"She's not just Russian, Kate. She is the head of the Russian mafia, we cannot trust her in this matter," Price repeated in an undertone, clearly barely restraining his displeasure.

An hour earlier, Kate Laswell had confronted him with the fact of established cooperation between Task Force 141 and the Russian mafia. And John flared up like a match, at least mentally. Cooperate with the Russians? Kate, you must be crazy! You must have forgotten that Makarov can cooperate with them?!

Earlier, their search for people associated with the drug cartel based in Acapulco reached a dead end: the locals, like a single organism, covered each other. And John would have envied their cohesion if it hadn't been for the increased incidents of shootings between the cartel and the authorities, the victims of which were most often civilians.

"We will cope without anyone else's help," the man added with emphasis, mentally shuddering: because of his principles, dozens or even hundreds of innocent people may suffer while they are independently searching for the leader of the drug cartel. Cornered by circumstances, he rejected other people's help and probably looked like a stubborn ass from the outside.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers, he sighed, regaining the ability to think rationally.

"To hell with it. When will she arrive?" The words had barely left John's lips when there was a knock on the office door.