Working as a police officer in Mexico

Mexico City.

A side hall in the National Palace.

Cuauhtémoc was meeting with Uday Hussein, the Iraqi sports official.

This guy...

He came directly by private flight and only declared his identity after arriving over Mexican airspace. Cuauhtémoc, who cares a lot about his image, couldn't just go up and kick him out, so he had to hold his nose and allow him to land.

No official diplomatic documents whatsoever.

Maybe he was afraid the Yanks would find out.

At this moment, the man was holding a woman he brought from Iraq in his arms.

Just openly... flirting and kissing each other?

Everyone around was stunned!

I had long heard about the absurdity of Uday; if he saw anyone he liked on the street, he would just drag them to the Official Residence. When he was in charge of the Olympic Committee, if he fancied an athlete, he'd just act like a dog in heat.

The things he has done are too numerous to document.

But...

There's no choice; his old man runs Iraq, and he has the capital to be arrogant.

Uday looked at Cuauhtémoc, "We don't need Mexico to send troops, just acknowledge on television that the United States' invasion of Iraqi Kuwait is legitimate."

Cuauhtémoc was stunned.

Bro.

Did you eat too many farts?

Did you get dizzy from your own stench?

"Impossible!" Cuauhtémoc shook his head firmly, "We have a friendly neighboring relationship with the United States."

Uday frowned and stared at him, "Don't you despise the United States?"

"They deprive you of your right to survive, they treat you as their backyard, even you, the President, are dispensable to them. With just a word from them, you don't even have the right to autonomy. Are you saying this is friendship?"

Uday's words struck right at Cuauhtémoc's heart. As he was furrowing his brows, about to retort, he saw his secretary come in and whisper a few words in his ear.

His expression immediately relaxed.

"Hey, is there something you can't tell the guest?" Uday waved his hand, clearly dissatisfied.

"Victor wants to see you, in Tijuana," Cuauhtémoc said, his mood brightening. People like Uday should really talk to the wolf up north.

"I know him?"

"But what is he? He's just a cop, to put it grandly, just a warlord. What gives him the right to summon me to see him? Does he run Mexico? Even if he did, he should come to me!" Uday yelled arrogantly.

His voice filled the entire hall.

This man really did not care about the occasion. Once, representing Iraq on a visit to Europe, in front of dozens of foreign athletes, he beat up his own country's athlete and threatened him: if you don't win a medal, I'll feed you to the lions.

Iraq, of all places, expecting to win medals?

The athlete didn't win a medal and, in panic, sought asylum in another country. The incident caused quite a stir; Saddam lost a lot of face.

Uday ended up widely hated, and in 1996, someone attacked him, leaving him paralyzed. It was said that this made him even more sadistic, with personal torture instruments in his residence.

He took pleasure in tormenting people.

His deeds...

One can only say, a spoiled brat!

Cuauhtémoc coughed, "Mr. Uday, you absolutely cannot belittle Victor in Mexico; he is our hero."

"Hero? What kind of hero am I looking at? I think he's a straw bag."

Uday didn't listen to this opinion at all. He stood up, furrowed his brow, "Mexico doesn't have the guts to stand up against the United States, you're a coward, and so is he! A bunch of mixed..."

"Fuck! You motherfucker, you dare to curse?"

A figure charged in from the door and with one kick sent Uday flying, pressed him down, and grabbed his hair, "What are you? The Director agreed to see you because of your last name, not because your name is Uday!"

Upon closer inspection.

It was Carlos, nicknamed "Rookie," the captain of Cuauhtémoc's Guard Corps, the brave commander of Zambada's forces.

He is one of Victor's "die-hard" supporters.
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You insult the President, that's one thing; but you insult Mr. Victor, and twice at that? So what if you're the son of the Iraqi President?

Young people are just impulsive.

They resort to violence impulsively.

Uday's security, seeing this, hurriedly drew their guns, but the Guard Corps members racked their rifles and started spraying short bursts at them!

Ratatat!

Dare not to shoot, then why the fuck are you drawing your guns?

A volley of gunfire and two bodyguards were killed on the spot, while the other three were wounded.

Nobody expected... the Presidential Guard would actually dare to shoot!

The woman Uday brought screamed, and one of them put the butt of his gun to her head and barked, "Shut up!"

Carlos, holding down Uday, delivered a couple of hefty slaps to his face.

This is Mexico, and no one will indulge you here.

"Stop hitting me, I apologize! I apologize!" Uday yelled loudly. His slight frame was no match for Carlos, weakened by his indulgent lifestyle.

"If apologies were useful, what would be the need for violence?"

Carlos countered with a rhetorical question, stood up, and with a straight kick to Uday's face... skewed his nose, breaking the bone.

"The Director said to take you to Tijuana, whether you go or not is not your choice. Straight onto the plane, off to Baja California."

"Boss, what about these bodyguards?"

"Kill them, bury them outside," Carlos glanced and said, then looked to the side at the shocked Cuauhtémoc, took his foot off Uday's face, and said, "Sorry, sir."

"Cough cough... this..."

The President hesitated, seeing the terribly beaten five, swallowed hard, sweat on his forehead, "He's Saddam's son."

"It doesn't matter, he's in Africa."

Fine, fine. Victor and his men are all madmen.

"You've made up your mind, they won't be flying over to mess with you anymore."

Cuauhtémoc waved his hand tiredly, disliking the smell of blood in the air, and stood up to walk outside.

"Mr. Victor's soldiers really are unruly."

After walking for a while, the secretary standing by suddenly spoke up.

Cuauhtémoc stopped in his tracks, looking at him with a piercing and firm gaze, "Tomorrow, roll yourself over to Dan Senada City, and have the secretariat replaced."

The other's face turned pale instantly.

"Sir! Sir..."

Cuauhtémoc walked away without looking back.

What a joke, can you even mention the Regent?

He wasn't brain dead, nor senile. His position was secure, supported by the Jail Guards working for Victor in Mexico -- the real protectors stationed at Plateau Prison.

Daring to pull the wool over his eyes?

He still knew the difference between eating to satiety at every meal and being truly satisfied.

Of course, Cuauhtémoc was also aware that if he truly betrayed Victor, no, if he betrayed his beliefs, then his wife and children on Guadalupe Island would probably have to be replaced.

That would be a real Tyrant!

…

After finishing his conversation with the White House staff, Victor took his private plane back to Tijuana.

He had originally wanted to give a lecture at Ah Gan's Cornell University.

But...

A conflict involving more than 500 people erupted on campus.

It even included a minority of professors.

They were protesting Victor's highly inhumane blanket approach to drugs. After all, some intellectuals liked to take drugs in the middle of the night when they ran out of inspiration.

Ah Gan and his "school club" started fighting with the other side.

At the time, Victor actually thought about sending in some weapons.

Ah Gan, surprise and kill them.

If Cornell University didn't welcome him, then he wouldn't be offering his warm face to their cold asses. They'd suffer sooner or later.

3:27 PM.

The private plane arrived in Emperor's territory.

"Mmm~ the air is filled with the scent of freedom," Victor said after taking a deep breath as he walked down the stairs.

Next to him, Casare sniffed hard. He only smelled the damp scent of seawater, but this didn't prevent him from lying through his teeth with his eyes wide open, nodding vigorously, "Freedom~"

Jason Bourne sniffed and gave Casare a strange look.

Big idiot, this one.

Kennedy and several high-ranking officials came to the airport to greet them, "Director."

"We're all family here, no need for formalities," Victor said with a smile, patting his shoulder, "You've done well, and your excellent performance has earned the Americans' favor. By tomorrow at the latest, we'll be using our own air force."

"That's great. From now on in Mexico, we can go wherever we want. Our vehicles are even more powerful than the Regular Army. They might as well give us their designation," said Zolf Sherman, responsible for the air police force, speaking without thinking.

After he finished, he noticed Kennedy, Casare, and the intelligence lapdog Jason Bourne all looking at him with bizarre expressions.

Zolf Sherman shuddered, his political sensitivity instantly kicking in. That wasn't something he could say; if you replace the Regular Army, what would they do?

Maybe they would be forced into being drug traffickers.

Forced to re-employ.

And who really holds the power in Mexico City and Tijuana City?

They'd start a civil war at this rate.

"Yeah, I need to get Cuauhtémoc to promote me. I'm the head of security for the Baja California region, but I can't manage Sonora State or the north," Victor continued, laughing, "My position is still unworthy of my name. The Northerners won't listen to me, which makes things difficult for me."

"Governor of the Mexican Northern Provinces?" The title popped into Casare's head, and he blurted it out, but immediately regretted it.

This, for fuck's sake, was a feudal title.

The title "Governor of the Mexican Northern Province" was used during the time the Habsburg dynasty was established, nearly 130 years ago.

Indeed, Mexico also had its own Habsburg dynasty, related to the one in Europe. In 1861 AD, Napoleon, Emperor of the Second French Empire, launched a war against Mexico, and by 1864 AD he had defeated Mexico, overthrowing President Juarez and reinstating the monarchy.

This led to the puppet state of the Second Mexican Empire and convinced the grandson of Francis II, the first emperor of the Austrian Habsburg dynasty, Maximilian I, to become emperor at the age of 32. Thus the Mexican Habsburg dynasty was established, the last in Mexican history.

Now, everyone's gaze turned to Casare.

He quickly waved his hands, laughing awkwardly, "Just joking."

Before he finished speaking, Victor cut in, "Our Anti-Drug Force has accomplished a great feat, of course, there should be rewards. If we're afraid of this or that, how can we seek justice for the common people?"

"I think the title is nice. Although it's a feudal term, our Anti-Drug Force is still a force of the Mexican people."

The boss had spoken, and Casare breathed a sigh of relief.

"Shall I contact the President?" Kennedy asked.

"Mmm, tell him I really like it."

Zolf Sherman and the others took a deep breath to calm their minds. They could tell from this.

Victor...

Had no small ambition!

"By the way."

Just before getting into the car, he suddenly stopped everyone, squinting his eyes, "Send 200 men to New York to form a Mexican-American society. The Mafia, the Aryan Brotherhood, 13th Street, and the Asian gangs were behind my attack. Kill them all!"

"Every time I think about it, I feel the local gangs are not at all friendly. Tell them they've messed with the wrong person. I'm not here to play house; I'm a warlord, not a hoodlum; exterminate these rats in the sewers."

Kennedy could sense the anger in the Director's tone.

He hurriedly nodded, carefully closed the car door, and looked at Casare, "Do we need to bring RPGs?"

Fat Casare's eye twitched.

"Bring some, and a few mortars as well," Jason Bourne interjected from the side.

"New York gangs need some firepower after all."

…