Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 569 - 353: We Have a Spy Inside!

Victor really, really despised the Yanks.

He didn't know why, but there was something about these people that made him feel nauseous and repulsive.

"Governor, Mr. Field Whitney is dying." The Brazilian representative, Enrique, said shakily beside him, his eyes widened in horror at the sight of the blood-covered Yank.

Latin America was a breeding ground for tyrants!

Such as Mexico's iron-fisted tyrants: Porfirio Díaz Mori, General Victoriano Huerta.

Manuel Estrada Cabrera of Guatemala.

General Maximiano Hernandez Martinez of Salvador, who believed in witchcraft and had no strategy for governance.

And the Somoza family, which ruled Nicaragua for over 40 years, the lapdogs and minions of the United States.

Such authoritarian figures were numerous, most of whom came to power through military coups.

Thus, there's a saying: The magical and mythical Latin American flair.

Many people didn't like the United States very much.

Oh, I've revolted and am ruling on my own now, and you, America, still want to boss me around?

But most tyrants still pretended to be very "humble."

Who is like Victor, directly giving someone an ashtray?

"He's dying? Really? Go check."

The Minister of Propaganda, Goebbels, nodded, walked over, grabbed Field Whitney by the hair, and dragged him to a nearby rock used for washing clothes. After looking around, he had someone fetch an axe from the doorway of a nearby house.

Raise it up!

With a fierce look, he chopped down hard at his neck!

The head rolled off with a thud.

Hissss…

Many delegates standing nearby were so frightened that they fell to the ground, some even wet themselves.

Staying in so-called "civilized society" for too long, one tends to think that people outside will respect the "United Nations."

What a joke!

Do you know what a military leader is?

European military leaders lack decisiveness. Look at the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms; what about Wei Bo Ya Bing in politics?

I, a military leader, don't care about your politics!

Don't talk to me about all that messy structure. If you don't please me, I'll kill you. Clearly, Victor did not like Field Whitney.

George Smiley and others were expressionless.

The General was quite fond of killing lately, maybe as a way to exercise, he would personally kill drug traffickers from Tijuana Prison.

All sorts of tortures—hammering, whipping—making the criminals howl.

Brazilian representative Enrique went pale, swallowed, his pupils dilating, his whole body trembling.

When Victor laid a hand on his shoulder, he nearly collapsed.

Mainly because the Yank's neck was spraying blood.

When had he ever seen such a scene?

"Don't worry, my friend. I have fine wine if friends come, but if enemies arrive, it's just a shotgun," Victor said, supporting him with a smile.

Suddenly turning his head, his gaze dark and piercing, both hawkish and wolfish!

Looking at the weeping stenographer, "Write, Field Whitney died by accident."

The Minister of Propaganda, Goebbels, holding the axe, slowly approached.

The stenographer hastily picked up the pen and began writing, his hands shaking. Once he finished, Victor snatched it away, looked at it with satisfaction, and turned to the delegation, "I suppose you would like to sign this."

Under his pressure, everyone signed their name.

Victor handed it to Goebbels, "Release the news and express our condolences to Mr. Field Whitney's family."

Public opinion…

It's all about who has the initiative.

Even if you later come to know that Field Whitney was killed by Victor himself, if you publicize it a lot, you are already defeated in the arena of public opinion.

"Let's go, ladies and gentlemen. I've prepared a welcome dinner for you all at the Governor's Mansion."

Victor pulled along the delegates from Brazil and Venezuela, followed by others, as they left the slum.

As for the Yank's body?

"Feed it to the dogs," Goebbels said, throwing the axe on the ground and gesturing to a bodyguard.

Afraid of retaliation?

The moment the U.S. military started opposing and political crimes began, we were already irreconcilable.

Most importantly, I do whatever the General asks.

The main point: Loyalty!

…

The night falls early in North America.

In a tropical rainforest on the border between Guerrero State and Michoacan,

This content is taken from freёnovelkiss.com.

one could faintly see a camp inside.

Lights flickered, shadows sizzled.

This was the site of South Mexico's 7th Missile Battalion, equipped with two MGM-52 ballistic missiles, colloquially known as "Lance."

Drug traffickers had paid a hefty sum to obtain some outdated gear from the United States.

The price was not cheap, and the range was limited.

The total range was barely 120 kilometers; to think of launching it from here to Tijuana was a fantasy. But since it was for revenge, they prepared to strike the cities of Michoacan.

However, there were traitors among the drug traffickers; with the news released by Ethan Hunt, a normal launch was unlikely.

Snap!

In a wooden hut in the camp, a clearly drunk man came out, wearing a coffee-colored military uniform with a captain's insignia.

Southern drug traffickers had become increasingly formalized, but the uniform was truly ugly!

He unfastened his belt and walked to a secluded spot to urinate, shivering as a stream sprayed out, uttering a blissful sound.

Just as he was pulling up his trousers, a hand suddenly covered his mouth from behind and violently dragged him into the bushes!