Chapter 13: Almost died!

A million...

Victor looked at that seven-digit bill with such admiration that he couldn't take his eyes off it. Looking at the lost middle-aged man standing before him, he wanted to kill him.

But common sense told him: bro, chill out, you're going to get shredded.

Maybe then we could blow up the Altiplano prison....

Of course, that would require a bomber.

Just like the Cali Cartel wanted to bomb Pablo, but without a bomber, their plan failed.

Compared to his points, Stefan's 70,000 points seemed paltry.

But who cared that his name was Sicilia Falcone?

Those unfamiliar with the history of Mexican drug cartels don't know about him because he's not Mexican, he's Cuban. Born in 1945 in Matanzas, Cuba, he joined the army and intelligence in Miami, USA, playing the role of a double agent.

He later moved to Mexico where he set up a drug business in the state of Tijuana, creating a drug distribution network in the US, Europe and Asia. His cold-bloodedness earned him the nickname "narco baron's", and he preferred to kill his enemies with his own hands.

His love affairs are no less famous. He had affairs with numerous actresses and is said to have had more than 20 sons. One of his devoted students who became a legend, Joaquin Guzmán, also adopted his passion for women.

However, his excessive audacity led to misfortune.

In 1975, he was arrested in his luxurious home in Mexico City, but escaped a year later by digging a tunnel, a method that would later become popular among fugitives and would even be borrowed in Hong Kong movies.

This clearly demonstrates one thing.

The soil in Mexico is very suitable for digging tunnels.

When Falcone saw that Victor did not answer his question, he became visibly angry and was about to scold this impudent young policeman, when suddenly he heard: -What are those words?

Victor, smiling, leaned on the door of his cell: "He's just a mad dog locked in a cage. The main rule in this world is don't get cocky where it's not your territory. I have one rule: If I'm treated with respect, I return the favor. If I'm not respected...

His smile faded and a predatory expression appeared in his eyes. - I'm a cop here, and he's a prisoner. And I can kill him as easily as I can kill a dog.

Falcone laughed with anger: -It's been a long time since anyone has spoken to me like that.

- You've been here thirteen years. Times have changed, old man. You think you can show your character here? Try digging a tunnel again and escape, see which one of us dies first.

Falcone will probably be killed if he gets out. Started in Tijuana, he'd never be left alone by his brothers Benjamin and Ramon.

He realized that himself. The world no longer belonged to him, even if he had once been one of the most powerful men. His time had passed, and now he was but a shadow of the past.

Now he has no support, no one sends him money, and he lives worse than a dog in a Mexican prison.

He has no connections.

Victor wondered if he should bribe the warden to let him out and then shoot him. That million points would make him feel like a king for a while.

Falcone wanted to curse, but when he saw Victor's gaze, he restrained himself and sat down on the bed with a grim face.

- Sit quietly and don't make trouble for yourself," Victor tapped the bars with his baton and continued down the hall.

If Falcone was at the height of his power, he could be a great support, but now... he's just a living corpse.

A man without value, only death awaited him.

The third block of the prison held not only narcobobarons, but also high-ranking officials. When the Guadalajara Cartel collapsed, many of them ended up here, Victor's former bosses among them.

Finally, in the cell numbered "A11," Victor found his target. The man had a lean, haggard face with a cold and focused expression that could pierce any defense.

His sinister gaze made him feel uncomfortable, reminding him that no one could predict his thoughts. Miguel Angel Felix Gallardo!

Born to a poor family in a small village in Sinaloa, Mexico. At 17, he served in the state police and was the governor's personal bodyguard, but due to low pay in the 70s, he joined the "Lion of Sinaloa" Aviles, using his connections to protect the drug cartel.

In 1978, Aviles died in a drug war.

There were rumors that Gallardo had betrayed him. Either way, he became in charge, unlike his predecessor who only defended his small territory, his ambitions were great and he realized that it was necessary to develop in the big cities.

By moving the organization to Guadalajara, Mexico's second largest city, he created a superdrug cartel that dominated the US market in the 1980s, with annual profits of $8 billion.

He developed a unique "plaza system" by uniting all the narco baron's.

What is the plaza system?

It's when drug traffickers buy licenses from police officers in different regions to run their drug business. In order to operate in a certain area, you have to get permission from the local boss.

This system tied the police and the drug cartels together.

The umbrella of protection continued to grow.

In 1981, when Reagan came to power, he stepped up the fight against drug trafficking by blocking Colombian narco baron's routes across the Caribbean Sea.

Gallardo contacted the two largest Colombian drug cartels, Medellin and Cali, through intermediaries. The cooperation was instantaneous.

The Colombians would airlift cocaine to Mexico, and Gallardo would deliver it overland within a week to various U.S. storage facilities. At the best of times, even the California National Guard was involved in the transportation.

In 1985, after the Camarena incident, he betrayed technician Quintero and influencer Don Neto by paying an extra protection fee to avoid trouble.

However, in the late '80s, in another inspection, the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency found more than $7 billion worth of drugs in a warehouse in California.

Ironically, the most secure lock on that warehouse cost only $6 dollars.

It was the largest single drug find in the world, and that record is still unbroken.

7 billion dollars worth of Cali Cartel merchandise, and Gallardo would have to be compensated for that amount. Otherwise he would not have gotten half of the goods. The Colombians would not have gone to court with him.

His defender, the Secretary of Defense, immediately dropped Gallardo and he instantly became a running dog, which proves one thing.

If the gloves are soiled, they are simply changed; if power is soiled, it is indeed dirty.

This is one of the reasons Victor didn't want to take off his "police uniform."

Politics is the greatest cover-up in the world. Maybe narco baron's can bribe cops and kill a deputy, but if you become president, you can declare even greater benefits.

So many years of battles, and Mexican drug traffickers never understood the meaning of "legitimate reason," continuing to solve problems with simple violence.

After all, they were newcomers. The third block was closely guarded. In addition to the obligatory CCTV cameras, his door was locked with two locks and his bed was covered with dollars - his quirk.

He sat on the bed and watched television. Realizing his current predicament, Gallardo looked grim.

Victor stood at the door and glanced at the cameras. He didn't speak to Gallardo.

He had only visited high-ranking residences before, talking to governors and mayors.

And he, a simple prison guard, wants to walk up and ask for support? He's not interested.

It seems that it is necessary to "create" an opportunity.

Victor looked at him carefully, then turned and walked away. Hearing footsteps, Gagliardo turned around and saw only his back.

Back in his office, Victor was about to open the door, but remembered he hadn't checked the armory yet.

As he took a couple steps back, he suddenly heard a massive explosion that threw him backwards, hitting the wall and causing him to breathe heavily.

His office was on fire, the iron door had been ripped out and was lying on the side, bent by the blast. The sound was so loud that a siren went off at once in Sector Three and then throughout the prison.

A bomb!

Damn it! Someone was trying to kill him.

Colleagues jumped out of the office, some with a fire extinguisher, some running away in panic, and the entire floor descended into chaos.

...

The fire was soon put out.

Victor sat on the steps below, smoking, his hands shaking.

Honestly, who wouldn't be scared? Still his ears were ringing from the explosion.

- Victor.

Casares ran up excitedly, grabbing him by the shoulders and examining him closely.

- Are you all right? Do you need to go to the hospital?

This is his money bag, if he dies, how will he make money?

- Someone tried to kill me.

Victor took a deep breath, squinted his eyes, and exhaled the smoke.

- You can't go to the hospital.

He looked around, lowering his voice: "And there's definitely a rat in the cell block, otherwise how would that bomb have gotten in here?

- Who do you think it is? - Casares asked, looking around nervously.

Victor looked around at his colleagues until his gaze fell on Anna, who, noticing him, quickly turned away, hugging his colleague and trying to calm him down.

That bitch was hiding something.

Victor was vindictive, if you hurt him, he wouldn't give peace. Anna knew something for sure!

He nodded in her direction, Casares looked that way as well.

- Anna?

- You know her?

- I know all the women in the psych department. I've been wanting to have fun with them for a long time.

Victor almost laughed at those words, covering his chest and coughing.

- I checked all their data, Anna has a brother, a student, but he's kind of a gangster too.

- Let Best find out everything, I need to know who wanted to kill me!