Capítulo 1868: Chapter 806: Gentlen Always Learn to Compromise
March 6, 1997, London.
The weather, even the rain is misty.
That’s how industrial countries are.
Even taking a leak feels smoggy…
Graham slamd the record of the Geneva eting onto the table, the paper sliding across the smooth surface, stopping by the Pri Minister’s hand.
In the eting room, besides the Pri Minister, there were the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Foreign Minister, the Commonwealth Affairs Minister, and the heads of MI5 and MI6. Everyone’s face was as gloomy and rainy as the London sky in March.
“They have nad their price.”
Graham’s voice was hoarse, “The formal transfer of the ‘Trust Zone’ in the Great Lakes Region. Quantum computing technology sharing. In exchange, they will help us stabilize Scotland, the overseas territories, and the damned British Pound.”
Chancellor Howard made a sound in his throat akin to choking: “Them? Stabilize the British Pound? Using xico’s reserves? This is a bloody insult!”
“It’s reality.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
The other party imdiately shut up.
He was just instinctively retorting.
In fact, there was no need to take it seriously.
Graham: “In the past 72 hours, more than thirty billion British Pounds have flowed out. Traders in Frankfurt and Paris are betting that the Pound will reach parity with the US Dollar. How long can the Bank of England’s foreign exchange reserves last? A week? Two weeks?”
Foreign Minister Crabben stared at the record: “If we agree, it would be openly admitting that the United Kingdom has beco xico’s loser.”
“If we don’t agree,”
The Pri Minister finally spoke, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible, “Scotland might declare independence within a month. Jamaica, Bermuda, Kenya will follow suit. The riots in Birmingham will spread to London. Then… the Bank of England announces it can’t maintain the exchange rate, the Pound crashes, the pension system collapses, supermarket shelves are emptied.”
He looked up, a nearly crazed light in his eyes: “Gentlen, we’re not discussing honor, we’re discussing survival. The dignity of the Old Empire, or bread and order? Choose one.”
Deathly silence.
Sir Jas Eden, the seventy-year-old aristocrat and Commonwealth Affairs Minister, spoke shakily: “We can try to divide and conquer. Stabilize the most important forr colonies, especially India. India is key; as long as India remains stable, the backbone of the Commonwealth is intact. We can et so of their demands, buy so ti.”
“et?” Howard glared at him, “They want compensation! Hundreds of billions! Where do we get the money?!”
“We can negotiate.” Eden insisted, “Installnts, debt relief, trade concessions—the key is the gesture. Her Majesty the Queen recently apologized, we can take advantage of that to start a ‘historical reconciliation process’, packaging economic compensation as ‘developnt aid’ and ‘future cooperation funds.’ As long as we drag the negotiations out for a few years, the situation might take a turn for the better.”
The Pri Minister tapped his fingers on the table.
Once, twice.
“Crabben, arrange a eting with the Indian High Commissioner. No, not just India, Jamaica, Kenya, Nigeria, South Africa… all major Commonwealth mbers we can still negotiate with, secretly invite their envoys to London. The level should be high, but not public. Tell them the United Kingdom is willing to reexamine historical relationships with ‘the most sincere attitude’ and discuss a ‘frawork for future partnerships.'”
He turned to Howard: “The Treasury Departnt is to prepare a ‘Special Developnt Fund’ proposal, initially set at one hundred billion British Pounds, to be disbursed over ten years. Where will the money co from? Cut military spending, suspend so non-essential Royal Family expenditures, and issue special governnt bonds. Tell the dia, this is ‘the responsibility and commitnt of the UK in the post-colonial era.'”
“One hundred billion?!” Howard nearly fainted.
“If the Pound crashes, the loss is a trillion.” The Pri Minister enunciated every word, “Spend money to buy ti, Howard. What we lack most now is ti.”
He looked at Graham again: “As for Scotland… tell McTavish we’re willing to discuss everything, including the roadmap for an independence referendum. But the precondition is an imdiate ceasefire and the release of all prisoners. The negotiation location can be in a third country, Norway or Switzerland, under the supervision of the United Nations.”
Graham frowned: “Will he believe it?”
“He doesn’t need to believe, he only needs to hesitate.” The Pri Minister’s eyes were sharp, “Every day of hesitation could an more internal conflicts for him. Will those new recruits who got money want to just take what they can see? Will those who sponsor him behind the scenes be frustrated with the slow progress? Give him hope, then mix a little poison into that hope.”
“And the unrest in England…”
The Pri Minister was silent for a few seconds: “Let the police continue to exercise restraint. But secretly arrest a few leaders, using other charges, tax evasion, dostic violence, traffic accidents, whatever. Don’t carry out large-scale suppression, target them precisely. At the sa ti, have the BBC broadcast more segnts on livelihood improvents, news about raising the minimum wage on a rolling basis. Spend money, soothe, divide, delay.”
He stood up, looking around at everyone: “Gentlen, we are undertaking one of the most humiliating yet most necessary tasks in history: using money and lies to inject adrenaline into a dying empire, maybe it won’t work, but we must try. Because if it falls, it may never get up again.”
The eting ended in oppression.
Graham looked at the man in front of him, his bloodshot eyes and crooked tie, suddenly rembering sothing he heard thirty years ago when he just joined MI6 at the training camp: “The Empire’s last line of defense is often its most unbearable lie.”
March 8, London, a private suite on the top floor of the Carlton Club
Indian High Commissioner Samir hta held a glass of single malt whisky, overlooking Piccadilly Street under the night sky.
User Comments
0 comments from readers