14: Find a pretext and disguise your identity.

White House.

The Oval Office.

"Mr. President, Deputy Director Bobby Ray has arrived," the female assistant announced softly.

"Let him in."

A stern voice came from behind the desk.

Ronald Reagan, the US President known for his toughness, did not look pleased at the moment.

He put down the documents in his hand, interlaced his fingers, and watched CIA Deputy Director Bobby Ray stride in.

"Bobby, tell me, what exactly caused you to use the highest emergency authority to burst straight into my office?"

Reagan's voice was low, carrying an undeniable sense of pressure.

Bobby Ray dared not delay in the slightest. He handed over a tablet computer, the screen showing the ruins of the Bolivian Anti-Drug Bureau building.

"Mr. President, please look."

"Just twelve hours ago, a Bolivian drug lord named Gomez deployed fifteen ka-50 attack helicopters."

"They massacred the headquarters of the Bolivian Anti-Drug Bureau."

"All our agents deployed there, along with over three hundred Bolivian police officers, were completely wiped out."

"What?!"

Reagan suddenly stood up, leaning forward with his hands braced on the desk, his eyes sharp enough to devour someone.

"Fifteen Ka-50s? Big Mao's 'Black Sharks'? Are you sure you're not joking with me?"

"I stake my professional career on it, Mr. President."

Fine beads of sweat were seeping from Bobby Ray's forehead.

"These helicopters are now in the hands of that drug trafficker Gomez."

"A drug trafficker... owns a squadron's worth of advanced attack helicopters?"

Reagan muttered to himself, and then a wave of fury rushed to his head.

"This is absolute madness!"

He walked around the desk, pacing back and forth in the office, the sound of his leather shoes hitting the floor heavy and rapid.

"This is a declaration of war against us! This is a new Havana Crisis! What exactly do those Big Mao bastards want?"

"Are they going to put missiles in our backyard?!"

"There is currently no direct evidence that this is an official act by Big Mao," Bobby Ray quickly added.

"Gomez is Bolivia's largest drug lord, controlling over half of the country's cocaine trade. He is extremely arrogant, and we suspect..."

"I don't care what you suspect!" Reagan interrupted him roughly.

"I only want results! Now, immediately! First, issue the sternest diplomatic protest to The Kremlin.

"Tell them not to try playing with fire on our turf!"

"Second, approve the Bolivian government's request, and get The Pentagon's F-16s moving!"

"I don't care about Gomez or the Cartel. Take them and those fifteen damned iron coffins,"

"Wipe them off the map of South America!"

"Third!" Reagan's gaze turned extremely dangerous.

"Investigate! Thoroughly investigate! How did these weapons bypass our intelligence network and get shipped into Bolivia!"

"I need to know that damned transport route!"

"If they can ship in attack helicopters today, will they be placing nuclear warheads on our doorstep tomorrow?!"

"Yes, Mr. President!" Bobby Ray answered, standing at attention.

"Go execute it!" Reagan waved his hand, sitting back down in his chair, fury churning in his eyes.

That same day, the order was relayed to The Pentagon and the State Department at the fastest speed.

The major US TV stations, like sharks smelling blood, reported the Bolivian Anti-Drug Bureau tragedy as headline news.

In the news footage, blurry images of the ka-50s firing and the tragic state of the Anti-Drug Bureau were repeatedly broadcast.

The hosts used highly inflammatory language, pointing the spearhead directly at Big Mao.

"Shocking! Big Mao Attack Helicopters Appear in South America, Slaughtering Anti-Drug Police!"

"The Clarion Call of a New Cold War? Big Mao Supports Drug Traffickers to Challenge World Order!"

For a time, the US populace was enraged, and condemnations flooded the airwaves.

Media across the entire Western World quickly followed suit, launching a storm of public opinion attacks against The Kremlin.

The Kremlin, far away in Eastern Europe, was completely stunned.

"Ka-50s? Sold to drug traffickers? What kind of international joke is this!"

After an urgent internal investigation, they found that none of their Ka-50 inventory was missing; the accounts were crystal clear.

And so, a massive international verbal war officially kicked off.

US accused Big Mao of secretly causing trouble, while Big Mao countered by accusing US of slander and crying thief while being the thief.

The entire world became tense because of these fifteen suddenly appearing Ka-50s.

And the perpetrator of all this, David, was currently standing on the observation deck of the Willis Tower in Chicago.

Holding a glass of champagne, he comfortably overlooked the concrete jungle below.

Night fell, and the myriad lights of the city converged into a brilliant river of stars, stretching all the way to the horizon.

"It's truly beautiful."

David sighed.

"Boss."

Juan silently appeared behind him, acting as a shadow as always.

"How are things progressing?" David asked without turning his head.

"We have already made contact with some of the biggest local gangs; they are very interested in our 'goods'."

Juan reported, "Furthermore, according to your instructions, we have gathered specific information on three banks."

"Very good."

David drained the wine in his glass and turned to walk toward the elevator.

"Back to the hotel."

The group returned to the Presidential Suite where they were staying.

Inside the room, more than twenty elite Death Sworn were waiting in various postures; some were cleaning firearms, others were fiddling with computers.

Seeing David enter, everyone immediately stopped what they were doing, stood up in unison, and respectfully lowered their heads.

"Boss."

"Mhm."

David waved his hand casually and sat down on the sofa.

A Death Sworn named Diego immediately stepped forward and presented a list.

"Boss, this is the preliminary request list from those gangs."

David took it and glanced over it, then curled his lip and tossed the list onto the table.

What was listed were merely Glock Pistols, AR Rifles, AK Automatic Rifles, and large quantities of ammunition.

"Just this much stuff? Are they trying to pay off beggars?"

David felt rather bored.

"Doing business with these small-time Chicago gangs is simply wasting my time."

He leaned back on the sofa, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest.

"Isn't robbing banks more exciting than this? These guys are still playing house; our goal is the Stars and the Sea."

Juan and the others listened quietly, their eyes emotionless. They would execute any decision made by the Boss unconditionally.

"Handle the weapons transactions yourselves."

David instructed, "Remember, find an excuse, disguise your identities well, and don't expose any of our information, especially your appearances."

"Yes!"

"Now, tell me about those three banks." David became energized, leaning forward.

Another Death Sworn immediately stepped forward and spread a large map of downtown Chicago on the table, marking three locations with a red pen.

"Boss, we have filtered out the three most suitable targets."

He pointed to the first mark.

"This location is the main vault of the First National Bank of Chicago headquarters. The security level is the highest, but according to our intelligence..."

"Every Friday afternoon, large amounts of cash are gathered here from branch offices in preparation for weekend fund transfers, making the cash flow the greatest."

He then pointed to the second mark.

"This is a Private Trust Bank. Its main clients are wealthy businessmen and politicians, and the security is relatively weak."

"The vault holds large amounts of cash, bearer bonds, and jewelry."

Finally, he pointed to the third mark.

"And here," the Death Sworn's tone became slightly excited.

"This is the Federal Reserve's Cash Transfer Center in Chicago. Although it's not a vault, large amounts of old currency are transported here daily for destruction."

"At the same time, new currency is transported from here to major banks. If we can seize the timing difference and intercept the armored convoy..."

The Death Sworn did not continue speaking, but everyone understood what that implied.

A playful curve appeared at the corner of David's mouth.