Farming Life Starting in Africa

With the entire plan finalized, everyone was ready. Guan Yuming immediately dialed the Sonora Group's contact number to coordinate with them.

He quickly received a reply on the other end of the phone, instructing him to go alone to the southern suburbs of Nogaris, where someone would meet him and take him to the base.

The group quickly boarded the vehicle and sped off towards their target suburb. The Paramount Marauder had a fierce appearance and a rugged design, and pedestrians and passing vehicles instinctively gave it a wide berth, no one daring to glance at it more than once. They all assumed it was a vehicle used by the Mexican police, perfectly avoiding the curiosity of any passersby.

In the back car, Fu Longsheng's adopted sons huddled together, unable to hide their excitement and anticipation. It was their first time participating in such a high-intensity cross-border anti-bandit mission, and everyone was eager to try.

Awei was still replaying the image of the truck full of heavy weaponry in his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more puzzled he became. He asked, "Brother, did you notice? None of these weapons have standard serial numbers or production batch numbers. We can't trace their origin at all. That's really strange."

Chen Xiwang pondered for a moment and said, "It's most likely smuggled goods of dubious origin. I've heard that the US military secretly smuggles out a large amount of weaponry every year, circulating it in the gray market."

Xiao Xin listened with great curiosity, pressing for more questions: "They sell their own weapons? Who do they mainly sell to?"

"Most of them are drug cartels from Mexico," Chen Xiwang casually explained. "The situation here is chaotic, the law is lax, and black market transactions are rampant. A lot of heavy weaponry can flow into the market through gray channels."

Awei still felt something was off, and frowned as he recalled: "Those anti-tank missiles and anti-aircraft missiles from earlier looked more and more familiar to me. They didn't resemble the Stingers, which are standard issue for the US military, and their shape and appearance didn't match up."

A knowing glint flashed in Chen Xiwang's eyes as he whispered, "It looks like standard equipment from our country. After all, the people leading this effort are all our own, so it's not surprising that they can get their hands on this kind of hardcore military equipment."

The car quickly arrived at the target area in the southern suburbs of Nogaris.

As planned, Guan Yuming drove alone toward the rendezvous point. The Paramount Raider and the old Chrysler Grand Voyager quietly pulled over and disappeared into the dense woods along the roadside, remaining silent and engine-free the entire way.

A small drone quietly took off and followed Guan Yuming's car from high above, locking onto the target steadily from a distance and tracking it covertly throughout the entire process.

While the squad in the Mexican countryside was fully prepared and ready to go, the atmosphere at the U.S. military base on the Arizona border was oppressively tense.

In this military base that guards the border year-round, the interrogation area is the place no one wants to approach. The corridor lights are glaringly white, and a chilly wind blows all year round. The air is thick with an indelible smell of blood, which makes one's scalp tingle just by smelling it.

A young CIA agent, who looked fresh off the job and had only recently joined, clutched a piece of intelligence that had just been urgently sent back and hurried to the door of the deepest interrogation room.

He raised his hand and gently knocked on the door; only low groans could be heard from inside.

A moment later, the door was pushed open a crack from the inside. He glanced into the room and was immediately stunned, his mind going blank for a moment.

The interrogation room had no fancy equipment, only cold metal tables and chairs and gray walls. Matt Graves was standing by the door, his aura chilling.

Behind him, a person was firmly locked to a chair, no longer recognizable as a normal person; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call him a human skeleton.

His body was covered in dense wounds, his skin was torn and bloodstains were everywhere. He was on the verge of death and even it was difficult for him to lift his head and breathe. He was completely tormented to the point of collapse.

Such hardcore torture scenes are something a newcomer like him would never normally encounter.

The young operator's pupils contracted sharply, his stomach churned, and his mind was filled with the horrifying scene from earlier; he couldn't come to his senses for a long time.

Matt looked calmly at the operative, walked out of the house, closed the door behind him, and slowly wiped the bloodstains from his palm with a towel.

"What's wrong?"

The young operative quickly handed over the documents in his hand. "Sir, we just received an urgent update. Diaz has reached the border and is preparing to return to Mexico."

Matt's previously relaxed expression instantly hardened. He took the intelligence file from the other person, glanced at it, and asked, "Have you found out why Diaz went to Mexico?"

"There are no clues at the moment. Everything happened so suddenly, without any prior warning." The operator honestly shook his head.

Matt lowered his head and pondered for two seconds before asking in a deep voice, "Can the satellite still accurately lock onto his location and track his trajectory?"

Upon hearing this, the young agent looked troubled, then gritted his teeth and said the worst possible outcome: "We can't keep up... He's about to enter the underground tunnel at the border."

Matt wasn't surprised at all by the answer.

The underground drug tunnels along the border have long formed a dense network, with numerous exits and connections, covering every corner of the US-Mexico border.

In addition, the flow of vehicles and people at the border is already large during the day, with a constant stream of vehicles coming and going. Once Diaz enters the tunnel and loses the satellite, who knows which exit he will emerge from? Trying to track him down again is basically like looking for a needle in a haystack.

To be honest, this is a terrible thing.

Diaz's sudden return trip completely disrupted Matt's team's meticulously planned scheme, rendering many of their pre-arranged backup plans useless.

Fortunately, every cloud has a silver lining; the long night of torture and interrogation paid off.

Matt had just managed to pry a complete list of drug trafficking tunnels out of Ted, that corrupt cop. Combined with the intelligence they had obtained from the smugglers, they were able to accurately pinpoint all the main roads and hidden passages.

Diaz's current route will narrow the scope considerably, and with a bit of luck, he might even be able to spot him.

Matt went back inside, took out a slip of paper, and handed it to the operative. "These are a few exit addresses. Diaz will choose one from these. Keep an eye on those locations and don't lose track of them."

After saying that, he casually waved his hand, signaling the other party to hurry up and get the work done.

Once he was alone in the corridor and it was completely quiet, Matt took out his phone and dialed Alejandro's number. "Alejandro, the plan has changed. Diaz has run away and is heading into Mexico immediately."

The voice on the other end of the phone tightened instantly, filled with suppressed urgency: "If we act now, is it still too late to stop him?"

Matt pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and the flame flickered in the pale hallway.