The Imperial Hunter

Chapter 44: Starving Port (6)

“I’ll tell you a slightly different story.”

I said.

“During the Vietnam War, some of the deployed U.S. soldiers had experiences with heroin use. One out of three, to be exact, had used heroin at some point, and one out of five was showing signs of addiction. But do you know who initially started making and selling heroin in that region?”

“Well, I don’t know much about that side of the market. Was it the Americans, by any chance?”

“No, it was France.”

“Too bad. It was getting interesting.”

“Don’t be disappointed. The United States joined in after fifty years, too.”

“Why did they join?”

“Because their interests aligned. France wanted to keep Vietnam as a colony, and the United States wanted to prevent the spread of communist influence. But the leading force in the Vietnamese War of Independence was none other than the communists, who later became the Viet Cong.”

“Huh, it’s getting interesting again.”

France had been cultivating opium in this region and selling it since the 19th century. It served both as a means to weaken nationalist forces and as a source of revenue for the rulers.

On the other hand, initially, the United States wanted to grant Vietnam its independence. Their plan was to secure independence first and then establish a pro-American government to prevent communism. However, France threatened to cooperate with the Soviet Union if the United States didn’t support them. Reluctantly, the United States sided with France. From then on, the United States became the enemy of Vietnamese nationalists.

However, the United States had no reason to feel wronged. After France was chased away by the Viet Minh, the United States inherited France’s legacy.

El Juego chuckled in a low tone.

“So, in other words, the heroin that addicted U.S. soldiers was actually made by the United States?”

“It’s somewhat similar. Strictly speaking, their role was in distribution, and production was outsourced to various places. But it’s undeniable that they were the biggest player in the entire Southeast Asia. CIA’s drugs scattered across Vietnam must have ended up in the hands of U.S. soldiers too.”

France withdrew completely from Vietnam a few years after the United States entered. To this day, the notorious Southeast Asian “Golden Triangle” was more than half a result of U.S. efforts.

Juego’s chuckle deepened.

“Selling drugs to their own ‘citizens’ must have been a tradition in the United States. You probably already know this, but that damn CIA is like our market’s senior!”

“Of course. It was during the Reagan administration.”

“Oh, right. The president at the time was Donald Reagan, wasn’t it? I heard that. The current president seems quite stupid, too. Maybe the name Donald is just unlucky. Hahaha!”

It wasn’t Donald but Ronald Reagan, but there was no need to correct him.

Reagan was a president who had strengthened the “War on Drugs” during his tenure but, behind the scenes, was supporting the Nicaraguan anti-communist rebel group, the Contras, by selling drugs to American citizens. The CIA, a traditional drug powerhouse, was in charge of the entire product distribution and financial support.

The spread of drug addiction in the United States during this period marked a point of no return. After all, the CIA was a powerful and competent organization. This era also coincided with South America becoming the world’s largest drug-producing region. The money paid by the CIA to production organizations wreaked havoc on security throughout South America.

That was why I found it quite foolish when the United States placed all the blame on other countries for the drug problem. Who was blaming whom? Both the United States and South America were founding members of the world’s top three drug-producing regions.

“Going back to the beginning—”

I continued the story.

“At first, the United States feared that these addicted soldiers would return to the mainland and continue seeking drugs. However, the results were the opposite of what was expected. Soldiers liberated from the war didn’t need drugs. Even after returning home, only one out of a hundred remained addicted. It’s a well-known story; have you heard of it?”

El Juego pursed his lips and shrugged. He didn’t know. When I turned my gaze, Mayor Chellino also shook his head. The former was excusable, but the latter was simply ignorant. By the time someone reaches the level of politics, they should have heard of famous anecdotes like this.

There was also the “Rat Park Experiment” related to this. It was an experiment that provided drugs to lonely rats confined in metal cages and, as a control group, to rats in a “park.” Here, “park” was referred to as a paradise for water rats, a space designed to be perfect in every way.

What were the results? The lonely and isolated rats compulsively used drugs, but the rats with companionship in the “park” showed no interest in the drugs they were given. Even when sugar was added to the drug solution, they ignored it, and even the rats previously addicted near the metal cages showed signs of quitting once they were transferred to the “park.”

The results clearly indicate the message. I continued my words.

“In reality, those who become addicted to drugs due to the temptation of easily obtaining them are relatively few.”

Even though that minority was by no means innocent, I was now playing the role of a defender for the cartel.

“The reason Americans cannot escape the lure of drugs is because they are living a life that leaves them no other choice. An unstable life where they struggle to make ends meet every day, an environment where there are barely any positive stimuli, parents with nothing to pass on except poverty, friends in the same situation, and a society that doesn’t care about abandoned and marginalized individuals.”

Leaning back in my chair, I delivered my words laced with restrained sarcasm.

“The biggest culprit that drives Americans into drug addiction is not the Mexican cartel or the Chinese Triads; it’s America itself. That’s my point.”

In the briefly silent room, claps suddenly echoed. Clap, clap, clap. El Juego, who clapped slowly and loudly, looked at me with a mocking grin.

“You seem to dislike the United States quite a bit.”

“It’s not just the United States.”

“Hmm?”

“I dislike countries like the United States, China, Japan, Germany, Belgium, the United Kingdom, France, and others. I dislike countries that have committed many sins and don’t reflect on them. Because I believe that God will not approve of what they have done.”

“Kuha! I didn’t expect God to make an appearance here. Interesting, really interesting!”

El Juego, who sought agreement by tapping the shoulders of the mayor and my colleague, asked me with renewed interest.

“Alright, Huan, do you think we’re better than the United States in your eyes?”

“Of course, you guys are evil. But…”

“But?”

“Whether you’re villains or not, I believe that the Lord is using you for a good purpose. The Lord is infinitely good, and all the good things in this world come from Him without exception.”

“Did you hear that? Did you hear?”

El Juego laughed loudly.

“I thought we’d meet a stubborn, close-minded old man like our local priest, but look at this! If he had nothing to do, he’d probably ask our kids for education! The kids who go to Mass every Sunday would have gone completely mad! Hahaha!”

The other two at the same table seemed uncomfortable with El Juego’s irreverence. Especially the landlord. Although he was a member of the ruling party and the mayor of a tourist port with an unusually high police presence, he didn’t want to provoke the foreigners unnecessarily and seemed to be trying to keep things calm.

It seemed he was trying to show me up right from the beginning. In Spanish, there was a saying that even a foreigner had a say in it. He didn’t deliberately act rudely to suppress the foreign businessman; he just seemed to be naturally disrespectful. I wonder if this guy, like me, didn’t have parents?

Up until now, El Tiro, who had been silently listening, finally spoke up.

“Don Juan, there’s something you should know.”

“What is it?”

“You sabotaged our work.”

“Sabotage?”

I asked in surprise, and El Juego tried to restrain El Tiro.

“Easy, easy, buddy, let’s talk nicely.”

“We were too impatient. We couldn’t gather the allocated number of troops by the designated date. From unemployed town folks to beggars, no one listens to the recruitment officials. It’s all because of this useless foreigner.”

While it was precisely what I intended, I didn’t feel particularly good about it. Insurance regarding accidents was most ideal when you didn’t need to use it. The fact that this cannon fodder, El Tiro, attempted to gather meat shields was itself a bad omen to me.

‘It means that battle could happen in this city as well.’

There was no law that said the battle zone must be in Mulron. There was a possibility that they might want to gather troops and make demands here.

However, regardless of the situation, they seemed to be in a hurry for troops. Even if they were just disposable mercenaries used for a low price, there was still a daily maintenance cost, and considering the high numbers, they didn’t seem to be thinking about long-term deployment.

Thud!

With a slam, El Tiro brought his fist down on the table. I didn’t miss the opportunity to act startled, showing a flinching reaction. He leaned closer to me, and elsewhere, he spoke in a threatening tone.

“My point is this. If you want to do business in our territory, you’ll pay a military fund. In return, our cartel promises to look after you.”

Before I could say anything, El Juego intervened with annoyance.

“Oh, you’re impatient! Do you really have to be like this?”

“I’m not in a position to take your orders, am I?”

“I’m the one responsible for this port!”

“And I’m the Deputy Commander of ‘Doble A.'”

I finally learned the identity of this guy named Tiro.

“Doble A,” or in other words, “Artistas Asesinos,” was one of the three major armed factions led by the Sinaloa Cartel.

‘He’s bigger than I expected.’

The elite of the three factions, “Gente Nueva,” were probably busy fighting with the knights and scavengers here in Guadalajara, and one of the deputy commanders from the remaining two strike forces was here. What did that mean?

If fighting were to break out in this port, it wouldn’t be ideal, but it would be manageable within the expected range. With just the military and police forces in this area, it would be enough to handle a cartel-on-cartel clash without the need for martial law in the short term. I made sure of that myself.

El Juego said irritably. 

“Anyway! I’ll explain it well, so just stay quiet. Don’t I have my own position?”

“……”

El Tiro, with a sour expression, backed away slightly and clenched his fist. It seemed that within the organization, El Juego’s position wasn’t as bad as I thought. Perhaps through connections or family ties. Simply being the boss of one port wasn’t enough to stop the Deputy Commander of “Doble A.”

‘It doesn’t look like a deliberate act.’

This was some good cop, bad cop act, and it was not even intentional, unlike the FBI’s exaggerated show.

“Could it be that this port will become a battlefield? Like Guadalajara?”

I asked with the demeanor of a businessman trying to suppress my fear and swallowed my saliva. El Juego, who had to attract investment, reassured me with a pat on the back.

“No, no, don’t worry. Your conscience is clear. His mission is a bypass attack. The sicarios gathering here will make a detour to the south, clearing out the headquarters of those knight-wannabes in southern Michoacán.”

“Hey, El Juego!”

“What now?”

“Are you out of your mind to disclose the operation to an outsider?”

“Why are you worried? Are you afraid that a foreigner from across the Pacific is a spy for the knights?”

“Still, there’s such a thing as principles!”

“Principles, my ass! In business, we have to show trust to each other! Don’t you know that today, Chellino and I are being extremely accommodating to you?”

They were playing around quite a bit. The two who had been engaged in a staring contest turned their sharp gazes away with Chellino the mayor’s intervention.

Disclaimer:

This novel is a work of fiction! While it may incorporate elements inspired by our "real" historical world, including historical events, settings, and cultures, it is important to note that the story and characters are entirely products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. This work should be enjoyed and interpreted as a work of fiction and not as a representation of historical facts or reality.

Also, if you find some error in translation please do let me know by tagging me (@_dawn24) in our Discord server. Since this series is kinda hard to translate. But I'll try my best to make it at least readable :)

Enjoy reading~!