Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 904 - 476: Vic's Small Step, Justice's Giant Leap!_2

President Clinton's private bodyguard Richie Miller was parachuted into the Special Service.

He became the only person not from the official selection who rose to this position. Once in power, he acted decisively, leveraging his connections to directly pull in two teams of SEAL special forces, who temporarily became President Clinton's bodyguards.

Now…

No one believes it!

Meanwhile, Albert Gore's visit to Cuba came with a team of his own.

"Sir, sir, could you tell us if the United States is ready for negotiations? If the ceasefire agreement isn't confirmed and Mexico fires weapons toward Wall Street, are you prepared for that?"

"Mr. Albert, how do you view the North American situation and the global situation..."

Journalists hurled their questions one after another, but Albert Gore and Chief of Staff Angel Urenia walked into the building with solemn faces, acting as if they hadn't heard a word.

Their expressions looked terrible...

Field... wasn't there to greet them!

Not even the Mexican representatives showed up.

Fuck!

The two were furious, but they also knew that this wasn't the time to flip the table.

Walking inside, a faint aroma lingered in the air. Raul Moders, standing to the side, chuckled and said, "This is a closed-door consultation meeting. Aside from the United States, representatives from all other observer delegations have arrived."

The words seemed casual, but for someone in a sensitive frame of mind, they carried a different weight.

Are you pointing that at me?

Saying I'm late?

Trying to put me in my place?

So the Vice President grimly stayed silent, leaving Angel Urenia to step forward and respond with a few polite phrases.

Raul Moders cast a sidelong glance at the Yanks, his face still carrying a smile, though inwardly, he chuckled coldly: Once Cuba and Mexico officially form an alliance, your Gulf of Mexico will be completely choked off at its outlet. Then where will you go?

Swallow up Canada?

As for San Diego... Raul Moders, being in the upper echelons, was well aware. Those Mexicans had their eyes on that juicy piece of meat all along.

Thump thump~

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed, signifying not just physical weight but also the heavy hearts of the Americans.

As they approached the reception hall's doors, the guards outside, hearing the noise, pushed them open, letting out a wave of stifling heat.

Albert Gore's eyelid twitched, a strange bout of nervousness creeping through him—more intense than when he was campaigning for Vice President.

He took a deep breath and exchanged a glance with Angel.

"Let's go!"

With chests puffed up, they walked in.

Inside, there were two long tables facing each other, resembling a debate setup. The wide gap in between—what for? Afraid someone might throw a punch across the tables?

The United Nations Observers, consisting of representatives from the UK, France, Germany, China, Italy, and Russia, sat below. Leading the delegation was Secretary-General Boutros Gali himself—he had no choice. The US-Mexico conflict had severely disrupted the global order...

The worst economic crisis and war crisis since World War II had both erupted.

As for wars in Africa?

Have you ever seen tribal wars impact nations?

When the American representatives entered, Boutros Gali and several others stood up out of courtesy. Some familiar faces even greeted them.

Albert Gore politely responded...

But when his gaze landed on the Mexicans opposite, his expression darkened. Casare, Goebbels, Kennedy, and the others remained seated, their subordinates doing the same, looking at them mockingly.

Their gazes met in mid-air, and everyone could almost hear the crackling tension.

Secretary-General Boutros Gali sensed trouble and coughed lightly. "Gentlemen, this meeting is held under the witness of the United Nations to sign the ceasefire agreement..."

Before he could finish, a loud slap on the table resounded.

Bang!

It startled him, and he turned to see Casare standing up. Wearing an informal outfit, he squinted his eyes and smirked sarcastically, "Respected Secretary-General, Mexico has already been voted out of the United Nations. So, are you inviting us back in?"

"Secondly, while we agree to sign the ceasefire agreement, the terms are still under discussion. Let's not jump the gun."

Boutros Gali's eye twitched...

Motherfucker!

He'd never encountered someone so utterly devoid of diplomatic etiquette.

Civilized? Where's the civility?

The Pacific Ocean winds… what kind of savages have they bred...

And these savages controlled nukes, for God's sake...

"Casare, mind your words!" Angel snapped, both angry and humiliated.

"Oh? That's just how I talk. Like it or not, if you don't like it, get the hell out. Wait until Wall Street's bombed—let's see if those capitalists won't turn you into a crippled dog!"

"Then even your aging mother will have to be dragged out to turn tricks, and your wife and kids will have their limbs hacked off and be thrown onto the streets to beg. Heh!"

Angel, meeting Casare for the first time, was incensed to the point of fury, but he also knew that if he turned and walked out, Wall Street executives would undoubtedly kill him.

Yet, he stubbornly said, "Nonsense."

"Then go ahead and try."

The standoff escalated, and the atmosphere grew unbearably tense.

"Casare, for my sake..." A Brit couldn't hold back and spoke up.

"Your sake?"

Fat Casare looked over disdainfully, his gaze dripping with scorn. "Your 'sake' isn't even worth toilet paper. Come talk to me when your Navy has aircraft carriers."

The Brit trembled with rage.

Casare didn't really understand diplomacy, but he knew one thing: it was no different from gangster tactics. Sit down, have tea, and talk. Disagree? Flip the table. Agree? Then it's all smiles. What, just because you're wearing a suit, it means you've transcended violence?