Working as a police officer in Mexico

If Rommel were in front of him, Victor would definitely grab his shoulders and say,

"Get a grip!"

"Don't be reckless."

"Hold steady!"

He sat in the chair, smoking a Camel, in an office filled with many people, all smokers. Casare couldn't stand it anymore and went to open the window, leaning out to breathe in some fresh air.

When men are together, it's either about women or cigarettes, drinking or national affairs.

"What does the staff think?" Victor asked.

Horatio Herbert Kitchener had a few strands of white hair at his temples, aged not by years but by hard work, his eyes opening to battle plans for hundreds of thousands of troops every day.

Do you think it's easy being a staff officer?

If it were easy, they wouldn't have a department all to themselves.

An average of less than six hours of sleep…

It's okay for a short time, but tough to sustain in the long run.

Hearing the general's inquiry, Horatio Herbert Kitchener stood up and walked over to the hanging map, "There's a good chance, but luring drug traffickers is like fishing; you have to make them bite the bait, or else… they are more cautious than anyone."

You can't afford not to be cautious.

Those who are reckless are dead beyond dead.

"Do you have a battle plan?"

"We can start with intelligence, provide them with information on the whereabouts of 'Rommel's' headquarters, then guide them to carry out a decapitation strike, and afterward, slowly advance the Fourth Marine Division, even shrink the battle zone, create an illusion to draw them ashore."

Erich Ludendorff frowned, "The most crucial point now is how to lure them into decapitating Rommel."

The office went quiet.

Vic's eyebrows suddenly rose, and he took a deep drag of his half-smoked cigarette, "I remember we have someone inside the Institutional Party, right?"

George Smiley nodded, "The deputy director of the Mexican Intelligence Bureau is our man."

"He has provided over 300 pieces of intelligence to our military, including information from the Tijuana intelligence branch and the traitors within the army, and most importantly, he is a key player in the decapitation strike on Popovich."

!!!

Indeed, who in the world isn't connected to Vic!

The people under him are really capable; Victor doesn't even know where all the spies are planted.

Soviet Union?

Ah San?

South Korea?

Japan?

Maybe all of the above…

Victor can give those people everything they want!

Power, wealth, even the so-called women, someone always has a weakness, and once the Intelligence Bureau has their sights on it, just dipping into those waters once means it's not easy to escape their clutches afterward.

It's said…

The Golden Triangle is also slowly being infiltrated.

In this business of intelligence warfare, it's fair to say, Mexico is at the forefront.

Even more so than the prostate!

"We just need him to create a piece of intelligence, placing the location of Rommel and the proposal to bomb him right in front of Popovich, facing this piece of meat, he is bound to be tempted," George Smiley took a deep breath, not forgetting to brown-nose.

"Popovich doesn't have your tactical acumen and strategic vision, General."

Casare, standing by the window, suddenly tightened up.

Geez…

Another one!

Victor laughed heartily upon hearing this; he enjoyed being flattered by others but thank goodness, he wasn't as self-absorbed as Xunzong.

"Then let's leave it to the Intelligence Agency and the staff, with Kitchener as chief of staff!"

"Operation name: Operation Mincemeat!"

After the decision was made, a group of people went down to prepare.

Only Casale and Victor were left in the office.

"Boss, shall we go see Caesar tonight?"

The latter hesitated, also missing the little guy a bit, "Let's go."

Fat Casare giggled and rubbed his hands, "I've been watching 'The Godfather' movies recently, learning how to be a good godfather."

Watching mafia movies… and learning?

Victor cursed jokingly and finally sighed, "Time really flies; I'm now 30. I remember you're two years older than me."

"32 now, and in a few months, I'll be 33."

"Then you better hurry and find someone; I don't want to see you alone in the future."

Casale laughed and shook his head.

"You're not still fixating on that woman in her forties, are you?" Victor suddenly said, looking intently at him, and Fat Casare's expression was noticeably… embarrassed?

Screwed!

He suddenly sat up straight, "You can't be serious!"

"She's married!"

"I heard her marriage isn't very happy..."

Victor burst out laughing, "So she'd be happy with you?"

"I can't guarantee that, but I'm definitely better than that scumbag husband of hers."

"Her husband is a strong candidate for the next President."

"My boss is still the man in charge of Mexico."

Well put, that praise left Victor not knowing how to react, slightly embarrassed.

Despite having punched the other man a few times on the battlefield, Victor understood that in terms of influence and overall national power, they aren't just a little different.

At Yalta, the Big Three, the United Kingdom became a second-tier nation after Churchill's death, bullying some small countries, with the Cold War between the Soviet Union and the United States heading towards its final showdown.

The U.S. was very likely to win.

By then, with the Soviet Union on its last legs, Diane Rodham, as the First Lady of the United States, would wield tremendous power, even a classic example of "backstage politicking."

What can you use to compete with her husband?

Casale furrowed his brow, "I know the impossibility here, but if her husband suddenly has a short life like Kennedy, then why couldn't I marry my Jacqueline."