Working as a police officer in Mexico

When Grace Costa returned to the television station, her butt had barely hit the seat when she saw a box of videotapes placed on her desk.

"Mystie, did you put this on my desk?" she shouted to a colleague nearby, who looked over and shook their head.

As a reporter, her curiosity instantly sparked a myriad of fantasies about the contents.

She grabbed it and shoved it into the player next to her.

A hulking clown suddenly appeared on the screen, startling her so much that she knocked her water glass onto the floor.

"What's wrong, Grace?" asked a male colleague nearby, poking his head closer, "A new type of horror movie?"

"Or some kind of prank from somewhere?"

Perhaps influenced by Hollywood, there were often people who liked to send their self-recorded videos to TV stations, hoping to become famous—it happened all the time.

"Cough cough cough, let me introduce myself," the clown on the TV tugged at his clothes, his makeup was heavy, and he looked very nervous, making even Grace think this was a tape sent by some novice, until his next sentence sent shivers down her spine.

"We claim responsibility for the CIA building explosion!"

With just that sentence, everyone in the office walked over in unison—wasn't the CIA building bombing the hottest news now?

It was rumored…

Just hearsay…that the head of the CIA in North America was also killed in the explosion, and coincidentally, he was defecating in the bathroom at that time. Insiders said he died with feces stuffed in his mouth.

Of course, who knows where all these so-called insiders came from.

"We are the Sinaloa Group from Mexico, the CIA takes 30% of our goods each year as operational funds, but last month they announced they wanted to adjust the share to 60%, f***! Go to hell, treating us like this, we'll go bankrupt. So, Mr. Guzman said, 'Let's teach the CIA a lesson!'"

"Glory! Glory to Guzman, this is just the beginning. The CIA's appetite isn't that big, is it? Then let's die together. We, the Sinaloa Group, will continue to retaliate against the CIA, the next target, Langley Headquarters!"

"Please remember our name, Sinaloa Warriors!"

The clown on TV stomped his foot and saluted, then the screen went black and the content ended.

In the office, it was so quiet, you could hear everyone's breathing.

People looked at each other with disbelief.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

"Heh… This has got to be a joke," a male colleague said with a smirk, and others quickly joined in with similar comments.

The Sinaloa Drug Cartel vs. the CIA?

And the CIA dealing drugs?

The information was explosively sensational!

NMDT, do Mexican drug traffickers have such audacity?

But on second thought, it seemed entirely possible. If you demand such a large market share from me that I don't even have the money to eat, I can kill Camarena, so why not screw the CIA?

People tend to believe the most outrageous things because they innately think they have uncovered a secret, and this secret must be true.

Just like the belief that eating salt can prevent nuclear radiation…

Grace's eyes lit up!

Who cares if the tape's content is true or not? She just knew that if it was broadcasted, the ratings would explode!

The CIA dealing drugs!

She took out the videotape and then hurriedly ran to the director's office, oblivious to a coworker looking at her through narrowed eyes.

As the old saying goes, don't put all your eggs in one basket. "The Clown" Jeff Bennett, of course, didn't send the videotape to just one TV station.

He also sent it to neighboring countries like the United States, Panama, Brazil, and Colombia, all prearranged and affordably priced.

He even contacted local tabloids to leak some of the "insider" details about the CIA dealing drugs; major publications might fear repercussions, but tabloids chase sales.

On July 22nd, the day after the explosion,

An American magazine called All-American Online published an article titled "The CIA! The Hidden Hand Behind North America's Drug Trade!"

It sold over 600,000 copies that day, setting a record for this miscellaneous publication. The elated publisher had his staff work overtime.

Other periodicals, upon seeing this, ran with the story, barely changing a few words before releasing it.

Suddenly, the rumor spread like wildfire.

The CIA's reputation stunk up the street.

Americans are truly fearless when it comes to making money. I pay my taxes on time, so what can you do to me?

Of course, the CIA couldn't do anything to you outright. Three hours after the news went viral, they held a press conference.

Director William Webster spoke gravely, "This is persecution and slander. The CIA absolutely would never do such a thing. We would not allow drugs to flow into the United States, how is that any different from shooting our own mother?"

Two hours after the press conference, at 9 p.m. American Time on July 22nd, the owner of All-American Online was killed in a hit-and-run in front of a burger joint.

The driver mistook the gas pedal for the brake.

Besides him, there was a news commentator named Robert who had said this:

"The CIA has more dirt than the bacteria on my underwear. Maybe, Chief William should come and lick my underwear."

Hmm…

He was found dead in his bathroom on the night of the 23rd, having accidentally suffocated with his underwear over his head while seeking thrills with a prostitute—an accidental death.

Shortly thereafter, many media personnel became "well-behaved."

The CIA really does kill people!

Everyone knew who did it, but there was no evidence, the police declared it suicide.

…

Tijuana. Security department basketball court.

Victor missed a beautiful three-pointer, but Casare snatched the rebound and directly passed it to the boss, who took another three-pointer, and this time he made it.

"Boss, that's impressive, scoring 45 points solo, even Jordan would have to call you 'sir'." Casare came up with a thumbs up.

F***, who dares to try a slam dunk when the leader is playing ball?

I see your future hanging right there.

Mexicans also understand the subtleties of human relationships.

Victor smiled and waved his hand, "Don't flatter me, do I not know my own abilities? Let's take a break."

"Rest, everyone take a break," Casare shouted with his hand raised. The other employees sighed in relief; playing basketball like this, especially with the leader, was truly f***ing something.

As soon as Victor stepped off the court, his secretary handed him a towel. He wiped off his sweat and said with a smile, "I haven't exercised in a long time, I'm starting to get a belly."

"Mexico needs the boss, just as the West cannot lose the Holy City." Casare's mouth will surely get him somewhere eventually.

"How's the CIA drug trafficking issue making out in the United States?"

Jason Bourne's head popped up out of nowhere, "The grasshoppers that jumped out have all been squashed by the CIA, a total of seven news publication heads died, all accidental deaths."

"Rough, they're rough with their operations, silencing people as soon as there's any disagreement," Victor shook his head.

"Boss, if things keep going this way, the CIA will definitely wiggle out of the media pressure."

"Haven't the FBI and DEA stepped on them?"

It's well-known that intelligence agencies are notorious for their infighting. Take for instance, in June 1972, when CIA agent Howard Hunt submitted a request to the agency saying, "Urgently need an expert in picking locks, preferably a retired agent." The request was quickly approved, and the outcome was the "Watergate incident."

There are many such instances; for example, the Kennedy assassination, where it was said that both agencies knew something but kept bickering due to their internal conflicts.

"I've contacted Mr. Jonathan Pannier from the DEA, but he said they currently have no evidence," Casare said.

At that statement, Victor laughed, "Since when do we need evidence to take action? If the DEA needs a solid chain of evidence, that's easy, just fabricate some from Sonora State..."

"Won't that implicate us?"

"The Drug Enforcement Department and DEA conduct a joint operation. On the morning of July 25th, evidence of CIA smuggling is found on the banks of the Sonora River, resulting in the killing of two Sinaloa Drug Cartel leaders," Victor took a sip of water. "What do you think about that?"

Um...

It's only the 23rd now.

Isn't "reversing time" quite simple for people with power?

"Leave this to me, I'll handle it well," Jason Bourne volunteered.

"What we need now is for the CIA to be in turmoil. If he causes me unhappiness, I'll make sure they suffer and fight among themselves. Only then will we have time to develop at our own pace."

"Boss..." Jason Bourne opened his mouth.

"What is it? Is there something you can't say?" Victor asked with a frown.

"We've run out of funds for this quarter..."

"Pfft..."

Casare spat out his water in surprise, "Gone! Didn't we just approve 7 million US dollars?"

Other employees looked over, and he quickly lowered his voice, "You didn't go and buy 9,000 dollar pens and 20,000 dollar wheelchairs, did you?"

Jason Bourne smiled sheepishly, "We've been expanding our operations and have recruited nearly 2,000 overseas employees recently, so our expenses have been high."

It's well-known that intelligence agencies are notorious money pits.

For instance, the DCI declassified CIA's 1998 fiscal year intelligence budget: 26.7 billion US dollars, exceeding 20 billion for ten consecutive years. And with that kind of money, they still find it inadequate.

They need to engage in smuggling and arms trading just to fill the gaps, spending more than the military budgets of some countries.

The Mexico International News Department has only burned through less than 100 million US dollars of Victor's funds, which is already considered decent. Mainly the agency relies on fabricating talent; otherwise, with such little money, you couldn't even set up a framework.

"How much more do you need?"

"We'll need about 50 million US dollars for this year. Besides North America, we plan to set up some offices in South America. Moreover, we need to infiltrate some high-level members of the CIA and FBI in the second half of the year, which also involves a considerable amount of money," Jason Bourne was counting on his fingers.

"Okay, okay, okay!" Victor made a timeout gesture and took a deep breath, "Prepare the documents, and I'll sign them tomorrow."

Jason Bourne was very pleased.

Upon hearing this, Casare next to him, his eyes turned red, "Boss, should we also approve some funds for infrastructure? I plan to build a major airport on Guadalupe Island."

"An airport? I think raising chickens is more likely; there's no money, no money."

Casare grew anxious, "Then, shouldn't we allocate more funds to the entertainment industry? We need to advance our sports and culture sector, and the funds are not sufficient."

Hearing about the need for money, other agency heads leaned in as well.

"Yeah, boss, I think our municipal departments also need funding."

"Director, our PR division needs money too. The drug prohibition cause needs a lot of promotion, and the TV station is in quite a bit of debt," another chimed in.

Money! Money! Money!

They're all f***ing here for money.

Victor was getting a bit frustrated, his eyebrows knitted, "Stop!"

Everyone immediately quieted down.

Looking at them with their eyes red with greed, Victor also felt a headache coming on. "Fine, bring over the documents tomorrow, I want to see just how you plan to spend the money!"

He needed to talk to his "finance minister" Best and see how much they could afford to give.

Without money...

A lot of industries just can't get things done.