Working as a police officer in Mexico

The world really is abuzz!

Richard von Weizsäcker broke the first brick of the Berlin Wall, heralding the reunification of Germany, which the Cold War had split into two nations!

Africa was still riddled with gunfire, with people unable to get enough to eat.

The situation in the Middle East became increasingly perilous, with Lebanon raising the banner of vengeance.

And in Asia…

The Tamil Eelam Tigers Organization launched another terrorist attack, injuring 79 foreign tourists in Sri Lanka, 21 of whom died.

While in the United States, CIA headquarters were blown up, and the senior assistant, the Director's secretary, and North America senior consultant Steven Steve were affected by the explosion and declared dead three hours after being hospitalized.

The world indeed seemed like a makeshift theater, and indeed, the biggest solution to problems seemed to be using violence.

The White House.

Old Bush's forehead was visibly throbbing with veins. The President, known as "gentleman," was now looking at CIA's Richard James Curl across from him with eyes shooting fire.

Sitting smugly to the side with arms crossed was FBI's Floyd I. Clarke.

If he could speak Chinese, he'd probably sing a cheery tune right about now.

As long as his opponent is down, he is happy.

Floyd I. Clarke didn't even know why he disliked the CIA.

Perhaps...

That was the FBI's mission!

Bang!

Old Bush clenched his fist and slammed it onto the table so hard that the pen holder next to it was knocked onto the floor. "Where the hell were you when this happened?!"

"I…I was being protected by security personnel and had to leave," Richard James Curl stammered, his face reddening. Seeing the increasingly hostile look on the other's face, and not knowing what came over him, he blurted out, "I know who the culprit is!"

Old Bush's eyes widened, and FBI's Floyd turned his head in bemusement.

"It's Victor! Victor from Mexico!"

"Where's the evidence?" Old Bush squinted at him, expressionless.

Richard James Curl's face turned red—he had no damn evidence; it was as if he'd blurted out the accusation by some freak chance, "Steven had sworn to Jesus that as long as he lived, Victor could never betray the United States, but now that he's dead, that means..."

"Enough!"

Old Bush couldn't take it anymore.

Floyd's expression relaxed, he thought his own "merit" was being stolen away. It turned out to be some "metaphysics."

The FBI had a good relationship with Victor, and wouldn't mind speaking a few "fair words" for its little brother.

"Our relations with Mexico are very good, and Victor has a lot of respect for us. Your speculation can easily cause adverse effects, how would the outside world see us? The CIA Director of the United States is a superstitious fraud?!"

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Richard clenched his teeth as he watched him.

"Just like that…" Old Bush was about to speak, when the phone on the table rang, his teeth ached whenever he heard the phone now, but he answered it anyway.

Whatever was said on the other end made his gaze fall on Richard, and the CIA boss became restless.

"I understand."

Old Bush hung up the phone, "Suicide bombings have occurred at CIA headquarters in South America, North America, Central America, and the Sahel region. Along with British and French intelligence personnel, a total of 67 people are dead..."

"And…"

"An Argentina newspaper reports CIA involvement in underground human trafficking of women!"

"And all these attacks were by an organization known as 'Black Death'... F***! Sitting in that position, do you open your eyes each day only thinking about eating?!"

Human trafficking?

Floyd's eyes widened as he stared at the other side.

Richard's hands trembled, his pupils constricted, hissing, "Sir, you know about the CIA better than I do."

Silence!

Utter silence!

Floyd shifted in his seat. Were these words meant for his ears?

Richard's implication was clear, "Boss, these problems were there when you were at the CIA, so don't pretend, if I'm dirty, you can't be clean."

"You should know what you're talking about, Richard," Old Bush crossed his arms.@@novelbin@@

"Get out!" Before Richard could speak, the President exploded with curses and even threw documents from the table at him, "Get out!"

Richard clutched his head and fled in disarray.

"You're in charge of this matter, Floyd."

"Understood!"

The FBI chief straightened up, while Old Bush, feeling somewhat of a headache, massaged his temples and gestured with his hand.

Floyd cautiously walked out, only to see Richard standing outside, dispirited.

Looking at him, Floyd glanced at him, approached, and patted his shoulder, "If you're ever out of a job, come to the FBI, I'll save a Deputy Director spot for you."

Sarcastic!

Richard flared up at that, watching Floyd's retreating form, he charged at him and kicked him!

He knocked him down, got on top of him, and started pummeling him. Floyd was initially dumbfounded but quickly recuperated, taking advantage of his solid physical conditioning as a former beat cop, turned his head, grabbed Richard by the head, and pinned him under his arm.

Their glasses broke in the scuffle.

The CIA boss and the FBI's point man were brawling with each other.

The staff outside rushed to separate them.

Listening to the noise outside, Old Bush, already troubled, was furious, pulled open the door, about to scold, when he saw the two "generals" fighting, almost spurting out old blood.

"Richard! Floyd!!!"

…

Meanwhile, Victor, in the Castle Hotel, was being interviewed exclusively by the Mexican News Agency.

"Let's begin."

Agency Director Hernandez nodded at the cameraman, and the interview started.