"How should we respond?" Callum asked.

"Follow the procedures, let it go," McTavish said in a deep voice. "But have the 'Seagull' accompany it in a 'friendly escort', using active sonar to 'watch' it until it leaves the 200-mile economic zone. Tell McLain to maintain a professional attitude, but record everything. Since they want to 'observe', let's also make sure they are observed."

He paused and said to Callum, "Send an encrypted message to the Norwegian contact. The wording should be subtle: 'We've encountered some interesting neighbors in the North Sea, hope this won't affect the atmosphere of candid dialogue between us. We share a common concern for peace and stability in the North Sea.'

This is a warning. If the Norwegians leaked the information, they should take note. If not, then this is a reminder—there are other 'friends' active beside you.

...

England, West Yorkshire, Leeds City.

Outside the Town Hall, a dozen white tents were set up temporarily, with banners reading "Our Constitution, Our Future." This was the "English Congress" Leeds branch organizing the "Local Charter Public Discussion Day," mimicking citizen assembly formats from some European countries, but more noisy and grassroots.

Sarah Kent stood on a simple podium, her voice already hoarse but her eyes bright. Below, a few hundred citizens sat and stood, including workers, students, shop owners, and retired elderly. They discussed in groups, wrote opinions on giant sticky notes, and stuck them onto display boards outside the tents. Topics ranged from "National Health Service waiting times" to "Should community police carry guns," a wide array.

"We don't want those books written by lawyers from London!" an older craftsman waved a rough hand. "We should write: every child has the right to attend a nearby, not overcrowded school! Every elderly person has enough heating subsidy in winter! Write clearly! Make it impossible for them to twist words!"

"Yes! And taxes!" a middle-aged woman running a small restaurant shouted. "Big companies evade taxes, yet we small businesses are scrutinized meticulously! The constitution should state that taxes must be fair, the rich should pay more!"

Sarah listened, feeling both warmth and anxiety. Public sentiment was surging, but how to transform these fragmented demands into a politically powerful plan that operates within the legal framework? Allen and his team provided some organizational tools and strategic advice, but the real substance needed to be filled in by these ordinary people themselves.

A young man squeezed to the side of the podium, a law teaching assistant at the University of Leeds and a local backbone of the "Congress." He lowered his voice: "Sarah, just got word from the county council... there's movement. They might be preparing to expedite the local candidate nominations for the 'transitional parliament,' and the preliminary draft includes a new clause: candidates need valid signatures from 5% of voters in the constituency to qualify for nomination."

Sarah's gaze sharpened. 5%? In a constituency with hundreds of thousands of people, this means organizing a huge collection team, requiring funds and manpower. This was clearly targeting grassroots organizations like the 'Congress'—they had people but lacked money and support from formal institutions.

"They're trying to trip us up with procedures," Sarah said coldly.

"But we have community networks," the young teaching assistant said. "Every community has our volunteers. 5% is difficult but not impossible. The key is time... they might only give two weeks."

"Then mobilize everyone," Sarah looked at the crowd on the square. "Tell everyone about this. This isn't electing MPs, it's deciding if we can have our own voice. Collecting signatures is a propaganda and organizational exercise in itself. Tell other town's branches to prepare for similar tactics."

She picked up the loudspeaker and walked back to the center of the podium. A stronger determination suppressed the feeling of exhaustion.

Do the London gentlemen think paper rules can stop the tide? Then let the tide rise even higher.

...

Africa, Democratic Republic of Congo, Eastern Mine Area.

Sweltering heat.

The air was filled with the scent of red dust and sweat. Amidst the roar of heavy trucks, a few well-dressed men stood incongruously at the edge of a massive mining pit. Leading them was Fernando Mendoza, a senior representative of the Mexican National Mining Company, alongside representatives of the local warlord "General" Kabanggu, and two alert Mexican security personnel.

"The cobalt ore grade here is even higher than we estimated," Mendoza pointed to the exposed rock layers below, which gleamed with a strange luster. "There are also associated tantalum and lithium deposits. We've received the 'mining permit' from the General and the first 'community development fund' has been deposited into the designated account."

The warlord representative was a lean man wearing sunglasses, grinning and showing his gold-plated teeth: "The General is very pleased with the efficiency of our Mexican friends. Much more straightforward than those French and Belgian guys. However... recently some British companies and Americans have come too, and they are offering higher prices." 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Mendoza remained calm: "What we offer is not just money, but a complete infrastructure construction plan: roads from the mine area to the port, power stations, workers' camps, and... security training. The General needs not only mining rights fees but long-term stable control and development. British people? Have they cleaned up their own mess back home? Americans? They offer high prices but come with additional political conditions, like 'human rights oversight', 'anti-corruption audits'... Is the General willing to accept these?"