Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 450 - 308: You Are Here to Surrender, Right?_2

Just then, the phone on the desk rang, he picked up, and it was the White House secretary saying Old Bush wanted to see him.

"F***," Richard James Curl massaged his temples, appearing somewhat uneasy, he knew he was about to be reprimanded, but there was no way around it—who else ruled the roost?

He steeled himself and headed to the White House.

As he entered Old Bush’s office, the latter was looking down. He softly called out, but the latter acted as if he hadn’t heard.

Richard James Curl felt a bit anxious, the large office feeling oppressively dreadful.

"Have you found the leak?" Finally, Old Bush spoke up, raising his head to look at him.

Richard was about to shake his head, but seeing the narrowed eyes of the man above, a chill ran through him. This man was his "senior," they had worked together in the CIA—did he not know what kind of man Old Bush was?

Although he seemed smiley all day, his hands were extremely dirty!

Moreover, as the Director of the CIA, he knew many of Old Bush’s secrets, such as his preference for men, his relationship with the well-known White House reporter Jeff Gannon that went beyond friendship.

Just the name made it clear he was a man.

Plus, Old Bush was constantly creating influence for his own family, such as placing his sons and various relatives in key positions.

Without mincing words, in the United States, the Bush Family was the country’s biggest cancer and the most significant political powerhouse.

As an aside, his family’s relations were complicated, so intricate that they had ties with the "pilot" manufacturer, and within 24 hours after the Twin Towers fell, eleven direct relatives of a bearded man were whisked away by the Bush family via transfers.

So...

In the end, who was supporting the terrorist organizations?

Richard James Curl could not let his leader see his incompetence and quickly nodded, "Found it."

"Who?"

"Bahash Johnson!!"

Old Bush immediately squinted his eyes, "You know what you’re talking about, Richard."

Bahash Johnson was his secretary, very much "liked" and "attended to," with many inconvenient tasks handled by him.

"Do you have evidence?" Old Bush asked hesitantly.

Richard James Curl, "He neither covets wealth nor indulges in lust, he even drives a Beetle from the ’70s, it’s simply unimaginable."

Old Bush’s expression was something like this: =ヾ(≧O≦)〃!

He angrily questioned, "F***! Since when does not coveting wealth or indulging in lust make one a spy? When have we ever needed that to judge a person in our America? Can’t our American officials be incorruptible?"

Richard James Curl’s mouth hung half-open.

Don’t you yourself know what American officials are like?

What sort of stuff is your family made of?

"It’s ludicrous, just ludicrous, fine, you say he’s a spy, I will call him here to confront you." Old Bush picked up the phone and summoned his confidant. Read new chapters at novelbuddy

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

The slim Bahash Johnson, wearing glasses and looking like a professor, walked in, "Sir, you wanted to see me," he nodded to the CIA chief with a smile as he spoke.

Making Richard James Curl feel even more uneasy.

"Richard says you’re a spy, Johnson, are you?" Old Bush stared intently at him as he asked.

Bahash Johnson was taken aback, then his brows furrowed before relaxing, and he couldn’t help but laugh, "Sir, it’s not April Fool’s yet."

"Then how do you explain the intelligence leak…" Richard asked loudly.

"Isn’t that your responsibility? Sir, I’m not the Director of the CIA. Is it so cheap to be slandered? If I refute you now and claim that you leaked the information, can you present evidence for your defense? My family has been in America for over two hundred years; I love America, even more than my life!"

Bahash Johnson, also dissatisfied, waved his fists, "Don’t place your incompetence on others so carelessly. Even a dog would bark better than you as the CIA Director!"

This nearly sent his opponent over the edge; it was a personal attack!

Richard James Curl pointed at him, "You, you, you…"

"Enough!" Old Bush banged the table forcefully, silencing them both, frowning at Richard, "This matter requires evidence, if there is none, don’t talk nonsense."

Bahash Johnson’s expression softened somewhat.

"I’ll give you another month. If you don’t find the person within a month, you can retire."

"Sir…" Richard began to speak.

"Get out!" Old Bush snapped, throwing something from the table at him, startling Richard into fleeing in a panic.

"You go ahead with your work, don’t dwell on it," he said, turning to reassure Bahash Johnson.

The latter obediently and "nicely" nodded.

Walking out of the office, he squinted at Richard James Curl below, a hint of coldness in his eyes.

Kuwait. Frontline Position.

Mexican Expeditionary Force Fourth Battalion camp.

The surrounding shelters were reinforced, machine guns were loaded, and soldiers were in position, looking as if they were about to go to war.

And indeed, they were.

After the conflict between the United States and Mexico flared up, the Fourth Battalion, carrying out missions overseas, suddenly became an awkward presence.

Frontline troops even wanted to lay down their weapons, but Rommel flatly refused, almost triggering a mutiny, immediately straining relations with the U.S. Military.

At this time, in the command post, housed in a bungalow.

"The three heavyweights," the Fourth Battalion’s staff officer and Second Company Captain Erich Manstein, Fourth Battalion, Battalion Commander Rommel, and Adjutant: Major General Fedor von Bock were discussing.

"We can’t just sit here waiting to die. I’ve discovered we are about 6.6 kilometers from the frontline command post. If we launch a surprise attack, there’s a high chance we can capture Major General Sfentos Pres," Manstein boldly stated his plan.

Rommel and Fedor both became tense upon hearing this.

"Have you thought about the consequences? We’re just one battalion against hundreds of thousands in the Anti-Iraq Alliance. Either way, we’re dead!" Fedor snarled through gritted teeth.

"But if we capture the major general, we’ll have a chance to negotiate. Otherwise, trapped here, we’re dead anyway. If all else fails, we can take Sfentos Pres hostage and defect to the Iraqi people!"

"We are at war with Iraq."

"When there is a mutual interest, enemies can also be friends."

Neither could convince the other; one thought the other was a madman, the other saw him as a bit old-fashioned. Eventually, both sets of eyes turned simultaneously to Rommel.

The battalion commander’s heart sank.

He wasn’t the type to sit around waiting to die, but he was also not one to overestimate his own strength, hence the dilemma.

As he grappled with indecision, a voice came from the doorway, "Report!"

"Speak."

"Several Americans have arrived outside, wishing to meet with the battalion commander. The one leading them is a general."

Rommel and the others exchanged glances, detecting an unusual scent.

"Let them in."

"Yes!"

Major General Sfentos Pres stood outside with a dark expression, surrounded by several staff officers, accompanied by someone from the interior. Mexican soldiers stood in front of them, eyes unfriendly.

"Our battalion commander invites you in," said the one who had come to report, looking at them.

"What, isn’t he coming to greet me?" Major General Sfentos Pres furrowed his eyebrows.

Little did he know, the captain took a submachine gun from a nearby soldier, chambered a round with a slide pull, sending a jolt through them.

"F*** your mother’s X, if you want in, get in, if not, get the hell out. Greet you? Who the hell are you?" the captain cursed, completely disregarding his rank.

That was an American major general, not a Mexican one. What did they have to fear? Could he really have them shot?

Major General Sfentos Pres was dumbfounded by the swearing.

Even the surrounding Yanks were stunned.

Mexicans... this tough?

Even ruder than Soviets!

Like Victor, just a mongrel.

Although agitated, with their faces twitching, Major General Sfentos Pres still stiffly walked into the camp.

The Mexican soldiers all looked at him with unfriendly faces.

Some provocatively pulled their gun slides.

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F***, totally uncivilized, completely impolite savages.

At the entrance to the command post, upon meeting Rommel and the others, their first words almost made Major General Sfentos Pres explode with anger enough to challenge them to a duel.

"Are you here to surrender?"

...