Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 742 Even if it's just a pie in the sky, there are still people rushing to it.

It was late at night, inside a Georgian-style mansion in Ottawa's Rockcliff neighborhood.

Patrick O'Malley has just seen off yet another wave of party colleagues and radical supporters who came to express their "firm support" and "shared hatred."

The living room was still filled with cigar smoke and an atmosphere of almost frenzied excitement.

To him, the so-called "resolute response" that old man Cretty gave on television sounded like nothing but cowardly bureaucratic rhetoric.

He's a coward, not brave at all.

They were Canadians, Canadians who once stormed into the United States!

Patrick's wife and children had already been sent to his mother-in-law's house in Quebec City for temporary accommodation, ostensibly to avoid the possible impact of the riots, but in reality, it was Patrick's subconscious preparation for the coming storm.

At this moment, he was the only one left in the huge mansion, with only the howling sound of the biting wind blowing through the bare maple branches outside.

The doorbell rang abruptly at that moment.

Patrick frowned and glanced instinctively at the clock on the fireplace; the hands were pointing to 10 p.m.

Who could it be at this time? A fellow party member? A reporter? Or someone from the security department? He put down his wine glass, walked to the foyer with a hint of wariness, and instead of opening the door immediately, looked out through the peephole.

There were two people standing outside the door.

The person in front was not tall, wearing a cashmere coat and a top hat with the brim pulled low so that his full appearance could not be seen, and he was carrying a leather briefcase that looked quite heavy.

Half a step behind him stood a burly man, dressed in a more casual leather jacket, his eyes scanning the surroundings, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, but his posture clearly indicated that he was a bodyguard or attendant.

Very strange.

It wasn't any face he recognized.

"Who?" Patrick asked in a deep voice through the door, his hand already stealthily reaching for the revolver in the drawer of the hallway cabinet.

The man in the top hat outside the door looked up. Through the limited field of vision of the peephole, Patrick saw a pair of unusually bright eyes. The man was very direct. "Mr. O'Malley, good evening. We have brought some new perspectives on the current situation that may be of interest to you, as well as a proposal that may help you achieve some political ambitions."

That accent just doesn't sound right.

British people speak English like ducks, American people speak English like bitches…

They were more like the Mexicans he had encountered before.

Mexicans are also one of the main immigrant groups in Canada.

That's the accent they have!
He almost immediately drew his gun or called the police.

The man outside seemed to sense his sudden surge of hostility. He gently raised his hand, signaling the burly man behind him to be quiet, and then addressed the door, “Mr. O’Malley, anger is instinct, but politics is calculation! Before you make any irreversible decisions, why not listen to the ‘truth’ we bring? Another version of the sinking of the ‘Montreal,’ and a possibility about Canada’s future, perhaps one where it no longer needs to look to the South forever.”

"The truth?" Patrick scoffed, his anger flaring. "What truth could you butchers possibly have?! Get out of my place, or I'll call the police right now!"

"Call the police? And then tell the Royal Canadian Mounted Police that you turned away two guests with important proposals that could change the fate of the country? Besides, are you sure Prime Minister Chrétien would like news of your contact with us, even if it's through the police?"

Patrick's political instincts instantly calmed him down.

Although the Mexicans came to him of their own accord, he is the leader of the opposition party and is naturally on the opposite side of Crete. Do you think they would pass up this opportunity to attack him?

What the truth is is not important.

The important thing is that it will be used against you by others.

Just like in the TV series "Da Ming 1566," was Hai Rui's congratulatory memorial a congratulatory memorial? It was a weapon of murder!

Taking advantage of his silence, the man outside continued, "Mr. O'Malley, we know you admire General Ross. General Ross burned the White House not to destroy it, but to break an old order and establish a new balance. Now, another opportunity to break the old order is before us. Don't you want to be the one who makes Canada truly stand tall and no longer be at the beck and call of Washington? Are you content to forever remain an angry opponent instead of a rule-maker?"

These words precisely struck at Patrick's deepest ambitions.

His breathing became rapid involuntarily.

He stared intently into the cat's calm eyes, a fierce internal struggle raging within him. A full minute passed before he took a deep breath, as if making a firm decision, and clicked open the lock.

The door opened.

The cold night wind, carrying an unfamiliar scent, rushed into the warm foyer.

The man in the top hat nodded slightly and gracefully removed his hat in greeting, revealing himself to be a middle-aged man in his forties with an ordinary appearance but a calm demeanor. He looked more like a scholar or banker than a spy or envoy. "Good evening, Mr. O'Malley. You may call me Dembele."

He pointed to the burly man behind him, "This is my colleague."

Patrick didn't move aside; he blocked the doorway, coldly scrutinizing the other man. "Dembele? I don't care what your real name is. I'm giving you five minutes. Say it right here in the foyer. If your 'truth' doesn't satisfy me, or if your proposal insults me in any way, I'll personally throw you out." His hand remained on the drawer of the foyer cabinet.

Dembele seemed unsurprised by the hostile reception, smiling and nodding: "Very fair, Mr. O'Malley."

He didn't rush inside, but stood calmly under the porch light and opened the heavy briefcase. To Patrick's surprise, it didn't contain the money or weapons he had imagined, but rather several bound documents and an enlarged, somewhat blurry photograph of the sea.

“First, it’s about the HMCS Montreal.” Dembele picked up the photo and handed it to Patrick. “Look closely, this is the position on the ship’s side just moments before the explosion.”

Patrick took the photo suspiciously and examined it under the light. The photo was clearly taken from a distance with a telephoto lens, and the image was somewhat shaky, but the outline of the "Montreal" was clearly visible, as well as the tiny flash of light, different from the missile's tail flame, that appeared just before the huge fireball rose from the middle of the ship.

“What is this?” Patrick frowned.

“According to intercepted internal communications from the ‘Freedom of the Seas’ extremist environmental group active in the region, they recently acquired several old but modified ‘Sea Killer’ type light anti-ship missiles through secret channels.”

Dembele's voice was as calm as if he were giving an academic presentation. "They believe that the navy of any country is a destroyer of the marine ecosystem, especially those parties engaged in 'military adventures' in the Gulf of Maine. And the 'Montreal' unfortunately became their target for demonstrating 'determination.' The flash you saw, according to our technical department's analysis, is highly consistent with the ignition characteristics of the 'sea killer' missile's propulsion system."

Patrick's pupils contracted sharply. "The Freedom of the Seas Front"? He'd heard of this organization, a small group that radically opposed commercial whaling and naval sonar testing. They had the capability to acquire anti-ship missiles? It sounded utterly absurd!
What the hell is the difference between this and Yemen finding a missile in the desert?
“Ridiculous!” Patrick growled. “You think I’d believe such a clumsy lie?!”

“A lie?” Dembele shook his head slightly and pulled another document from his briefcase. “We don’t need you to believe it completely; we just need you to realize that such a ‘possibility’ exists.”

Hmm... You can believe in a country's "ability to forge documents," Mexico certainly has that kind of skill.

Dembele paused, looking at Patrick: "If we go to war directly, Canada will suffer unimaginable economic losses and casualties. Coastal cities like Halifax and Vancouver may be threatened. But if the tragedy of the Montreal was just the work of a group of lawless pirates, then the government's 'strong protest' and 'follow-up investigation' will seem reasonable and much cheaper. Mr. Créty, aren't you the best at calculating 'costs'?"

Patrick remained silent.

He stared intently at Dembele, trying to find even the slightest flicker of doubt or deception in his eyes, but he only saw an unfathomable calm. He understood what the other man meant.

This is not providing a fact, but rather a "stepping stone," an "option" for a political solution, a tool that allows Kretty to back down gracefully, or that allows Patrick to launch an attack, accusing the government of incompetence, covering up the truth, and sacrificing national dignity.

"What on earth do you want to do?"

Dembele calmly put the photos and documents back into his briefcase. "We want to build a new understanding with Canada, especially with visionary politicians like yourself."

“American hegemony has shown cracks, and North America needs a new order. Mexico has no intention of, and has never intended to, be an enemy of Canada. Our actions are limited to punishing thugs, upholding justice, and ensuring our own strategic security. Maquias Seal Island is merely a temporary logistical point. Once the situation in Maine stabilizes, we can certainly discuss its future status. Even historically disputed territories can be re-examined within this new framework.”

He looked at Patrick meaningfully: "Isn't a more independent Canada, a Canada that no longer blindly follows Washington, a Canada that can make its own voice heard in North American affairs, exactly what you're looking for? We can help you achieve this, not through war, but through cooperation."

Upon hearing this, Patrick's heart began to pound uncontrollably, and he imagined himself standing in the center of the parliament, delivering a passionate speech.

Who wouldn't want to be the only one?
No politician dreams of being a town mayor, right? PS: Town mayors in Europe and America have limited power.

However, he rationally suppressed his surging emotions, forced a smile, and tried to regain control of the conversation: "A more independent Canada? It sounds wonderful, but frankly, Mr. Dembele, relying on Victor to achieve this goal? His danger and ambition are probably far greater than those of the old-time politicians in Washington. I find it hard to believe the promise of someone who, in the words of the international media, is a 'warmonger'."

Dembele was not angered by the label of "warmonger." He even smiled slightly. "Mr. O'Malley, please allow me to correct a common misconception of yours. Leader Victor, in the eyes of many of us, is not a warmonger. He is a restorer of order, a pragmatist who resorts to extreme measures when necessary."

"Please consider this: those drug traffickers he eradicated had been entrenched in Mexico for decades, causing countless human tragedies and corrupting the foundations of the nation. Didn't they deserve to die? His actions in Maine were in response to the blood feud of our compatriots being openly murdered. When law and order have vanished in that land, who else can we rely on but ourselves? Can we rely on those Washington bureaucrats who turn a blind eye to this, or even secretly condone it?"

He looked directly into Patrick's eyes, his tone becoming unusually sincere, "To judge a person, you have to look at who their enemies are and who they protect. Do you think those thugs and drug lords with the blood of innocent people on their hands are more dangerous, or the person who is willing to stand up for the most vulnerable civilians and for the dignity of the country, even if it means bearing the infamy?"

These words were spoken with righteous indignation, yet they cleverly shifted the focus.

Patrick opened his mouth, only to find himself unable to refute. From the perspective of Mexico's underprivileged, Victor had indeed brought order and security, and the events in Maine had also sparked outrage in Canada; he himself had won considerable support by taking a hard line on the matter.

Patrick's anger gradually faded, replaced by a thoughtful expression. After a while, he stepped aside, revealing the path to the living room.

"Let's talk inside," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "It's windy outside."

Dembele smiled genuinely for the first time since entering the house, and nodded gracefully: "Thank you for your invitation, Mr. O'Malley."

He and his burly, silent follower entered Patrick's warm, slightly messy living room.

Patrick casually pointed to the sofa, then walked to the liquor cabinet, took out two more glasses, poured the same amount of whiskey into them, and handed them to Dembele and Dembele. Dembele politely accepted them but did not drink them immediately.

Patrick tilted his head back and took a large gulp of his drink, the scalding liquid clearing his jumbled thoughts slightly. He set down his glass, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. “Alright, Mr. Dembele, or whatever you call me, let’s skip the probing and tell me now, what exactly do you want me to do? And more importantly, what will I get in return? Get to the point, and stop with those empty promises of ‘new order’ and ‘independence’.”

Dembele nodded appreciatively, liking this straightforwardness. "Very good, Mr. O'Malley, that's exactly the kind of pragmatism we need."

"What you need to do first is to use your influence in Parliament and the media to do everything possible to delay and obstruct the process of the Canadian government formally sending troops to participate in the US-Mexico conflict, by voting against it, launching inquiries, and using procedural means... You are more adept at this than we are."

"Secondly."

"We will provide you with some 'dirt' on Kretty and his inner circle. Information that is enough to make the public seriously question his leadership and personal integrity. For example, were there any transfers of benefits in certain foreign economic cooperation projects? Were there serious decision-making errors and waste of resources in previous border security funding? When public anger is channeled and the tide of public opinion rises, it will be only natural for you, as the leader of the opposition, to launch a strong impeachment motion."

"Materials? Are they reliable?"

“Absolutely reliable and can withstand scrutiny,” Dembele said confidently. “We will deliver it to you through secure channels, and the timing is up to you.”

“So, what’s the price?” Patrick pressed. “You helped me take down Kretty and prevent Canada from joining the war, what do you want in return? Besides a temporary ceasefire and the ‘temporary’ status of your island.”

Dembele raised a finger, saying, "Militarily, if the United States suffers a setback in this conflict, its military technology aura will inevitably be shattered. We can share some of the key technical data and analysis reports on the US military obtained from this conflict to help Canada improve its own defense industry and reduce its dependence on US equipment and technology."

"On territorial and sovereignty issues, we can sign a formal agreement recognizing Canada's sovereignty over Maquias Seal Island and surrounding disputed areas, and complete the handover at an appropriate time in the future. This will be a significant and tangible political legacy for you upon taking office." (This is utter nonsense.)
"Third, and most importantly, a Canada that no longer blindly follows the United States will gain the respect and special partnership status of Mexico in North American and even global affairs. In the future, Ottawa's voice will be valued as much as Mexico City's and Washington's in any major North American affairs. Isn't this the ultimate goal that you and your party are pursuing?"

Pancakes are a versatile food item that can be used at any time.

You know your boss is making empty promises, and it just sounds too good to be true.

Patrick felt the same way; he knew the other person was talking nonsense, but it smelled so good.

This is a huge gamble. Cooperating with Victor is like asking a tiger for its skin. If things are exposed, he will be doomed.

But... what if it succeeds?

If he can really seize this opportunity to overthrow Chrétien, ascend to the pinnacle of power, and lead Canada out of the shadow of the United States to become a truly independent and sovereign power?

Therefore, the risks he took and the principles he violated seem to become acceptable.

History is written by the victors.

Wasn't General Robert Ross's burning of the White House seen by some as a barbaric act, yet praised by others as a feat of breaking the hegemony?
He slowly put down his wine glass, raised his head, and all the hesitation and struggle in his eyes had faded, leaving only the calmness and decisiveness unique to politicians.

He looked at Dembele and extended his hand.

“Mr. Dembele,” his voice was steady and firm, “I think we can begin to discuss some specific details.”

Dembele smiled and shook his hand.

"Of course, Mr. O'Malley. It's a pleasure doing business with you."

"I hope I made the right choice."

"God bless us!"

……

(End of this chapter)