Chapter 2026 - 839: I’m a Chief Now!

In the video, the scene of a man in black knocking down a Black Hawk with a rocket launcher was repeatedly played.

In the comments section, Americans were going crazy:

"Where's the army?! Where is the army?!"

"We've been invaded! Right on domestic soil!"

"This is no longer a war on drugs; it's a real war!"

But the army did not appear.

The National Guard in Texas had been deployed to suppress the "rebel army." Over the past three months, more than twenty armed groups have emerged on U.S. soil, flying all sorts of banners - "Sons of Liberty," "Star and Stripes Revival Front," "American Militia Alliance," "God's Wrath" ... but there's only one slogan: "Expel the Mexican scoundrels, restore the Star-Spangled Banner."

They started insurrections simultaneously in Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico. They occupied three county government buildings, bombed two border checkpoints, and killed seventeen federal officers.

The federal government was at its wits' end.

The Regular Army dared not move—afraid it would spark a civil war. The National Guard wasn't enough—fires were burning everywhere. The Border Patrol had completely collapsed—half resigned, and the other half posted videos on social media saying they're "not putting their lives at risk for the U.S. Government."

Now, real Mexicans have come in.

The Governor of Texas tweeted:

"If the federal government does not act, Texas will organize its own defense!"

Twenty minutes later, a White House Spokesman responded:

"The federal government is assessing the situation, urging all parties to remain calm."

Ten minutes later, it was discovered that the tweet had been deleted.

Mexico City, National Palace.

Victor watched the live broadcast on the screen.

In the square in El Paso, men in black were assembling. The black Skull flag flapped wildly in the wind.

Bramo stood beside him.

"Are those people crazy? Declaring war on U.S. soil?"

Victor didn't speak.

He looked at that flag.

"Jalisco New Generation"—Mexico's largest drug cartel, having just lost their leader, is now retaliating in the most insane way.

Not against the Mexican Government. But against the U.S. Government.

Because everyone knows the intelligence for that capture operation came from the United States.

"Tell Garcia." Victor finally spoke, "Over in San Miguel, speed up the interrogation. Get everything out of 'Scorpion'."

Bramo nodded.

"Also," Victor turned around, "have Sanchez keep an eye on the Mediterranean. Things will happen over at 'Black Mamba'."

Côte d'Ivoire, Abidjan.

"Black Mamba" sat in the Presidential Palace, watching the images on the TV.

El Paso. Men in black. Rocket launcher. Fallen Black Hawk.

Hendrick stood beside him.

"The Mexicans are crazy."

"Black Mamba" said nothing.

He stared at the black Skull flag for a long time in silence.

Then he spoke:

"Tell 'Engineer', the next shipment will go through Abidjan. Directly from the port, in containers, labeled as 'coffee beans.' Prices on the European side can be raised."

Hendrick paused for a moment.

"Boss, about Mexico—"

"Mexico has nothing to do with us." 'Black Mamba' cut him off, "They want to fight the U.S., let them. We mind our business."

He stood up and walked to the window.

Outside was the Port at Abidjan, the container terminal brightly lit. A cargo ship was docking, carrying coca paste from Brazil.

"The Americans have bigger issues to worry about now." He said, "Their own backyard is on fire."

Kosovo, Podujevo.

Cheku stood in the trench, looking north.

The Serbian reinforcements had come again. This time with tanks, eight of them.

He had only six rocket launchers left.

"General," the adjutant ran over, face covered in dust, "The weapons are here! From the African side, they've arrived!"

Cheku turned around.

"How much?"

"Twenty RPGs, ten boxes of ammunition, and two hundred AKs. They're already on the way, arriving tonight."

Cheku was silent for a few seconds.

Then he smiled.

"Tell the brothers to hold for one more day. Tomorrow, we march into Belgrade."

United States, Washington D.C., White House Situation Room.

The President sat at the end of the long table, looking at the huge screen.

The Minister of Defense sat at his right hand.

"Over in Oakland, those people occupied the central square, holding at least two hundred hostages."

The President didn't speak.

The Homeland Security Secretary continued:

"In Delaware, 'Sons of Liberty' took another county. They've declared independence."

Still, the President didn't speak. He stood up and walked to the window.

Outside was Washington's hazy sky, the distant obelisk vaguely visible in the fog.

"Alert the military." he said, "Get ready to act."

The Minister of Defense paused for a second.

"Mr. President—"

"I said, get ready to act."

The President turned around, looking at his generals.

"Now, a country has over 20 armed groups, am I a president or a tribal chieftain?"

No one dared to respond...

Because he was right.

San Costa Rica, San Miguel.

Colonel Garcia stood at the door of the interrogation room, looking at the man inside.

"Scorpion" looked up at him.

"All done?"

Garcia nodded.

"All done."

"Scorpion" was silent for a few seconds.

"So what do you plan to do with me?"

Garcia didn't answer.

He turned and walked out.

After a few steps, he paused.

"'Black Mamba' is now the President in Abidjan. Did you know that?"

"Scorpion" paused for a moment.

Then he laughed.

Not happily.

It was a strange expression—as if he had finally waited for something, or had finally lost something.

"He always wanted it." he said, "Wanted it since the time in Congo. And now he finally got it."

Garcia looked at him.

"Do you regret following him?"

"Scorpion" thought for a moment.

"No regrets."

Garcia turned and left.

Mexico City, National Palace.

Victor stood at the window, looking at the night view of Paseo de la Reforma.

Bramo stood behind him.

"Garcia said, 'Scorpion' confessed everything. Five factories in Africa, twenty distribution points in Europe, that arms line in Kosovo, and 'Black Sea Wolf's contact in Washington."

Victor didn't speak.

"That person is Turner. From the CIA."

Victor's fingers paused on the window frame.

"Turner."

He pronounced the name.

"It's the one who orchestrated the 'Wind Roll Grass' plan."

Bramo nodded.

Victor was silent for a few seconds.

Then he smiled.

"Interesting."

He turned around.

"Tell Garcia to keep that Scorpion. He might be useful later."

Bramo nodded.

"Also," Victor walked to the desk, "Over in Côte d'Ivoire, tell Gals to prepare. 'Black Mamba' is now president, someone should go and congratulate him."

Bramo paused for a moment.

"Congratulate?"

Victor looked at him.

"A drug trafficker wants to put on a suit and sit down to dinner with me?"

"Is he worthy?"

"Have someone look, see if we have any historical ties with Côte d'Ivoire."

"I like that place too!"

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