Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1796: 793: You're Old, Gentlemen! (Part 3)

Capítulo 1796: Chapter 793: You’re Old, Gentlen! (Part 3)

“The international public opinion is shifting.”

Graham pulled up the latest public sentint analysis, “The world is sympathizing with the United Kingdom, condemning the killer. But now, so dia outlets have begun to discuss whether the United Kingdom’s role in North Arica is justified. Especially the editorial from France’s ‘World Newspaper’ this morning titled ‘An Empire’s Last Gasp: Why the United Kingdom is Creating a Humanitarian Disaster in North Arica?'”

The Duke of Windsor closed his eyes, took a deep breath, “The Queen’s speech this afternoon needs to be rewritten. We can no longer just talk about morality and privacy; we must proactively explain North Arican policy, otherwise…”

Before he finished speaking, a sudden alarm sounded.

“Officer!” A technician turned his head, face full of terror, “Just intercepted communications, xico City has issued a global dia announcent, Victor will make an ‘important international statent’ in three hours, thed ‘The Collapse of North Arican Human Rights and International Order.'”

Graham and the Duke of Windsor exchanged a glance and saw the sa words in each other’s eyes: Too late!

xico City ti at 8 PM, London ti at 2 PM.

At least five hundred million people worldwide simultaneously turned on the TV or radio.

In the studio of xican National Television, Victor sat behind a simple wooden podium, with a giant xican flag in the background and a newly designed flag beside it, a green backdrop with a golden hummingbird holding an olive branch and lightning.

“Good evening.” Victor started in Spanish, then switched to English, “I know at this mont, many eyes around the world are watching here. So expect to say sothing, so fear what I’ll say, and so might not care what a xican has to say.”

He paused, stared into the cara, those eyes seed to penetrate the heart of every viewer watching.

“But today, I stand here not for xico, not even for the suffering people of North Arica. I stand here for a simple word: truth.”

In the control room outside the studio, Casare watched the monitoring screen, palms sweating.

Sitting beside him were Bramo and Turing, Von Braun was in another room via video link.

“How much will he say?” Bramo asked quietly.

Casare said, “Boss said, since the British like to play low, we’ll play upfront. Flip the table, no one eats.”

Inside the studio, there was no manuscript in front of Victor on the podium. His hands were crossed, body leaning forward, like a teacher giving a lesson to students.

“Seven days ago, Lady Diana Spencer passed away in London. The British governnt said it was an accident, a tragedy caused by old circuitry. But curiously, just a few hours before her death, she received a gift from her friend, Mr. Dodi Fayed.”

Victor pressed a button on the podium, the large screen behind him lit up. It was an enlarged photo of the necklace box Dodi gave to Diana, the micro storage card under the lining marked with a red circle.

“What’s on this card? The British governnt says they don’t know. But coincidentally, we obtained so information from the battlefield in North Arica, from letters, diaries, copies of orders found in the pockets of soldiers supported, funded, and ard by the ‘Trustee Committee’.”

The screen switched, showing a series of docunt photos. So were handwritten, so were printed, so even had bloodstains.

“These docunts show that over the past eighteen months, the British intelligence departnt, via a third party, has delivered at least two hundred million US dollars’ worth of weapons and funds to North Arica’s so-called ‘Trust Zone.’ What were these weapons used for? Let’s take a look.”

The footage turned into video. Shaky cara, blurry image quality, but it was clear to see soldiers in British-style camouflage burning villages, with guns pointed at civilians.

“This is Stone Bridge Town, October 17, 1996. Three hundred twenty-four people died, including eighty-seven children. Why? Because local residents refused to hand over food to the ‘Trustee Committee.'”

“This is outside Kansas City, September 3, 1996. A troop under the command of a British advisor executed fifty ‘suspected rebels,’ afterward found that forty-three of them were just ordinary farm workers.”

“This is Missouri State, August, 1996…”

Video after video, photo after photo. So images were so bloody that the television station had to urgently pixelate them, but even with mosaics, the outline of the atrocities remained clear.

Victor’s voice remained calm, but that calmness was more powerful than any roar.

“Lady Diana repeatedly criticized the United Kingdom’s foreign policy during her lifeti. She went to Angola, witnessed firsthand the harm land mines do to children; she went to Bosnia, embraced orphans of the war. We have reason to believe that when she saw these atrocities in North Arica, what would she say? What would she do?”

He paused, eyes sharp as knives.

“Then she died, died in an ‘old circuit’ accident. At the ti of her death, there was also a piece of evidence that could reveal all this.”

The screen went black, leaving only Victor’s face under the light.

“The British governnt can deny, they can say those docunts are forged, the videos synthesized, they can continue to use ‘national security’ or ‘official secrets’ as an excuse, but I cannot help but ask.”

“Firstly, if the United Kingdom has no unspeakable secrets in North Arica, why fear Lady Diana getting that storage card?”