The Senior Police Sergeant laughed at once and pulled the Dagger out of the freckled man's eye, causing the man to scream in agony again.
Brave's face turned ugly, his legs growing weak.
"Who are you? CIA? FBI? DEA?"
"We're just military advisors hired by drug traffickers!" Brave regained his senses and quickly shook his head.
The Senior Police Sergeant stared at him, then suddenly grabbed his clothes and dragged him toward a Humvee.
"What are you doing! What are you doing!" Brave yelled in terror.
The other man shoved his head under the tire and gestured to the policeman in the car, who hit the gas, and the engine roared violently.
"I'll ask again! Who are you!" the Senior Police Sergeant shouted loudly.
"Advisors, we're just ordinary advisors!"
The Senior Police Sergeant let go of his hold on his head, slowly stood up, and Brave gasped for air. He lay prone on the ground, his hands tied behind his back, directly biting into a mouthful of mud as his chest heaved rapidly.
"Kill that one. Keep this one," he ordered.
"Understood!"
When Brave heard the police officers' conversation, he froze, then violently turned his head, just in time to see an officer pull the trigger of his submachine gun, firing a burst at the freckled man.
He was shot into a damn sieve.
The freckled man's eyes bulged as his head turned just in time to meet Brave's gaze. A chill spread through his body. Were these police really executing prisoners?!
The Senior Police Sergeant glanced at him. Idiot, it's convenient that you're claiming not to be an official from the United States. If you had said so, it wouldn't have been so "justifiable" to deal with you like this. Since you're not, then you're just a drug trafficker.
You deserved to be shot to death!
He picked up the communicator on his shoulder. "M4, do you need additional support?"
After waiting five minutes, Zolf Sherman led the officers into the valley, pressing the communicator: "No need, keep the line open, over."
"Understood!"
A White Phosphorus Shell can almost instantly reach 2000 degrees. When they entered, the ground had been blackened, and a foul stench permeated the air, prompting the officers to put on their gas masks.
"Click~"
Zolf Sherman didn't notice his footstep, and his boot crushed down on a corpse, breaking the arm just by stepping on it.
Is it... carbonized?
His eyes flickered, and he quickly looked up, leading his men toward several unburned buildings. Kicking down a door, he saw two men hiding inside. Seeing him, they knelt on the ground in terror, raising their hands and begging for mercy in pidgin Spanish.
Ratatat!~
Zolf Sherman pulled the trigger, gunning them down. "Sorry, gentlemen, please speak Spanish."
The officers swept through, taking no prisoners.
"Boss! We've found the goods!"
"Shift some from other places first."
"Find someone to get this batch back."
Arturo frowned, "I'm afraid it won't be so easy to take from Victor's hands."
"30 million US Dollars! Whoever brings it back, I'll give them 30 million."
Throw enough money at the problem, and someone will figure out a way.
From 1985 to 1990, the United States and Mexico carried out dozens of joint drug raids, but where did those drugs go? There's no clear record, and even if there were, there was no one to supervise.
It wasn't until around 2000 that a righteous journalist exposed the truth, these drugs were "bought back" by the drug traffickers, and those direct Mexican departments received quite a bit of US Dollars.
Sometimes, Mexico seems almost like a fantasy!
Another saying goes, due to low salaries, over 90% of kidnappings that occur each year nationwide are committed by the police.
"I'll make the contacts." Arturo, seeing his cousin in such a state, understood that persuasion was futile, indeed the 15 tons of goods were enough to cause heartache.
Guzman looked down at the bodies in the pool, "Clean it up!" he said, before walking inside the house.
Arturo looked at the women, shook his head, "What a waste."
...
"Hahaha!"
In the Mexicali security department office, Victor's hearty laughter rang out, Alejandro also looked completely at ease.
"Victor, this time we really hurt Guzman."
"Hurt? This is nothing, I won't feel good until they're dead, I want to tell them, in the place I come from, they need to back off!"
"Get some more journalists, and at the press conference, show off all these drugs and seized guns, let everyone understand that compared to this corrupt government, I, Victor, am the one who can protect them, protect this country!" Victor pounded the table.
He almost added, "I am the legitimate one."
"Should we pull our people back from the Cambra Valley?" Alejandro asked.
"I'm planning to send another 100 officers over there, to be stationed."
The Cambra Valley is just too perfect, cutting across the territory from the east, with Baja California to the west and south, bordered by the sea, no worries at all, just by controlling one passage, it's almost like establishing sovereign rule!
"That's Sonora State territory..."
"The drug traffickers aren't wiped out yet, and the local security departments there are so stupid, I don't mind cleaning up for them, they don't dare to do it, I'll do it, and I haven't even asked them for a cleaning fee yet."
"Can we even ask for that?" Alejandro suddenly said.
Victor looked at him, and he joked in response, "Not wanting money when you can is stupid, I think Sonora State should pay us a protection fee!"
"After all, the officers' attendance fees are quite high."
The phone on the table suddenly rang, rudely interrupting their conversation. Alejandro picked up the phone, answered, and his expression changed slightly.
Then he handed the receiver over, "Raul Salinas, brother of the President."
As if afraid Victor wouldn't understand, he specifically added a word of explanation.
...