Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 497 - 327: Reality is Always So Magical and Funny!_2

But now...

It all laid there like scrap metal, dead silent, quietly waiting for the advancing torrent.

At that moment, the Maneki-neko at the door meowed again. Chernenko looked up and saw two men who looked like they were from Latin America coming in.

"Hello, sir, how can I help you?"

"Do you sell those medals?" one of them asked, pointing at an iron box.

Chernenko raised his eyebrows without saying a word.

The other man then brought out a box from his side, opened it, and revealed stacks of US dollars.

There must have been hundreds of thousands of US dollars.

But Chernenko frowned, feeling that the men meant no good.

"Sir, our company operates by the rules of fair and just dealings, either money or, well, bullets," the man said as he pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.

"Please... don’t shoot!" Chernenko raised his hands quickly and agreed to give them the medals.

"Thank you, here’s your payment, goodbye."

The two men left straightforwardly without a hint of hesitation.

Looking at the box of money, Chernenko’s face tightened.

On the other side, Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo returned to the Soviet-German Friendship House office. As soon as he opened the door, he saw a man sitting inside!

Dressed in a suit, holding a magazine, he turned his head upon hearing the door and stood up with a smile, "Good afternoon, Mr. Gordo."

"Who are you! What are you doing here?!!!!"

Gordo’s expression changed abruptly as he quickly drew a gun and pointed it at him.

This was his own office, filled not only with many secret documents but also a highly confidential area.

"My name is Augustin Preshowitch, perhaps you’ve heard of me."

At that name, Gordo’s eyes widened, "Northern Mexican Army!"

"So, it seems I have some slight fame," Augustin Preshowitch said with a smile. "I mean no harm; our viewpoints and affiliations align. Killing the Yanks, don’t we agree?"

Slight fame?

Augustin Preshowitch was now considered the mastermind behind the intelligence department of the Northern Army. He had led many major operations, particularly pulling out European and American intelligence agencies from within the country. The CIA had lost many operatives, and even the Director of North American Affairs had been killed. It’s said that there was a reward on the Black Market, twenty million US dollars, anonymous, but clear enough about who arranged it.

"How did you get in here!"

"There’s nowhere we can’t go if we wish."

Gordo laughed at this statement, "Then why don’t you go to the White House instead of coming here?!"

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"How do you know there aren’t our people in the White House?" Augustin Preshowitch smiled.

Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo was suddenly silenced.

"I know your KGB office in East Germany has faced some trouble. The General can’t bear to see the bravest of soldiers lose their dreams over reality, and he is willing to help you. We can sponsor you with the best salaries and benefits in the world!"

Gordo did not believe in fairy tales about Mexican Warlords offering money out of boredom.

"Don’t worry, we merely hope to have more true comrades on the road to resisting hegemony. You might also see this as outsourcing. We hope to utilize the power of the KGB to gather valuable intelligence."

Outsource?!

Such a maneuver?

Turning the KGB East Germany office into a freelance intelligence broker?

"Our salaries are the same as yours, 13 months a year, and besides that, each month you will have one million Rubles at your disposal, however you see fit," Augustin Preshowitch disclosed the offer directly.

One million Rubles, that was nearly 900,000!

But now it was depreciating daily, by the end of the year, who knows.

Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo looked at him darkly, speechless, when suddenly he heard footsteps behind him, turned his head, and saw a dozen employees approaching, all looking at him.

"Director, agree to it."

Gordo’s heart sank.

He looked at Augustin Preshowitch, grinding his teeth, "You Mexicans indeed have extensive reach."

"It’s not us who is expansive; it’s money, power, life."

Of course, Augustin Preshowitch wouldn’t have just shown up uninvited; he had bribed everyone around, and then came to force his hand. If he refused…

Gordo knew he likely wouldn’t leave alive.

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"I sent your family 300,000 Rubles..." With those words, Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo felt his back bend.

He looked up, saw his subordinates, and nodded slightly with a bitter expression.

"Don’t feel bad, at least we’re both opposing the United States, aren’t we? Oh, and one more thing, a gift for you."

Augustin Preshowitch took out a box, from which he pulled out a Soviet Hero Medal, Gordo’s face filled with emotion.

The former walked over, placed the medal on him amidst his watchful gaze, patted his shoulder, and said with a smile, "Our leader once said, honor is the life blood of a soldier, and when honor becomes worthless, it’s a tragedy for society and the nation. We, we cannot let our front-line personnel bleed tears as well as blood. Don’t worry; from now on, we are Davarish!"