You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Chapter 224 Hat Wholesale

domestic.

Winter days are always short. By afternoon, a gray twilight had fallen outside the window, with leaden clouds pressing down on the silhouettes of distant buildings.

In a confidential meeting room devoid of any superfluous decorations, the fluorescent lights on the ceiling cast a cool, white glow.

A huge, long, rectangular composite wood conference table occupies most of the room's space. A row of covered Red Star enamel teacups are neatly arranged on the tabletop. The entire room's layout exudes a sense of composure that has remained unchanged for decades within the system.

It is completely different from the offices of nouveau riche across the ocean, which are often decorated with handmade carpets, pungent cologne, and genuine leather sofas.

At this moment, the atmosphere in the conference room was quite tense.

Professor Zhou, who was in charge of conducting psychological profiling and strategic analysis of intelligence transmitted from North America, and Professor Wang Peilin, a leading figure in sociology sitting opposite him, had been arguing about the true identity of the American policeman in Seattle ever since they first joined the task force, and the argument had been going on for more than ten days now.

The argument between the two has now devolved into a much-loved "hat-selling" convention among veteran experts within the system.

"Hahaha! Old Wang, I've said it before, facts speak louder than words!"

Professor Zhou vigorously shook the few pages of newly printed intelligence translations, the papers making a crisp rustling sound.

He leaned back in his chair, pointed at Professor Wang Peilin sitting opposite him, and let out a loud, undisguised laugh of triumph.

Professor Zhou slammed the translation in his hand heavily on the table, his index finger pointing forcefully at the last line of the application form.

"Your previous profiling, that conservative redneck disillusioned with the American system, was pure metaphysics and committed a serious dogmatic error!"

Professor Zhou raised his voice and said triumphantly.

"Look at what's written here!"

"This kid is even volunteering to use our dragon-slaying techniques now. This level of class consciousness, this political maneuvering—could this be something a redneck whose mind is only focused on fighting and killing would do?"

"This is definitely a comrade who has thoroughly read that author's work and possesses a very high level of political identification!"

Sitting opposite him was Wang Peilin, an elderly sociology professor, whose face was flushed red.

He threw the pencil in his hand onto the table, pushed up his reading glasses, and the veins on his neck bulged.

"Old Zhou, stop trying to use this as an excuse to label me!"

Wang Peilin slammed his fist on the table and retorted without hesitation, "I admit that the intelligence that has been sent back now does prove that he understands these theories and knows how to use class analysis to deconstruct the contradictions in American society."

"But what I'm criticizing is your previous arbitrary approach!"

"Based on the incident in the industrial zone, and when he first met those two Boeing and Raytheon engineers, what makes you so sure he's gay?"

Wang Peilin picked up his teacup, took a big gulp to moisten his dry throat, and continued cooking.

"That's dangerous empiricism!"

"If we had followed your radical judgment and directly contacted him offline, what if this Lyon was just an American far-right pragmatist who knew how to use Eastern theories to arm himself?"

"If he's a wolf in sheep's clothing, our underground transportation system will be devastated!"

"My caution is in line with organizational safety regulations!"

Professor Zhou was pushed back, so he immediately leaned forward and continued to relentlessly attack the details in the new intelligence.

"This is typical bookish dogmatism; you're afraid to look beyond the surface and see the essence!"

"Don't try to intimidate me with organizational discipline; look at his actions now!"

"Also, his latest codename is RayFong! Do you think this guy doesn't understand Eastern politics?"

"This name is clearly a self-expression of a political belief!"

"Stop changing the subject!"

Wang Peilin slapped his thigh in frustration, "I told you, this intelligence was only put on the table today!"

"Without this information before, you wouldn't have been able to determine his composition! What happened before was just blind luck!"

The two experts, whose combined age exceeds 120, are now separated by a conference table and have started arguing heatedly again.

However, in the intelligence that Alex sent back across the ocean via the Dead Mailbox, the middleman, a perennial failing student, wrote somewhat disjointedly in order to save time.

He first wrote at the beginning of the intelligence report that "he is currently operating under the alias RayFong at the grassroots level," and then reported at the end that "RayFong understands Eastern political theory and has requested a copy of 'Selected Works of Mao Zedong.'"

But Alex completely forgot one very important thing: he didn't mention it once in the intelligence report—this "Ray"

The pseudonym "Fong" was actually something he made up for Leon in a moment of panic to appease his roommate Jamal's suspicions.

Due to this erratic writing style, coupled with the strict single-line communication and information isolation system of the Eastern Intelligence Network, the experts at headquarters, after seriously studying Alex's information, naturally stitched the two pieces of information together in terms of cause and effect.

From their perspective, the code name "RayFong" was entirely a name Leon gave himself to express his true feelings.

At the other end of the conference table, intelligence chief Zhao Qiming and veteran agent Zhang Jianguo were sitting together.

Listening to the two old experts on the other end rattling off labels of "dogmatism" and "empiricism," the two looked at each other and exchanged a somewhat helpless glance.

Zhang Jianguo picked up the Red Star enamel mug in front of him, blew on the floating leaves on the water, and took a sip.

He slammed the teacup on the table, turned his head, and spoke to Zhao Qiming in a low voice.

"Old Zhao, look at the mess this has made."

"Old Zhou and Old Wang are getting increasingly angry. Hats are flying everywhere. I'm worried their blood pressure will spike and I'll have to call the infirmary to bring up some nitroglycerin pills."

Zhao Qiming reached out and flipped through the stack of documents in front of him without even looking up.

"Let them argue. Those who do theoretical work, how can they set the tone without a heated debate?"

"As long as it doesn't delay our progress and implementation here, that's fine."

"The final determination of ideology is a matter for those above; we only care about whether this matter can be done and how easy it is to do."

Zhang Jianguo raised his wrist and glanced at his watch, his brows furrowing.

"It's almost six o'clock. Why haven't the biotechnology experts coordinated by the Academy of Sciences arrived yet? Isn't the progress of this work a bit slow?"

'

"They said a seminar just finished at the institute, and the Bureau of Secrecy's car went to pick them up. They're probably stuck in traffic on the Third Ring Road now."

"It's rush hour, you know how the traffic is here. Even experts have to wait at traffic lights."

"Besides, it takes time to go through the procedures for classified units."

Zhao Qiming tapped the folder in his hand.

"Let's first clarify the preliminary work."

"From the time we received the intelligence from Seattle this morning until now, it's been less than ten hours. Apart from the supplementary intelligence that was just urgently sent over, we have all the basic information we can uncover here."

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