Working as a police officer in Mexico

Jason Bourne returned to the office with a dark expression. As soon as his hand touched the doorknob, he turned his head and said, "Get all the officers with stars on their shoulders in here!"

The staff outside hurriedly called for the heads of other departments.

Watching one senior-ranked officer after another walk into Jason Bourne's office, people started gossiping.

"Hey, what are the ministers up to?"

"Definitely a major operation!"

Jason Bourne, with a cigarette in his mouth, drew the curtains closed and said, "The boss just called me in and gave me an earful. He wants us to turn Tijuana upside down, and if there's another explosion, well, I'll strip you all naked and hang you upside down from the highest building in the city."

"That must be one of your special fetishes, minister," said George Smiley, with a face full of melancholy and looking like a rock singer.

"Cough, cough, cough! Am I that kind of person?" Jason Bourne glared at him. "I'm telling you, the boss is very angry, the consequences are dire, you'd better take this to heart, otherwise, you'll end up like Ethan Hunt being sent to work as a duck, and I won't care about you then."

Duck?

Is it that explosive?

"Alright! Get moving, divide up by district, get your informants in action. Arrest anyone you're suspicious of, anyway, there are no good people in Mexico."

"Yes, sir!"

As the group left the office, they continued to chatter about Ethan Hunt, all seemingly intrigued by the idea of becoming ducks.

Jason Bourne exhaled and gazed at the distant sunset.

Darkness...

It seemed to never welcome justice!

When the entire night fell over Tijuana, the places harboring filth began to emerge slowly.

They dared not openly deal drugs, but privately, there were definitely people at it.

Even the Yanks, so influential, faced opposition from all around the world. Victor, as a police officer, do you really think you can rid the world of evil?

What he could do was simply suppress it.

At the very least, the streets of Tijuana at night saw many more pedestrians, and ordinary citizens were brave enough to go out shopping, which was progress.

Many children's faces were brimming with smiles.

Small vendors pushed their carts, striving for a livelihood.

Isn't that what maintaining public order is all about?

In an alley...

Four or five figures were beating up a man who seemed experienced, curling up to protect his vital areas.

"If you don't pay up, we'll sell your daughter to a brothel!" threatened a man in a black T-shirt with tattoos visible on his arms and a headband.

"So arrogant? Don't you know that Tijuana doesn't allow forcing good women into prostitution?"

Someone called out from the entrance of the alley, and the thugs looked up to see a light shining over them, so bright it made them cringe.

"Hey! Which gang are you from?" the headband man saw two figures.

"Heh, which gang?"

As the two approached and turned off their flashlights, one said, "My boss is Victor, where do you think I'm from? The Mexican Drug Enforcement Agency (AMD)!"

"We... We're not drug traffickers, this guy owes us money, you can't interfere with that, right?"

"Your mouth is so tough, surely you're on drugs. You'll know pain when your teeth are broken," one of them pulled out a gun.

Swallowing hard, the headband man knew when to bow out and quickly put up his hands, "Sir, we were just kidding."

"Go outside and give me ten push-ups each. If you don't finish, I'll give each of you a bullet. Get lost."

Only in a forceful region like Baja California would police dare to talk like that. Elsewhere, by now there would have been two more corpses.

After the thugs left the alley, the policeman who drew his gun kicked the man lying on the ground, "Alfaro, if you don't get up by the count of three, you can kiss this month's informant fee goodbye."

Upon hearing this, the man pretending to be dead on the ground jumped up, with a sheepish grin, "George Smiley, isn't it comfortable on the ground? Since when did you have to personally deliver the informant fee?"

Of course, an intelligence agency wouldn't only have official staff. The CIA had tens of thousands of dogs overseas, MI6 had many informants, and so did the Mexico International News Department.

Tijuana itself had close to 2,000 people!

There was no need for insurance, just money each month based on the value of the information provided.

"Let me ask you, have you seen any strange Guatemalans lately?"

"Guatemalans?"

The informant named Alfaro furrowed his brow and scratched his head, "I've seen a few Hondurans, and they even bought some stuff on the Black Market."

The two intelligence officers looked at each other, "Where are they?"

The informant gave an awkward smile, "At the time, I was hitting on a girl, and then..."

MD!

The two could almost burst out laughing. They were about to keep questioning when they heard piercing screams and gunfire from outside the alley.

The two rushed out, just in time to see a red off-road vehicle being rammed into a wall by a patrol car, its back seat window rolled down, and a man with an AK47 spraying bullets through the glass.

Glass shattered on the ground, and the officer was clearly dead.

"That's the one! Does he have KY written on the inside of his arm?" The informant, bold enough to stay hidden in the mouth of the alley, shouted.

Whether the man was who they were looking for didn't matter at the moment. If you have a gun battle in this neighborhood, do you think we are easy to bully?

The two opened the trunk, which contained two Winchester M1887 shotguns; when out on official duty, it was always good to have high-caliber weapons on hand.

The boss had said, a man either needs a thick wallet or a large caliber, otherwise, he can't show off anything respectable.

Bang!

A shower of shots startled the opponent, and the man with the AK looked over before suppressing them with rapid fire.

His right hand tapped the red off-road vehicle, the driver accelerating off the wall, its side scraped white, then the man jumped onto the car without hesitation and took off.

"Call for backup!"

"Lock them down!"

George Smiley shouted, diving into the car and slapping a police siren on the roof as he pursued the red off-road vehicle.

His driving colleague grabbed the radio, "This is PC13174, internal comm number G7891, a shooting in district 11, the culprit with an AK, number unknown, requesting airborne armed helicopter support!"

A G at the start signifies the Mexico News Department.

PC13174 is an internal police code.

"Access granted, please ensure safety, ground patrol units 7.11.23.47 are en route at high speed."

"Understood."

After hanging up the radio, the driver looked at George Smiley, "Boss, do you like Fast & Furious?"

The other was taken aback, and his face changed instantly.

The speed soared to 140!

"NMD! Let me out of the car!!"

...

At the same time, at 8 PM, during the National Palace's press conference,

"This was a very, very heinous and inhumane attack!"

Cuauhtémoc spoke into the camera with a very stern expression, "Mexico will designate Mara Salvatrucha as a terrorist organization and will apply for a global manhunt."

"At any time, various criminal organizations are humanity's greatest enemies."

While he was loudly denouncing the attack, "Rookie" Carlos, standing by his side, watched vigilantly around with a sharp look in his neatly suited stance.

Suddenly, he spotted a woman glancing left and right before she stood up.

"Careful!"

Carlos stepped in front of Cuauhtémoc, drew his gun, disengaged the safety, and fired six shots at the woman—accurate and lethal—immediately taking her down.

The other guards hurriedly closed in on either side, protecting him as they escorted him down the steps.

"Everyone, get down!"

The press hall erupted in screams.

Bang!

The doors burst open, and two men clad in bright red ceremonial guard attire rushed in, wielding AK47s, and started shooting from the doorway.

Rat-a-tat-tat...

The journalists fell to the ground like rows of knocked down straw.

The two gunmen had a clear target: Cuauhtémoc, but the guards protecting him were handpicked by Victor, what could just two guys hope to achieve?

They were shot dead on the spot by the Guard Corps that had arrived from outside.

"Escort Mr. Cuauhtémoc to safety first, then call an ambulance," Carlos said grimly to his companion, looking down at the two killed ceremonial guards and then at his colleagues. "Can anyone tell me what the hell happened with these two?"

The Presidential Guard not only performed internal security duties but also protected the National Palace. Most of the ceremonial guards were military police and had ceremonial duties.

But why did they have bullets in their weapons?

According to the ceremonial guards' rules, they weren't allowed to carry live ammunition; if they needed to, they had to report it, but such an incident had occurred despite these rules.

That could only mean...

There was a traitor among them!

"Seal off the National Palace to all personnel; no one besides the Guard Corps is allowed near Mr. Cuauhtémoc," Carlos ordered. "Kayta, take command, give me the phone."

Carlos took the phone from his colleague and directly called Victor's office.

"Hello."

"Sir, I have something to report."

...

"You're saying Cuauhtémoc was attacked? And you suspect someone from the department has sided with the drug traffickers?"

"Yes! But we don't know who specifically."

Victor was silent, thinking that some people found it too difficult to take him down, so they decided to target Cuauhtémoc, who, after all, was officially the big boss of the country.

"Sir, I think perhaps we could bring Mr. Cuauhtémoc to Tijuana," Carlos suggested softly.

As soon as he said this, Victor's eyebrows twitched. Bring him over for what? To use the emperor to command the princes?

Enjoy exclusive content from empire

TMD!

Are you all too eager to move up the ranks?

What era is it, and you're still playing this game?

"Mexico City is the symbol and the jewel of Mexico, where else should the President be if not there?"

Victor decisively concluded and added, "However, many departments should be in the hands of those who love this city. I'll send people to assist."

Woo woo woo~

Suddenly, the alarm within the building blared.

The secretary rushed in, looking anxious.

"Sir, 17 banks are reporting alarms, gunfire has broken out at 36 different locations in the city, and the number is still rising."

Victor was taken aback but then understood.

This was definitely a trap...

Attacks on important figures in Mexico from two locations?

Assaults on Mexico in the morning and Tijuana in the afternoon, with no plan involved? Victor would eat his hat if that was the case.

He smelled the deep scent of conspiracy.

It seemed... like the CIA's style! Could it be that the so-called Mara Salvatrucha was backed by the CIA?

Had he drawn too much attention lately and was now being put under pressure?n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Victor furrowed his brow, feeling that there was a critical point that didn't add up.

It seemed like he'd offended a few too many American departments recently, each of which appeared to have this capability.

"Order EDM, EDN (Mexican National Emergency Squad), and NTMD (Mexican DEA Anti-Terrorism Squad) to fully mobilize and eradicate these saboteurs in Tijuana!"

…