Coming out of the interrogation room.
Casare still wore a look of shock on his face.
What Raúl Salinas had just said completely shattered his worldview.
He pressed the radio in his hand.
Zzzzz—
After the interference came Raúl's voice.
"The Salinas family began working with Mexico's first-generation drug lord Avilés 50 years ago. Back then, my father was a congressman."
…
"Every year there was more than $1.6 million in income. That was 1967. We used that money to bribe other officials and slowly grow the family."
"We weren't the first to cooperate with traffickers, and we won't be the last. Mexico is beyond saving! Beyond saving! Beyond saving!"
…
"We've never cared who leads Mexico's cartels. As long as our annual cut doesn't shrink, whoever can make money for us is the 'head'!"
…
"And you think we're the only ones behind a cartel? No way! Heh heh…" Raúl's mocking laugh came through the radio, like a duck. "Besides us, there are Americans! We work for them… the CIA is—"
Before he could finish, there was a knocking sound.
That was the boss knocking him out.
The boss's voice came through cold. "Cut that last line out."
Casare's brow twitched hard. He thought of the way Raúl lifted his head, eyes locked on them, and knew he was telling the truth.
His family had been farmers too.
As a kid he watched his father sigh over the fields. He couldn't understand why those golden ears of corn, which looked so delicious, couldn't fetch a price.
When he grew up, he gradually understood. Mexico was America's dumping ground. Farmers at home could only plant other cash crops. But he still yearned for that country.
Because…
That was heaven.
He'd naively wanted to live to a hundred, collect insurance, then slip off to the U.S. Then his next generation could become American. But now you tell me that the country of my dreams is pulling this kind of stunt.
In an instant, it felt like the whole sky collapsed.
"What are you thinking?"
A cigarette was passed over.
To his surprise, tears ran down Casare's face. He turned his head and saw Victor with a cigarette between his teeth. "Boss, is Mexico really beyond saving?"
"Are we dead?" Victor looked at him, smiling. "Not yet."
"This is the world: some revel in the night, some set their hearts on the light. We're not dead, so we can still fight. But when your enemy is too strong, you lower your head first. No one sleeps with eyes open every day. One day we'll bite a piece of 'freedom' off its hide!"
Is CIA involvement with drugs a secret after the millennium?
Their ties to narcotics began during the Cold War. To counter pro-Soviet regimes in Latin America, the CIA operated extensively, propping up all sorts of criminal forces including trafficker militias.
In Latin America, traffickers suppressed by pro-Soviet regimes began using drug money to buy arms from the CIA. In practice this evolved into a simple drugs-for-guns trade.
The CIA had roughly 20,000 employees, but their annual budget of nearly $50 billion was far from enough. So some people found "not so honorable" ways to secure their own interests.
It took until 1996 for the lid to lift, when an American, Gary Webb, tore open a piece of the blackout curtain, exposing that the CIA spun a drug web inside the U.S., secretly hiring traffickers to sell massive amounts of drugs to the public.
On December 10, 2004, the never-silent Gary Webb died under mysterious circumstances—two gunshots to the head.
After a thorough and fair investigation, U.S. police ruled it a suicide, committed with a police-issue .38-caliber revolver.
Suicide… with two shots.
Sounds familiar.
And it's said that when DEA agent Camarena was killed by traffickers, CIA agents were present. It can't be verified, but from 1985 on you could clearly feel the bad blood between the two agencies.
They'll eat their own fruit sooner or later!
But to say all of America's top brass are tied to drugs would be an exaggeration. After all, drugs are high-profit, not high-interest—a market worth at most a few hundred billion a year.
Hell, people selling shoes move trillions a year. Most importantly, they control the arms market.
For true big players, the drug business is way too low.
But it can't be denied plenty are entangled. For Victor right now, they're simply behemoths!
"In the drug war, we've never fought alone, pal! Mexico needs us. Latin America needs us. The world needs us!" Victor patted Casare's shoulder lightly.
"While there's life, there's fight!"
The CIA wants to mess with him now, but he stood on the anti-drug side. He couldn't exactly start a war over his small role, could he?
The Bear had collapsed, but it wasn't dead yet.
This was the best time to build forces.
Victor had to draw in more power before the Bear's final fall.
…
Raúl Salinas being kidnapped in broad daylight from a café in Mexico City was something everyone with a name knew.
And three days later.
In a small village outside Mexico City, someone found a man's corpse tied to a tree. On it was written: Please respect the law! Respect civilians!
The peasants were scared half to death and called the police. When officers arrived, they realized—wasn't this Raúl Salinas?
They hurried to report it up the chain.
Carlos didn't come—his secretary did. Looking at the nearly rotting body, the secretary couldn't help pinching his nose.
"He's been dead about three days, and it's clear he was tortured before death," the medical examiner said.
The secretary let out a long sigh. This was really going to be bad.
As he was about to leave, the lead captain called him back and handed him a letter. "This was found on Mr. Raúl's body. I haven't read it."
A provocation?
The secretary lifted a brow. He had a cleanliness obsession. He took a disposable glove from his briefcase and accepted it.
Back at the residence.
In the office.
Carlos Salinas stood with his back to the door, gazing at the family photo on the wall—three brothers with arms around each other, smiling broadly. Carlos still had hair then.
"Sir," the secretary called softly.
"How is it?" Carlos spoke. Even holding it down, his voice trembled. Clearly he was praying for that shred of hope.
"It's Mr. Raúl Salinas."
Carlos let out a long sigh…
"There's also a letter, found on him." The secretary set it on the desk and, seeing no response, slowly stepped out.
When the door shut, the office went dark.
Carlos lifted his head—and realized he was crying? He walked to the desk and tore open the envelope—his hands were shaking.
On the paper was a single line: Please die with your drugs. Don't cry. You're next. — The Nemesis of Evil!
Only an idiot leaves a real name.
"Victor!" Carlos crushed the paper in his hand, teeth clenched as a wave of scorn hit him in the face.
(End of Chapter)
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