Colombia, Medellín.
Naples Estate's lights stay on all night.
By the pool, women in bikinis were laughing in the shallow water, men were holding whiskey glasses, and smoke was filling the air.
Reggae music was playing on the speakers, and the subwoofer made fine ripples appear on the water.
Emilio Rojas was sitting on the main seat, with his new mistress in his arms. He was in his early fifties, his hair was combed meticulously, and the Patek Philippe on his wrist glowed coldly under the light.
"Boss." A subordinate walked over quickly and bent down to his ear, "Panama's batch of goods does not match the account. It is missing 120,000 yuan."
Rojas The smile on his face did not change. He handed the wine glass to the attendant next to him, stood up, and straightened the collar of his suit.
"Bring it here."
Two guards escorted a man with blood on his face to the edge of the swimming pool.
The man knelt on the ground, trembling all over, and kept mumbling. "Boss, it wasn't me, it was the people below who took it for themselves. I really don't know..."
Rojas knelt down and patted his face, his tone as gentle as coaxing a child. "Do you know what I hate most?"
Men dare not speak.
"What I hate the most is that others treat me as a fool." Rojas stood up and waved to the bodyguard captain beside him, "Throw it in."
The bodyguard dragged the man deeper into the manor.
Over there is the crocodile pond, which houses more than a dozen adult caimans.
The scream lasted for more than ten seconds, and then became silent.
Rojas sat back on the chair, picked up the wine glass, and smiled at the guests, "Just a small aside, let's continue."
The music starts again.
No one dares not to laugh.
At the entrance of the manor, Manuel Garcia leaned against the wall, watching all this.
He is the armed commander of Rojas and the former lieutenant colonel of Colombia special forces "Black Panther Brigade".
Five years ago, he defected with 300 elites and took refuge with Rojas.
At that time, he thought that following this "Robin Hood of Medellín" would at least give his brothers a way out.
Now he knows that Rojas is no different from those corrupt politicians.
The only difference is that he is more ruthless, richer, and better at pretending.
In the distance Medellín the lights of the slums Mars are dotted.
In those shacks made of iron sheets and wooden boards, there lived what Rojas called his "own people." He built roads, schools, and houses for them, and they regarded him as their savior.
Manuel knows where that money comes from.
$420 million per month.
Eighty percent flows to the nasal cavity of North America and Europe.
For every kilogram shipped, hundreds of families are destroyed.
Teenagers fight in the streets, slum women sell their bodies in exchange for a mouthful of contraband, police officers are bribed, and judges are assassinated.
This so-called "Robin Hood" is a throne built with the lives of millions of people.
"Captain." Deputy González came over and lowered his voice, "The weapons depot is locked. The boss's people just changed the lock cylinder and didn't give us a new key."
Manuel frowned. "When did it happen?"
"Tonight, he also added a set of sentries outside our barracks, saying it was to "strengthen security."
Manuel said nothing.
Last week, three of his veterans went missing. This morning, their bodies were found in the river, riddled with bullet holes.
On the surface it was an accident, but Manuel knew that those three people had just drank and cursed Rojas in the barracks two weeks ago.
"He still can't trust us." González gritted his teeth, "We have helped him fight for five years, and hundreds of brothers have died. Now he wants to kill the donkey."
Manuel clenched his fists, his nails dug into his palms, and said nothing.
The dinner party is over.
Manuel was called to the banquet hall.
Rojas was sitting at the head of the long table with a stack of photos in front of him.
"Manuel, come and take a look." Rojas smiled and waved.
Manuel walked over and looked down, his pupils suddenly tightened.
The photo shows a family of four.
Father, mother, a seven or eight year old girl, and a three or four year old boy.
They are in a slum in the suburbs of Medellín, with iron shacks in the background.
"The man's name is Garcia." Rojas tapped the man's face in the photo with his fingertips. "He works as an informant for the government's anti-drug department and reported the locations of my three distribution points."
Manuel said nothing.
"Take someone to deal with it." Rojas pushed the photo over, "Clean it and don't leave any traces. Don't leave those two children either, lest they grow up and seek revenge from me."
Manuel stared at the photo, his throat tight.
He is a soldier, not a butcher.
Before defecting, he fought tough battles and killed people in Black Panther Brigade, but he never touched civilians, let alone children.
"Boss, the child is innocent." Manuel tried to keep his voice as steady as possible.
Rojas raised his head, his eyes changed.
"Innocent?" He stood up, walked around the table, walked up to Manuel, and patted his face, neither lightly nor hard, "Manuel, do you know what your identity is now?"
Manuel didn't hide.
"You are my dog." Rojas said one word at a time, "A dog must obey its owner. You must bite whoever you are told to bite. Do you understand?"
Manuel's fists were clenched at his side, and then loosened again.
"I understand." He said.
"Very good." Rojas smiled and sat back on the chair, "Tomorrow morning, I want to see the results."
Manuel turned around and walked out of the banquet hall.
In the corridor, González followed quickly. "Captain, what should I do?"
Manuel didn't answer. He walked to the barracks, closed the door, and took out an encrypted mobile phone from the cabinet.
There is an unread message on the screen.
It was sent by the CIA through an intermediary.
[Invitation to Cooperation: Cooperate with us, and when things are done, we will give you and your brothers new identities]
Manuel stared at the message and was silent for a long time.
He remembered the photo of the family of four, the three bullet-riddled corpses in the river, and Rojas saying "You are a dog."
"Captain." González stood behind him, "We can't bear it anymore. Brothers don't want to do it anymore."
Manuel took a deep breath and typed one word on the phone: OK.
Then he opened the encrypted folder, packaged and sent out the complete defense map of the Rojas manor, the location of the secret sentry, the entrance to the vault, and the guard shift schedule.
At the same time, Colombia Medellín United States military base.
A C-17 transport plane landed on the runway, and the door slowly opened.
Fu Haoran walked down the gangway, wearing a black tactical uniform and military boots.
Behind him was Tychus, who was two and a half meters tall like a moving wall, carrying a huge weapons box on his shoulders.
Miller from the CIA's Latin American Bureau quickly came up to him and extended his hand. "Consultant Fu, welcome to Medellín."
Fu Haoran shook his hand. "Has the authorization been completed?"
"Everything is done. Colombia government troops are cooperating throughout the process, and observers are already waiting at the safe house." Miller glanced at Tychus, swallowed, "This is..."
"My bodyguard." Fu Haoran said without looking back, "The contract states that I have the right to bring my own security team."
Miller didn't ask again.
This clause does exist in the contract.
Fu Haoran participates in joint anti-drug operations as a "special tactical advisor" and has the right to mobilize his own private security forces.
What's more, my own director will be dismissed soon because of this matter.
As long as Rojas can be captured, let alone Fu Haoran bringing his own security team, even if he brings an army, the branch will turn a blind eye.
All casualties during the operation will be borne by oneself, all contraband and weapons seized will be turned over to the CIA, and 30 percent of the illegal assets will be disposed of officially according to procedures.
The branch office only needs to issue an authorization document, and it can achieve a huge political achievement in vain.
Only a fool would get to the bottom of it.
"Where are your people?" Miller asked.
"Arrived in batches." Fu Haoran glanced at his watch, "The first batch is on the same plane as me and is already unloading. The subsequent charter flights will arrive before the early morning."
Miller glanced at the transport plane door. Several strong men in black tactical uniforms were moving equipment down.
This is not like an ordinary soldier.
Miller muttered in his heart and did not dare to ask any more questions.
Twenty minutes later, Fu Haoran and Tychus arrived at the safe house arranged by the CIA.
It was a three-story building located in the suburbs of Medellín. It was surrounded by farmland and had a wide view.
The CIA observer is already waiting in the room. He is a young agent in his early thirties named Klein.
"Mr. Fu, what do you need me to do for you?" Klein asked.
Fu Haoran glanced at the room and pointed to the living room on the first floor. "You and Miller stay here while I go to the second floor to make plans remotely with my tactical team."
Klein wanted to follow, but was blocked by Tychus.
"The boss said you are not allowed to enter the second floor." Tychus's voice was as deep as thunder.
Klein glanced at Tychus's body shape and stepped back knowingly.
On the second floor, Fu Haoran closed the door, drew the curtains, opened the teleportation array control interface on his mobile phone, and locked the coordinates at an abandoned lithium mine on the border between Colombia and Panama.
That was the no-man's land that he asked JARVIS to mark in advance. It was eighty kilometers away from Medellín. The surrounding area was deserted. Even if there was any movement in the teleportation array, no one would notice it.
In the open space of the mine, the air began to twist.
A light blue light door slowly opened.
The first one to come out was Priest Kallen.
The red light of the mechanical prosthetic eye flashed, and in his hand he held a Heavy Autogun that he had modified by himself.
All the weapons for this operation were modified by his apprentice with Machine Cult. He didn't even bother to do such a thing.
And behind him was a dense army.
All low-key and secret operations are superfluous in Fu Haoran's opinion.
He has already told people that no one will send reconnaissance satellites everywhere to take pictures. Besides, except for Amerikan, no other country in this world will send reconnaissance satellites to take pictures everywhere.
The originally deserted mine became extremely lively in a short time.
"Sir, we are all in place." Kallen whispered, "According to your instructions, Autogun has been completely modified. Its appearance is exactly the same as United States military M2HB. The ammunition is North Atlantic Treaty Organization standard 12.7 mm. No abnormalities can be found."
Fu Haoran's voice came from the encrypted communicator. "Stay where you are. At two o'clock in the morning, after the second batch of main forces arrive, they will maneuver towards Medellín's urban area and gather outside the manor."
Group after group of soldiers came out of the portal.
They wore uniform black tactical uniforms with masks covering their faces, leaving only their eyes exposed.
Each three-person squad is equipped with a modified Heavy Autogun, which is held by a soldier wearing an exoskeleton and is responsible for armor breaking and fire suppression. The ammunition is carried by the other two team members.
Under the cover of darkness, they got into pickup trucks and drove quietly to Medellín.
In the living room on the first floor, Klein was drinking coffee, looked at his watch, and frowned. "Miller, why haven't Mr. Fu's people arrived yet? Didn't you say chartered flight?"
Miller is also waiting for news.
He picked up his phone and sent a message to Fu Haoran.
Half a minute later, the phone vibrated.
[Everyone has arrived, starting at four in the morning.]
Miller looked at the phone and then at the door.
He did not see any news of the charter plane landing, nor did he see any armed men entering the safe house.
The safe house is thirty kilometers away from the manor, and gunshots cannot be heard here.
Klein was drinking coffee and had no idea what was happening dozens of kilometers away.
Miller was so frightened that he didn't dare to ask again.
He only wants political achievements. As for where the people of Fu Haoran come from, he doesn't want to care about them, and he doesn't dare to care about them.
At three-thirty in the morning, Manuel stood in the monitoring room of the manor, watching the real-time footage of the patrol on the screen.
He dialed the encrypted phone.
"Is the action ahead of schedule?" Fu Haoran's voice on the other end of the phone was very calm.
"Now is the best time." Manuel lowered his voice, "Rojas drank too much tonight and slept in the master bedroom. There are only four personal guards. I replaced the people at the gate of the manor with my own people, and the three secret sentries have been withdrawn."
"Where's the vault?"
"The entrance to the vault is underground in the main building of the manor, and requires two keys. One is on Rojas's body, and the other is in the hand of his deputy. I'll take care of the deputy's side, but you have to get the one for Rojas yourself."
Fu Haoran was silent for two seconds. "Let your people leave and leave the rest to me."
"Understood."
Manuel hung up the phone and turned to look out the window.
Medellín It's four o'clock in the morning, and it's still dark.
Outside the gate of the manor, thousands of Planetary Defense Force were already in place.
Fu Haoran stood at the front of the team, holding a modified Heavy Autogun in his hand.
Tychus was carrying the single soldier Autocannon, standing behind him, grinning.
"Governor, when will we take action?"
Fu Haoran looked at the time on his phone.
Four o'clock sharp.
"Now."
"Okay!" Tychus excitedly raised the recoilless rifle and fired a shot at the door.
Boom!
Secret operation?
No need.
Two marshals pressed Castigator at the bottom of the box at the front, followed by soldiers holding warning assault shields.
The guards in the manor finally reacted. The heavy machine gun in the guardhouse opened fire instantly, and the bullets hit the wall and splashed rubble.
But the next second, more than a dozen Heavy Autogun fired at the same time.
The 12.7mm armor-piercing projectile directly tore through the concrete wall of the guardhouse, and the machine gunner inside was instantly beaten to a pulp.
More than a dozen guards rushed out of the garage in Armored Vehicle. As soon as they turned the muzzle, Tychus came forward to greet them.
"Is this just broken iron?" He cursed with a grin, pulled the trigger of the single soldier Autocannon, and a shell smashed the engine of Armored Vehicle. The entire vehicle collapsed on the spot and exploded into a burning iron coffin.
Planetary Defense Force's tactical movements were practiced in the steel torrent of Warhammer World and Imperial Army.
This kind of manor attack and defense battle is no different from playing house to them.
A group of three people would provide cross-covering and heavy firepower to clear out the target. Even if the guards were hiding behind the wall, they would be torn apart by Heavy Autogun along with them and the wall.
But at this moment, intensive gunshots suddenly rang out from the second floor of the main building.
Rojas's personal guard mounted a heavy machine gun, forming a crossfire from the stairwell.
The two guard soldiers who rushed at the front were shot instantly. The Plasteel tactical uniform blocked most of the bullets and did not cause fatal injuries, but they were still beaten back two steps.
Fu Haoran looked coldly and ordered into the earphone, "Bazooka, blast away the stairs."
Two rockets roared out instantly, destroying the stairwell on the second floor into rubble, and the heavy machine gun instantly misfired.
Tychus took the opportunity to rush forward and smashed open the master bedroom door with one punch.
The four personal guards inside were blown to pieces by the Autocannon in his hand before they had a chance to fire.
"Clear the main building!" he roared, and a dozen believers filed in behind him.
It only took eight minutes from the time the gate was opened to the time the resistance outside the main building was completely eliminated.
The three thousand guards in the manor were either killed on the spot or dropped their weapons and surrendered, without forming any effective counterattack.
Rojas had not yet completely sobered up when he was dragged off the bed. He was pushed to the ground by two believers, covered in blood, and his face was full of horror and disbelief.
"Who are you?" he roared, "How much did the CIA give you? I'll give you double! Ten times!"
Fu Haoran walked over, squatted down, and looked level with him.
"You can't give me what I want."
He stood up, turned and walked away.
Behind him, Tychus knocked Rojas unconscious with one punch and carried him like a sack.
"Sending it to the CIA is their political achievement." Fu Haoran didn't look back.