Gonzalez sat in the meeting room of the Pasto City Department of Administrative Security building.
Three minutes earlier, the meeting had just dispersed, but he hadn't left yet.
The setting sun streamed into the room, the distant sky blood-red, the clouds on the horizon a deep crimson.
This was a sunset glow.
It signified that there could very likely be a heavy rainstorm tomorrow.
The Tame Region had been experiencing torrential downpours these past few days; it seemed Pasto City was also affected.
Gonzalez had only been appointed as the Chief of the Operations Organization Department for three months, and his visit to Pasto City was for an inspection tour; this place was the command center of the Intelligence Bureau in the southern region, and it was the first stop on his tour.
In front of him lay the latest intelligence brief.
Basically, as someone in his position, he would receive intelligence briefings from all over the place every day; according to his level, even if an anti-terrorist or combat operation within Colombia didn't involve the Intelligence Bureau, a briefing would still be sent to him.
"What a bunch of useless fuckers."
After reading the fresh, hot-off-the-press briefing, Gonzalez's mouth twisted into a disdainful sneer.
The Army Special Forces had launched a raid operation called "Stranglehold," targeting the ELN armed group's leader Morins; the operation unfolded in a jungle near the Tame Region. The briefing reported that, based on insider intelligence, they had pinpointed Morins' location, then mobilized an army battalion and five AGLAN Special Forces contingents to attack in the early morning, three days ago, launching a surprise assault on an ELN camp in the jungles of the Tame Region.
The outcome of the operation seemed impressive at first sight, with over a hundred ELN fighters killed or injured, and more than thirty captured.
But such a brilliant record led to a rather darkly humorous outcome—Morins had escaped.
And with him, a man who had turned from arms dealing.
When Gonzalez first saw the briefing about this operation, he hadn't yet come to inspect Pasto City and had laughed like a pig in his office after reading it.
Morins' escape meant that the operation was a complete failure; no matter how many ELN fighters were killed, the score was zero.
"Serves them right!"
That was the first thought that crossed his mind at the time.
Normally, the Intelligence Bureau would be involved in such operations and, as the newly appointed Chief of the Operations Organization Department, he could have used this operation to add a feather in his career cap.
But unexpectedly, the military took action on its own, not bothering to contact him or request his cooperation at all.
Gonzalez knew very well the subtleties involved.
The military was guarding against him!
They felt the Intelligence Bureau was not secure, fearing intelligence leaks that could lead to the failure of the operation!
Look!
What a bunch of idiotic shitheads!
They dared to snub him just like that.
Therefore, Gonzalez wasn't planning to get involved in this mess; let the military clean up their own disaster!
Whoever provided them with intelligence support now would be an idiot!
Having read today's briefing, which mentioned that Morins and the arms dealer hadn't been caught yet, but instead, the AGLAN Special Forces had lost a squad, with seven deaths.
Heh.
Serve you right for acting so high and mighty!
He closed the file, stood up, and walked out of the meeting room.
The secretary had been waiting outside the door; he handed the file to her, then pressed his hands forcefully over his head, straightening his hair as if he were rolling out dough.
Recently, Gonzalez was seeing a barber every week to get tidied up, getting his hair to the point where not even an ant could stand on it.
Being new to the position, he had to be conscious of his image.
"The car is waiting downstairs, sir," the secretary reminded.
"Mmhmm," Gonzalez muttered, not even lifting his eyelids.
Perks!
This was all about perks!
When he had been the Deputy Head of the Intelligence Analysis Department, he never got this level of treatment.
He went downstairs and surely enough, his official car was waiting at the entrance.
It was a BMW sedan, with an off-road vehicle parked behind it, and several Intelligence Bureau agents standing by.
They were in charge of his security.
Gonzalez got into the car, and as the driver gently pressed the gas pedal, the BMW glided out of the portico and into the courtyard of the Administrative Building. It soon left through the gate and then turned right onto Simon Street.
Seated in the passenger seat, the secretary turned slightly to remind his boss, "Sir, Director Pitman has already made an appointment to meet with you at Rose Restaurant on the third floor of the hotel at seven o'clock tonight."
"Mmhmm," Gonzalez hummed with his eyes still closed, making a nasal noise that served as a response.
These local branch officials only wanted to privately invite you to dinner to discuss funding matters.
The Bureau always had a budget every year, and operations funding was very substantial; naturally, the directors of each local branch wanted a bigger piece of the pie.
Now that he was visiting this time, the local Intelligence Branch Director Pitman certainly wouldn't miss this opportunity.