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In daring to provoke Jason, Guzman had another ace up his sleeve besides the reasons he mentioned in the video conference.
As major Mexican drug lords, they had a tradition stretching back decades of bribing government officials and police to provide cover for themselves.
After arriving in New York, Guzman carried on this fine tradition. After careful screening, he eventually set his sights on the Mayor of New York City.
According to the Guzman family's intelligence, this mayor led an extravagant lifestyle, had numerous assets at home and abroad, and maintained improper dealings with many of New York's entrepreneurs. He had even accepted bribes from the Kingpin and was the Kingpin's biggest backer in New York.
Upon receiving this intelligence, Guzman determined that the mayor was someone who could be won over.
He immediately sent people to contact the mayor, mobilized a large amount of capital from Mexico, and furnished the mayor with luxury cars and mansions, hosting lavish parties for him.
After spending nearly two hundred million dollars, Guzman successfully captured the mayor's loyalty, making him the family's backer in New York.
Guzman was well aware that ordinary police were nothing but living targets for Jason, completely useless.
So, immediately after the video conference, he called the mayor and asked him to dispatch an elite unit to provide protection.
Take their money, solve their problems.
Although the mayor was corrupt, he had a certain sense of professional ethics.
He immediately agreed to Guzman's request and arranged for special personnel to provide on-site service.
With the mayor's reply, a great weight was finally lifted from Guzman's heart.
He leaned back deeply into the soft sofa, lit a cigar, took a long drag, and then slowly exhaled. Accompanied by beautiful music, he began to dream about the bright future of his family.
Time ticked by. As noon approached, the personnel arranged by the mayor still had not arrived.
Guzman became anxious and called the mayor again.
Unexpectedly, the mayor excitedly told him over the phone that the matter had been taken over by the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.
It was a very mysterious department, and with them involved, Guzman could rest easy.
Hearing this, Guzman was naturally thrilled.
He had said it before: the machinery of the state was never as simple as it appeared on the surface. There were definitely special, unknown organizations hidden in the shadows.
He never expected to encounter one so soon after arriving in America.
After waiting for another half an hour, a trusted subordinate ran in, flustered.
"Boss, there are two men at the door who want to see you. I asked who sent them, and they said it was the mayor."
Guzman's expression turned to excitement. He quickly extinguished his cigar and shouted, "Quick! Bring them in! And remember, your attitude must be respectful! Anyone who dares to offend them, I'll feed them to the dogs!"
Hearing this, the subordinate's expression was a little surprising.
The boss had always been one to never show his emotions. Why had he suddenly become so agitated?
Could it be that those two men were some important figures?
The subordinate acknowledged the order and hurried out to bring the men in before any of his underlings could make a mistake.
A few minutes later.
The two men, led by the subordinate, walked into Guzman's office.
Guzman stood up and took a good look at them.
Two men, one white, one black.
The white man was wearing a sharp suit, appeared to be around 40 years old, and his hair was a bit thin on top.
Isn't this just an ordinary office worker? And he doesn't look particularly smart.
Guzman sized him up secretly, feeling a little disappointed.
He turned his gaze to the black man.
He wore a long, black trench coat with a pistol tucked into his waist. His face was cold, and he had a shiny, bald head.
What was most striking, however, was the black eyepatch over his left eye.
Guzman met his gaze, momentarily unsure whether to look at his eye or his eyepatch.
This black gentleman, however, fit his fantasy of America's secret agencies quite well.
"Hello, I'm Guzman."
"Nick Fury," The bald, black man said.
"Phil Coulson," The middle-aged bald guy said.
Guzman enthusiastically stepped forward to shake their hands. "Please, have a seat."
The two sat on the sofas to Guzman's left and right. The perceptive subordinate immediately served three cups of Blue Mountain coffee and then left the office.
However, the two men completely ignored the coffee. Nick Fury got straight to the point, "The mayor should have disclosed our identity to you."
Guzman took a sip of his coffee and nodded. "The mayor said you are from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. A mysterious agency with great power."
Nick Fury narrowed his one eye, his tone serious. "Good. Then tell us everything that's happened. You are not allowed to hide anything. You can't afford the consequences of lying to me."
Hearing this, Guzman's expression became a little flustered. He thought to himself that he had invited two imposing, hard-to-handle figures into his home.
He quickly put down his cup, organized his thoughts, and laid out everything about the dinner in three days and his own analysis.
The two men just listened quietly, neither one speaking.
Guzman's reverence for this mysterious organization grew, and he even intentionally lowered the volume of his voice.
After he finished, Nick Fury asked a few more questions and then stood up to leave.
"From now on, your men are under our command. Our identities and the content of our conversation must be kept secret. As long as you do everything as we say, we will guarantee your safety. Otherwise..."
Guzman quickly stood up. "Rest assured, I will definitely follow your instructions."
Nick Fury said, "Good. You just act as you normally would. Do whatever it is you do. If Jason shows up, we'll take care of him."
"Of course. As long as you're here, Jason..."
Guzman wanted to make some more small talk, but the two men gave him no opportunity, turning and leaving immediately.
Although he had been slighted by Nick Fury, Guzman didn't feel the least bit of dissatisfaction. In his mind, this was exactly how a secret organization should act.
Jason, I have a backer now. If you dare to come, you will surely die!
......
Nick Fury and Coulson left the slum and got into a custom Chevrolet van parked on the side of the road.
Coulson fastened his seatbelt and asked, "Director, do you think Jason will come for revenge?"
Nick Fury turned the vehicle around. "According to the agency's psychological profile on Jason Walter, I predict he won't come for revenge. But he will definitely come to kill, and it will be tonight!"
Coulson asked, "So... what's our plan?"
"Simple. First, install high-definition cameras in the surrounding area. Then send a few agents to consult on their tactical arrangements. Hopefully, they can push Jason to his limits and provide me with some data."
"You're using them as lab rats."
"Hmph. This social garbage is only useful for something like this."
Hearing this, Coulson nodded in agreement and asked, "And then? We just let Jason walk away after all that?"
Nick Fury smirked. "No. The moment Jason appears, we scramble the F-22s and blow him sky-high."
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