Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1820 - 798: Strike the Snake at Its Weak Spot—Wipe Out the British!
Capítulo 1820: Chapter 798: Strike the Snake at Its Weak Spot—Wipe Out the British!
“Understood.” Bennett quickly took notes, “But will McTavish take the bait?”
“He needs two things: weapons and funding; the Second International’s recognition.”
Victor returned to his seat, “We give him the first, while making him believe the second will follow. Once he’s bombed enough targets, those old cronies from the Phoenix Society will jump out to ‘support the Scottish people’s self-determination.'”
Casare pondered for a moment, his eyes brightened: “Killing two birds with one stone. Weakening the UK, and undermining the Phoenix Society.”
Bramo added, “If handled properly, we can draw the British government’s focus fully back home, reducing the pressure on North America and buying more time for the ‘Silicon Valley Mexico’ project.”
Kitchener remained cautious: “The risk is, if McTavish really stirs up trouble, like killing key figures, public opinion might turn against all separatist movements, including our justified actions in North America.”
Victor said, “What are we afraid of? What they do is none of my business.”
“I’m petty, I can’t swallow what the British did in Guatemala!”
He looked at Kitchener: “You personally take charge of this line. Once the operation begins, all traces of contact must be completely erased within an hour.”
“Yes, Leader.”
Victor’s fingers slid across the map to Southern France, “Also, do you know where those old cronies from the Phoenix Society are hiding now?”
…
France, Provence, Saint-Remy-de-Provence Manor.
From the outside, it looks like a typical 19th-century Provence manor: ochre walls, a red-tiled roof, grapevine-covered verandas. Three inconspicuous Renault cars were parked in the yard, and an old gardener was leisurely trimming the roses in the garden.
In the manor’s living room, five people sat around a mahogany long table.
The one in the main seat is Friedrich von Habsburg-Lorraine, 63 years old, the great-grandson of Karl I, the last Emperor of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
His hair is silvery white, meticulously combed, wearing a tailored dark gray suit, with cufflinks featuring the Golden Fleece Order pattern of the Habsburg family. Although this order has long lost its legal validity, he still holds an annual award ceremony at his own expense, hosting outdated nobles and nostalgia enthusiasts.
I am the Austro-Hungarian Yellow Banner!
Sitting to his left is a brown-haired man in his fifties, Ivan Klaus, a former Colonel of the Czech Military Intelligence Agency (ÚZSI), dismissed in 1993 for “budget issues,” the real reason being illegally selling weapons to Iraq.
He is now the security chief of the Phoenix Society.
On the right is a younger woman, Erin von Hornloehr, 40 years old, from a family that was a vassal during the Holy Roman Empire era, now primarily operating several hotels in Munich and real estate in Vienna.
She is the “financial and diplomatic advisor” of the Phoenix Society—which essentially means handling money laundering and bribing politicians.
Erin opened a folder, “McTavish received the first batch of equipment, 50 AK-74s (Bulgarian-made), four RPG-7s, and enough ammunition. He promised a ‘big gift for London before Christmas.'”
Damn…
And they have the nerve to offer just this?
The Royalists…
stingy and petty.
“What are the specific targets?” Friedrich asked nervously.
“The initial list includes: robbery of banks, attacks on military and police, and even intends to attack military convoys.”
Ivan frowned: “Attacking military convoys? That would directly trigger the Anti-Terrorism Act, and Scotland would be flooded with military and police. Our aim is to create chaos, not martial law in London.”
“McTavish wants ‘acts of war,’ not small skirmishes.”
Erin shrugged, “I advised him otherwise, but he quoted an IRA slogan: ‘Make the British afraid to sleep peacefully at night.'”
Friedrich mused for a moment: “Approve the attacks on the tax bureau and banks, but the military convoy must be vetoed. Tell him that if he acts without authorization, subsequent funding and equipment will be immediately cut off. We need sustained pressure, not a one-off explosion.”
“Understood.” Erin noted down, “Also, regarding those exiled royals…”
The two men at the end of the table raised their heads.
They are the heads of the ‘Special Operations Team,’ a pair of brothers, Laslo and Bogdan Serbia, Hungarian descent, former Special Forces, turned mercenaries after retirement, recruited by the Phoenix Society three years ago.
“Here’s the list.” Friedrich pushed over a piece of paper, “There are six people on it. Three are ‘recruitable,’ and three… need to be eliminated.”
Laslo took the list. The paper had handwritten names and brief information:
[Recruitable Personnel:]
Mikhail Romanov, claimant to the Russian Empire throne, currently residing in Paris, closely associated with France’s far-right political parties.
Simeon Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, son of the last King of Bulgaria, currently living in Madrid, runs a shipping company, and has contacts with the Spanish Royal Family.
Henry Orleans, a claimant to the French throne, currently residing in Brussels, assistant to a member of the European Parliament.
[Personnel to be Eliminated]
Eduardo de Bourbon-Parma, a secondary claimant to the Spanish throne, publicly criticizes the Phoenix Society as ‘not in line with Christian spirit,’ and last week wrote in the Figaro Newspaper that the Habsburg family ‘belongs in a museum.’
Maria Tereza de Bragança, a claimant to the Portuguese throne, too close to the British Royals, and privately referred to Friedrich as a ‘historical cosplay enthusiast.’
Carl von Württemberg, a claimant to the German throne, the most dangerous one—he is contacting the German government to trade Phoenix Society’s internal intelligence for ‘amnesty and historical recognition.’
