Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 645 Nobody knows drug dealers better than us!

The chaos in front of Buckingham Palace spread like a plague through London and other cities.

The crowd storming the palace gates saw a glimmer of hope for victory. The gates, symbolizing the heart of the empire, groaned and deformed under the violent impact, before finally bursting open!

A surging crowd, like a flood bursting its banks, poured into the palace that had once represented supreme majesty. Passersby's cell phone cameras faithfully captured the scene, symbolizing how the fortress on which the sun never sets had been breached by its own people.

This scene was more devastating than any drug lord's humiliating livestream, instantly igniting a global media frenzy. The face of the British Empire was utterly shattered in the mud…

Faced with this unprecedented crisis, the remaining forces of the royal family and cabinet finally realized that silence meant death, and that was unacceptable!
After being urgently moved to a safe but less symbolically significant location, the Queen, an elderly woman who has weathered countless storms, had no choice but to stand in front of the cameras herself.

Her voice was heavy, and tears still clung to her cloudy eyes.

“My people.” Her voice, transmitted through the microphone, resounded throughout the nation and the world. “At this moment, the sights on the streets of London and the suffering of our soldiers in Medellín break my heart. But we must also understand that violence is not the way to solve problems; it will only bring deeper trauma and destruction. In the name of the Queen, I implore everyone to remain calm and exercise restraint.”

She paused slightly, as if she could see through the camera lens and look directly at every angry citizen and every soldier struggling desperately in Medellín, saying with a tone of sorrow, "To the brave soldiers trapped in Medellín, I assure you, your country has not forgotten you. We are using every possible means, at all costs, to bring you safely home! Please hold on, the rescue is on its way!"

Her tone was earnest, and her posture extremely humble, as she attempted to appease the boiling public resentment with the dignity and promises of the royal family, buying precious time for the rescue efforts. In front of the camera, she did her best to play the role of a symbol of national unity and hope.

This woman…

She's a really good actress.

However, off-camera, in the airtight room of the safe house, the feigned composure vanished. Facing the newly appointed acting defense minister, who had been thrust into the spotlight and was overwhelmed with problems, and the equally disoriented prime minister, the Queen's voice betrayed a barely concealed weariness and anxiety:
"Gentlemen, the children of Medellín are suffering every minute, and the situation in London is critical. We must take immediate and effective action! Any means—I mean any means—that can save our soldiers and stop this disaster from spreading!"

The acting defense minister was ashen-faced, his lips trembling as he could not utter a complete sentence.

Damn it, why did I have to become the acting defense minister? What bad luck!

The prime minister was like an ant on a hot pan, his mind a complete mess, as conventional diplomatic mediation and military pressure had long proven ineffective.

In despair, an extremely absurd and dangerous idea slithered into his mind like a venomous snake: to make a deal with drug dealers.

"Your Majesty, perhaps... perhaps we should try... another... channel of communication?" The head of state's voice was dry, his eyes darting around, not daring to look the queen in the eye. "A... more direct... perhaps a private contact that could bypass the deadlock?"

The Queen closed her eyes wearily, not objecting immediately, which was almost tantamount to acquiescence.

On the brink of choosing between royal dignity and the survival of the nation, she chose the latter, even if it meant making peace with drug dealers—a desperate, self-destructive option.

The Prime Minister, feeling as if he had been granted a pardon, immediately used the most secretive and clandestine "backdoor" channel of the intelligence service, bypassing all official diplomatic procedures, to send an almost pleading signal to the core of the Medellín drug cartel.

The message was filled with naked despair and resignation:

“We understand your strength and demands. For the safety of the trapped soldiers, we are willing to discuss substantial compensation, including but not limited to large cash payments, specific non-strategic weapon systems, and even considering ‘non-interference’ in specific areas in the future. Please state your conditions. Everything is negotiable, just make sure our soldiers are released safely. Please keep this confidential.”

To prevent others from finding out, they still found a middleman to deliver it.

This secret letter, filled with humiliation and appeasement, sank without a trace, leaving London's decision-makers feeling like every second was an eternity.

However, instead of negotiators, they were met with yet another humiliating rebuke that resounded throughout the world!

Just as the echoes of the Queen's televised address were still lingering and the tense atmosphere on the streets of London was beginning to ease, the Medellín drug lord's "media center" was up and running again.

This time, they didn't play gory images, but incredibly clear audio recordings.

The recording revealed a conversation between a middleman and a drug dealer.

The other side, representing Britain, promised them that as long as the captured British soldiers were released.

"Large cash payments, specific weapon systems, non-interference in the future—everything is negotiable..."

Every word was like a red-hot branding iron, fiercely searing the already bloodied and mangled faces of the British royal family and government!

After the recording finished playing, the familiar drug lord once again occupied the center of the screen.

He held a media player in his hand, his face displaying an undisguised, cruel smile, like a cat toying with a mouse.

“Listen to this! Listen to this! Gentlemen of London! Your Prime Minister! Your royal whore! Wagging their tails like dogs!” He exaggeratedly imitated the tone of the recording, “Name your terms…everything is negotiable…please keep this a secret…hahahaha!”

He slammed the player to the ground and crushed it with his foot: "Keep it a secret? I'll let the whole world hear it! Is this what you call 'at all costs'? Is this the nobility of your royal family? Using money and weapons to buy back the lives of you worthless bastards? Bah! Trash is trash! From the army to the government, to the old woman hiding behind the crown, they're all spineless worms!"

He pointed at the camera, spitting as he spoke, every word dripping with utter contempt and mockery: "Now the whole world knows that not only can you not beat us, but you're kneeling down and begging us! Your 'Emperor Never Sets'? It's a huge joke! We used a few broken guns to turn it into a kneeling, begging 'Emperor Never Sets'! Trash! Utterly trash!"

The release of the recording was like inserting a red-hot dagger into a wound in London that had just barely stopped bleeding, and then stirring it up violently.

The Queen's poor attempt at appeasement in her televised address vanished instantly, replaced by deeper anger, utter disillusionment, and a nationwide wave of shame.

Every word in that recording was a dagger, stabbing viciously into the heart of every self-proclaimed proud Englishman.

The British are known for their incredibly high self-esteem.

The anger that had just been barely suppressed by the Queen's speech on the streets of London was instantly ignited into a raging inferno when this barrel of gasoline was poured on it!

"Treason! This is blatant treason!"

"Kneeling before drug dealers?! How dare you!"

"Prime Minister, get out! Immediately! Right now!"

"Queen? Royal Family? A bunch of charlatans! Disgrace!" The crowd's roar was no longer a protest, but a complete raging indignation!
The outcry was like a real shockwave, pounding against the crumbling windows of the government residence, disrupting the live television broadcast, and shaking the very foundations of Britain.

People waved their fists, burned the Union Jack, a symbol of the nation, and smashed billboards bearing the prime minister's image.

Every square and every street became a sea of ​​anger.

The cries for "the Prime Minister to step down" were no longer just demands, but an unquestionable ultimatum. Their furious momentum seemed to tear apart the gloomy London sky and completely overturn the entire Westminster!
Inside the Prime Minister's official residence, the atmosphere was colder and more desperate than in a morgue, like the death of one's mother.

"Shameless! Despicable! Traitorous venomous insect! Bastard!"

The prime minister's eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging on his forehead, and he slammed his fist hard on the expensive mahogany desk, making a dull thud.

An expensive bone china teacup was swept to the ground, shards flying everywhere.

"They have no sincerity in negotiating at all! They just want to humiliate us! To nail us to the pillar of shame so that we can never rise again, they are just playing with us!"

His voice was hoarse, filled with fury at being manipulated and betrayed.

But if you listen carefully, you can still hear a hint of fear.

The fear of the end of a political career, the fear of the complete collapse of the empire!
He paced back and forth, his steps unsteady, his mind blank, with nothing but the drug lord's shrill laughter and the deafening roar of the crowd outside the window.

What can we do? What else can we do?
He was like an ant on a hot pan, unable to find any opening to escape.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head: "Why don't I just close my eyes, kick my legs, and get myself to the hospital? Wouldn't that solve all the problems?"

But this idea only went around in circles.

It's just too embarrassing!

That's a bit undignified.

Just as the Prime Minister was overwhelmed by domestic anger and trouble, a new blow came one after another, precisely stabbing Britain in the already bleeding back.

At the National Palace in Mexico, Casare appeared on the television screen. He did not mention the specific predicament of Britain, but it seemed as if every word he uttered was directed at Great Britain, or even directly insulted it.

"The whole world has witnessed a disgusting sight: a self-proclaimed great nation is attempting to make dirty deals with drug-trafficking terrorists, a scourge of human civilization!"

Casare's voice, amplified through loudspeakers, resounded across the world, filled with undisguised contempt and ruthlessness: "This is a desecration of justice! A betrayal of all the warriors fighting on the front lines against drugs! And an insult to all the lives destroyed by drugs!"

He straightened his back and declared resolutely:
"Faced with drug lords, there is only one choice: kill them!! Crush them completely with an iron fist! Negotiation? Compromise? That's the work of cowards and traitors! Drug traffickers can only be eliminated, never negotiated! Any form of appeasement is like drinking poison to quench thirst, a path to self-destruction! The Colombian people and government will forever despise this shameful appeasement! We only believe in one principle: complete annihilation, leaving no survivors!"

Casare's forceful and morally superior speech was like a resounding slap in the face of the already swollen British government and royal family.

He not only completely rejected Britain's desperate attempt at a "deal," condemning it to the status of "coward" and "traitor," but also portrayed Mexico as the only "correct" and "tough" example in the global war on drugs. Britain's humiliation became the perfect backdrop for him to demonstrate his own stance and attack dissidents.

No one understands the shamelessness and cowardice of drug dealers better than us!

Kill them and send them to hell!
Meanwhile, in Colombia, the current president, Armando Benede, keenly sensed this once-in-a-lifetime political opportunity.

He quickly convened the media and delivered a national address, his face bearing both sorrow and "firmness."

“My dear compatriots,” Armando’s voice was earnest, “we are undergoing a severe test. Certain regrettable choices by external forces have not only failed to resolve the crisis, but have also objectively provided a breathing space for the malignant tumors entrenched on our land, and even emboldened them!”

“What’s even more heartbreaking,” he said, his tone turning sharp, “is that some forces within our own ranks, some forces misled by external misguidance, and even those secretly colluding with us, are using this national tragedy to try to shake our unity and undermine our determination to solve the drug problem independently! They disregard national sovereignty and the safety of the people, and are willing to become pawns in the appeasement policy of the outside world!”

"This is a shameful betrayal!!"

"They disregarded the facts for their own selfish desires!"

Armando straightened his back, his voice suddenly rising, filled with "righteous anger":
"At this critical moment, I call upon all true patriots to unite! We must resolutely eliminate these internal noises and obstacles! Any attempt to interfere in internal affairs and harm Colombia's national interests and dignity through external forces is intolerable! The government will take all necessary measures to defend national sovereignty, uphold the dignity of the law, and thoroughly eradicate this cancer and all its accomplices!"

Armando's speech was a blatant political purge.

Of course, this was done by a Mexican.

He cleverly transformed Britain's humiliating surrender into a deadly weapon to strike at his domestic political enemies.

By associating the opposition with "external appeasement" and "damage to sovereignty," he successfully diverted domestic conflicts to external forces and cloaked his potential political purges in the guise of "patriotism" and "anti-drug efforts."

The disaster in Britain became the perfect catalyst for him to consolidate his power and eliminate his rivals.

And on November 12th.

Armando Benede has decided to convene parliament; it's time to settle scores with these anti-Mexican rebels.

Nobody understands who's in charge right now; they're all confused and idiotic!

In response, Erich Manstein's Mexican army marched toward Bogotá under the pretext of resupply.

A bloody storm is about to break out.

……

(End of this chapter)