Chapter 76 Our Road Is Full of Hope!

"Victor Carlos Vieri!!!"

In a luxurious villa in Victoria City, the capital of Tamaulipas, a muffled, angry curse can be heard.

Juan Garcia Abrego, who is short, fat and sturdy, has a dark face, and the scars left on his face by the gunfight are faintly trembling.

The boss of the drug cartel that has transformed the Gulf Group from a smuggling gang to an international drug cartel has not been so angry for a long time.

He is not sad about Claudia Abrego's death. She is just a cousin. If she dies, she dies. What he is sad about is the batch of goods. They were shipped to San Francisco. The local sales network has begun to distribute the goods, the drug addicts have been contacted, and the CIA has arranged everything.

The goods have not been loaded on the truck yet.

That is worth 100 million US dollars.

Although it will not hurt his bones, the loss is enough to make him heartbroken.

To retaliate!

If every policeman is as ungrateful as Victor, won't he have to worry about his own transportation safety in the future?

In 1988, the United States and Mexico jointly fought against drugs. Abrego had a shipload of goods shipped from the port of Guadalajara to Seattle, the United States, but it was disrupted by two policemen, resulting in the loss of 2 tons of goods. The United States also paid a lot of money.

A week later, the two policemen and their relatives, a total of 17 people, were found in a trash can.

You can imagine how bad 17 people have to be to fit into a trash can?

This incident made the Mexican government lose face, but what can they do?

Even the news media dared not report it.

The goods can be lost, but the face must not be lost.

"Ahem...Garcia, don't let anger ruin your reason."

An old man with a hunched back was pushed in in a wheelchair. Abrego stood up and signaled the medical staff to let go when he saw the man. He pushed the wheelchair himself and lowered his head, "Uncle, why are you here?"

This is his uncle, Juan Nepomson, the founder of the Gulf Group. Because he was willing to spend a lot of money to find a protective umbrella and occasionally gave some money to charity, he was imprisoned for no more than a day in his life.

This big man who fought during the Prohibition period in the United States has a unique personal charm and life experience. He cultivated his nephew Abrego, who led the Gulf Group to become a comprehensive drug trafficking organization.

In Abrego's mind, Juan Nepomson is the only person he respects.

"The disinfectant in the hospital smells too strong. I don't like it. If I have to die, I would rather die at home." Nepomson said with a smile, and coughed hard without taking a breath.

Abrego hurriedly stroked his back.

"Garcia, I spent my whole life learning to be careful. Women and children can be careless, but men can't."

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

Abrego nodded. Just as he was about to tell his uncle about it, Nepomson shook his hand and said, "I'm old. You don't have to tell me. Just make your own decision."

"The only thing I have to do is wait for death." Nepomson smiled self-deprecatingly, patted his nephew's hand, and then signaled the nurse to push him to rest.

Looking at his uncle's back, Abrego's eyes were particularly firm.

"Uncle, the Gulf Cartel will never sink!"

He took a deep breath and called his confidant to ask him to offer a reward of 5 million US dollars for Victor's head.

Let those "mercenaries" who only recognize money but not people go to explore the bottom first.

Money, drug cartels have plenty!

...

At this time, Victor took people to investigate Guadalupe Island.

He planned to build an airport!

"Boss, do we need to build an airport in this remote place? Can't we just take a ferry to the other side?" Casare followed Victor panting, propped up his knees, and glanced at a middle-aged man walking in front.

That was the designer hired by the boss.

In fact, it was the professional talent exchanged by Victor. Such professional matters must be handed over to professionals. The academic qualifications of those who engage in "violent" activities are not even as long as his leg hair.

What do you know about design?

He knows a little about shooting.

When he customized the character, because he didn't know what skills the designer needed, he directly chose the template of an outstanding student of the "Paris National School of Advanced Arts and Design", which had more than a dozen professional skills and qualities.

It cost nearly 200,000 points!

The salary has to be paid every month.

But at least it is more reliable than finding someone outside, and I will find them when I build a bunker on the island in the future.

"You have to lose weight. You have been eating too well recently. Your stomach is almost drooping to the ground." Victor looked back at him and said with a smile.

Casare poked his belly with a wry smile, "It's not that Guadalupe Island is governed peacefully by you, Boss, that I dare to go out to eat takeout at night, so of course I'm fat, this is called safe fat."

Why don't you call "Victor Fat!"

Who said Latin Americans are straightforward?

Aren't there also "sweet talkers" here?

But Victor was very happy to hear it.

"Casare, you have to broaden your horizons. We have only eliminated the drug dealers in Guadalupe Island, but what about Mexico? What about the whole of Latin America? Even many countries in the world are still living in drug crimes. We should treat them equally. We need weapons that can physically eliminate them from a long distance..."

Casare was stunned.

No, Boss, are you serious?

So fraternity?

Go to the Vatican in the future and let the Pope and others believe you.

"Boss, they are just drug dealers, not warlords. Is it necessary to use airplanes? I think it would be better to increase the number of artillery, and it shouldn't be our turn to fight drugs in other countries, right?"

Victor smiled mysteriously. He knew some things.

The International Narcotics Control Agency of the United Nations, which was later commonly known as the "Drug Control Agency", will be established on December 12, 1990. Such an agency always needs a certain amount of "military support".

Otherwise, how can we fight drugs?

When Victor's position is high, he will have the power to represent Mexico to join.

Global drug fight is everyone's responsibility!

Uncle Victor has no choice but to do it!

"To deal with barbarians, we have to be as rude as barbarians. Casare, do you know what the two types of people in this world are most likely to accept change?"

The other party shook his head.

"Rich people and criminals."

"If you tell them that there are longevity genes in feces, the latter will rack their brains to kidnap medical talents to extract substances they don't even know from feces, and then sell them to rich people who want to live longer."

"You know, criminals will do anything to make money. There may be a plane full of drugs in the clouds above our heads, which will be scattered from Mexico to the whole world. If there is a plane, we can blow them up!"

"Didn't Best say that Juarez also formed a killer team? Maybe it won't be long before all the drug cartels in Mexico have to upgrade their forces. Maybe... they will even have fighter jets!"

Casare opened his mouth halfway when he heard such a "bold" idea.

He knew that drug dealers had some jets, which were used to spread pesticides in Latin America.

But in fact, Casare was still "short-sighted".

Given the current situation, it may not take half a year for Mexican drug cartels to gradually change into "warlord" organizations.

The work of drug eradication will become more and more difficult.

This dull topic even made Casare feel "tired" and he opened his mouth, "Boss, if it is so difficult, why do we still do it?"

"There must be someone holding a torch in the dark, in order to tell everyone that there is a way ahead and they should move forward, so that when they die, there will be a sentence engraved on their tombstone: He is trying to change the world and never gives up."

Victor looked at him, "And... I am a policeman!"

It rained flowers in the sky, Casare looked up, and he suddenly thought of the way he swore to the national flag in school.

At that time...

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

Later...

He was afraid, cowardly, and he prayed that the drug dealers could bypass him.

But now when Victor appeared, his heart was like a seed trying hard to emerge.

Why doesn't he want to be a good policeman?

"Boss, but we only have more than 200 people." Casare murmured.

"More people will join us!"

"Starting from Guadalupe Island, I plan to open a civilian police school on the island, recruiting students aged 14 to 19, and then replenish our police force with fresh blood. The site is right next to the beach, where there is an empty factory left by drug dealers. You can go to the TV station to post a notice and let all islanders know."

People of this age, if you integrate them with the feelings of home and country, they will become the new generation of Mexico.

Victor did not plan to change this country in a few years.

Killing is simple, a bullet takes a few tenths of a second, but to build a country, it takes one or even two generations.

"I will be the principal, and you will be the vice principal, and Kennedy will be the military training instructor of the school. When they come out, they must at least be proficient in using NATO standard weapons and tactics."

Looking at Victor who was talking freely.

Casare didn't know what to say.

Boss, are you training "police auxiliary personnel" or "Mexican soldiers"?

But if it really develops as the boss envisions.

Invasion of Mexico...

No, it should be "Vuestro emperador ha vuelto." (Your emperor is back)."

...