Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1344: 650: You Even Managed to Stay Connected?

Chapter 1344: Chapter 650: You Even Managed to Stay Connected?

dellin.

The infantry fighting vehicle crushed the rubble of the slum, its tracks churning up mud mixed with blood.

A six-man xico combat team advanced in a wedge formation into the half-collapsed shanty area, their gun muzzles sweeping cautiously over the twisted sheets of tal and concrete debris.

“Sector B2 cleared.”

Sergeant Carnizares suddenly raised his fist, his tactical boot pressing down on an unusual bump in the ground. He stopped, signaled there was a problem through hand gestures, and two soldiers pried open a manhole cover, releasing a stench mixed with disinfectant fus.

“Underground structure, stay alert.”

The flashlight beams sliced through the thick air, illuminating the concrete tunnel walls riddled with bullet holes. After advancing thirty ters, gunfire suddenly erupted at a corner!

“Contact!” Carnizares shouted!

The team mbers behind instantly retaliated, their powerful firepower tearing the five gunn hiding behind sandbags into clouds of blood.

Moving further in, they saw through several rooms, and kicked open the door to a lit room.

Before them was a hospital ward, with a man lying on the bed.

“Vital signs are weak,” said the assault dic, pressing his fingers on the man’s neck.

Carnizares tore away the bloodstained bandage.

The swollen, festering face made everyone catch their breath, and it reeked terribly.

The dic quickly scanned the surroundings, his gaze passing over scattered dical equipnt, finally fixing on the man’s exposed arm.

There, beneath the swollen and purplish skin, and coagulated blood dirt, a dark green tattoo erged stubbornly — Joaquín Guzmán Loera.

“Damn!!” The dic suddenly looked up, exclaiming excitedly, “It’s Joaquín Guzmán.”

It was as if a bomb had been dropped in the confined operating room, freezing ti for a mont.

“What?!” The nearest team mber was the first to cry out in disbelief, “Are you crazy? He’s so decayed!”

He pointed at the surgery table, at the nearly unrecognizable, deathly odorous face.

You can recognize that?

Another team mber leaned in closer, eyes wide beneath his helt, trying to find a familiar trait amidst the rot, ultimately shaking his head in vain: “Guzmán? Impossible… wasn’t he dead long ago? How could he be here? Are you sure?”

Even the usually composed Sergeant Carnizares turned swiftly around.

The entire squad’s eyes fixed on the dic, the air in the operating room so tense it was almost palpable.

The dic felt a pressure on his heart from these challenging, uniform gazes.

He also had a mont of doubt.

Given the state of him, who the hell knows who he is.

This body was indeed unrecognizable, swollen and decayed like an abandoned rag doll.

He instinctively looked down again at the arm.

He’d been through intelligence briefings and seen countless photos of Guzmán’s tattoo, there was no mistake.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded firmly, “Captain, the tattoo is clear, the features match perfectly, it’s him.”

Carnizares suddenly pressed the communication button on the side of his helt:

“Command, high-value target discovered in Sector B2 underground! Repeat, high-value target discovered! Highly suspected to be Shorty, target is critically injured, life-threatening, requesting urgent dical evacuation and highest level verification! Over!”

…

xico City’s National Palace, red lights on encrypted lines flashed rapidly.

Casare burst into the office, gripping the newly decoded ssage, exclaiming excitedly: “Boss! Guzmán found in dellin’s underground surgery room!!”

Victor, who was watering plants in the office, turned abruptly, his eyes gleaming.

Imdiately, a loud, almost wild laugh erupted from Victor’s chest, filling the solemn office instantly.

“Hahaha! Guzmán?! He’s still alive?!” The laughter was filled with an unbelievable joy and the thrill of finally capturing a mythical beast.

He strode forward to Casare in a few steps, snatching the ssage eagerly, scanning every word greedily.

“Good! So good!” Victor slamd his hand onto the thick oak desk, causing the bronze eagle sculpture on it to wobble, “Imdiately! Use the fastest transport plane, equipped with the best dical team, bring him back alive for ! I want the whole world to see the downfall of this cancer!”

A bold plan ford instantly.

“Casare.” Victor started, “Notify all dia under our control and international press, release the news, tell the whole world at maximum volu, Joaquín Guzmán Loera, ‘Shorty’, isn’t dead, he’s captured right in our xican Governnt’s hands! In my war on drugs, he was dragged out! Let everyone know, no drug lord can escape justice, not even by playing dead!”

He swung his arm with force, as if planting this news like a flag across the globe.

“Yes, Boss!”

Casare was excited too, they’d previously externally announced Guzmán’s death to strike dellin’s lower-level drug traffickers, but a sense of distress lingered in both Victor’s and his heart without seeing a body.

The news spread like wildfire, instantly igniting xican and global public opinion.

Victor’s na, closely linked to the capture of Guzmán, was repeatedly praised.

His approval rating soared rocket-like in surveys, albeit of little consequence, yet… his na was lauded by all.

The war on drugs reached an unprecedented peak in prestige.