Working as a police officer in Mexico

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A tiny bit of uranium-238 is enough to "wipe out the whole family"!

What kind of stuff are you made of.

You little prick, you even dare to play with this.

You're like Lu Bu riding on Dian Wei—bravery on top of bravery.

But even Best was impressed by the Soviet's "money talks, who cares if the world's in chaos" attitude.

Bro, although you've gone to pot, you can't drag us down with you.

This is no good!

If the five good men find out, there's going to be a bloodbath.

Best, furious, kicked Cironimus in the head, and it wasn't a light one; you could hear the sound of his neck breaking.

He folded up the pick-up slip neatly and hid it in his pocket.

He would inform Victor right away.

The headache should be left for him to deal with.

You know what to do if you get into trouble, right?

First, calmly smoke a cigarette, then think about how to make others pass the buck.

After all, the boss can handle it.

As soon as Best stepped out of the cafe with his bodyguards, they walked straight into two cops who had come running over after hearing the gunshots; they hadn't intended to arrest anyone and were taking their sweet time getting there.

With not even a few hundred bucks a month, you barely have the energy to fight.

As result, they ran into each other.

Big brother, don't you guys run after firing a gun?

The group stared at each other, and Best's face tensed up as he reached into his coat.

"Get down! Get down!" The two cops thought he was going to pull a gun and started yelling loudly.

This was much gentler than the Yanks; they would have emptied their clips and gone on administrative leave by now.

"Don't panic, banknotes, banknotes," Best said in broken Russian.

When someone arrives in a strange era, the first two foreign languages they pick up are either for cursing or about money; the former concerns their dear mother, the latter, their own interests.

Seeing the rubles, the two cops glanced at each other; one went over to take the money while the other stood guard with his gun.

Hey, still very cautious.
Continue your adventure at empire

Best's face was all smiles. After they took the money and waved him off, he even bowed graciously to them before leaving with his bodyguards.

As he passed by the cops, his smile vanished, reverting to a deadpan expression.

He rushed back to the hotel urgently and told his bodyguards, "Don't bother me unless it's something big."

After locking the door behind him, even double-locking it, he pulled out his satellite phone and dialed Victor's number directly.

Hair on fire with urgency, finally, someone picked up on the other end.

"Hello~"

"Sir, I have something I need to report to you."

Tijuana.

Victor looked out the window at the street, finding a special kind of pleasure in the night.

Mexico is seven hours behind the Soviet Union; while they bask in broad daylight, here it's time for a midnight pee.

When he heard that an Italian businessman was working for an intelligence agency and had purchased an unspecified amount of uranium-238, Victor's first thought was whether those dumbasses would know how to store it?

In World War II, because Italy had no warehouse to store medicine, they piled hundreds of tons of explosives in the middle of the city at St. Nazaro Church. When lightning struck the church's spire... one-fifth of the city was instantly destroyed by the explosion, resulting in a large number of civilian casualties.

"What do they want this for? Aren't they best known for their POW camps?" Victor said jokingly as he sipped his coffee, seemingly amused.

In North Africa, the British Army had so many Italian prisoners of war to deal with that they couldn't build POW camps fast enough, so they just gave the Italian POWs raw materials and let them build their own camps and lock themselves up.

A traditional craft.

"You go and say it, a delivered good shouldn't be refused if it's free."

Best hesitated, "Boss, we can't handle this stuff in Mexico."

He spoke very euphemistically.

Don't bring disaster upon yourself.

What's Mexico, what are you, don't think too highly of yourself just because you're the renowned Northern Governor now.

If you dare to mess around with this in North America.

The Yanks will stop their Persian Gulf operations and turn their carriers around to come after you.

"You think I'm Italian?" Victor's scornful laugh was unmistakable, an unhidden mockery, as if someone's incapability wasn't enough, they had to leave unfinished business too.

"Ideally, someone should come to pick me up, sir. I have a feeling the Italians won't let this go!" Best said worriedly.

"Don't worry, I'll send someone to meet you. Once you get the goods, leave the Soviet area immediately. You don't want to be caught by the KGB; that would surely end badly for you. It's best not to go pick it up yourself, find a third party."

"Be safe."

"Understood."

After hanging up the phone, Best took a deep breath, his brows drawn tightly together as he gestured the bodyguard to come in, eyeing him intently.

The bodyguard felt somewhat awkward under his stare.

No way...

Could it be the boss has some peculiar hobby that nobody knows about?

"Take this pick-up slip and go..."

Meanwhile, Victor, looking up at the waning moon, felt that troublesome times lay ahead.

He would, of course, never want that thing for himself.

But he could use it as a bargaining chip.

For example...

To call Pearson, the senior assistant at the FBI for North America, secretary to Director Floyd I. Clarke.

The same person who came last time to take Uday away.

When Pearson heard from him, he was startled, but quickly replied with a laugh, "Governor Victor is a rare caller; you don't often look for me."

"I think Mexico should have closer ties with the FBI," Victor said with a smile, getting straight to the point, "I know you guys want to show the CIA a bit of color..."

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