Governor Rafael Marx was killed by drug dealers?!
According to video surveillance, two stupid thieves killed security guards and broke into city hall, looting their way up until they finally killed the governor.
This was simply absurd.
Why wasn't such an important department guarded by police?
Answer: The police had also fled.
This wasn't the first governor killed. Over the past 30 years, more than 17 governors had been killed, including 6 sitting and 11 former governors.
But this was undoubtedly a provocation to the Mexican government.
The presidential palace announced dispatching over 5,000 military police for armed anti-drug operations in the Baja California region, severely cracking down on the drug dealers' arrogance.
In all of war-torn Baja California, two places were exceptionally safe: Ensenada and Guadalupe Island.
To prevent drug dealers from entering "our territory," Victor reinforced Ensenada with 100 EDM members and over 150 "police auxiliary personnel." Besides personal weapons, they were equipped with 3 helicopters, each person carrying two Soviet-made RPO-A 93mm thermobaric rocket launchers!
This weapon primarily utilized the destructive power of vaporized cloud explosive agents absorbing oxygen from the air before instant detonation, destroying bunkers, field fortifications, urban barriers, military equipment, armored vehicles, and eliminating exposed living targets.
If you dare come, I'll blow you up!
Victor had been promoted to "Deputy Director of the Baja California Security Department." His police rank remained unchanged.
According to Alejandro, at least $400,000 in bribes were paid.
For Victor, the effect was obvious.
The original 80-person EDM was directly expanded to 200 people!
Now with money, Victor wasn't stingy. He created 20 people according to regular naval templates and placed them on the "Duke Victor."
The remaining 100 were created based on Germany's GSG9 special forces template.
He had originally wanted to use SEALs or Delta Force, but each unit's template price was different. American ones were particularly expensive. Delta Force templates each required an additional $60,000 "usage fee," not including other skills. A complete set would exceed 150,000 points per person!
This immediately infuriated Victor.
An average small drug dealer on the street was only worth about 200 points. 150,000 - how many drug dealers would that require?
But thinking about it again, could a Wall Street financial trader be the same as your stock recommendation clerk?
This was called talent!
The German GSG9 special forces were relatively cheap, with a $20,000 "usage fee," costing no more than 70,000 points per person.
But just thinking about it was terrifying. All EDM members benchmarked against Europe's most elite special police force. Germany only had about 320 such personnel. If Victor continued developing like this, he might have an entire special forces army.
The Mexican government's anti-drug operations continued for nearly three months but remained ineffective.
Instead, the death toll rose daily.
In just three months, military police deaths exceeded 700, while drug dealer deaths exceeded 1,000.
Both sides were locked in stalemate.
March 27, 1990.
Victor was inspecting his own factories. He had opened 2 garment processing factories, 1 green vegetable import-export company, and 3 agricultural product procurement companies in Ensenada.
Together they could employ over 3,000 people!
Nearly $400 million swept from drug dealers was all invested. Of course, this money was also used for infrastructure construction on Guadalupe Island, with huge gaps remaining.
Every day he opened his eyes, he had to think about money.
These factories still needed time before they could start operating.
Fortunately, six months of construction made the island completely different - at least much more suitable for human habitation.
But many projects still required money. He couldn't leave them unfinished.
He had to find a way to get some.
How about...
Go cause trouble for drug dealers?
"Boss! The head of the anti-drug force, Major General Ichagre, was blown up this morning by Juárez's Amado and his men at a massage parlor." Casare covered his mouth and said in a low voice.
Victor nodded, saying gently to the accompanying factory manager, "Looks good, but you must guarantee workers' interests. Don't allow wage deductions. After 13 hours, you must provide overtime pay."
If not for the second half of that sentence, you'd really think Victor was a great philanthropist.
13 hours - even a donkey would be exhausted.
The factory manager nodded and bowed repeatedly in agreement.
After Victor made another tour, he left the factory and got into an armored Humvee. As soon as he sat down, he asked, "Is this news true?"
"Yes, official Mexican news."
"What was a major general doing at a massage parlor?" Victor frowned.
Casare also shook his head, uncertainly saying, "Looking for prostitutes?"
Don't say - that was really possible!
"Do we have information on this General Ichagre?"
"Couldn't find much, not very complete." Casare lowered his head.
This wasn't like after the millennium with Wikipedia and such, where you could press Enter and search. Much had to be done manually, very troublesome.
But Victor also felt he should appropriately establish his own intelligence department. He couldn't rely on outside news and official intelligence for everything.
What they let you see wasn't necessarily correct, but what they didn't let you know was definitely correct.
Major General Ichagre's death was definitely not that simple. This also meant the anti-drug force was leaderless and might be pulled back for reorganization.
After fighting so long without eliminating drug dealers, he didn't know if they were truly incompetent or powerless.
Perhaps the Mexican government would have to deploy troops from elsewhere.
This was his intuition.
Returning to Ensenada city hall, Victor had just met Alejandro when the latter's eyes looked exhausted and somewhat worried. Even though he didn't usually smoke, his desk was covered with cigarette butts.
Seeing Victor, he looked up. "Victor, we may have to go suppress the drug dealers."
...
At this time, in a mansion in Mexicali.
Abrego stroked an orange cat, which closed its eyes contentedly.
"You're saying the Mexican government plans to send Victor to suppress us?"
Standing before him was a middle-aged man in a suit, his work badge still hanging on his chest, obviously having come over before getting off work.
It read: Baja California Senior Marshal Commander: José Herrera Duarte.
Hearing Abrego's question, he bent over and nodded. "I saw the document from above that said so."
When he finished speaking, a stack of dollars rolled to his feet.
José's face lit up. He didn't call but chose to come personally - wasn't it for this?
"Thank you! Thank you!"
He picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket, then left under a servant's guidance.
In the hall.
Very quiet.
Abrego suddenly clenched his hand tightly, gripping the orange cat's neck hard. It struggled desperately, claws scratching the man's hand, but he seemed to feel no pain.
After the cat was strangled, he casually threw it away and squinted.
"Victor!"
"This time let's see who victory stands with!"
Abrego was confident. By supporting El Mencho's weapon purchases, he had built a killer force of over 2,000 people, beating Juárez and Sinaloa into retreat. They were about to withdraw from competing for Baja California.
If Victor came now, Abrego would show him what fury meant.
Settle new and old accounts together!
He picked up the phone and called his subordinate El Mencho. He had kept his promise and let him go to Jalisco to organize drug trafficking.
Though he heard that kid brought all his brothers and sisters in and organized something called "Jalisco New Generation."
Abrego didn't care. As long as you obeyed and remained under the Gulf Cartel, call it whatever you want.
In Mexico, anyone could call themselves an organization.
"Boss." El Mencho's muffled voice came from the other end.
That was his nature. Abrego didn't mind. He directly demanded people. "Bring your people over. We're going to fight Victor!"
El Mencho on the other end fell silent.
Abrego's right eyelid twitched.
"Sorry, Abrego, I've decided to go solo."
"!!!"
El Mencho hung up directly after speaking.
Abrego was dumbfounded.
Wait, I asked you to come fight Victor with me, and you're going solo?
Calling me by my name directly?!
Are you that afraid of death?
He angrily stood up and smashed his phone on the ground. Besides cursing, what else could he do?
El Mencho's timing was perfect. Once Victor came, Abrego would have no time to cause him trouble. If the latter insisted on coming after him regardless, he'd have to abandon the Baja California region.
Billions of dollars in annual income, thousands of deaths - just give it up?
Did Abrego have that kind of courage?
El Mencho was very cunning. Once Victor and Abrego clashed, his Jalisco New Generation could establish roots in this territory.
He felt Abrego had no future.
Nothing felt as good as being his own boss.
He had long planned his escape route, just waiting for this moment.
(End of Chapter)
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