Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1795: 793: You're Old, Gentlemen! (Part 2)

Capítulo 1795: Chapter 793: You’re Old, Gentlen! (Part 2)

“What about the real combat data?” Bramo asked.

“Ludwig tested it in Illinois.”

Victor put down his wine glass, “Last week, a ‘Phoenix Society’ ard squad tried to cross the border. Twenty bee swarm drones completed positioning, tracking, and fire covering within seven minutes. All twelve opponents lost combat ability, and we had zero casualties.”

Bramo’s eyes widened.

!!!!

The television screen returned to the studio, where the host began summarizing: “As both doctors have stated, xico is on a path of independent innovation, from chip design to flight control algorithms, from operating systems to communication protocols. We are building a completely independent technological system…”

Victor turned off the television.

He breathed a long sigh of relief, then lightly clapped.

Casare and the others also hurried to applaud; it’s political performance, isn’t it?

“What’s the situation in the United Kingdom?” he asked.

Casare smiled and said, “The whole world is cursing. The BBC’s latest poll shows that seventy-one percent of the British public believes the governnt is ‘hiding the truth’. The Scottish National Party has officially proposed a bill demanding the establishnt of an independent investigation committee, with mbers not including any current governnt officials.”

“The Queen will make a televised speech tomorrow afternoon. Our analysis suggests she will adopt a tough stance, expressing sadness on one hand, and condemning ‘shaless spying and dissemination’ on the other, trying to shift public focus from the cause of death to moral issues.”

“Clever.” Victor nodded.

He stood up and walked to the world map on the wall. xico’s territory had been painted dark green, extending from the Yucatan Peninsula to the Great Lakes Region. In Europe, on the location of the United Kingdom, he had pasted a photo of Diana, cut from a newspaper, already sowhat creased.

“The British think this is a dia war.”

Victor’s finger traced across the English Channel, “They’re wrong. This is war, only the bullets have been replaced by photos, the battlefield by headlines.”

Casare and Bramo exchanged a glance.

“Boss, what do we do next?” Casare asked.

Victor turned around, his eyes sparkling: “Help the British out a bit. Don’t they want the truth? Give them the truth, our version of the truth.”

London.

Graham stood in the analysis center on the third underground level of MI6, his eyes fixed on the massive screen on the wall.

The screen was divided into dozens of small fras, all related to the Diana incident worldwide, news, editorials, online discussions.

“Still no progress?” The Duke of Windsor walked in, his face looking worse.

“There’s progress, but not the kind we want.”

Graham laughed bitterly and pulled up a report, “The technical team confird that the equipnt used by the killer contained three special materials: one is a magnesium alloy wire that dissolves in water after seventy-two hours; another is the core component of a micro-transforr produced by a military factory in Kharkiv, Ukraine, but the plant shut down two years ago; and another is the coating on an infrared lens, with craftsmanship similar to a KGB model from the Soviet period but with improvents.”

“Soviet Union? Ukraine?” The Duke of Windsor frowned, “You an Big Bear?”

“Or it’s ant to mislead us deliberately.” Graham rubbed his temples, “What’s more troubleso is this.”

He switched screens, showing a network traffic analysis chart: “In the past seventy-two hours, thirty-seven percent of the global online discussions about the Diana incident co from the sa IP cluster. Tracking shows these IPs hop through multiple relay stations in Venezuela, Cuba, and Nicaragua, ultimately originating from…”

“xico.” The Duke of Windsor finished for him.

“Not only that.” Graham enlarged a segnt of the data, “These accounts are systematically guiding the discussion direction. Look at this one: If the British governnt wasn’t doing shady things in North Arica, why would there be retaliation?”

“This one: ‘Princess Diana criticized the governnt’s North Arican policy multiple tis before her death; did this make her a target?’ And this most direct one: ‘Want to know the truth? Search ‘Stone Bridge Town Massacre’.”

The Duke of Windsor’s face turned dark: “Stone Bridge Town? Isn’t that where we…”

“What we sponsored in Illinois last week with the ‘Trustee Committee.'” Graham’s voice was dry, “To suppress local resistance, we killed over three hundred civilians, and the news was suppressed, but now…”

He tapped the keyboard, pulling up a website that had just gone live two hours ago.

The website na was simple: ‘North Arica Truth.’

The hopage featured a bloody photo—a pile of corpses, burned houses, crying children. The headline was written in English and Spanish: ‘Stone Bridge Town, October 17, 1996, ard militants supported by Britain slaughtered here.’

Scrolling down revealed a detailed tiline, victim lists, and even so blurry videos showing soldiers in British-style gear firing guns.

“This website suddenly appeared on servers in seventeen countries two hours ago, and the managent source is untraceable,” Graham said, “The technical features are entirely consistent with the accounts guiding the Diana discussions.”

The Duke of Windsor slamd a fist on the console: “Victor, that bastard! He killed Diana, and now he’s using her death to promote his ‘Justice War!'”

“Not just that.” Graham’s voice went lower, “We just received an urgent notice from the Foreign Ministry. The dia in France, Germany, and Italy have received anonymous emails, containing links to the ‘North Arica Truth’ website and a postscript: ‘What Diana wanted to expose is precisely this.'”