.S. Military dispatched a transport plane to bring back the Second Battalion from Kuwait. When they finally set foot back on Mexican soil, Rommel breathed a sigh of relief, a rare smile appearing on his deathlike face.

The last few days in Kuwait could be described as breathtaking, detaining a frontline commander had displeased the U.S. Military. They had even dispatched soldiers ready to storm the barracks, machine guns cocked and ready, a single nervous twitch could have sparked a new war.

"Lieutenant Colonel Rommel, welcome home!"

Horatio Herbert Kitchener, who came to greet them, hugged a few of the Second Battalion’s officers, "You’ve done well, the General is pleased."

"Thank you, sir!"

"Let’s go, the General is waiting for you at the Governor’s Mansion, to hold a victory celebration for you."

As the Second Battalion departed, on another side of the airport, Donald Rumsfeld and the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico solemnly draped a flag over a casket.

No matter how well protected, after ten days, it had started to smell.

But Old Bush still had to "deliver a speech," these bodies were the best "tool," burning them to ashes would be a waste.

But Donald Rumsfeld was different, he could empathize, being a military man himself.

"Attention!"

At the command, groups of four U.S. soldiers lifted the caskets onto the transport plane, Donald Rumsfeld standing with a somber expression.

The military band played the U.S. national anthem.

But just then, an incongruous sound of music abruptly started, loud enough to envelop the entire airport. Discover more content at novelbuddy

"Damn it! Damn it!" the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico shook with anger, and Donald Rumsfeld’s expression was equally grim.

Because the song was "Sunny" by the 1976 West German group Boney M, with a cheerful rhythm, originally a disco dance track.

Damn, playing this song in this situation was like playing "Bombing Tokyo" in Japan.

"I’m going to find them... to protest!" the ambassador said furiously.

But after taking a couple of steps, he turned to look at Donald, wondering why the other man wasn’t holding him back.

Shouldn’t he be advising him to keep calm?

The ambassador hesitated, then returned to his place, cursing under his breath.

"Continue."

Donald said calmly, even helping to lift the casket onto the plane.

What he really thought, though, remained known only to himself.

Victor, of course, wasn’t one to "sweat the small stuff"; he simply had no time to bother with those Yanks as he sat in his office, listening to Kennedy’s military report.

The southern guerrilla forces, the Anti-Victor Alliance, had captured Six States, openly trafficking drugs through the media and using BBS to recruit and buy horses, building up the Black Market by dragging some disreputable businesses into the spotlight.

They were directly telling Victor,

"You’re not letting us sell?"

"Well, we will anyway!"

Defiant and unabashed, they proclaimed it to the world.

"You, Victor, are lacking in face!"

"The drug traffickers have started constructing airports, fuel depots, and are even beginning to train personnel; our Intelligence Bureau agents have even discovered the presence of South African strategic resource company EO’s mercenaries, by the hundreds," Kennedy said.

"Those folks won’t lift a finger without seeing money first; behind these rebels, there must be one, if not several, patrons," said Director Augustine Przybylski of the Foreign Intelligence Bureau.

Victor nodded, then as if a thought struck him, "Do we have someone over there?"

"Yes!" Augustine Przybylski nodded vigorously, "I’ve made contact with Ethan Hunt; he’s now acting as the Colombian envoy in Mexico, serving as Pablo’s eyes on the ground here."

"? Promoted again?" Victor naturally hadn’t forgotten the man; previously, Pablo had asked him to bring people to wreak havoc in Mexico, trying to find a way to kill Casare if possible. But later, due to some issues, he had moved on to Guatemala to await the right moment.

Augustine Przybylski fell silent for a moment, "Pablo’s own sister was seduced by him."

...

Just afraid the air would suddenly quiet down.

Indeed, it’s a good thing to have a skill.

Victor’s eye twitched, "Ethan really has found the right direction for himself."

"His power is significant, and besides him, we’ve planted dozens of entry-level agents within that organization; any small movement, and we’ll be informed."

"A loose assembly, it’s just that some people dislike us and now want to initiate a proxy war, aiming to shatter Mexico and hinder our progress," Casare interjected from the side.

"We’ve subdued the United States; what other country dares to stand out? They’re all nobodies. The drug war continues, eradicating the remaining traffickers in Juarez, and fully attacking Guadalajara; they think I’ll chicken out, right? Drag El Mencho out and hang him on the railings, broadcast it live every day. I want to see if there’s still any trafficker in town who dares to resist?"

"Give them three hours to lay down their weapons and come out; we will ensure their safety, otherwise, Guadalajara will be leveled!"

"Have the missile brigade launch one as a test first!"

"Understood!"

"Let’s go, it’s time to welcome back our war heroes."

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...

Donald Rumsfeld followed the transport plane back to the United States.

Landing at Arlington Air Force Base in Virginia.

Old Bush and other high-ranking U.S. officials, all somber in black suits, stood with press cameras at the back. With tears in his eyes, he even personally lifted the casket of Lieutenant Colonel Tom Mattis out of the plane.

But upon touching it, his expression stiffened, the stench of the corpse caused his stomach to churn, but he held it in, his steps a bit unsteady, yet the show must go on.

He placed the casket at the prepared spot, tugged at his face away from the reporters, and composed himself back into a mournful visage.

By the time all two hundred-plus bodies were carried out,

That stench was sensed by many.

Amidst the wailing of the families, Old Bush stepped up to the podium, where the press releases were ready.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here at Arlington Air Force Base, we welcome our heroes!"

A well-timed breeze blew in,

Carrying the stench of the corpses straight into Old Bush’s face; the suppressed nausea instantly surged.

Perhaps, he was reminded of his comrades in the Pacific, devoured by sharks.

"Ugh!!"

Unable to hold back any longer, he vomited!

The Special Service agents were stunned.

Donald was a bit dazed too.

This...this is so damn embarrassing!