Working as a police officer in Mexico

New York, Liberty Island. Stay tuned for updates on empire

Under the darkness of night.

The local police had cordoned off the area.

Although the Statue of Liberty still stood strong, it was severely damaged; its arm was gone, and the face was blasted, leaving it mottled with blue and purple bruises, pockmarked throughout.

The steel reinforcements inside were exposed.

Inside, numerous professionals were inspecting the scene and collecting fragments of the victims.

Outside the perimeter, spontaneously organized citizens were holding candles, their eyes filled with sorrow as they sang the American national anthem. In the innermost circle, a group of relatives of the victims were hugging each other in tears.

On the outermost edge were the reporters.

From the United States, Canada, Mexico, France, Germany, and so on.

The impact of this event was tremendous!

When Bush returned to Washington, he directly classified this act as a terrorist attack and once again made a televised address.

In his emphatic and eloquent speech,

his approval rating soared from the original 25% to 90%!

Bush himself didn't know whether he should be smiling at this time.

"I just saw four or five men, holding bombs in their hands, throwing them at the Statue of Liberty. After several explosions, the crowd of visitors started running away in panic, screaming. I... I even saw someone jumping out from inside the statue, falling to the ground outside...

sob sob sob," a blond, blue-eyed woman sitting in a wheelchair covered her face and wept in front of the interviewing reporter.

One of the interviewing female reporters pressed on relentlessly, "Then why do you think you're still alive?"

???

This question displeased people nearby, even her colleagues looked at her as if she were an idiot, knowing full well how she had climbed the ranks by looking at her MON-100 anti-personnel mines!

"Hey! What are you talking about." The person standing behind the female victim hissed at her disapprovingly, and some even rolled up their sleeves ready to hit her, as her colleague hastily pulled her away.

"Ma'am, when you were attacked, did you hear them shouting anything?" another professional reporter took advantage of the break to ask.

"They shouted a few names, something like Pablo, North American Drug Syndicate, I don't know what it means."

"Thank you, God bless you."

In the White House at this time.

Bush picked up the remote and turned off the TV, his gaze fixed on FBI Director Floyd I. Clarke and CIA Acting Director Richard James Curl seated before him, his hands crossed, "Gentlemen, as you've also seen, who can tell me where this North American Drug Syndicate has sprung from!"

"DEA should be in charge of drug-related matters, just like the FBI is under the jurisdiction of the Justice Department. Maybe Floyd is already in the know?" The acting CIA director's tone was pointedly acerbic.

Floyd I. Clarke's eyebrows raised, seeing the other's demeanor stoked anger within him, "You son of a bitch, you want to take a swing at me?"

!!!

God, so hot-headed?

He had practiced boxing when he was young and was known for his stubborn temper. Once, on his way home from school, he encountered a dog in an alley. After shouting at the dog to move aside and getting no response, with the dog merely peeing on a telephone pole,

Floyd I. Clarke kicked it right in the groin!

His temper was explosive!

Hearing his direct challenge to a duel, CIA Acting Director Richard considered his own scrawny build and then looked at the other's beefier stature, wisely shutting his mouth.

But his eyes still showed defiance!

You may be stronger, more robust, and your fists harder than mine, but don't forget, the boss sitting across from us comes from the CIA!

Seeing both parties at this point, still squabbling, Bush was exasperated, slamming his hand on the table, "Enough!"

"I do not want a FBI Director who is nothing more than a muscle-bound brute, Clarke!"

Floyd I. Clarke took a deep breath, "I understand, sir, I will control myself."

"We must retaliate for this incident!"

Bush set the tone firmly, "But as you both know, our aircraft carrier has already reached the Persian Gulf, it's not possible to turn back now. Our plans cannot change, we have to secure Kuwait's interests. We need overseas support to help us strike and eliminate Pablo!"

The CIA director perked up; this was their specialty, "We can provide arms to the Colombian guerrillas..."

"This is the intelligence passed to me by the DEA through the Justice Department." Bush didn't let the other finish, grabbing the document on the table and tossing it over, "This comes from Mexico."

"Mexican Drug Enforcement Agency's intelligence shows that Pablo's Drug Association includes the very guerrillas you intend to support!"

Richard James Curl's expression changed as he quickly scanned the intelligence report; it listed 17 organizations, many of which were familiar faces funded by the CIA.

"This can't be!"

"How could the Mexican Drug Enforcement Agency have this list? Even we at the CIA don't have it."

"You've been in office for only 46 hours," Bush retorted.

Richard James Curl was at a loss for words; if this intelligence was accurate, then the CIA's foreign operatives were nothing but garbage—defeated in expertise by drug enforcement.

God damn it!

"I've heard that Victor from Mexico is doing well. I saw him at the press conference today as well, and I think he could be a friend to us Americans. He's also cooperated with the DEA on multiple occasions on drug enforcement; he could be an excellent ally to support."

"As for this matter..."

"Leave it to us. We are part of the Justice Department, just like the DEA, and I think we have a high degree of cooperation and goodwill."

As his opponent spoke up, Richard James Curl wasn't going to show weakness, "This kind of thing is always managed by the CIA. FBI just needs to keep their guns in check, so they don't accidentally kill someone who's made them unhappy."

His comment carried a mocking tone.

Floyd I. Clarke really had no choice but to concede.

He couldn't exactly say, "Watch out you don't get shot in the chest."

Bush furrowed his brow, thought carefully, and then decided, "Alright, the CIA will take the lead with support from the DEA."

"Let bygones be bygones. I don't want to see any more conflict between the FBI and CIA, do you understand?"

The two Directors nodded vigorously.

But Bush knew this was merely lip service.

Having been the Director of the CIA himself, he was aware that once in that position, some things were not up to you. Instead, it was your subordinates pushing you into conflicts with others.

Both intelligence agencies, both vying for power!

Exiting the Oval Office,

the two Directors exchanged glances.

"The CIA had better put aside their arrogance; Victor is not one to be trifled with," said Richard James Curl as the corner of his mouth twitched. "We don't need any backseat drivers dictating our actions, especially not the lower ranks!"

With that, he left. Clarke watched his retreating figure, narrowing his eyes.

Was there a way to turn this situation to their advantage?

To pull Victor over to the FBI's side?

Ignore Bush's warning?

What did that matter!

Unless the world came to an end, nothing would stop them from tripping each other up.

How did Kennedy die?

Others might not know, but didn't these high-ranking officials?

At that time, Kennedy had wanted the aging Hoover to retire early. Would the old man who had served six terms as the head of the FBI listen?

Moreover, due to the disastrous "Bay of Pigs Invasion," Kennedy's response to the event led to the removal of the CIA Director and a consequent weakening of the CIA's influence and power.

He had offended the two major domestic intelligence organizations.

There was no way he could have remained alive.

Of course, that was just a part of it. There were far too many people who wanted him dead.

…

After the toppling of the Statue of Liberty, the Colombian Government was equally shocked by the news!

But what they couldn't imagine was that Pablo had done it!

Was there such a fierce presence within the country?

It was truly unbelievable.

Could you not drag us down if you're seeking death?!

The government's higher-ups kept making calls to question the situation, but they dared not raise their voices too harshly. Instead, they sighed and pleaded, using all manners of sweet talk. In the end, they would say, "The Americans will not let this go easily, you don't want Colombia to fall into the flames of war, do you?"

Meanwhile, the internationally notorious Pablo became increasingly brazen. He had begun to relish the benefits that his infamy brought him. It was said that some people from the Middle East had also called him, hoping to learn a thing or two.

Speaking to the high-ranking officials over the phone, he said, "Colombia's Pablo will not rest either. This is only the beginning, not the end. The Americans have enslaved South America for too long. I want to make them pay!"

With a snap, he hung up the phone and turned to Ochoa with a smile, "Can you believe these decayed Colombian officials actually think I'm wrong? Would Pablo ever be in the wrong?!"

"Of course not, Pablo is always great, Escovar is always great!" Ochoa's flattery was spot on.

Sure enough, Victor's Casare, Pablo's Ochoa!

"So, destroying Lady Liberty isn't enough to satisfy us. We should aim for something bigger, like ramming Capitol Hill? Or maybe kill a few more congressmen? How about firing a few rockets at the Lincoln Memorial, or perhaps… breaking the Washington Monument in half?"

"If we could only blow up Yellowstone Park, that would be even better!"

!!!

With every word Pablo uttered, Ochoa's heart raced with a thud. He couldn't keep up with the flattery anymore.

Fuck!

Wouldn't this drive the Americans insane?

Forget about saving face; they would have to come down personally. Hundreds of thousands of "tin soldiers" pressing down, the Air Force and Navy ready to finish you. After all, as one of the "two giants of the world," the Americans would not rest until they had driven Colombia to the brink of extinction.

Ochoa swallowed hard.

He was sweating profusely, his shirt soaked through.

"What's the matter? Are you feeling hot?" Pablo asked.

Ochoa gave a nervous chuckle, his mind lighting up with an idea, "Boss, the Americans are surely prepared now. If we bomb again, the effect won't be as good. I think we should contact the Soviets and ask them to increase our supplies and military aid."

"It would be best if we could get airplanes and ships!"

Pablo thought about it carefully and nodded, deeming the suggestion sensible. I've shed blood for the Russian Bear, I've fought for you, and I knocked down Lady Liberty. You surely must reward me.

You guess what the Russian Bear would say?

They would probably say, "CNMDB@￥#@#%￥#%#￥#%~!"

...