Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 558 - 349: London Falls!_2

Bullets swept across.

The Haitian bodyguards circled outside fell into pools of blood, and the glass and walls of Westminster Cathedral were riddled with bullet holes.

Raul Cedras, by sheer luck, had not been hit, but the British interpreter beside him was shot dead. Scared stiff, Raul bent over, attempting to rush into the church, but the people inside promptly shut the doors!

"Fuck!" he cursed angrily, taking cover behind a barricade and returning fire under the protection of his bodyguards.

When the gunfire erupted, tourists screamed in panic, scattering in all directions across the open space in front of them.

Raul Cedras saw a couple who looked like tourists screaming and running towards him; sensing danger, he hadn't even begun to reprimand them to stay back when he saw a black backpack thrown in their direction.

"Get down!!!"

Boom!!!

The bomb inside the backpack took everyone with it, wiping them out in one fell swoop.

Raul Cedras lay on the ground, half of his body gone, blood spilling from his mouth, his eyelids twitched, and he was dead.

This Haitian warlord, who had ranted on TV calling Victor a "son of a whore," died a pathetic death.

However…

It could be said he achieved his recent aspiration: to be buried at Westminster Cathedral.

What did this tell us?

Some things should not be spoken loosely, for they cannot be guaranteed.

Policemen on patrol engaged in a gunfight with the criminals, a severe conflict erupted between the two sides, and even hand grenades were thrown.

Following the explosions in two places, even the densest officials in Great Britain sensed that something was amiss, and the command center immediately activated the counter-terrorism emergency plan.

Director Horasan Copeland, responsible for security at this meeting, had a somber expression. A large man with bulging muscles on his arms, he stood with folded arms, watching the scenes of explosion on the screen, and said in a deep voice, "Request SAS reinforcement."

"Special Forces?!" someone nearby exclaimed in surprise.

Horasan pointed at a criminal disguised as a guard on the screen and said, "From the shooting stance and angle, it's clear these aren't ordinary thugs. Do you think the patrols can handle them?"

"No more talk, follow my orders! Activate the highest-level plan."

"Yes, Director!"

Wrrrrrr~

A Lynx helicopter patrolled the sky, an ugly thing resembling a damned shoehorn, carrying counter-terrorism officers who vigilantly scoured the terrain below for criminals.

"Who's in that convoy down there?" asked a police superintendent, noticing a convoy passing below.

"According to instructions, that's Japan's Yakuza's top advisor and the Osaka God General Manager, Kishimoto Sazan," the officer responsible for intelligence gathering yelled out, his voice drowned out by the loud propellers.

The Yakuza are actually a criminal organization. Perhaps not widely known, but their three largest affiliated gangs are the Yakuza, Ishikawa Clan, and Sumiyoshi-kai, frequently depicted in many films.

And Kishimoto Sazan was no ordinary figure either.

He came from Akita, notorious within Akita.

A volunteer navy air crewman during World War II.

An imperialist nationalist.

After being taught a lesson by the United States, he never forgot to honor the dead and later joined the Yakuza with similar "obsessions," seeking so-called co-prosperity.

He was no spring chicken either, 63 years old.

Inside a Toyota at that moment, Kishimoto Sazan held a dragon-head cane, his hair meticulously styled, giving him an air of authority.

His subordinate, sitting beside him, said nervously, "There have been several explosions in London, seems like terrorists are causing trouble everywhere. Should we return to the hotel?"

"Damn it!"

Kishimoto barked angrily at him, "What's there to fear from an explosion? During World War II, I saw many things far worse than this. As Japanese, you must have a fighting spirit. The young people nowadays are too afraid of death!"

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Chastised, the subordinate bowed his head, but his eyes clearly showed disagreement.

You're the mighty one, so tough. If one didn't know better, they might think you were some big shot in World War II. Calling yourself an air crewman, you were probably just serving tea and water to the kamikaze pilots.

The thing about people is, the older they get, the more they like to stretch the truth.

The Yakuza control Japan's underground finance and are connected to many conglomerates. Most of their leaders are remnants of World War II, with complicated interrelationships. The invitation to the Yakuza this time was simply due to an interest in their backing of the Asian market.

A criminal syndicate?

What defines black?

And what defines white?

There's a saying in the "tea house": today's soldiers could become tomorrow's bandits, and tomorrow's bandits could become today's soldiers. Of course, aren't today's soldiers also today's bandits?!

As these thoughts meandered through his mind, the convoy approached a crossroad where the traffic light turned red, and they stopped to wait for the green light.

Kishimoto, tired from talking, stretched out his hand for water, and his subordinate quickly handed him a cup. He had just taken a sip when a violent collision from the rear nearly made him choke on the water.

Looking back in panic, he saw a frightful sight. A heavy truck had slammed right into them from behind, smashing several of their bodyguard vehicles.

What Toyota could stand against a heavy-duty truck?

The bodyguards from the lead vehicle jumped out, cursing at the truck driver in Japanese, while others tried to pull out their comrades, now nothing but sandwiched meat.

The Lynx helicopter above also noticed the anomaly and began to circle.

Beep beep beep...beep beep beep!

A red dot suddenly flashed on the radar, and the pilot was caught off guard.

"Rocket launcher!!!!"

Whoosh~

A Stinger missile, out of nowhere, struck the Lynx, turning it into a fireball that plummeted straight to the ground.