"I have no idea either, but my gut tells me it must have been the United States," a colleague standing beside him said with certainty.
The former glanced at him with surprise, although I didn't understand, he looked pretty impressive.
Augustine Przybylski stood at the office door, adjusted himself, took a deep breath, and then knocked.
He pushed the door open and said very quickly, "General, there's a massive riot in San Diego!"
On hearing the news, Victor's brow furrowed, and he extended his hand to Augustine Przybylski, who quickly handed over the intelligence.
After reading, Victor couldn't help but laugh out loud, leaning back in his chair, "This is indeed a beautiful landscape."
"Should we stir things up a bit more?" he cautiously inquired.
Victor stated definitively, "The Yanks are trying every means to kick me out, I'm a little petty and hold grudges very well."
"Ship some weapons and ammunition over there. To combat a hegemonic country like the United States, we must be even harsher. Find a way to tell our people to incite those drug traffickers and refugees to storm their key positions, and it would be best... to cripple their local financial and security systems!"
"Also, apart from San Diego, we need to instigate things in other places as well, turn the human wave strategy into an overwhelming sea. If Old Bush has the guts, he would f***ing toss bombs in his own country!"
Victor's laughter echoed through the office.
The cunning Augustine Przybylski immediately had a better idea when he heard him, "General, I think we shouldn't let the Mexicans fight alone. America is a melting pot; we should get all the other minorities involved."
"Especially the blacks, they don't use their heads at all, preferring direct violence without thinking of the consequences."
Victor looked at him, his body leaning forward unconsciously, the two of them looking like conspiring "villains."
"Martin Luther King had a son..."
Victor immediately understood, Martin Luther King was murdered by racists but in fact, the CIA was also involved, with Hoover even having letters sent, threatening King with offensive language to coerce him into suicide.
Though more than twenty years had passed, it still had a significant influence within the black community and had sparked riots all over America after his death.
What would happen if at this moment, his son, the new black leader, was again killed by "racists"?
"Can it be traced to the CIA?"
"That would require activating our pawn, but once activated, we'll need to recall him," said Augustine Przybylski.
Victor picked up a cigarette from the desk and offered it to him. Augustine paused, then quickly accepted it with both hands.
Boss offers a cigarette, you don't smoke it? How would you advance?
If Casare were here, he'd show you what it means to smoke from all seven orifices.
"Then use it, our resources aren't as extensive as the Yankees', but don't be stingy when it's time to use them, if the Americans want to play dirty, we can't act the gentleman, only by being harsher can we align with our interests," said Victor, placing one hand on Augustine Przybylski's shoulder.
"We only have one way out, and that is victory, understand?"
"Victory!" Augustine nodded vigorously.
"Go on, have a free hand. No one will touch you before I die."
These words were said in a casual tone, but they provided a great deal of reassurance for Augustine Przybylski.
What's the biggest fear for those in intelligence?
Afraid of being thrown out as the scapegoats.
Isn't that what the Yankees often do?
Augustine Przybylski saluted and left the office.
Let the Yanks taste the overwhelming strategy!
Victor picked up the teacup on the desk, took a sip, and squinted, "Tastes good."
The City of San Diego was in disarray!
Garbage bins were overturned on the ground, attracting insects, and a foul stench permeated the air.
On Central Street, American police officers wore riot gear and helmets, cautiously surveying their surroundings, with marks of flame burns still visible on the surrounding walls.
a young man with a cigarette in his mouth, a backpack on his back, and a flag slung over his shoulder that read: Mexicans demand equality, our lives matter too!
City Hall of San Diego.
A group of people were discussing their next steps.
The system in the United States was quite "interesting"; as long as you agreed to something, naturally others would oppose it, causing Mayor Pierluigi Catwright quite a headache.
He watched the heated debate below, knocked on the table, but no one paid attention to him. Finally, he knocked angrily on the table, "Enough!"
Everyone instantly quieted down, exchanging defiant glances, but reluctantly sat down.
Just as Pierluigi Catwright prepared to speak with a darkened face.
Right inside City Hall!
Immediately after, the sound of urgent gunfire and cursing erupted from downstairs.
Pierluigi Catwright and the others' faces changed drastically, and they watched as the acting chief of police ran in anxiously, "Sir, don't go downstairs yet!"
"A dozen rioters drove into the City Hall, threw incendiary bombs and flashbang grenades inside, and engaged with the police in a shootout…"
Could it be that intense?!
Pierluigi Catwright furrowed his brow tightly, smelling the increasingly intense tension in the air. He decisively gave orders, "Implement martial law everywhere, I need to request the Governor to get the National Guard involved."
"This is not acceptable..." One of the dissenters subconsciously objected, but before he finished, he was hit in the forehead by a flying cup.
"Shut up! You bastard, if you talk nonsense again, I'll knock you out with a single punch!" Pierluigi Catwright roared furiously.
His anger silenced everyone.
It wasn't so much about his prestige, but rather… he was formerly California's 95kg freestyle fighting champion. To a great extent, the shock of muscles and fists was more intense.
"If anyone drags their feet, I might stop being Mayor, but I will definitely take them down!" Pierluigi Catwright looked at them fiercely.
"Understood..." came the spotty replies.
Mayor Pierluigi Catwright's expression eased slightly, scoffing coldly at the group. These cheap skins, thinking he's a vegetarian.
As he darkly faced leaving the meeting room, he saw the secretary rush in, flustered. Pierluigi began to tremble slightly, sensing that something bad was happening.
"Mr. Mayor, there's been a massive protest in the Black community."
The Mexican-American unrest hadn't really affected other communities much, mainly because Pierluigi Catwright had called the Asian and Black communities to talk, asking them not to cause trouble.
They all agreed nicely, but now…
"Martin III has been killed." The secretary spoke solemnly.
"Who? Who is that?" Pierluigi Catwright asked with furrowed brows, but felt the name was strangely familiar.
"His father was Martin Luther King."
The mayor felt his legs turn weak at once.
The secretary looked around, lowered his voice, and whispered next to his shoulder, "It was done by the CIA."
"What." Pierluigi Catwright raised his voice, then realizing it was too loud, clenched his fist, "Are they idiots?!"
Idiots, idiots, idiots!
At such a time, to do something , was unimaginably foolish.
"Go! Find Mr. Governor!"
He rushed out in a hurry.
The others glanced at each other; they weren't deaf and had heard everything.
Was the United States heading for civil unrest?