"Victor Carlos Vieri!!!"


    Within a luxurious manor in Victoria City, the capital of Tamaulipas, a low, rage-filled curse could be heard.


    The short and stocky Juan Garcia Abrego, with a dark expression on his face, shook faintly from a scar on his face left from a shootout.


    The man who had once turned Gulf Group from a smuggling ring into a transnational drug trafficking organization hadn''t been this angry for a long time.


    It wasn''t udia Abrego''s death that pained him—she was just a cousin; if she was dead, she was dead. What pained him was the batch of goods that were meant for San Francisco. The local saleswork had already started to distribute, junkies had been lined up, and the CIA had been taken care of.


    The goods hadn''t even been loaded onto the vehicle yet.


    They were worth 100 million US dors.


    Although it wouldn''t cripple him, this loss was enough to cause him heartache.


    Revenge was necessary!


    If every cop was as insolent as Victor, wouldn''t he have to worry about the safety of his shipments in the future?


    Back in 1988, during the joint US-Mexico drug eradication efforts, Abrego had a shipment from the Port of Guadjara bound for Seattle in the United States that was messed up by two minor policemen, resulting in a loss of two tons of goods, and he had topensate a good deal of money in the US as well.


    A weekter, those two policemen and 17 members of their families were found stuffed into a trash bin.


    One can only imagine to what extent the bodies had to be manipted to fit all 17 into one bin?


    The incident left the Mexican Government extremely embarrassed, but what could they do?


    Even the news media didn''t dare to report it.


    The goods could be forsaken, but face absolutely could not be lost.


    "Cough cough cough... Garcia, don''t let anger cloud your judgment," a hunched figure entered in a wheelchair, pushed by someone. Abrego quickly stood up, signaling medical personnel to let go, and personally pushed the wheelchair, bowing his head, "Uncle, why are you here?"


    This was his real uncle, Juan Nepomuceno, also the founder of the Gulf Group, who had secured a "Protection Umbre" by sparing no expense, and from time to time, made charitable donations, ensuring he never spent a day in jail in his life.


    This boss, who had fought his way through the Prohibition era in the United States, possessed unique personal charm and life experience, and he had groomed his own nephew, Abrego, who led Gulf Group to be aprehensive drug trafficking organization.


    In Abrego''s eyes, Juan Nepomuceno was the only person he respected.


    "The disinfectant in the hospital smells too strong. I don''t like it. If I have to die, I''d rather die at home," Nepomuceno said with a smile, then coughed violently as he ran out of breath.


    Abrego hurriedly patted his back.


    "Garcia, I''ve spent my whole life learning to be careful. Women and children can afford to be careless, but men cannot," said Nepomuceno.


    "Take a deep breath before doing anything. Anger will only make you blind to your surroundings."


    Abrego nodded, about to share the incident with his uncle, but Nepomuceno waved his hand, "I''m old, you don''t need to tell me. You decide for yourself."


    "The only thing I have to do is wait for death," Nepomuceno said with self-mockingughter, patted his nephew''s hand, then signaled the caregivers to push him to rest.


    Watching his uncle''s retreating figure, Abrego''s eyes held an unwavering determination.


    "Uncle, the Gulf Cartel will never sink!"


    He took a deep breath and called over his confidant to announce a 5 million US dor bounty for Victor''s head.


    Let those "mercenaries" who recognized money but not people probe the waters first.


    Money, the drug trafficking group had plenty!


    ...


    At this time, Victor was leading his men in an inspection of Guadalupe Ind.


    He nned to build an airport!


    "Boss, does this middle-of-nowhere ce really need an airport? Taking a ferry gets us to the other side," Casare trailed behind Victor, panting and propping himself on his knees, ncing at the middle-aged man walking ahead of them.


    That was the designer the boss had invited.


    It was actually a professional that Victor had exchanged for. Such specialized work had to be left to experts. Those like them, involved in "violent" dealings, didn''t even have the education that this person had in leg hair.


    What did they know about design?


    Shooting, on the other hand, they knew a bit about.


    When customizing a character, because he didn''t know what skills a designer would need, he directly chose the "Paris National School of Advanced Techniques and Design" excellent student temte, which included over a dozen professional skills and qualities.


    That had cost him nearly 200,000 points!


    And he still had to pay a monthly sry.


    But at least it was more reliable than those found outside; they could even be tasked with building bunkers on the ind eventually.


    "You need to lose some weight. You''ve been eating too welltely; your belly is almost drooping to the ground," Victor said, looking back at him with a smile.


    Casare smirked and patted his belly, "It''s because Guadalupe Ind has been so peaceful under your rule, boss. I can even go out for takeout at night now, of course I gained weight. It''s ''safety fat''."


    "Why don''t you call it ''Victor fat''!"


    Who says Latin Americans are forthright?


    This one''s also got a smooth talker.


    Victor was very happy when he heard it.


    "Casare, you need to broaden your horizons. We''ve only eliminated the drug traffickers on Guadalupe Ind, but what about Mexico? The entire Latin America? Even many countries around the world still live amidst drug crimes. We should treat them all equally; we need weapons that can physically eliminate them from a distance..."


    Casare was stunned.


    What, boss, are you serious?


    That charitable?


    In the future, go beat the Vatican and make the Pope believe in you.


    "Boss, they''re just drug traffickers, not warlords. Do we really need airnes? I think increasing the number of guns would be better. Besides, it''s not our ce to handle drug enforcement in other countries, right?"


    Victor smiled mysteriously, knowing something others didn''t.


    The U.N.''s International Narcotics Control Board, or what the public referred toter as the "Drug Enforcement Department," was set to be established on December 12, 1990. Such an agency would surely need some "military support," wouldn''t it?


    Otherwise, on what basis would they eradicate drugs?


    Once Victor''s position was high enough, he would have the authority to represent Mexico in joining it.


    Global drug eradication is everyone''s responsibility!


    Uncle Victor absolves himself of none!


    "When dealing with savages, we have to be as ruthless as the savages, Casare. Do you know the two kinds of people most willing to ept change in this world?"


    The other party shook his head.


    "The wealthy and criminals."


    "If you tell them that longevity genes are found in feces, thetter would rack their brains to kidnap medical talents to extract substances they don''t even recognize from the feces and then sell them to the wealthy who wish to live longer."


    "You know, to make money, criminals will do just about anything. There might even be a neden with drugs taking off from Mexico and scattering them across the world. If we had nes, we could blow them out of the sky!"


    "Didn''t Best say that Juarez also formed a team of assassins? It might not be long before all the Mexican Drug Cartels will have to modernize their military force. Perhaps... they might even have fighter jets!"


    Casare listened to such a "bold" assumption with his mouth half open.


    He was aware that drug traffickers had some jet nes, which are used for crop dusting in Latin America.


    But actually, Casare was still "short-sighted". Your next journey awaits at m v|l-e''-NovelBin


    Given the current changes in the situation, it might not take half a year for the Mexican Drug Cartels to gradually transform into "warlord-like" organizations.


    Drug eradication work will be more and more difficult.


    This gloomy topic even made Casare feel "tired". Yawning, he asked, "Boss, if it''s so difficult, why do we still have to do it?"


    "There must always be someone to hold up a torch in the dark, to tell everyone that there is a path ahead, and that we should move on, so that when we die, our gravestones can bear the words: ''He tried to change the world and never gave up.''"


    Victor looked at him, "And moreover... I''m a cop!"


    Sparks from fireworks fell from the sky, Casare lifted his head, and suddenly he thought of the time at school when he took an oath to the g.


    Back then…


    He was young, he was honest, and he was full of hope for the future.


    Latterly…


    He was scared, he was cowardly, and he prayed the drug traffickers would just leave him alone.


    But now, when Victor appeared, it felt like a seed in his heart eagerly sprouting.


    How much did he wish to be a good cop?


    "But boss, we only have a little over 200 people," Casare muttered.


    "More people will join us!"


    "Let''s start with Guadalupe Ind. I n to open a civilian police academy on the ind, recruiting students aged 14 to 19, then replenishing our police force with fresh blood. I''ll choose a location right by the beach where there is an empty factory left by a drug trafficker. You go to the TV station and put out a notice, let all the inders know."


    People at that age, if you instill in them a sense of national duty, they will be Mexico''s new generation.


    Victor had no ns to change the country in a few years'' time.


    Killing is easy, just a fraction of a second with a bullet, but building a country requires a generation or even two.


    "I will serve as the principal, you will be the vice-principal, and Kennedy will be the school''s military training officer. At least they must be proficient in NATO-standard weapons and tactics when they graduate."


    Looking at Victor, who was talking with great enthusiasm.


    Casare didn''t know what to say.


    Boss, are you training "Police Auxiliary Staff" or "Mexican Soldiers" here?


    But if it really develops as the boss envisioned.


    Invading Mexico...


    No, it should be, "Vuestro emperador ha vuelto. (Your Emperor has returned)."


    ...