Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 658 Times are changing!
Bogotá, meeting room of the temporary Allied Coordination Headquarters.

The air was thick with cigar smoke and the lingering smell of gunpowder. A huge long table was filled with representatives: representatives from Mexico, France, Germany, the United Kingdom, the new Colombian government, and several other countries that had offered symbolic support.

The table was covered with thick documents, listing a massive inventory of cash, gold, real estate, overseas accounts, and drug stockpiles seized from the Medellín and Cali cartel.

The Colombian's inventory statement reads: "In summary, the immediately distributable cash and equivalents amount to approximately $87 billion. Real estate valuation is complex and will take time. All drugs will be destroyed. Distribution will be based on the prior agreement..."

"Wait a minute!" The British representative, a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and a typical British arrogance, impatiently tapped the table with his finger, interrupting his speech. "We believe this ratio is unfair and needs to be discussed again."

The conference room fell silent instantly, all eyes focused on him.

The French representative, an old-school diplomat, picked up his teacup and delivered a blunt remark that cut straight to the heart of the matter: "If I were you, I would be embarrassed. After all, if it weren't for your command, victory would have been achieved long ago. The Battle of Medellín was a disaster because you dragged our feet, causing so many losses. And you still have the nerve to complain?"

These words were so blunt they practically pulled down the other man's underwear, making the Englishman blush.

"That's absolutely right!" the Germans joined in the condemnation. "Our logistics assessment report shows that your logistical losses are abnormally high, far exceeding those of other participants. In fact... I even discovered that a single sheep costs hundreds of thousands of pounds. Are you planning to absorb that cost within the Allied forces? How can you have the nerve to think it's unfair?!"

Representatives from the other smaller countries nodded in agreement, their eyes filled with dissatisfaction and mockery towards the British, though they didn't say it outright.

The Battle of Medellín completely exposed the British's lack of dignity, and now there's still debate at home about compensation for casualties.

The representatives of the new Colombian government were completely oblivious to their surroundings, acting as if they hadn't heard anything but secretly pleased with themselves. The British's previous arrogant and condescending attitude had already angered many people.

The meeting was led by General Gerd von Lundstätter, the second-in-command of the Mexican frontline forces. He glanced up at the Allied troops who were still "fighting amongst themselves," shook his head inwardly, and looked down on them somewhat.

But even if I don't like it...

Waste also has its value; the question is how you treat it as a treasure.

such as…

Brazil's fight against drugs also needs investors.

"Cough cough..."

General Gerd von Lundstätter's perfectly timed cough instantly silenced the noisy conference room.

All eyes, including the slightly bloodshot eyes of the British, filled with embarrassment and surprise, were focused on the Mexican frontline general.

Lundstätter wore a gentle smile; his voice, though not loud, carried clearly to everyone's ears:
"Gentlemen, the dust has just settled in Medellín and Cali, and the stench of blood on this land beneath our feet has not yet dissipated. Sitting here today are comrades-in-arms who fought side by side, who entrusted their lives to each other, and who shed blood for the same goal."

“It’s not worth it to hurt the camaraderie of the Allies and disgrace the souls of the fallen for these spoils,” he patted the $87 billion list on the table.

"Therefore, the Mexican frontline forces hereby formally declare: We relinquish our share of all spoils of war from this operation, whether it be cash, gold, or real estate that requires time to liquidate."

As soon as this statement came out, everyone in the audience was shocked!

Even the Colombian representative, who had been keeping his eyes down, suddenly looked up.

The British were completely stunned, as if they had been hit on the head with an invisible club.

He was just arguing for a bigger share, but in the blink of an eye, Mexico, the biggest contributor and the one with the most say, announced that it didn't want it anymore.

This instantly turned all his previous petty grievances and so-called "unfair" accusations into a complete joke!

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something to save face, but found his throat dry and unable to utter a single word.

Don't want it? Mexico doesn't want it anymore? Then... how can we still have the face to ask for it? How can we still have the nerve to fight for it? But we can't bear to give it up!
That's all money! The British government is short of cash right now. If they had money, would they need to cut troops or be unable to pay salaries? Even the Empress Dowager doesn't have money for her birthday.

Gerd took in everyone's reactions with disdain.

We're all here for Colombian heavy metal. Who else would be interested in this stuff like you?

But the candied fruit that was thrown out was also poisonous.

"certainly,"

He then shifted his tone, still calm but with a subtle hint of guidance: "The war is over, but the foundation of peace needs a stronger guarantee. The lesson of Medellín tells us that the cancer must be eradicated at its root, otherwise it will spring up again."

"Our focus must be shifted to the broader battlefield of Brazil."

This word, like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, instantly stirred ripples in the hearts of the delegates.

Brazil, the largest country in South America, with its vast favelas and complex borders, has long been a target for drug cartels to covet and infiltrate.

"The remnants of Cali and Medellín, like wounded vipers, are frantically seeking new breeding grounds and sanctuaries. Brazil is their ideal target. If we lose there, today's victory will be meaningless, and the peace bought with blood will be fleeting."

He paused for a moment, his gaze slowly sweeping over the representatives of various countries, especially those small countries that had previously expressed dissatisfaction with the British, as well as the British representative whose expression remained complicated.

"Therefore, Mexico proposes that, since you are so enthusiastic about distributing the spoils of the past, why not channel that enthusiasm into 'investing in the future'?"

The French representative immediately grasped the key point and asked with great interest, "What does the general mean?"

“The portion of your share, especially the cash portion, will be used as seed money to establish an Amazon Basin Security and Development Fund. This fund will be specifically used to support the Brazilian government’s upcoming Operation Clean Source against transnational drug cartels.”

The representatives from those smaller countries' eyes lit up instantly. Participating in Brazil's anti-drug campaign? This would not only shed their "symbolic support" label in this operation and enhance their international influence, but also bind them to a future regional security framework led by Mexico with relatively little investment—a sure-fire political investment!
They nodded in agreement, whispering, "That makes sense!" "Regional stability is in everyone's interest!" "We should support it!"

The new Colombian government representative was particularly invigorated, as the three countries were already allied, so this was of course the best outcome!

Mexico's move is tantamount to helping Colombia consolidate its southern security barrier. He immediately stated: "The new Colombian government fully supports General Gerd's vision! Brazil's stability is directly related to the long-term peace and security of the Andes region. We are willing to share our experiences and lessons learned in the war on drugs and provide necessary intelligence cooperation."

The pressure instantly shifted entirely onto the British.

Gerd von Lundstätter's gaze finally settled on the British representative whose expression was shifting, and his tone became more sincere, "Sir, your country possesses irreplaceable experience and advantages in intelligence technology and special operations. The victory in Medellín was inseparable from the support your country provided at crucial moments. The battlefield in Brazil is much larger and the situation more complex. We need your country's unique expertise and global perspective more than ever before. Your country's participation is crucial to the success of this fund and the success of the operation in Brazil."

The British representative's expression changed rapidly.

reject?

Mexico took the lead in giving up huge spoils of war, and small countries like France and Germany, as well as Colombia, enthusiastically supported this "investment in the future." If Britain refuses, it will not only confirm its image as selfish and petty, but will also be completely excluded from the future security architecture of South America, resulting in incalculable political and diplomatic losses.

Agree? That would be tantamount to acknowledging Mexico's "generosity" and dominance, and it would also impress the politicians and media in the country who are fixated on the pension and military spending scandals...

He looked into Gerd's gentle yet all-knowing eyes, and into the expectant, scrutinizing, or subtly urging gazes of the other delegates, especially the French delegate's playful expression that seemed to say, "Let's see if you accept or not."

A few seconds of deathly silence.

Sir Johnson took a deep breath, as if he had made a tremendous decision. He straightened his already impeccably tailored tie and tried to make his voice sound calm and dignified: "Ahem... The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland is committed to global security and stability cooperation. General Gerd's proposal is highly strategic."

"We endorse the idea of ​​establishing the 'Amazon Basin Security and Development Fund' in principle. The specific share that our country should bear will be confirmed after detailed communication with domestic authorities. Furthermore, we are willing to provide professional support in areas such as intelligence sharing, special operations advisory services, and…logistics system optimization." General Gerd von Lundstätter's smile deepened, a satisfied smile of a hunter seeing his prey finally step into his trap, a smile of control and satisfaction.

“Very good,” he stood up, his voice louder and more authoritative, “Then, the dispute over the distribution of the spoils of Medellín and Cali is hereby settled. All cash and equivalents that can be immediately distributed shall be allocated by the participating parties, excluding Mexico, according to the original agreement. Meanwhile, the specific details will be agreed upon by the subsequent working group and injected into the newly established ‘Amazon Basin Security and Development Fund,’ specifically to support Brazil’s operations. The Mexican frontline forces will be responsible for the initial coordination and implementation framework of the fund. We will discuss the details at tomorrow’s working group meeting.”

"Gentlemen, the wealth of the past is gone once it's divided up, but investing in the security and stability of the future will benefit all of us, and our descendants." He nodded slightly. "Meeting adjourned."

Gerd turned first and walked steadily toward the door.

Behind him, the sound of chairs being moved and the low murmurs of the delegates could be heard in the conference room.

……

Outside Belfast, Northern Ireland.

The tin roof of an abandoned warehouse was being pounded by raindrops.

The air was thick with the smells of rust, mildew, and the salty tang of the sea. Deep inside the warehouse, only a few dim emergency lights provided a faint light source, barely outlining the silhouettes of a few blurry figures.

One of them was Sean McAllister, one of the Irish rebels' liaison officers in Belfast!

He was wrapped in an old jacket, his brow furrowed. Beside him were two companions, equally tense, warily scanning the dark corner. They were waiting for a mysterious "middleman" who claimed to bring "an opportunity to change the status quo."

The warehouse's rusty door groaned as it was pushed open a crack from the outside. A figure slipped in, quickly slamming the door shut, shutting out the howling wind and rain outside.

The newcomer was dressed in a well-tailored dark woolen overcoat and wore a hat with the brim pulled low, obscuring his face. He walked steadily toward the dim light source where Sean and the others were.

"Mr. McAllister?" The newcomer's voice was deep and steady, with a barely perceptible accent, as if deliberately refined. It sounded like a well-educated London accent, yet subtly different.

“It’s me.” Sean stepped forward, scrutinizing the other person warily. “You’re the ‘banker’?” He used the code name the other person had left in the encrypted message.

"You may call me that." The person did not remove their hat, but simply nodded slightly.

"Thank you for keeping our appointment in such terrible weather. Time is short, so let's get straight to the point."

"You say you can help us?" Sean cut to the chase, his tone tinged with skepticism and impatience. "We don't need empty promises."

“Of course it’s not an empty promise.” The man who called himself “the banker” chuckled. “We’ve been following your business for a long time, Mr. McAllister. We understand your demands and are well aware of the difficulties you face, especially recently, with the oppression from London becoming more severe, isn’t it? Their funds are flowing to more distant tropical jungles instead of solving problems in their own backyard.”

These words struck Sean squarely where it hurt.

"Who are you?" a young man next to Sean couldn't help but ask.

"Who we are is not important; what matters is what we can do." The "banker's" voice carried an unquestionable air of authority. "We can provide you with the resources you desperately need, and they will be sustainable."

He pulled a thin list from the inside pocket of his coat, a list that made Sean and his companion hold their breath instantly:

"AR-15 assault rifles: 1200 pieces."

"Semtex plastic explosives: 500 kg (including matching detonators and timing/remote control devices)."

"RPG-7 rocket launcher: 40 units (including 300 PG-7VL armor-piercing rounds).

SA-7/Strela-2 portable air defense missiles: 4 sets (containing 12 missiles).

Encrypted communication equipment: 10 sets (including spare batteries and maintenance kits).

Cash: £1500000!

Below the list, an anonymous warehouse address in Austria and a pickup code are clearly marked, and the delivery method is marked as "third-party logistics, anonymous confirmation upon arrival".

“This is just the first batch.”

"As long as the operation proves effective, there will be a continuous stream of support. Funding, more advanced weapons, and even critical intelligence can be arranged."

Sean's heart pounded. The items on the list, especially the anti-aircraft missiles and high explosives, were things they had dreamed of but could never have. With these, they could plan more effective and impactful operations to truly shake the foundations of British rule in Northern Ireland. The immense temptation, like the song of a siren, almost suffocated him.

"What's the price?" Sean forced himself to calm down, his voice a little hoarse.

"What do you want? To work for you? To attack some target we don't care about?"

The "banker" shook his head, the shadow under his hat seeming to deepen. "We don't need you to do anything directly for us. Your actions are valuable to us in themselves: striking at Britain's ability to rule on its homeland and in Northern Ireland, depleting their financial and military resources, creating enough social and political turmoil... that's the 'result' we need. Your struggle is the best reward for us."

“You’re using us,” Sean’s companion whispered.

"Mutual benefit and win-win"

The "banker" corrected, his tone still calm. "History is written by the victors. When you succeed, what we offer will not be exploitation, but crucial assistance in your time of need. Besides..."

He paused, a hint of amusement in his eyes, "Do you have any other choice? Refuse this gift, continue struggling in the mud, and watch your cause wither away due to lack of resources? Or seize the opportunity and deliver a heavy blow to that arrogant empire?"

The warehouse fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the sound of raindrops pattering on the roof and the heavy breathing of a few people.

Finally, Sean's eyes changed from struggling to a desperate, all-or-nothing resolve.

“A wise choice, Mr. McAllister.”

The "banker" smiled.

"The goods will arrive at the designated location within 72 hours. The communication equipment has a one-way communication channel for receiving follow-up instructions and resource allocation information. Remember, efficiency and impact are the only standards by which we measure the strength of our support. Let London feel the real pain."

He nodded slightly, said no more, and turned away as if blending into the shadows, silently walking towards the warehouse door.

"Whose man is he?" a companion murmured, a hint of fear in his voice.

Sean stared at the door closing again, took a deep breath of the damp, cold air, and slowly exhaled: "I don't know, but he said we had no other choice, and besides, the only ones who could produce these things..."

He paused, a complex light flashing in his eyes. "Perhaps they are the most powerful friend we can find right now. Get ready to take them in, brothers. Times are changing."

The "banker" who walked out got into a car and slowly took off his hat.

It was none other than Reinhard Tristan Eugen!
The second-in-command of Hydra!
"Times are changing!"

……

(End of this chapter)