Working as a police officer in Mexico

Ethan Hunt felt a subtle surge of adrenaline upon hearing that sentence.

He really wanted to offer his ass to Mr. Victor!

But then he thought about Blanco's appearance...

His face instantly turned green.

It wasn't a personal attack, rather she was genuinely ugly.

"Do you think I'm a male stripper?"

"Aren't you? Every time you go on a mission, you're philandering around."

Ethan Hunt vented for a moment, and then Jason Bourne raised an eyebrow, "When I give you a task, if it isn't the wind, it's the rain. If you keep complaining, you'll lose your overtime pay for this month."

This hit Ethan Hunt's weak spot right on.

The salary at the Mexico International News Department was really good; even a dragon needs money to book a room, right?

"Is it just getting close to Blanco?"

He still knew which way the wind was blowing.

"If possible, follow her into the new Department of Justice building and relay the information from inside."

Ethan Hunt took a deep breath, knowing it wouldn't be that simple. Was it that easy to get into the new Department of Justice?

He had scoped out the place the past few days; cars weren't allowed within 400 meters, and he had even planned to use a suicide truck with his colleagues from Colombia.

You can't even drive through.

Plus, he noticed that the security in Santa Fe de Bogota had obviously tightened up recently; the likelihood of being stopped for police checks on the road was getting higher and higher.

"Alright, got it."

Ethan Hunt scanned the bar, his gaze pausing, "My target has appeared."

He then hung up the phone.

In his field of view, a man around 1.8 meters tall walked in from the entrance, with a spiral tattoo on his head, his face anxious, and his eyes scanning around as if looking for someone.

That was Ethan Hunt's informant!

But he didn't walk over. With a wary eye on his surroundings, he noticed four unfamiliar men glancing at the informant five times in thirty seconds.

They were definitely watching him!

Ethan Hunt might seem careless, but as soon as he sensed trouble, he was ready to bolt.

What about the woman?

She would be beaten into mush.

Could her breasts even move by themselves?

Ethan Hunt glanced back and slipped into the crowd, heading towards the back.

"He's there! The one in the red suit!" the bald informant, sharp-eyed, pointed at Ethan, who had just run out the back door, and yelled.

The four unfamiliar men hurriedly chased in the direction he pointed.

"Out of the way!"

The one in the lead forcefully pushed the people blocking his path aside, pushed the door open without so much as a glance at the floor, and took a step out.

beng!!

"Aaaaah!!!"

The scream instantly overpowered the DJ's music. Many people turned to look and saw a man rolling on the ground holding his crotch.

There was blood?!

What was that explosion just now?

An exploding crotch could make such a loud noise?

Ethan Hunt was too cunning, planting a Butterfly Mine at the door during his escape. It detonated as soon as the door was opened, leaping up to waist level and leaving the victim... utterly sterile.

The damage of the Butterfly Mine wasn't enough to kill, but it could easily maim; all right, the man would have to be reborn to become a man again. Just bear it for this lifetime.

His companions behind him hurried over to help him up.

Leaning around the corner, Ethan Hunt cocked his rifle and, holding a military version Pistol88B, sprayed bullets at them!

The four men fell to the ground, shot. Ethan strolled over, smiled politely at one trying to get up, and bang! finished him off with a bullet to the head.

Mr. Victor had said to always smile—curse people with a grin and they might just agree with you.

Ethan Hunt was audacious. After ensuring all the men were dead, he walked back into the bar. The few tables near the back door had emptied, but those on the dance floor, perhaps high out of their minds, either hadn't heard or didn't care and kept dancing.

He instantly spotted the informant, who sensed that something was off and bolted towards the exit.

Ethan wasn't in a rush, he tilted his head to light a cigarette for himself, took the small fruit knife used for cutting watermelon from a nearby table, walked out of the bar, and noticed a Mercedes parked nearby, with a burly man sticking his head out to smoke, showing off a tattoo on his neck.

This was a man from a mid-sized cartel active near Santa Fe de Bogota called "Northern Valley," reportedly mixed up with the Cali Cartel.

Ethan looked around and, sure enough, the drug trafficker seemed to be waiting for his companions. Ethan walked over, whistled, and as the burly man looked up, Ethan grabbed his head with one hand and forcefully stabbed his neck seven or eight times with the fruit knife in his other hand.

The burly man was dead in a flash!

Ethan pulled the body out of the car, dumped it on the side of the road, sat in the car, and floored the gas pedal, chasing after the fleeing informant.

You see—

don't park carelessly on the road; it makes you an easy target.

You have to have some sense of etiquette.

Park inside the white line, and you might get stabbed a couple times less.

The informant, running out of breath with heavy footsteps and thinking he had lost Ethan, leaned on his knees and gasped for air.

Beep beep~

A horn sounded from behind, the informant turned around, and a beam of light shone on his face.

Ethan Hunt slammed the gas pedal to the floor, plowing right into the informant, pinning him against the wall on the side of the road!

"Ah!"

The informant howled in pain, scaring the bystanders so much they all ducked their heads and quickly ran away!

In the Latin American region, very few people were out late at night, and even those who went out knew not to get curious when they encountered murders, dismemberments, or shootouts.

Ethan Hunt pushed open the car door, looked at the informant, "Were those your friends just now?"

"No... they weren't..." The informant was sobbing.

Ethan nodded, pressed his head down, and twisted the lit cigarette right into the informant's eye, instantly releasing the stench of scorched cornea.

"You bastard! I'm not very patient!" Ethan Hunt grabbed his head, "Who were those people!"

"Ca... Cali Intelligence Agency!" the informant cried out.

Ethan Hunt frowned, it seemed he was still being shadowed by those "damn pests," Cali KGB's reputation was not for nothing.

Even the CIA had to call the Cali Intelligence Agency 'Boss' when in Colombia!

They even knew what underwear the President wore at night.

It's said that the precise location of Pablo's death was provided by the Cali Cartel.

"Thank you!"

"Don't worry, take your time, I'll be sure to reunite you with your family."

Ethan Hunt smoothly plunged the fruit knife into the informant's neck, straightened his collar with flair, and ducked into the adjacent alley.

About five minutes later, four or five cars arrived, blocking the road, and more than a dozen men got out. The man leading them kicked the dead informant in anger upon seeing him.

Cursing with classic Colombian profanity.

This man looked a bit... shabby, but his name had been in the top ten of Colombia's most wanted list—his name is Salsedo!

His background was incredibly complex, born into a family of high-ranking Colombian officials, joined the army reserves after university, was later sent to British Intelligence for training, and was considered a proud protege of MI6, served in the British Commando Brigade and under the Colombian Government's direction, he organized mercenaries to combat domestic guerrillas.

Later on...

He defected to the Cali Cartel; they offered too much.

After he helped the Cali Cartel set up a mercenary squad and trained them for several months, their first major operation was to attack Pablo's residence at Naples Manor, but unfortunately, a helicopter crashed and the assassination failed.

It was also him who later thought of using a bomber to finish off Pablo.

This guy wasn't great at assassination, but he excelled at intelligence.

Right, his main profession was... civil engineer.

Salsedo had long noticed that some "unidentified" individuals had infiltrated Colombia. They were highly organized and moved in mysterious ways, unlike the CIA, who were quite sloppy.

"Damn it!"

Salsedo, still irate, kicked a car tire and stood, hands on hips.

"Boss, the police are here."

"Let them piss off. What are they doing here when the Cali Cartel is dealing with things?"

The scolded subordinate could only go and take out his frustration on the police!

"Find them we must. If there's an error during the meeting, I'm telling you, both your head and mine will be chopped off by Elbert," Salsedo said menacingly to a subordinate, repeatedly jabbing the man's chest with his finger.

"Understood! I got it!"

Ethan Hunt walked into the alley, scaled a few walls—after all, it's normal for an agent to take unconventional paths. He took off his clothes, threw them in a trash can, then pulled out his phone.

"Take out the informant's mistress! Also, find out where Blanco is right now?"

"What should I do?"

"I'll handle it!"

The Mexican International News Department Colombian Branch employee on the other end was taken aback but then quipped oddly, "Boss, so you like to ride tanks, huh? But she really is rich, seems to have a net worth of almost 3 billion US dollars!"

"Knock it off! Stay respectful to women!"

Ethan Hunt took a deep breath, trying his best to adapt, "She's my sweetheart."

...

Three days after the reclaiming of Obregon City.

Temporary tarmac.

Three armed helicopters slowly descended from the sky.

Kennedy and Zolf Sherman among other high-ranking police officials stood by.

Victor was coming to inspect the front lines and to offer condolences to the families of the soldiers lost from Battalion 442.

This was to be a formal alignment of military force with the drug enforcement team, and regardless of the perspective, Victor needed to pay a visit.

"¡De pie!"

As Victor stepped off the Mi-8, the ceremonial guards on either side stood up straight, and Victor solemnly saluted them.

The accompanying reporters hurried to capture the moment.

"Victor's Respect!"

They already had the headline.

"Director," Kennedy approached quickly with Zolf Sherman.

"Rest at the hotel first?"

"No, let's go straight to the chapel. I need to tell my officers that I, Victor, have come to see them."

Kennedy nodded and busily directed the vehicles to come forward.

The motorcade headed towards the chapel.

...