The audience quieted somewhat, but suspicion lingered. A few of the younger dockworkers exchanged glances and hesitated before approaching Dave. More people were still watching.

The fat union cadre snorted and turned away. Several Labor Party members also began to leave.

Sara knew she had just lost an important mobilization meeting. But she also planted a flag on a more dangerous battlefield. The collapse of order starts from the streets, and the battle for the streets is far more brutal than debates in Parliament.

...

Democratic Republic of Congo, Eastern Mine Area, temporary medical tent.

The so-called medical tent was merely a few mud-stained tents filled with the pungent smell of blood, sweat, and cheap disinfectant. The only female doctor was a volunteer from Doctors Without Borders, a Belgian, and at this moment, she was trying with trembling hands to stitch the wound of a young miner whose abdomen had been blasted open. The lighting was dim, the generator’s voltage unstable, causing the bulb hanging from the tent top to flicker on and off.

Outside the tent, the Mexican mining representative Mendoza had a face ashen with anger.

In front of him lay three corpses, covered with dirty plastic sheeting. Captain Gals, the head of security for the mining area, stood nearby, alongside Malik, the envoy of Warlord Kabanggu.

"It’s not the ’Congo Liberation Front’ that did this."

Gals spoke in a low voice, lifting a corner of the plastic sheeting over one corpse to reveal the horrific wound, "Look here, the carotid artery was precisely cut, almost a single stroke to kill. And here, the bullet entry is at the forehead, at very close range. This isn’t an ambush; it’s an execution. And they took everything of value—the watches, gold teeth, even boots."

"And this."

Malik kicked an empty plastic barrel on the ground, the kind Mendoza had seen earlier in the back of a pickup, its opening still retaining traces of white powder, "They stole a batch of ’samples’ we just received yesterday—not weapons, but high-grade explosives. The barrel originally contained... this." He pointed at the powder.

"Drugs?" Mendoza crouched, dipped his finger in some, and sniffed below his nose, immediately frowning and pulling away. High purity cocaine, possibly mixed with other substances.

"Yes. There’s a mole in our ranks using explosive transport barrels to smuggle goods. The attackers have a clear target: drugs and cash. They know the transit routes and timing." Malik’s face darkened, "This isn’t the style of the American-backed ’Liberation Front.’ Those guys want to damage the mine area, drive us out. These people... just want money and goods."

"Skull and Snake?" Gals suddenly asked.

Malik looked sharply at him: "How do you know?"

"We heard it from a surviving member of our outer patrol. He was scared stiff, repeatedly talking about ’Skull, Snake, Devil.’" Gals pulled up a tactical tablet, showing a blurry photo taken with a telephoto lens, vaguely visible was a speeding pickup side door, spray-painted with a crude but menacing symbol: a skull entwined with a snake.

"Mexico’s ’Zetas’?" Mendoza muttered a curse under his breath. He had heard of this name, once part of Mexico’s most ruthless drug cartel, swept clean and attacked by Victor’s iron fist a few years ago, core members dead or escaped, rumored remnants fleeing to Central America and the Caribbean Region.

Unexpectedly, their reach extended into Africa!

They sure can run.

"Why would they come here?" Malik asked.

"What’s here?" Mendoza countered, pointing at the mining area, "Chaos, borders lacking effective governance, cheap contract money, and ready-made smuggling channels and clients (warlord armed groups, miners). For drug dealers, this place is paradise. Especially for those expelled from home, possessing combat skills and ruthless tactics." He stood up, realizing matters were spiraling out of control. "Does the General know?"

"He knows. Very angry. Thinks we attracted these plague gods." Malik responded.

"Tell him we didn’t attract them; the chaos here did." Mendoza regained his composure, "But we can solve them. The premise is the General must give us greater authority and cooperation."

"How to cooperate?"

"Block all non-main roads leading to the mining area, set up checkpoints, with our personnel (Gals’s security squad) and the General’s men jointly guarding, immediately detaining any suspicious vehicles and personnel, especially those carrying white plastic barrels. Secondly, in the mining area workers and surrounding villages offer rewards for intelligence on these people. Thirdly, and most importantly..."

Mendoza stared at Malik, "We need the General to authorize us for ’preemptive purging.’ Can’t wait for them to return. We must find their base and uproot them before they cause greater damage or collude with the American-backed ’Liberation Front.’"

Malik hesitated. Authorizing foreign armed forces to conduct "purges" on domestic soil is politically sensitive. But right now, mining area safety is his primary responsibility. If even drug traffickers dare steal from the General, his credibility is gone.

"I need to consult." He finally said.

"Quickly." Mendoza looked toward Gals, "Captain, put your men on high alert. Double the patrols, equip them with heavy weapons. Also, contact our people in Kinshasa, check if any other Mexican or Central American businessmen, especially those related to drugs or arms, have recently entered the country."