Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 389 - 288: Global Superstar—Victor!_3

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Just then, the phone on the table rang, and Mr. Director pressed the speaker button.

Immediately, Old Bush’s voice came through, "Richard, stop it."

"Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Don’t test my patience! Richard! Don’t think the CIA is only your CIA. I was once the Director of the CIA. I know all the shit you’re pulling!" Old Bush was immediately angered on the other end of the phone.

Do you think I’m a damn fool?

Richard James Curl fell silent at once.

Actually, there are many factions within the CIA too, the African Branch, the South American Branch, the North American Branch, the Asian Branch, and so on...

After all, Congress only gives so much funding each year, and every division wants money, but if you take more, it means less for the others.

The underhanded dealings between them never cease.

Old Bush had also been a Director of the CIA, and he still had quite a few informants.

"Victor will become a serious problem for the United States."

"But not now! He is an ally against Iraq." Old Bush furrowed his brow as he spoke, "Geographical location dictates that it’s impossible for Victor to grow powerful. We need an obedient dog! And you, you’re killing that dog!"

Richard James Curl half-opened his mouth, wanting to say that this dog was a bit disobedient.

"I know there’s some dirt between the CIA and Victor, but now everything is for the benefit of the United States. Don’t make me say it a second time, Richard. I can lift you up, and I can take you down." Old Bush hung up the phone directly.

Steven, upon hearing the last sentence, twitched at the corner of his eye, gently raised his head for a glance.

The boss’s face was very dark.

Darker than his own buttocks.

The office was terrifyingly quiet, Steven felt nervous and began sweating inside.

"The assassination, let’s put it on hold for now," Richard James Curl said.

Steven breathed a sigh of relief and nodded hastily.

"However, intelligence gathering on the Governorship of Northern Mexico must not decrease, in fact, it must accelerate, increase the budget for the North American Branch by 20%."

"But the money..." Steven, as a senior assistant and practically a steward, knew about the finances.

That account...

It was so barren ants could run through it, and even a rat would slip.

"Did the ’intelligence analysis meeting fees’ come in from below?"

"We’ve received up to next year’s."

Richard James Curl frowned, "Then collect the fees for the year after next as well."

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This "intelligence analysis meeting fee" was actually just a term used within the CIA.

He had helped so many people rise to power, many of whom relied on the CIA to stay seated. I help you, you should at least give me some meeting fees.

It’s essentially protection money.

Other countries, like the Yankees buying weapons, are also paying "protection fees": the boss takes the lion’s share, I take the smaller share.

Not too excessive, right?

The brothers work hard; they deserve some benefits.

"Understood," Steven nodded.

"Victor..." The CIA Director looked at the "Oprah Talk Show" on the television, where the strong man had already been taken away.

His intuition told him that Victor might become an opponent of the United States.

...

October 1, 1990.

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Sonora Military Airport.

The drug traffickers and thugs inside the city hadn’t been completely suppressed yet, and some people obviously wanted to stir up trouble. To prevent them from sabotaging military facilities, a restriction zone with a radius of 6 kilometers was enforced, prohibiting anyone from approaching.

Light rain began to fall from the sky.

The staff officer of the 4th Battalion and Commander of the 2nd Company, Erich Manstein, stretched out his hand, looking at the raindrops falling onto his hand, slightly spellbound.

"Commander, this is the will..." the Deputy Company Commander handed over a stack of written letters placed in a net bag.

Erich Manstein nodded as he looked on.

"Commander, do we need to serve overseas? Where is Iraq?" the Deputy Company Commander asked hesitantly.

"Mexico wants to stand up; we need more performance. Soldiers fight for more leverage at the negotiation table for diplomats!"

Erich Manstein smiled as he adjusted the clothes of his Deputy Company Commander, who was only 19 years old, "Believe in power, believe in Victor; he will lead us to new hope."

The Deputy Company Commander nodded vigorously, with utmost resolve!

"The whole battalion, assemble!" Colonel Fedor von Bock, the Deputy Battalion Commander, sitting in a jeep, waved at the 2nd Company, "Hey! Erich, line up your men!" Your next read awaits at novelbuddy

"Yes, sir!"

Erich Manstein blew his whistle, and the soldiers who were sitting on the ground all stood up, their actions not sluggish in the slightest.

He led his company to the designated location.

More than a thousand soldiers from the whole battalion stood neatly in the rain.

Rainwater rushed into their eyes from under their steel helmets, but they still held their posture erect.

The Minister of Propaganda for Mexico, Goebbels, and many senior officials all came to see them off.

The Minister, dressed neatly in military uniform, stood in front of all the soldiers, his hand rejecting the umbrella his secretary was about to hand him.

"Gentlemen!"

Snap!

Everyone snapped to attention, standing upright.

"When a country is subjected to discrimination, when everyone thinks we are a nation of drug traffickers, when everyone believes the bravest men in Mexico are drug dealers!"

"But what? General Victor led us to victory over them, we have already allowed over thirty million compatriots to no longer suffer humiliating mistreatment, we’ve given students books to read, workers jobs to do, children mothers!"

"But this is far from enough. In the world of diplomacy, many still look down on us arrogantly. We are considered the cancer of North America. Wrong! Those bastards from Western Asia look down upon us, laughing at our General more than once!"

"What we must do is to trample their proud heads into the filthy mud!"

"To make the once high and mighty enemies kneel and beg for mercy!"

"To defeat them, to cleanse the insults they have cast upon us!"

Goebbels’s speech was full of provocation; he walked up to a Private First Class, touched his shoulder, looked at him deeply, and patted his cheek.

"Sir!" the Private First Class suddenly called out to him.

Goebbels stopped, turned his head, and looked at him.

The man’s weather-beaten face revealed a trace of yearning.

"Please tell my General that I will do my utmost. Tell my father on Guadalupe Island that I will never surrender, and tell my mother that I love her forever."

Goebbels shuddered, standing in the pouring rain, he gazed at General Victor’s soldier.

"I will be here to welcome your triumphant return. If you should fall in battle, I will personally carry your coffin. Victory is certain! Victory for Victor!"

"Hoorah! For Victor!!"

Listen, to that rallying cry in the rain, as Victor’s soldiers took their first steps into the world.

...