Working as a police officer in Mexico

Chapter 481 - 321: We Can Inherit the Heritage Too! _2

Europeans and Americans are too stingy, reluctant to sacrifice.

"After this kind of job, just decide on your own," Victor waved his hand, pretending to shake his head, "I can’t stand seeing people displaced, sigh."

The old man had a kind heart, he couldn’t stand seeing poor people, and thought them all better off dead, such a familiar scene.

Augustine Przybylski’s eyelid twitched.

General!

You were supposed to be hanged, what are you pretending to be innocent for?

Even the piranhas would say, "F***, this flesh stinks," after eating you.

"The black people in Spain and the United Kingdom have to try harder as well," Victor mentioned casually. Explore more stories with NovelBin.Côm

Augustine Przybylski understood immediately and nodded, "They definitely will."

In the office, two demons from hell were whispering.

But tragically, such people determined the fates of many.

Yet it was not tragic, the incompatible do not plan together!

Victor just wanted to ban drugs.

...

January 7!

The black people gathered in Tulsa City, Oklahoma, were still operating "power" and attacking everywhere.

There were even black people and some white people publicly consuming drugs.

They shouted, "Drugs numb the pain, we will fight against the U.S. Military until the end!"

Then...

At 11:31 AM, suddenly two Cessna 172 planes flew down to Nash Street, diving down, firing at the ground, and dropping incendiary bombs!

This sudden act resulted in over 300 casualties at the scene!

The angry crowd fired into the sky, hitting one Cessna 172’s wing, which wobbled and fell down, and the black people rushed over to pull out the pilot!

A white man!

Skin correctly identified!

Racial hatred ignited!

The enraged black people… tore the white man apart!

This scene, broadcast live on television, went out.

The term "New Tulsa City Massacre" instantly topped the nationwide trending search.

Even many locals felt that the Americans had wronged the black community, it was... too bloody.

Dissatisfied Democratic Party supporters also began gathering in front of the White House shouting for resignation!

Clashing with the supporting rednecks, it eventually escalated into violent conflicts.

It was truly a free-for-all.

In the President’s office.

After a few days, Old Bush looked gaunt, his hair disheveled, you couldn’t see a trace of the "gentleman."

Sitting in front of him were the new CIA Director, Stanfield Turner, the FBI’s Floyd I. Clarke, Old Bush’s executive secretary, the National Security Affairs Assistant Bahash Johnson, and several loyal aides.

Compared to the CIA directors, the FBI was practically the "Iron Ass King," having outlasted two terms!

"Congress is very dissatisfied with my performance, the Democratic Party has already started impeachment against me, demanding I resign early," Old Bush spoke with deep distress.

It was true...

With so many incidents during his term, two CIA directors dead, the CIA caught in major scandals, and now such domestic conflicts erupting, if I don’t resign, who will?

Especially that plane "massacre," utterly horrifying!

And we call ourselves civilized?

This has all turned into a war zone!

So what, am I supposed to nuke myself in the end?

Even the most shameless politicians felt embarrassed hearing about this.

All the confidants in the room were shocked, looking at each other with concerned expressions, as the saying goes, "new king, new court," if Old Bush stepped down, their days of glory were over.

"This unrest clearly has a hidden hand behind it," CIA Director Stanfield Turner murmured.

"Do you know who it is?"

The admiral kept silent.

"Recently, it’s just been bad luck, f*** calamari, after the fight with Mexico, no luck has been on our side," murmured one aide, venting his frustration.

Suddenly!

He felt something off in the atmosphere; everyone abruptly turned their eyes on him, staring like bloodthirsty beasts, which chilled him to the bone.

"Mexico... Victor," Old Bush called out the name with a furrowed brow, not knowing why, but always feeling uncomfortable, like the name clashed with his fate.

"Could it have been him!"

Stanfield Turner raised an eyebrow, "We haven’t found any leads from the Mexican Intelligence Department..."

"But the lack of leads is often the biggest lead. What kind of person is Victor? Though we curse him as a mongrel, we have to admit he’s ambitious. Could he just sit quietly in these circumstances? I think, the Mexican Intelligence Department definitely plays a big role," another aide quickly added.

"Hasn’t the CIA infiltrated the Mexican Intelligence Department?!" someone couldn’t help but ask loudly.

The new CIA Director, Stanfield Turner’s expression turned sour as he glanced at him, "Don’t push me to hit you."

The aide shrank his neck.

Stanfield Turner was also frustrated, thinking the previous two directors had some capability, but their infiltration of intelligence in Northern Mexico was utterly incompetent. It wasn’t that they hadn’t sent people to "hook up," but they just ended up betrayed and lost many elites—thus, the matter died down.

Damn, where did Victor get so many loyal lackeys!

"Figure something out, Turner, I need you now," Old Bush said sincerely, looking at his protégé.

"What do you need me to do, sir, for us to turn defeat into victory?"

"Catch the mastermind behind this, or find ’evidence’ to prove that this mess was the doing of the Mexicans."

He emphasized the word "evidence" heavily. Stanfield Turner instantly understood—no evidence, then fabricate it, because it didn’t matter.

But this would make the Mexican community within the United States the target of public anger, hardly reducing conflicts but rather increasing tensions; however, compared to African-Americans, would Old Bush sacrifice the Mexicans?

Who says African-Americans can’t be useful?

"I understand," said Stanfield Turner, nodding.

Old Bush’s expression eased slightly, "Now what we need to do is to push back in Iraq, I think it’s time to launch a total offensive."

The best way to resolve internal conflicts is to find external stimulations.

That was a consensus.

Americans wage war first for resources like oil, second to increase influence, third for military-industrial sales, and fourth, actually to relieve internal tensions.

"What do you think?" Old Bush suddenly turned to ask his confidant, Bahash Johnson.

It was abrupt, and everyone’s gaze shifted to him, staring.

"I also think now is the time, and it’s best to do it beautifully, to let everyone see that America has the strength to defend its dignity and won’t allow others to sneak around behind its back."

Old Bush nodded; he appreciated these remarks.

"OK, then let’s quickly push the plan forward. Gentlemen, thank you for your hard work," he said, and even stood up to bow.

This caught everyone slightly off-guard, and they hurriedly stood up.

"You guys can go now, but Turner, stay back," Old Bush named.

The others left the office; Bahash Johnson even looked back as he closed the door.

"Do you think we have a mole here?" Old Bush asked right away.

"Yes!" Stanfield Turner didn’t hesitate, very directly, "And he’s not in a low position."

"Richard’s death was too coincidental, he told me he suspected Johnson, but you know, Johnson has been my partner for a long time, I can’t just suspect him because of one word."

Stanfield Turner listened quietly.

"But having a mole by your side makes me unable to eat well or sleep well every night, find him out, Turner!"

"I give you permission to monitor anyone!"

Stanfield Turner raised an eyebrow, looking at Old Bush; the latter also looked at him, both understanding that if such actions were discovered, they would be doomed.

"Leave it to me."

But in the end, the new CIA Director still took on this heavy responsibility. He wouldn’t allow America to be disrupted by people with ulterior motives!

Mexico?

If they cause trouble, hit them!

Old Bush was deeply "moved" by patting his shoulder.

Hmm...

When things go wrong.

Throw you out first!