Capítulo 1884: Chapter 809: My Great India Empire?
“They make us look like a grandfather lying on his deathbed waiting to die, and India is the dutiful grandson!” The Pri Minister slamd a docunt on the table, “We even asked them for help privately! Is this how they help?!”
Graham sat in the corner, calmly saying, “India has its own calculations. They see the power vacuum left by the decline of the United Kingdom and want to fill it. Accusing xico is just a ans; the goal is to elevate India’s international status.”
“So what do we do? Thank them?” The Pri Minister replied sarcastically.
“We can ‘cautiously welco’ India’s initiative while emphasizing that the British governnt is capable of handling its own affairs,” Graham suggested, “More importantly, India’s sudden involvent actually diverts xico’s attention. Now xico has to deal with India’s challenge, and the pressure on us regarding the negotiations in Scotland might lessen a bit.”
The Pri Minister massaged his temples, “How are things in Scotland?”
“McTavish has accepted the revised frawork in principle, but the details are fiercely contested, regarding the division of fiscal powers under ‘high autonomy’, distribution of North Sea oil and gas revenues, the specific form of the Royal Family’s symbolism… each point can be argued over for three days,” Graham reported, “But the good news is they indeed have internal divisions. So want to reach an agreent quickly, while others want to strive for more.”
“Divide them,” the Pri Minister said wearily, “Give those who want to compromise a little sweetener, isolate the hardliners. If necessary… MI6 can ‘remind’ McTavish that if he can’t control the extremists, the consequences of a breakdown in negotiations will be on him.”
“Already in progress.” Graham nodded, “Additionally, over in Birmingham… the ‘English Congress’ announced a rally in Hyde Park on April 4th, with an expected turnout of potentially reaching a million people. The police strongly advise against forcibly stopping it, but request deploynt of the army to stand by on the periter.”
The Pri Minister closed his eyes. Birmingham, Scotland, financial collapse, India jumping in to point fingers, European allies standing by… all issues surge like a tide, and he in hand only holds a leaky spoon.
“Tell the police,” he finally said, “the army can be deployed, but they must wear riot gear instead of combat uniforms, equipped only with shields and batons, without my direct orders, no use of lethal weapons. And, let the BBC broadcast the entire event live—not to shoot conflicts, but to show our ‘protection of the people’s right to peaceful assembly’ as a ‘democratic image’.”
Crabben hesitated, “But if the rally turns violent…”
“Then it turns violent!”
The Pri Minister suddenly erupted, eyes bloodshot, “Let the whole world see! See how this country struggles on the brink of collapse! See how the so-called movent turns into riots! Maybe then, those countries still watching—United States, Germany, France—will truly realize, if the United Kingdom falls completely, who will be next?!”
The room fell into a dead silence.
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The Pri Minister panted, slowly sat back in his chair, his voice suddenly turning incomparably desolate: “Maybe we’re really finished, gentlen. But if it must end, let it end spectacularly, let everyone rember, let everyone pay the price.”
He looked out at the gray sky of London.
“Rather than bleeding slowly, suffocating slowly, dying bit by bit under the world’s pity or ridicule.”
April 1, 1997, Edinburgh, Scotland, St Giles Cathedral (negotiation venue)
On either side of the church’s long table, the atmosphere was tense enough to wring water from it.
On the left was the British delegation: led by Secretary for Scotland John Smith, alongside the Treasury Departnt Undersecretary, Departnt of Defense representative, Royal Family legal advisor, and two expressionless clerks.
On the right was the Scottish delegation: McTavish sat in the center, wearing a rare suit (but the tie was awkwardly tied), to his left was Donald Diu’er of the SNP, to his right was Calum McDonald as legal advisor, and standing behind were four fully ard Highland Freedom Army mbers in plain clothes but wearing Scottish badges, which was McTavish’s condition.
In the middle sat the United Nations appointed diation chairman, forr Norwegian Minister of Foreign Affairs Solvig Larsen, and French and German observers.
“Regarding the distribution ratio of North Sea oil and gas revenue,” John Smith pushed a docunt across, “London can accept that within the ‘high autonomy’ frawork, Scotland retains 70% of local tax revenue, but the oil and gas resources belong to the entire United Kingdom, and the revenue should be centrally allocated by the governnt, then distributed to various areas as needed.”
McTavish shook his head directly, “The North Sea is on the UK continental shelf, but the richest oil fields are in Scottish waters. Ownership should either be divided according to the sea areas, or the revenue 100% belongs to Scotland, and Scotland will pay a ‘joint service fee’ to London as per agreent—like a tenant pays rent to a landlord.”
“Absurd!” The Treasury Departnt Undersecretary couldn’t help but speak, “That is a national strategic resource! According to your logic, should the taxes from London Financial City also 100% belong to London City, and then ‘hand out’ to other areas?”
“If London can manage to move the Financial City out to sea, I have no objection.” McTavish responded coldly.
Chairman Larsen tapped the gavel, “Please remain constructive. Mr. McTavish, your proposal may not be fiscally sustainable. Scotland needs London’s transfer paynts to maintain public services.”
“What we need is fairness, not charity.” Calum McDonald adjusted his glasses, “According to calculations from our legal team, in the past thirty years, the value of taxes and resources contributed by Scotland far exceeds the public expenditure received. We are not begging; we are reclaiming what belongs to us.”
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