Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1773 - 787: Every Dog Has Its Path, Every Cat Its Way
Capítulo 1773: Chapter 787: Every Dog Has Its Path, Every Cat Its Way
He looked at the Army Major General: “Operation ‘Birdcatcher’ can be initiated now. For those on the list, particularly those experts flowing to Mexico from Eastern Europe and Asia, stop them if you can, if not…”
He made a throat-slitting gesture.
“It will cause a diplomatic dispute,” the Foreign Ministry advisor reminded.
“Then make it look like an accident.”
Graham remained expressionless, “Car accidents, laboratory incidents, sudden illnesses—you all should be quite skilled at these by now. Haven’t we done this enough?”
“Funds and authority?” the Army Major General asked.
“Twice the budget, maximum authorization.” Graham took a document stamped with the Prime Minister’s Mansion seal from a drawer, “The Prime Minister has already signed it. Remember, the goal of this operation is not short-term disruption but to paralyze Mexico’s technological development potential in the long term.”
“We cannot let Mexico continue to develop.”
After the meeting ended, Graham stayed alone in the room. He walked to the wall and pulled back a curtain, revealing a huge world map. He placed a black pin on Mexico’s location and drew a red line between London and Mexico.
He pulled out an old coin from his pocket, with a side portrait of Queen Victoria. It was inherited from his grandfather, who once served in India.
“Perhaps the era of the Sun Never Sets is over,”
He flipped the coin, caught it, and clenched it tightly in his palm, “but the rules of the game are not yet yours to decide.”
Illinois, on the outskirts of Chicago, Oak Manor.
This was once the private residence of a steel tycoon, covering fifty acres, with the main building being a three-story stone villa modeled after Versailles Palace.
The dinner began promptly at seven o’clock.
The long oak dining table was covered with a snow-white linen tablecloth, and silver candlesticks reflected the light of the crystal chandelier.
Becker sat at the head, dressed in informal military attire, with just a tie, standing out from the surroundings.
To his left sat Old James Walton, chairman of the local largest bank, the “First Illinois Trust,” and to his right, Mrs. Aileen Vanderbilt, wife of the president of the “Midwest Agricultural Association.”
The first half of the dinner was spent in hypocritical pleasantries.
People praised Becker’s “decisive measures” for maintaining border security, expressed gratitude for the Mexico Federation’s “restoration of order,” and occasionally cautiously probed the direction of future policies.
Becker handled it appropriately, speaking little, but each sentence hit the mark. He promised to protect legitimate private property, announced funds for repairing major roads and the power grid, and hinted at opening some government contracts to local businesses.
The atmosphere gradually relaxed, even becoming somewhat lively.
Until dessert was served, Old James Walton put down his fork, wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and slowly began:
“General, please forgive the frankness of an old man. We are all grateful for the stability you have brought. But there are some concerns that can’t go unvoiced.”
All eyes were on him.
The main course had arrived.
Becker put down his wine glass and made a gesture to indicate “go ahead.”
Old Walton chose his words carefully, “I have heard that in Mexico City, they are implementing some radical reforms. For example, forcibly requisitioning land to build so-called ‘technology parks,’ and imposing heavy taxes on traditional energy industries to subsidize things like ‘solar energy’ and ‘smart grids.’ There are even rumors of reforming the education system to focus on training engineers and programmers instead of lawyers and businessmen.”
He paused, looking around the table: “Those of us present represent not just personal families, but the industrial ecology that has formed over a century in Illinois. Steel, agriculture, railroads, and finance—these are the foundations of this land. If Mexico’s policies intend to overturn all this, what place will there be for us in the future?”
Once he finished speaking, the dining room fell silent. All eyes turned to Becker, waiting for his response.
Becker was silent for a few seconds.
“Mr. Walton, you are seventy-five years old, have experienced the post-World War II boom, and witnessed the collapse of America, so you should be more aware than I am: The only constant in this world is change itself.”
He leaned forward, his gaze sweeping over each face: “Steel? Yes, Illinois was once the heart of America’s steel industry, but over the past twenty years, specialty steel from Japan and Germany has dominated the high-end market, and South Korea’s cheap steel has taken over mid- to low-end orders. Even without war, how many more years can your steel mills survive?”
“Agriculture? Large-scale mechanized farms are indeed productive, but issues like soil degradation, water pollution, and pesticide residues have existed since before the war. Now, compounded by climate abnormalities and logistical breakdowns, do you really think the old methods can sustain millions?”
“As for finance…”
Becker looked at Old Walton, “When monetary credit collapses, gold is looted, and the stock market turns into waste paper, what can bankers do besides lock the vault and pray?”
A barrage of questions, like slaps in the face of everyone present. Some turned red with embarrassment, others looked down in silence.
“I am not here to deny you.”
Becker’s tone softened slightly, “On the contrary, I am here to offer you new opportunities.”
He raised his glass: “Mexico will not abandon traditional industries, but they must be upgraded. Those willing to embrace change and invest in the future will become the pillars of the new Illinois. And those clinging to old ship tickets…”
He didn’t finish, but the meaning was clear.
Mrs. Aileen Vanderbilt spoke softly: “General, change takes time and requires assurance. If we invest heavily in transformation, who can guarantee the policies won’t change drastically overnight? Who can ensure the safety of our properties and lives? After all, this is still a war zone.”
How long can Mexico’s rule last?
If the Americans make a comeback in the future, or if European powers intervene, what will become of them, the “collaborators?”
Hearing this, Becker frowned slightly.
“Are you suggesting that Mexico won’t be able to maintain control here for long?”
Mrs. Aileen Vanderbilt was taken aback.
Could she say that?
Clear as day, clear as day!
She was just about to explain.
Becker stood up, adjusted his clothes, “Ladies and gentlemen, I understand your concerns, but rest assured, I can share a piece of information with you: the United States has its own domestic issues, and many times… they won’t impose.”
“I’ve already heard that the Leader is studying plans; reportedly, the U.S. mainland and Mexico will be governed separately, after all, it’s tough for everyone.”
!!!!
Separate governance?
One nation… cough cough…
Everyone was astute and immediately understood.
“Come, let us toast General Becker!” Old Walton stood up directly, holding his glass with a smile.
The atmosphere immediately changed.
…
