Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Now, you're allowed to ask questions!" Pablo, with a tilt of his head, told the reporters below.

"Mr. Pablo, what do you think of the Colombian Government's announcement that they plan to sign an extradition treaty with the United States?"

"What do I think?"

The smile on Pablo's face instantly retracted, "Wipe them out! If that idiot in the Presidential Palace dares to sign that treaty, I swear, within an hour, his entire family will end up in the Magdalena River feeding the piranhas!"

"This is a notification, not a warning."

What drug traffickers hate the most is extradition, and it is the same in Mexico, because these beasts know that in their own country they can act without restraint, living it up however they please, with imprisonment like staying at their own home.

But if they go to the United States, where one can be confined for two hundred years, then you truly can only die in prison. It's for this issue that drug traffickers and government forces have clashed more than once.

The reason Pablo blew up flight 203 was actually to assassinate the then hot presidential candidate: Cesar Gaviria, who advocated for signing the extradition treaty with the United States.

Only, he cancelled his boarding at the last minute, narrowly escaping disaster.

Yet, the lunatic's actions made the cries for sense within the country grow much weaker.

"Next question."

The reporters were scared by Pablo's words.

Such actions by a drug trafficker, threatening the decision-maker of a country, were simply outrageous.

"Sir... Sir," a female reporter began, her speech slightly stuttering.

"Don't be nervous, are you afraid I'm going to eat you?" Pablo said with a smile, eying her shapely figure, especially those large waves—he liked them very much. He even became gentle when dealing with vnr.

"What... What's the main purpose of your association?"

"To make drugs affordable for everyone!"

Pablo extended his finger, "I've said before, we will control the negotiating rights for drugs across the Latin American region and regulate the responsibilities of each drug lord. We will introduce the 'North American Drugs and Drug Lords Code of Conduct', and I'll send you a copy when the time comes."

This really seems to be getting more and more formal.

The female reporter sighed inwardly. One Pablo was already difficult enough, and now... so many filthy beasts were appearing, what to do!

Ethan Hunt stood by like a henchman, watching the other party put on a show. It was only due to Blanco's blessing that he even had the privilege of standing here.

The command was given—wealth ignited!

Suddenly, he felt a warmth in the palm of his hand, turned his head and saw his "fiancée" looking at him, "Don't worry, you'll stand in that position sooner or later."

Ethan Hunt: "???"

What am I going to do when I stand up there, be used as a target practice?

He smiled at Blanco, raising his hand to check the time.

Nine o'clock on the dot!

"It's starting!"

...

American Time, 8:30 AM.

At a private airport three kilometers from Santa Fe de Bogota.

The plane had just landed.

More than a dozen operatives alighted and stormed into the control tower, swiftly taking control of the people inside!

"Gentlemen, please get down on the ground!"

The scared boss hurried to cover his head, damn it!

Weren't they supposed to be civilians on board, just some bigwig coming?

How come they were all... bandits!

The Mexican International News Department Colombian Branch arranged six sedans and four vans, their exteriors painted with: Medellin Cartel Exclusive!

"Rest for thirty minutes. At nine o'clock, explosions will occur at three locations, and the nearest police will definitely rush over. Our field investigation has shown that this road is the closest to the New Justice Building. Within 30 minutes, we will continue to plant bombs in 12 drug trafficker-active areas. No matter what, you must withdraw!"

An intelligence employee took out a map and spoke to Kennedy and Jonathan Pannier.

"Of course, don't worry about getting lost; my colleagues and I will take you there!"

They provided a service that was right on the doorstep.

Kennedy nodded in thanks, rolled up the map, and returned to the operatives, "Everyone, get in the vehicles, check your ammo, get something to eat."

The EDM and the High-Risk Targets Arrest Team (HEAT) were made up of elite core members, sitting quietly.

"Hey, Ricardo, remember to stick close to me later, you're my assistant gunner!" one sergeant said to his buddy.

Ricardo was eating compressed biscuits, patting the drums of ammo on the sides of his tactical vest, and gave a thumbs-up.

"Aren't you guys nervous?" a HEAT member sitting behind him suddenly asked, extending his hand, "Parsel Keat!"

Assistant gunner Ricardo looked at him, then at his comrade, and shook his head with a smile, "Victor will look after us!"

The American looked surprised, then nodded with a smile, pulling out a pocket watch from his upper pocket, snapped it open, and leaned forward familiarly, pointing at the family portrait inside, "This is my father, this is my mother, this is me, this is my wife."

Ricardo and the others glanced at it, "Was your father also a police officer?"

"Yeah, he was a narc officer too. He gave his life in San Francisco, worked for the DEA as well. He encouraged me to join the DEA."

Gave his life.

Said so casually!

"You know what?"

"My wife is pregnant!" Parsel Keat beamed with joy, "If I can't make it back, he will be the fourth generation of narc officers in our family. He will join the DEA, become a guardian of the United States, a guardian of the world!"

"My ideal will not perish."

Ricardo saluted somberly!

"Brother, you'll make it home. You'll see your wife giving birth to your child, and you'll see him smiling at you."

Americans too had warriors truly willing to sacrifice for the world.

In the war on drugs, you could see fighters from all nations casting aside their differences, conflicts, and contradictions to stand together on a united front.

This was a glorious journey of humanity!

Parsel Keat kissed his pocket watch, "I'll make it back home!"

Kennedy in the lead vehicle checked his watch, his eyes fixed on the second hand; as it hit nine o'clock.

"It's starting!"

Boom!!!

Explosions erupted within the city.

Right on schedule.

And was that a mushroom cloud they had set off?

How much explosive did they use?

"Move out!"

Kennedy pressed down on his earpiece decisively—the EDM driver floored the gas pedal, blowing right through the airport gates.

Meanwhile...

Chaos reigned throughout the city of Santa Fe de Bogota!

The public screamed and scattered in all directions, those who ran slowly were pushed to the ground by the people behind them, who simply walked over their bodies.

Even if there were drug traffickers blocking the way, they had to keep running forward!

"Don't! Don't run around!"

A drug trafficker, who was barricading the road, shouted loudly from the side of a pickup truck, but someone pulled him, and he fell straight off the truck.

Trampled on the face, he screamed miserably.

Restrepo, the infuriated head of security working in his office, heard the blast and rushed to the window, only to see a street full of people frantically running.

He immediately ran out of his office.

"Go check, what's happening!"

MD?

The Medellin Cartel celebrating with a bomb?

In fact, Pablo was also bewildered; he furrowed his brows, looking at the distant explosion, one of which was particularly close to the new Justice Building, and he could feel the ground tremble for a moment.

He waved to his brother Ochoa, signaling him to come up.

"Go take a look! Whoever is causing trouble in our territory, take them out!" he said with a grim expression, and Ochoa nodded.

Pablo looked at the somewhat panicky reporters below and extended his hand, "Don't worry, ladies and gentlemen, here in Colombia, nowhere is safer than here, not even the Presidential Palace."

...

Three kilometers, how long does it take to drive?

It took the assault team less than 3 minutes to reach Santa Fe de Bogota from the private airport.

At the city gate, they saw a man on a motorcycle; spotting their license plate, he gave them a thumbs-up, then put on his helmet and led the way ahead.

"Follow him!"

Kennedy pointed and said.

As the convoy entered the city, they indeed saw... chaos!

Surprisingly smooth sailing!

They could see the new Justice Building, but they also saw the drug traffickers' pickup ahead; the traffickers had clearly noticed this foreign convoy, and one of them, with a cigarette in his mouth, quickly stood up to man the machine gun.

With grim eyes, Kennedy lowered his face mask, "Victor! Long live!"

He leaned out of the window and sprayed gunfire at the traffickers!

Ratatat!

Bullets blasted them mercilessly in the face, turning faces into honeycombs.

A team member in the back seat threw a grenade, which rolled into the pickup; the rest of the traffickers jumped off the vehicle in panic, and while they were still in mid-air, the grenade detonated!

Beng!!

The shockwave knocked them to the ground.

One rolled right in front of the vehicle, and the driver floored the accelerator, crushing his head as he passed over, with clothes caught and dragging under the chassis.

"Get out! Get out! Get out!"

Kennedy immediately got out of the car, pressing his headset, "Jonathan, you lead the assault on the Justice Building, EDM will hold off reinforcements on the perimeter!"

"Understood!"

A steady response came through the headset channel.

The drug traffickers' perimeter defense system was fairly decent, and most importantly, Colombian drug traffickers were indeed battle-hardened; they had also positioned men at elevated points on both sides.

Seeing the sudden commotion, they responded instantly.

They manned the M60 general-purpose machine gun and started firing at those below!

Ratatatatatatatatatat…

The convoy that continued to advance had its windows shattered; a HEAT team member sitting in the back was hit in the neck by a bullet and grunted, collapsing onto his comrade as blood spurted out.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

"Jack! F***! F***!" his comrade covered the wound, frantically grabbing for a gauze, but as the wounded spat blood, he faded fast.

The vehicle was riddled with holes.

As long as the tires could still move, they carried on, rushing toward the Justice Building.

"Suppress them! Suppress!"

"Group one, snipers! Take control of the rooftops!"

Kennedy shouted orders into his headset.

Drug traffickers at elevated positions kept their fingers on triggers, rapidly depleting their ammunition, "Reload!"

They yelled to their fellow gunners, who fumbled to feed a new chain of bullets into the groove; no sooner had they slapped the cover shut and felt a glimmer of relief than a sharp explosion blew open the assistant gunner's head, a sight so gruesome it needed pixelation.

The blood and flesh fell into the mouth of the machine gunner!

Sniper!

Startled, the gunner shuddered and instinctively looked in the direction the bullets came from, only to see a gun barrel on the opposite building already aimed at him.

"F***!"

He ducked holding his head, as the wall behind him was punctured; crouching below the glass, he grabbed the machine gun, yanked it down, and scurried out of the room like a dog.

EDM's sniper was preparing for the next shot when he saw more than 20 pickup trucks barreling down a nearby street!

"Northwest direction, enemy reinforcements! Number... around 120 people!"

"Northeast direction, enemy reinforcements! Number 300 people!"

Kennedy's expression was grave. As he was about to issue orders, a terrified scream from the sniper came through the headset.

"Mortar rounds!!"

The sniper saw that on one of the Toyota pickups...

They had... installed a mortar?

An 81mm mortar!

CNMD!

Drug traffickers or rebels?!

Kennedy was also stunned, lifted his head, and his pupils suddenly constricted as he saw a dozen mortar shells tracing an arc in the sky before plummeting down.

Boom boom boom boom boom…

EDM too tasted the bitterness of bombardment.

On the streets…

The ground was blasted to pieces!

All the surrounding shop windows had long been shattered by the blasts.

...