Working as a police officer in Mexico

Sava didn't have a choice in his life as a child.

Because this was Mexico.

He'd been controlled by the local gangs since childhood, forced to drop out and join.

But as he grew older, he began to get tired of it.

The glitz and glam were always for the bosses, never the underlings.

Have you ever seen anyone get rich by working for someone else?

After Victor took over Tijuana, he enacted the "Baja California Good Samaritan Trial Measures," which stated that any resident with a significant meritorious deed would be taken care of in terms of their children's education, bonuses, and other welfare benefits.

Even allowing them to be buried in the "Tijuana National Cemetery" after their sacrifice, where all the fallen police officers lay.

Victor was doing something, shifting Mexicans' views, turning them into people who worshipped heroes.

Basically, he was motivating the general public to help out in an ever-complicated environment.

Sava looked towards his son peeking out from inside the house and smiled, his eyes filled with hope.

His son had no tattoos, hadn't dropped out of school, and still had hope and a future; he had to fight for a path forward for him.

He closed the door behind him.

Sava removed the magazine, glanced at the bullets, and expertly slapped it back in, disengaging the safety on his pistol.

"I didn't have a choice before, but now I want to be a good person!"

Before, he was just another gangster!

Now, at 30 years old with at least 20 years of shooting experience, his twitching eyes, he pulled himself up the railing and dashed up to the third floor.

He then saw the wailing officer on the ground.

The grenade hadn't killed them outright, but shrapnel had buried into their flesh; anyone who'd been blasted knew that adrenaline didn't always kick in.

As Sava arrived, he saw a woman with a shotgun, about to step out the door.

He raised his gun and fired!

His right hand also shielded his face, a bad habit from gang shootouts that relied solely on ferocity.

The woman was unprepared for Sava's sudden appearance, and one shot to her neck had her eyes seizing up as blood spurted from a major artery.

He looked himself over and, finding no harm, a rush of joy filled him as he picked up a dropped police sidearm off the ground and yelled, "Victor protect me!"

In Mexico, there were no "acts of god."

He steeled himself and kicked the wooden door to splinters, rushing in.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The Police Sergeant on the ground reached out, trying to call out to him.

Brother, what a rash move!

But at that moment, Sava wasn't thinking — the gang leader who taught him to shoot said it was all about courage in a firefight, seeing who feared death the least!

He burst inside and saw a man about to climb out the window; Sava pulled the trigger instinctively, but the excitement had made him forget he was out of bullets. He lunged forward and grabbed the man's pants, pulling him back and pinning him to the floor.

This was his son's future!

The two struggled, viciously biting at each other, their faces' veins bulging clear to see, but Sava's strength prevailed, and he pinned the man down, choking him tightly.

He drove his knee hard into the man's... groin.

"Ow!!"

The man screamed, his eyes crossing instantly, his face going pale as his grip loosened and he began to convulse on the floor.

Sava collapsed onto the ground, gasping heavily.

"Don't move! Police!"

Just then, a squad of police burst in, pointing at him and shouting.

Sava quickly raised his hands, "Don't shoot, I'm a resident from downstairs!"

…

The ambulance and other support units arrived quickly. The wounded officers were taken to the hospital while Sava was questioned outside the door.

"You can go now, but don't leave Tijuana," they told him.

His face bruised and swollen from the brawl with the criminal, his adversary's punches indeed having been hard, Sava, hearing this, hesitated before asking cautiously, "Officer, does this count as a significant act of valor?"

The police officer looked into his eyes and nodded, "It will be reported, as soon as this week."

Sava broke into a grateful smile, bowed extravagantly in thanks, and walked past the police tape with an ice pack on his face to see his wife and son waiting for him.

"Daddy!"

His son leaped into his arms as Sava looked into his wife's worried eyes, kissed his child, and winced as the muscles on his beaten face made him inhale sharply with pain.

"Daddy, does it still hurt? I'll blow on it for you."

Sava watched his son puff up his cheeks and blow hard, looking adorably earnest, and grinned, "I'm fine, daddy doesn't hurt. In a few months, you'll be going to a top primary school!"

"You have to study hard! Remember to buy lots and lots of tasty things for daddy then."

For Mexicans, family and education mattered most; it was just that they had been powerless before, but now with the opportunity right before him, Sava wouldn't let it slip away!

Inside the building, several police officers were conducting a search.

"Chief! We've found a lot of detonators and components like ammonium nitrate."

James Ryan, the National Guard spokesperson, nodded, surveying the area before his gaze suddenly intensified. He appeared to notice something and slowly approached it, squinting at the wall behind the TV set.

There was a hole.

A spider crawled out.

James Ryan furrowed his brow, reaching out to touch the hole in the cardboard wall. With a tug, it moved easily; the officers inside looked on.

Their eyes grew wide with shock.

They witnessed James Ryan pulling the entire wall panel open, revealing a horrifying sight that scared everyone.

More than a dozen mummies lay sprawled inside!

The bodies were not wrapped in tape, and the stench hit them like a wave, causing James Ryan to grimace.

He thought he had stumbled upon mummies!

"OMG!"

"Tear down these walls!" James Ryan commanded loudly.

The police hurried to strip the surrounding walls, revealing over 31 corpses.

The stench was so overpowering that a number of officers couldn't help but rush out to vomit, their National Guard were not the old hands from the front line.

James Ryan's expression remained unchanged, he suddenly squatted beside a body, indistinguishable as male or female, the chest collapsed. Around the corpse's neck was a dog tag.

It was an identification tag, a very small piece.

He pulled hard, yanked it off, the tag reeking of blood. He flipped it over, and his eyes suddenly widened.

FBI—Panagiotis Loya!

The deceased is FBI?

Federal Bureau of Investigation?

Could it be that here…

James Ryan stood up and looked at the bodies around him, were these all FBI?

F*ck!

This is a major case!

Encountering the FBI in Mexico isn't that unusual, from an international law perspective, the United States can claim jurisdiction over criminal cases involving American citizens and legal entities, and it's the same with most countries.

As the federal law enforcement agency of the United States, the FBI is responsible for international criminal justice cooperation, and they would need to step in in such cases, typically in cooperation with local law enforcement authorities.

For instance, the investigation into the bombing of the U.S. Embassy in Kenya was conducted by the FBI in conjunction with Kenyan police. By law, if the CIA captures a target overseas, they actually have to hand them over to the FBI for interrogation.

Of course, that's only in theory.

If they don't give a damn, there's nothing you can do.

But 31 FBI dead? Why hadn't he heard about it?

James Ryan knew he couldn't handle this news on his own.

Quick, pass it up the chain!

...

Meanwhile, in Hermosillo.

Victor stared at the two plans submitted by the "Mexico Joint Operations Department," somewhat confused and with furrowed brows.

"They hope you will adopt the first one, it's more cost-effective from any angle," Casare said, carefully choosing his words.

Using the term cost-effective in the context of special operations seemed very… ridiculous.

Plan one: Use a passenger plane to crash into the new judicial building.

"Are they f*cking out of their minds?" Victor actually laughed in anger, could they be any more direct?

"Do you want us to become international fugitives? That's an act of terrorism!"

You think Victor hadn't considered it?

Bet the DEA would have him captured and handed over to the Colombians tomorrow if this went ahead, such actions would be utterly reckless.

The bull doesn't have a calf—bullsh*t gone bad!

Can plans like this really be sent out?

All thanks to those f*cking drug traffickers, can't you just come to a meeting in Mexico? Then even my cannons could reach you.

Running off that far.

Can't Mexico provide for you?

Casare, soaked in verbal abuse, now understood why the "Operations Department" didn't deliver the plan themselves.

"Burn it, and whoever proposed this plan, dock their pay!"

Victor, with a frown, tossed the documents aside, cursing under his breath, and then glanced at the second plan which was much more precise.

No need for the U.S. Military's C-130, but they couldn't stay still, someone was to hijack the pilot, and then take him to fly around in Colombian airspace.

This was to fool the CIA.

Drop these sons of bitches directly, no way he was going to cooperate with them.

CIA… pfft!

DEA's High-Risk Arrest Team (HEAT) and Mexico's EDM took a private jet, flying to a private airport about 3 kilometers from Bogota.

Just pay up and it's all good.

A passenger plane wouldn't be so conspicuous above the target.

The media departments in Colombia, Mexico helped with transportation; they would storm right in, and in coordination with them, agents would create turmoil in key parts of the city, causing chaos.

To attract local military and police forces.

If needed… they could blow up a Colombian military airport, preventing their air force from taking off.

Given Colombia's efficiency, it would take about 50 minutes to form an encirclement. That means, complete the fight within 30 minutes, then return to the private airport, and take a flight back.

In such a short duration, Colombia wouldn't be able to sort out the situation. Could they really fire missiles blindly into the sky?

This timeline was really tight.

But if everything went well, they could throw a welcome party tomorrow night.

Below was a recommended list of weapons to carry.

The individual airburst bomb was on the list.

And everyone was to have one; with two hands, that meant two bombs each.

Are you planning to blow up the judicial building completely?

"If the aircraft is compromised, the recommendation from the Special Operations Department is to enter Ecuador, Peru, Venezuela and surrender to the local governments. We can get the DEA to pressure them on our behalf through the United States; survival is the victory."

Even if they demanded extradition later, with Americans stalling on the side, and Mexico cheering on, at worst it'd be a few years in jail.

As long as they're alive, there's a way out.

You dare detain one from the Three Musketeers of North America?

Are you out of your mind?

Victor felt the plan had a high chance of success, signed his name on it, "Let's proceed with this plan, there's no need to notify Jonathan Pannier of the DEA for now."

Casare nodded in agreement.

"Operation code name: Gothic Serpent!"

...