Working as a police officer in Mexico

The next day.

Cuauhtémoc planned to leave Mexicali city.

He was heading to Mexico City to raise the banner of drug enforcement!

"Please take care of the two of them for me," he said, still worried about his wife and son, as he firmly shook Victor's hand.

"Don't worry, I will take good care of them, and I won't let them suffer any grievances."

Cuauhtémoc looked at his wife's worried face, walked over to embrace her, and whispered softly, "Wait for me to come back."

"God bless you, dear."

Cuauhtémoc got into an armored combat vehicle, accompanied by four troop carriers, more than a dozen Humvees, and five more troop carriers, equipped with a 140-member guard corps, selected from EDM and the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV).

Why hide when escorting people back to Mexico City?

If you have the strength, show it off.

Bring out the anti-aircraft machine guns, and if anyone TMD dares to block the way, simply gun them down.

On the contrary, hiding makes you vulnerable with no chance to fight back if caught.

Of course, there was no sign of Victor, but instead, they were painted with the insignia of the Mexican military.

To return to Mexico City, they must pass through areas effectively controlled by drug trafficking groups such as Sonora State, Chihuahua State, and Durango State. If they were to display a bust of Victor...

NMD, they would take the tires off!

Traveling by air, there's always the fear Carlos might shut down the airport and arrest you under some pretext, don't think this guy wouldn't do it.

He would even dare to shoot you down with a missile.

The 1980 incident where France shot down an Italian airliner causing 81 deaths is still vivid in memory, and supposedly Colonel Ka was meant to be on that flight.

Don't overestimate the integrity of politicians.

Watching the convoy depart, Victor lowered his hand, patted McClure's head, and glanced at Cuauhtémoc's wife, "Tatiana, if you need anything at all, you can contact me."

She looked a bit pale, her body feeble, but she smiled, nodded and after one last look at the departing vehicles, she turned her gaze away. A female agent from the Mexico International News Department pushed her away.

"Director, we've located the whereabouts of Guzman's eldest son, Francellino, in Mexico City," Jason Bourne leaned over to say.

Victor's expression immediately turned cold, "Record it, I want to send it to Guzman."

You release a video, I also release a video; you kill my believers, I kill your son.

With that TMD short and stocky figure of yours, how many sons can you have?

Anyway, I don't have any sons...

It won't hurt me if one dies.

No!

All the citizens of Mexico are his children.

He aims to become the "Godfather of Mexico."

After the convoy left Mexicali, it quickly entered the territory of Sonora State through a side road.

Compared to Baja California...

The air here was clearly exceeding DM standards, and Cuauhtémoc could feel a strong discomfort in his stomach.

"Sir, our journey will take approximately 28 hours, and according to the plan, we should arrive in Mexico City around eight o'clock tomorrow evening."

Carlos, known by the nickname "Rookie" in Cuauhtémoc, was sent for two months of internal further training after his promotion.

Victor ran a small internal academy where he served as the main speaker, and Casare, Kennedy, and others were deputy speakers, serving as a training ground for police officers.

The reason he was chosen to be the Guard Captain was that he had scored full marks in the tests after class.

The questions were somewhat… biased.

For example, what date was Victor's statue on Guadalupe Island built?

Who is Mr. Victor's idol?

Please describe in 500 words Mr. Victor's mental state during his time as a jail guard at Plateau Prison.

Hmm… Carlos got a full score.

How could such talent not be reused?

Hearing his words, Cuauhtémoc smiled and nodded, perhaps because he had caught a cold last night, his throat was a bit itchy, he coughed and was about to speak when suddenly he heard the voice from the walkie-talkie placed on the side.

"Szzzt~ Unit 1! There is a white Buick obstructing ahead of us."

Carlos quickly raised the observation mirror mounted on the side of the armored vehicle and peered out through it, squinting his eyes.

Sure enough, he saw a white Buick convertible weaving back and forth between two lanes, deliberately blocking them, with a man and three women in the car. The man driving wore sunglasses and even arrogantly raised his middle finger.

The three women had a look of experience about them as they stood up and waved their scarves. Why don't you wave your sanitary pads?

One of the women sitting in the back even made an obscene gesture.

"They have logos around their necks that signify they're part of the local drug trafficking group in Sonora State," reported an officer from another vehicle over the walkie-talkie.

The Mexico International News Department had already thoroughly investigated the neighboring state; money had been invested, and they had a plethora of external informants. They had listed every drug trafficking group, including their leaders, logos, annual business (very important); they had done comprehensive research.

And this intelligence was also compiled and distributed to the various police squads, with weekly updates, to ensure smooth operations.

Carlos watched as the Buick appeared to tire of the game and decided to hit the gas and attempt to run away. You provoke us and think you can leave?

Picking up the walkie-talkie, "Blow them up!"

"Understood!"

Cuauhtémoc looked out from the small window of the armored car and saw an officer rise from behind a Humvee and operate a Browning M2HB 0.50 inch machine gun to fire directly at them.

The bullets were erratic and the trajectory unstable…

The woman sitting in the back seat had her head blown off, splattering blood all over her companion's face.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!!"

Her companion screamed in terror, eyes wide.

Now you realize how brave Jacqueline was back then? She even turned around to pick up the skull.

The man driving turned his head, saw that half of a head, and his hand shook. The steering wheel jerked and the car veered off to the side, rolling over three times, throwing all the occupants out.

The officer atop the Humvee turned the gun barrel and swept it directly at the car,

Perhaps hitting the gas tank, Boom! The car exploded!

"I hate Buick cars!" the shooting officer laughed loudly.

"Satisfying!"

Carlos let out a breath of relief, and seeing Cuauhtémoc looking over with a strange gaze, he smiled, "Our Director said, what kind of drug trafficker scum can get ahead of us?"

"If they drive, we blow them up!"

"If they try to walk, break their legs."

As Cuauhtémoc looked at Carlos, he really wanted to ask if their boss was a bandit.

It seemed he truly was!

...

Mexico City, La No. 20 Cantina!

This was one of the locally famous tequila bars!

And of course, there were some rather indulgent activities going on.

You could see many Mexican celebrities milling around here.

"Tonight, the entire round is on Mr. Ainsley Guzman!" the DJ shouted into the microphone, with the lights conveniently shining on a man seated in a booth. He was short and burly, wearing a Rolex Bao Dai on his wrist—originally sold to the last emperor of the Nguyen Dynasty in Vietnam in 1954 and later snapped up by him for 6 million US dollars.

The man was surrounded by women, a green emerald ring on his finger.

Flaunting wealth had been this drug lord's son's habit since childhood.

He was the son Guzman had at 19 with a waitress, coming of age just as his father made a fortune. Now 22, he was mainly responsible for the Sinaloa cartel's business in Mexico.

Ainsley Guzman loved the attention, and what was more joyous than throwing money around?

He partied until 2 in the morning when he staggered out of the bar, drunk.

Surrounded by bodyguards and... agents from the Mexican National Security Intelligence Agency (Cisen) to protect him.

Once, wanting to test the power of a grenade, he blew up a mansion worth 2.12 million US dollars. At the time, the police merely took a glance and left.

Climbing into his red Porsche, he drove home, drunk, with a woman in tow, ready for an after-party!

The faster he drove, the harder his bodyguards pressed on the gas pedal to catch up, eyes glued to the speedometer reading: 147!

Terrified that Ainsley Guzman might flip his car.

Buzzing sounds...

Flashing police lights appeared ahead, a black van emblazoned with police insignia was parked across the road, with four or five officers in reflective vests standing and waving batons.

"Darling, someone's stopping cars," the woman in the passenger seat said, lifting her head and touching Ainsley Guzman's chest.

"Stopping? Plow through them! Who would stop me?"

He floored the accelerator!

He failed to see the spike strip on the ground...

This thing wouldn't flip a car.

Biu... a crisp sound, and the tires began deflating. After several meters, the car came to a halt right in front of the police vehicle.

"Damn it!" Ainsley Guzman looked at the tires, furiously waving his hands, "Idiots, don't you know who I am? Don't you recognize this license plate?"

"Of course, I know, Mr. Ainsley..." Ethan Hunt tipped his police cap, smiling, "We're specifically here for you!"

"In the name of justice!"

"What nonsense are you talking about!" Ainsley was startled.

Is there even justice in Mexico?

At that moment, the cars of the bodyguards and agents also arrived.

Meanwhile, a bodyguard driving a Mercedes-Benz G-Wagen was grumbling, "Driving so fast, finally caught up, we should thank the police."

"But I think he's going to throw a fit soon, maybe even kill those who got in his way," the bodyguard in the passenger seat said with a laugh, reaching down for a cigarette.

"Be careful!!" a bodyguard in the back shouted with a shrill voice.

The man in the passenger seat looked up, only to see a missile? flying straight at them!

Ainsley saw an officer open up the black van and hoist out a... FIM-92 Stinger missile?!

He aimed decisively at the bodyguards' vehicle and pulled the trigger.

Since when can't a surface-to-air missile be used against ground targets?

Ainsley, his brain still fuzzy from alcohol, twisted his head around just in time to see the Stinger hit the front of the Mercedes-Benz G-Wagen.

Boom!

It erupted into a fireball on the spot!

The unexpected explosion terrified the remaining bodyguards and agents. They violently turned the steering wheels and some slammed on the brakes, resulting in a chain collision.

Ethan Hunt slipped a black bag over Ainsley's neck and pulled him forcefully from the car toward the van, with Ainsley's face turning red.

"Record this! Record everything! Start now," Ethan Hunt shouted maniacally at his colleagues.

"Let Guzman see how his son gets kidnapped!"

The officer in charge of recording gave Ainsley a close-up.

The others provided covering fire, brandishing their guns and firing at the bodyguards, who dared not leave their vehicles.

"Fire another Stinger! Then let's get out of here!" Ethan Hunt bellowed.

"OK!"

A colleague yelled back loudly.

The voice wasn't hidden at all, and the Mexican agents heard it.

"Be careful, they still have missiles!"

"Take cover! Take cover!"

A group scrambled away in embarrassment, some diving to the ground, even clutching their heads.

But after a moment of silence and raising their heads, they just saw the van door close and a middle finger raised at them, taunting, "Idiots, you think Stingers are free?!"

Mr. Victor had said not to fire missiles just anywhere.

That was too dangerous.

The bodyguards, infuriated, stood up and cursed loudly.

"Get in the cars! Pursue them!"

But the vehicles were wrecked, so they could only watch helplessly as the van drove off.

A breeze blew by.

It was over!

Guzman's son was gone!

...