The convoy was escorting him to the City Hall in Tepic.
There, he would face trial!
El Mencho's breathing was rapid, the egg whites slipping down his face, tasting bitter in his mouth.
His palms clenched tightly.
He could not just sit there waiting to die.
He didn't want to die.
He still had a lot, a lot, a lot of money in his bank account!
Dead men don't need money, how tragic that would be, yet he still wanted to control his drug empire!
He enjoyed watching others wail, but that didn't mean he wanted to be tortured himself.
With Victor's ruthless nature, he would surely kill him!
He still had so many dreams, he was still young!
As the convoy turned a corner and approached City Hall, he saw hordes of reporters broadcasting on the roadside.
He knew, his chance was here.
With a sudden move, he stood up, yanking on the chains, instantly drawing everyone's attention.
"I don't want to die! One billion! Whoever can get me out, I will give them one billion dollars! Any person, any organization, just get me out, and the money is theirs!"
El Mencho's voice ripped through the air.
One billion?! US Dollars?!
The crowd fell into a strange, momentary silence, everyone staring at him in shock.
Even the relatives of his victims showed...greed!
The cafeteria of the 16th Regiment was also unusually quiet.
Santos could feel the heavy breathing of his comrades behind him.
"He can pay one billion dollars?"
Campos looked at him, "Jalisco New Generation controls the drug trade in several states, it should... no, definitely can, otherwise why would so many people become drug traffickers."
A look of worry appeared on Santos' face, now they were in for it, fearing that many might get ideas.
Director Richard James Curl in the CIA office stared at the TV and snapped the cigar in his hand.
His eyes revealed a beast-like greed!
His mouth trembled, one billion dollars.
With that money, he could retire as a wealthy man, if he paid his employees.
Perhaps it's hard to say he could overthrow Old Bush tomorrow, but he definitely had people who would think of ways for him.
Inside the J. Edgar Hoover Building,
Floyd I. Clarke, the current head of the FBI, turned to his senior assistant Pearson, "Can we get El Mencho?"
Pearson knew, the boss was tempted.
Nonsense, who wouldn't be tempted by one billion dollars, perhaps incomprehensible to the poor.
Because for them, the figures were astronomical.
If you had one billion dollars, banks would call you daddy, and you could be a guest of honor anywhere in the world.
"Victor is unlikely to let it happen."
Floyd I. Clarke furrowed his brow, still a bit reluctant, "Even though we have such a good relationship with him, he won't consider it?"
Pearson gave a bitter smile, consideration?
If someone gives you consideration, not giving it to you would be like trash.
Pearson tried to phrase it delicately to Floyd I. Clarke, "Given Victor's temperament, a drug trafficker...it's his bottom line."
"One billion dollars can break the bottom line."
Pearson's right eyebrow raised, he lowered his head, worried.
"Contact Victor, tell him we hope to get El Mencho and we can sentence him to life in prison."
Eventually, influenced by the money, Floyd I. Clarke made a choice.
Pearson sighed internally; handling it this way, the relationship between the FBI and Victor wouldn't be so great anymore.
The honeymoon might see cracks.
But he was just a subordinate, when his boss spoke, he could only agree, nodding, "I'll personally call him."
Floyd I. Clarke gave a slight nod, squinting his eyes, lost in thought.
Spanish intelligence...
British Secret Intelligence Service...
Defence Intelligence Agency (India)...
Visible agencies, terror organizations hidden in tropical jungles and godforsaken places, etc.
Because of that one billion, undercurrents began to stir.
The armed forces escorting El Mencho were led by Captain Ludwig Becker of the 16th Regiment, after all, they had captured him, also wishing to take some credit.
Initially sitting nicely in the jeep, Ludwig Becker exploded into fury upon hearing El Mencho's shouts!
Can't you give me some peace?
He jumped from the vehicle, took an iron rod, and amidst the gaze of millions, leaped onto the truck, opened the cage, and began furiously smashing El Mencho's legs!
Everyone was stunned by this scene.
You're torturing and you're not even trying to hide it?
Aren't you afraid of tarnishing the Northern Army's image?
El Mencho wailed in pain, lying next to the cage screaming, reaching out hoping someone would pull him up.
Some tried to extend a hand but were roughly pushed away by soldiers of the Northern Army.
After the convoy entered City Hall, fully armed guards blocked the doors, not allowing anyone to approach.
But inside, there would be reporters broadcasting at any moment.
To prevent anyone from approaching to carry out an assassination.
Inside the City Hall, it was also packed with people, all eyes on him, and in front of him stood Victor.
He saw Ludwig Becker holding a blood-dripped iron rod, and smilingly said, "Captain Becker, could you help me get him down?"
Meeting Victor for the first time, the other party was clearly excited, asking his subordinate for keys to unchain El Mencho's neck.