Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1642 - 751: Ah Men, Believe in Victor! (2)
Capítulo 1642: Chapter 751: Ah Men, Believe in Victor! (2)
Since the road in Washington has become impassable and even started to devour those “insiders” like them, is it time to consider alternative “investment” channels?
Capitalists have no nation!
At this moment, sitting inside the roaring C-130 military transport plane, jolting along the route to Gree City, Indiana, Angel Urenia wrapped himself in a thick military coat, leaning against the cold cabin wall.
After the initial shock, resistance, and panic, a sense of calm gradually occupied his mind.
He is a smart man, otherwise he wouldn’t have survived to that position in the Washington quagmire.
After the airplane took off, looking at the receding lights of Mexico City outside the window, he figured it out.
Victor put him, an “American traitor,” in this position not just for his “management skills.”
He is a living signboard, a demonstration to disintegrate the internal resistance will of the United States and to lure potential collaborators.
He is a soft knife in the hands of the Mexicans specifically used to stab Meili Ruan.
Having understood this, he ironically became calm.
Fear not if you’re useful, fear if others think you’re useless.
When you’re useful, rest assured your safety is guaranteed.
Since resistance is futile, the best he can do now is act out this drama masterfully rather than jumping off the plane.
Hahaha… Not funny at all.
Victor wouldn’t tolerate a useless traitor.
Since he’s been driven onto this ship, he can only pinch his nose and do his best as this “Helmsman.”
Moreover… if he does well, if he truly manages to turn Indiana into Mexico’s “model project” in North America, could he, Urenia, also secure a higher, more stable position in this new order?
Power and ambition are ingrained in the bones of bureaucrats and don’t easily dissipate just because the flag and allegiance change.
The plane landed at a military airport on the outskirts of Gree City, just urgently repaired by engineers. The scene before Urenia’s eyes was tense: charred aircraft wreckage piled beside the shattered runway, the city skyline in the distance shrouded in lingering smoke, air mixed with a burnt smell and a faint scent of corruption.
Escorted by guards, he was housed in a relatively intact camp beside the original state government building, now transformed into a temporary management committee and the joint command of the Mexican garrison.
That night, in his simple yet heavily guarded temporary office and bedroom, his personal phone rang.
A somewhat familiar yet slightly strange and cautious voice came from the other end of the receiver.
“Angel? It’s me, Samuel Rockwell. God, I never thought I’d get through this number. Long time no see, old friend.”
Samuel Rockwell? Urenia’s brows raised slightly.
Of course, he remembered, a core member of the Rockefeller family, closely tied to the Military Industrial Complex, with substantial influence in the Democratic Party through his family foundation.
During Washington banquets in the past, they’d had plenty of interactions—a “familiar face.”
But when I had nothing to eat back then, this guy… didn’t pity me at all!
A barely noticeable cold smile lifted the corners of Urenia’s mouth, yet his tone was quite enthusiastic: “Samuel, what a surprise. Yes, long time no see. I hear you’re mainly active in New York now?”
They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments, seemingly easing the atmosphere.
However, Samuel’s subsequent words made Urenia’s gaze sharpen.
“Angel, about Bill (Clinton)’s previous actions toward you, we actually had very different opinions at the time, you know, some decisions weren’t…”
Urenia directly interrupted him, “Samuel, Bill is dead, and those matters are long behind us. I am now serving Mexico; I don’t wish to delve into past grievances. Just come to the point, bypassing layers of barriers to find my phone surely isn’t just to reminisce about the past or apologize for a deceased, right?”
He understood these people’s plays well enough—first play the emotional card to evoke shared memories and draw closer.
But he, Urenia, was no longer the Washington bureaucrat who required putting up with their faces.
The phone went silent for a moment, faintly audible as Samuel seemed to quickly whisper to those around him.
After a while, his voice resurfaced, tinged with a hint of exposed awkwardness, but more than that, seriousness: “Alright, Angel, you’re as straightforward as ever. I’ll cut to the chase—I hope we can arrange a meeting. Secretly. I believe, the United States’ current path… is wrong. It’s heading for downfall. We need to search for… new solutions.”
“Heh…” Urenia scoffed audibly, his laughter sharply resonating in the silent room, “Samuel, I think you misunderstood something. Where America heads has nothing to do with me, a Mexican citizen. I’m concerned with stabilizing Indiana’s order, ensuring its people are fed and clothed. If you have nothing else, I think we can end this call; I still have plenty of work to handle.”
He said it with decisiveness, exuding a sense of smug satisfaction. In the past, within the U.S. system, he’d never dare speak to a member of the Rockefeller family this way.
But now is not like before, he is appointed by President Victor as a feudal official, backed by Mexico’s armed forces!
