"Congo."
Bramo opened the red folder, "Captain Gals found a logistics node set up by Eastern European countries in Bukavu. It’s not a temporary base for rcenaries, but an officially tinged ’material distribution center.’ Our people took photographs inside of server cabinets, which are the sa model used by the Russian Ministry of Defense, but the system language is Ukrainian."
Victor didn’t look at the photos.
"Purpose?"
"Currently, it appears to be a dual operation. One line supplies arms and transportation channels to African drug lords through the ’Black Sea Wolf,’ exchanging for a share of drug profits. The other line... is cleaner. Official developnt aid, infrastructure contracts, military training. They are running these two lines simultaneously in over a dozen countries in Eastern and Central Africa, selling guns to drug traffickers with one hand while building roads for governnt forces with the other."
"Split personality," Casare uttered.
"No," Victor said, "it’s a reserved interface."
He paused.
"Both legal and illegal paths are laid out, ready to transfer assets from one pocket to another whenever needed. A classic Moscow craft, the leftover channels from Soviet Union’s aid to Africa, now with a new group of bosses—not necessarily governnt, possibly oligarch groups."
"How do we respond?" Bramo asked.
Victor looked out the window. The park had arrived, and the glass facade of the "Feathered Serpent God II" quantum computing lab shimred coldly in the sunlight.
"Don’t respond for now," he said, "let Gals continue to monitor, without exposing ourselves. We need to know exactly whom they are helping—drug lords to make money, or themselves to gain territory. Wait for them to reveal their cards."
Bramo wrote "monitor" on the red folder, then opened the second one.
Blue folder.
"European drug infiltration. West African drug lord ’Black Mamba’ is launching a saturation assault along the diterranean coast, with the first five-ton shipnt already in the distribution network, and a second ten-ton batch en route. In France Marseille, there was a gang fight, killing twelve Albanians at the hands of the ’Black Mamba’ vanguard. Italy, Spain, and Greece’s coast guards have consecutively intercepted semi-subrsible transport boats, all sources pointing to the Gulf of Guinea in West Africa."
"Is that our problem?" Casare asked.
"Not for the ti being," Bramo said, "but Italy and Spain have already shown interest in our ’digital security cooperation frawork’. This morning, the Italian Minister of Internal Affairs communicated through private channels to our ambassador in Ro: if xico can provide a ’verifiable coast surveillance solution’, they would be willing to sign a bilateral data-sharing agreent."
Victor’s lips slightly curled.
"See, no need for us to actively market. Crisis is the best salesperson."
"But we also have risks," Bramo said, "The US Drug Enforcent Administration is investigating the chemical characteristics of ’Black Pearl,’ and they will eventually find that this drug’s formula first appeared in xico—not an old formula left by drug cartels, but a byproduct of a catalyst patent registered by the ’Silicon Valley xico’ chemistry lab three years ago."
The car fell silent for a few seconds.
"The patent is public," Victor said, "Anyone can apply, use, and improve upon it. Our chemists rely conducted fundantal research without controlling downstream applications."
"Public opinion won’t care about that," Bramo said, "They’ll say that xican patent technology produced the drugs corroding Europe."
"Let them say it," Victor’s tone was unwavering, "then present evidence proving that we had already submitted a warning report on the potential misuse of this catalyst to the International Criminal Police Organization three years ago—I rember, the Turing Laboratory indeed did this, the report archive number is C-1994-087."
Bramo was montarily stunned and then quickly tapped on his tablet.
A few seconds later, he looked up.
"Found it. In November 1994, the lab submitted a technical warning to the Drug Control Division of the International Criminal Police Organization, with attachnts including the chemical structure of the catalyst, synthesis pathway, and the risk of drugification. They replied, acknowledging receipt but took no further action."
"Send a copy of this reply letter to journalists from The New York Tis and World Newspaper tonight," Victor said, "The headline could be ’European Drug Crisis, Warning Received Six Years Ago’."
Bramo quickly noted in the blue folder.
The third one, yellow.
"Scotland," he said, "McTavish rejected our ’Odin’s Eye’ holding plan and initiated secret contact with the Russian gas company. Norway is vacillating under US pressure. Our intelligence station in Edinburgh reports that McTavish will et with the English Congress’ Sarah Kent tomorrow night."
Victor didn’t speak imdiately.
The car stopped at the entrance of the quantum computation experintal building. He didn’t get out.
"McTavish is learning the art of balance," Victor calmly said, "That’s smart. It’s the only path he can take."
"Do we need to pressure him?"
"No," Victor pushed the car door open, "Pressure would only push him towards the Russians. Give him space, let him figure out on his own—the Russians can’t give him what he wants."
He stepped out, standing in the building’s shadow.
"The Russians want Scotland’s coastline, their fleet frozen in the Arctic Ocean needing an ice-free port as a supply base. McTavish thinks he’s negotiating gas, but what the Kremlin is talking about is a submarine base. When he realizes this, he’ll co back to us."
Bramo closed the yellow folder.
"So our priority now is..."
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